***The Project Gutenberg Etext of The San Francisco Calamity***
Edited by Charles Morris


Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!

Please take a look at the important information in this header.
We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
electronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*

Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
further information is included below.  We need your donations.


The San Francisco Calamity

Edited by Charles Morris

December, 1998  [Etext #1560]


***The Project Gutenberg Etext of The San Francisco Calamity***
*****This file should be named sfclm10.txt or sfclm10.zip******

Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, sfclm11.txt.
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, sfclm10a.txt.


This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com.


We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance
of the official release dates, for time for better editing.

Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.  To be sure you have an
up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes
in the first week of the next month.  Since our ftp program has
a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a
look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a
new copy has at least one byte more or less.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take
to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text
files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1997 for a total of 1000+
If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the
total should reach over 100 billion Etexts given away.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
Files by the December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion]
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only 10% of the present number of computer users.  2001
should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it
will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001.


We need your donations more than ever!


All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are
tax deductible to the extent allowable by law.  (CMU = Carnegie-
Mellon University).

For these and other matters, please mail to:

Project Gutenberg
P. O. Box  2782
Champaign, IL 61825

When all other email fails try our Executive Director:
Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>

We would prefer to send you this information by email
(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail).

******
If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please
FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives:
[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type]

ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu
login:  anonymous
password:  your@login
cd etext/etext90 through /etext96
or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information]
dir [to see files]
get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
GET INDEX?00.GUT
for a list of books
and
GET NEW GUT for general information
and
MGET GUT* for newsletters.

**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor**
(Three Pages)


***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here?  You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault.  So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how
you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement.  If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-
tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor
Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at
Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project").  Among other
things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects".  Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this
etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from.  If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy.  If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS".  NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,
officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost
and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or
indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:
[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,
or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-
     cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the
     net profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon
     University" within the 60 days following each
     date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)
     your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,
scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty
free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution
you can think of.  Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg
Association / Carnegie-Mellon University".

*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*




This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com.





THE SAN FRANCISCO CALAMITY BY EARTHQUAKE AND FIRE


A Complete and Accurate Account of the Fearful Disaster which
Visited the Great City and the Pacific Coast, the Reign of Panic
and Lawlessness, the Plight of 300,000 Homeless People and the
World-wide Rush to the Rescue.

TOLD BY EYE WITNESSES

INCLUDING GRAPHIC AND RELIABLE ACCOUNTS OF ALL GREAT EARTHQUAKES
AND VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY, AND SCIENTIFIC
EXPLANATIONS OF THEIR CAUSES.

EDITED BY

CHARLES MORRIS, LL. D.




PREFACE


Earthquake and famine, fire and sudden death--these are the
destroyers that men fear when they come singly; but upon the
unhappy people of California they came together, a hideous
quartette, to slay human beings, to blot from existence the wealth
that represented prolonged and strenuous effort, to bring hunger
and speechless misery to three hundred thousand homeless and
terror-stricken people.

The full measure of the catastrophe can probably never be taken.
The summary cannot be made amid the panic, the confusion, the
removal of ancient landmarks, the complete subversion of the
ordinary machinery of society.  When chaos comes, as it did in San
Francisco, and all the channels of familiar life are closed, and
human anguish grows to be intolerable, compilation of statistics is
impossible, even if it were not repugnant to the feelings.  And
when order is once more restored, after the lapse of many weeks,
months and perhaps years, the details of the calamity have merged
into one undecipherable mass of misery which defies the analyst and
the historian.  It is the purpose of this book faithfully to record
the story of these awful days when years were lived in a moment and
to preserve an accurate chronicle of them, not only for the people
whose hearts yearn in sympathy to-day, but for their posterity.

Other frightful catastrophes the world has known.  The earthquake
which dropped Lisbon into the sea in 1755, and in a moment
swallowed up twenty-five thousand people, was perhaps more awful
than the convulsion which has brought woe to San Francisco.  When
Krakatoa Mountain, in the Straits of Sunda, in 1883, split asunder
and poured across the land a mighty wave, in which thirty-six
thousand human beings perished, the results also were more
terrible.

The whirlwind of fire which consumed St. Pierre, in the Island of
Martinique, and the devastation wrought by Vesuvius a few days
previous to that at San Francisco, need not be used for comparison
with the latter tragedy, but they may be referred to, that we may
recall the fact that this land of ours is not the only one which
has suffered.

But since the western hemisphere was discovered there has been in
this quarter of the globe no violence of natural forces at all
comparable in destructive fury with that which was manifested upon
the Pacific coast.  The only other calamity at all equalling it, or
surpassing it, was the Civil War, and that was the work of the evil
passions of man inciting him to slay his brother, while Nature
would have had him live in peace.

The earthquake in San Francisco, which crumbled strong buildings as
if they were made of paper, would have been terrible enough; but
afterward came the horror of fire and of imprisoned men and women
burned alive, and now to it was added the suffering of multitudes
from hunger and exposure.

Public attention is fixed on the great city; but smaller cities had
their days and nights of destruction, horror and misery.  Some were
almost destroyed.  Others were partly ruined, and beyond their
borders, over a wide area, the trembling of the earth toppled
houses, annihilated property and transformed riches into poverty.
The cost in life can be reckoned.  The money loss will never be
computed, for the appraised value of the wrecked property conveys
no notion of the consequences of the almost complete paralysis, for
a time, of the commercial operations by means of which men and
women earn their bread.

When the weakness and the folly and the sin of men bring woe upon
other men, there are plenty of texts for the preacher and no
scarcity of earnest preachers.  But here is a vast and awful
catastrophe that befell from an act of Nature apparently no more
extraordinary than the shrinkage of hot metal in the process of
cooling.  The consequences are terrifying in this case because they
involve the habitations of half a million people; but, no doubt,
the process goes on somewhere within the earth almost continuously,
and it no more involves the theory of malignant Nature than that of
an angry God.

If we contemplate it, possibly we may be helped to a profitable
estimate of our own relative insignificance.  We think, with some
notion of our importance, of the thousand million men who live upon
the earth; but they are a mere handful of animate atoms in
comparison with the surface, to say nothing of the solid contents,
of the globe itself.

We are fond of boasting in this latter day of man's marvelous
success in subduing the forces of Nature; and, while we are in the
midst of exultation over our victories, Nature tumbles the rocks
about somewhere within the bowels of the earth, and we have to
learn the old lesson that our triumphs have not penetrated farther
than to the very outermost rim of the realms of Nature.

A few weak, almost helpless, creatures, we millions of men stand
upon the deck of a great ship, which goes rolling through space
that is itself incomprehensible, and usually we are so busy with
our paltry ambitions, our transgressions, our righteous labors, our
prides and hopes and entanglements that we forget where we are and
what is our destiny.  A direct interposition from a Superior Power,
even if it be hurtful to the body, might be required to persuade us
to stop and consider and take anew our bearings, so that we may
comprehend in some larger degree our precise relations to things.
The wisest men have been the most ready to recognize the
beneficence of the discipline of affliction.  If there were no
sorrow, we should be likely to find the school of life
unprofitable.

For one thing, the school wherein sorrow is a part of the
discipline is that in which is developed human sympathy, one of the
finest and most ennobling manifestations of the Love which is, in
its essence, divine.  In human life there is much that is ignoble,
and the race has almost contemptible weakness and insignificance in
comparison with the physical forces of the universe.

But man is superior to all these forces in his possession of the
power of affection; and in almost the lowest and basest of the race
this power, if latent and half lost, may be found and evoked by the
spectacle of the suffering of a fellow-creature.

The human family looks on with pity while the homeless and hungry
and impoverished Californians endure pangs.  Wherever the news
went, by the swift processes of electricity, there men and women,
some of them, perhaps, hardly knowing where California is, were
sorry and willing and eager to help.  There are quarrels within the
family sometimes, when nation wars with nation, and all love seems
to have vanished; but the world is, in truth, akin.  "God hath made
of one blood all the nations of the earth," and the blood "tells"
when suffering comes.

THE PUBLISHERS.



TABLE OF CONTENTS


CHAPTER I.

SAN FRANCISCO AND ITS TERRIFIC EARTHQUAKE


CHAPTER II.

THE DEMON OF FIRE INVADES THE STRICKEN CITY


CHAPTER III.

FIGHTING FLAMES WITH DYNAMITE


CHAPTER IV.

THE REIGN OF DESTRUCTION AND DEVASTATION


CHAPTER V.

THE PANIC FLIGHT OF A HOMELESS HOST


CHAPTER VI.

FACING FAMINE AND PRAYING FOR RELIEF


CHAPTER VII.

THE FRIGHTFUL LOSS OF LIFE AND WEALTH


CHAPTER VIII.

WONDERFUL RECORD OF THRILLING ESCAPES


CHAPTER IX.

DISASTER SPREADS OVER THE GOLDEN STATE


CHAPTER X.

ALL AMERICA AND CANADA TO THE RESCUE


CHAPTER XI.

THE SAN FRANCISCO OF THE PAST


CHAPTER XII.

LIFE IN THE METROPOLIS OF THE PACIFIC


CHAPTER XIII.

PLANS TO REBUILD SAN FRANCISCO


CHAPTER XIV.

THE EARTHQUAKE WAVE FELT AROUND THE WORLD


CHAPTER XV.

VESUVIUS DEVASTATES THE REGION OF NAPLES


CHAPTER XVI.

THE GREAT LISBON AND CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKES


CHAPTER XVII.

THE CHARLESTON AND OTHER EARTHQUAKES OF THE UNITED STATES


CHAPTER XVIII.

THE VOLCANO AND THE EARTHQUAKE, EARTH'S DEMONS OF DESTRUCTION


CHAPTER XIX.

THE THEORIES OF VOLCANIC AND EARTHQUAKE ACTION


CHAPTER XX.

THE ACTIVE VOLCANOES OF THE EARTH


CHAPTER XXI.

THE FAMOUS VESUVIUS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII


CHAPTER XXII.

ERUPTIONS OF VESUVIUS, ETNA AND STROMBOLI


CHAPTER XXIII.

SKAPTER JOKULL AND HECLA, THE GREAT ICELANDIC VOLCANOES


CHAPTER XXIV.

VOLCANOES OF THE PHILIPPINES AND OTHER PACIFIC ISLANDS


CHAPTER XXV.

THE WONDERFUL HAWAIIAN CRATERS AND KILAUEA'S LAKE OF FIRE


CHAPTER XXVI.

POPOCATEPETL AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA


CHAPTER XXVII.

THE TERRIBLE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA


CHAPTER XXVIII.

MONT PELEE AND ITS HARVEST OF DEATH IN 1902


CHAPTER XXIX.

ST. VINCENT ISLAND AND MONT SOUFRIERE IN 1812


CHAPTER XXX.

SUBMARINE VOLCANOES AND THEIR WORK OF ISLAND-BUILDING


CHAPTER XXXI.

MUD VOLCANOES, GEYSERS AND HOT SPRINGS



THE SAN FRANCISCO CALAMITY BY EARTHQUAKE AND FIRE


CHAPTER I.

San Francisco and Its Terrific Earthquake.


On the splendid Bay of San Francisco, one of the noblest harbors on
the whole vast range of the Pacific Ocean, long has stood, like a
Queen of the West on its seven hills, the beautiful city of San
Francisco, the youngest and in its own way one of the most
beautiful and attractive of the large cities of the United States.
Born less than sixty years ago, it has grown with the healthy
rapidity of a young giant, outvieing many cities of much earlier
origin, until it has won rank as the eighth city of the United
States, and as the unquestioned metropolis of our far Western
States.

It is on this great and rich city that the dark demon of
destruction has now descended, as it fell on the next younger of
our cities, Chicago, in 1872.  It was the rage of the fire-fiend
that desolated the metropolis of the lakes.  Upon the Queen City of
the West the twin terrors of earthquake and conflagration have
descended at once, careening through its thronged streets, its
marts of trade, and its abodes alike of poverty and wealth, and
with the red hand of devastation sweeping one of the noblest
centres of human industry and enterprise from the face of the
earth.  It is this story of almost irremediable ruin which it is
our unwelcome duty to chronicle.  But before entering upon this
sorrowful task some description of the city that has fallen a prey
to two of the earth's chief agents of destruction must be given.

San Francisco is built on the end of a peninsula or tongue of land
lying between the Pacific Ocean and the broad San Francisco Bay, a
noble body of inland water extending southward for about forty
miles and with a width varying from six to twelve miles.  Northward
this splendid body of water is connected with San Pablo Bay, ten
miles long, and the latter with Suisun Bay, eight miles long, the
whole forming a grand range of navigable waters only surpassed by
the great northern inlet of Puget Sound.  The Golden Gate, a
channel five miles long, connects this great harbor with the sea,
the whole giving San Francisco the greatest commercial advantages
to be found on the Pacific coast.


THE EARLY DAYS OF SAN FRANCISCO.


The original site of the city was a grant made by the King of Spain
of four square leagues of land.  Congress afterwards confirmed this
grant.  It was an uninviting region, with its two lofty hills and
its various lower ones, a barren expanse of shifting sand dunes
extending from their feet.  The population in 1830 was about 200
souls, about equal to that of Chicago at the same date.  It was not
much larger in 1848, when California fell into American hands and
the discovery of gold set in train the famous rush of treasure
seekers to that far land.  When 1849 dawned the town contained
about 2,000 people.  They had increased to 20,000 before the year
ended.  The place, with its steep and barren hills and its sandy
stretches, was not inviting, but its ease of access to the sea and
its sheltered harbor were important features, and people settled
there, making it a depot of mining supplies and a point of
departure for the mines.

The place grew rapidly and has continued to grow.  At first a city
of flimsy frame buildings, it became early a prey to the flames,
fire sweeping through it three times in 1850 and taking toll of the
young city to the value of $7,500,000.  These conflagrations swept
away most of the wooden houses, and business men began to build
more substantially of brick, stone and iron.  Yet to-day, for
climatic reasons, most of the residences continue to be built of
wood.  But the slow-burning redwood of the California hillsides is
used instead of the inflammable pine, the result being that since
1850 the loss by fire in the residence section of the city has been
remarkably small.  In 1900 the city contained 50,494 frame and only
3,881 stone and brick buildings, though the tendency to use more
durable materials was then growing rapidly.

Before describing the terrible calamity which fell upon this
beautiful city on that dread morning of April 18, 1906, some
account of the character of the place is very desirable, that
readers may know what San Francisco was before the rage of
earthquake and fire reduced it to what it is to-day.


THE CHARACTER OF THE CITY.


The site of the city of San Francisco is very uneven, embracing a
series of hills, of which the highest ones, known as the Twin
Peaks, reach to an elevation of 925 feet, and form the crown of an
amphitheatre of lower altitudes.  Several of the latter are covered
with handsome residences, and afford a magnificent view of the
surrounding country, with its bordering bay and ocean, and the
noble Golden Gate channel, a river-like passage from ocean to bay
of five miles in length and one in width.  This waterway is very
deep except on the bar at its mouth, where the depth of water is
thirty feet.

Since its early days the growth of the city has been very rapid.
In 1900 it held 342,782 people, and the census estimate made from
figures of the city directory in 1904 gave it then a population of
485,000, probably a considerable exaggeration.  In it are mingled
inhabitants from most of the nations of the earth, and it may claim
the unenviable honor of possessing the largest population of
Chinese outside of China itself, the colony numbering over 20,000.

Of the pioneer San Francisco few traces remain, the old buildings
having nearly all disappeared.  Large and costly business houses
and splendid residences have taken their place in the central
portion of the city, marble, granite, terra-cotta, iron and steel
being largely used as building material.  The great prevalence of
frame buildings in the residence sections is largely due to the
popular belief that they are safer in a locality subject to
earthquakes, while the frequent occurrence of earth tremors long
restrained the inclination to erect lofty buildings.  Not until
1890 was a high structure built, and few skyscrapers had invaded
the city up to its day of ruin.  They will probably be introduced
more frequently in the future, recent experience having
demonstrated that they are in considerable measure earthquake
proof.

The city before the fire contained numerous handsome structures,
including the famous old Palace Hotel, built at a cost of
$3,000,000 and with accommodations for 1,200 guests; the nearly
finished and splendid Fairmount Hotel; the City Hall, with its
lofty dome, on which $7,000,000 is said to have been spent, much of
it, doubtless, political plunder; a costly United States Mint and
Post Office, an Academy of Science, and many churches, colleges,
libraries and other public edifices.  The city had 220 miles of
paved streets, 180 miles of electric and 77 of cable railway, 62
hotels, 16 theatres, 4 large libraries, 5 daily newspapers, etc.,
together with 28 public parks.

Sitting, like Rome of old, on its seven hills, San Francisco has
long been noted for its beautiful site, clasped in, as it is,
between the Pacific Ocean and its own splendid bay, on a peninsula
of some five miles in width.  Where this juts into the bay at its
northernmost point rises a great promontory known as Telegraph
Hill, from whose height homeless thousands have recently gazed on
the smoke rising from their ruined homes.  In the early days of
golden promise a watchman was stationed on this hill to look out
for coming ships entering the Golden Gate from their long voyage
around the Horn and signal the welcome news to the town below.
From this came its name.

Cliffs rise on either side of the Golden Gate, and on one is
perched the Cliff House, long a famous hostelry.  This stands so
low that in storms the surf is flung over its lower porticos,
though its force is broken by the Seal Rocks.  A chief attraction
to this house was to see the seals play on these rocks, their
favorite place of resort.  The Cliff House was at first said to
have been swept bodily by the earthquake into the sea, but it
proved to be very little injured, and stands erect in its old
picturesque location.

In the vicinity of Telegraph Hill are Russian and Nob Hills, the
latter getting its peculiar title from the fact that the wealthy
"nobs," or mining magnates, of bonanza days built their homes on
its summit level.  Farther to the east are Mount Olympus and
Strawberry Hill, and beyond these the Twin Peaks, which really
embrace three hills, the third being named Bernal Heights.  Farther
to the south and east is Rincan Hill, the last in the half moon
crescent of hills, within which is a spread of flat ground
extending to the bay.  Behind the hills on the Pacific side
stretches a vast sweep of sand, at some places level, but often
gathered into great round dunes.  Part of this has been transformed
into the beautiful Golden Gate Park, a splendid expanse of green
verdure which has long been one of San Francisco's chief
attractions.

Beneath the whole of San Francisco is a rock formation, but
everywhere on top of this extends the sand, the gift of the winds.
This is of such a character that a hole dug in the street anywhere,
even if only to the depth of a few feet, must be shored up with
planking or it will fill as fast as it is excavated, the sand
running as dry as the contents of an hour glass.  When there is an
earthquake--or a "temblor," to use the Spanish name--it is the rock
foundation that is disturbed, not the sand, which, indeed, serves
to lessen the effect of the earth tremor.


THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE CITY.


Leaving the region of the hills and descending from their crescent-
shaped expanse, we find a broad extent of low ground, sloping
gently toward the bay.  On this low-lying flat was built all of San
Francisco's business houses, all its principal hotels and a large
part of its tenements and poorer dwellings.  It was here that the
earthquake was felt most severely and that the fire started which
laid waste the city.

Rarely has a city been built on such doubtful foundations.  The
greater part of the low ground was a bay in 1849, but it has since
been filled in by the drifting sands blown from the ocean side by
the prevailing west winds and by earth dumped into it.  Much of
this land was "made ground."  Forty-niners still alive say that
when they first saw San Francisco the waters of the bay came up to
Montgomery Street.  The Palace Hotel was in Montgomery Street, and
from there to the ferry docks--a long walk for any man--the water
had been driven back by a "filling-in" process.

This is the district that especially suffered, that south of Market
and east of Montgomery Streets.  Nearly all the large buildings in
this section are either built on piles driven into the sand and mud
or were raised upon wooden foundations.  It is on such ground as
this that the costly Post Office building was erected, despite the
protests of nearly the entire community, who asserted that the
ground was nothing but a filled-in bog.

In none of the earthquakes that San Francisco has had was any
serious damage except to houses in this filled-in territory, and to
houses built along the line of some of the many streams which ran
from the hills down to the bay, and which were filled in as the
town grew--for instance, the Grand Opera House was built over the
bed of St. Anne's Creek.  A bog, slough and marsh, known as the
Pipeville Slough, was the ground on which the City Hall was built,
and which was originally a burying ground.  Sand from the western
shore had blown over and drifted into the marsh and hardened its
surface.

When the final grading scheme of the city was adopted in 1853, and
work went on, the water front of the city was where Clay Street now
is, between Montgomery and Sansome Streets.  The present level area
of San Francisco of about three thousand acres is an average of
nine feet above or below the natural surface of the ground and the
changes made necessitated the transfer of 21,000,000 cubic yards
from hills to hollows.  Houses to the number of thousands were
raised or lowered, street floors became subcellars or third stories
and the whole natural face of the ground was altered.

Through this infirm material all the pipes of the water and sewer
system of San Francisco in its business districts and in most of
the region south of Market street were laid.  When the earthquake
came, the filled-in ground shook like the jelly it is.  The only
firm and rigid material in its millions of cubic yards of surface
area and depth were the iron pipes.  Naturally they broke, as they
would not bend, and San Francisco's water system was therefore
instantly disabled, with the result that the fire became complete
master of the situation and raged uncontrolled for three days and
nights.

Although the earthquake wrecked the business and residential
portions of the city alike, on the hills the land did not sink.
All "made ground" sank in consequence of the quaking, but on the
high ground the upper parts of the buildings were about the only
portions of the structures wrecked.  Most of the damage on the
hills was done by falling chimneys.  On Montgomery Street, half a
block from the main office of the Western Union Company, the middle
of the street was cracked and blown up, but during the shocks which
struck the Western Union building only the top stories were
cracked.  Similar phenomena were experienced in other localities,
and the bulk of the disaster, so far as the earthquake was
concerned, was confined to the low-lying region above described.


THE BANE OF THE EARTHQUAKE.


From the origin of San Francisco the earthquake has been its bane.
During the past fifty years fully 250 shocks have been recorded,
while all California has been subject to them.  But frequency
rather than violence of shocks has been the characteristic of the
seismic history of the State, there having been few shocks that
caused serious damage, and none since 1872 that led to loss of
life.

There was a violent shock in 1856, when the city was only a mining
town of small frame buildings.  Several shanties were overthrown
and a few persons killed by falling walls and chimneys.  There was
a severe shock also in 1865, in which many buildings were
shattered.  Next in violence was the shock of 1872, which cracked
the walls of some of the public buildings and caused a panic.
There was no great loss of life.  In April, 1898, just before
midnight, there was a lively shakeup which caused the tall
buildings to shake like the snapping of a whip and drove the
tourists out of the hotels into the streets in their nightclothes.
Three or four old houses fell, and the Benicia Navy Yard, which is
on made ground across the bay, was damaged to the extent of about
$100,000.  The last severe shock was in January, 1900, when the St.
Nicholas Hotel was badly damaged.

These were the heaviest shocks.  On the other hand, light shocks,
as above said, have been frequent.  Probably the sensible quakes
have averaged three or four a year.  These are usually tremblings
lasting from ten seconds to a minute and just heavy enough to wake
light sleepers or to shake dishes about on the shelves.  Tourists
and newcomers are generally alarmed by these phenomena, but old
Californians have learned to take them philosophically.  To one is
not afraid of them, the sensation of one of these little tremblers
is rather pleasant than otherwise, and the inhabitants grew so
accustomed to them as rarely to let them disturb their equanimity.

After 1900 the forces beneath the earth seemed to fall asleep.  As
it proved, they were only biding their time.  The era was at hand
when they were to declare themselves in all their mighty power and
fall upon the devoted city with ruin in their grasp.  But all this
lay hidden in the secret casket of time, and the city kept up to
its record as one of the liveliest and in many respects the most
reckless and pleasure-loving on the continent, its people
squandering their money with thoughtless improvidence and enjoying
to the full all the good that life held out to them.

On the 17th of April, 1906, the city was, as usual, gay, careless,
busy, its people attending to business or pleasure with their
ordinary vim as inclination led them, and not a soul dreaming of
the horrors that lay in wait.  They were as heedless of coming
peril and death as the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah before the
rain of fire from heaven descended upon their devoted heads.  This
is not to say that they were doomed by God to destruction like
these "cities of the plains."  We should more wisely say that the
forces of ruin within the earth take no heed of persons or places.
They come and go as the conditions of nature demand, and if man has
built one of his cities across their destined track, its doom comes
from its situation, not from the moral state of its inhabitants.


THE GREAT DISASTER OF 1906.


That night the people went, with their wonted equanimity, to their
beds, rich and poor, sick and well alike.  Did any of them dream of
disaster in the air?  It may be so, for often, as the poet tells
us, "Coming events cast their shadows before."  But, forewarned by
dreams or not, doubtless not a soul in the great city was prepared
for the terrible event so near at hand, when, at thirteen minutes
past five o'clock on the dread morning of the 18th, they felt their
beds lifted beneath them as if by a Titan hand, heard the crash of
falling walls and ceilings, and saw everything in their rooms
tossed madly about, while through their windows came the roar of an
awful disaster from the city without.

It was a matter not of minutes, but of seconds, yet on all that
coast, long the prey of the earthquake, no shock like it had ever
been felt, no such sudden terror awakened, no such terrible loss
occasioned as in those few fearful seconds.  Again and again the
trembling of the earth passed by, three quickly repeated shocks,
and the work of the demon of ruin was done.  People woke with a
start to find themselves flung from their beds to the floor, many
of them covered with the fragments of broken ceilings, many lost
among the ruins of falling floors and walls, many pinned in
agonizing suffering under the ruins of their houses, which had been
utterly wrecked in those fatal seconds.  Many there were, indeed,
who had been flung to quick if not to instant death under their
ruined homes.

Those seconds of the reign of the elemental forces had turned the
gayest, most careless city on the continent into a wreck which no
words can fitly describe.  Those able to move stumbled in wild
panic across the floors of their heaving houses, regardless of
clothing, of treasures, of everything but the mad instinct for
safety, and rushed headlong into the streets, to find that the
earth itself had yielded to the energy of its frightful interior
forces and had in places been torn and rent like the houses
themselves.  New terrors assailed the fugitives as fresh tremors
shook the solid ground, some of them strong enough to bring down
shattered walls and chimneys, and bring back much of the mad terror
of the first fearful quake.  The heaviest of these came at eight
o'clock.  While less forcible than that which had caused the work
of destruction, it added immensely to the panic and dread of the
people and put many of the wanderers to flight, some toward the
ferry, the great mass in the direction of the sand dunes and Golden
Gate Park.

The spectacle of the entire population of a great city thus roused
suddenly from slumber by a fierce earthquake shock and sent flying
into the streets in utter panic, where not buried under falling
walls or tumbling debris, is one that can scarcely be pictured in
words, and can be given in any approach to exact realization only
in the narratives of those who passed through its horrors and
experienced the sensations to which it gave rise.  Some of the more
vivid of these personal accounts will be presented later, but at
present we must confine ourselves to a general statement of the
succession of events.

The earthquake proved but the beginning and much the least
destructive part of the disaster.  In many of the buildings there
were fires, banked for the night, but ready to kindle the
inflammable material hurled down upon them by the shock.  In others
were live electric wires which the shock brought in contact with
woodwork.  The terror-stricken fugitives saw, here and there, in
all directions around them, the alarming vision of red flames
curling upward and outward, in gleaming contrast to the white light
of dawn just showing in the eastern sky.  Those lurid gleams
climbed upward in devouring haste, and before the sun had fairly
risen a dozen or more conflagrations were visible in all sections
of the business part of the city, and in places great buildings
broke with startling suddenness into flame, which shot hotly high
into the air.

While the mass of the people were stunned by the awful suddenness
of the disaster and stood rooted to the ground or wandered
helplessly about in blank dismay, there were many alert and self-
possessed among them who roused themselves quickly from their
dismay and put their energies to useful work.  Some of these gave
themselves to the work of rescue, seeking to save the injured from
their perilous situation and draw the bodies of the dead from the
ruins under which they lay.  Those base wretches to whom plunder is
always the first thought were as quickly engaged in seeking for
spoil in edifices laid open to their plundering hands by the shock.
Meanwhile the glare of the flames brought the fire-fighters out in
hot haste with their engines, and up from the military station at
the Presidio, on the Golden Gate side of the city, came at double
quick a force of soldiers, under the efficient command of General
Funston, of Cuban and Philippine fame.  These trained troops were
at once put on guard over the city, with directions to keep the
best order possible, and with strict command to shoot all looters
at sight.  Funston recognized at the start the necessity of keeping
the lawless element under control in such an exigency as that which
he had to face.  Later in the day the First Regiment of California
National Guards was called out and put on duty, with similar
orders.


RESCUERS AND FIRE-FIGHTERS.


The work of fighting the fire was the first and greatest duty to be
performed, but from the start it proved a very difficult, almost a
hopeless, task.  With fierce fires burning at once in a dozen or
more separate places, the fire department of the city would have
been inadequate to cope with the demon of flame even under the best
of circumstances.  As it was, they found themselves handicapped at
the start by a nearly total lack of water.  The earthquake had
disarranged and broken the water mains and there was scarcely a
drop of water to be had, so that the engines proved next to
useless.  Water might be drawn from the bay, but the centre of the
conflagration was a mile or more away, and this great body of water
was rendered useless in the stringent exigency.

The only hope that remained to the authorities was to endeavor to
check the progress of the flames by the use of dynamite, blowing up
buildings in the line of progress of the conflagration.  This was
put in practice without loss of time, and soon the thunder-like
roar of the explosions began, blasts being heard every few minutes,
each signifying that some building had been blown to atoms.  But
over the gaps thus made the flames leaped, and though the brave
fellows worked with a desperation and energy of the most heroic
type, it seemed as if all their labors were to be without avail,
the terrible fire marching on as steadily as if a colony of ants
had sought to stay its devastating progress.


THE HORROR OF THE PEOPLE.


It was with grief and horror that the mass of the people gazed on
this steady march of the army of ruin.  They were seemingly half
dazed by the magnitude of the disaster, strangely passive in the
face of the ruin that surrounded them, as if stunned by despair and
not yet awakened to a realization of the horrors of the situation.
Among these was the possibility of famine.  No city at any time
carries more than a few days' supply of provisions, and with the
wholesale districts and warehouse regions invaded by the flames the
shortage of food made itself apparent from the start.  Water was
even more difficult to obtain, the supply being nearly all cut off.
Those who possessed supplies of food and liquids of any kind in
many cases took advantage of the opportunity to advance their
prices.  Thus an Associated Press man was obliged to pay twenty-
five cents for a small glass of mineral water, the only kind of
drink that at first was to be had, while food went up at the same
rate, bakers frequently charging as much as a dollar for a loaf.
As for the expressmen and cabmen, their charges were often
practically prohibitory, as much as fifty dollars being asked for
the conveyance of a passenger to the ferry.  Policemen were early
stationed at some of the retail shops, regulating the sale and the
price of food, and permitting only a small portion to be sold to
each purchaser, so as to prevent a few persons from exhausting the
supply.

The fire, the swaying and tottering walls, the frequent dynamite
explosions, each followed by a crashing shower of stones and
bricks, rendered the streets very unsafe for pedestrians, and all
day long the flight of residents from the city went on, growing
quickly to the dimensions of a panic.  The ferryboats were crowded
with those who wished to leave the city, and a constant stream of
the homeless, carrying such articles as they had rescued from their
homes, was kept up all day long, seeking the sand dunes, the parks
and every place uninvaded by the flames.  Before night Golden Gate
Park and the unbuilt districts adjoining on the ocean side
presented the appearance of a tented city, shelter of many kinds
being improvised from bedding and blankets, and the people settling
into such sparse comfort as these inadequate means provided.

A strange feature of the disaster was a rush to the banks by people
who wished to get their money and flee from the seemingly doomed
city.  The fire front was yet distant from these institutions,
which were destined to fall a prey to the flames, and all that
morning lines of dishevelled and half-frantic men stood before the
banks on Montgomery and Sansome Streets, braving in their thirst
for money the smoke and falling embers and beating in wild anxiety
upon the doors.  Their effort was vain; the doors remained closed;
finally the police drove these people away, and the banks went on
with the work of saving their valuables.  As for the people who
wildly fled toward the ferries, in spite of the fact that ten
blocks of fire, as the day went on, stopped all egress in that
direction, it became necessary for them to be driven back by the
police and the troops, and they were finally forced to seek safety
in the sands.  And thus, with incident manifold, went on that fatal
Wednesday, the first day of the dread disaster.


OFFICIAL RECORD OF THE EARTHQUAKE.


It is important here to give the official record of the earthquake
shocks, as given by the scientists.  Professor George Davidson, of
the University of California, says of them:

"The earthquake came from north to south, and the only description
I am able to give of its effect is that it seemed like a terrier
shaking a rat.  I was in bed, but was awakened by the first shock.
I began to count the seconds as I went towards the table where my
watch was, being able through much practice closely to approximate
the time in that manner.  The shock came at 5.12 o'clock.  The
first sixty seconds were the most severe.  From that time on it
decreased gradually for about thirty seconds.  There was then the
slightest perceptible lull.  Then the shock continued for sixty
seconds longer, being slighter in degree in this minute than in any
part of the preceding minute and a half.  There were two slight
shocks afterwards which I did not time.  At 8.14 o'clock I recorded
a shock of five seconds' duration, and one at 4.15 of two seconds.
There were slight shocks which I did not record at 5.17 and at
5.27.  At 6.50 P. M. there was a sharp shock of several seconds."

Professor A. O. Louschner, of the students' observatory of the
University of California, thus records his observations:

"The principal part of the earthquake came in two sections, the
first series of vibrations lasting about forty seconds.  The
vibrations diminished gradually during the following ten seconds,
and then occurred with renewed vigor for about twenty-five seconds
more.  But even at noon the disturbance had not subsided, as slight
shocks are recorded at frequent intervals on the seismograph.  The
motion was from south-southeast to north-northwest.

"The remarkable feature of this earthquake, aside from its
intensity, was its rotary motion.  As seen from the print, the sum
total of all displacements represents a very regular ellipse, and
some of the lines representing the earth's motion can be traced
along the whole circumference.  The result of observation indicates
that our heaviest shocks are in the direction south-southeast to
north-northwest.  In that respect the records of the three heaviest
earthquakes agree entirely.  But they have several other features
in common.  One of these is that while the displacements are very
large the vibration period is comparatively slow, amounting to
about one second in the last two big earthquakes."

If we seek to discover the actual damage done by the earthquake,
the fact stands out that the fire followed so close upon it that
the traces of its ravages were in many cases obliterated.  So many
buildings in the territory of the severest shock fell a prey to the
flames or to dynamite that the actual work of the earth forces was
made difficult and in many places impossible to discover.  This
fact is likely to lead to considerable dispute and delay when the
question of insurance adjustment comes up, many of the insurance
companies confining their risk to fire damage and claiming
exemption from liability in the case of damage due to earthquake.

Among the chief victims of the earth-shake was the costly and showy
City Hall, with its picturesque dome standing loftily above the
structure.  This dome was left still erect, but only as a skeleton
might stand, with its flesh gone and its bare ribs exposed to the
searching air.  Its roof, its smaller towers came tumbling down in
frightful disarray, and the once proud edifice is to-day a
miserable wreck, fire having aided earthquake in its ruin.  The new
Post Office, a handsome government building, also suffered severely
from the shock, its walls being badly cracked and injury done by
earthquake and fire that it is estimated will need half a million
dollars to repair.


FREAKS OF THE EARTHQUAKE.


One observer states that the earthquake appeared to be very
irregular in its course.  He tells us that "there are gas
reservoirs with frames all twisted and big factories thrown to the
ground, while a few yards away are miserable shanties with not a
board out of place.  Wooden, steel and brick structures hardly felt
the earthquake in some parts of the city, while in other places all
were wrecked.

"Skirting the shore northwest from the big ferry building--which
was so seriously injured that it will have to be rebuilt--the first
thing observed was the extraordinary irregularity of the
earthquake's course.  Pier No. 5, for instance, is nothing but a
mass of ruins, while Pier No. 3, on one side of it and Pier No. 7,
on the other side, similar in size and construction, are undamaged.
Farther on, the Kosmos Line pier is a complete wreck."

The big forts at the entrance to the Golden Gate also suffered
seriously from the great shake-up, and the emplacements of the big
guns were cracked and damaged.  The same is the case with the
fortifications back of Old Fort Point, the great guns in these
being for the present rendered useless.  It will take much time and
labor to restore their delicate adjustment upon their carriages.

The buildings that collapsed in the city were all flimsy wooden
buildings and old brick structures, the steel frame buildings, even
the score or more in course of construction, escaping injury from
the earthquake shock.  Of the former, one of the most complete
wrecks was the Valencia Hotel, a four-story wooden building, which
collapsed into a heap of ruins, pinning many persons under its
splintered timbers.


SKYSCRAPERS EARTHQUAKE PROOF.


In fact, as the reports of damage wrought by the earthquake came
in, the conviction grew that one of the safest places during the
earthquake shock was on one of the upper floors of the skyscraper
office buildings or hotels.  As a matter of fact, not a single
person, so far as can be learned, lost his or her life or was
seriously injured in any of the tall, steel frame structures in the
city, although they rocked during the quake like a ship in a gale.

The loss of life was caused in almost every case by the collapse of
frame structures, which the native San Franciscan believed was the
safest of all in an earthquake, or by the shaking down of portions
of brick or stone buildings which did not possess an iron
framework.  The manner in which the tall steel structures withstood
the shock is a complete vindication of the strongest claims yet
made for them, and it is made doubly interesting from the fact that
this is the first occasion on which the effect of an earthquake of
any proportions on a tall steel structure could be studied.

The St. Francis Hotel, a sixteen-story structure, can be repaired
at an expenditure of about $400,000, its damage being almost wholly
by fire.  The steel shell and the floors are intact.  Although the
building rocked like a ship in a gale while the quake lasted, its
foundations are undamaged.  Other steel buildings which are so
little damaged as to admit of repairs more or less extensive are
the James Flood, the Union Trust, the CALL building, the Mutual
Savings Bank, the Crocker-Woolworth building and the Postal
building.  All of these are modern buildings of steel construction,
from sixteen to twenty stories.

A peculiar feature of the effect of the earthquake on structures of
this kind is reported in the case of the Fairmount Hotel, a
fourteen-story structure.  The first two stories of the Fairmount
are found to be so seriously damaged that they will have to be
rebuilt, while the other twelve stories are uninjured.

