The awful force and roar of the wind, the violent pitching and rolling, the absolute darkness outside, the puny efforts of the big, powerful ship and its apparent helplessness, added to the fact that we knew we were in an unknown position in a sea in many places uncharted and dotted with coral reefs and islands,—all convinced us that we were in the immediate presence of the Great Adventure and that only the guidance of the Divine Hand could succor us.
The immediate scenes were enough to inspire terror. The big steam whistle could be but faintly heard above the wind, when it was blown to call deck hands to clear away wreckage caused by the fall of the top of the front mast with the wireless antennae. In the galley, right outside my door, pots and pans and dishes and glassware were thrown about in continuous din and confusion. In staterooms, trunks, water bowls, and other loose articles were flying around. It was dangerous to be about. The thick glass of a port hole was broken to bits by a wave, and a woman so cut by the glass as to require many stitches for her wounds. In the troop decks many bunks were broken and fell to the floor. Several soldiers suffered broken legs, arms, or collar bones. The ship's doctor in his palmiest day in civil life I venture, never saw things coming his way half so thick and fast. The only way to remain in a bunk was by bracing and hanging to rail and hooks. The first streak of dawn showed about 5:30 A.M., Sunday the 19th, and, though welcome, revealed an awful sea and driving sheets of rain. This violence kept up most of the day, until late in the afternoon it appeared that wind and sea were somewhat abating. The barometer was slowly but steadily rising, and it was plain that we were running out of the typhoon. But night was upon us, and the Master had not had an observation of the sun for more than three days—since Thursday noon, August 16. The situation was perilous. A temporary respite only had been given.
The behavior of passengers, crew, and all during this time was remarkable. There was not a trace of panic or alarm. Some passengers, gathered in the main saloon, seated about tables, talked it over conversationally. Others remained in the social hall, in the passageways, or in staterooms awaiting quietly the expected call. Some officers were fully dressed in uniform, either khaki or white, others in swimming clothes of pajamas with bathrobe or raincoat over. The women also were in various degrees of preparation. There was no hysteria, weeping, or raising of voices.
And so the long Sunday night wore on with the three of us in our bunks, the little boy asleep and —— and I attempting to doze. We were destined for our third successive sleepless night. The wind and sea were still high. Some time before midnight I was brought to my feet in the middle of the cabin with a bounce, by a severe metallic blow against the ship's side. I turned on the light and the little boy awoke startled to get into bed with his mother on the couch and doze off again immediately. To this date I have not satisfactorily settled what caused that blow. It may have been the violent impact of one of four lost lifeboats against the hull or one of the parts of a broken davit hitting the side. Weak and dizzy and vomiting continuously I thought it best to remain up.
From some reason or other—misery or what not—the next event of which I write was unknown to me until after the happening. I therefore relate what I have heard from others, whose remembrances tally very well. I was conscious only that the ship was listing at a severe angle, with our trunks sliding across the room.
At about 11 P.M., it seems, the ship hit something twice, and in turn was struck on the starboard side by two big waves. The vessel remained rigid for several minutes (estimates vary from 5 to 25 minutes), not rolling in wave action, but taking the seas over the forecastle. During this time a soldier was swept overboard and his cries for help were heard by passengers as he was swept past. A life preserver was thrown towards him in the darkness,—all that could be done for the poor fellow. About this time the lookout up ahead saw a steep, black shape close at hand, but thought it was a low-hanging cloud. The First Officer saw it from the bridge and immediately sent an emergency signal to the engine room. We were merely drifting, so the engines were immediately reversed. The ship drew away carefully. After some time, I should say about half an hour, we appeared again to have reached the wind and rough water.
I have neglected to state that some time previously I had myself noticed (my stomach being a delicate instrument) a sudden lull in the chop of the water and a longer, smoother roll and a drop in the wind to almost nothing. As the barometer was rising we could not have been in the heart of the typhoon, and I remarked to an officer that we must be in the lee of some land. All this occurred between 10:30 P.M. and midnight. It is the universal belief that the black shape just ahead was in reality a high cliff. The further inference is—although not acknowledged by ship's officers—that while drifting under little or no headway the ship struck a sandbar as she dropped deep into the trough of the big waves, close to the cliff, and while there took two big waves on the starboard side. Then, when the engines were reversed, she pulled off and made away.
III—"IT WAS OUR LAST HOUR"
During all this time, though I had not noticed the two jars (being one of the very few who did not), I was conscious in my bunk that something serious had happened. As a ship's officer went by the cabin, I heard him say: "I'm going to see if the wireless won't work." I have learned since that the Master wanted to send the "S. O. S." out over the sea, and say that he would try to keep his ship afloat until daybreak. Inasmuch as he could not give our position this was but a last chance. I was not so sick that I could not comprehend that much in a flash. But the wireless was entirely out of commission. When the top of the mast went on Saturday night, the antennae had gone overboard with it. The latter had been roughly secured again to the mainmast, but the wind had driven the rain through the cabin and short-circuited the sending apparatus. About this time a man came into the passageway and began stripping the slats from a life preserver rack. He said there was danger of the wireless house on the top deck being swept away, and that he was going to take the men some life preservers.
There was much passing to and fro. Putting on raincoat over pajamas, I went out to look things over. In the saloon I found some fifteen or twenty persons grouped about the table, in all manner of attire. All were seated, talking in conversational tones. None had life preservers, though the word had been passed along to put them on and many in other parts of the ship had done so.