By the second week in March three American ships were in Apia bay,—­the Nipsic, the Vandalia, and the Trenton, carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Kimberley; three German,—­the Adler, the Eber, and the Olga; and one British,—­the Calliope, Captain Kane.  Six merchant-men, ranging from twenty-five up to five hundred tons, and a number of small craft, further encumbered the anchorage.  Its capacity is estimated by Captain Kane at four large ships; and the latest arrivals, the Vandalia and Trenton, were in consequence excluded, and lay without in the passage.  Of the seven war-ships, the seaworthiness of two was questionable:  the Trenton’s, from an original defect in her construction, often reported, never remedied—­her hawse-pipes leading in on the berth-deck; the Eber’s, from an injury to her screw in the blow of February 14th.  In this overcrowding of ships in an open entry of the reef, even the eye of the landsman could spy danger; and Captain-Lieutenant Wallis of the Eber openly blamed and lamented, not many hours before the catastrophe, their helpless posture.  Temper once more triumphed.  The army of Mataafa still hung imminent behind the town; the German quarter was still daily garrisoned with fifty sailors from the squadron; what was yet more influential, Germany and the States, at least in Apia bay, were on the brink of war, viewed each other with looks of hatred, and scarce observed the letter of civility.  On the day of the admiral’s arrival, Knappe failed to call on him, and on the morrow called on him while he was on shore.  The slight was remarked and resented, and the two squadrons clung more obstinately to their dangerous station.

On the 15th the barometer fell to 29.11 in. by 2 P.M.  This was the moment when every sail in port should have escaped.  Kimberley, who flew the only broad pennant, should certainly have led the way:  he clung, instead, to his moorings, and the Germans doggedly followed his example:  semi-belligerents, daring each other and the violence of heaven.  Kane, less immediately involved, was led in error by the report of residents and a fallacious rise in the glass; he stayed with the others, a misjudgment that was like to cost him dear.  All were moored, as is the custom in Apia, with two anchors practically east and west, clear hawse to the north, and a kedge astern.  Topmasts were struck, and the ships made snug.  The night closed black, with sheets of rain.  By midnight it blew a gale; and by the morning watch, a tempest.  Through what remained of darkness, the captains impatiently expected day, doubtful if they were dragging, steaming gingerly to their moorings, and afraid to steam too much.