all the officers and some sixty men alive but in pitiable case; some with broken limbs, others insensible from the drenching of the breakers.  Later in the forenoon, certain valorous Samoans succeeded in reaching the wreck and returning with a line; but it was speedily broken; and all subsequent attempts proved unavailing, the strongest adventurers being cast back again by the bursting seas.  Thenceforth, all through that day and night, the deafened survivors must continue to endure their martyrdom; and one officer died, it was supposed from agony of mind, in his inverted cabin.

Three ships still hung on the next margin of destruction, steaming desperately to their moorings, dashed helplessly together.  The Calliope was the nearest in; she had the Vandalia close on her port side and a little ahead, the Olga close a-starboard, the reef under her heel; and steaming and veering on her cables, the unhappy ship fenced with her three dangers.  About a quarter to nine she carried away the Vandalia’s quarter gallery with her jib-boom; a moment later, the Olga had near rammed her from the other side.  By nine the Vandalia dropped down on her too fast to be avoided, and clapped her stern under the bowsprit of the English ship, the fastenings of which were burst asunder as she rose.  To avoid cutting her down, it was necessary for the Calliope to stop and even to reverse her engines; and her rudder was at the moment—­or it seemed so to the eyes of those on board—­within ten feet of the reef.  “Between the Vandalia and the reef” (writes Kane, in his excellent report) “it was destruction.”  To repeat Fritze’s manoeuvre with the Adler was impossible; the Calliope was too heavy.  The one possibility of escape was to go out.  If the engines should stand, if they should have power to drive the ship against wind and sea, if she should answer the helm, if the wheel, rudder, and gear should hold out, and if they were favoured with a clear blink of weather in which to see and avoid the outer reef—­there, and there only, were safety.  Upon this catalogue of “ifs” Kane staked his all.  He signalled to the engineer for every pound of steam—­and at that moment (I am told) much of the machinery was already red-hot.  The ship was sheered well to starboard of the Vandalia, the last remaining cable slipped.  For a time—­and there was no onlooker so cold-blooded as to offer a guess at its duration—­the Calliope lay stationary; then gradually drew ahead.  The highest speed claimed for her that day is of one sea-mile an hour.  The question of times and seasons, throughout all this roaring business, is obscured by a dozen contradictions; I have but chosen what appeared to be the most consistent; but if I am to pay any attention to the time named by Admiral Kimberley, the Calliope, in this first stage of her escape, must have taken more than two hours to cover less than four cables.  As she thus crept seaward, she buried bow and stem alternately under the billows.