Various explanations are being made of the surprising resistance
shown by the skyscrapers.  The great strength and binding power of
the steel frame, combined with a deep-seated foundation and great
lightness as compared with buildings of stone, are the main reasons
given.  The iron, it is said, unlike stone, responded to the
vibratory force and passed it along to be expended in other
directions, while brick or stone offered a solid and impenetrable
front, with the result that the seismic force tended to expend
itself by shaking the building to pieces.

Whether there is any scientific basis for the latter theory or not,
it seems reasonable enough, in view of the descriptions given us of
the manner in which the steel buildings received the shock.  All
things considered, the modern steel building has afforded in the
San Francisco earthquake the most convincing evidence of its
strength.

From Golden Gate Park came news of the total destruction of the
large building covering a portion of the children's playground.
The walls were shattered beyond repair, the roof fell in, and the
destruction was complete.  The pillars of the new stone gates at
the park entrance were twisted and torn from their foundations,
some of them, weighing nearly four tons, being shifted as though
they were made of cork.  It is a little singular that the monuments
and statues in the city escaped without damage except in the case
of the imposing Dewey Monument, in Union Square Park, which
suffered what appears to be a minor injury.

In this connection an incident of extraordinary character is
narrated.  Among the statues on the buildings of the Leland
Stanford, Jr., University, all of which were overthrown, was a
marble statue of Carrara in a niche on the building devoted to
zoology and physiology.  This in falling broke through a hard
cement pavement and buried itself in the ground below, from which
it was dug.  The singular fact is that when recovered it proved to
be without a crack or scratch.  This university seemed to be a
central point in the disturbance, the destruction of its buildings
being almost total, though they had been built with the especial
design of resisting earthquake shocks.

Such was the general character of the earthquake at San Francisco
and in its vicinity.  It may be said farther that all, or very
nearly all, the deaths and injuries were due to it directly or
indirectly, even those who perished by fire owing their deaths to
the fact of their being pinned in buildings ruined by the
earthquake shock, while others were killed by falling walls
weakened by the same cause.

On the night of April 23d the earth tremor returned with a slight
shock, only sufficient to cause a temporary alarm.  On the
afternoon of the 25th came another and severer one, strong enough
to shake down some tottering walls and add another to the list of
victims.  This was a woman named Annie Whitaker, who was at work in
the kitchen of her home at the time.  The chimney, which had been
weakened by the great shock, now fell, crashing through the roof
and fracturing her skull.  Thus the earth powers claimed a final
human sacrifice before their dread visitation ended.



CHAPTER II.

The Demon of Fire Invades the Stricken City.


The terrors of the earthquake are momentary.  One fierce, levelling
shock and usually all is over.  The torment within the earth has
passed on and the awakened forces of the earth's crust sink into
rest again, after having shaken the surface for many leagues.
Rarely does the dread agent of ruin leave behind it such a terrible
follower to complete its work as was the case in the doomed city of
San Francisco.  All seemed to lead towards such a carnival of ruin
as the earth has rarely seen.  The demon of fire followed close
upon the heels of the unseen fiend of the earth's hidden caverns,
and ran red-handed through the metropolis of the West, kindling a
thousand unhurt buildings, while the horror-stricken people stood
aghast in terror, as helpless to combat this new enemy as they were
to check the ravages of the earthquake itself.

Why not quench the fire at its start with water?  Alas! there was
no water, and this expedient was a hopeless one.  The iron mains
which carried the precious fluid under the city streets were broken
or injured so that no quenching streams were to be had.  In some
cases the engine houses had been so damaged that the fire-fighting
apparatus could not be taken out, though even if it had it would
have been useless.  A sweeping conflagration and not an ounce of
water to throw upon it!  The situation of the people was a
maddening one.  They were forced helplessly and hopelessly to gaze
upon the destruction of their all, and it is no marvel if many of
them grew frantic and lost their reason at the sight.  Thousands
gathered and looked on in blank and pitiful misery, their strong
hands, their iron wills of no avail, while the red-lipped fire
devoured the hopes of their lives.

In a dozen, a hundred, places the flames shot up redly.  Huge,
strong buildings which the earthquake had spared fell an
unresisting prey to the flames.  The great, iron-bound, towering
Spreckles building, a steeple-like structure, of eighteen stories
in height, the tallest skyscraper in the city, had resisted the
earthquake and remained proudly erect.  But now the flames gathered
round and assailed it.  From both sides came their attack.  A broad
district near by, containing many large hotels and lodging houses,
was being fiercely burnt out, and soon the windows of the lofty
building cracked and splintered, the flames shot triumphantly
within, and almost in an instant the vast interior was a seething
furnace, the wild flames rushing and leaping within until only the
blackened walls remained.


THE RESISTLESS MARCH OF THE FLAMES.


This was the region of the newspaper offices, and they quickly
succumbed.  The Examiner, standing across Third Street from
Spreckles, collapsed from the earthquake shock.  A flimsy edifice,
it had long been looked upon as dangerous.  Another building in the
rear of this alone resisted both flames and smoke.  Across Market
Street from the Examiner stood the Chronicle building, a dozen
stories high.  Firmly built, it had borne the earthquake assault
unharmed, but the flames were an enemy against which it had no
defense, and it was quickly added to the victims of the fire-fiend.

Farther down Market Street, the chief business thoroughfare of the
city, stood that great caravansary, the Palace Hotel, which for
thirty years had been a favorite hostelry, housing the bulk of the
visitors to the Californian metropolis.  Its time had come.  Doom
hovered over it.  Its guests had fled in good season, as they saw
the irresistible approach of the conquering flames.  Soon it was
ablaze; quickly from every window of its broad front the tongues of
flame curled hotly in the air; it became a thrice-heated furnace,
like so many of the neighboring structures, adding its quota to the
vast cloud of smoke that hung over the burning city, and rapidly
sinking in red ruin to the earth.

All day Wednesday the fire spread unchecked, all efforts to stay
its devouring fury proving futile.  In the business section of the
city everything was in ruins.  Not a business house was left
standing.  Theatres crumbled into smouldering heaps.  Factories and
commission houses sank to red ruin before the devouring flames.
The scene was like that of ancient Babylon in its fall, or old Rome
when set on fire by Nero's command, as tradition tells.  In modern
times there has been nothing to equal it except the conflagration
at Chicago, when the flames swept to ruin that queen city of the
Great Lakes.

When night fell and the sun withdrew his beams the spectacle was
one at once magnificent and awe-inspiring.  The city resembled one
vast blazing furnace.  Looking over it from a high hill in the
western section, the flames could be seen ascending skyward for
miles upon miles, while in the midst of the red spirals of flame
could be seen at intervals the black skeletons and falling towers
of doomed buildings.  Above all this hung a dense pall of smoke,
showing lurid where the flames were reflected from its dark and
threatening surface.  To those nearer the scene presented many
pathetic and distressing features, the fire glare throwing weird
shadows over the worn and panic-stricken faces of the woe-begone
fugitives, driven from their homes and wandering the streets in
helpless misery.  Many of them lay sleeping on piles of blankets
and clothing which they had brought with them, or on the hard
sidewalks, or the grass of the open parks.


THE CARE OF THE WOUNDED.


Through all the streets ambulances and express wagons were
hurrying, carrying dead and injured to morgues and hospitals.  But
these refuges for the wounded or receptacles for the dead were no
safer than the remainder of the city.  In the morgue at the Hall of
Justice fifty bodies lay, but the approach of the flames rendered
it necessary to remove to Jackson Square these mutilated remnants
of what had once been men.  Hospitals were also abandoned at
intervals, doctors and nurses being forced to remove their patients
in haste from the approaching flames.

There is an open park opposite City Hall.  Here the Board of
Supervisors met, and, with fifty substantial citizens who joined
them, formed a Committee of Safety, to take in hand the direction
of affairs and to seek safe quarters for the dying and the dead.
Strangely enough, Mechanics' Pavilion, opposite City Hall, had
escaped injury from the earthquake, though it was only a wooden
building.  It had the largest floor in San Francisco, and was
pressed into service at once.  The police and the troops, working
in harmony together, passed the word that the dead and injured
should be brought there, the hospitals and morgue having become
choked, and the order was quickly obeyed, until about 400 of the
hurt, many of them terribly mangled, were laid in improvised cots,
attended by all the physicians and trained nurses who could be
obtained.

The corpses were much fewer, the workers being too busy in fighting
the fire and caring for the wounded to give time and attention as
yet to the dead.  But one of the first wagons to arrive brought a
whole family--father, mother and three children--all dead except
the baby, which had a broken arm and a terrible cut across the
forehead.  They had been dragged from the ruins of their house on
the water front.  A large consignment of bodies, mostly of
workingmen, came from a small hotel on Eddy Street, through the
roof of which the upper part of a tall building next door had
fallen, crushing all below.


FIRE ATTACKS THE MINT.


To return to the story of the conflagration, the escape of the
United States Mint was one of the most remarkable incidents.
Within the vaults of this fine structure was the vast sum of
$300,000,000 in gold and silver coin and a value of $8,000,000 in
bullion, and toward this mighty sum of wealth the flames swept on
all sides, as if eager to add the reservoir of the precious metals
to their spoils.  The Mint building passed through the earthquake
with little damage, though its big smokestacks were badly shaken.
The fire seemed bent on making it its prey, every building around
it being burned to the ground, and it remaining the only building
for blocks that escaped destruction.

Its safety was due to the energy and activity of its employees.
Superintendent Leach reached it shortly after the shock and found a
number of men already there, whom he stationed at points of vantage
from roof to basement.  The fire apparatus of the Mint was brought
into service and help given by the fire department, and after a
period of strenuous labor the flames were driven back.  The peril
for a time was critical, the windows on Mint Avenue taking fire and
also those on the rear three stories, and the flames for a time
pouring in and driving back the workers.  The roof also caught
fire, but the men within fought like Titans, and efficient aid was
given by a squad of soldiers sent to them.  In the end the fire
fiend was vanquished, though considerable damage was done to the
adjusting rooms and the refinery, while the heavy stone cornice on
that side of the building was destroyed.  The total loss to the
Mint was later estimated at $15,000.

Late on Wednesday evening the fire front crept close up to
Mechanics' Pavilion, where a corps of fifty physicians and numerous
nurses were active in the work of relief to the wounded.
Ambulances and automobiles were busy unloading new patients rescued
from the ruins when word came that the building would have to be
vacated in haste.  Every available vehicle was at once pressed into
service and the patients removed as rapidly as possible, being
taken to hospitals and private houses in the safer parts of the
city.  Hardly had the last of the injured been carried through the
door when the roof was seen to be in a blaze, and shortly afterward
the whole building burst into a whirlwind of flame.

At midnight the fire was raging and roaring with unslacked rage,
and at dawn of Thursday its fury was undiminished.  The work of
destruction was already immense.  In much of the Hayes Valley
district, south of McAllister and north of Market Street, the
destruction was complete.  From the Mechanics' Pavilion and St.
Nicholas Hotel opposite down to Oakland Ferry the journey was
heartrending, the scene appalling.  On each side was ruin, nothing
but ruin, and hillocks of masonry and heaps of rubbish of every
description filled to its middle the city's greatest thoroughfare.

Across an alley from the Post Office stood the Grant Building, one
of the headquarters of the army.  Of this only the smoke-darkened
walls were left.  On Market Street opposite this building the
beautiful front of the Hibernian Savings Bank, the favorite
institution of the middle and poorer classes, presented a hideous
aspect of ruin.  At eleven o'clock of Wednesday night the north
side of Market Street stood untouched, and hopes were entertained
that the great Flood, Crocker, Phelan and other buildings would be
spared, but the hunger of the fire fiend was not yet satiated, and
the following day these proud structures had only their blackened
ruins to show.  On both sides of Market Street, down to the ferry,
the tale was the same.  The handsome and gigantic St. Francis
Hotel, on Powell Street, fronting on Union Square, was left a
ruined shell.  This was one of the lofty steel structures that bore
unharmed the earthquake shock, but quickly succumbed to the flames.
Among the other skyscrapers north of Market Street that perished
were the fourteen-story Merchants' Exchange, and the great Mills
Building, occupying almost an entire block.

One section of the city that went without pity, as it had long
stood with reprobation, was that group of disreputable buildings
known as Chinatown, the place of residence of many thousands of
Celestials.  The flames made their way unchecked in this direction,
and by noon on Thursday the whole section was a raging furnace, the
denizens escaping with what they could carry of their simple
possessions.  On the farther western side the flames cut a wide
swath to Van Ness Avenue, a wide thoroughfare, at which it was
hoped the march of the fire in this direction might be checked,
especially as the water mains here furnished a weak supply.

In the Missouri district, to the south of Market Street, the zone
of ruin extended westward toward the extreme southern portion, but
was checked at Fourteenth and Missouri Streets by the wholesale use
of dynamite.  At this point were located the Southern Pacific
Hospital, the St. Francis Hospital and the College of Physicians
and Surgeons.  In order to save these institutions, buildings were
blown up all around them, and by noon the danger was averted.  It
later became necessary to destroy the Southern Pacific Hospital
with dynamite, the patients having been removed to places of
safety.


THE PALACES ON NOB'S HILL.


In the centre of San Francisco rises the aristocratic elevation
known as Nob's Hill, on which the early millionaires built their
homes, and on which stood the city's most palatial residences.  It
ascends so abruptly from Kearney Street that it is inaccessible to
any kind of vehicle, the slope being at any angle little short of
forty-five degrees.  It is as steep on the south side, and the only
approach by carriage is from the north.  To this hill is due the
pioneer cable railway, built in the early '70's.

Here the "big four" of the railroad magnates--Stanford, Hopkins,
Huntington and Crocker--had put millions in their mansions, the
Mark Hopkins residence being said to have cost $2,500,000.  These
men are all dead, and the last named edifice has been converted
into the Hopkins Art Institute, and at the time of the fire was
well filled with costly art treasures.  The Stanford Museum, which
also contains valuable objects of art, is now the property of the
Leland Stanford University.  The Flood mansion, which cost more
than $1,000,000, was one of the showy residences on this hill, west
of it being the Huntington home and farther west the Crocker
residence, with its broad lawns and magnificent stables.  Many
other beautiful and costly houses stood on this hill, and opposite
the Stanford and Hopkins edifices the great Fairmount Hotel had for
two years past been in process of construction and was practically
completed.  On the northeastern slope of this hill stood the famous
Chinatown, through which it was necessary to pass to ascend Nob's
Hill from the principal section of the wholesale district.

This region of palaces was the next to fall a prey to the
insatiable flames.  Early Thursday morning a change in the wind
sent the fire westward, eating its way from the water front north
of Market Street toward Nob's Hill.  Steadily but surely it climbed
the slope, and the Stanford and Hopkins edifices fell victims to
its fury.  Others of the palaces of millionairedom followed.  Huge
clouds of smoke enveloped the beautiful white stone Fairmount
Hotel, and there was a general feeling of horror when this
magnificent structure seemed doomed.  To it the Committe of Safety
had retreated, but the flames from the burning buildings opposite
reached it, and the committee once more migrated in search of safe
quarters.  Fortunately, it escaped with little damage, its walls
remaining intact and much of the interior being left in a state of
preservation, warranting its managers to offer space within it to
the committees whose aim it was to help the homeless or to store
supplies.  Some of the woodwork of the building was destroyed by
the fire, but the structure was in such good condition that work on
it was quickly resumed, with the statement that its completion
would not be delayed more than three months beyond the date set,
which was November, 19O6.

In the district extending northwestwardly from Kearney Street and
Montgomery Avenue, untouched during the first day, the fire spread
freely on the second.  This district embraces the Latin quarter,
peopled by various nationalities, the houses being of the flimsiest
construction.  Once it had gained a foothold there, the fire swept
onward as though making its way through a forest in the driest
summer season.

An apochryphal incident is told of the fire in this quarter, which
may be repeated as one example of the fables set afloat.  It is
stated that water to fight the fire here was sadly lacking, the
only available supply being from an old well.  At a critical moment
the pump sucked dry, the water in the well being exhausted.  The
residents were not yet conquered.  Some of them threw open their
cellar doors and, calling for assistance, began to roll out barrels
of red wine.  Barrel after barrel appeared, until fully five
hundred gallons were ready for use.  Then the barrel heads were
smashed in and the bucket brigade turned from water to wine.  Sacks
were dipped in the wine and used for fighting the fire.  Beds were
stripped of their blankets and these soaked in the wine and hung
over exposed portions of the cottages, while men on the roofs
drenched the shingles and sides of the houses with wine.  The
postscript to this queer story is that the wine won and the
firefighters saved their homes.  The story is worth retelling,
though it may be added that wine, if it contained much alcohol,
would serve as a feeder rather than as an extinguisher of flame.

A striking description of the aspect of the city on that terrible
Wednesday is told by Jerome B. Clark, whose home was in Berkeley,
but who did business in San Francisco.  He left for the city early
Wednesday morning, after a minor shake-up at home, which he thus
describes:


A VIVID FIRE PICTURE.


"I was asleep and was awakened by the house rocking.  With the
exception of water in vases, and milk in pans being spilled, and
one of our chimneys badly cracked, we escaped with nothing but a
bad scare, but I can assure you it was a terrific and terrifying
experience to feel that old house rocking, jolting and jumping
under us, with the most terrible roar, dull, deep and nerve-
racking.  It calmed down after that and we went back to bed, only
to get up at six o'clock to find that neighbors had suffered by
having vases knocked from tables, bric-a-brac knocked around, tiles
knocked out of grates and scarcely a chimney left standing.  We
thought that we had had the worst of it, so I started over to the
city as usual, reaching there about eight o'clock, and it is just
impossible to describe the scenes that met my eyes.

"In every direction from the ferry building flames were seething,
and as I stood there, a five-story building half a block away fell
with a crash, and the flames swept clear across Market Street and
caught a new fireproof building recently erected.  The streets in
places had sunk three or four feet, in others great humps had
appeared four or five feet high.  The street car tracks were bent
and twisted out of shape.  Electric wires lay in every direction.
Streets on all sides were filled with brick and mortar, buildings
either completely collapsed or brick fronts had just dropped
completely off.  Wagons with horses hitched to them, drivers and
all, lying on the streets, all dead, struck and killed by the
falling bricks, these mostly the wagons of the produce dealers, who
do the greater part of their work at that hour of the morning.
Warehouses and large wholesale houses of all descriptions either
down, or walls bulging, or else twisted, buildings moved bodily two
or three feet out of a line and still standing with walls all
cracked.

"The Call building, a twelve-story skyscraper, stood, and looked
all right at first glance, but had moved at the base two feet at
one end out into the sidewalk, and the elevators refused to work,
all the interior being just twisted out of shape.  It afterward
burned as I watched it.  I worked my way in from the ferry,
climbing over piles of brick and mortar and keeping to the centre
of the street and avoiding live wires that lay around on every
side, trying to get to my office.  I got within two blocks of it
and was stopped by the police on account of falling walls.  I saw
that the block in which I was located was on fire, and seemed
doomed, so turned back and went up into the city.

"Not knowing San Francisco, you would not know the various
buildings, but fires were blazing in all directions, and all of the
finest and best of the office and business buildings were either
burning or surrounded.  They pumped water from the bay, but the
fire was soon too far away from the water front to make any efforts
in this direction of much avail.  The water mains had been broken
by the earthquake, and so there was no supply for the fire engines
and they were helpless.  The only way out of it was to dynamite,
and I saw some of the finest and most beautiful buildings in the
city, new modern palaces, blown to atoms.  First they blew up one
or two buildings at a time.  Finding that of no avail, they took
half a block; that was no use; then they took a block; but in spite
of them all the fire kept on spreading.

"The City Hall, which, while old, was quite a magnificent building,
occupying a large square block of land, was completely wrecked by
the earthquake, and to look upon reminded one of the pictures of
ancient ruins of Rome or Athens.  The Palace Hotel stood for a long
time after everything near it had gone, but finally went up in
smoke as the rest.  You could not look in any direction in the city
but what mass after mass of flame stared you in the face.  To get
about one had to dodge from one street to another, back and forth
in zigzag fashion, and half an hour after going through a street,
it would be impassable.  One after another of the magnificent
business blocks went down.  The newer buildings seemed to have
withstood the shock better than any others, except well-built frame
buildings.  The former lost some of the outside shell, but the
frame stood all right, and in some cases after fire had eaten them
all to pieces, the steel skeleton, although badly twisted and
warped, still stood.

"When I finally left the city, it was all in flames as far as
Eighth Street, which is about a mile and a quarter or half from the
water front.  I had to walk at least two miles around in order to
get to the ferry building, and when I got there you could see no
buildings standing in any direction.  Nearly all the docks caved in
or sheds were knocked down, and all the streets along the water
front were a mass of seams, upheavals and depressions, car tracks
twisted in all shapes.  Cars that had stood on sidings were all in
ashes and still burning."

Wednesday's conflagration continued unabated throughout Thursday,
and it was not until late on Friday that the fire-fighters got it
safely under control.  They worked like heroes, struggling almost
without rest, keeping up the nearly hopeless conflict until they
fairly fell in their tracks from fatigue.  Handicapped by the lack
of water, they in one case brought it from the bay through lines of
hose well on to a mile in length.  Yet despite all they could do
block after block of San Francisco's greatest buildings succumbed
to the flames and sank in red ruin before their eyes.


THE LANDMARKS CONSUMED.


On all sides famous landmarks yielded to the fury of the flames.
For three miles along the water front the ground was swept clean of
buildings, the blackened beams and great skeletons of factories,
warehouses and business edifices standing silhouetted against a
background of flames, while the whole commercial and office quarter
of Market Street suffered a similar fate.  We may briefly instance
some of these victims of the flames.

Among them were the Occidental Hotel, on Montgomery Street, for
years the headquarters for army officers; the old Lick House, built
by James Lick, the philanthropist; the California Hotel and
Theatre, on Bush Street; and of theatres, the Orpheum, the Alcazar,
the Majestic, the Columbia, the Magic, the Central, Fisher's and
the Grand Opera House, on Missouri Street, where the Conried Opera
Company had just opened for a two weeks' opera season.

The banks that fell were numerous, including the Nevada National
Bank, the California, the Canadian Bank of Commerce, the First
National, the London and San Francisco, the London, Paris and
American, the Bank of British North America, the German-American
Savings Bank and the Crocker-Woolworth Bank building.  A large
number of splendid apartment houses were also destroyed, and the
tide of destruction swept away a host of noble buildings far too
numerous to mention.

At Post Street and Grant Avenue stood the Bohemian Club, one of the
widest known social organizations in the world.  Its membership
included many men famous in art, literature and commerce.  Its
rooms were decorated with the works of members, many of whose names
are known wherever paintings are discussed and many of them
priceless in their associations.  Most of these were saved.  There
were on special exhibition in the "Jinks" room of the Bohemian Club
a dozen paintings by old masters, including a Rembrandt, a Diaz, a
Murillo and others, probably worth $100,000.  These paintings were
lost with the building, which went down in the flames.

One of the great losses was that of St. Ignatius' Church and
College, at Van Ness Avenue and Hayes Street, the greatest
Jesuitical institution in the west, which cost a couple of millions
of dollars.  The Merchants' Exchange building, a twelve-story
structure, eleven of whose floors were occupied as offices by the
Southern Pacific Railroad Company, was added to the sum of losses.


THE FIRE UNDER CONTROL.


For three long days the terrible fire fiend kept up his work, and
the fight went on until late on Friday, when the sweep of the
flames was at length checked and the fire brought under control.
The principal agent in this victory was dynamite, which was freely
used.  To its work a separate chapter will be devoted.  When at
length the area of the conflagration was limited the wealthiest
part of the city lay in embers and ashes, one of the principal
localities to escape being Pacific Heights, a mile west from Nob's
Hill, on which stood many costly homes of recent construction.

On Friday night the fire that had worked its way from Nob's Hill to
North Beach Street, sweeping that quarter clean of buildings,
veered before a fierce wind and made its way southerly to the great
sea wall, with its docks and grain warehouses.  The flames reached
the tanks of the San Francisco Gas Company, which had previously
been pumped out, and on Saturday morning the grain sheds on the
water front, about half a mile north of the ferry station, were
fiercely burning.  But the fire here was confined to a small area,
and, with the work of fireboats in the bay and of the firemen on
shore, who used salt water pumped into their engines, it was
prevented from reaching the ferry building and the docks in that
vicinity.

The buildings on a high slope between Van Ness and Polk Streets,
Union and Filbert Streets, were blazing fiercely, fanned by a high
wind, but the blocks here were so thinly settled that the fire had
little chance of spreading widely from this point.  In fact, it was
at length practically under control, and the entire western
addition of the city west of Van Ness Avenue was safe from the
flames.  The great struggle was fairly at an end, and the brave
force of workers were at length given some respite from their
strenuous labors.

During the height of the struggle and the days of exhaustion and
depression that followed, exaggerated accounts of the losses and of
the area swept by the flames were current, some estimate making the
extent of the fire fifteen square miles out of the total of twenty-
five square miles of the city's area.  It was not until Friday, the
27th, that an official survey of the burned district, made by City
Surveyor Woodward, was completed, and the total area burned over
found to be 2,500 acres, a trifle less than four square miles.
This, however, embraced the heart of the business section and many
of the principal residence streets, much of the saved area being
occupied by the dwellings of the poorer people, so that the money
loss was immensely greater than the percentage of ground burned
over would indicate.



CHAPTER III.

Fighting the Flames With Dynamite.


Shaken by earthquake, swept by flames, the water supply cut off by
the breaking of the mains, the authorities of the doomed city for a
time stood appalled.  What could be done to stay the fierce march
of the flames which were sweeping resistlessly over palace and
hovel alike, over stately hall and miserable hut?  Water was not to
be had; what was to take its place?  Nothing remained but to meet
ruin with ruin, to make a desert in the path of the fire and thus
seek to stop its march.  They had dynamite, gunpowder and other
explosives, and in the frightful exigency there was nothing else to
be used.  Only for a brief interval did the authorities yield to
the general feeling of helplessness.  Then they aroused themselves
to the demands of the occasion and prepared to do all in the power
of man in the effort to arrest the conflagration.

While the soldiers under General Funston took military charge of
the city, squads of cavalry and troops of infantry patrolling the
streets and guarding the sections that had not yet been touched by
the flames, Mayor Schmitz and Chief of Police Dinan sprang into the
breach and prepared to make a desperate charge against the platoons
of the fire.  This was not all that was needed to be done.  From
the "Barbary Coast," as the resort of the vicious and criminal
classes was called, hordes of wretches poured out as soon as night
fell, seeking to slip through the guards and loot stores and rob
the dead in the burning section.  Orders were given to the soldiers
to kill all who were engaged in such work, and these orders were
carried out.  An associated Press reporter saw three of these
thieves shot and fatally wounded, and doubtless others of them were
similarly dealt with elsewhere.

A band of fire-fighters was quickly organized by the Mayor and
Chief of Police, and the devoted firemen put themselves in the face
of the flames, determined to do their utmost to stay them in their
course.  Cut off from the use of their accustomed engines and water
streams, which might have been effective if brought into play at
the beginning of the struggle, there was nothing to work with but
the dynamite cartridge and the gunpowder mine, and they set bravely
to work to do what they could with these.  On every side the roar
of explosions could be heard, and the crash of falling walls came
to the ear, while people were forced to leave buildings which still
stood, but which it was decided must be felled.  Frequently a crash
of stone and brick, followed by a cloud of dust, gave warning to
pedestrians that destruction was going on in the forefront of the
flames, and that travel in such localities was unsafe.


FIGHTING THE FLAMES.


All through the night of Wednesday and the morning of Thursday this
work went on, hopelessly but resolutely.  During the following day
blasts could be heard in different sections at intervals of a few
minutes, and buildings not destroyed by fire were blown to atoms,
but over the gaps jumped the live flames, and the disheartened
fire-fighters were driven back step by step; but they continued the
work with little regard for their own safety and with unflinching
desperation.

One instance of the peril they ran may be given.  Lieutenant
Charles O. Pulis, commanding the Twenty-fourth Company of Light
Artillery, had placed a heavy charge of dynamite in a building at
Sixth and Jesse Streets.  For some reason it did not explode, and
he returned to relight the fuse, thinking it had become
extinguished.  While he was in the building the explosion took
place, and he received injuries that seemed likely to prove fatal,
his skull being fractured and several bones broken, while he was
injured internally.  In the early morning, when the fire reached
the municipal building on Portsmouth Square, the nurses, with the
aid of soldiers, got out fifty bodies which were in the temporary
morgue and a number of patients from the receiving hospital.  Just
after they reached the street with their gruesome charge a building
was blown up, and the flying bricks and splinters came falling upon
them.  The nurses fortunately escaped harm, but several of the
soldiers were hurt, and had to be taken with the other patients to
the out-of-doors Presidio hospital.

The Southern Pacific Hospital, at Fourteenth and Missouri Streets,
was among the buildings destroyed by dynamite, the patients having
been removed to places of safety, and the Linda Vista and the
Pleasanton, two large family hotels on Jones Street, in the better
part of the city, were also among those blown up to stay the
progress of the conflagration.


THE STRUGGLE AGAINST THE FIRE.


The fire had continued to creep onward and upward until it reached
the summit of Nob Hill, a district of splendid residences, and
threatened the handsome Fairmount Hotel, then the headquarters of
the Municipal Council, acting as a Committee of Public Safety.  As
day broke the flames seized upon this beautiful structure, and the
Council was forced to retreat to new quarters.  They finally met in
the North End Police Station, on Sacramento Street, and there
entered actively upon their duties of seeking to check the progress
of the flames, maintain order in the city and control and direct
the host of fugitives, many of whom, still in a state of semi-
panic, were moving helplessly to and fro and sadly needed wise
counsels and a helping hand.

The fire-fighters meanwhile kept up their indefatigable work under
the direction of the Mayor and the chief of their department.  The
engines almost from the start had proved useless from lack of
water, and were either abandoned or moved to the outlying
districts, in the vain hope that the water mains might be repaired
in time to permit of a final stand against the whirlwind march of
the flames.  The cloud of despair grew darker still as the report
spread that the city's supply of dynamite had given out.

"No more dynamite!  No more dynamite!" screamed a fireman as he ran
up Ellis Street past the doomed Flood building at two o'clock on
Friday morning, tears standing in his smoke-smirched eyes.

"No more dynamite!  O God! no more dynamite!  We are lost!" moaned
the throng that heard his despairing words.


A NEW SUPPLY OF EXPLOSIVES.


So, at that hour, the supply of the explosive exhausted, and not a
dozen streams of water being thrown in the entire fire zone, the
stunned firemen and the stupefied people stood helpless with their
eyes fixed in despair upon the swiftly creeping flames.

Had all been like these the entire city would have been doomed, but
there were those at the head of affairs who never for a moment gave
up their resolution.  Dynamite and giant powder were to be had in
the Presidio military reservation, and a requisition upon the army
authorities was made.  The louder reverberations as the day
advanced and night came on showed that a fresh supply had been
obtained, and that a new and determined campaign against the
conflagration had been entered upon.  Hitherto much of the work had
been ignorantly and carelessly done, and by the hasty and premature
use of explosives more harm than good had been occasioned.

As the fire continued to spread in spite of the heroic work of the
fighting corps, the Committee of Safety called a meeting at noon on
Friday and decided to blow up all the residences on the east side
of Van Ness Avenue, between Golden Gate and Pacific Avenues, a
distance of one mile.  Van Ness Avenue is one of the most
fashionable streets of the city and has a width of 125 feet, a fact
which led to the idea that a safety line might be made here too
broad for the flames to cross.

The firemen, therefore, although exhausted from over twenty-four
hours' work and lack of food, determined to make a desperate stand
at this point.  They declared that should the fire cross Van Ness
Avenue and the wind continue its earlier direction toward the west,
the destruction of San Francisco would be virtually complete.  The
district west of Van Ness Avenue and north of McAllister
constitutes the finest part of the metropolis.  Here are located
all of the finer homes of the well-to-do and wealthier classes, and
the resolution to destroy them was the last resort of desperation.

Hundreds of police, regiments of soldiers and scores of volunteers
were sent into the doomed district to warn the people to flee.
They heroically responded to the demand of law and went bravely on
their way, leaving their loved homes and trudging painfully over
the pavements with the little they could carry away of their
treasured possessions.

The reply of a grizzled fire engineer standing at O'Farrell Street
and Van Ness Avenue, beside a blackened engine, may not have been
as terse as that of Hugo's guardsman at Waterloo, but the pathos of
it must have been as great.  In answer to the question of what they
proposed to do, he said:

"We are waiting for it to come.  When it gets here we will make one
more stand.  If it crosses Van Ness Avenue the city is gone."


THE SAVERS OF THE CITY.


Yet the work now to be done was much too important to be left to
the hands of untrained volunteers.  Skilled engineers were needed,
men used to the scientific handling of explosives, and it was men
of this kind who finally saved what is left to-day of the city.
Three men saved San Francisco, so far as any San Francisco existed
after the fire had worked its will, these three constituting the
dynamite squad who faced and defied the demon at Van Ness Avenue.

When the burning city seemed doomed and the flames lit the sky
farther and farther to the west, Admiral McCalla sent a trio of his
most trusted men from Mare Island with orders to check the
conflagration at any cost of property.  With them they brought a
ton and a half of guncotton.  The terrific power of the explosive
was equal to the maniac determination of the fire.  Captain
MacBride was in charge of the squad, Chief Gunner Adamson placed
the charges and the third gunner set them off.

Stationing themselves on Van Ness Avenue, which the conflagration
was approaching with leaps and bounds from the burning business
section of the city, they went systematically to work, and when
they had ended a broad open space, occupied only by the dismantled
ruins of buildings, remained of what had been a long row of
handsome and costly residences, which, with all their treasures of
furniture and articles of decoration, had been consigned to hideous
ruin.

The thunderous detonations, to which the terrified city listened
all that dreadful Friday night, meant much to those whose ears were
deafened by them.  A million dollars' worth of property, noble
residences and worthless shacks alike, were blown to drifting dust,
but that destruction broke the fire and sent the raging flames back
over their own charred path.  The whole east side of Van Ness
Avenue, from the Golden Gate to Greenwich, a distance of twenty-two
blocks, or a mile and a half, was dynamited a block deep, though
most of the structures as yet had stood untouched by spark or
cinder.  Not one charge failed.  Not one building stood upon its
foundation.

Unless some second malicious miracle of nature should reverse the
direction of the west wind, by nine o'clock it was felt that the
populous district to the west, blocked with fleeing refugees and
unilluminated except by the disastrous glare on the water front,
was safe.  Every pound of guncotton did its work, and though the
ruins burned, it was but feebly.  From Golden Gate Avenue north the
fire crossed the wide street in but one place.  That was at the
Claus Spreckels place, on the corner of California Street.

There the flames were writhing up the walls before the dynamiters
could reach the spot.  Yet they made their way to the foundations,
carrying their explosives, despite the furnace-like heat.  The
charge had to be placed so swiftly and the fuse lit in such a hurry
that the explosion was not quite successful from the trained
viewpoint of the gunners.  But though the walls still stood, it was
only an empty victory for the fire, as bare brick and smoking ruins
are poor food for flames.

Captain MacBride's dynamiting squad had realized that a stand was
hopeless except on Van Ness Avenue, their decision thus coinciding
with that of the authorities.  They could have forced their
explosives farther in the burning section, but not a pound of
guncotton could be or was wasted.  The ruined blocks of the wide
thoroughfare formed a trench through the clustered structures that
the conflagration, wild as it was, could not leap.  Engines pumping
brine through Fort Mason from the bay completed the little work
that the guncotton had left, but for three days the haggard-eyed
firemen guarded the flickering ruins.

The desolate waste straight through the heart of the city remained
a mute witness to the most heroic and effective work of the whole
calamity.  Three men did this, and when their work was over and
what stood of the city rested quietly for the first time, they
departed as modestly as they had come.  They were ordered to save
San Francisco, and they obeyed orders, and Captain MacBride and his
two gunners made history on that dreadful night.

They stayed the march of the conflagration at that critical point,
leaving it no channel to spread except along the wharf region, in
which its final force was spent.  One side of Van Ness Avenue was
gone; the other remained, the fire leaping the broad open space
only feebly in a few places, where it was easily extinguished.

In this connection it is well to put on record an interesting
circumstance.  This is that there is one place within pistol shot
of San Francisco that the earthquake did not touch, that did not
lose a chimney or feel a tremor.  That spot is Alcatraz Island.
Despite the fact that the island is covered with brick buildings,
brick forts and brick chimneys, not a brick was loosened nor a
crack made nor a quiver felt.  When the scientist comes to write he
will have his hands full explaining why Alcatraz did not have any
physical knowledge of the event.  It was as if New York were to be
shaken to its foundation, and Governor's Island, quietly pursuing
its military routine, should escape without a qualm.



CHAPTER IV.

The Reign of Destruction and Devastation


Rarely, in the whole history of mankind, has a great city been
overwhelmed by destruction so suddenly and awfully as was San
Francisco.  One minute its inhabitants slept in seeming safety and
security.  Another minute passed and the whole great city seemed
tumbling around them, while sights of terror met the eyes of the
awakened multitude and sounds of horror came to their ears.  The
roar of destruction filled the air as the solid crust of the earth
lifted and fell and the rocks rose and sank in billowing waves like
those of the open sea.

Not all, it is true, were asleep.  There was the corps of night
workers, whose duties keep them abroad till day dawns.  There were
those whose work calls them from their homes in the early morn.
People of this kind were in the streets and saw the advent of the
reign of devastation in its full extent.  From the story of one of
these, P. Barrett, an editor on the Examiner, we select a thrilling
account of his experience on that morning of awe.


AN EDITOR'S NARRATIVE.


"I have seen this whole, great horror.  I stood with two other
members of the Examiner staff on the corner of Market Street,
waiting for a car.  Newspaper duties had kept us working until five
o'clock in the morning.  Sunlight was coming out of the early
morning mist.  It spread its brightness on the roofs of the
skyscrapers, on the domes and spires of churches, and blazed along
up the wide street with its countless banks and stores, its
restaurants and cafes.  In the early morning the city was almost
noiseless.  Occasionally a newspaper wagon clattered up the street
or a milk wagon rumbled along.  One of my companions had told a
funny story.  We were laughing at it.  We stopped--the laugh
unfinished on our lips.

"Of a sudden we had found ourselves staggering and reeling.  It was
as if the earth was slipping gently from under our feet.  Then came
a sickening swaying of the earth that threw us flat upon our faces.
We struggled in the street.  We could not get on our feet.

