THE WRECK OF THE "MARIA HELENA."
BY REAR-ADMIRAL T. H. STEVENS, U.S.N.
On the 20th of December, 1848, I sailed from Honolulu, where I had been naval-store-keeper for many years. My vessel was the Chilean merchant-ship Maria Helena, and she carried as passengers several others who had long resided in the Hawaiian Islands, and who were now returning for a definite stay at home; among those were my wife, another lady, and two small children.
It was somewhat melancholy to bid farewell to the friends among whom we had lived so long, and whom we never expected to meet again, but never did a ship leave port under more favorable auspices. Wind and weather combined their happiest influences, and over the smooth water we sailed, until the island of Oahu, with its pleasant valleys and bold, romantic scenery, was lost to view. The next morning we saw Hawaii, with Kilauea breathing fire and smoke from its lofty crest, and Maui a cloudy speck in the distance. They also were soon lost to view, and nothing remained for the eye to rest on but the heaving ocean and here and there a solitary sea-bird. After losing sight of the islands, nothing of interest occurred until the 3d of January, when a large fish was harpooned, the liver of which was to have afforded a fine breakfast for the inmates of the cabin the next morning.
At one o'clock that night the Captain, supposing that we would pass Christmas Island about that time, took two observations of the stars for the latitude. These put us in the latitude of the island, but, as there was no indication of land, and as the chronometer put us forty miles to the eastward, the skipper felt secure, and turned in for the night. The cabin lights were put out and all was quiet; nothing disturbed the stillness of repose save the deep breathing of the tired sleeper, dreaming, perhaps, of the native land that he hoped to see so soon again. Suddenly a startling and alarmed voice was heard from the look-out on the fo'c's'le, "Breakers ahead! Hard alee! Hard alee!"
Like an electric shock that sound passed through the souls of the sleepers, spreading consternation, and rousing them to a sense of dreadfully imminent danger. With one impulse all rushed on deck, to behold through the darkness of the night a long uninterrupted line of breakers, and to hear, above the stern words of command and the tread of hurrying feet, the wild angry roar of the surf. But even in that time of dread, hope was with us, and as the ship, still obedient to the will of her master, came slowly to the wind, there yet remained a chance of escape. The awed stillness of all on deck proclaimed how deep was the suspense. One brief moment more and the ship will be headed to sea; but suddenly she strikes; she trembles through all her strong timbers, and then resigns herself to her fate, and the breakers wash around her decks.
All hope of saving her was now at an end, and preparations were immediately begun to get the gig and whale-boat alongside in readiness to receive the women and children. Some delay occurred before this could be accomplished, and it was fully an hour before the boats were ready. During this time no expression of fear escaped from either of the ladies.
Notwithstanding the violent shocks that the ship received as she rose and fell upon the rocks with the heave of the sea, the children slept soundly, and when the boats were reported ready, with a small quantity of provisions, water, and clothing, they and their mothers were passed into them without the smallest accident, although the exploit was attended with much danger, as the ship had by this time been driven close on to the roughest water about the reef.
As soon as the whale-boat had her full complement of passengers, I among them, she was hauled astern of the ship, which was lying parallel to the shore, and pulled seaward. When about a hundred yards away, the men lay on their oars, and all waited anxiously for the dawn to reveal the full extent of the danger.
Half an hour after we left the ship we heard an awful cracking of timbers above the roar of the breakers, and could just make out through the gloom of night the falling masts as they tottered one by one, and fell over to leeward. We immediately pulled toward the ship, and hailed her to inquire if any one was injured and how they were getting on. Some one replied that all was well, and that the vessel was lying much easier.
About half past four the waning moon rose, and we supposed that day was about to break, and that the sun would soon appear to show all the circumstances of our perilous position; but although we were in a condition of the most trying nature—our ship ashore on a frightful coast, and ourselves tossed about on the open sea in a leaky boat, totally ignorant of the character of the island and its extent—no one despaired.
At last, the day dawned, and revealed to our anxious eyes a line of low coast twenty or twenty-five miles in extent, making out in a considerable point to the north and west, the shore bounded, as far as the eye could reach, by a line of sullen breakers. In the indistinctness of the twilight some imagined that they could see houses, but these proved afterward to be clumps of low bushes scattered here and there upon a sandy and uninhabited island.
Soon after sunrise the Captain joined us in the gig, and, upon consulting together, we concluded to pull around the point referred to, and seek a landing under the lee side of the island. Had this plan been carried out we must all have suffered very much before we could have procured relief, as we had but a small breaker of water and a few biscuits in the boat, and would have had to pull a long distance before finding a suitable landing-place. After pulling about a mile to the westward we reflected on this want of provisions, and decided to return and try to land under the lee of the ship.
