The town of Apia, the Samoan capital, lies around a small circular bay. Across the mouth of the harbor, two miles in width, extends a coral reef, which is visible at low water. A break in the reef a quarter of a mile in width forms the entrance to the harbor. Only a small portion of the latter is available for anchorage, as the eastern part is quite shallow, and on the west the bay has a small fringing reef well out from the shore. It will be seen that the crowded condition of the harbor rendered it peculiarly perilous. The war vessels were anchored in the deep water, the Eber and Nipsic being nearest the shore. The schooners and lighter craft were in the shoal water next to the fringing reef on the west side of the harbor.
The town is composed of cottages, built after the native pattern: low, of elastic materials, and bound well together; so that the low houses, swaying easily with the wind, are not so easily blown away as structures of stiffer and more pretentious build. The American consulate, facing the harbor, lies about the center of the town, with a long strip of sandy beach before it.
For some weeks the weather had been gloomy and capricious. The time of the vernal equinox was at hand, and a low area storm of unusual violence might be expected at any time. During the afternoon of March 15, the wind began to increase: the war ships lowered their topmasts and secured their spars; one or two prepared storm-sails for emergencies. The anchors were all out, and steam was raised lest the anchors should not hold.
The wind increased steadily, blowing from the same quarter continuously. Though the only recorded observations are at this one point, its proximity to the equator, the steadiness of the wind and the length of time it blew indicate a cyclonic tempest of unusual violence.
By 11 P.M. the wind was a strong gale: not too strong in the harbor for small boats, however; for the crews of nearly all the schooners, divining what was coming, put out their spare anchors and went ashore, leaving the vessels to their fate. Mayhap the anchors would hold; but on their lives they would take no risks.
An hour later immense rollers were coming in from the ocean, finding the coral reef only a partial check. Ordinarily a reef insures a harbor from the force of the waves, and leaves only the direct fury of the winds to be encountered. But the reef at Apia is a lower barrier than such harbors usually possess, and may not be seen at high tide.
At midnight, rain was falling. The wind still increased. The vessels were pitching fearfully. At this time the Eber, nearest the shore, began dragging her anchors, and was compelled to aid them with her engines. At one o’clock the Vandalia, also, was compelled to use her engines. Should the wind increase, their case was truly desperate.
The rain poured in torrents; fiercer grew the gale. By three o’clock every vessel in the harbor was dragging her anchors. There might be a collision, or a wreck, at any time. Every able-bodied man was required, that any emergency might be met. Neither officer nor private could think of sleep.
Those on shore realized the peril of the situation. Accustomed to heavy gales, the natives slept soundly for a time in their low huts. At length, the crash of falling trees and the tearing away of roofs began to be heard in the storm. Little knots of people crept about in the darkness, seeking shelter from the tempest. Sand and pebbles, gathered up from the beach, were hurled by the wind with cutting force. The tide was rising, and the gale brought it into the streets, a hundred feet above the usual high water mark. The spray from the dashing surf sprang high in the air, and beat into the windows of houses nearest the shore. It was a memorable night.
Long before dawn the natives were huddled in little groups about the shore, gazing at the shifting lights of the tossing vessels. Their houses were being wrecked, their crops and trees destroyed, but they themselves were measurably safe. But those in the harbor!