"I looked in a dazed fashion around me.  I saw for an instant the
big buildings in what looked like a crazy dance.  Then it seemed as
though my head were split with the roar that crashed into my ears.
Big buildings were crumbling as one might crush a biscuit in one's
hand.  Great gray clouds of dust shot up with flying timbers, and
storms of masonry rained into the street.  Wild, high jangles of
smashing glass cut a sharp note into the frightful roaring.  Ahead
of me a great cornice crushed a man as if he were a maggot--a
laborer in overalls on his way to the Union Iron Works, with a
dinner pail on his arm.

"Everywhere men were on all fours in the street, like crawling
bugs.  Still the sickening, dreadful swaying of the earth
continued.  It seemed a quarter of an hour before it stopped.  As a
matter of fact, it lasted about three minutes.  Footing grew firm
again, but hardly were we on our feet before we were sent reeling
again by repeated shocks, but they were milder.  Clinging to
something, one could stand.

"The dust clouds were gone.  It was quite dark, like twilight.  But
I saw trolley tracks uprooted, twisted fantastically.  I saw wide
wounds in the street.  Water flooded out of one.  A deadly odor of
gas from a broken main swept out of the other.  Telegraph poles
were rocked like matches.  A wild tangle of wires was in the
street.  Some of the wires wriggled and shot blue sparks.

"From the south of us, faint, but all too clear, came a horrible
chorus of human cries of agony.  Down there in a ramshackle section
of the city the wretched houses had fallen in upon the sleeping
families.  Down there throughout the day a fire burned the great
part of whose fuel it is too gruesome a thing to contemplate.

"That was what came next--the fire.  It shot up everywhere.  The
fierce wave of destruction had carried a flaming torch with it--
agony, death and a flaming torch.  It was just as if some fire
demon was rushing from place to place with such a torch."


WRECK AND RUIN.


The magnitude of the calamity became fully apparent after the sun
had risen and began to shine warmly and brightly from the east over
the ruined city.  Old Sol, who had risen and looked down upon this
city for thousands of times, had never before seen such a spectacle
as that of this fateful morning.  Where once rose noble buildings
were now to be seen cracked and tottering walls, fallen chimneys,
here and there fallen heaps of brick and mortar, and out of and
above all the red light of the mounting flames.  From the middle of
the city's greatest thoroughfare ruin, only ruin, was to be seen on
all sides.  To the south, in hundreds of blocks, hardly a building
had escaped unscathed.  The cracked walls of the new Post Office
showed the rending power of the earthquake.  A part of the splendid
and costly City Hall collapsed, the roof falling to the courtyard
and the smaller towers tumbling down.  Some of the wharves, laden
with goods of every sort, slid into the bay.  With them went
thousands of tons of coal.  On the harbor front the earth sank from
six to eight inches, and great cracks opened in the streets.

San Francisco's famous Chinatown, the greatest settlement of the
Celestials on this continent, went down like a house of cards.
When the earthquake had passed this den of squalor and infamy was
no more.  The Chinese theatres and joss-houses tumbled into ruins,
rookery after rookery collapsed, and hundreds of their inhabitants
were buried alive.  Panic reigned supreme among the fugitives, who
filled the streets in frightened multitudes, dragging from the
wreck whatever they could save of their treasured possessions.
Much the same was the case with the Japanese quarter, which fire
quickly invaded, the people fleeing in terror, carrying on their
backs what few of their household effects they were able to rescue.

As for the people of Chinatown, however, no one knows or will ever
know the extent of the dread fate that overcame them, for no one
knows the secrets of that dark abode of infamy and crime, whose
inhabitants burrowed underground like so many ants; and hid their
secrets deep in the earth.


THE RUIN OF CHINATOWN.


W. W. Overton, of Los Angeles, thus describes the Chinatown dens
and the revelations made by the earthquake and the flames:

"Strange is the scene where San Francisco's Chinatown stood.  No
heap of smoking ruins marks the site of the wooden warrens where
the Orientals dwelt in thousands.  Only a cavern remains, pitted
with deep holes and lined with dark passageways, from whose depths
come smoke wreaths.  White men never knew the depth of Chinatown's
underground city.  Many had gone beneath the street level two and
three stories, but now that the place had been unmasked, men may
see where its inner secrets lay.  In places one can see passages a
hundred feet deep.

"The fire swept this Mongolian quarter clean.  It left no shred of
the painted wooden fabric.  It ate down to the bare ground, and
this lies stark, for the breezes have taken away the light ashes.
Joss houses and mission schools, groceries and opium dens, gambling
resorts and theatres, all of them went.  These buildings blazed up
like tissue paper.

"From this place I saw hundreds of crazed yellow men flee.  In
their arms they bore opium pipes, money bags, silks and children.
Beside them ran the trousered women and some hobbled painfully.
These were the men and women of the surface.  Far beneath the
street levels in those cellars and passageways were other lives.
Women, who never saw the day from their darkened prisons, and their
blinking jailors were caught and eaten by the flames."

Devastation spread widely on all sides, ruining the homes of the
rich as well as of the poor, of Americans as well as of Europeans
and Asiatics, the marts of trade, the haunts of pleasure, the
realms of science and art, the resorts of thousands of the gay
population of the Golden State metropolis.  To attempt to tell the
whole story of destruction and ruin would be to describe all for
which San Francisco stood.  Science suffered in the loss of the San
Francisco Academy of Sciences, which was destroyed with its
invaluable contents.  This building, erected fifteen years ago at a
cost of $500,000, was a seven-story building with a rich collection
of objects of science.  Much of the academy's contents can never be
replaced.  It represented the work of many years.  There was a rare
collection of Pacific Sea birds which was the most valuable of its
kind in the world.  In fact, the entire collection of birds ranked
very high, was visited by ornithologists from every country, and
was the pride of the city.  The academy was founded in 1850, James
Lick, the same man who endowed the Lick Observatory, giving it
$1,000,000, so it was on a prosperous footing.  It will take many
years of active labor to replace the losses of an hour or two of
the reign of fire in this institution, while much that it held is
gone beyond restoration.


LOSS TO ART AND SCIENCE.


Art suffered as severely as science, the valuable collections in
private and public buildings being nearly all destroyed.  We have
spoken of the rare paintings burned in the Bohemian Club building.
The collections on Nob's Hill suffered as severely.  When the
mansions here, the Fairmount Hotel and Mark Hopkins Institute were
approached by the flames, many attempts were made to remove some of
the priceless works of art from the buildings.  A crowd of soldiers
was sent to the Flood and the Huntington mansions and the Hopkins
Institute to rescue the paintings.  From the Huntington home and
the Flood mansion canvases were cut from the framework with knives.
The collections in the three buildings, valued in the hundreds of
thousands, in great part were destroyed, few being saved from the
ravages of the fire.

The destruction of the libraries, with their valuable collections
of books, was also a very serious loss to the city and its people.
Of these there were nine of some prominence, the Sutro Library
containing many rare books among its 200,000 volumes, while that of
the Mechanics Institute possessed property valued at $2,000,000.
The Public Library occupied a part of the City Hall, the new
building proposed by the city, with aid to the extent of $750,000
by Andrew Carnegie, being fortunately still in embryo.

In the burning of the banks the losses were limited to the
buildings, their money and other valuables being securely locked in
fireproof vaults.  But these became so heated by the flames that it
was necessary to leave them to a gradual cooling for days, during
which their treasures were unavailable, and those with deposits,
small or large, were obliged to depend on the benevolence of the
nation for food, such wealth as was left to them being locked up
beyond their reach.  It was the same with the United States Sub-
Treasury, which was entirely destroyed by fire, its vaults, which
contained all the cash on hand, being alone preserved.  Guards were
put over these to protect their contents against possible loss by
theft.

One serious effect of the conflagration was the general
disorganization of the telegraph system.  News items were sent over
the wires, but private messages inquiring about missing friends for
days failed to reach the parties concerned or to bring any return.

That the world received news of the San Francisco disaster during
the dread day after the earthquake is due in part to the courage of
the telegraph operators, who stuck to their posts and, continued to
send news and other messages in spite of great personal danger.

The operators and officials of the Postal Telegraph Company
remained in the main office of the company, at the corner of Market
and Montgomery Streets, opposite the Palace Hotel, until they were
ordered out of it because of the danger of the dynamite explosions
in the immediate vicinity.  The men proceeded to Oakland, across
the bay, and took possession of the office there.  That night the
company operated seven wires from Oakland, all messages from the
city being taken across the bay in boats.  As the days passed on
the service gradually improved, but a week or more passed away
before the general service of the company became satisfactory.


THE DANGER FROM THIRST.


Such news as came from the city was full of tales of horror.  For a
number of days one of the chief sources of trouble was from thirst.
Although the earthquake shocks had broken water mains in probably
hundreds of places, strange to say, no water, or very little at
least, appeared on the surface of the ground.  Public fountains on
Market Street gave out no relief to the thirsty thousands.  At
Powell and Market Streets a small stream of water spurted up
through the cobblestones and formed a muddy pool, at which the
thirsty were glad enough to drink.  The soldiers, disregarding the
order not to let people move about, permitted bucket brigades to go
forth and bring back water to relieve the women and the crying
children.  To reach the water it was necessary sometimes to go a
mile to one of the four reservoirs which top the hills.

Here is a story told by one observer of incidents in the city
during the fire:

"I talked to one man who slept in Alta Plaza.  The fire was going
on in the district south of them, and at intervals all night
exhausted fire-fighters made their way to the plaza and dropped,
with the breath out of them, among the huddled people and the
bundles of household goods.  The soldiers, who are administering
affairs with all the justice of judges and all the devotion of
heroes, kept three or four buckets of water, even from the women,
for these men, who kept coming all night long.  There was a little
food, also kept by the soldiers for these emergencies, and the
sergeant had in his charge one precious bottle of whisky, from
which he doled out drinks to those who were utterly exhausted.

"Over in a corner of the plaza a band of men and women were
praying, and one fanatic, driven crazy by horror, was crying out at
the top of his voice:

"'The Lord sent it, the Lord!'

"His hysterical crying got in the nerves of the soldiers and bade
fair to start a panic among the women and children, so the sergeant
went over and stopped it by force.  All night they huddled together
in this hell, with the fire making it bright as day on all sides;
and in the morning the soldiers, using their sense again,
commandeered a supply of bread from a bakery, sent out another
water squad, and fed the refugees with a semblance of breakfast.

"There was one woman in the crowd who had been separated from her
husband in a rush of the smoke and did not know whether he was
living.  The women attended to her all night and in the morning the
soldiers passed her through the lines in her search.  A few Chinese
made their way into the crowd.  They were trembling, pitifully
scared and willing to stop wherever the soldiers placed them.  This
is only a glimpse of the horrible night in the parks and open
places.

"We learn here that many of the well-to-do people in the upper
residence district have gathered in the strangers from the highways
and byways and given them shelter and comfort for the night in
their living rooms and drawing rooms.  Shelter seems to have come
more easily than food.  Not an ounce of supplies, of course, has
come in for two days, and most of the permanent stores are in the
hands of the soldiers, who dole them out to all comers alike.  But
the hungry cannot always find the military stores and the news has
not gotten about, since there are no newspapers and no regular
means of communication.

"An Italian tells me that he was taken in by a family living in a
three-story house in the fashionable Pacific Avenue.  There were
twenty refugees who passed the night in the drawing room of that
house, whose mistress took down hangings to make them comfortable.
In the morning all the food that was left over in that home of
wealth was enough flour and baking powder to shake together a
breakfast for the refugees.  They were hardly ready to leave that
house when the fire came their way, and the people of the house,
together with the refugees, who included two Chinese, made their
way to the open ground of the Presidio.  With them streamed a
procession of folks carrying valuables in bundles.

"There came out, too, tales of both heroism and crime.  The firemen
had been at it for thirty-six hours under such conditions as
firemen never before faced, and they do little more than give
directions, while the volunteers, thousands of young Western men
who have remained to see it through, do the work.  The troops have
all that they can do to handle the crowds in the streets and
prevent panics.  The work of dynamiting, tearing down and rescuing
is in the hands of the volunteers.

"This morning an eddy of flame from the edge of the burning
wholesale district ran up the slope of Russian Hill, the highest
eminence in the city.  All along the edge of that hill and up the
slopes are little frame houses which hold Italians and Mexicans.  A
corps of volunteer aides ran along the edge of the fire, warning
people out of the houses.  But the flames ran too fast and three
women were caught in the upper story of an old frame house.  A
young man tore a rail from a fence, managed to climb it, and
reached the window.  He bundled one woman out and slid her down the
rail; then the roof caught fire.  He seized another woman and
managed to drop her on the rail, down which she slid without
hurting herself a great deal.  But the roof fell while he was
struggling with another woman and they fell together into the
flames.  There must have been hundreds of such heroisms and dozens
of such catastrophes.  We are so drunken and dulled by horror that
we take such stories calmly now.  We are saturated."


HOW LOOTING WAS HINDERED.


One thing to be strictly guarded against in those days of
destruction was the outbreak of lawlessness.  A city as large as
San Francisco is sure to hold a large number of the brigands of
civilization, a horde who need to be kept under strict discipline
at all times, and especially when calamity lets down for the time
being the bars of the law, at which time many of the usually law-
abiding would join their ranks if any license were allowed.  The
authorities made haste to guard against this and certain other
dangers, Mayor Schmitz issuing on Wednesday the following
proclamation:

"The Federal troops, the members of the regular police force and
special police officers have been authorized to kill any and all
persons engaged in looting or in the commission of any other crime.

"I have directed all the gas and electric lighting companies not to
turn on gas or electricity until I order them to do so.  You may,
therefore, expect the city to remain in darkness for an indefinite
time.

"I request all citizens to remain at home from darkness until
daylight every night until order is restored.

"I warn all citizens of the danger of fire from damaged or
destroyed chimneys, broken or leaking gas pipes or fixtures or any
like causes."

He also ordered that no lights should be used in the houses and no
fires built in the houses until the chimneys had been inspected and
repaired.

There was need of vigilance in this direction, for the vandals were
quickly at work.  Routed out from their dens along the wharves, the
rats of the waterfront, the drifters on the back eddy of
civilization, crawled out intent on plunder.  Early in the day a
policeman caught one of these men creeping through the window of a
small bank on Montgomery Street and shot him dead.  But the police
were kept too busy at other necessary duties to devote much time to
these wretches, and for a time many of them plundered at will,
though some of them met with quick and sure retribution.


STORIES BY SIGHTSEERS.


One onlooker says: "Were it not for the fact that the soldiers in
charge of the city do not hesitate in shooting down the ghouls the
lawless element would predominate.  Not alone do the soldiers
execute the law.  On Wednesday afternoon, in front of the Palace
Hotel, a crowd of workers in the mines discovered a miscreant in
the act of robbing a corpse of its jewels.  Without delay he was
seized, a rope obtained, and he was strung up to a beam that was
left standing in the ruined entrance of the hotel.  No sooner had
he been hoisted up and a hitch taken in the rope than one of his
fellow-criminals was captured.  Stopping only to obtain a few yards
of hemp, a knot was quickly tied, and the wretch was soon adorning
the hotel entrance by the side of the other dastard.

"These are the only two instances I saw, but I heard of many that
were seen by others.  The soldiers do all they can, and while the
unspeakable crime of robbing the dead is undoubtedly being
practiced, it would be many times as prevalent were it not for the
constant vigilance on all sides, as well as the summary justice."

Another observer tells of an instance of this summary justice that
came under his eyes:

"At the corner of Market and Third Streets on Wednesday I saw a man
attempting to cut the fingers from the hand of a dead woman in
order to secure the rings which adorned the stiffened fingers.
Three soldiers witnessed the deed at the same time and ordered the
man to throw up his hands.  Instead of obeying the command he drew
a revolver from his pocket and began to fire at his pursuer without
warning.  The three soldiers, reinforced by half a dozen uniformed
patrolmen, raised their rifles to their shoulders and fired.  With
the first shots the man fell, and when the soldiers went to the
body to dump it into an alley nine bullets were found to have
entered it."

The warning this severity gave was accentuated in one instance in a
most effective manner.  On a pile of bricks, stones and rubbish was
thrown the body of a man shot through the heart, and on his chest
was pinned this placard:

"Take warning!"

Those of the ghouls who saw this were likely to desist from their
detestable work, unless they valued spoils more than life.

Willis Ames, a Salt Lake City man, tells of the kind of justice
done to thieves, as it came under his observation:

"I saw man after man shot down by the troops.  Most of these were
ghouls.  One man made the trooper believe that one of the dead
bodies lying on a pile of rocks was his mother, and he was
permitted to go up to the body.  Apparently overcome by grief, he
threw himself across the corpse.  In another instant the soldiers
discovered that he was chewing the diamond earrings from the ears
of the dead woman.  'Here is where you get what is coming to you,'
said one of the soldiers, and with that he put a bullet through the
ghoul.  The diamonds were found in the man's mouth afterward."

Others were shot to save them from the horror of being burned
alive.  Max Fast, a garment worker, tells of such an instance.  He
says:

"When the fire caught the Windsor Hotel at Fifth and Market Streets
there were three men on the roof, and it was impossible to get them
down.  Rather than see the crazed men fall in with the roof and be
roasted alive the military officer directed his men to shoot them,
which they did in the presence of 5,000 people."

He further states: "At Jefferson Square I saw a fatal clash between
the military and the police.  A policeman ordered a soldier to take
up a dead body to put it in the wagon, and the soldier ordered the
policeman to do it.  Words followed, and the soldier shot the
policeman dead."

Among the many stories of this character on record is that of a
concerted effort to break into and rob the Mint, which led to the
death of fourteen men, who were shot down by the guard in charge.
They had disregarded the command of the officer in charge to
desist.  They disobeyed, and the death of nearly the whole of them
followed.


DEATH FOR SLIGHT OFFENSE.


As may well be imagined, the privilege given to fire at will was
very likely to lead to examples of unjustifiable haste in the use
of the rifle.  Such haste is not charged against the United States
troops, but the militia and volunteer guards showed less judgment
in the use of their weapons.  Thus we are told that one man was
shot for the minor offense of washing his hands in drinking water
which had been brought with great trouble for the thirsty people
gathered in Columbia Park.  It is also said that a bank clerk,
searching the ruins of his bank under orders, was killed by a
soldier who thought he was looting.  More than one seems to have
been shot as looters for entering their own homes.

Among the reports there is one that two men were shot through the
windows of their houses because they disobeyed the general orders
and lit candles, and one woman because she lighted a fire in her
cook stove.  Yet, if such unwarranted acts existed, there were
others better deserved.  It is said that three men were lined up
and shot before ten thousand people.  One was caught taking the
rings from a woman who had fainted, another had stolen a piece of
bread from a hungry child, and the third, little more than a boy,
was found in the act of robbing tents.  One thief who escaped the
bullet richly deserved it.  He came upon a Miss Logan when lying
unconscious on the floor of the St.  Francis Hotel after the
earthquake, and, rather than take the time to wrench some valuable
rings from her hand, cut off the finger bearing them, and left her
to the horrors of the coming fire.

The climax in the too free use of the rifle came on the 23d, when
Major H. C. Tilden, a prominent member of the General Relief
Committee, was shot and killed in his automobile by members of the
citizens' patrol.  Two others in the car were struck by bullets.
The automobile had been used as an ambulance and the Red Cross flag
was displayed on it.  The excuse of the shooters was that they did
not see the flag and that the car did not stop when challenged.
This act led to an order forbidding the carrying of firearms by the
citizens' committees and to stricter regulation of the soldiers in
the use of their weapons.

Later on looting took a new form different from that at first shown
and was practiced by a different class of people.  These were the
sightseers, many of them people of prominence, who entered upon a
crusade of relic hunting in Chinatown, gathering and carrying off
from the ashes of this quarter valuable pieces of chinaware, bronze
ornaments, etc.  It became necessary to put a stop to this, and on
April 30th four militiamen were arrested while digging in the ruins
of the Chinese bazaars, and others were frightened away by shots
fired over their heads.  A strong military line was then drawn
around the district, and this last resource of the looter came to
an end.



CHAPTER V.

The Panic Flight of a Homeless Host.


The scene that was visible in the streets of San Francisco on that
dread Wednesday morning was one to make the strongest shudder with
horror.  Those three minutes of devastating earth tremors were
moments never to be forgotten.  In such a time it is the human
instinct to get into the open air, and the people stumbled from
their heaving and quivering houses to find even the solid earth was
swaying and rising and falling, so that here and there great rents
opened in the streets.  To the panic-stricken people the minutes
that followed seemed years of terror.  Doubtless some among them
died of sheer fright and more went mad with terror.  There was a
roar in the air like a burst of thunder, and from all directions
came the crash of falling walls.  They would run forward, then
stop, as another shock seemed to take the earth from under their
feet, and many of them flung themselves face downward on the ground
in an agony of fear.

Two or three minutes seemed to pass before the fugitives found
their voices.  Then the screams of women and the wild cries of men
rent the air, and with one impulse the terror-stricken host fled
toward the parks, to get themselves as far as possible from the
tottering and falling walls.  These speedily became packed with
people, most of them in the night clothes in which they had leaped
or been flung from their beds, screaming and moaning at the little
shocks that at intervals followed the great one.  The dawn was just
breaking.  The gas and electric mains were gone and the street
lamps were all out.  The sky was growing white in the east, but
before the sun could fling his early rays from the horizon there
came another light, a lurid and threatening one, that of the flames
that had begun to rise in the warehouse district.

The braver men and those without families to watch over set out for
this endangered region, half dressed as they were.  In the early
morning light they could see the business district below them, many
of the buildings in ruins and the flames showing redly in five or
six places.  Through the streets came the fire engines, called from
the outlying districts by a general alarm.  The firemen were not
aware as yet that no water was to be had.


THE PANIC IN THE SLUMS.


On Portsmouth Square the panic was indescribable.  This old tree
plaza, about which the early city was built, is now in the centre
of Chinatown, of the Italian district and of the "Barbary Coast,"
the "Tenderloin" of the Western metropolis.  It is the chief slum
district of the city.  The tremor here ran up the Chinatown hill
and shook down part of the crazy buildings on its southern edge.
It brought ruin also to some of the Italian tenements.  Portsmouth
Square became the refuge of the terrified inhabitants.  Out from
their underground burrows like so many rats fled the Chinese,
trembling in terror into the square, and seeking by beating gongs
and other noise-making instruments to scare off the underground
demons.  Into the square from the other side came the Italian
refugees.  The panic became a madness, knives were drawn in the
insanity of the moment, and two Chinamen were taken to the morgue,
stabbed to death for no other reason than pure madness.  Here on
one side dwelt 20,000 Chinese, and on the other thousands of
Italians, Spaniards and Mexicans, while close at hand lived the
riff-raff of the "Barbary Coast."

Seemingly the whole of these rushed for that one square of open
ground, the two streams meeting in the centre of the square and
heaping up on its edges.  There they squabbled and fought in the
madness of panic and despair, as so many mad wolves might have
fought when caught in the red whirl of a prairie fire, until the
soldiers broke in and at the bayonet's point brought some semblance
of order out of the confusion of panic terror.

This scene in Portsmouth Square but illustrated the madness of fear
everywhere prevailing.  On every side thousands were fleeing from
the roaring furnace that minute by minute seemed to extend its
boundaries.


THE FLIGHT FOR SAFETY.


In the awful scramble for safety the half-crazed survivors
disregarded everything but the thought of themselves and their
property.  In every excavation and hole throughout the north beach
householders buried household effects, throwing them into ditches
and covering the holes.  Attempts were made to mark the graves of
the property so that it could be recovered after the flames were
appeased.

The streets were filled with struggling people, some crying and
weeping and calling for missing loved ones.  Crowding the sidewalks
were thousands of householders attempting to drag some of their
effects to places of safety.  In some instances men with ropes were
dragging trunks, tandem style, while others had sewing machines
strapped to the trunks.  Again, women were rushing for the hills,
carrying on their arms only the family cat or a bird cage.

There were two ideas in the minds of the fugitives, and in many
cases these two only.  One of these was to escape to the open
ground of Golden Gate Park and the Presidio reservation; the other
was to reach the ferry and make their way out of the seemingly
doomed city.

At the ferry building a crowd numbering thousands gathered, begging
for food and transportation across the bay.  Hundreds had not even
the ten cents fare to Oakland.  Most of the refugees at this point
were Chinamen and Italians, who had fled from their burned
tenements with little or no personal property.

Residents of the hillsides in the central portion of the city
seemingly were safe from the inferno of flames that was consuming
the business section.  They watched the towering mounds of flames,
and speculated as to the extent of the territory that was doomed.
Suddenly there was whispered alarm up and down the long line of
watchers, and they hurried away to drag clothing, cooking utensils
and scant provisions through the streets.  From Grant Avenue the
procession moved westward.  Men and women dragged trunks, packed
huge bundles of blankets, boxes of provisions--everything.  Wagons
could not be hired except by paying the most extortionate rates.

"Thank Heaven for the open space of the Presidio and for Golden
Gate Park!" was the unspoken thank-offering of many hearts.  The
great park, with its thousand and more acres of area, extending
from the thinly populated part of the city across the sand dunes to
the Pacific, seemed in that awful hour a God-given place of refuge.
Near it and extending to the Golden Gate channel is the Presidio
military reservation, containing 1,480 acres, and with only a few
houses on its broad extent.  Here also was a place of safety,
provided that the forests which form a part of its area did not
burn.


THE EXODUS FROM THE BURNING CITY.


To these open spaces, to the suburbs, in every available direction,
the fugitives streamed, in thousands, in tens of thousands, finally
in hundreds of thousands, safety from those towering flames, from
the tottering walls of their dwellings, from a possible return of
the earthquake, their one overmastering thought.  There were many
persons with scanty clothing, women in underskirts and thin waists
and men in shirt sleeves.  Many women carried children, while
others wheeled baby carriages.  It was a strange and weird
procession, that kept up unceasingly all that dreadful day and
through the night that followed, as the all-conquering flames
spread the area of terror.

At intervals news came of what was doing behind the smoke cloud.
The area of the flames spread all night.  People who had decided
that their houses were outside of the dangerous area and had
decided to pass the night, even after the terrible experience of
the shake-up, under their roofs, hourly gave up the idea and
struggled to the parks.  There they lay in blankets, their choicest
valuables by their sides, and the soldiers kept watch and order.
Many lay on the bare grass of the park, with nothing between them
and the chill night air.  Fortunately, the weather was clear and
mild, but among those who lay under the open sky were men and women
who were delicately reared, accustomed all their lives to luxurious
surroundings, and these must have suffered severely during that
night of terror.

The fire was going on in the district south of them, and at
intervals all night exhausted fire-fighters made their way to the
plaza and dropped, with the breath out of them, among the huddled
people and the bundles of household goods.  The soldiers, who were
administering affairs with all the justice of judges and all the
devotion of heroes, kept three or four buckets of water, even from
the women, for these men, who continued to come all the night long.
There was a little food, also kept by the soldiers for these
emergencies, and the sergeant had in his charge one precious bottle
of whisky, from which he doled out drinks to those who were utterly
exhausted.

But there was no panic.  The people were calm, stunned.  They did
not seem to realize the extent of the calamity.  They heard that
the city was being destroyed; they told each other in the most
natural tone that their residences were destroyed by the flames,
but there was no hysteria, no outcry, no criticism.

The trip to the hills and to the water front was one of terrible
hardship.  Famishing women and children and exhausted men were
compelled to walk seven miles around the north shore in order to
avoid the flames and reach the ferries.  Many dropped to the street
under the weight of their loads, and willing fathers and husbands,
their strength almost gone, strove to pick up and urge them forward
again.

In the panic many mad things were done.  Even soldiers were obliged
in many instances to prevent men and women, made insane from the
misfortune that had engulfed them, from rushing into doomed
buildings in the hope of saving valuables from the ruins.  In
nearly every instance such action resulted in death to those who
tried it.  At Larkin and Sutter Streets, two men and a woman broke
from the police and rushed into a burning apartment house, never to
reappear.

The rush to the parks and the dunes was followed in the days that
followed by as wild a rush to the ferries, due to the mad desire to
escape anywhere, in any way, from the burning city.


THE WILD RUSH TO THE FERRIES.


At the ferry station on Wednesday night there was much confusion.
Mingled in an inextricable mass were people of every race and class
on earth.  A common misfortune and hunger obliterated all
distinctions.  Chinese, lying on pallets of rags, slept near
exhausted white women with babies in their arms.  Bedding,
household furniture of every description, pet animals and trinkets,
luggage and packages of every sort packed almost every foot of
space near the ferry building.  Men spread bedding on the pavement
and calmly slept the sleep of exhaustion, while all around a bedlam
of confusion reigned.

Many of those who sought the ferry on that fatal Wednesday met a
solid wall of flames extending for squares in length and utterly
impassable.  In their half insane eagerness to escape some of them
would have rushed into fatal danger but for the soldiers, who
guarded the fire line and forced them back.  Only those reached the
ferry who had come in precedence of the flames, or who made a long
detour to reach that avenue of flight.  When the news came to the
camps of refugees that it was safe to cross the burned area a
procession began from the Golden Gate Park across the city and down
Market Street, the thoroughfare which had long been the pride of
the citizens, and a second from the Presidio, along the curving
shore line of the north bay, thence southward along the water
front.  Throughout these routes, eight miles long, a continuous
flow of humanity dragged its weary way all day and far into the
night amidst hundreds of vehicles, from the clumsy garbage cart to
the modern automobile.  Almost every person and every vehicle
carried luggage.  Drivers of vehicles were disregardful of these
exhausted, hungry refugees and drove straight through the crowd.
So dazed and deadened to all feeling were some of them that they
were bumped aside by carriage wheels or bumped out of the way by
persons.


SCENES OF HUMOR AND PATHOS.


As already stated, the scene had its humorous as well as its
pathetic side, and various amusing stories are told by those who
were in a frame of mind to notice ludicrous incidents in the
horrors of the situation.  Two race track men met in the drive.

"Hello, Bill; where are you living now?" asked one.

"You see that tree over there--that big one?" said Bill.  "Well,
you climb that.  My room is on the third branch to the left," and
they went away laughing.

Another observer tells these incidents of the flight: "I saw one
big fat man calmly walking up Market Street, carrying a huge bird
cage, and the cage was empty.  He seemed to enjoy looking at the
wrecked buildings.  Another man was leading a huge Newfoundland dog
and carrying a kitten in his arms.  He kept talking to the kitten.
On Fell Street I noticed an old woman, half dressed, pushing a
sewing machine up the hill.  A drawer fell out, and she stopped to
gather the fallen spools.  Poor little seamstress, it was now her
all."

A more amusing instance of the spirit of saving is that told by
another narrator, who says that he saw a lone woman patiently
pushing an upright piano along the pavement a few inches at a time.
Evidently in this case, too, it was the poor soul's one great
treasure on earth.

He also tells of a guest berating the proprietor of a hotel, a few
minutes after the shock, because he had not obeyed orders to call
him at five o'clock.  He vowed he would never stop at that house
again, a vow he might well keep, as the house is no more.

In one room where two girls were dressing the floor gave way and
one of them disappeared.

"Where are you, Mary?" screamed her companion.

"Oh, I'm in the parlor," said Mary calmly, as she wriggled out of
the mass of plaster and mortar below.

At the handsome residence of Rudolph Spreckels, the wealthy
financier, the lawn was riven from end to end in great gashes,
while the ornamental Italian rail leading to the imposing entrance
was a battered heap.  But the family, with a philosophy notable for
the occasion, calmly set up housekeeping on the sidewalk, the women
seated in armchairs taken from the mansion and wrapped in rugs and
coverlets, the silver breakfast service was laid out on the stone
coping and their morning meal spread out on the sidewalk.  This,
scene was repeated at other houses of the wealthy, the families too
fearful of another shock to venture within doors.

Another story of much interest in this connection is told.  On
Friday afternoon, two days and some hours after the scene just
narrated, Mrs. Rudolph Spreckels presented her husband with an heir
on the lawn in front of their mansion, while the family were
awaiting the coming of the dynamite squad to blow up their
magnificent residence.  An Irish woman who had been called in to
play the part of midwife at a birth elsewhere on Saturday, made a
pertinent comment after the wee one's eyes were opened to the walls
of its tent home.

"God sends earthquakes and babies," she said, "but He might, in His
mercy, cut out sending them both together."

There were many pathetic incidents.  Families had been sadly
separated in the confusion of the flight.  Husbands had lost their
wives--wives had lost their husbands, and anxious mothers sought
some word of their children--the stories were very much the same.
One pretty looking woman in an expensive tailor-made costume badly
torn, had lost her little girl.

"I don't think anything has happened to her," said she, hopefully.
"She is almost eleven years old, and some one will be sure to take
her in and care for her; I only want to know where she is.  That is
all I care about now."

A well-known young lady of good social position, when asked where
she had spent the night, replied: "On a grave."

"I thank God, I thank Uncle Sam and the people of this nation,"
said a woman, clad in a red woolen wrapper, seated in front of a
tent at the Presidio nursing one child and feeding three others
from a board propped on two bricks.  "We have lost our home and all
we had, but we have never been hungry nor without shelter."

The spirit of '49 was vital in many of the refugees.  One man
wanted to know whether the fire had reached his home.  He was
informed that there was not a house standing in that section of the
city.  He shrugged his shoulders and whistled.

"There's lots of others in the same boat," as he turned away.

"Going to build?" repeated one man, who had lost family and home
inside of two hours.  "Of course, I am.  They tell me that the
money in the banks is still all right, and I have some insurance.
Fifteen years ago I began with these," showing his hands, "and I
guess I'm game to do it over again.  Build again, well I wonder."

Among the many pathetic incidents of the disaster was that of a
woman who sat at the foot of Van Ness Avenue on the hot sands on
the hillside overlooking the bay east of Fort Mason, with four
little children, the youngest a girl of three, the eldest a boy of
ten years.  They were destitute of water, food and money.

The woman had fled, with her children, from a home in flames in the
Mission Street district, and tramped to the bay in the hope of
sighting the ship which she said was about due, of which her
husband was the captain.

"He would know me anywhere," she said.  And she would not move,
although a young fellow gallantly offered his tent, back on a
vacant lot, in which to shelter her children.


THE GOLDEN GATE CAMP.


In the Golden Gate Park there was the most woefully grotesque camp
of sufferers imaginable.  There was no caste, no distinction of
rich and poor, social lines had been obliterated by the common
misfortune, and the late owners of property and wealth were glad to
camp by the side of the day laborer.  As for shelter, there were a
few army tents and some others which afforded a fair degree of
comfort, but nine out of ten are the poorest suggestions of tents
made out of bedclothes, rugs, raincoats and in some cases of lace
curtains.  None of the tents or huts has a floor, and it is
impossible to see how a large number of women and children can
escape the most disastrous physical effects.

The unspeakable chaos that prevailed was apparent in no way more
than in the system, or lack of system, of registration and
location.  At the entrance to Golden Gate Park stands a billboard,
twenty feet high and a hundred feet long.  Originally it bore the
praises of somebody's beer.  Covering this billboard, to a height
of ten or twelve feet, were slips of paper, business cards, letter
heads and other notices, addressed to "Those interested," "Friends
and relatives," or to some individual, telling of the whereabouts
of refugees.

One notice read: "Mrs. Rogers will find her husband in Isidora
Park, Oakland.  W. H. Rogers."  Another style was this: "Sue, Harry
and Will Sollenberger all safe.  Call at No. 250 Twenty-seventh
Avenue."

There were thousands of these dramatic notices on this billboard,
and one larger than the others read: "Death notices can be left
here; get as many as possible."

Another method of finding friends and relatives was by printing
notices on vehicles.  On the side curtains of a buggy being driven
to Golden Gate Park was the following sign: "I am looking for I. E.
Hall."

That searchers for lost ones might have the least trouble, all the
tents, here known as camps, were tagged with the names or numbers.
For instance, one tent of bed quilts carried this sign: "No. 40
Bush Street camp."

Most of the tents were merely named for the family name of the
occupants, the former streets number usually being given.  But
these tent tags told a wonderful story of human nature.  A small
army tent bore the name, "Camp Thankful," the one next to it was
placarded "Camp Glory" and a few feet farther on an Irishman had
posted the sign "Camp Hell."

The cooking was all done on a dozen bricks for a stove, with such
utensils as may usually be picked up in the ordinary residential
alley.  But in all of the camps the badge of the eternal feminine
was to be found in the form of small pieces of broken mirrors, or
hand mirrors fastened to trees or tent walls, in some cases the
polished bottom of a tomato can serving the purposes of the
feminine toilet.

One woman, in whose improvised tent screeched a parrot, sat
ministering to the wounds of the other family pet, a badly singed
cat.  The number of canaries, parrots, dogs and cats was one of the
amusing features of the disaster.

Among the interesting and thrilling incidents of the disaster is
that connected with the telegraph service.  For many hours
virtually all the news from San Francisco came over the wires of
the Postal Telegraph Company.  The Postal has about fifteen wires
running into San Francisco.  They go under the bay in cables from
Oakland, and thence run underground for several blocks down Market
Street to the Postal building.  About forty operators are employed
to handle the business, but evidently there was only about one on
duty when the earthquake began.

What became of him nobody knows.  But he seems to have sent the
first word of the disaster.  It came over the Postal wires about
nine o'clock, just when the day's business had started in the East.
It will long be preserved in the records of the company.  This was
the dispatch:

"There was an earthquake hit us at 5.13 this morning, wrecking
several buildings and wrecking our offices.  They are carting dead
from the fallen buildings.  Fire all over town.  There is no water
and we lost our power.  I'm going to get out of office, as we have
had a little shake every few minutes, and it's me for the simple
life."

"R., San Francisco, 5.50 A. M."

"Mr. R." evidently got out, for there was nothing doing for a brief
interval after that.  The operator in the East pounded and pounded
at his key, but San Francisco was silent.  The Postal people were
wondering if it was all the dream of some crazy operator or a
calamity, when the wire woke up again.  It was the superintendent
of the San Francisco force this time.

"We're on the job, and are going to try and stick," was the way the
first message came from him.

This was what came over the wire a little later:

"Terrific earthquake occurred here at 5.13 this morning.  A number
of people were killed in the city.  None of the Postal people were
killed.  They are now carting the dead from the fallen buildings.
There are many fires, with no one to fight them.  Postal building
roof wrecked, but not entire building."

The fire got nearer and nearer to the Postal building.  All of the
water mains had been destroyed around the building, the operators
said, and there was no hope if the fire came on.  They also said
that they could hear the sound of dynamite blowing up buildings.
All this time the operators were sticking to their posts and
sending and receiving all the business the wires could stand.  At
12.45 the wire began to click again with a message for the little
group of waiting officials.