Preparatory to making the attempt, the gig was sent alongside to get a full crew, and then to land before us; but in attempting to board the ship she got into the rollers, and was capsized before she could be pulled clear. Some of the men were injured, but they finally reached the shore, although with a badly stove boat.
This was poor encouragement for us, but having come to the conclusion that there was only one course for us to take, we made all necessary preparations, and confiding the steering-oar to an experienced hand, waited for a smooth time to make our effort.
After waiting a few moments a favorable time came, and the boat was headed for the seething breakers. As we approached them all conversation ceased, and the compressed lip and rigid features showed our painful appreciation of the approaching crisis. Soon a huge roller lifted the little boat far above the surrounding water, and she sped on like an arrow. Scarcely had we begun to feel the swiftness of our flight before we struck the beach, and the ladies and children were landed and out of present danger. During the whole of the day they remained on the beach, with nothing but two small umbrellas to shelter them from the rays of a tropical sun, while the gentlemen, Captain, and crew were engaged in saving provisions and baggage from the wreck. This work continued until four in the afternoon, when the sea became so high and the surf so violent as to render further efforts impracticable.
We also saved some sails and spars, by means of which we erected a commodious tent for the ladies and passengers, and another for the men.
Shortly after being installed in our new quarters dinner was served, and was enjoyed by every one, as it was the first food we had had for twenty-four hours.
Before this, Mr. Christie, one of the passengers, had come in and announced that he had seen two sails in the offing, and without rest or refreshment he, the Captain, and a couple of sailors started off to make an effort to communicate with the welcome strangers. The rest of us retired to rest upon rude couches made from the wreckage, and after the fatigue and excitement of the day our sleep was sound.
About eight in the morning the exploring party returned with the news that they had found the wreck of the ship Mozart upon the eastern end of the island, that from a slip of paper they had found that she had gone ashore on the 7th of the previous December, and that the supposed sails in the offing were a couple of tents erected for shelter by her crew. Although our disappointment regarding the supposed ships was great, we were glad to learn from the note left that the crew of the Mozart had been taken from the island by a passing vessel within a week of her misfortune, and that therefore there seemed a reasonable prospect of our own early rescue.
Meanwhile we had to consider the necessities of a food and water supply. The water of the island was brackish and almost undrinkable, and food was scarce in the extreme, consisting mainly of the scanty stores taken from the Maria Helena, and some biscuits found aboard the Mozart. Sea-birds were plentiful, but difficult to capture.
The Captain and I soon overcame the water famine, however, by constructing a distiller from a rusty musket barrel and the remains of an old copper boiler.
About a week after the wreck the Maria Helena went to pieces during a storm, and in a short time her broken and ragged timbers strewed the shore. Soon after this the whale-boat, with Mr. Christie, the second mate, and four sailors started off to a low promontory about fifty miles away, to erect a signal for the attention of any passing ship, and to learn something of the character of the island.
In three days one of the men returned with the news that the boat had been upset in the breakers about forty miles away, and two seamen so badly injured that the rest of the party had been compelled to leave them behind with all the water that had been saved. The uninjured ones then started to return to the ship, which they reached after incredible difficulty and hardship, and a few days afterwards the wounded men were found and brought back.
In the mean time the long-boat of the Mozart had been found and decked over for sea-service. We intended to send her to Honolulu to give intelligence of our precarious situation, and to beg for relief. During the time occupied in her refitting we passed many long hours in writing to our friends. At last the letters were finished, the boat ready, and we only awaited a smooth time for her launch. This came on a Sunday, but we all felt that our situation justified a seeming violation of the day.
The word was given to shove off, and with lusty strokes the little boat was impelled forward. Breaker after breaker followed each other in quick succession, like the sturdy blows of the smith; yet she rode safely. But like a stealthy thief in the night was the insidious wave that began to form beyond the breaking waiters. At first but a barely perceptible undulation, it acquired volume and power as it approached the reef, and came thundering on as though conscious of its fearful majesty and might. Nearer and nearer came that dreaded enemy, rearing its horrid form aloft, until it struck the boat, and its work was accomplished. We watched the receding wave with straining eyes, and were right joyous to see all the crew clinging to the capsized boat or striking out manfully for the shore. All but one landed safely, and four or five of the watchers dashed in to his rescue. At last the Captain succeeded in hauling him ashore, but although for two hours we made every effort to restore him to consciousness, all our exertions failed.
