



Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 1896. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 847. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

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