This message came in jerks: "Fire still coming up Market Street.
It's one block from the Post Office now; back of the Palace Hotel
is a furnace.  I am afraid that the Grand Hotel and the Palace
Hotel will get it soon.  The Southern Pacific offices on California
Street are safe, so far, but can't tell what will happen.
California Street is on fire.  Almost everything east of Montgomery
Street and north of Market Street is on fire now."

There was a pause, then: "We are beginning to pack up our
instruments."

"Instruments are all packed up, and we are ready to run," was
another message.  It was evident that just one instrument had been
left connected with the world outside.  In about ten minutes it
began to click.  Those who knew the telegraphers' language caught
the word "Good-bye," and then the ticks stopped.

At the end of an hour the instrument in the office began to click
again.  It was from an electrician by the name of Swain.

"I'm back in the building, but they are dynamiting the building
next door, and I've got to get out," was the way his message was
translated.  Dynamite ended the story, and the Postal's domicile in
San Francisco ceased to exist.



CHAPTER VI.

Facing Famine and Praying for Relief.


Frightful was the emergency of the vast host of fugitives who fled
in terror from the blazing city of San Francisco to the open gates
of Golden Gate Park and the military reservation of the Presidio.
Food was wanting, scarcely any water was to be had, death by hunger
and thirst threatened more than a quarter million of souls thus
driven without warning from their comfortable and happy homes and
left without food or shelter.  Provisions, shelter tents, means of
relief of various kinds were being hurried forward in all haste,
but for several days the host of fugitives had no beds but the bare
ground, no shelter but the open heavens, scarcely a crumb of bread
to eat, scarcely a gill of water to drink.  Those first days that
followed the disaster were days of horror and dread.  Rich and poor
were mingled together, the delicately reared with the rough sons of
toil to whom privation was no new experience.

Those who had food to sell sought to take advantage of the
necessities of the suffering by charging famine prices for their
supplies, but the soldiers put a quick stop to this.  When Thursday
morning broke, lines of buyers formed before the stores whose
supplies had not been commandeered.  In one of these, the first man
was charged 75 cents for a loaf of bread.  The corporal in charge
at that point brought his gun down with a slam.

"Bread is 10 cents a loaf in this shop," he said.

It went.  The soldier fixed the schedule of prices a little higher
than in ordinary times, and to make up for that he forced the
storekeeper to give free food to several hungry people in line who
had no money to pay.  In several other places the soldiers used the
same brand of horse sense.

A man with a loaf of bread in his hand ran up to a policeman on
Washington Street.  "Here," he said, "this man is trying to charge
me a dollar for this loaf of bread.  Is that fair?"

"Give it to me," said the policeman.  He broke off one end of it
and stuck it in his mouth.  "I am hungry myself," he said when he
had his mouth clear.  "Take the rest of it.  It's appropriated."

As an example of the prices charged for food and service by the
unscrupulous, we may quote the experience of a Los Angeles
millionaire named John Singleton, who had been staying a day or two
at the Palace Hotel.  On Wednesday he had to pay $25 for an express
wagon to carry himself, his wife and her sister to the Casino, near
Golden Gate Park, and on Thursday was charged a dollar apiece for
eggs and a dollar for a loaf of bread.  Others tell of having to
pay $50 for a ride to the ferry.

One of the refugees on the shores of Lake Herced Thursday morning
spied a flock of ducks and swans which the city maintained there
for the decoration of the lake.  He plunged into the lake, swam out
to them and captured a fat drake.  Other men and boys saw the point
and followed.  The municipal ducks were all cooking in five
minutes.

The soldiers were prompt to take charge of the famine situation,
acting on their own responsibility in clearing out the supplies of
the little grocery stores left standing and distributing them among
the people in need.  The principal food of those who remained in
the city was composed of canned goods and crackers.  The refugees
who succeeded in getting out of San Francisco were met as soon as
they entered the neighboring towns by representatives of bakers who
had made large supplies of bread, and who immediately dealt them
out to the hungry people.


THE FOOD QUESTION URGENT.


But the needs of the three hundred thousand homeless and hungry
people in the city could not be met in this way, and immediate
supplies in large quantities were necessary to prevent a reign of
famine from succeeding the ravages of the fire.  Danger from thirst
was still more insistent than that from hunger.  There was some
food to be had, bakeries were quickly built within the military
reservation there, and General Funston announced that rations would
soon reach the city and the people would be supplied from the
Presidio.  But there was scarcely any water to relieve the thirst
of the suffering.  Water became the incessant cry of firemen and
people alike, the one wanting it to fight the fire, the other to
drink, but even for the latter the supply was very scant.  There
was water in plenty in the reservoirs, but they were distant and
difficult to reach, and all night of the day succeeding the earth
shock wagons mounted with barrels and guarded by soldiers drove
through the park doling out water.  There was a steady crush around
these wagons, but only one drink was allowed to a person.

Toward midnight a black, staggering body of men began to weave
through the entrance.  They were volunteer fire-fighters, looking
for a place to throw themselves down and sleep.  These men dropped
out all along the line, and were rolled out of the driveways by the
troops.  There was much splendid unselfishness here.  Women gave up
their blankets and sat up or walked about all night to cover the
exhausted men who had fought fire until there was no more fight in
them.

The common destitution and suffering had, as we have said, wiped
out all social, financial and racial distinctions.  The man who
last Tuesday was a prosperous merchant was obliged to occupy with
his family a little plot of ground that adjoined the open-air home
of a laborer.  The white man of California forgot his antipathy to
the Asiatic race, and maintained friendly relations with his new
Chinese and Japanese neighbors.  The society belle who Tuesday
night was a butterfly of fashion at the grand opera performance now
assisted some factory girl in the preparation of humble daily
meals.  Money had little value.  The family that had had foresight
to lay in the largest stock of foodstuffs on the first day of
disaster was rated highest in the scale of wealth.

A few of the families that could secure wagons were possessors of
cook stoves, but over 95 per cent. of the refugees did their
cooking on little campfires made of brick or stone.  Battered
kitchen utensils that the week before would have been regarded as
useless had become articles of high value.  In fact, man had come
back to nature and all lines of caste had been obliterated, while
the very thought of luxury had disappeared.  It was, in the
exigency of the moment, considered good fortune to have a scant
supply of the barest necessaries of life.

As for clothing, it was in many cases of the scantiest, while
numbers of the people had brought comfortable clothing and bedding.
Many others had fled in their night garbs, and comparatively few of
these had had the self-possession to return and don their daytime
clothes.  As a result there had been much improvisation of garments
suitable for life in the open air, and as the days went on many of
the women arrayed themselves in home-made bloomer costumes, a
sensible innovation under the circumstances and in view of the
active outdoor work they were obliged to perform.

The grave question to be faced at this early stage was: How soon
would an adequate supply of food arrive from outside points to
avert famine?  Little remained in San Francisco beyond the area
swept by the fire, and the available supply could not last more
than a few days.  Fresh meat disappeared early on Wednesday and
only canned foods and breadstuffs were left.  All the foodstuffs
coming in on the cars were at once seized by order of the Mayor and
added to the scanty supply, the names of the consignees being taken
that this material might eventually be paid for.  The bakers agreed
to work their plants to their utmost capacity and to send all their
surplus output to the relief committee.  By working night and day
thousands of loaves could be provided daily.  A big bakery in the
saved district started its ovens and arranged to bake 50,000 loaves
before night.  The provisions were taken charge of by a committee
and sent to the various depots from which the people were being
fed.  Instructions were issued by Mayor Schmitz on Thursday to
break open every store containing provisions and to distribute them
to the thousands under police supervision.  A policeman reported
that two grocery stores in the neighborhood were closed, although
the clerks were present.  "Smash the stores open," ordered the
Mayor, "and guard them."  In towns across the bay the master bakers
have met and fixed the price of bread at 5 cents the loaf, with the
understanding that they will refuse to sell to retailers who
attempt to charge famine prices.  The committee of citizens in
charge of the situation in the stricken city proposed to use every
effort to keep food down to the ordinary price and check the
efforts of speculators, who in one instance charged as much as
$3.50 for two loaves of bread and a can of sardines.  Orders were
issued by the War Department to army officers to purchase at Los
Angeles immediately 200,000 rations and at Seattle 300,000 rations
and hurry them to San Francisco.  The department was informed that
there were 120,000 rations at the Presidio, that thousands of
refugees were being sheltered there and that the army was feeding
them.  One million rations already had been started to San
Francisco by the department.  But in view of the fact that there
were 300,000 fugitives to be fed the supply available was likely to
be soon exhausted.


FOOD FOR THE HUNGRY.


Such was the state of affairs at the end of the second day of the
great disaster.  But meanwhile the entire country had been aroused
by the tidings of the awful calamity, the sympathetic instinct of
Americans everywhere was awakened, and it was quickly made evident
that the people of the stricken city would not be allowed to suffer
for the necessaries of life.  On all sides money was contributed in
large sums, the United States Government setting the example by an
immediate appropriation of $1,000,000, and in the briefest possible
interval relief trains were speeding toward the stricken city from
all quarters, carrying supplies of food, shelter tents and other
necessaries of a kind that could not await deliberate action.

Shelter was needed almost as badly as food, for a host of the
refugees had nothing but their thin clothing to cover them, and,
though the weather at first was fine and mild, a storm might come
at any time.  In fact, a rain did come, a severe one, early in the
week after the disaster, pouring nearly all night long on the
shivering campers in the parks, wetting them to the skin and
soaking through the rudely improvised shelters which many of the
refugees had put up.  A few days afterward came a second shower,
rendering still more evident the need of haste in providing
suitable shelter.

All this was foreseen by those in charge, and the most strenuous
efforts were made to provide the absolute necessities of life.
Huge quantities of supplies were poured into the city.  From all
parts of California trainloads of food were rushed there in all
haste.  A steamer from the Orient laden with food reached the city
in its hour of need; another was dispatched in all haste from
Tacoma bearing $25,000 worth of food and medical supplies, ordered
by Mayor Weaver, of Philadelphia, as a first installment of that
city's contribution.  Money was telegraphed from all quarters to
the Governor of California, to be expended for food and other
supplies, and so prompt was the response to the insistent demand
that by Saturday all danger of famine was at an end; the people
were being fed.


WATER FOR THE THIRSTY.


The broken waterpipes were also repaired with all possible haste,
the Spring Valley Water Company putting about one thousand men at
work upon their shattered mains, and in a very brief time water
began to flow freely in many parts of the residence section and the
great difficulty of obtaining food and water was practically at an
end.  Never in the history of the country has there been a more
rapid and complete demonstration of the resourcefulness of
Americans than in the way this frightful disaster was met.

Food, water and shelter were not the only urgent needs.  At first
there was absolutely no sanitary provision, and the danger of an
epidemic was great.  This was a peril which the Board of Health
addressed itself vigorously to meet, and steps for improving the
sanitary conditions were hastily taken.  Quick provision for
sheltering the unfortunates was also made.  Eight temporary
structures, 150 feet in length by 28 feet wide and 13 feet high,
were erected in Golden Gate Park, and in these sheds thousands
found reasonably comfortable quarters.  This was but a beginning.
More of these buildings were rapidly erected, and by their aid the
question of shelter was in part solved.  The buildings were divided
into compartments large enough to house a family, each compartment
having an entrance from the outside.  This work was done under the
control of the engineering department of the United States army,
which had taken steps to obtain a full supply of lumber and had put
135 carpenters to work.  Those of the refugees who were without
tents were the first to be provided for in these temporary
buildings.


THE CAMPS IN THE PARKS.


To those who made an inspection of the situation a few days after
the earthquake, the hills and beaches of San Francisco looked like
an immense tented city.  For miles through the park and along the
beaches from Ingleside to the sea wall at North Beach the homeless
were camped in tents--makeshifts rigged up from a few sticks of
wood and a blanket or sheet.  Some few of the more fortunate
secured vehicles on which they loaded regulation tents and were,
therefore, more comfortably housed than the great majority.  Golden
Gate Park and the Panhandle looked like one vast campaign ground.
It is said that fully 100,000 persons, rich and poor alike, sought
refuge in Golden Gate Park alone, and 200,000 more homeless ones
located at the other places of refuge.

At the Presidio military reservation, where probably 50,000 persons
were camped, affairs were conducted with military precision.  Water
was plentiful and rations were dealt out all day long.  The
refugees stood patiently in line and there was not a murmur.  This
characteristic was observable all over the city.  The people were
brave and patient, and the wonderful order preserved by them proved
of great assistance.  In Golden Gate Park a huge supply station had
been established and provisions were dealt out.

Six hundred men from the Ocean Shore Railway arrived on Saturday
night with wagons and implements to work on the sewer system.
Inspectors were kept going from house to house, examining chimneys
and issuing permits to build fires.  In fact, activity manifested
itself in all quarters in the attempt to bring order out of
confusion, and in an astonishingly short time the tented city was
converted from a scene of wretched disorder into one of order and
system.

At Jefferson Park were camped thousands of people of every class in
life.  On the western edge of this park is the old Scott house,
where Mrs. McKinley lay sick for two weeks in 1901.  Three times a
day the people all gathered in line before the provision wagons for
their little handouts.  "Yesterday," says an observer, "I saw, in
order before the wagons, a Lascar sailor in his turban, about as
low a Chinatown bum as I ever set eyes on, a woman of refined
appearance, a barefooted child, two Chinamen, and a pretty girl.
They were squeezed up together by the line, which extended for a
quarter of a mile.  It is civilization in the bare bones.

"The great and rich are on a level with the poor in the struggle
for bare existence, and over them all is the perfect, unbroken
discipline of the soldiery.  They came into the city and took
charge on an hour's notice, they saved the city from itself in the
three days of hell, and but for them the city, even with enough
provisions to feed them in the stores and warehouses, must have
gone hungry for lack of distributive organization."


COMEDY AND PATHOS IN THE BREAD LINE.


At one of the parks on Tuesday morning a handsomely dressed woman
with two children at her skirts stood in a line of many hundreds
where supplies were being given out.  She took some uncooked bacon,
and as she reached for it jewels sparkled on her fingers.  One of
the tots took a can of condensed milk, the other a bag of cakes.

"I have money," she said, "'if I could get it and use it.  I have
property, if I could realize on it.  I have friends, if I could get
to them.  Meantime I am going to cook this piece of bacon on bricks
and be happy."

She was only one of thousands like her.

In a walk through the city this note of cheerfulness of the people
in the face of an almost incredible week of horror was to a
correspondent the mitigating element to the awfulness of disaster.

In the streets of the residential district in the western addition,
which the fire did not reach, women of the houses were cooking
meals on the pavement.  In most cases they had moved out the family
ranges, and were preparing the food which they had secured from the
Relief Committee.

Out on Broderick street, near the Panhandle, a piano sounded.  It
was nigh ten o'clock and the stars were shining after the rain.
Fires gleamed up and down through the shrubbery and the refugees
sat huddled together about the flames, with their blankets about
their heads, Apache-like, in an effort to dry out after the wetting
of the afternoon.  The piano, dripping with moisture, stood on the
curb, near the front of a cottage which had been wrecked by the
earthquake.

A youth with a shock of red hair sat on a cracker box and pecked at
the ivories.  "Home Ain't Nothing Like This" was thrummed from the
rusting wires with true vaudeville dash and syncopation.  "Bill
Bailey," "Good Old Summer Time," "Dixie" and "In Toyland" followed.
Three young men with handkerchiefs wrapped about their throats in
lieu of collars stood near the pianist and with him lifted up their
voices in melody.  The harmony was execrable, the time without
excuse, but the songs ran through the trees of the Panhandle, and
the crows, forgetting their misery for a time, joined the strange
chorus.

The people had their tales of comedy, one being that on the morning
of the fire a richly dressed woman who lived in one of the
aristocratic Sutter Street apartments came hurrying down the
street, faultlessly gowned as to silks and sables, save that one
dainty foot was shod with a high-heeled French slipper and the
other was incased in a laborer's brogan.  They say that as she
walked she careened like a bark-rigged ship before a typhoon.

An hour spent behind the counter of the food supply depot in the
park tennis court yielded rich reward to the seeker after the
outlandish.  The tennis court was piled high with the plunder of
several grocery stores and the cargoes of many relief cars.  A
square cut in the wire screen permitted of the insertion of a
counter, behind which stood members of the militia acting as food
dispensers.  Before the improvised window passed the line of
refugees, a line which stretched back fully 300 yards to Speedway
track.

"I want a can of condensed cream, so I can feed my baby and my
dog," said a large, florid-faced woman in a gaudy kimono, "and I
don't care for crackers, but you can throw in some potted chicken
if you have it."

"What's in that bottle over there?" queried the next applicant.
"Tomato ketchup?  Well, of all the luck!  Say, young man, just give
me three."

A little gray-haired woman in an India shawl peered timorously
through the window.  "Just a little bit of anything you may have
handy, please," she whispered, and she cast a careful eye about to
see of any of her neighbors had recognized her standing there in
the "bread line."

"Yesterday, at the Western Union office," says one writer, "I saw a
woman drive up in a large motor car and beg that the telegram on
which a boy had asked a delivery fee of twenty-five cents be handed
to her.  She said she had not a penny and did not know when she
would have any money, but that as soon as she had any she would pay
for the message.  It was given to her, and the manager told me that
there were hundreds of similar cases."

Many weddings resulted from the disaster.  Women driven out of
their homes and left destitute, appealed to the men to whom they
were engaged, and immediate marriages took place.  After the first
day of the disaster an increase in the marriage licenses issued was
noticed by County Clerk Cook.  This increase grew until seven
marriage licenses were issued in an hour.

"I don't live anywhere," was the answer given in many cases when
the applicant for a license was asked the locality of his
residence.  "I used to live in San Francisco."

Births seem to have been about as common as marriages, in one night
five children being born in Golden Gate Park.  In Buena Vista Park
eight births were recorded and others elsewhere, the population
being thus increased at a rate hardly in accordance with the
exigencies of the situation.


THE EXODUS FROM SAN FRANCISCO.


We have spoken only of the camps of refugees within the municipal
limits of San Francisco.  But in addition to these was the
multitude of fugitives who made all haste to escape from that city.
This was with the full consent of the authorities, who felt that
every one gone lessened the immediate weight upon themselves, and
who issued a strict edict that those who went must stay, that there
could be no return until a counter edict should be made public.

From the start this was one of the features of the situation.  Down
Market Street, once San Francisco's pride, now leading through
piles of tottering walls, piles of still hot bricks and twisted
iron and heaps of smouldering debris, poured a huge stream of
pedestrians.  Men bending under the weight of great bundles pushed
baby carriages loaded with bric-a-brac and children.  Women toiled
along with their arms full, but a large proportion were able to
ride, for the relief corps had been thoroughly organized and wagons
were being pressed into service from all sides.

In constant procession they moved toward the ferry, whence the
Southern Pacific was transporting them with baggage free wherever
they wished to go.  Automobiles meanwhile shot in all directions,
carrying the Red Cross flag and usually with a soldier carrying a
rifle in the front seat.  They had the right of way everywhere,
carrying messages and transporting the ill to temporary hospitals
and bearing succor to those in distress.

Oakland, the nearest place of resort, on the bay shore opposite San
Francisco, soon became a great city of refuge, fugitives gathering
there until 50,000 or more were sheltered within its charitable
limits.  Having suffered very slightly from the earthquake that had
wrecked the great city across the bay, it was in condition to offer
shelter to the unfortunate.  All day Wednesday and Thursday a
stream of humanity poured from the ferries, every one carrying
personal baggage and articles saved from the conflagration.
Hundreds of Chinese men, women and children, all carrying baggage
to the limit of their strength, made their way into the limited
Chinatown of Oakland.

Multitudes of persons besieged the telegraph offices, and the crush
became so great that soldiers were stationed at the doors to keep
them in line and allow as many as possible to find standing room at
the counters.  Messages were stacked yards high in the offices
waiting to be sent throughout the world.  Every boat from San
Francisco brought hundreds of refugees, carrying luggage and
bedding in large quantities.  Many women were bareheaded and all
showed fatigue as the result of sleeplessness and exposure to the
chill air.  Hundreds of these persons lined the streets of Oakland,
waiting for some one to provide them with shelter, for which the
utmost possible provision was quickly made.  No one was allowed to
go hungry in Oakland and few lacked shelter.  At the Oakland First
Presbyterian Church 1,800 were fed and 1,000 people were provided
with sleeping accommodations.  Pews were turned into beds.  Cots
stood in the aisles, in the gallery and in the Sunday school room.
Every available inch of space was occupied by some substitute for a
bed.

As the days wore on the number of refugees somewhat decreased.
Although they still came in large numbers, many left on every train
for different points.  Requests for free transportation were
investigated as closely as possible and all the deserving were sent
away.  Women and children and married men who wished to join their
families in different parts of the State were given preference.
The transportation bureau was on a street corner, where a man stood
on a box and called the names of those entitled to passes.

Along the principal streets of Oakland there was a picturesque
pilgrimage of former householders, who dragged or carried the
meagre effects they had been able to save.  The refugees who could
not be cared for in Oakland made an exodus to Berkeley and other
surrounding cities, where relief committees were actively at work.
Utter despair was pictured on many faces, which showed the effects
of sleepless days and nights, and the want of proper food.

Oakland was only one of the outside camps of refuge.  At Berkeley
over 6,000 refugees sought quarters, the big gymnasium of the State
University being turned into a lodging house, while hundreds were
provided with blankets to sleep in the open air under the
University oaks.  The students and professors of the University did
all they could for their relief, and the Citizens' Relief Committee
supplied them with food.

The same benevolent sympathy was manifested at all the places near
the ruined city which had escaped disaster, this aid materially
reducing that needed within San Francisco itself.


WORSHIP IN THE OPEN AIR.


Sunday dawned in San Francisco; Sunday in the camp of the refugees.
On a green knoll in Golden Gate Park, between the conservatory and
the tennis courts, a white-haired minister of the Gospel gathered
his flock.  It was the Sabbath day and in the turmoil and confusion
the minister did not forget his duty.  Two upright stakes and a
cross-piece gave him a rude pulpit, and beside him stood a young
man with a battered brass cornet.  Far over the park stole a melody
that drew hundreds of men and women from their tents.  Of all
denominations and all creeds, they gathered on that green knoll,
and the men uncovered while the solemn voice repeated the words of
a grand old hymn, known wherever men and women meet to worship the
Lord:


"Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, oh, leave me not alone, still support and comfort me!"


A moment before there had been shouting and confusion in the
driveway where some red-striped artillerymen were herding a squad
of gesticulating Chinamen as men herd sheep.  The shouting died
away as the minister's voice rose and fell and out of the stillness
came the sobs of women.  One little woman in blue was making no
sound, but the tears were streaming down her cheeks.  Her husband,
a sturdy young fellow in his shirt sleeves, put his arm about her
shoulders and tried to comfort her as the reading went on.


"All my trust on Thee is stayed; all my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head with the shadow of Thy wing."


Then the cornet took up the air again and those helpless persons
followed it in quivering tones, the white-haired man of God leading
them with closed eyes.  When the last verse was over, the minister
raised his hands.

"Let us pray," said he, and his congregation sank down in the grass
before him.  It was a simple prayer, such a prayer as might be
offered by a man without a home or a shelter over his head--and
nothing left to him but an unshaken faith in his Creator.

"Oh, Lord, Thy ways are past finding out, but we still have faith
in Thee.  We know not why Thou hast visited these people and left
them homeless.  Thou knowest the reason of this desolation and of
our utter helplessness.  We call on Thee for help in the hour of
our great need.  Bless the people of this city, the sorrowing ones,
the bereaved, gather them under Thy mighty wing and soothe aching
hearts this day."

The women were crying again, and one big man dug his knuckles into
his eyes without shame.  The man who could have listened to such a
prayer unmoved was not in Golden Gate Park that day.



CHAPTER VII.

The Frightful Loss of Life and Wealth.


While multitudes escaped from toppling buildings and crashing walls
in the dread disaster of that fatal Wednesday morning of April 18th
in San Francisco, hundreds of the less fortunate met their death in
the ruins, and horrifying scenes were witnessed by the survivors.
Many of those who escaped had tales of terror to tell.  Mr. J. P.
Anthony, as he fled from the Ramona Hotel, saw a score or more of
people crushed to death, and as he walked the streets at a later
hour saw bodies of the dead being carried in garbage wagons and all
kinds of vehicles to the improvised morgues, while hospitals and
storerooms were already filled with the injured.  Mr. G. A.
Raymond, of Tomales, Cal., gives evidence to the same effect.  As
he rushed into the street, he says that the air was filled with
falling stones and people around him were crushed to death on all
sides.

Others gave testimony to the same effect.  Samuel Wolf, of Salt
Lake City, tells us that he saved one woman from death in the
hotel.  She was rushing blindly toward an open window, from which
she would have fallen fifty feet to the stone pavement below.  "On
my way down Market Street," he says, "the whole side of a building
fell out and came so near me that I was covered and blinded by the
dust.  Then I saw the first dead come by.  They were piled up in an
automobile like carcasses in a butcher's wagon, all bloody, with
crushed skulls, broken limbs and bloody faces."

These are frightful stories, exaggerated probably from the nervous
excitement of those terrible moments, as are also the following
statements, which form part of the early accounts of the disaster.
Thus we are told that "from a three-story lodging house at Fifth
and Minna Streets, which collapsed Wednesday morning, more than
seventy-five bodies were taken to-day.  There are fifty other
bodies in sight in the ruins.  This building was one of the first
to take fire on Fifth Street.  At least 100 persons are said to
have been killed in the Cosmopolitan, on Fourth Street.  More than
150 persons are reported dead in the Brunswick Hotel, at Seventh
and Mission Streets."

Another statement is to the effect that "at Seventh and Howard
Streets a great lodging house took fire after the first shock,
before the guests had escaped.  There were few exits and nearly all
the lodgers perished.  Mrs.  J. J. Munson, one of those in the
building, leaped with her child in her arms from the second floor
to the pavement below and escaped unhurt.  She says she was the
only one who escaped from the house.  Such horrors as this were
repeated at many points.  B. Baker was killed while trying to get a
body from the ruins.  Other rescuers heard the pitiful wail of a
little child, but were unable to get near the point from which the
cry issued.  Soon the onrushing fire ended the cry and the men
turned to other tasks."


ESTIMATES OF THE DEATH LIST.


The questionable point in those statements is that the numbers of
dead spoken of in these few instances exceed the whole number given
in the official records issued two weeks after the disaster.  Yet
they go to illustrate the actual horrors of the case, and are of
importance for this reason.  As regards the whole number killed, in
fact, there is not, and probably never will be, a full and accurate
statement.  While about 350 bodies had been recovered at the end of
the second week, it was impossible to estimate how many lay buried
under the ruins, to be discovered only as the work of excavation
went on, and how many more had been utterly consumed by the flames,
leaving no trace of their existence.  The estimates of the probable
loss of life ran up to 1,500 and more, while the injured were very
numerous.

The shock of the earthquake, the pulse of deep horror to which it
gave rise, the first wild impulse to flee for life, gave way in the
minds of many to a feeling of intense sympathy as agonized cries
came from those pinned down to the ruins of buildings or felled by
falling bricks or stones, and as the sight of dead bodies
incrimsoned with blood met the eyes of the survivors in the
streets.  From wandering aimlessly about, many of these went
earnestly to work to rescue the wounded and recover the bodies of
the slain.  In this merciful work the police and the soldiers lent
their aid, and soon there was a large corps of rescuers actively
engaged.


BURYING THE DEAD.


Soon numbers were taken, alive or dead, from the ruins, passing
vehicles were pressed into the service, and the labor of mercy went
on rapidly, several buildings being quickly converted into
temporary hospitals, while the dead were conveyed to the Mechanics'
Pavilion and other available places.  Portsmouth Square became for
a time a public morgue.  Between twenty and thirty corpses were
laid side by side upon the trodden grass in the absence of more
suitable accommodations.  It is said that when the flames
threatened to reach the square, the dead, mostly unknown, were
removed to Columbia Square, where they were buried when danger
threatened that quarter.  Others were taken to the Presidio, and
here the soldiers pressed into service all men who came near and
forced them to labor at burying the dead, a temporary cemetery
being opened there.  So thick were the corpses piled up that they
were becoming a menace, and early in the day the order was issued
to bury them at any cost.  The soldiers were needed for other work,
so, at the point of rifles, the citizens were compelled to take to
the work of burying.  Some objected at first, but the troops stood
no trifling, and every man who came within reach was forced to
work.  Rich men, unused to physical exertion, labored by the side
of the workingmen digging trenches in which to bury the dead.  The
able-bodied being engaged in fighting the flames, General Funston
ordered that the old men and the weaklings should take the work in
hand.  They did it willingly enough, but had they refused the
troops on guard would have forced them.  It was ruled that every
man physically capable of handling a spade or a pick should dig for
an hour.  When the first shallow graves were ready the men, under
the direction of the troops, lowered the bodies, several in a
grave, and a strange burial began.  The women gathered about
crying.  Many of them knelt while a Catholic priest read the burial
service and pronounced absolution.  All Thursday afternoon this
went on.

In this connection the following stories are told:

Dr. George V. Schramm, a young medical graduate, said:

"As I was passing down Market Street with a new-found friend, an
automobile came rushing along with two soldiers in it.  My doctor's
badge protected me, but the soldiers invited my companion, a husky
six-footer, to get into the automobile.  He said:

"'I don't want to ride, and have plenty of business to attend to.'

"Once more they invited him, and he refused.  One of the soldiers
pointed a gun at him and said:

"'We need such men as you to save women and children and to help
fight the fire.'

"The man was on his way to find his sister, but he yielded to the
inevitable.  He worked all day with the soldiers, and when released
to get lunch he felt that he could conscientiously desert to go and
find his own loved ones."

"Half a block down the street the soldiers were stopping all
pedestrians without the official pass which showed that they were
on relief business, and putting them to work heaving bricks off the
pavement.  Two dapper men with canes, the only clean people I saw,
were caught at the corner by a sergeant, who showed great joy as he
said:

"'I give you time to git off those kid gloves, and then hustle,
damn you, hustle!'  The soldiers took delight in picking out the
best dressed men and keeping them at the brick piles for long
terms.  I passed them in the shelter of a provision wagon, afraid
that even my pass would not save me.  Two men are reported shot
because they refused to turn in and help."

Many of the dead, of course, will never be identified, though the
names were taken of all who were known and descriptions written of
the others.  A story comes to us of one young girl who had followed
for two days the body of her father, her only relative.  It had
been taken from a house on Mission Street to an undertaker's shop
just after the quake.  The fire drove her out with her charge, and
it was placed in Mechanics' Pavilion.  That went, and the body
rested for a day at the Presidio, waiting burial.  With many
others, she wept on the border of the burned area, while the women
cared for her.


VICTIMS TAKEN FROM THE RUINS.


On Friday eleven postal clerks, all alive, were taken from the
debris of the Post Office.  All at first were thought to be dead,
but it was found that, although they were buried under the stone
and timber, every one was alive.  They had been for three days
without food or water.

Two theatrical people were in a hotel in Santa Rosa when the shock
came.  The room was on the fourth floor.  The roof collapsed.  One
of them was thrown from the bed and both were caught by the
descending timbers and pinned helplessly beneath the debris.  They
could speak to each other and could touch one another's hands, but
the weight was so great that they could do nothing to liberate
themselves.  After three hours rescuers came, cut a hole in the
roof and both were released uninjured.

Even the docks were converted into hospitals in the stringent
exigency of the occasion, about 100 patients being stretched on
Folsom street dock at one time.  In the evening tugs conveyed them
to Goat Island, where they were lodged in the hospital.  The docks
from Howard Street to Folsom Street had been saved, the fire at
this point not being permitted to creep farther east than Main
Street.  Another series of fatalities occurred, caused by the
stampeding of a herd of cattle at Sixth and Folsom Streets.  Three
hundred of the panic-stricken animals ran amuck when they saw and
felt the flames and charged wildly down the street, trampling under
foot all who were in the way.  One man was gored through and
through by a maddened bull.  At least a dozen persons', it is said,
were killed, though probably this is an overestimate.  One observer
tells us that "the first sight I saw was a man with blood streaming
from his wounds, carrying a dead woman in his arms.  He placed the
body on the floor of the court at the Palace Hotel, and then told
me he was the janitor of a big building.  The first he knew of the
catastrophe he found himself in the basement, his dead wife beside
him.  The building had simply split in two, and thrown them down."

In the camps of refuge the deaths came frequently.  Physicians were
everywhere in evidence, but, without medicine or instruments, were
fearfully handicapped.  Men staggered in from their herculean
efforts at the fire lines, only to fall gasping on the grass.
There was nothing to be done.  Injured lay groaning.  Tender hands
were willing, but of water there was none.  "Water, water, for
God's sake get me some water," was the cry that struck into
thousands of souls of San Francisco.

The list of dead was not confined to San Francisco, but extended
to many of the neighboring towns, especially to Santa Rosa, where
sixty were reported dead and a large number missing, and to the
insane asylum in its vicinity, from the ruins of which a hundred
or more of dead bodies were taken.


THE FREE USE OF RIFLES.


A citizen tells us that "in the early part of the evening, and
while the twilight lasts, there is a good deal of trafficking up
and down the sidewalks.  Having finished their dinners of government
provisions, cooked on the street or in the parks, the people
promenade for half an hour or so.  By half-past eight the town
is closed tight.  A rat scurrying in the street will bring a
soldier's rifle to his shoulder.  Any one not wearing a uniform
or a Red Cross badge is a suspicious character and may be shot
unless he halts at command.  Even the men in uniform do well to
stop still, for it is hard to tell a uniform in the half light
thrown up by the burning town and the great shadows.

"Last night two of us ventured out on Van Ness Avenue a little late.
There came up the noise of some kind of a shooting scrape far down
the street.  We hurried in that direction to see what was doing.
An eighteen-year-old boy in a uniform barred the way, levelled his
rifle and said in a peremptory way:

"'Go home.'

"We took a course down the block, where an older soldier, more
communicative but equally peremptory, informed us that we were
trifling with our lives, news or no news.

"'We've shot about 300 people for one thing or another,' he said.
'Now, dodge trouble.  Git!'  That ended the expedition."


THE LOSS IN WEALTH.


If we pass now from the record of the loss of lives to that of the
destruction of wealth, the estimates exceed by far any fire losses
recorded in history.

The truth is that when flames eat out the heart of a great city,
devour its vast business establishments, storehouses and
warehouses, sweep through its centres of opulence, destroy its
wharves with their accumulation of goods, spread ruin and havoc
everywhere, it is impossible at first to estimate the loss.  Only
gradually, as time goes on, is the true loss discovered, and never
perhaps very

accurately, since the owners and the records of riches often
disappear with the wealth itself.  In regard to San Francisco, the
early estimate was that three-fourths of the city, valued at
$500,000,000, was destroyed.

But early estimates are apt to be exaggerated, and on Friday, two
days after the disaster, we find this estimate reduced to
$250,000,000.  A few more days passed and these figures shrunk
still further, though it was still largely conjectural, the means
of making a trustworthy estimate being very restricted.  Later on
the pendulum

swung upward again, and two weeks after the fire the closest
estimates that could be made fixed the property loss at close to
$350,000,000, or double that of the Chicago fire.  But as the
actual loss in the latter case proved considerably below the early
estimates, the same may prove to be the case with San Francisco.

Special personal losses were in many cases great.  Thus the Palace
Hotel was built at a cost of $6,000,000, and the St. Francis, which
originally cost $4,000,000, was being enlarged at great expense.
Several of the great mansions on Nob's Hill cost a million or more,
the City Hall was built at a cost of $7,000,000, the new Post
Office was injured to the extent of half a million, while a large
number of other buildings might be named whose value, with their
contents, was measured in the millions.

It was not until May 3d that news came over the wires of another
serious item of loss.  The merchants had waited until then for
their fire-proof safes and vaults to cool off before attempting to
open them.  When this was at length done the results proved
disheartening.  Out of 576 vaults and safes opened in the district
east of Powell and north of Market Street, where the flames had
raged with the greatest fury, it was found that fully forty per
cent. had not performed their duty.  When opened they were found to
contain nothing but heaps of ashes.  The valuable account books,
papers and in some cases large sums of money had vanished, the loss
of the accounts being a severe calamity in a business sense.  As
all the banks were equipped with the best fire-proof vaults, no
fear was felt for the safety of their contents.


LOOTERS IN CHINATOWN.


Chinatown suffered severely, the merchants of that locality
possessing large stocks of valuable goods, many of which were
looted by seemingly respectable sightseers after the ruins had
cooled off, bronze, porcelain and other valuable goods being taken
from the ruins.  One example consisted in a mass of gold and silver
valued at $2,500, which had been melted by the fire in the store of
Tai Sing, a Chinese merchant.  This was found by the police on May
3d in a place where it had been hidden by looters.

But with all its losses San Francisco does not despair.  The spirit
of its citizens is heroic, and there are some hopeful signs in the
air.  The insurances due are estimated to approximate $175,000,000,
and there are other moneys likely to be spent on building during
the coming year, making a total of over $200,000,000.  Eastern
capitalists also talk of investing $100,000,000 of new capital in
the rebuilding of the city, while the San Francisco authorities
have a project of issuing $200,000,000 of municipal bonds, the
payment to be guaranteed by the United States Government.  Thus,
two weeks after the earthquake, daylight was already showing
strongly ahead and hope was fast beginning to replace despair.



CHAPTER VIII.

Wonderful Record of Thrilling Escapes.


Shuddering under the memories of what seems more like a nightmare
than actual reality to the survivors of this frightful calamity,
they have tried to picture in words far from adequate the days of
terror and the nights of horror that fell to the lot of the people
of the Golden Gate city and their guests.

They recount the roar of falling structures and the groans and
pitiful cries of those pinned beneath the timbers of collapsing
buildings.  They speak of their climbing over dead bodies heaped in
the streets, and of following tortuous ways to find the only avenue
of escape--the ferry, where men and women fought like infuriated
animals, bent on escape from a fiery furnace.

These refugees tell of the great caravan composed of homeless
persons in its wild flight to the hills for safety, and in that
great procession women, harnessed to vehicles, trudging along and
tugging at the shafts, hauling all that was left of their earthly
belongings, and a little food that foresight told them would be
necessary to stay the pangs of hunger in the hours of misery that
must follow.