After this fruitless attempt we were obliged to wait a fortnight until the surf was moderate enough to warrant another trial. On the 7th of February the boat was launched again, placed in charge of her crew, which consisted of the first mate and four men, and anchored outside the reef in safety. The rest of the day was passed in provisioning her for her cruise, and on the morning of the next day the little vessel weighed anchor, made sail to the northward and eastward, and went gallantly on her way amid our cheers and blessings.
A long period of suspense was now passed, but on the morning of the 16th of March a sail hove in sight, and soon proved to be the French frigate Sarcelle, which had been despatched to our assistance by the French consul at Honolulu as soon as he heard of our disaster from the first mate. The long-boat had made her perilous journey in twenty-two days.
The surf was too rough to attempt embarkation the morning after the Sarcelle arrived, and we sent a message off to her by a Kanaka, who was the only one of the party that could be trusted in the heavy sea—which no boat could have lived through. He was furnished with a small surf-board, and the note was hung in a bottle, which he tied around his neck. He then walked out to the edge of the breakers, and waited for a favorable opportunity before he attempted to breast them.
The enterprise that he was about to undertake was hazardous in the extreme, and his every movement was watched intently by all hands standing on the beach. The quick succession in which the rollers followed each other, their irregularity, and the sharp coral rocks just below the surface made the surf here particularly dangerous. Skill and courage were necessary to pass safely through the boiling waters.
For ten or fifteen minutes after the boy was ready he stood silently watching the breakers, waiting for a lull, and then sprang forward, keeping his surf-board extended before him. The skill and ease with which he ascended the perpendicular rollers as they came towering on, and the courage which he displayed throughout, were the admiration of all. As some huge breaker, more formidable than any that had preceded it, formed outside and came thundering on, all expected to see him thrown back before its tremendous power; but with his board raised perpendicularly before him, he climbed to the lofty crest, and was lost to view behind the conquered wave that came rushing on to break sullenly on the shore. Again and again he encountered his enemy, again and again to succeed.
In returning, the surf-board was thrown away, and awaiting a good opportunity as before, he swam boldly into the rollers, keeping his face toward them, and diving whenever they threatened to break. In this way he reached the shore without a single bruise, bringing an answer that the Sarcelle would go around to the lee side of the island, where we could embark in safety.
The next morning our caravan started, and after much suffering from fatigue and thirst, we reached the French camp at 11 p.m. of the second day.
We were treated with the utmost kindness and courtesy, and on the 26th of March got under way for Honolulu. By ten o'clock Christmas Island, the resting-place of so many weeks, sunk below the horizon, and in sixteen days we stood once more on the wharf at Honolulu, surrounded again by our welcoming friends.
SAN JACINTO CORN.[1]
BY LILLIE E. BARR.
There are thousands who remember the shout of sympathy
That rolled from the New England hills down to the Mexic sea
When the brave and gallant Houston, with his desperate little band,
On San Jacinto's flowery plain won freedom for the land.
They brought before him Santa Anna, the crafty and the bold,
The wretch who wrote the cruel words: "Slay both the young and old.
Spare no American you see; set all their homes ablaze;
For they are heretics in faith, foreign in speech and ways."
A fugitive, a captive bound, he stood that bright May day
Among the stern and angry men that he had vowed to slay,
And bowed with all his Spanish grace, and said, in accents bland:
"General, you are most fortunate to lead so brave a band!
"Are they Americans? If so, I do not understand
The men whom Mexico permits to settle in this land.
I am a soldier, but ne'er saw such men since I was born."
Then Houston took out of his pouch part of an ear of corn.
"No, sir, you do not understand," he, smiling proudly, said.
"For four days we have lived on corn, tasted not meat or bread.
How could you hope to e'er enslave men that were free men born?
And who can watch and march and fight upon an ear of corn?"
Young Zavala made answer swift: "The hope indeed is vain.
General, from off that ear of corn give me, I pray, one grain;
And I will plant the precious seed, and hoard whate'er it yields,
Till I can freely scatter it o'er all my pleasant fields!"
"And I a grain!" "And I a grain!" cried all the eager band.
Till Santa Anna surely felt he could not understand
The men who prized a grain of corn because in memory
It linked itself with a Texan fight for faith and liberty.
But in a few short years each grain increased a million-fold,
And over many a lovely mile the pleasant story told.
I heard it rustling in their leaves one sunny July morn
Camping among the tasselled ears of the San Jacinto corn.