We give below an especially accurate picture from the description
of the well-known writer, Jane Tingley, who, an eye-witness of it
all, did so much to help the sufferers, and who, with all the
unselfishness of true American womanhood, sacrificed her own
comfort and needs for those of others.

"May God be merciful to the women and children in this land of
desolation and despair!" she wrote on April 21st.

"Men have done, are doing such deeds of sublime self-sacrifice, of
magnificent heroism, that deserve to make the title of American
manhood immortal in the pages of history.  The rest lies with the
Almighty.

"I spent all of last night and to-day in that horror city across
the bay.  I went from this unharmed city of plenty, blooming with
abounding health, thronged with happy mothers and joyous children,
and spent hours among the blackened ruins and out on the windswept
slopes of the sand hills by the sea, and I heard the voice of
Rachel weeping for her children in the wilderness and mourning
because she found them not.

"I climbed to the top of Strawberry Hill, in Golden Gate Park, and
saw a woman, half naked, almost starving, her hair dishevelled and
an unnatural lustre in her eyes, her gaze fixed upon the waters in
the distance, and her voice repeating over and over again: 'Here I
am, my pretties; come here, come here.'

"I took her by the hand and led her down to the grass at the foot
of the hill.  A man--her husband--received her from me and wept as
he said: 'She is calling our three little children.  She thinks the
sounds of the ocean waves are the voices of our lost darlings.'

"Ever since they became separated from their children in that first
terrific onrush of the multitude when the fire swept along Mission
Street these two had been tramping over the hills and parks without
food or rest, searching for their little ones.  To all whom they
have met they have addressed the same pitiful question: 'Have you
seen anything of our lost babies?'  They will not know what has
become of them until order has been brought out of chaos; until the
registration headquarters of the military authorities has secured
the names of all who are among the straggling wanderers around the
camps of the homeless.  Perhaps then it will be found that these
children are in a trench among the corpses of the weaklings who
have succumbed to the frightful rigors of the last three days.

"Last night a soldier seized me by the arm and cried: 'If you are a
woman with a woman's heart, go in there and do whatever you can.'

"'In there' meant behind a barricade of brush, covered with a
blanket that had been hastily thrown together to form a rude
shelter.  I went in and saw one of my own sex lying on the bare
grass naked, her clothing torn to shreds; scattered over the green
beside her.  She was moaning pitifully, and it needed no words to
tell a woman what the matter was, I bade my man escort to find a
doctor, or at least send more women at once.  He ran off and soon
two sympathetic ladies hastened into the shelter.  In an hour my
escort returned with a young medical student.  Under the best
ministrations we could find, a new life was ushered into this hell,
which, a few hours before, was the fairest among cities.

"'There have been many such cases,' said the medical student.
"Many of the mothers have died--few of the babies have lived.  I,
personally, know of nine babies that have been born in the park to-
day.  There must have been many others here, among the sand hills,
and at the Presidio."

"Think of it, you happy women who have become mothers in
comfortable homes, attended with every care that loving hands can
bestow.  Think of the dreadful plight of these poor members of your
sex.  The very thought of it is enough to make the hearts of women
burst with pity.

"To-day I walked among the people crowded on the Panhandle.
Opposite the Lyon Street entrance, on the north side, I saw a young
woman sitting tailor-fashion in the roadway, which, in happier
days, was the carriage boulevard.  She held a dishpan and was
looking at her reflection in the polished bottom, while another
girl was arranging her hair.  I recognized a young wife, whose
marriage to a prominent young lawyer eight months ago was a gala
event among that little handful of people who clung to the old-time
fashionable district of Valencia Street, like the Phelan and Dent
families, and refused to move from that aristocratic section when
the new-made, millionaires began to build their palaces on Nob Hill
and Pacific Heights.  I spoke to the young woman about the
disadvantages of making her toilet under such untoward
circumstances.

"'Ah, Julia, dear, you must stay to luncheon,' she said, extending
her fingers just as though she stood in her own drawing-room.


MISERY DRIVES SOME INSANE.


"I looked at the maid in astonishment, for I had never met the
young society woman before.  The maid shook her head and whispered
when she got the chance:

"'My mistress is not in her right mind.'

"'Where is her husband?' I asked.

"'He has gone to try to get some food,' said the girl.  'She
imagines that she is in her own home, before her dressing table,
and is having me do up her hair against some of her friends
dropping in.'

"'She must have suffered,' I said, 'to cause such a mental
derangement.'

"The girl's eyes filled with tears.  She told me that her mistress
had seen her brother killed by falling timbers while they were
hurrying to a place of safety.  A little farther on I saw two women
concealed as best they might be behind a tuft of sand brush, one
lying face down on the ground, while the other vigorously massaged
her bare back.  I asked if I might help, and learned that the
ministering angel was the unmarried daughter of one of the city's
richest merchants, and that the girl whom she succored had been
employed as a servant in her father's household.  The girl's back
had been injured by a fall, and her mistress' fair hands were
trying to make her well again.

"Thus has this overwhelming common woe levelled all barriers of
caste and placed the suffering multitude on a basis of democracy.
On a rock behind a manzanita bush near the edge of Stow Lake I saw
a Chinaman making a pile of broken twigs in the early morning.  The
man felt inside his blouse and swore a gibbering, unintelligible
Asiatic oath as his hand came forth empty.  Observing my escort,
the Chinaman approached and said:

"'Bosse, alle same, catchee match?'

"My escort gave him the desired article, and the Chinaman made a
fire of his pile of twigs.  'Why are you making a fire, John?' I
asked.

"'Bleakfast,' he replied laconically.

"I asked him where his food might be, and he gave us a quick glance
of suspicion as he said briefly, 'No sabbe.'

"We stood watching him, evidently to his great distress, and
finally he made bold to say, 'You no stand lound, bosse.  You go
'way.'

"We left him, but after making the tour around the lake came back
to the same place.  There sat four people on the ground eating
fried pork, potatoes and Chinese cakes.  In a young woman of the
group I recognized one whom I had seen dancing at one of Mr.
Greenway's Friday Night Cotillion balls in the Palace Hotel's maple
room during the winter.  They offered to share their meal with us,
but we told them that we had just come from breakfast in Oakland.
I told them about the strange conduct of their Chinaman, who was
traveling back and forth from his fire to the 'table' with the food
as it became ready to serve.

"The father of the family laughed.


SOCIETY FOLKS COMPELLED TO CAMP.


'Yes,' he said, 'that is Charlie's way.  He has been with us many
years, and when our home was destroyed he came out here with us in
preference to seeking refuge among his countrymen in Chinatown.
Yesterday we were without food, and Charlie disappeared.  I thought
he had deserted us, but toward dark he came back with a bamboo pole
over his shoulder and a Chinese market gardener's basket suspended
from either end.  In one of the baskets he had a pile of blankets
and a lot of canvas.  In the other was an assortment of pork,
flour, Chinese cakes and vegetables, besides a half-dozen chickens
and a couple of bagfuls of rice.

"'Charlie had been foraging in Chinatown for us before the fire
reached that quarter.  He made a tent and improvised beds for us,
and he has the food concealed somewhere in the vicinity, but where
he will not tell us, for fear that we will give some of it to
others and reduce our own supply.  Charlie boils rice for himself.
He will not touch the other food.  Without him we should have been
starving.'"

G. A. Raymond, who was in the Palace Hotel when the earthquake
occurred, says:

"I had $600 in gold under my pillow.  I awoke as I was thrown out
of bed.  Attempting to walk, the floor shook so that I fell.  I
grabbed my clothing and rushed down into the office, where dozens
were already congregated.  Suddenly the lights went out, and every
one rushed for the door.

"Outside I witnessed a sight I never want to see again.  It was
dawn and light.  I looked up.  The air was filled with falling
stones.  People around me were crushed to death on all sides.  All
around the huge buildings were shaking and waving.  Every moment
there were reports like 100 cannon going off at one time.  Then
streams of fire would shoot out, and other reports followed.

"I asked a man standing by me what had happened.  Before he could
answer a thousand bricks fell on him and he was killed.  A woman
threw her arms around my neck.  I pushed her away and fled.  All
around me buildings were rocking and flames shooting.  As I ran
people on all sides were crying, praying and calling for help.  I
thought the end of the world had come.

"I met a Catholic priest, and he said: 'We must get to the ferry.'
He knew the way, and we rushed down Market Street.  Men, women and
children were crawling from the debris.  Hundreds were rushing down
the street, and every minute people were felled by falling debris.

"At places the streets had cracked and opened.  Chasms extended in
all directions.  I saw a drove of cattle, wild with fright, rushing
up Market Street.  I crouched beside a swaying building.  As they
came nearer they disappeared, seeming to drop into the earth.  When
the last had gone I went nearer and found they had indeed been
precipitated into the earth, a wide fissure having swallowed them.
I worked my way around them and ran out to the ferry.  I was crazy
with fear and the horrible sights.

"How I reached the ferry I cannot say.  It was bedlam, pandemonium
and hell rolled into one.  There must have been 10,000 people
trying to get on that boat.  Men and women fought like wild cats to
push their way aboard.  Clothes were torn from the backs of men and
women and children indiscriminately.  Women fainted, and there was
no water at hand with which to revive them.  Men lost their reason
at those awful moments.  One big, strong man, beat his head against
one of the iron pillars on the dock, and cried out in a loud voice:
'This fire must be put out!  The city must be saved!'  It was
awful.


TERRIBLE SCENE AT THE FERRY.


"When the gates were opened the mad rush began.  All were swept
aboard in an irresistible tide.  We were jammed on the deck like
sardines in a box.  No one cared.  At last the boat pulled out.
Men and women were still jumping for it, only to fall into the
water and probably drown."

The members of the Metropolitan Opera Company, of New York, were in
San Francisco at this time, and nearly all of these famous singers,
known all over the world, suffered from the great disaster.

All of the splendid scenery, stage fittings, costumes and musical
instruments were lost in the fire, which destroyed the Grand Opera
House, where the season had just opened to splendid audiences.

Many of the operatic stars have given very interesting accounts of
their experiences.  Signor Caruso, the famous tenor and one of the
principals of the company, had one of the most thrilling
experiences.  He and Signor Rossi, a favorite basso, and his
inseparable companion, had a suite on the seventh floor and were
awakened by the terrific shaking of the building.  The shock nearly
threw Caruso out of bed.  He said:

"I threw open the window, and I think I let out the grandest notes
I ever hit in all my life.  I do not know why I did this.  I
presume I was too excited to do anything else.


GREAT SINGERS ESCAPE.


"Looking out of the window, I saw buildings all around rocking like
the devil had hold of them.  I wondered what was going on.  Then I
heard Rossi come scampering into my room.  'My God, it's an
earthquake!' he yelled.  'Get your things and run!'  I grabbed what
I could lay my hands on and raced like a madman for the office.  On
the way down I shouted as loud as I could so the others would wake
up.

"When I got to the office I thought of my costumes and sent my
valet, Martino, back after them.  He packed things up and carried
the trunks down on his back.  I helped him take them to Union
Square."

It is said that ten minutes later he was seen seated on his valise
in the middle of the street.  But to continue his story:

"I walked a few feet away to see how to get out, and when I came
back four Chinamen were lugging my trunks away.  I grabbed one of
them by the ears, and the others jumped on me.  I took out my
revolver and pointed it at them.  They spit at me.  I was mad, but
I hated to kill them, so I found a soldier, and he made them give
up the trunks.

"Ah, that soldier was a fine fellow.  He went up to the Chinamen
and slapped them upon the face, once, twice, three times.  They all
howled like the devil and ran away.  I put my revolver back into my
pocket, and then I thanked the soldier.  He said: "'Don't mention
it.  Them Chinks would steal the money off a dead man's eyes.'"

They say that Rossi, though almost in tears, was heard trying his
voice at a corner near the Palace Hotel.


TEDDY'S PICTURE PROVES "OPEN SESAME."


"I went to Lafayette Square and slept on the grass.  When I tried
to get into the square the soldiers pushed me back.  I pleaded with
them, but they would not listen.  I had under my arm a large
photograph of Theodore Roosevelt, upon which was written: 'With
kindest regards from Theodore Roosevelt.'  I showed them this, and
one of them said: 'If you are a friend of Teddy, come in and make
yourself at home.'

"I put my trunks in the cellar of the Hotel St. Francis and thought
they would be safe.  The hotel caught fire, and my trunks were all
burned up.  To think I took so much trouble to save them!"

In spite of the news of all the woe and suffering which we hear, it
is cheering to learn also of the many thousands of heroic deeds by
brave men during the terrible scenes enacted through the four days
passing since the eventful morning when the earth began to demolish
splendid buildings of business and residence and fire sprang up to
complete the city's destruction.  The Mayor and his forces of
police, the troops under command of General Funston, volunteer aids
to all these, and the husbands of terrified wives, and the sons,
brothers and other relatives who toiled for many consecutive hours
through smoke and falling walls and an inferno of flames and
explosions and traps of danger of all kinds, often without food or
water--toiling as men never toiled before to save life and relieve
distress of all kinds--all these were examples of heroism and
devotion to duty seldom witnessed in any scenes of terror in all
time.  There are brave, unselfish men and heroic women yet in the
world, and all of the best of human nature has been exhibited in
large dimensions in the terrible disaster at San Francisco.



CHAPTER IX.

Disaster Spreads Over the Golden State


The first news that the world received of the earthquake came
direct from San Francisco and was confined largely to descriptions
of the disaster which had overwhelmed that city.  It was so sudden,
so appalling, so tragic in its nature, that for the time being it
quite overshadowed the havoc and misery wrought in a number of
other California towns of lesser note.

As the truth, however, became gradually sifted out of the tangle of
rumors, the horror, instead of being diminished, was vastly
increased.  It became evident that instead of this being a local
catastrophe, the full force of the seismic waves had travelled from
Ukiah in the north to Monterey in the south, a distance of about
180 miles, and had made itself felt for a considerable distance
from the Pacific westward, wrecking the larger buildings of every
town in its path, rending and ruining as it went, and doing
millions of dollars worth of damage.


THE DESTRUCTION OF SANTA ROSA.


In Santa Rosa, sixty miles to the north of San Francisco, and one
of the most beautiful towns of California, practically every
building was destroyed or badly damaged.  The brick and stone
business blocks, together with the public buildings, were thrown
down.  The Court House, Hall of Records, the Occidental and Santa
Rosa Hotels, the Athenaeum Theatre, the new Masonic Temple, Odd
Fellows' Block, all the banks, everything went, and in all the city
not one brick or stone building was left standing, except the
California Northwestern Depot.

In the residential portion of the city the foundations receded from
under the houses, badly wrecking about twenty of the largest and
damaging every one more or less; and here, as in San Francisco,
flames followed the earthquake, breaking out in a dozen different
places at once and completing the work of devastation.  From the
ruins of the fallen houses fifty-eight bodies were taken out and
interred during the first few days, and the total of dead and
injured was close to a hundred.  The money loss at this small city
is estimated at $3,000,000.

The destruction of Santa Rosa gave rise to general sorrow among the
residents of the interior of the State.  It was one of the show
towns of California, and not only one of the most prosperous cities
in the fine county of Sonoma, but one of the most picturesque in
the State.  Surrounding it there were miles of orchards, vineyards
and corn fields.  The beautiful drives of the city were adorned
with bowers of roses, which everywhere were seen growing about the
homes of the people.  In its vicinity are the famous gardens of
Luther Burbank, the "California wizard," but these fortunately
escaped injury.

At San Jose, another very beautiful city of over 20,000 population,
not a single brick or stone building of two stories or over was
left standing.  Among those wrecked were the Hall of justice, just
completed at a cost of $300,000; the new High School, the
Presbyterian Church and St. Patrick's Cathedral.  Numbers of people
were caught in the ruins and maimed or killed.  The death list
appears to have been small, but the property damage was not less
than $5,000,000.  The Agnew State Insane Asylum, in the vicinity of
San Jose, was entirely destroyed, more than half the inmates being
killed or injured.


THE STANFORD UNIVERSITY.


The Leland Stanford, Jr., University, at Palo Alto (about thirty
miles south of San Francisco), felt the full force of the
earthquake and was badly wrecked.  Only two lives were lost as a
result of the earthquake, one of a student, the other of a fireman,
but eight students were injured more or less seriously.  The damage
to the buildings is estimated by President Jordan to amount to
about $4,000,000.

The memorial church, with its twelve marble figures of the
apostles, each weighing two tons, was badly injured by the fall of
its Gothic spire, which crashed through the roof and demolished
much of the interior; the great entrance archway was split in twain
and wrecked; so, too, were the library, the gymnasium and the power
house.  A number of other buildings in the outer quadrangle and
some of the small workshops were seriously damaged.

Encina Hall and the inner quadrangle were practically uninjured,
and the bulk of the books, collections and apparatus escaped
damage.

Sacramento, together with all the smaller cities and towns that dot
the great Sacramento Valley for a distance fifty miles south and
150 miles north of the capital, escaped without injury, not a
single pane of glass being broken or a brick displaced in
Sacramento and no injury done in the other places, they lying
eastward of the seat of serious earthquake activity.

Los Angeles and Santa Barbara escaped with a slight trembling;
Stockton, 103 miles north of San Francisco, felt a severe shock and
the Santa Fe bridge over the San Joaquin River at this point
settled several inches.  The only place in Southern California that
suffered was Brawley, a small town lying 120 miles south of Los
Angeles, about 100 buildings in the town and the surrounding valley
being injured, though none of them were destroyed.


THE EARTHQUAKE AT OTHER CITIES.


At Alameda, on the bay opposite San Francisco, a score of chimneys
were shaken down and other injuries done.  Railroad tracks were
twisted, and over 600 feet of track of the Oakland Transit
Company's railway sank four feet.  The total damage done amounted
to probably $200,000, but no lives were lost.  Tomales, a place of
350 inhabitants, was left a pile of ruins.

At Los Panos several buildings were wrecked, causing damage to the
extent of $75,000, but no lives were lost.

At Loma Prieta the earthquake caused a mine house to slip down the
side of a mountain, ten men being buried in the ruins.

Fort Bragg, one of the principal lumbering towns in Mendocino
County, was practically wiped out by fire following the earthquake,
but out of a population of 5,000 only one was killed, though scores
were injured.

The town of Berkeley, across the bay from San Francisco, suffered
considerable damage from twisted structures, fallen walls and
broken chimneys, the greatest injury being in the collapse of the
town hall and the ruin of the deaf and dumb asylum.  The University
of California, situated here, was fortunate in escaping injury, it
being reported that not a building was harmed in the slightest
degree.  Another public edifice of importance and interest, in a
different section of the State, the famous Lick Astronomical
Observatory, was equally fortunate, no damage being done to the
buildings or the instruments.


AT THE STATE UNIVERSITY.


Salinas, a town down the coast near Monterey, suffered severely,
the place being to a large extent destroyed, with an estimated loss
of over $1,000,000.  The Spreckels' sugar factory and a score of
other buildings were reported ruined and a number of lives lost.
During the succeeding week several other shocks of some strength
were reported from this town.

Thus the ruinous work of the earthquake stretched over a broad
track of prosperous, peaceful and happy country, embracing one of
the best sections of California, laying waste not only the towns in
its path, but doing much damage to ranch houses and country
residences.  Strange manifestations of nature were reported from
the interior, where the ground was opened in many places like a
ploughed field.  Great rents in the earth were reported, and for
many miles north from Los Angeles miniature geysers are said to
have spouted volcano-like streams of hot mud.

Railroad tracks in some localities were badly injured, sinking or
lifting, and being put out of service until repaired.  In fact, the
ruinous effects of the earthquake immensely exceeded those of any
similar catastrophe ever before known in the United States, and
when the destruction done by the succeeding conflagration in San
Francisco is taken into account the California earthquake of 1906
takes rank with the most destructive of those recorded in history.



CHAPTER X.

All America and Canada to the Rescue


During the first three days after the terrible news had been
flashed over the world the relief fund from the nation had leaped
beyond the $5,000,000 mark.  New York took the lead in the most
generous giving that the world has ever seen.  From every town and
country village the people hastened to the Town Halls, the
newspaper offices and wherever help was to be found most quickly,
to add their savings and to sacrifice all but necessities for their
stricken fellow-countrymen.  Never has there been such a practical
illustration of brotherly love.  A perfect shower of gold and food
was poured out to the sufferers to give them immediate assistance
and to help them to a new start in life.  All relief records were
broken within two days of the disaster, but still the purses of the
rich and poor alike continued to add to the huge contributions.
Though the relief records were broken, every succeeding dispatch
from the West told too plainly the terrible fact that all records
of necessity were also broken.

Over the entire globe Americans wherever they were hastened to
cable or telegraph their bankers to add their share to the great
work.  A large fund was at once started in London, and with
contributions of from $2,000 to $12,000 the sum was soon raised to
hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Individual contributions of $100,000 were common.  In addition to
John D. Rockefeller's gift of this sum, his company, the Standard
Oil, gave another $100,000.  The Steel Corporation and Andrew
Carnegie each gave $100,000.  From London William Waldorf Astor
cabled his American representative, Charles A. Peabody, to place
$100,000 at once at the disposal of Mayor Schmitz, of San
Francisco, which was done.  The Dominion Government of Canada made
a special appropriation of $100,000 and the Canadian Bank of
Commerce, at Toronto, gave $10,000.  And two of the great steamship
companies owned in Germany sent $25,000 each.


RIGHT OF WAY FOR FOOD TRAINS.


On nearly a dozen roads, two days before the fire was over, great
trains of freight cars loaded with foodstuffs were hastening at
express speed to San Francisco.  They had the right of way on every
line.  E. H. Harriman, in addition to giving $200,000 for the Union
Pacific, Southern Pacific and other Harriman roads, issued orders
that all relief trains bound for the desolated city should have
Precedence over all other business of the roads.

Advices from many points indicated that at least 150 freight cars
loaded with the necessaries so eagerly awaited in San Francisco
were speeding there as fast as steam could drive them.  In
addition, several steamers from other Pacific coast points, all
food-laden, were rushing toward the stricken city.

The rapidity with which the various relief funds in every city grew
was almost magical.

From corporations, firms, labor unions, religious societies,
individuals, rich and poor, money flowed.  Even the children in the
schools gave their pennies.  Every grade of society, every branch
of trade and commerce seemed inspired by a spirit of emulation in
giving.

The United States Government at once voted a contribution of
$1,000,000, and government supplies were rushed from every post in
the West.

The $1,000,000 government gift, which formed the nucleus of the
relief fund, was doubled on Saturday by a resolution appropriating
another, and a vote was taken on Monday to increase this sum to
$1,500,000, making a total government contribution of $2,500,000.
This was largely expended in supplies of absolute necessaries,
furnished from the stores of the War Department, and those first
sent being five carloads of army medical supplies from St. Louis.
A cargo of evaporated cream was also sent to use in the care of
little children, while the Red Cross Society shipped a carload of
eggs from Chicago.  Dr. Edward Devine, special Red Cross agent in
San Francisco, was appointed to distribute these supplies.


CARGOES OF SUPPLIES.


Trainloads of other supplies were dispatched in all haste from
various points in the West and East, carrying provisions of all
kinds, tents, cots, clothing, bedding and a great variety of other
articles.  A special train of twenty-six cars was dispatched from
Portland, Oregon, on Thursday night, conveying ten doctors, twenty
trained nurses and 800,000 pounds of provisions.  Chicago sent
meat.  Minneapolis sent flour, and, in fact, every part of the
country moved in the greatest haste for the relief of the stricken
city.

There was urgent need of haste.  On Friday, while the flames were
still making their way onward, General Funston telegraphed: "Famine
seems inevitable."  The people of the country took a more hopeful
view of it, and by Saturday night the spectre of famine was
definitely driven from the field and food for all the fugitives was
within reach.


THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE AWAKES.


On all sides the people were awake and doing.  In all the great
cities agencies to receive contributions were opened, and many of
the newspapers undertook the task of collecting and forwarding
supplies.  The smaller towns were equally alert in furnishing their
quota to the good work, and from countryside and village
contributions were forwarded until the fund accumulated to an
unprecedented amount.  Collections were made in factories, in
stores, in offices, in the public schools; cash boxes or globes
stood in all frequented places and were rapidly filled with bank
notes; theatrical and musical entertainments were given for the
benefit of the earthquake sufferers; never had there been such an
awakening.  As an instance of the spirit displayed, one man came
running into a banking house and threw a thousand dollar bill on
the counter.

"For San Francisco," he said, as he turned toward the door.

"What name?" asked the teller.

"Put it down to 'cash,'" he answered, as he vanished.

Rapidly the fund accumulated.  A few days brought it up to

the $5,000,000 mark.  Then it grew to $10,000,000.  Within ten
days' time the relief fund was estimated at $18,000,000, and the
good work was still going on--in less profusion, it is true, but
still the spirit was alive.


FOREIGN OFFERS OF AID.


The generous impulse was not confined to the United States.  From
all countries came offers of aid.  Canada was promptly in the
field, and the chief nations of Europe were quick to follow, while
Japan made a generous offer, and in far Australia funds were
started at the various cities for the sufferers.  No doubt a large
sum from foreign lands would have been available had not President
Roosevelt declined to accept contributions from abroad, as not
needed in view of America's abundant response.  To the Hamburg-Line
which offered $25,000, the following letter was sent:

"The President deeply appreciates your message of sympathy, and
desires me to thank you heartily for the kind offer of outside aid.
Although declining, the President earnestly wishes you to
understand how much he appreciates your cordial and generous
sympathy."

All other offerings from abroad were in the same thankful spirit
declined, even those from our immediate neighbors, Canada and
Mexico.  Some feeling was aroused by this, especially in the relief
committee at San Francisco, which felt that the need of that city
was so great and urgent that no offer of relief should have been
declined.  In response the President explained that he only spoke
for the government, in his official capacity, and that San
Francisco was in no sense debarred from accepting any contributions
made directly to it.

It may justly be said for the people of this country that their
spontaneous generosity in the presence of a great calamity, either
at home or abroad, is always magnificent.  It never waits for
solicitation.  It does not delay even until the necessity is
demonstrated, but it assumes that where there is great destruction
of property and homes are swept away there must be distress which
calls for immediate relief.

There is one ray of light in the gloom caused by the calamity at
San Francisco.  A truly splendid display of brotherly love and
sympathy has been shown by the people of this country, and a
similar display was ready to be shown by the people of the
civilized world had it been felt that the occasion demanded it and
that the exigency surpassed the power of our people to meet it.


ENTERPRISE IN SAN FRANCISCO.


In the face of an appalling and death-dealing disaster, rendering
an entire community dependent for the bare necessities of life and
putting it in imminent danger of greater horrors, the nation has
been stirred as it has rarely been before, and there have been
awakened those deeper feelings of brotherhood which are referred to
in the oft-quoted passage that "one touch of nature makes the whole
world akin."

The nature indicated in this instance is human nature in its
highest manifestation, the sympathetic sentiment that stirs deeply
in all our hearts and needs but the occasion to make itself warmly
manifested.  There is something incomparably splendid in the
spectacle of an entire nation straining every nerve to send succor
to the helpless and the suffering, and this spectacle has warmed
the hearts of our people to the uttermost and inspired them to make
the most strenuous efforts to drive away the gaunt wolf of famine
from the ruined homes of our far Pacific brethren.

It may be said that San Francisco will be willing to accept this
relief only so long as stern necessity demands it.  At this writing
only two weeks have passed since the dread calamity, and already
active steps are being taken to provide for themselves.  As an
example of their enterprise, it may be said that their newspapers
hardly suspended at all, the Evening Post alone suspending
publication for a time from being unable to acquire a plant in the
vicinity of the city.  When the conflagration made it apparent that
all plants would be destroyed, the Bulletin put at work a force in
its composing rooms, a hand-bill was set and some hundreds of
copies run off on the proof-press, giving the salient features of
the day's news.

The morning papers, the Call, Chronicle and Examiner, retired to
Oakland, on the other side of the bay, and there, on Thursday
morning, issued a joint paper from the office of the Oakland
Tribune.  On Friday morning they split forces again, the Examiner
retaining the use of the Tribune plant and the Call and Chronicle
issuing from the office of the Oakland Herald.  Two days later the
Call secured the service of the Oakland Enquirer plant.  Meantime,
on Friday, the Bulletin, after a suspension of one day, made
arrangements for the use in the afternoon of the Oakland Herald
equipment, and from these sources and under such circumstances the
San Francisco papers have been issuing.

Offices were hurriedly opened on Fillmore Street, which today is
the main thoroughfare of San Francisco, and from these headquarters
the news of the day as it is gathered is transmitted by means of
automobiles and ferry service to the Oakland shore.

There also were accepted such advertisements as had been offered.
The number of these was, perhaps, the best visual sign of the
resurrection of the new city.  It was noted that in a fourteen-page
paper printed within two weeks after the fire by the Examiner there
were over nine pages of advertisements, and in a sixteen-page paper
published by the Chronicle at least fifty per cent. of its space
was devoted to the same end.

Many of the larger factories left unharmed were also quick to start
work.  At the Union Iron Works 2,300 men were promptly employed,
and the management expected within a fortnight to have the full
complement of its force, nearly 4,000 men, engaged.  No damage was
done to the three new warships being built at these works for the
government, the cruisers California and Milwaukee and the
battleship South Dakota.  The steamer City of Puebla, which was
sunk in the bay, has been raised and is being repaired.  Workmen
are also engaged fixing the steamship Columbia, which was turned on
her side.  The hulls of the new Hawaiian-American Steamship
Company's liners were pitched about four feet to the south, but
were uninjured and only need to be replaced in position.

As for the working people at large, those without funds for their
own support, abundant employment will quickly be provided for them
in the necessary work of clearing away the debris, thus opening the
way to a resumption of business and reducing the number requiring
relief.  The ukase has already been issued that all able-bodied men
needing aid must go to work or leave the city.

This dictum of Chief of Police Dinan's will be strictly enforced.
The relief work and distribution of food and clothing are
attracting a certain element to the city which does not desire to
labor, while some already here prefer to live on the generosity of
others.  Chief Dinan has determined that those who apply for relief
and refuse work when it is offered them shall leave the city or be
arrested for vagrancy.  The police judges have suggested
establishing a chain gang and putting all vagrants and petty
offenders at work clearing up the ruins.

Perhaps never in the history of the city has there been so little
crime in San Francisco.  With the saloons closed, Chinatown, the
Barbary Coast, and other haunts of criminals wiped out, and
soldiers and marines on almost every block in the residence
districts, there have been few crimes of any kind.  It is the
opinion of the police that most of the criminal element has left
the city.  The saloons, in all probability will remain closed for
two more months.


THE PROBLEM OF THE CHINESE.


In conclusion of this chapter it is advisable to refer to the
situation of one of the elements of San Francisco's population, the
people of Chinatown.  One of the problems facing the relief
committees on both sides of the bay is the sheltering of the
Chinese.  Many of them are destitute.  It has long been a question
in San Francisco what should be done with Chinatown, and moving the
Chinese in the direction of Colma has been agitated.  Now they are
without homes and without prospects of procuring any.  They can get
no land.  The limits of Oakland's Chinatown have already been
extended, and the strictest police regulations are in force to
prevent further enlargement.  On this side of the bay they are
camping in open lots.  Unless the government undertakes their
relief, they are in grave danger.  Those who have money cannot
purchase property, as no one will sell to them.  Few, however, even
of the wealthiest merchants in Chinatown, saved anything of value,
for their wealth was invested in the Oriental village which had
sprung up in the heart of the area burned.

Yet it is the desire of the municipality not to harass this portion
of its foreign population, and the vexatious problem of placing the
new Chinatown will probably be settled to the satisfaction of the
Chinese colony.  This colony diverts an important part of the trade
of San Francisco to that city, and if its members are dealt with
unjustly there is danger of losing this trade.  The question is one
that must be left for the future to decide, but no doubt care will
be taken that a new Chinatown with the unsavory conditions of the
old shall not arise.



CHAPTER XI.

San Francisco of the Past


The story of San Francisco's history and tragedy appeal with
extraordinary force to the imagination of all civilized men.  For
several generations the city was looked upon as an Arabian Night's
dream--a place where gold lay in the streets and joy and happiness
were unlimited.  Its settlement, or, rather, its real rise as a
city, was as by magic.  It was first a city of tents, of shanties,
of "shacks," lying on the rim of a great, spacious bay.  Ships of
all sizes and rigs brought gold-seekers and provisions from the
East, all the way round Cape Horn, after voyages of weary months,
and at San Francisco their crews deserted and hundreds of these
craft were left at their moorings to rot.  Ashore was a riot of
money, prodigious extravagance, mean, shabby appointments, sudden
riches, great disappointment, revelry, improvidence and suicide.

The streets that now lay squares from the water were then at the
water's edge and batteaus brought cargoes ashore.  Long wharves--
one was for years called the Long Wharf even after there were
others built much longer--led out over the shallow water.  These
shallows were later filled and streets built upon them, and upon
them arose warehouses, hotels, factories, lodging houses and
business places.

The city grew rapidly in the direction away from the bay.  But in
its early days it was a city with no confidence in its own
stability, and its buildings were accordingly unstable.  A few
minor earthquakes shook some of these down years ago and
established in the minds of the people a horror of earthquakes.
Frame houses became the rule.

In its ensuing life San Francisco developed the attributes of a
city of gayety tempered by business.  The population, for the most
part, affected light-hearted scorn of money, or, rather, of saving
money.  It made mirth of life, habituated itself to expect
windfalls such as miners and prospectors dream of, developed a
moderate amount of business, and enjoyed the day while there was
sunlight and the night when there was artificial light.  The
windfalls grew less frequent, mining became a costly and scientific
process, and agriculture succeeded it.  But, though it was only
necessary to tickle the land with a hoe and pour water upon the
tickled spot, to have it laugh with two, three or even four
harvests a year, agriculturists continued scarce.  The Chinese
truck farms, some of which lay within the city's lines, supplied
the small fruits and vegetables.  Across the bay white men farmed,
and grapes, fruits, vegetables and flowers of prodigious variety
and monstrous dimensions were grown.  But Eastern men came to do
the farming.  The Californian who himself was an "Argonaut," or
whose father was an Argonaut, found no attractions in the steady
labor of farming.

There followed a period of depression, ascribed by many to the
influx of the Chinese and their effect upon the labor market,
though the army of the unemployed were as a rule unwilling to do
the work their Celestial rivals engaged in, that of truck farming,
fruit raising, manual household labor, wood cutting and the like.
A heavy weight settled on the city; business grew slack; the army
of the unemployed, of ruined speculators and moneyless newcomers
grew steadily greater, and for an era San Francisco saw its dark
side.

But this was not a long duration.  There was fast developing a new
and important business, resulting from the development of the real
resources of the State--the fruits, particularly the citrous fruits
that grew abundantly in the warm valley.  Fortunes were made in
oranges, lemons, limes, grapes, almonds and pears.  Raisins, whose
size defied anything heretofore known, were made from the huge
grapes that grew in the San Joaquin Valley.  Sonoma sent its grapes
to be made into wine.  Capital flowed in from every side.  Eastern
men in search of health, others in search of wealth, came to the
Golden State.  No matter who came, where they came from, or where
they were going, they spent a few days, or many, and some money, or
much, in "'Frisco."  The enterprise of the second edition pioneers
quickly transformed the State and city.


AGRICULTURE BRINGS NEW WEALTH.


Luxury was startling.  San Francisco's mercantile community equaled
the best, the stores and shops were as beautiful as anywhere in the
world and proportionately as well patronized.  Theatres, music
halls, restaurants, hotel bars and the like were ablaze with lights
at night, and patronized by a gay throng.  Sutro's bath, near the
Cliff House, was a species of entertainment unequaled anywhere.
The Presidio, as the army post is still known, as in the Spanish
nomenclature, gave its drills, regarded as free exhibitions for the
people.  Golden Gate Park was an endless daily picnic ground.

The crowds in the streets of San Francisco were noticeably well
dressed and usually gay, without that fixed, drawn, saturnine look
noticeable among the people of the East.  It is doubtful whether,
upon the whole, the earnings of the San Francisco man equaled those
of his Eastern brother, but his holidays were frequent and his joys
greater.  The grind of life was not yet steady--men had not become
mere machines.

The climate of California is peculiar; it is hard to give an
impression of it.  In the first place, all the forces of nature
work on laws of their own in that part of California.  There is no
thunder or lightning; there is no snow, except a flurry once in
five or six years; there are perhaps half a dozen nights in the
winter when the thermometer drops low enough so that there is a
little film of ice on exposed water in the morning.  Neither is
there any hot weather.  Yet most Easterners remaining in San
Francisco for a few days remember that they were always chilly.


A PECULIAR YET DELIGHTFUL CLIMATE.


For the Gate is a big funnel, drawing in the winds and the mists
which cool off the great, hot interior valley of San Joaquin and
Sacramento.  So the west wind blows steadily ten months of the year
and almost all the mornings are foggy.  This keeps the temperature
steady at about 55 degrees--a little cool for comfort of an
unacclimated person, especially indoors.  Californians, used to it,
hardly ever think of making fires in their houses except in the few
exceptional days of the winter season, and then they rely mainly
upon fireplaces.  This is like the custom of the Venetians and the
Florentines.

But give an Easterner six months of it, and he, too, learns to
exist without a chill in a steady temperature a little lower than
that to which he is accustomed at home.  After that one goes about
with perfect indifference to the temperature.  Summer and winter
San Francisco women wear light tailor-made clothes, and men wear
the same fall-weight suits all the year around.

Except for the modern buildings, the fruit of the last ten years,
the town presented at first sight to the newcomer a disreputable
appearance.  Most of the buildings were low and of wood.  In the
middle period of the 70's, when a great part of San Francisco was
building, there was some atrocious architecture perpetrated.  In
that time, too, every one put bow windows on his house, to catch
all of the morning sunlight that was coming through the fog, and
those little houses, with bow windows and fancy work all down their
fronts, were characteristic of the middle class residence
districts.

Then the Italians, who tumbled over Telegraph Hill, had built as
they listed and with little regard for streets, and their houses
hung crazily on a side hill which was little less than a precipice.
For the most part the Chinese, although they occupied an abandoned
business district, had remade the houses Chinese fashion, and the
Mexicans and Spaniards had added to their houses those little
balconies without which life is not life to a Spaniard.

The hills are steep beyond conception.  Where Vallejo Street ran up
Russian Hill it progressed for four blocks by regular steps like a
flight of stairs.

With these hills, with the strangeness of the architecture, and
with the green gray tinge over everything, the city fell always
into vistas and pictures, a setting for the romance which hung over
everything, which has always hung over life in San Francisco since
the padres came and gathered the Indians about Mission Dolores.

And it was a city of romance and a gateway to adventure.  It opened
out on the mysterious Pacific, the untamed ocean, and most of
China, Japan, the South Sea Islands, Lower California, the west
coast of Central America, Australia that came to this country
passed in through the Golden Gate.  There was a sprinkling, too, of
Alaska and Siberia.  From his windows on Russian Hill one saw
always something strange and suggestive creeping through the mists
of the bay.  It would be a South Sea Island brig, bringing in
copra, to take out cottons and idols; a Chinese junk with fan-like
sails, back from an expedition after sharks' livers; an old whaler,
which seemed to drip oil, back from a year of cruising in the
Arctic.  Even, the tramp windjammers were deep-chested craft,
capable of rounding the Horn or of circumnavigating the globe; and
they came in streaked and picturesque from their long voyaging.


A MIXTURE OF RACES.


In the orange colored dawn which always comes through the mists of
that bay, the fishing fleet would crawl in under triangular lateen
sails, for the fishermen of San Francisco Bay are all Neapolitans,
who have brought their costumes and sail with lateen rigs shaped
like the ear of a horse when the wind fills them and stained an
orange brown.

The "smelting pot of the races" Stevenson called the region along
the water front, for here the people of all these craft met,
Italians, Greeks, Russians, Lascars, Kanakas, Alaska Indians, black
Gilbert Islanders, Spanish-Americans, wanderers and sailors from
all the world, who came in and out from among the queer craft to
lose themselves in the disreputable shanties and saloons.  The
Barbary Coast was a veritable bit of Satan's realm.  The place was
made up of three solid blocks of dance halls, for the delectation
of the sailors of the world.  Within those streets of peril the
respectable never set foot; behind the swinging doors of those
saloons anything might be happening, crime was as common here as
drink, and much went on of which the law was blankly ignorant.

Not far removed from this haunt of crime was the world-famous
Chinatown, a district six blocks long and two wide, and housing
when at its fullest some 30,000 Chinese.  Old business houses at
first, the new inmates added to them, rebuilt them, ran out their
own balconies and entrances, and gave them that feeling of huddled
irregularity which makes all Chinese built dwellings fall naturally
into pictures.  Not only this, they burrowed to a depth equal to
three stories under the ground, and through this ran passages in
which the Chinese transacted their dark and devious affairs--as the
smuggling of opium, the traffic in slave girls and the settlement
of their difficulties, by murder if they saw fit.  The law was
powerless to prevent or discover and convict the murderers.

Chinatown is gone; the Barbary Coast is gone; the haunts of crime
have been swept by the devouring flames, and if the citizens can
prevent they will never be restored.  The old San Francisco is
dead.  The gayest, lightest-hearted, most pleasure-loving city of
this continent, and in many ways the most interesting and romantic,
is a horde of huddled refugees living among ruins.  It may rebuild;
it probably will; but those who have known that peculiar city by
the Golden Gate and have caught its flavor of the Arabian Nights
feel that it can never be the same.  When it rises out of its ashes
it will probably doubtless resemble other modern cities and have
lost its old strange flavor.



CHAPTER XII.

Life in the Metropolis of the Pacific


Brought up in a bountiful country, where no one really has to work
very hard to live, nurtured on adventure, scion of a free and merry
stock, the real, native Californian is a distinctive type; as far
from the Easterner in psychology as the extreme Southern is from
the Yankee.  He is easy going, witty, hospitable, lovable, inclined
to be unmoral rather than immoral in his personal habits, and above
all easy to meet and to know.

Above all there is an art sense all through the populace which sets
it off from any other part of the country.  This sense is almost
Latin in its strength, and the Californian owes it to the leaven of
Latin blood.


THE 'FRISCO RESTAURANTS.


With such a people life was always gay.  If they did not show it on
the streets, as do the people of Paris, it was because the winds
made open cafes disagreeable at all seasons of the year.  The
gayety went on indoors or out on the hundreds of estates that
fringed the city.  It was noted for its restaurants.  Perhaps
people who cared not how they spent their money could get the best
they wished, but for a dollar down to as low as fifteen cents the
restaurants furnished the best fare to be had anywhere at the
price.

The country all about produced everything that a cook needs, and
that in abundance--the bay was an almost untapped fish-pond, the
fruit farms came up to the very edge of the town, and the
surrounding country produced in abundance fine meats, all cereals
and all vegetables.

But the chefs who came from France in the early days and liked this
land of plenty were the head and front of it.  They passed their
art to other Frenchmen or to the clever Chinese.  Most of the
French chefs at the biggest restaurants were born in Canton, China.
Later the Italians, learning of this country where good food is
appreciated, came and brought their own style.  Householders always
dined out one or two nights of the week, and boarding houses were
scarce, for the unattached preferred the restaurants.  The eating
was usually better than the surroundings.


THE FAMOUS POODLE DOG.


Meals that were marvels were served in tumbledown little hotels.
Most famous of all the restaurants was the Poodle Dog.  There have
been no less than four restaurants of this name, beginning with a
frame shanty where, in the early days, a prince of French cooks
used to exchange recipes for gold dust.  Each succeeding restaurant
of the name has moved farther downtown; and the recent Poodle Dog
stands--or stood--on the edge of the Tenderloin in a modern five-
story building.  And it typified a certain spirit that there was in
San Francisco.

On the ground floor was a public restaurant where there was served
the best dollar dinner on earth.  It ranked with the best and the
others were in San Francisco.  Here, especially on Sunday night,
almost everybody went to vary the monotony of home cooking.  Every
one who was any one in the town could be seen there off and on.  It
was perfectly respectable.  A man might take his wife and daughter
there.

On the second floor there were private dining rooms, and to dine
there, with one or more of the opposite sex, was risque but not
especially terrible.  But the third floor--and the fourth floor--
and the fifth!  The elevator man of the Poodle Dog, who had held
the job for many years and never spoke unless spoken to, wore
diamonds and was a heavy investor in real estate.

There were others as famous in their way--Zinkaud's, where, at one
time, every one went after the theatre, and Tate's, which has
lately bitten into that trade; the Palace Grill, much like the
grills of Eastern hotels, except for the price; Delmonico's, which
ran the Poodle Dog neck and neck in its own line, and many others,
humbler, but great at the price.


THE BOHEMIAN CLUB.


To the visitor who came to see the city and who put himself in the
hands of one of its well-to-do citizens for the purpose, the few
days that followed were apt to be a whirl of mirth and sight-
seeing, made up of breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, drives, little
trips across the bay, dashes down the peninsula to the polo and
country clubs, hours spent in Bohemia, trips around the world among
all the races of the habitable globe, all of whom had their
colonies in this most cosmopolitan of American cities.

In club life the Bohemian stood first and foremost, the famous club
whose meeting place, with all its art treasures, is now a heap of
ashes, but which was formerly 'Frisco's head-centre of mirth.
Founded by Henry George, the world-famous single tax advocate, when
he was an impecunious scribbler on the San Francisco Post, it grew
to be the choicest place of resort in the Pacific metropolis.

Within its walls the possession of dollars was a bar rather than an
"open sesame," the master key to its circles being the knack of
telling a good story or the possession of quick and telling wit.
Fun-making was the rule there, and the only way to escape being
made its victim was the power to deliver a ready and witty retort.
In this home of good fellowship all the artists, actors, wits,
literati, fiddlers, pianists and bon vivants were members.  Here an
impoverished painter could square his grill and buffet account by
giving the club a daub to hang on its walls.  Here in days of old
the Sheriff used to camp regularly once a month until the members
rustled up the money to replevin the furniture.  But these days of
poverty passed away, and in later years the club came to know
prosperity beyond the dreams of the good fellows who founded it.


THE WICKEDEST AND GAYEST.


The Bohemian is gone, but the spirit that founded and made it still
exists, and we may look to see it rise, like the phoenix, from its
ashes.

San Francisco was often called the wickedest city in America.  It
was hardly that, it was simply the gayest.  It was not the home of
purity; neither is any other city.  What other cities do behind
closed doors San Francisco did not hesitate to do in the open.

In Eastern cities the police have driven vice into tenements,
lodging houses and apartments.  San Francisco did not do that.  She
had certain quarters where, according to unwritten law, vice was
allowed to abide, and she did not try to hide the fact that it
could be found there.  She was not secretly immoral; she was
frankly unmoral.

She did not believe in driving her vice from the open where it
could be recognized and controlled--prevented from doing any more
harm than it was possible to stop--into districts of the city where
good people dwell and purity would feel its contaminating
influence.  There were regions in which the respectable never set
foot, haunts of acknowledged vice which for virtue to enter would
be to lose caste.

As for its gayety, San Francisco was proud of the reputation of
being the Paris of America.  Its women were beautiful, and they
knew it.  They liked to adorn their beauty with fine clothes and
peacock along the streets on matinee days.  If you asked a San
Francisco girl why she wore such expensive clothes, she would say,
frankly, "Because I like to have the men admire me," and she would
see no harm in saying it.  There was very little sham about the San
Francisco women.  Their men understood them and worshiped them.
They bore themselves with the freedom that was theirs by right of
their heritage of open-air living, the Bohemian atmosphere they
breathed, the unconventional character of their surroundings.
Their figures were strong and well moulded, their faces bloomed
with health like the roses in their gardens.  They drew the wine of
laughter from their balmy California air.  Sorrow and trouble sat
lightly on their shoulders.

There was no end of enjoyments.  After the theatre they would go to
Zinkaud's, Tate's, the Palace or some other of the many places of
resort, for a snack to eat and a spell under the music, which was
to be heard everywhere.

Another part of the gay life of the city was for a private dance to
keep going all night in a fashionable residence, and at daylight,
instead of everybody going to bed, to jump into automobiles or
carriages or take the trolley cars and whizz off to the beach for a
dip in the cold salt water pool at Sutro's baths, and then, with
ravenous appetites, sit down on the Cliff House balcony to an open-
air breakfast while watching the ships sail in and out at the
Golden Gate and hearing the seals barking on the rocks.  After that
home and to rest.


AN ALL-NIGHT TOWN.


The city never went to sleep altogether.  It was "an all-night"
town.  Few of the restaurants ever closed, none of the saloons did.
Always during the whole twenty-four hours of the day there was
"something doing" in the Tenderloin.  No hour of the night was ever
free of revelry.  It was marvelous how they kept it up.  The
average San Franciscon could stay awake all night at a card game,
take a cold wash and a good breakfast in the morning, and go
straight downtown to business and feel none the worse for it.

It was a gay town, a captivating, piquant, audacious, but not
especially wicked city.  A Frenchy, a risque city it might justly
have been called, but it was not wicked in the sense that sordid
vice, vulgar crime and wretched squalor constitute wickedness.

It was a lovable place that everybody longed to get back to, once
having been there.  A woman, leaving it for years, watched it from
the ferryboat, and, weeping, said, "San Francisco, oh, my San
Francisco, I am leaving thee."

Will those who left it after the fire ever get back to their old
city again?  We have already expressed our doubt of this.  The old
San Francisco is probably gone, never to return.  The new San
Francisco will be a cleaner, saner and safer city, destitute of its
rookeries, its tenements and its Chinatown.  It will be a greater
and more sightly city than that of the past, but to those who knew
and loved the old San Francisco--San Francisco the captivating, the
maddest, gayest, liveliest and most rollicking in the country--
there must be something impressibly sad to its old inhabitants in
the reflection that the new city of the Golden Gate can never be
quite the same as the haven of their early affections.



CHAPTER XIII.

Plans to Rebuild San Francisco.


Almost as soon as the terrible conflagration had been checked and
gotten under control by the heroic efforts of the soldiers and
firemen, a little group of the leading citizens of the desolated
city had met in the office of Mayor Eugene E. Schmitz and had begun
to plan the restoration of their municipality.  It was an admirable
courage, bred in the stock of those men who in 1849 left
comfortable homes in the East to seek their fortune in the Golden
State, that inspired the loyal leaders of the present day citizens
to provide with far-seeing eyes for the rebuilding of their homes
and business houses with more orderly precision after the fire than
had been possible during the hustle of early days in a new city.

The old San Francisco was no more, and never could be recalled save
as a memory.  The local color, atmosphere, that which might be
termed the feeling of the old city, vanished with the clustered
houses, as rich in tradition as the ancient missions in whose
cloisters worshiped the Spanish padre "before the Gringo came."
Heartrending as it was to the citizens who loved their homes and
haunts to see them disappear into smoke, there was an attraction
about the city of the Golden Gate which endeared it to all
Americans.

One of San Francisco's charms was in its defiance of precedent.
There were hills to be conquered, and San Francisco' s expanding
traffic hurled itself at the face of them.  It went up and up, with
no thought of finding a way around.  So it happened that on some of
the streets the steepness was too great for horses.  In the centre
there are cable roads, and on either side of the rails grass grows
through the cobbles.  The earlier structures on the level were put
together in haste.  For the most part they remained essentially
unchanged until they fell with a crash.  True, they had become
stained by time, unkempt, dwarfed by new neighbors, but nobody
desired to efface them.  Away from the business section houses
appeared on the various hills, perched precariously near the brink;
houses reached by long flights and grown over with roses.  The
bathing fogs touched them with gray.  Moss grew on their roofs.  In
the little, lofty yards calla lilies bloomed with the profusion of
weeds.  The natural beauty of the site, the quaintness of the
commercial and social development of which it became the centre,
attracted the poet and the artist.  It incited them to paint the
attractions and to sing the praises of their chosen home.

But the loyal sons of those brave pioneers who founded the
metropolis were not in the least daunted by the problem of raising
from its ruins the whole vast number of dwellings and business
houses.  The leaders of the people, the men who had been identified
with San Francisco since its early days, and whose great fortunes
were almost swept away by the cataclysm, lent courage to all the
wearied thousands by firm statements of their optimism.

James D. Phelan, former Mayor of the city and one of its richest
capitalists, immediately announced his intention of rebuilding his
properties at Market and O'Farrell Streets, in the heart of the
ruined business district.  William H. Crocker, one of the heaviest
losers, a nephew of Charles Crocker, who founded the Central
Pacific Railroad with Collis P. Huntington, Leland Stanford and
others, stated emphatically that he would put his shoulder to the
wheel.  On receiving the first news of the disaster, and before he
knew what his losses would amount to, he said:

"Mark my words, San Francisco will arise from these ashes a greater
and more beautiful city than ever.  I don't take any stock in the
belief of some people that investors and residents will be panicky
and afraid to build up again.  This calamity, terrible as it is,
will mean nothing less than a new and grander San Francisco.  It is
preposterous to suggest the abandonment of the city.  It is the
natural metropolis of the Pacific coast.  God made it so.  D. O.
Mills, the Spreckels family, everybody I know, have determined to
rebuild and to invest more than ever before.  Burnham, the great
Chicago architect, has been at work for a year or more on plans to
beautify San Francisco.  Terrible as this destruction has been, it
serves to clear the way for the carrying out of these plans.  Why,
even now we are figuring on rebuilding.  More than that, I am
confident that, except for what fire has absolutely laid waste, it
will be found that the buildings are less injured than was
supposed.  Plastering, ornamental work, glass and more or less
loose material has been shaken down, but the framework, I am sure,
will be found intact in many big buildings."

D. Ogden Mills, of New York, who owned enormous properties in the
stricken city, was equally confident.

"We will go ahead," said he, "and build the city, and build it so
that earthquakes will not shake it down and so fire will not
destroy it, and we will have a water system which will enable us to
draw water from the sea for fire extinguishing service and other
municipal purposes.  We will thus have less to fear from the
destruction of the land mains.  The whole point with all of us who
own property down there is that we have to build.  To let it lie
idle, piled with its ruins, would mean the throwing away of money,
and I am sure none of us intends to do that.  The city will go up
like Baltimore did, and Galveston, and Charleston, and Chicago, and
there will be no lack of capital.  California spirit and California
enterprise, which are always associated with the State of
California, will rise superior to this calamity."

George Crocker, elder brother of William H. Crocker; Archer M.
Huntington, son of Collis P. Huntington; Mrs. Herman Oelrichs, Mrs.
W. K. Vanderbilt, Jr., members of the wealthy Spreckels family and
others all expressed, before the great conflagration had ceased
burning, the confident expectation that the city would rise,
Phoenix-like, from its ashes and become more beautiful and
prosperous than it had ever been in the past.

So complete was the calamity that the Government of the United
States lent a hand in the earliest work of restoration.  On April
20th, two days after the earthquake, Congress took immediate steps
to repair or replace all the public buildings damaged or destroyed
in San Francisco.  The willingness of Congress to assist those in
need of work by immediately beginning the reconstruction of the
Federal buildings was indicated when Senator Scott, chairman of the
Committee on Public Buildings and Grounds, introduced a resolution
calling upon the Secretary of the Treasury for full information as
to the exact condition of the various government buildings in San
Francisco, and instructing him to submit an estimate showing the
aggregate sum needed to repair or rebuild them.  The resolution
suggested that steel frames be used in any new buildings.  This
resolution was adopted.  It was soon learned that the new Post
Office, the Mint and the old Customs House were practically
undamaged.  The branch of the United States Mint, on Fifth Street,
and the new Post Office at Seventh and Mission Streets, were
striking examples of the superiority of workmanship put into
Federal buildings.  The old Mint building, surrounded by a wide
space of pavement, was absolutely unharmed.  The Mint made
preparations to resume business at once.  The Post Office building
also was virtually undamaged by fire.  The earthquake shock did
some damage to the different entrances to the building, but the
walls were left standing in good condition.  President Roosevelt
also sent a message to Congress asking that $300,000 be at once
appropriated to finish the Mare Island Navy Yard, in order that
employment might be given to the many workmen who were in extreme
need of money for the necessities of life.

It was a most fortunate circumstance that the property records in
the Hall of Records were unharmed either by earthquake or fire.
Endless disputes and litigation over the questions of ownerships
would undoubtedly have otherwise impeded the work of those
sincerely anxious to repair their shattered fortunes and opened the
way for the unscrupulous to take unfair advantage of the general
chaos.

But the temper of the people was such that only the boldest would
have dared to use trickery for his own ends.  Every man stood at
the side of his neighbor working for himself and for the good of
all.  Before the embers were cool the owners of some of the damaged
skyscrapers gave commands to proceed instantly with their
reconstruction.  The Spreckels Building, the Hayward Building, the
St. Francis Hotel, the Merchants' Exchange and structures that
permitted it were ordered rushed into shape as quickly as possible.
And already contracts had been drawn up for other steel-frame
buildings to be erected with all speed.  Many substantial business
men and property owners of San Francisco were in consultation with
the architects within a few days.  While the work of clearing away
the debris went forward, a corps of draughtsmen was busily occupied
preparing plans for the new buildings to adorn the city.

Mayor Schmitz telegraphed to the Mayors of all leading cities,
inquiring how many architects or architectural draughtsmen could be
induced to leave for San Francisco at once, and hundreds of young
men immediately responded to the call.  Experts of the several
great contracting companies hurried to the scene and were ready to
deposit material and labor on the ground for the work of
restoration.  Daniel H. Burnham, a leading architect of Chicago,
who had previously drawn plans for beautifying the city, was
summoned to superintend the work.

All the horses, mules and wagons obtainable were immediately
pressed into service to remove the debris and clear the streets so
that traffic could be resumed.  Within a week after the first
earthquake shock trolley cars were running in the principal
streets, telephone communication had been re-established in the
most needed quarters, electric lights were available and business
had begun again on a limited scale.

Yet, in spite of the indomitable courage of the citizens and the
efficient labor of the public officers and the utility companies,
an enormous amount of work remained.  Virtually every bank in San
Francisco had to be rebuilt.  Only the Market Street National Bank
was left nearly undamaged.  An official list of the condition of
the school buildings throughout the city showed that twenty-nine
school buildings were destroyed and that forty-four were partially,
at least, spared.  Many of the latter were so damaged that they had
to be either pulled down or thoroughly repaired, and arrangements
were made to resume the short term in tents erected in the parks,
where thousands of the homeless had already found temporary
shelter.  With these two vital classes of public institutions
prepared to care for the demands about to be made on them,
confidence was not lacking in other parts.  Most of the foundries
and factories near the water front and south of Market Street
immediately called in all their employees and began to clear away
the wreckage and make ready for continuing business.  Great credit
is due to the newspapers, nearly all of which continued their daily
issues without interruption, although their buildings, with offices
and printing plants, were entirely destroyed by the flames which
followed the earthquake.  Those whose premises were early
threatened with destruction betook themselves to Oakland, seven
miles distant across the bay, and published their sheets from the
establishments of the Oakland papers.  A thorough inspection shows
that comparatively little damage was done in the vicinity of the
Cliff.  The Cliff House, which was at first reported to have been
hurled into the sea, not only stood, but the damage sustained by it
from the earthquake was slight.  The famous Sutro baths, located
near the Cliff House, with the hundreds of thousands of square feet
of glass roofing, also were practically unharmed.  Only a few of
the windows in the Sutro baths and the Cliff House were broken, and
the lofty chimney of the pumping plant of the former establishment
was cracked only a trifle.  When the situation was finally summed
up, however, nearly three-fourths of the city had to be rebuilt or
remodeled, and the cost of doing this was enough to appal the
strongest hearts.

Financially the prospect was encouraging.  Not a bank lost the
contents of its fireproof vaults and remained practically unharmed,
so far as credit was concerned.

For a number of days it was impossible to open any strong boxes on
account of the great heat which the thick walls retained, and this
naturally caused some embarrassment and lack of ready money.
Nearly all of them, however, had strong connections in Eastern
cities and large balances to their credit in other banks of America
and Europe.  They were also favored by the fact that the United
States Mint and the Sub-Treasury held between them some
$245,000,000 in ready money.  The Secretary of the Treasury
immediately deposited $10,000,000 to the credit of the local banks,
and financiers of the great business centres of the country added
to public confidence by prompt statements that they would
facilitate the reconstruction of the city by a liberal advancement
of funds.

One prominent Eastern capitalist expressed the general conviction
in the following words:

"No great city, unless it dried up entirely from lack of commercial
life blood, was ever annihilated by such a disaster as that of San
Francisco.  Pompeii and Herculaneum were not great cities in the
first place, and in the second, they were completely covered,
smothered as it were, with the ashes and molten lava of the
adjoining volcano, and nearly all of their inhabitants perished.
If it be admitted that three-fourths of the superstructures, so to
speak, of San Francisco, estimated according to valuation, is
destroyed, we have yet the fact remaining that the lives of only
about one four-hundredth of its population have been lost.

"San Francisco was not merely land and the buildings erected upon
it, but it was people, and one of the most active, most hopeful,
most vivacious human communities on the face of the earth.  You
cannot long discourage such a community, unless you wipe out three-
fourths of its members.  Will San Francisco rise again?  Most
certainly it will.  Galveston and Baltimore, not to mention
Charleston, Boston and Chicago, showed the spirit of material
resurrection in American communities, sore-smitten by calamity.
After Galveston had been made a desert of sand and debris, there
were predictions that it would never rise again.  What was the
outcome?  A finer Galveston than before, and finer than many years
of slow improvement in the natural course would have made it.
Baltimore is busier commercially than it was before the great fire.

"San Francisco is exceedingly fortunate in the fact that its
moneyed institutions remain strong, with abundant supplies of
funds.  It is true that many of them undoubtedly hold large numbers
of real estate mortgages as securities for loans, and that much of
the property thus represented is now in ashes.  But with care and
an accommodating spirit practically all of those mortgaged can be
so nursed that they will be made absolutely good.  The banks will
be found to be only too eager to afford new loans which will enable
realty owners to rebuild.  You will see San Francisco rise a more
splendid city than ever, and better prepared to resist future
earthquake shocks.  Because it has had this dreadful visitation is
no reason for apprehension that another like it will come within
the life of the present generation, or two or three after.  The
destruction of Lisbon in the middle of the eighteenth century and
its subsequent immunity from seismic damage is a reassuring
example."

The municipality was in excellent financial condition to meet and
rise above the extraordinary needs of the situation.  It had a
bonded debt of only $4,245,100, while its realty valuation was
$402,127,261 and its personalty $122,258,406.  The question of
issuing further amounts of bonds was therefore one of the first
measures considered by Mayor Schmitz and his co-workers, and an
appeal was made to the Federal Government to guarantee the proposed
loans, so that the most urgent work which lay in the city's
province could be undertaken at once and without an excessive
burden of interest.

The vast insurance loss was divided among 107 companies, and,
though only a little more than half the damage was covered by
policies, the total swelled toward the colossal sum of
$150,000,000.  Several of the largest companies were seriously
crippled by the disaster and some were forced into liquidation.  To
the great relief of the entire country, nevertheless, the financial
situation was not severely affected, and there was every reason to
believe that the great bulk of the insurance would be paid.



CHAPTER XIV.

The Earthquake Wave Felt Round the Earth.


The outbreak of earth forces at San Francisco did not stand alone.
There were others elsewhere at nearly the same time, the whole
seeming to indicate a general disturbance in the interior of the
earth's crust.  Some scientists, indeed, declared that no possible
connection could exist between the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and
the earthquake at San Francisco, but others were inclined to view
certain facts in regard to recent seismic and volcanic activity as,
to say the least, suggestive.

As to the actual cause of the California earthquake, the wisest
confession we can make is that of ignorance, there being almost as
little known as to the origin, period and coming of earthquakes as
when Pliny wrote 1,800 years ago.  The Roman observer knew that the
tremor passed like a wave through the surface of the earth; he knew
that it had a given direction, and he knew that certain regions
were rife with seismic disturbance.  More he could not say, and
when this is said all has been said that is known to-day.

Setting aside these general considerations, let us return to the
question of the disaster at San Francisco on that fatal morning of
April 18th.  The shock did not come unexpectedly.  A month previous
there had been a severe earthquake in the Island of Formosa, and
many lives were lost there, while an enormous amount of damage was
done.  Only a few days before the event in San Francisco there was
another earthquake in the same island.  Still greater havoc was
caused by it than by the earthquake in March, but fewer lives were
lost, the reason being that the people were warned in time.  Early
in April the eruption of Mount Vesuvius reached its height and
devastated the country around the volcano, covering an enormous
territory with ashes, and caused the loss of hundreds of lives.

On Tuesday night, April 17th, word was received from Piatigorsk,
Circassia, that there had been two severe earthquake shocks the
previous day in Northern Caucasia.  The same night a telegram from
Madrid said that the newspapers there reported that the long-
dormant volcano on Palma, the largest of the Canary Islands, was
showing signs of eruption, columns of smoke issuing from the
crater.


WIDESPREAD EARTH TREMORS.


While scientists as a rule doubt that there was any connection
between these volcanic phenomena and the earthquake at San
Francisco, yet reports from the Mount Weather observation station
in Virginia, a few miles from Washington, show that the eruptions
of Vesuvius acted on the magnetic instruments by electro-magnetic
waves in such a way as to disturb the electrical potentials at that
place.  Be this as it may, there is one remarkable circumstance in
regard to all this activity.  All the places mentioned--Formosa,
Southern Italy, Caucasia, and the Canary Islands--lie within a belt
bounded by lines a little north of the fortieth parallel and a
little south of the thirtieth parallel.  San Francisco is just
south of the fortieth parallel, while Naples is just north of it.
The latitude of Calabria, where the terrible earthquakes occurred
in 1905, is the same as that of the territory affected by the
recent earthquake in the United States.  This may or may not have
some bearing on the question.

Whatever be thought of all this, one thing is certain, the
earthquake which laid San Francisco in ruins was felt the world
over, wherever there were instruments in position to detect and
record it.  The seismograph in the government observatory at
Washington showed that the first wave, on April 18th, came at 8.19-
-equivalent to 5.19 at San Francisco; that at 8.25 there was a
stronger wave motion, and that from 8.32 to 8.35 the recording pen
was carried off the paper.  The vibrations did not entirely cease
until 12.35 P. M., during this period there having been nearly half
an inch of to and fro motion in the surface of the earth.


RECORDS OF FOREIGN OBSERVATIONS.


From far away New Zealand, on the same date, the government
seismograph at the capital, Wellington, recorded seismic waves that
apparently passed round the earth five times at intervals of about
four hours each.

Across the Atlantic, at Heidelberg, in Germany, the records showed
vibrations lasting one hour.  At Sarayevo, in Bosnia, there was a
sharp shock at 11 A.  M., undulating from west to east.  At
Funfkirchen, in Hungary, at Laibach, in Austria, in the Isle of
Wight, off the coast of England, and all through Italy, from north
to south, the shocks were felt.

At Hancock, Mich., a shock was felt on April 19th a mile below the
surface in the Quincy mine of such severity that one man was killed
and four injured by a fall of rock loosened by the trembling of the
earth.  There is no evidence, however, that this had any connection
with the California disaster, the dates not coinciding.

Turning to the Far East, across the Pacific, seismographs in the
Imperial University of Tokio showed that the earthquake was felt
there eleven minutes later than in San Francisco, and similar
instruments in Manila detected the arrival of the seismic waves
twenty minutes after the San Francisco shock.  In this there was a
slight difference in time compared with Tokio, but, considering the
distance, near enough to prove that the disturbances came from the
same source.

Not until the day following was any noticeable disturbance felt in
Honolulu, but on April 19th shocks were plainly felt for six
minutes and the water in the harbor rose rapidly.  Panic seemed
imminent just before the shocks subsided.  While earthquakes are by
no means infrequent in these islands, this was more severe than any
recorded in recent years, causing buildings to sway to and fro and
partly demolishing some of frail construction.

If, as the majority of men qualified to discuss earthquakes seem to
think, the San Francisco earthquake had no connection with volcanic
action, but was caused by what is technically known as a "fault" in
the formation of the crust of the earth, it seems easy enough to
account for these wave motions travelling round the earth.  How
widely this may really have made itself felt it is not possible to
say.  Several of the great earthquakes in Japan have been recorded
in the seismographs of the observatories on every continent and in
Australia, showing that in severe disturbances of this kind the
whole surface strata quiver, alike under the oceans and over the
continents and islands.  At the time of a shock, of course, half of
the world is in darkness and asleep.  This is taken to account for
the fact that so far only a few observatories have reported
catching the San Francisco vibrations.

The instruments invented for the recording of the motions of the
earth's crust are looked upon by scientists as the most delicate of
all machines.  So highly sensitive are they, indeed, that the very
slightest vibratory motion is recorded perfectly.  Even the tread
of feet cannot escape this instrument if sufficient to cause a
vibration.

There are three classes of instruments for the automatic recording
of earth tremors, each with its own particular function.  First is
the seismoscope, which will merely detect and record the fact that
there has been such a tremor.  Some of these are so equipped as to
indicate the time of the disturbance.

Second, is the seismometer, the function of which is to measure the
maximum force of the shock, either with or without an indication of
its direction.  The third instrument is the seismograph, which is
so arranged that it will accurately record the number, succession,
direction, amplitude and period of successive oscillations.  This
last instrument is by far the most delicate of the three.

In the construction of this earthquake recording machine the maker
must so suspend a heavy body that when its normal position is
disturbed in the most infinitesimal degree no reactionary force
will be developed tending to restore it to its original position.
The inventor has never been found who could accomplish this
suspension of a body to perfection.  The seismograph of to-day,
however, has reached a stage of perfection where close
approximations are obtained in the records made.



CHAPTER XV.

Vesuvius Devastates the Region of Naples.


We have in other chapters described the terrible work of Mount
Vesuvius in the past, from the far-off era of the destruction of
Pompeii down to the end of the last century.  There comes before us
now another frightful eruption, one of the greatest in its history,
that of 1906.  For thirty years before this outbreak the mighty
volcano had been comparatively quiet, rarely ceasing, indeed, to
smoke and fume, but giving little indication of the vast forces
buried in its heart.  It showed some sympathy with Mont Pelee in
1902, and continued restless after that time, but it was not until
about the middle of February, 1906, that it became threatening,
lava beginning to overflow from the crater and make its lurid way
down the mountain's side.

It was in the middle of the first week of April that these
indications rose to the danger point, the flow of lava suddenly
swelling from a rivulet to a river, pouring in a gleaming flood
over the crater's rim, and meeting the other streams that came
streaming down the volcano's rugged flank.  While this went on the
mountain remained comparatively quiet, there being no explosions,
though a huge cloud of volcanic ash and cinders rose high in the
air until it hung over the crater in the shape of an enormous pine
tree, while from it a shower of dust and sand, soon to become
terrible, began to descend upon the surrounding fields and towns.

Dangerous as is Vesuvius at any time, the people of the vicinity
dare its perils for the allurement of its fertile soil.  A ring of
populous villages encircles it, flourishing vineyards and olive
groves extend on all sides, and the hand of industry does not
hesitate to attack its threatening flanks.  The intervals between
its death-dealing throes are so long that the peasants are always
ready to dare destruction for the hope of winning the means of life
from its soil.


THE RIVERS OF LAVA.


All this locality was now a field of terror and death.  Down on the
vineyards and villages poured the smothering ashes in an ever
increasing rain; toward them slowly and threateningly crawled the
fiery serpents of the lava streams; and from their homes fled
thousands of the terror-stricken people, frantic with horror and
dismay.  A number of populous villages were threatened by the lurid
lava streams, the most endangered being Bosco Trecase, with its
10,000 inhabitants.  Toward this devoted town poured steadily the
irresistible flood of molten rock.  The soldiers who had been
hurried to the front sought to divert its flow by digging a wide
ditch across its course and throwing up a high bank of earth, but
they worked in vain.  The demon of destruction was not to be robbed
of its prey.  The liquid stream advanced like a colossal serpent of
fire, turning its head like a crawling snake to the right and left,
but keeping steadily on toward the fated town.  The ditch was
filled; the bank gave way; the first house was reached and burst
into flames; the creeping stream of fire pushed on to the next
houses in its way; only then did the despairing people desert their
homes and flee for their lives, carrying with them the little they
could snatch of their treasured possessions.

F. Marion Crawford, the novelist, who was present at this scene,
thus describes the flight of the terrified people:

"I saw men, women and children and infants, whose mothers carried
them at the breast or in their aprons, fleeing in an endless
procession.  Dogs, too, and cats were on the carts, and sometimes
even chickens, tied together by the legs, and piles of mattresses
and pillows and shapeless bundles of clothes.  All were white with
dust.  Under the lurid glare I saw one old woman lying on her back
across a cart, ghastly white and, if not dead already of fear and
heat and suffocation, certainly almost gone.  We ourselves could
hardly breathe."

It was on Saturday, the 7th, that Bosco Trecase became the prey of
the river of molten rock.  During that night and the following day
the crisis of the eruption came.  The observatory on the mountain
side was occupied by Professor Matteucci, his assistant, Professor
Perret, of New York, and two domestics, all others having been sent
away.  Their description of the scene in which they found
themselves is vividly picturesque.  At midnight the situation in
the observatory was terrible.  The forces of the earthquake were
let loose and the ground rocked so that it was almost impossible to
stand.  The roaring of the main crater was deafening, while the
volcano poured forth its contents like a fountain, and the electric
display was terrifying, constant claps of thunder following the
lurid flashes of lightning, which gave the sky a blood-red hue.

Shortly after three o'clock in the morning the explosive energy of
the mighty mass culminated.  The whole cone burst open with a
tremendous earthquake shock, from the heart of the recently silent
mountain came a deafening roar, and red-hot rocks, like the balls
from nature's mighty artillery, were hurled a half mile into the
air, while a dense mass of ashes and sand was flung to three or
four times this height.  All the next day the terrible detonation
kept up, and a hail of bullet-like stones poured downward from the
skies.  Rarely has a more terrible Sunday been seen.  It was as if
the demons of earth and air were let loose and were seeking to
destroy man and his puny works.


THE CRISIS OF THE ERUPTION.


This frightful explosion of the 8th of April was the worst of the
dreadful display of volcanic forces, but the work kept up with
diminishing intensity much of the following week.  The ashes and
cinders continued to pour down in suffocating showers, covering the
ground to a depth of four or five feet in the vicinity of the
volcano and to a considerable depth at Naples, ten miles away.  The
sun disappeared behind the thick cloud that filled the air, and the
scene resembled that described by Pliny more than eighteen hundred
years before.

Of Bosco Trecase nothing was left but the large stone church and a
few houses.  Another river of lava reached the outskirts of Torre
del Greco, and a third stopped at the cemetery of Torre Annunziata.
Those towns escaped, but thousands of acres of fertile cultivated
land, with farm houses and stock, were destroyed.  The peninsular
railway up the mountain was ruined and the large hotel burned.  One
writer tells the following tale of what he saw on that fatal
Saturday and Sunday:

"On the road I met hundreds of families in flight, carrying their
few miserable possessions.  The spectacle of collapsing carts and
fainting women was frequently seen.  When one reached the lava
stream a stupefying spectacle presented itself.  From a point on
the mountain between the towns I saw four rivers of molten fire,
one of which, 200 feet wide and over 40 deep, was moving slowly and
majestically onward, devouring vineyards and olive groves.  I
witnessed the destruction of a farm house enveloped on three sides
by lava.  Immediately overhead the great crater was belching
incandescent rock and scoria for an incredible distance.  The whole
scene was wreathed with flames, and a perpetual roar was heard.
Ever and anon the cone of the volcano was encircled with vivid
electric phenomena, amid which a downpour of liquid fire on all
sides of the crater was revealed in magnificent awfulness.  In the
evening there was a frightful shock of earthquake, which was
repeated at two o'clock on Sunday morning.  Simultaneously the lava
streams redoubled their onrush, and men, women and children fled
precipitately toward the sea.  The lava had invaded the road behind
them."


A REIGN OF TERROR.


The great loss of life was due to the vast fall of ashes, which
crushed in hundreds of roofs and buried the occupants within the
ruins of their homes.  In all the neighboring towns buildings were
destroyed in great numbers, an early estimate being that fully
5,000 houses had been partly crushed or utterly destroyed.  On the
Ottajano side of the mountain, where the ashes fell in greatest
profusion, all the houses of the villages were damaged, and
Ottajano itself was left a wreck, several hundred dead bodies being
taken from its ruins.  In Naples the ash fall was so incessant that
those who could afford it wore automobile coats, caps and goggles,
while the people generally sought to save their eyes and faces by
the aid of paper masks and umbrellas.  The drivers of trolley cars
were obliged to wear masks of some transparent material under the
vizors of their caps.


DISASTERS AT SAN GIUSEPPE AND NAPLES.


There were two special disasters attended by serious loss of life.
On the 9th, while a congregation of two hundred or more were
attending mass in the church at San Giuseppe, the roof crushed in
from the weight of ashes upon it and fell upon the worshippers
below, few or none of whom escaped unhurt.  Fifty-four dead bodies
were taken from the ruins and a large number were severely injured.
The Mayor of the town was dismissed from his office for leaving his
post of duty in the face of danger.

The second disaster, one of the same character, took place at
Naples.  This was on Tuesday, April 10th.  Just previous to it the
people had been marching in religious processions through the
streets, to render thanks for the apparent cessation of the
activity of Vesuvius.  Motley but picturesque processions were
these, headed by boys carrying candles, which burned simply in the
full sunshine and bearing aloft images of the Madonna or saints,
clad in gorgeous robes of cheap blue or yellow satin.  Their joy
was suddenly changed to grief by tidings of a frightful disaster.
The roof of the Monte Oliveto market, fronting on the Toledo, the
main thoroughfare, had suddenly crushed in, burying more than 200
people beneath its heavy fall.

The market had been crowded with buyers and their children, and it
was the busiest hours of the day in the great roofed courtyard,
covering a space 600 feet square, when, with scarcely a tremor of
warning, there came a frightful crash and a dense cloud of dust
covered the scene, from out of which came heartrending screams of
agony.  The volcanic ash which, unnoticed, had gathered thickly on
the roof, had broken it in by its weight.

The news set the people frantic with grief and indignation.  They
insisted that the authorities knew that the roof was unsafe and had
neglected their duty.  Cursing and screaming in their intense
excitement, they surrounded the market, endeavoring with frantic
haste to remove the heavy beams from beneath which came the
appealing calls for help, many of the rescuers sobbing aloud as
they worked.  It required a large force of police and soldiers to
keep them back and permit the firemen and other trained workers to
carry on more systematically the work of relief.  Twelve persons
proved to have been killed, two fatally injured, twenty-four
seriously hurt and over a hundred badly bruised and cut.  Among
these were many children, whose parents had sent them to do the
marketing without a dream of danger, and the grief of the parents
was intense.  The Duke of Aosta, Prefect of Naples, directed the
work of rescue, while his wife assisted in the care of the injured.
As the Duchess bent in the hospital to give a cooling drink to a
badly bruised little girl she felt a kiss upon her hand.  Looking
down, she saw a woman kneeling at her feet, who gratefully said:
"Your Excellency, she is all I have.  I am a widow.  May God reward
you."

While this scene of horror was taking place in Naples the fate of
the town and villages grouped around the foot of the volcano seemed
as hopeless as ever.  Early on the 10th the showers of ashes and
streams of lava diminished and almost ceased, but later the same
day they began again, and the terrified inhabitants feared that a
catastrophe like that which buried Pompeii and Herculaneum was
about to visit them.  The lava which reached the cemetery of Torre
Annunziata turned in the direction of Pompeii as if to freshly
entomb that exhumed city of the past.  A violent storm of
sulphurous rain fell at San Giuseppe, Vesuviana and Sariano, and on
all sides the fall of sand and ashes came on again in full
strength.  Even with the sun shining high in the heavens the light
was a dim yellow, in the midst of which the few persons who still
haunted the stricken towns moved about in the awful stillness of
desolation like gray ghosts, their clothing, hair and beards
covered with ashes.


THE ERUPTION RESUMED.


A typical case was that of Torre del Greco.  Though for thirty
hours the place had been deserted, a few ghostly figures could be
seen at intervals when the vivid flashes of lightning illuminated
the gloom-covered scene, wandering desolately about, hungry and
thirsty, their throats parched by smoke and dust, yet unable to
tear themselves away from the ruins of their late comfortable
homes.

So deep was the ash fall that railway or tramway travel to the
inner circle of towns was impossible, and the great depth of fallen
dust choked the roads so as to render travel by carriage or on foot
very difficult.  A party of officials made a tour of inspection by
automobile, visiting a number of the town, but were prevented by
the state of the roads from reaching others.  Ottajano was thus cut
off from travel, and a heavy fall of ashes followed the officials
in their retreat.  At Bosco Trecase the lava had gathered into a
lake, already growing solid on top, but a mass of liquid rock
beneath.

The lava carried vast masses of burnt stone and sulphur on its
surface, like dross on melted lead, and nothing was visible toward
Bosco Trecase but endless acres of dark scoriae, broken here and
there by the greenish, curling smoke of sulphur.  At one point a
great cone pine tree, torn up by its roots and turned to black
charcoal, stuck out of the mass at a sharp angle.  The air was
almost unbearable, the heat intense, and few could long bear the
dangers and discomfort of the situation.


SCENES OF HORROR.


The greatest depth of ashes encountered was in the vicinity of
Ottajano.  Here large areas were buried to a depth of several feet.
Soldiers had been sent there with military carts, carrying
provisions and surgical appliances, with orders to lend their aid
in the work of relief.  They found it almost impossible to make
their way through the deep fine dust, and the tales of horror and
heroism they had to tell resembled those that must of old have been
borne to Rome by the fleeing inhabitants of Pompeii.

Efforts were made to remove the children and old persons in the
carts, but when these had gone a few hundred feet it was found
that, although there were four horses harnessed to each vehicle,
they could not pull their loads through the ashes.  This caused a
panic among the children, who expected to be buried in the
incessant fall from the volcano, and they fled in all directions in
the darkness and blinding rain.  Searching parties went after them,
but in spite of continuous shouting and calling no trace was found
of the little ones, and numbers of the children were undoubtedly
smothered by the ashes and sand.

Many of the inhabitants had been buried in the ruins of their
houses, and the scenes when the victims were unearthed were often
piteous and terrible.  The positions of the bodies showed that the
victims had died while in a state of great terror, the faces being
convulsed with fear.  Three bodies were found in a confessional of
one of the fallen churches.  One body was that of an old woman who
was sitting with her right arm raised as though to ward off the
advancing danger.  The second was that of a child about eight years
old.  It was found dead in a position, which would indicate that
the child had fallen with a little dog close to it and had died
with one arm raised across its face, to protect itself and pet from
the crumbling ruins.  The third body, that of a woman, was reduced
to an unrecognizable mass.  These three victims were reverently
laid side by side while a procession of friends and relatives
offered up prayers beside them.

One soldier rode his horse through the ashes reaching up to its
flanks, calling out, "Who wants help?"  He was rewarded by hearing
a woman's voice reply in weak tones and, springing from his horse,
he floundered through the ashes to the ruined walls of a house from
which the voice seemed to come.  As he made his way through the
soft, treacherous layer of scoriae which surrounded the destroyed
habitation, and with difficulty worked his way toward the building
the soldier shouted words of encouragement and, climbing over a
heap of ruins and braving a toppling wall, entered the building.
In the cellar he found the bodies of three children.  Near them was
a woman, barely alive, who by almost superhuman efforts for hours
had succeeded in freeing herself from a mass of debris which had
fallen upon her.  The soldier picked the woman up in his arms and
carried her to a place of safety.  It was found that both legs were
broken and that she had been badly crushed about the body.

Some extraordinary escapes from death took place.  A man and his
four children were rescued after having been lost in the ash-
covered wilderness for fifty-six hours.  They were terribly
exhausted, and were reduced almost to skeletons.

Robert Underwood Johnson, one of the editors of the "Century
Magazine, who happened to be in Rome at the time of the eruption,
made one of a party who ventured as near the scene of destruction
as they could safely approach.  From his graphic story of his
experiences we copy some of the most interesting details.


AN AMERICAN OBSERVER.


"We caught a train for Torre Annunziata, three miles this side of
Pompeii and two miles from the southern end of the wedge of lava
which destroyed Bosco Trecase.  We had a magnificent view of the
eruption, eight miles away.  Rising at an angle of fifty degrees,
the vast mass of tumult roundness was beautifully accentuated by
the full moon, shifting momentarily into new forms and drifting
south in low, black clouds of ashes and cinders reaching to Capri.
At Torre del Greco we ran under this terrifying pall, apparently a
hundred feet above, the solidity of which was soon revealed in the
moonlight.  The torches of the railway guards added to the effect,
but greatly relieved the sulphurous darkness.

"We reached Torre Annunziata at three in the morning.  There was
little suggestion of a disaster as we trudged through the sleeping
town to the lava, two miles away.  The brilliant moon gave us a
superb view of the volcano, a gray-brown mass rising, expanding and
curling in with a profile like a monstrous cyclopean face.  But
nothing in mythology gives a suggestion of the fascination of this
awful force, presenting the sublime beauty above, but in its
descent filled with the mysterious malignance of God's underworld.

"We reached the lava at a picturesque cypress-planted cemetery on
the northern boundary of Torre Annunziata.  It was as if the dead
had effectually cried out to arrest the crushing river of flames
which pitilessly engulfed the statue of St. Anne with which the
people of Bosco Reale tried to stay it, as at Catania the veil of
St. Agathe is said to have stayed a similar stream from Mount Etna.

"We climbed on the lava.  It was cool above but still alive with
fire below.  We could see dimly the extent of the destruction
beyond the barrier of brown which had enclosed the streets, torn
down the houses, invaded the vineyards and broken Cook's railways.
A better idea of the surroundings was obtained at dawn from the
railway.  We saw north what was left of Bosco Trecase--a great,
square stone church and a few houses inland in a sea of dull, brown
lava.  North and east rose a thousand patches of blue smoke like
swamp miasma.  All was dull and desolate slag, with nowhere the
familiar serpentine forms of the old lava streams.  In terrible
contrast with the volcanic evidences were strong cypresses and
blooming camelias in a neighboring cemetery.

"We ate a hasty luncheon before sunrise, when the great beauty of
the scene was revealed.  The column now seemed higher and more
massive, rising to three times the height of Vesuvius.  Each
portion had a concentric motion and new aspects.  The south edges
floating toward the sea showed exquisite curved surfaces, due to
the upper moving current.  It was like the decoration of the side
of a great sarcophagus.  As a yellow dust hangs over Naples and
hides the volcano, I count myself fortunate to have seen all day
from leeward this spectacle of changing, undiminishing beauty.

"The wedge of cultivated land ruined east of the volcano extended
at least ten miles, with a width of twenty or thirty miles.  Fancy
a rich and thickly populated country of vineyards lying under three
to six inches of ashes and cinders of the color of chocolate with
milk, while above, to the west, the volcano in full activity is
distributing to the outer edges of the circle the same fate, and
you will get an idea of the desolate impression of the scene, a
tragedy colossal and heartrending.  Like that of Calabria, it
enlists the sympathy of the civilized world.  It takes time for
such a calamity to be realized.

"Two miles below San Giuseppe we struck cinders which the soldiers
were shoveling, making a narrow road for the refugees.  Our wagon
driver begged off from completing his contract to take us to San
Giuseppe.  We had not the heart to insist, so the rest of the
journey to the railway at Palma, eight miles, was made laboriously
on foot for three hours through sliding cinders.

"In many places temporary shelters had been built by the roadside,
like children's playhouses.  Here women were huddled with their
bedding, awaiting the coming of supplies which the army had begun
to distribute.  The men were largely occupied with shoveling
cinders from the stronger roofs and floors into heaps three to six
feet deep along the roadside.  Many two-wheeled carts loaded with
salvage, drawn by donkeys or pushed by peasants, were making their
way along, the women with bundles on their heads or carrying
poultry.

"In the square of San Giuseppe was an encampment of soldiers, with
low tents.  Near a destroyed church, in coarse yellow linen
shrouds, were the bodies of thirty-three of the persons who there
lost their lives.  The peasants were sad, but uncomplaining; in
fact, for so excitable a people they were wonderfully calm.  As
evidence of the thrift and self-respect of these, we were not once
asked for alms during the afternoon."


THE KING AT THE FRONT.


The Italian Government did all it could at the moment to alleviate
the horrors of the situation, sending money to be expended in
relief work and dispatching high officials of the government to
give aid and encouragement by their presence.  The King, Victor
Emmanuel, and Queen Helene reached the scene of destruction as
early as possible and lent their personal assistance to the work of
rescue.

Obliged to leave his automobile, which could not move over the
cinder-choked road, the King went forward with difficulty on
horseback, the animal floundering through four feet of ashes,
stumbling into holes, and half blinded by the fall of dust and
cinders.

"How did you escape?" he asked a priest whom he met in his journey.

"I put myself in safety," was the reply.

"What do you mean?" asked the King.

"Realizing the danger, I left Nola."

"What!" cried the King, with a flush of anger.  "You, a minister of
God, were not here to share the danger of your people and
administer the last sacraments?  You did very wrong and forgot your
duty."

Reaching Ottejano, the King did what he could to expedite the work
of rescue at that central point of disaster, more than a hundred
dead bodies being taken from the ruins in his presence.  He stood
with set pale face watching the removal of the victims and
directing the movement of the workers.  During his visit at the
front he inspected the temporary camp hospitals, in which the
soldiers were caring for the injured and suffering, speaking to the
poor victims, giving them what comfort he could, and asking what he
could do to relieve their distress.  Every request or desire was
received with sympathy and orders given to have it fulfilled.

A pitiful scene took place when the King bent over a poor man,
whose right leg had been amputated, and asked what he could do to
comfort and aid him in his affliction.

"Send me my son, who is serving as a soldier," said the maimed
peasant.

The King, visibly affected, clasped the old man's hand and
exclaimed:

"My poor fellow!  I can do much, but to grant your request would
mean breaking the laws, which I must be the first to respect.  I
would give anything I have were it possible by so doing to send
your son to you, but I cannot do so."

While the King was thus engaged at the scenes of desolation, Queen
Helene visited the charitable institutions at Naples and inspected
the places where the refugees were housed, doing what she could to
improve conditions and add to the comfort of the sufferers.  The
Princess of Schleswig-Holstein, who was in Naples, made an
automobile visit to the afflicted towns, but the motor broke down,
and she was forced to return on foot, walking a distance of twelve
miles through the ashes and displaying a power of endurance that
surprised the natives.


THE CANOPY OF DUST.


By Friday, April 13th, the eruption was practically at an end.
Vesuvius had spent itself in the enormous convulsion of the 7th and
8th and the subsequent minor explosions and had returned to its
normal state, ceasing to give any signs of life, except the cloud
of smoke which still rose from its crater and spread like a thick
curtain over and around the mountain.  Looked at from Naples, there
was none of the familiar aspects of the volcano, with its output of
smoke and ashes by day and fiery gleam by night.  Now it lay buried
in darkness and obscurity, clothed in a dense pall of smoke.  At
Rome there was sunshine, but twenty miles south hung a misty veil,
and twenty-five miles above Naples a zone of semi-obscurity began,
blotting out the sun, whose light trickled through with a sickly
glare.  Everything was whitened with powdery dust; pretty white
villas were daubed and dripping with mud, and people were busy
shoveling the ashes from their roofs.

The crowds at the stations resembled millers, their clothes flour
covered; the Campania presented the appearance of a Dakota prairie
after a blizzard of snow, though everything was gray instead of
white.  The ashes lay in drifts knee deep.  As the volcano was
approached semi-night replaced the day, the gloom being so deep
that telegraph poles twenty feet away could not be seen.  Breathing
was difficult, and the smoke made the eyes water.  At Naples,
however, a favorable wind had cleared the air of smoke, the sun
shone brightly, and the versatile people were happy once more.  The
goggles and eye-screens had disappeared, but the streets were
anything but comfortable, for some six thousand men were at work
clearing the ashes from the roofs and main streets and piling them
in the middle of the narrow streets, making the passage of vehicles
very difficult and the sidewalks far from comfortable for foot
passengers.

But while brightness and joy reigned at Naples, there were gruesome
scenes within the volcanic zone.  At Bosco Trecase soldiers carried
on the work of exhumation, being able to work only an hour at a
time on account of the advanced stage of decomposition of the
bodies.  Many of these were shapeless, unrecognizable masses of
flesh and bones, while others were little disfigured.  To lessen
the danger of an epidemic the bodies were buried as quickly as
possible in quicklime.

On Sunday, the 15th, the searchers at Ottejano were surprised at
finding two aged women still alive, after six days' entombment in
the ruins.  They were among those who had been buried by the
falling walls a week before.  The rafters of the house had
protected them, and a few morsels of food in their pockets aided to
keep them alive.  At some points there the ashes were ten feet
deep.  At San Giuseppe bodies of women were found in whose hands
were coins and jewels, and one woman held a jewelled rosary.  This
recalls the results of exploration at Herculaneum and Pompeii,
where were similar instances of death overtaking the victims of the
volcano while fleeing with their jewels in their hands.

It is interesting to learn that two men stood heroically to their
post of duty during the whole scene of the explosion, Professor
Matteucci, Director of the Royal Observatory, and his American
assistant, Professor Frank A. Perret, of New York.  Though the
building occupied by them was exposed to the full force of the rain
of stones from the burning mountain, they remained undauntedly at
their post through that week of terror.  On the 14th some of that
venturesome fraternity, the newspaper correspondents, reached their
eyrie on the highest habitable point on Vesuvius and heard the
story of their experiences.


THE HEROES OF THE OBSERVATORY.


For several days Professors Matteucci and Perret and their two
servants had been cut off from the outside world and bombarded by
the volcano, their rations consisting of bread, cheese and dried
onions, until on Friday a hardy guide was induced to push through
to them with some provisions.  During the eruption the Professor
had kept at his instruments, taking observations day and night and
making calculations in the midst of the inferno.  Roughly dressed,
he looked like a Western cowboy after a hard ride in a dust storm.
The portico where he stood was knee deep in ashes, and from the
observatory terrace narrow paths had been cut through the ashes,
but as far as the eye could reach an ocean of ashes and twisted
rivers were alone visible, with Vesuvius rising grimly in the
midst.  The great monster was enveloped in a cloak of white, as if
buried under a snowstorm, its surface being here and there slit
with gulches in which lava ran.  At the bottom of one of those
gulches lay the wrecked remnants of the peninsular railway, a
portion of its twisted cable protruding through the ashes.  As the
correspondents ascended the mountain they were surprised by the
apparition of natives, men wrinkled with age, who emerged from
dugouts just below the observatory and offered them milk and eggs,
just as if they were ordinary visitors to the volcano.  As they
descended they heard the sound of a mandolin from one of these
dugouts.  Evidently Vesuvius had no terrors for these case-hardened
veterans.

We have already told the story gleaned by the correspondents from
the daring scientists.  Matteucci completed his record of boldness
on Friday, the 13th, by climbing to a point far above the
observatory, at the imminent risk of his life, to observe the
conditions then existing.  From what he says he believed the end of
the disturbance near, though he did not venture to predict.  As for
the ashes, which a light wind was then blowing in a direction away
from Naples, he said: "The ill wind is now blowing good to other
places, for ashes are the best fertilizer it is possible to use.
It is merely a question just now of having too much of a good
thing."

This is a fact so far as the volcanic ash is concerned.  An
examination of the ashes a few days ago shows that they will prove
an active and valuable fertilizer.  The fertile slopes of Vesuvius
have ever been an allurement to the vine-grower, four crops a year
being a temptation no possible danger could drive him from, and as
soon as the mountain grows surely peaceful after this eruption, we
shall find its farmers risking again the chance of its uncertain
temper.  But this is not the case with the land covered with lava
and cinders.  Time for their disintegration is necessary before
they can be brought under cultivation, and this is a matter of
years.  After the great eruption of 1871-72 the land covered with
cinders did not bear crops for seven years, and there is no reason
that they will do so sooner on the present occasion.  So for years
to come much of the volcanic soil must remain a barren and desert
void.



CHAPTER XVI.

The Great Lisbon and Calabrian Earthquakes.


To our account of the great earth convulsions of San Francisco it
is in place to append a description of some similar events of older
date.  It is due to the same causes, whatever these causes may be,
the imprisoned forces within the earth acting over great distances
during the earthquake, while they are concentrated within some
limited space when the volcano begins its work.  The earthquake is
the most terrible to mankind of all the natural agencies of
destruction.  While the volcano usually has a greater permanent
effect upon surface conditions, it is, as a rule, much less
destructive to human life, the earthquake often shaking down cities
and burying all their inhabitants in one common grave.  Violent
earthquakes are also of far more frequent occurrence than
destructive volcanic eruptions, many hundreds of them having taken
place during the historic period.

While the earthquake is only indirectly connected with the subject
of our work, it seems desirable to make some mention of it here, at
least so far as relates to those terrible convulsions whose
destructiveness has given them special prominence in the history of
great disasters.  Ancient notable examples are those which threw
down the famous Colossus of Rhodes and the Pharos of Alexandria.
The city of Antioch was a terrible sufferer from this affliction,
it having been devastated some time before the Christian era, while
in the year 859 more than 15,000 of its houses were destroyed.  Of
countries subject to earthquakes, Japan has been an especial
sufferer, in some cases mountains or islands being elevated in
association with shocks; in others, great tracts of land being
swallowed up by the sea.  The number of deaths in some of these
instances was enormous.

Numerous thrilling examples of the destructive work of the
earthquake at various periods are on record.  Of these we have
given elsewhere a tabular list of the more important, and shall
confine ourselves to a few striking examples of its destructive
action.  In the record of great earthquakes, one of the most famous
is that which in 1755 visited the city of Lisbon, the capital of
Portugal, and left that populous, place in ruin and dire distress.
It may be well to recall the details of this dire event to the
memories of our readers.


THE GREAT LISBON EARTHQUAKE


On the night of the 31st of October, 1755, the citizens of the fair
city of Lisbon lay down to sleep, in merciful ignorance of what was
awaiting them on the morrow.  The morning of the 1st of November
dawned, and gave no sign of approaching calamity.  The sun rose in
its brightness, the warmth was genial, the breezes gentle, the sky
serene.  It was All Saints' Day--a high festival of the Church of
Rome.  The sacred edifices were thronged with eager crowds, and the
ceremonies were in full progress, when the assembled throngs were
suddenly startled from their devotions.  From the ground beneath
came fearful sounds that drowned the peal of the organ and the
voices of the choirs.  These underground thunders having rolled
away, an awful silence ensued.  The panic-stricken multitudes were
paralyzed with terror.  Immediately after the ground began to heave
with a long and gentle swell, producing giddiness and faintness
among the people.  The tall piles swayed to and fro, like willows
in the wind.  Shrieks of horror rose from the terrified assembly.
Again the earth heaved, and this time with a longer and higher
wave.  Down came the ponderous arches, the stately columns, the
massive walls, the lofty spires, tumbling upon the heads of priests
and people.  The graven images, the deified wafers, and they who
had knelt in adoration before them--the worshipped and the
worshippers alike--were in a moment buried under one
undistinguishable mass of horrible ruins.  Only a few, who were
near the doors, escaped to tell the tale.

It fared no better with those who had remained in their dwellings.
The terrible earth-wave overthrew the larger number of the private
houses in the city, burying their inhabitants under the crumbling
walls.  Those who were in the streets more generally escaped,
though some there, too, were killed by falling walls.

The sudden overthrow of so many buildings raised vast volumes of
fine dust, which filled the atmosphere and obscured the sun,
producing a dense gloom.  The air was full of doleful sounds--the
groans of agony from the wounded and the dying, screams of despair
from the horrified survivors, wails of lamentation from the
suddenly bereaved, dismal howlings of dogs, and terrified cries of
other animals.

In two or three minutes the clouds of dust fell to the ground, and
disclosed the scene of desolation which a few seconds had wrought.
The ruin, though general, was not universal.  A considerable number
of houses were left standing--fortunately tenantless--for a third
great earth-wave traversed the city, and most of the buildings
which had withstood the previous shocks, already severely shaken,
were entirely overthrown.


WATER ADDS TO THE DESTRUCTION


The last disaster filled the surviving citizens with the impulse of
flight.  The more fortunate of them ran in the direction of the
open country, and succeeded in saving their lives; but a great
multitude rushed down to the harbor, thinking to escape by sea.
Here, however, they were met by a new and unexpected peril.  The
tide, after first retreating for a little, came rolling in with an
immense wave, about fifty feet in height, carrying with it ships,
barges and boats, and dashing them in dire confusion upon the
crowded shore.  Overwhelmed by this huge wave, great numbers were,
on its retreat, swept into the seething waters and drowned.  A vast
throng took refuge on a fine new marble quay, but recently
completed, which had cost much labor and expense.  This the sea-
wave had spared, sweeping harmless by.  But, alas! it was only for
a moment.  The vast structure itself, with the whole of its living
burden, sank instantaneously into an awful chasm which opened
underneath.  The mole and all who were on it, the boats and barges
moored to its sides, all of them filled with people, were in a
moment ingulfed.  Not a single corpse, not a shred of raiment, not
a plank nor a splinter floated to the surface, and a hundred
fathoms of water covered the spot.  To the first great sea-wave
several others succeeded, and the bay continued for a long time in
a state of tumultuous agitation.

About two hours after the first overthrow of the buildings, a new
element of destruction came into play.  The fires in the ruined
houses kindled the timbers, and a mighty conflagration, urged by a
violent wind, soon raged among the ruins, consuming everything
combustible, and completing the wreck of the city.  This fire,
which lasted four days, was not altogether a misfortune.  It
consumed the thousands of corpses which would otherwise have
tainted the air, adding pestilence to the other misfortunes of the
survivors.  Yet they were threatened with an enemy not less
appalling, for famine stared them in the face.  Almost everything
eatable within the precincts of the city had been consumed.  A set
of wretches, morever, who had escaped from the ruins of the
prisons, prowled among the rubbish of the houses in search of
plunder, so that whatever remained in the shape of provisions fell
into their hands and was speedily devoured.  They also broke into
the houses that remained standing, and rifled them of their
contents.  It is said that many of those who had been only injured
by the ruins, and might have escaped by being extricated, were
ruthlessly murdered by those merciless villains.

The total loss of life by this terrible catastrophe is estimated at
60,000 persons, of whom about 40,000 perished at once, and the
remainder died afterwards of the injuries and privations they
sustained.  Twelve hundred were buried in the ruins of the general
hospital, eight hundred in those of the civil prison, and several
thousands in those of the convents.  The loss of property amounted
to many millions sterling.


WIDE-SPREAD DESTRUCTION


Although the earth-wave traversed the whole city, the shock was
felt more severely in some quarters than in others.  All the older
part of the town, called the Moorish quarter, was entirely
overthrown; and of the newer part, about seventy of the principal
streets were ruined.  Some buildings that withstood the shocks were
destroyed by fire.  The cathedral, eighteen parish churches, almost
all the convents, the halls of the inquisition, the royal
residence, and several other fine palaces of the nobility and
mansions of the wealthy, the custom-houses, the warehouses filled
with merchandise, the public granaries filled with corn, and large
timber yards, with their stores of lumber, were either overthrown
or burned.

The king and court were not in Lisbon at the time of this great
disaster, but were living in the neighborhood at the castle of
Belem, which escaped injury.  The royal family, however, were so
alarmed by the shocks, that they passed the following night in
carriages out of doors.  None of the officers of state were with
them at the time.  On the following morning the king hastened to
the ruined city, to see what could be done toward restoring order,
aiding the wounded, and providing food for the hungry.

The royal family and the members of the court exerted themselves to
the uttermost, the ladies devoting themselves to the preparation of
lint and bandages, and to nursing the wounded, the sick, and the
dying, of whom the numbers were overwhelming.  Among the sufferers
were men of quality and once opulent citizens, who had been reduced
in a moment to absolute penury.  The kitchens of the royal palace,
which fortunately remained standing, were used for the purpose of
preparing food for the starving multitudes.  It is said that during
the first two or three days a pound of bread was worth an ounce of
gold.  One of the first measures of the government was to buy up
all the corn that could be obtained in the neighborhood of Lisbon,
and to sell it again at a moderate price, to those who could afford
to buy, distributing it gratis to those who had nothing to pay.

For about a month afterward earthquake shocks continued, some of
them severe.  It was several months before any of the citizens
could summon courage to begin rebuilding the city.  But by degrees
their confidence returned.  The earth had relapsed into repose, and
they set about the task of rebuilding with so much energy, that in
ten years Lisbon again became one of the most beautiful capitals of
Europe.


CHARACTERISTICS OF THE LISBON EARTHQUAKE


The most distinguishing peculiarities of this earthquake were the
swallowing up of the mole, and the vast extent of the earth's
surface over which the shocks were felt.  Several of the highest
mountains in Portugal were violently shaken, and rent at their
summits; huge masses falling from them into the neighboring
valleys.  These great fractures gave rise to immense volumes of
dust, which at a distance were mistaken for smoke by those who
beheld them.  Flames were also said to have been observed: but if
there were any such, they were probably electrical flashes produced
by the sudden rupture of the rocks.

The portion of the earth's surface convulsed by this earthquake is
estimated by Humboldt to have been four times greater than the
whole extent of Europe.  The shocks were felt not only over the
Spanish peninsula, but in Morocco and Algeria they were nearly as
violent.  At a place about twenty-four miles from the city of
Morocco, there is said to have occurred a catastrophe much
resembling what took place at the Lisbon mole.  A great fissure
opened in the earth, and an entire village, with all its
inhabitants, upwards of 8,000 in number, were precipitated into the
gulf, which immediately closed over its prey.


EARTHQUAKES IN CALABRIA


Of the numerous other examples of destructive earthquakes which
might be chosen from Old World annals, it will not be amiss to
append a brief account of those which took place in Calabria,
Italy, in 1783.  These, while less wide-spread in their influence,
were much longer in duration than the Lisbon cataclysm, since they
continued, at intervals, from the 5th of February until the end of
the year.  The shocks were felt all over Sicily and as far north as
Naples, but the area of severe convulsion was comparatively
limited, not exceeding five hundred square miles.

The centre of disturbance seems to have been under the town of
Oppido in the farther Calabria, and it extended in every direction
from that spot to a distance of about twenty-two miles, with such
violence as to overthrow every city, town and village lying within
that circle.  This ruin was accomplished by the first shock on the
5th of February.  The second, of equal violence, on the 28th of
March, was less destructive, only because little or nothing had
been left for it to overthrow.

At Oppido the motion was in the nature of a vertical upheaval of
the ground, which was accompanied by the opening of numerous large
chasms, into some of which many houses were ingulfed, the chasms
closing over them again almost immediately.  The town itself was
situated on the summit of a hill, flanked by five steep and
difficult slopes; it was so completely overthrown by the first
shock that scarcely a fragment of wall was left standing.  The hill
itself was not thrown down, but a fort which commanded the approach
to the place was hurled into the gorge below.  It was on the flats
immediately surrounding the site of the town and on the rising
grounds beyond them that the great fissures and chasms were opened.
On the slope of one of the hills opposite the town there appeared a
vast chasm, in which a large quantity of soil covered with vines
and olive-trees was engulfed.  This chasm remained open after the
shock, and was somewhat in the form of an amphitheatre, 500 feet
long and 200 feet in depth.


MOST CALAMITOUS OF THE LANDSLIPS


The most calamitous of the landslips occurred on the sea-coast of
the Straits of Messina, near the celebrated rock of Scilla, where
huge masses fell from the tall cliffs, overwhelming many villas and
gardens.  At Gian Greco a continuous line of precipitous rocks,
nearly a mile in length, tumbled down.  The aged Prince of Scilla,
after the first great shock on the 5th of February, persuaded many
of his vassals to quit the dangerous shore, and take refuge in the
fishing boats--he himself showing the example.  That same night,
however, while many of the people were asleep in the boats, and
others on a flat plain a little above the sea-level, another
powerful shock threw down from the neighboring Mount Jaci a great
mass, which fell with a dreadful crash, partly into the sea, and
partly upon the plain beneath.  Immediately the sea rose to a
height of twenty feet above the level ground on which the people
were stationed, and rolling over it, swept away the whole
multitude.  This immense wave then retired, but returned with still
greater violence, bringing with it the bodies of the men and
animals it had previously swept away, dashing to pieces the whole
of the boats, drowning all that were in them, and wafting the
fragments far inland.  The prince with 1,430 of his people perished
by this disaster.

It was on the north-eastern shore of Sicily, however, that the
greatest amount of damage was done.  The first severe shock, on the
5th of February, overthrew nearly the whole of the beautiful city
of Messina, with great loss of life.  The shore for a considerable
distance along the coast was rent, and the ground along the port,
which was before quite level, became afterwards inclined towards
the sea, the depth of the water having, at the same time, increased
in several parts, through the displacement of portions of the
bottom.  The quay also subsided about fourteen inches below the
level of the sea, and the houses near it were much rent.  But it
was in the city itself that the most terrible desolation was
wrought--a complication of disasters having followed the shock,
more especially a fierce conflagration, whose intensity was
augmented by the large stores of oil kept in the place.


IMMENSE DESTRUCTION


According to official reports made soon after the events, the
destruction caused by the earthquakes of the 5th of February and
28th of March throughout the two Calabrias was immense.  About 320
towns and villages were entirely reduced to ruins, and about fifty
others seriously damaged.  The loss of life was appalling--40,000
having perished by the earthquakes, and 20,000 more having
subsequently died from privation and exposure, or from epidemic
diseases bred by the stagnant pools and the decaying carcases of
men and animals.  The greater number were buried amid the ruins of
the houses, while others perished in the fires that were kindled in
most of the towns, particularly in Oppido, where the flames were
fed by great magazines of oil.  Not a few, especially among the
peasantry dwelling in the country, were suddenly engulfed in
fissures.  Many who were only half buried in the ruins, and who
might have been saved had there been help at hand, were left to die
a lingering death from cold and hunger.  Four Augustine monks at
Terranuova perished thus miserably.  Having taken refuge in a
vaulted sacristy, they were entombed in it alive by the masses of
rubbish, and lingered for four days, during which their cries for
help could be heard, till death put an end to their sufferings.

Of still more thrilling interest was the case of the Marchioness
Spastara.  Having fainted at the moment of the first great shock,
she was lifted by her husband, who, bearing her in his arms,
hurried with her to the harbor.  Here, on recovering her senses,
she observed that her infant boy had been left behind.  Taking
advantage of a moment when her husband was too much occupied to
notice her, she darted off and, running back to the house, which
was still standing, she snatched her babe from its cradle.  Rushing
with him in her arms towards the staircase, she found the stair had
fallen--cutting off all further progress in that direction.  She
fled from room to room, pursued by the falling materials, and at
length reached a balcony as her last refuge.  Holding up her
infant, she implored the few passers-by for help; but they all,
intent on securing their own safety, turned a deaf ear to her
cries.  Meanwhile the mansion had caught fire, and before long the
balcony, with the devoted lady still grasping her darling, was
hurled into the devouring flames.



CHAPTER XVII.

The Charleston and Other Earthquakes of the United States.


The twin continents of America have rivalled the record of the Old
World in their experience of earthquakes since their discovery in
1492.  The first of these made note of was in Venezuela in 1530,
but they have been numerous and often disastrous since.  Among them
was the great shock at Lima in 1746, by which 18,000 were killed,
and those at Guatemala in 1773, with 33,000, and at Riobamba in
1797, with 41,000 victims.  It will, however, doubtless prove of
more interest to our readers if we pass over these ruinous
disasters and confine ourselves to the less destructive earthquakes
which have taken place within our own country.

The United States, large a section of North America as it occupies,
is fortunate in being in a great measure destitute of volcanic
phenomena, while destructive earthquakes have been very rare in its
history.  This, it is true, does not apply to the United States as
it is, but as it was.  It has annexed the volcano and the
earthquake with its new accessions of territory.  Alaska has its
volcanoes, the Philippines are subject to both forms of convulsion,
and in Hawaii we possess the most spectacular volcano of the earth,
while the earthquake is its common attendant.  But in the older
United States the volcano contents itself with an occasional puff
of smoke, and eruptive phenomena are confined to the minor form of
the geyser.

We are by no means so free from the earthquake.  Slight movements
of the earth's surface are much more common than many of us
imagine, and in the history of our land there have been a number of
earth shocks of considerable violence.  Prior to that of San
Francisco, the most destructive to life and property was that of
Charleston in 1886, though the 1812 convulsion in the Mississippi
Valley might have proved a much greater calamity but for the fact
that civilized man had not then largely invaded its centre of
action.

As regards the number of earth movements in this country, we are
told that in New England alone 231 were recorded in two hundred and
fifty years, while doubtless many slighter ones were left
unrecorded.  Taking the whole United States, there were 364
recorded in the twelve years from 1872 to 1883, and in 1885 fifty-
nine were recorded, more than two-thirds of them being on the
Pacific slope.  Most of these, however, were very slight, some of
them barely perceptible.

Confining ourselves to those of the past important in their
effects, we shall first speak of the shocks which took place in New
England in 1755, in the year and month of the great earthquake at
Lisbon.  On the 18th of November of that year, while the shocks at
Lisbon still continued, New England was violently shaken, loud
underground explosive noises accompanying the shocks.  In the
harbors along the Atlantic coast there was much agitation of the
waters and many dead fish were thrown up on the shores.  The shock,
indeed, was felt far from the coast, by the crew of a ship more
than two hundred miles out at sea from Cape Ann, Massachusetts.

This event, however, was of minor importance, being much inferior
to that of 1812, in which year California and the Mississippi
Valley alike were affected by violent movements of the earth's
crust.  The California convulsions took place in the spring and
summer of that year, extending from the beginning of May until
September.  Throughout May the southern portion of that region was
violently agitated, the shocks being so frequent and severe that
people abandoned their houses and slept on the open ground.  The
most destructive shocks came in September, when two Mission houses
were destroyed and many of their inmates killed.  At Santa Barbara
a tidal wave invaded the coast and flowed some distance into the
interior.

It may be said here that California has proved more subject to
severe shocks than any other section of our country.  In 1865 sharp
tremors shook the whole region about the Bay of San Francisco, many
buildings being thrown down.  Hardly any of brick or stone escaped
injury, though few lives were lost.  In 1872 a disturbance was felt
farther west, the whole range of the Sierra Nevada mountains being
violently shaken and the earth tremblings extending into the State
of Nevada.  The centre of activity was along the crest of the
range, and immense quantities of rock were thrown down from the
mountain pinnacles.  A tremendous fissure opened along the eastern
base of the mountain range for forty miles, the land to the west of
the opening rising and that to the east sinking several feet.  One
small settlement, that of Lone Pine, in Owen's Valley, on the east
base of the mountains, was completely demolished, from twenty to
thirty lives being lost.  Luckily, the region affected had very few
inhabitants, or the calamity might have been great.

The earthquakes of 1812 in the Mississippi Valley began in
December, 1811, and continued at intervals until 1813.  As a rule
they were more distinguished by frequency than violence, though on
several occasions they were severe and had marked effects.  They
extended through the valleys of the Mississippi, Arkansas and Ohio,
and their long continuance was remarkable in view of the territory
affected being far from any volcanic region.

The surface of the valley of the Mississippi was a good deal
altered by these convulsions--several new lakes being formed, while
others were drained.  Several new islands were also raised in the
river, and during one of the shocks the ground a little below New
Madrid was for a short time lifted so high as to stop the current
of the Mississippi, and cause it to flow backward.  The ground on
which this town is built, and the bank of the river for fifteen
miles above it, subsided permanently about eight feet, and the
cemetery of the town fell into the river.  In the neighboring
forest the trees were thrown into inclined positions in every
direction, and many of their trunks and branches were broken.  It
is affirmed that in some places the ground swelled into great
waves, which burst at their summits and poured forth jets of water,
along with sand and pieces of coal, which were tossed as high as
the tops of trees.  On the subsidence of these waves, there were
left several hundreds of hollow depressions from ten to thirty
yards in diameter, and about twenty feet in depth, which remained
visible for many years afterward.  Some of the shocks were
vertical, and others horizontal, the latter being the most
mischievous.  These earthquakes resulted in the general subsidence
of a large tract of country, between seventy and eighty miles in
length from north to south, and about thirty miles in breadth from
east to west.  Lakes now mark many of the localities affected by
the earthquake movements.  It is only to the fact that this country
was then very thinly settled that a great loss of life was avoided.

New Madrid, Missouri, was a central point of this earthquake, the
shocks there being repeated with great frequency for several
months.  The disturbance of the earth, however, was not confined to
the United States, but affected nearly half of the western
hemisphere, ending in the upheaval of Sabrina in the Azores,
already described.  The destruction of Caracas, Venezuela, with
many thousands of its inhabitants, and the eruption of La Soufriere
volcano of St. Vincent Island were incidents of this convulsion.
Dr. J. W. Foster tells us that on the night of the disaster at
Caracas the earthquake grew intense at New Madrid, fissures being
opened six hundred feet long by twenty broad, from which water and
sand were flung to the height of forty feet.

The most destructive of earthquakes in our former history was that
which visited Charleston, South Carolina, in 1886, the injury
caused by it being largely due to the fact that it passed through a
populous city.  As it occurred after many of the people had
retired, the confusion and terror due to it were greatly augmented,
people fleeing in panic fear from the tumbling and cracking houses
to seek refuge in the widest streets and open spaces.

South Carolina had been affected by the wide-spread earthquakes of
1812.  These in some cases altered the level of the land, as is
related in Lyell's "Principles of Geology."  But the effect then
was much less than in 1886.  Several slight tremors occurred in the
early summer of that year, but did not excite much attention.  More
distinct shocks were felt on August 27th and 28th, but the climax
was deferred till the evening of August 31st.  The atmosphere that
afternoon had been unusually sultry and quiet, the breeze from the
ocean, which generally accompanies the rising tide, was almost
entirely absent, and the setting sun caused a little glow in the
sky.

"As the hour of 9.50 was reached," we are told, "there was suddenly
heard a rushing, roaring sound, compared by some to a train of cars
at no great distance, by others to a clatter produced by two or
more omnibuses moving at a rapid rate over a paved street, by
others again, to an escape of steam from a boiler.  It was followed
immediately by a thumping and beating of the earth beneath the
houses, which rocked and swayed to and fro.  Furniture was
violently moved and dashed to the floor; pictures were swung from
the walls, and in some cases turned with their backs to the front,
and every movable thing was thrown into extraordinary convulsions.
The greatest intensity of the shock is considered to have been
during the first half, and it was probably then, during the period
of its greatest sway, that so many chimneys were broken off at the
junction of the roof.  The duration of this severe shock is thought
to have been from thirty-five to forty seconds.  The impression
produced on many was that it could be subdivided into three
distinct movements, while others were of the opinion that it was
one continuous movement, or succession of waves, with the greatest
intensity, as already stated, during the first half of its
duration."

Twenty-seven persons were killed outright, and more than that
number died soon after of their hurts or from exposure; many others
were less seriously injured.  Among the buildings, the havoc,
though much less disastrous than has been recorded in some other
earthquakes in either hemisphere, was very great.  "There was not a
building in the city which had escaped serious injury.  The extent
of the damage varied greatly, ranging from total demolition down to
the loss of chimney tops and the dislodgment of more or less
plastering.  The number of buildings which were completely
demolished and levelled to the ground was not great; but there were
several hundreds which lost a large portion of their walls.  There
were very many also which remained standing, but so badly shattered
that public safety required that they should be pulled down
altogether.  There was not, so far as at present is known, a brick
or stone building which was not more or less cracked, and in most
of them the cracks were a permanent disfigurement and a source of
danger and inconvenience."  In some places the railway track was
curiously distorted.  "It was often displaced laterally, and
sometimes alternately depressed and elevated.  Occasionally several
lateral flexures of double curvature and of great amount were
exhibited.  Many hundred yards of track had been shoved bodily to
the south eastward."

The ground was fissured at some places in the city to a depth of
many feet, and numerous "craterlets" were formed, from which sand
was ejected in considerable quantities.  These are not uncommon
phenomena, and were due, no doubt, to the squirting of water out of
saturated sandy layers not far below the surface; these being
squeezed between two less pervious beds in the passage of the
earthquake wave.  The ejected material in the Charleston earthquake
was ordinary sand, such as might exist in many districts which had
been quite undisturbed by any concussions of the earth.

Captain Dutton made a careful study of the observations collected
by himself and others concerning this earthquake, and came to the
conclusion that the Charleston wave traveled with unusual speed,
for its mean velocity was about 17,000 feet a second.  The focus of
the disturbance was also ascertained.  Apparently it was a double
one, the two centres being about thirteen miles apart, and the line
joining them running nearly the same distance to the west of
Charleston.  The approximate depth of the principal focus is given
as twelve miles, with a possible error of less than two miles; that
of the minor one as roughly eight miles.

The Charleston earthquake was felt as a tremor of more or less
force through a wide area, embracing 900,000 square miles, and
affecting nearly the whole country east of the Mississippi.  It is
said that the yield of the Pennsylvania natural gas wells
decreased, and that a geyser in the Yellowstone valley burst into
action after four years of rest.  The movement of the earth-wave
was in general north and south, deflected to east and west, and the
snake-like fashion in which rails on the railroad were bent
indicated both a vertical and a lateral force.

This earthquake has been attributed to various causes, but
geological experts think that it was due to a slip in the crust
along the Appalachian Mountain chain.  There is a line of weakness
along the eastern slope of this chain, characterized by fissures
and faults, and it was thought that a strain had been gradually
brought to bear upon this through the removal of earth from the
land by rains and rivers and its deposition in thick strata on the
sea-bottom.  It is supposed that this variation in weight in time
caused a yielding of the strata and a slip seaward of the great
coastal plain.  Professor Mendenhall, however, thinks it was due to
a readjustment of the earth's crust to its gradually sinking
nucleus.



CHAPTER XVIII.

The Volcano and the Earthquake, Earth's Demons of Destruction.


To most of us, dwellers upon the face of the earth, this
terrestrial sphere is quite a comfortable place of residence.  The
forces of Nature everywhere and at all times surround us, forces
capable, if loosened from their bonds, of bringing death and
destruction to man and the work of his hands.  But usually they are
mild and beneficent in their action, not agents of destruction and
lords of elemental misrule.  The air, without whose presence we
could not survive a minute, is usually a pleasant companion, now
resting about us in soft calm, now passing by in mild breezes.  The
alternation of summer and winter is to us generally an agreeable
relief from the monotony of a uniform climate.  The variation from
sunlight to cloud, from dry weather to rainfall, is equally viewed
as a pleasant escape from the weariness of too great fixity of
natural conditions.  The change from day to night, from hours of
activity to hours of slumber, are other agreeable variations in the
events of our daily life.  In short, a great pendulum seems to be
swinging above us, held in Nature's kindly hand, and adapting its
movements to our best good and highest enjoyment.

But has Nature,--if we are justified in personifying the laws and
forces of the universe,--has mother Nature really our pleasure and
benefit in mind, or does she merely suffer us to enjoy life like so
many summer insects, until she is in the mood to sweep us like
leaves from her path?  It must seem the latter to many of the
inhabitants of the earth, especially to the dwellers in certain
ill-conditioned regions.  For all the beneficent powers above named
may at a moment's notice change to destructive ones.


THE WIND IS A DEMON IN CHAINS


The wind, for instance, is a demon in chains.  At times it breaks
its fetters and rushes on in mad fury, rending and destroying, and
sweeping such trifles as cities and those who dwell therein to
common ruin.  Sunshine and rain are subject to like wild caprices.
The sun may pour down burning rays for weeks and months together,
scorching the fertile fields, drying up the life-giving streams,
bringing famine and misery to lands of plenty and comfort, almost
making the blood to boil in our veins.  Its antithesis, the
rainstorm, is at times a still more terrible visitant.  From the
dense clouds pour frightful floods, rushing down the lofty hills,
sweeping over fertile plains, overflowing broad river valleys, and,
wherever they go, leaving terror and death in their path.  We may
say the same of the alternation of the seasons.  Summer, while
looked forward to with joyous anticipation, may bring us only
suffering by its too ardent grasp; and winter, often welcomed with
like pleasurable anticipations, may prove a period of terror from
cold and destitution.

Such is the make-up of the world in which we live, such the
vagaries of the forces which surround us.  But those enumerated are
not the whole.  Can we say, with a stamp of the foot upon the solid
earth, "Here at least I have something I can trust; let the winds
blow and the rains descend, let the summer scorch and the winter
chill, the good earth still stands firm beneath me, and of it at
least I am sure?"

Who says so speaks hastily and heedlessly, for the earth can show
itself as unstable as the air, and our solid footing become as
insecure as the deck of a ship laboring in a storm at sea.  The
powers of the atmosphere, great as they are and mighty for
destruction as they may become, are at times surpassed by those
which abide within the earth, deep laid in the so-called
everlasting rocks, slumbering often through generations, but at any
time likely to awaken in wrath, to lift the earth into quaking
billows like those of the sea, or pour forth torrents of liquid
fire that flow in glowing and burning rivers over leagues of ruined
land.  Such is the earth with which we have to deal, such the
ruthless powers of nature that spread around us and lurk beneath
us, such the terrific forces which only bide their time to break
forth and sweep too-confident man from the earth's smiling face.


THE SUBTERRANEAN POWERS


The subterranean powers here spoken of, those we had denominated
earth's demons of destruction, are the volcano and the earthquake,
the great moulding forces of the earth, tearing down to rebuild,
rending to reconstitute, and in this elemental work often bringing
ruin to man's boasted fanes and palaces.

No one who has ever seen a volcano or "burning mountain" casting
forth steam, huge red-hot stones, smoke, cinders and lava, can
possibly forget the grandeur of the spectacle.  At night it is
doubly terrible, when the darkness shows the red-hot lava rolling
in glowing streams down the mountain's side.  At times, indeed, the
volcano is quiet, and only a little smoke curls from its top.  Even
this may cease, and the once burning summit may be covered over
with trees and grass, like any other hill.  But deep down in the
earth the gases and pent-up steam, are ever preparing to force
their way upward through the mountain, and to carry with them
dissolved rocks, and the stones which block their passage.
Sometimes, while all is calm and beautiful on the mountains,
suddenly deep-sounding noises are heard, the ground shakes, and a
vast torrent tears its way through the bowels of the volcano, and
is flung hundreds of feet high in the air, and, falling again to
the earth, destroys every living thing for miles around.

It is the same with the earthquake as with the volcano.  The
surface of the earth is never quite still.  Tremors are constantly
passing onward which can be distinguished by delicate instruments,
but only rarely are these of sufficient force to become noticeable,
except by instrumental means.  At intervals, however, the power
beneath the surface raises the ground in long, billow-like motions,
before which, when of violent character, no edifice or human
habitation can for a moment stand.  The earth is frequently rent
asunder, great fissures and cavities being formed.  The course of
rivers is changed and the waters are swallowed up by fissures rent
in the surface, while ruin impends in a thousand forms.  The cities
become death pits and the cultivated fields are buried beneath
floods of liquid mud.  Fortunately these convulsions, alike of the
earthquake and volcano, are comparative rarities and are confined
to limited regions of the earth's surface.  What do we know of
those deep-lying powers, those vast buried forces dwelling in
uneasy isolation beneath our feet?  With all our science we are but
a step beyond the ancients, to whom these were the Titans, great
rebel giants whom Jupiter overthrew and bound under the burning
mountains, and whose throes of agony shook the earth in quaking
convulsions.  To us the volcanic crater is the mouth from which
comes the fiery breath of demon powers which dwell far down in the
earth's crust.  The Titans themselves were dwarfs beside these
mighty agents of destruction whose domain extends for thousands of
miles beneath the earth's surface and which in their convulsions
shake whole continents at once.  Such was the case in 1812, when
the eruption of Mont Soufriere on St. Vincent, as told in a later
chapter, formed merely the closing event in a series of earthquakes
which had made themselves felt under thousands of miles of land.


ANCIENT AWE OF VOLCANOES


In olden times volcanoes were regarded with superstitious awe, and
it would have been considered highly impious to make any
investigation of their actions.  We are told by Virgil that Mt.
Etna marks the spot where the gods in their anger buried Enceladus,
one of the rebellious giants.  To our myth-making ancestors one of
the volcanoes of the Mediterranean, set on a small island of the
Lipari group, was the workshop of Vulcan, the god of fire, within
whose depths he forged the thunderbolts of the gods.  From below
came sounds as of a mighty hammer on a vast anvil.  Through the
mountain vent came the black smoke and lurid glow from the fires of
Vulcan's forge.  This old myth is in many respects more consonant
with the facts of nature than myths usually are.  In agreement with
the theory of its internal forces, the mountain in question was
given the name of Volcano.  To-day it is scarcely known at all, but
its name clings to all the fire-breathing mountains of the earth.

As before said, at the present day we are little in advance of the
ancients in actual knowledge of what is going on so far beneath our
feet.  We speak of forces where they spoke of fettered giants, but
can only form theories where they formed myths.  Is the earth's
centre made up of liquid fire?  Does its rock crust resemble the
thick ice crust on the Arctic Seas, or is the earth, as later
scientists believe, solid to the core?  Is it heated so fiercely,
miles below our feet, that at every release of pressure the solid
rock bursts into molten lava?  Is the steam from the contact of
underground rivers and deep-lying fires the origin of the terrible
rending powers of the volcano's depths?  Truly we can answer none
of these questions with assurance, and can only guess and
conjecture from the few facts open to us what lies concealed far
beneath.


RARITY OF ANCIENT ACCOUNTS


In the history of earthquakes nothing is more remarkable than the
extreme fewness of those recorded before the beginning of the
Christian era, in comparison with those that have been registered
since that time.  It is to be borne in mind, however, that before
the birth of Christ only a small portion of the globe was inhabited
by those likely to make a record of natural events.  The vast
apparent increase in the number of earthquakes in recent times is
owing to a greater knowledge of the earth's surface and to the
spread of civilization over lands once inhabited by savages.  The
same is to be said of volcanic eruptions, which also have
apparently increased greatly since the beginning of the Christian
era.  There may possibly have been a natural increase in these
phenomena, but this is hardly probable, the change being more
likely due to the increase in the number of observers.

The structure of a volcano is very different from that of other
mountains, really consisting of layers of lava and volcanic ashes,
alternating with each other and all sloping away from the center.
These elevations, in fact, are formed in a different manner from
ordinary mountains.  The latter have been uplifted by the influence
of pressure in the interior of the earth, but the volcano is an
immediate result of the explosive force of which we have spoken,
the mountain being gradually built up by the lava and other
materials which it has flung up from below.  In this way mountains
of immense height and remarkable regularity have been formed.
Mount Orizabo, near the City of Mexico, for instance, is a
remarkably regular cone, undoubtedly formed in this way, and the
same may be said of Mount Mayon, on the Island of Luzon.

In many cases the irregularity of the volcano is due to subsequent
action of its forces, which may blow the mountain itself to pieces.
In the case of Krakatoa, in the East Indies, for instance, the
whole mountain was rent into fragments, which were flung as dust
miles high into the air.  The main point we wish to indicate is
that volcanoes are never formed by ordinary elevating forces and
that they differ in this way from all other mountains.  On the
contrary, they have been piled up like rubbish heaps, resembling
the small mountains of coal dust near the mouths of anthracite
mines.

It is to the burning heat of the earth's crust and the influence of
pressure, and more largely to the influx of water to the molten
rocks which lie miles below the surface, that these convulsions of
nature are due.  Water, on reaching these overheated strata,
explodes into volumes of steam, and if there is no free vent to the
surface, it is apt to rend the very mountain asunder in its efforts
to escape.  Such is supposed to have been the case in the eruption
of Krakatoa, and was probably the case also in the recent case of
Mt. Pelee.


GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF ERUPTIONS


If we should seek to give a general description of volcanic
eruptions, it would be in some such words as follows: An eruption
is usually preceded by earthquakes which affect the whole
surrounding country, and associated with which are underground
explosions that seem like the sound of distant artillery.  The
mountain quivers with internal convulsions, due to the efforts of
its confined forces to find an opening.  The drying up of wells and
disappearance of springs are apt to take place, the water sinking
downward through cracks newly made in the rocks.  Finally the
fierce unchained energy rends an opening through the crater and an
eruption begins.  It comes usually with a terrible burst that
shakes the mountain to its foundation; explosions following rapidly
and with increasing violence, while steam issues and mounts upward
in a lofty column.  The steam and escaping gases in their fierce
outbreaks hurl up into the air great quantities of solid rock torn
from the sides of the opening.  The huge blocks, meeting each other
in their rise and fall, are gradually broken and ground into minute
fragments, forming dust or so-called ashes, often of extreme
fineness, and in such quantities as frequently to blot out the
light of the sun.  There is another way in which a great deal of
volcanic dust is made; the lava is full of steam, which in its
expansion tears the molten rock into atoms, often converting it
into the finest dust.

The eruption of Mt. Skaptar, in Iceland, in 1783, sent up such
volumes of dust that the atmosphere was loaded with it for months,
and it was carried to the northern part of Scotland, 600 miles
away, in such quantities as to destroy the crops.  During the
eruption of Tomboro, in the East Indies, in 1815, so great was the
quantity of dust thrown up that it caused darkness at midday in
Java 300 miles away and covered the ground to a depth of several
inches.  Floating pumice formed a layer on the ocean surface two
and a half feet in thickness, through which vessels had difficulty
in forcing their way.

The steam which rises in large volumes into the air may become
suddenly condensed with the chill of the upper atmosphere and fall
as rain, torrents of which often follow an eruption.  The rain,
falling through the clouds of volcanic dust, brings it to the earth
as liquid mud, which pours in thick streams down the sides of the
mountain.  The torrents of flowing mud are sometimes on such a
great scale that large towns, as in the instance of the great city
of Herculaneum, may be completely buried beneath them.  Over this
city the mud accumulated to the depth of over 70 feet.  In addition
to these phenomena, molten lava often flows from the lip of the
crater, occasionally in vast quantities.  In the Icelandic eruption
of 1783 the lava streams were so great in quantity as to fill river
gorges 600 ft. deep and 200 ft. wide, and to extend over an open
plain to a distance of 12 to 15 miles, forming lakes of lava 100
feet deep.  The volcanoes of Hawaii often send forth streams of
lava which cover an area of over 100 square miles to a great depth.


GREAT OUTFLOWS OF LAVA


In the course of ages lava outflows of this kind have built up in
Hawaii a volcanic mountain estimated to contain enough material to
cover the whole of the United States with a layer of rock 50 feet
deep.  These great outflows of lava are not confined to mountains,
but take place now and then from openings in the ground, or from
long cracks in the surface rocks.  Occasionally great eruptions
have taken place beneath the ocean's surface, throwing up material
in sufficient quantity to form new islands.

The formation of mud is not confined to the method given, but great
quantities of this plastic material flow at times from volcanic
craters.  In the year 1691 Imbaburu, one of the peaks of the Andes,
sent out floods of mud which contained dead fish in such abundance
that their decay caused a fever in the vicinity.  The volcanoes of
Java have often buried large tracts of fertile country under
volcanic mud.

An observation of volcanoes shows us that they have three well
marked phases of action.  The first of these is the state of
permanent eruption, as in case of the volcano of Stromboli in the
Mediterranean.  This state is not a dangerous one, since the steam,
escaping continually, acts as a safety valve.  The second stage is
one of milder activity with an occasional somewhat violent
eruption; this is apt to be dangerous, though not often very
greatly so.  The safety valve is partly out of order.  The third
phase is one in which long periods of repose, sometimes lasting for
centuries, are followed by eruptions of intense energy.  These are
often of extreme violence and cause widespread destruction.  In
this case the safety valve has failed to work and the boiler
bursts.


OFTEN REST FOR LONG TERMS OF YEARS


Such are the general features of action in the vast powers which
dwell deep beneath the surface, harmless in most parts of the
earth, frightfully perilous in others.  Yet even here they often
rest for long terms of years in seeming apathy, until men gather
above their lurking places in multitudes, heedless or ignorant of
the sleeping demons that bide their time below.  Their time is sure
to come, after years, perhaps after centuries.  Suddenly the solid
earth begins to tremble and quake; roars as of one of the buried
giants of old strike all men with dread; then, with a fierce
convulsion, a mountain is rent in twain and vast torrents of steam,
burning rock, and blinding dust are hurled far upward into the air,
to fall again and bury cities, perhaps, with all their inhabitants
in indiscriminate ruin and death.



CHAPTER XIX.

Theories of Volcanic and Earthquake Action.


Though the first formation of a volcano (Italian, vulcano, from
Vulcan, the Roman god of fire) has seldom been witnessed, it would
seem that it is marked by earthquake movements followed by the
opening of a rent or fissure; but with no such tilting up of the
rocks as was once supposed to take place.  From this fissure large
volumes of steam issue, accompanied by hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon
dioxide, hydrochloric acid, and sulphur dioxide.  The hydrogen,
apparently derived from the dissociation of water at a high
temperature, flashes explosively into union with atmospheric
oxygen, and, having exerted its explosive force, the steam
condenses into cloud, heavy masses of which overhang the volcano,
pouring down copious rains.  This naturally disturbs the electrical
condition of the atmosphere, so that thunder and lightning are
frequent accompaniments of an eruption.  The hydrochloric acid
probably points to the agency of sea-water.  Besides the gases just
mentioned, sulphuretted hydrogen, ammonia and common salt occur;
but mainly as secondary products, formed by the union of the vapors
issuing from the volcano, and commonly found also in the vapors
rising from cooling lava streams or dormant volcanic districts.  It
is important to notice that the vapors issue from the volcano
spasmodically, explosions succeeding each other with great rapidity
and noise.

All substances thrown out by the volcano, whether gaseous, liquid
or solid, are conveniently united under the term ejectamenta
(Latin, things thrown out), and all of them are in an intensely
heated, if not an incandescent state.  Most of the gases are
incombustible, but the hydrogen and those containing sulphur burn
with a true flame, perhaps rendered more visible by the presence of
solid particles.  Much of the so-called flame, however, in popular
descriptions of eruptions is an error of observation due to the
red-hot solid particles and the reflection of the glowing orifice
on the over-hanging clouds.


ENORMOUS FORCE DISPLAYED


Solid bodies are thrown into the air with enormous force and to
proportionally great heights, those not projected vertically
falling in consequence at considerable distances from the volcano.
A block weighing 200 tons is said to have been thrown nine miles by
Cotopaxi; masses of rock weighing as much as twenty tons to have
been ejected by Mount Ararat in 1840; and stones to have been
hurled to a distance of thirty-six miles in other cases.  The solid
matter thrown out by volcanoes consists of lapilli, scoriae, dust
and bombs.

Though on the first formation of the volcano, masses of non-
volcanic rock may be torn from the chimney or pipe of the mountain,
only slightly fused externally owing to the bad conducting power of
most rocks, and hurled to a distance; and though at the beginning
of a subsequent eruption the solid plug of rock which has cooled at
the bottom of the crater, or, in fact, any part of the volcano, may
be similarly blown up, the bulk of the solid particles of which the
volcano itself is composed is derived from the lake of lava or
molten rock which seethes at the orifice.  Solid pieces rent from
this fused mass and cast up by the explosive force of the steam
with which the lava is saturated are known as lapilli.  Cooling
rapidly so as to be glassy in texture externally, these often have
time to become perfectly crystalline within.

Gases and steam escaping from other similar masses may leave them
hollow, when they are termed bombs, or may pit their surfaces with
irregular bubble-cavities, when they are called scoriae or
scoriaceous.  Such masses whirling through the air in a plastic
state often become more or less oblately spheroidal in form; but,
as often, the explosive force of their contained vapors shatters
them into fragments, producing quantities of the finest volcanic
dust or sand.  This fine dust darkens the clouds overhanging the
mountain, mixes with the condensed steam to fall as a black mud-
rain, or lava di aqua (Italian, water lava), or is carried up to
enormous heights, and then slowly diffused by upper currents of the
atmosphere.  In the eruption of Vesuvius of A.D. 79, the air was
dark as midnight for twelve or fifteen miles round; the city of
Pompeii was buried beneath a deposit of dry scoriae, or ashes and
dust, and Herculaneum beneath a layer of the mud-like lava di aqua,
which on drying sets into a compact rock.  Rocks formed from these
fragmentary volcanic materials are known as tuff.


VOLCANIC CONES HAVE SIMILAR CURVATURES


It is entirely of these cindery fragments heaped up with marvellous
rapidity round the orifice that the volcano itself is first formed.
It may, as in the case of Jorullo in Mexico in 1759, form a cone
several hundred feet high in less than a day.  Such a cone may have
a slope as steep as 30 or 40 degrees, its incline in all cases
depending simply on the angle of repose of its materials; the
inclination, that is, at which they stop rolling.  The great
volcanoes of the Andes, which are formed mainly of ash, are very
steep.  Owing to a general similarity in their materials, volcanic
cones in all parts of the world have very similar curvatures; but
older volcanic mountains, in which lava-streams have broken through
the cone, secondary cones have arisen, or portions have been blown
up, are more irregular in outline and more gradual in inclination.

In size, volcanoes vary from mere mounds a few yards in diameter,
such as the salses or mud volcanoes near the Caspian, to Etna,
10,800 feet high, with a base 30 miles in diameter; Cotopaxi, in
the Andes, 18,887 feet high; or Mauna Loa, in the Sandwich Isles,
13,700 feet high; with a base 70 miles in diameter, and two
craters, one of which, Kilauea, the largest active crater on our
earth, is seven miles in circuit.  Larger extinct craters occur in
Japan; but all our terrestrial volcanic mountains are dwarfed by
those observed on the surface of the moon, which, owing to its
smaller size, has cooled more rapidly than our earth.  It is, of
course, the explosive force from below which keeps the crater
clear, as a cup-shaped hollow, truncating the cone; and all stones
falling into it would be only thrown out again.  It may at the
close of an eruption cool down so completely that a lake can form
within it, such as Lake Averno, near Naples; or it may long remain
a seething sea of lava, such as Kilauea; or the lava may find one
or more outlets from it, either by welling over its rim, which it
will then generally break down, as in many of the small extinct
volcanoes ("puys") of Auvergne, or more usually by bursting through
the sides of the cone.


LAVA VARIES VERY MUCH IN LIQUIDITY


It is not generally until the volcano has exhausted its first
explosive force that lava begins to issue.  Several streams may
issue in different directions.  Their dimensions are sometimes
enormous.  Lava varies very much in liquidity and in the rate at
which it flows.  This much depends, however, upon the slope it has
to traverse.  A lava stream at Vesuvius ran three miles in four
minutes, but took three hours to flow the next three miles, while a
stream from Mauna Loa ran eighteen miles in two hours.  Glowing at
first as a white-hot liquid, the lava soon cools at the surface to
red and then to black; cinder-like scoriaceous masses form on its
surface and in front of the slowly-advancing mass; clouds of steam
and other vapor rise from it, and little cones are thrown up from
its surface; but many years may elapse before the mass is cooled
through.  Thus, while the surface is glassy, the interior becomes
crystalline.

As to what are the causes of the great convulsions of nature known
as the volcano and the earthquake we know very little.  Various
theories have been advanced, but nothing by any means sure has been
discovered, and considerable difference of opinion exists.  In
truth we know so little concerning the conditions existing in the
earth's interior that any views concerning the forces at work there
must necessarily be largely conjectural.

Sir Robert S. Ball says, in this connection: "Let us take, for
instance, that primary question in terrestrial physics, as to
whether the interior of the earth is liquid or solid.  If we were
to judge merely from the temperatures reasonably believed to exist
at a depth of some twenty miles, and if we might overlook the
question of pressure, we should certainly say that the earth's
interior must be in a fluid state.  It seems at least certain that
the temperatures to be found at depths of two score miles, and
still more at greater depths, must be so high that the most
refractory solids, whether metals or minerals, would at once yield
if we could subject them to such temperatures in our laboratories.
But none of our laboratory experiments can tell us whether, under
the pressure of thousands of tons on the square inch, the
application of any heat whatever would be adequate to transform
solids into liquids.  It may, indeed, be reasonably doubted whether
the terms solid and liquid are applicable, in the sense in which we
understand them, to the materials forming the interior of the
earth.

"A principle, already well known in the arts, is that many, if not
all, solids may be made to flow like liquids if only adequate
pressure be applied.  The making of lead tubes is a well-known
practical illustration of this principle, for these tubes are
formed simply by forcing solid lead by the hydraulic press through
a mould which imparts the desired shape.

"If then a solid can be made to behave like a liquid, even with
such pressures as are within our control, how are we to suppose
that the solids would behave with such pressures as those to which
they are subjected in the interior of the earth?  The fact is that
the terms solid and liquid, at least as we understand them, appear
to have no physical meaning with regard to bodies subjected to
these stupendous pressures, and this must be carefully borne in
mind when we are discussing the nature of the interior of the
earth."


THE VOLCANO A SAFETY VALVE


Whatever be the state of affairs in the depths of the earth's
crust, we may look upon the volcano as a sort of safety-valve,
opening a passage for the pent-up forces to the surface, and thus
relieving the earth from the terrible effects of the earthquake,
through which these imprisoned powers so often make themselves
felt.  Without the volcanic vent there might be no safety for man
on the earth's unquiet face.

Professor J. C. Russell, of Michigan University, presents the
following views concerning the status and action of volcanoes:--

"When reduced to its simplest terms, a volcano may be defined as a
tube, or conduit, in the earth's crust, through which the molten
rock is forced to the surface.  The conduit penetrates the cool and
rigid rocks forming the superficial portion of the earth, and
reaches its highly heated interior.

"The length of volcanic conduits can only be conjectured, but,
judging from the approximately known rate of increase of heat with
depth (on an average one degree Fahrenheit for each sixty feet),
and the temperature at which volcanic rocks melt (from 2,300 to
2,700 degrees Fahrenheit, when not under pressure), they must
seemingly have a depth of at least twenty miles.  There are other
factors to be considered, but in general terms it is safe to assume
that the conduits of volcanoes are irregular openings, many miles
in depth, which furnish passageways for molten rock (lava) from the
highly-heated sub-crust portion of the earth to its surface. . . .


ERUPTIONS OF QUIET TYPE


"During eruptions of the quiet type, the lava comes to the surface
in a highly liquid condition--that is, it is thoroughly fused, and
flows with almost the freedom of water.  It spreads widely, even on
a nearly level plain, and may form a comparatively thin sheet
several hundred square miles in area, as has been observed in
Iceland and Hawaii.  On the Snake River plains, in Southern Idaho,
there are sheets of once molten rock which were poured out in the
manner just stated, some four hundred square miles in area and not
over seventy-five feet in average thickness.  When an eruption of
highly liquid lava occurs in a mountainous region, the molten rock
may cascade down deep slopes and flow through narrow valleys for
fifty miles or more before becoming chilled sufficiently to arrest
its progress.  Instances are abundant where quiet eruptions have
occurred in the midst of a plain, and built up 'lava cones,' or low
mounds, with immensely expanded bases.  Illustrations are furnished
in Southern Idaho, in which the cones formed are only three hundred
or four hundred feet high, but have a breadth at the base of eight
or ten miles.  In the class of eruption illustrated by these
examples, there is an absence of fragmental material, such as
explosive volcanoes hurl into the air, and a person may stand
within a few yards of a rushing stream of molten rock, or examine
closely the opening from which it is being poured out, without
danger or serious inconvenience.

"The quiet volcanic eruptions are attended by the escape of steam
or gases from the molten rock, but the lava being in a highly
liquid state, the steam and gases dissolved in it escape quietly
and without explosions.  If, however, the molten rock is less
completely fluid, or in a viscous condition, the vapors and gases
contained in it find difficulty in escaping, and may be retained
until, becoming concentrated in large volume, they break their way
to the surface, producing violent explosions.  Volcanoes in which
the lava extruded is viscous, and the escape of steam and gases is
retarded until the pent-up energy bursts all bounds, are of the
explosive, type.  One characteristic example is Vesuvius.

"When steam escapes from the summit of a volcanic conduit--which,
in plain terms, is a tall vessel filled with intensely hot and more
or less viscous liquid--masses of the liquid rock are blown into
the air, and on falling build up a rim or crater about the place of
discharge.  Commonly the lava in the summit portion of a conduit
becomes chilled and perhaps hardened, and when a steam explosion
occurs this crust is shattered and the fragments hurled into the
air and contributed to the building of the walls of the inclosing
crater.

"The solid rock blown out by volcanoes consists usually of highly
vesicular material which hardened on the surface of the column of
lava within a conduit and was shattered by explosions beneath it.
These fragments vary in size from dust particles up to masses
several feet in diameter, and during violent eruptions are hurled
miles high.  The larger fragments commonly fall near their place of
origin, and usually furnish the principal part of the material of
which craters are built, but the gravel-like kernels, lapilli, may
be carried laterally several miles if a wind is blowing, while the
dust is frequently showered down on thousands of square miles of
land and sea.  The solid and usually angular fragments manufactured
in this manner vary in temperature, and may still be red hot on
falling.

"Volcanoes of the explosive type not uncommonly discharge streams
of lava, which may flow many miles.  In certain instances these
outwellings of liquid rock occur after severe earthquakes and
violent explosions, and may have all the characteristics of quiet
eruptions.  There is thus no fundamental difference between the two
types into which it is convenient to divide volcanoes.


MOUNTAINS BLOW THEIR HEADS OFF


"In extreme examples of explosive volcanoes, the summit portion of
a crater, perhaps several miles in circumference and several
thousand feet high, is blown away.  Such an occurrence is recorded
in the case of the volcano Coseguina, Nicaragua, in 1835.  Or, an
entire mountain may disappear, being reduced to lapilli and dust
and blown into the air, as in the case of Krakatoa, in the Straits
of Sunda, in 1883.

"The essential feature of a volcano, as stated above, is a tube or
conduit, leading from the highly heated sub-crust portion of the
earth to the crater and through which molten rock is forced upward
to the surface.  The most marked variations in the process depend
on the quantity of molten rock extruded, and on the freedom of
escape of the steam and gases contained in the lava.

"The cause of the rise of the molten rock in a volcano is still a
matter for discussion.  Certain geologists contend that steam is
the sole motive power; while others consider that the lava is
forced to the surface owing to pressure on the reservoir from which
it comes.  The view perhaps most favorably entertained at present,
in reference to the general nature of volcanic eruptions, is that
the rigid outer portion of the earth becomes fractured, owing
principally to movements resulting from the shrinking of the
cooling inner mass, and that the intensely hot material reached by
the fissures, previously solid owing to pressure, becomes liquid
when pressure is relieved, and is forced to the surface.  As the
molten material rises it invades the water-charged rocks near the
surface and acquires steam, or the gases resulting from the
decomposition of water, and a new force is added which produces the
most conspicuous and at times the most terrible phenomena
accompanying eruptions."

The active agency of water is strongly maintained by many
geologists, and certainly gains support from the vast clouds of
steam given off by volcanoes in eruption and the steady and quiet
emission of steam from many in a state of rest.  The quantities of
water in the liquid state, to which is due the frequent enormous
outflows of mud, leads to the same conclusion.  Many scientists,
indeed, while admitting the agency of water, look upon this as the
aqueous material originally pent up within the rocks.  For instance
Professor Shaler, dean of the Lawrence Scientific School, says:

"Volcanic outbreaks are merely the explosion of steam under high
pressure, steam which is bound in rocks buried underneath the
surface of the earth and there subjected to such tremendous heat
that when the conditions are right its pent-up energy breaks forth
and it shatters its stone prison walls into dust.  The process by
which the water becomes buried in this manner is a long one.  Some
contend that it leaks down from the surface of the earth through
fissures in the outer crust, but this theory is not generally
accepted.  The common belief is that water enters the rocks during
the crystalization period, and that these rocks through the natural
action of rivers and streams become deposited in the bottom of the
ocean.  Here they lie for many ages, becoming buried deeper and
deeper under masses of like sediment, which are constantly being
washed down upon them from above.  This process is called the
blanketing process.

"Each additional layer of sediment, while not raising the level of
the sea bottom, buries the first layers just so much the deeper and
adds to their temperature just as does the laying of extra blankets
on a bed.  When the first layer has reached a depth of a few
thousand feet the rocks which contain the water of crystalization
are subjected to a terrific heat.  This heat generates steam, which
is held in a state of frightful tension in its rocky prison.
Wrinklings in the outer crust of the earth's surface occur, caused
by the constant shrinking of the earth itself and by the
contraction of the outer surface as it settles on the plastic
centers underneath.  Fissures are caused by these foldings, and as
these fissures reach down into the earth the pressure is removed
from the rocks and the compressed steam in them, being released,
explodes with tremendous force."

This view is, very probably, applicable to many cases, and the
exceedingly fine dust which so often rises from volcanoes has,
doubtless, for one of its causes the sudden and explosive
conversion of water into steam in the interior of ejected lava,
thus rending it into innumerable fragments.  But that this is the
sole mode of action of water in volcanic eruptions is very
questionable.  It certainly does not agree with the immense volumes
at times thrown out, while explosions of such extreme intensity as
that of Krakatoa very strongly lead to the conclusion that a great
mass of water has made its way through newly opened fissures to the
level of molten rock, and exploded into steam with a suddenness
which gave it the rending force of dynamite or the other powerful
chemical explosives.

As the earthquake is so intimately associated with the volcano the
causes of the latter are in great measure the causes of the former,
and the forces at work frequently produce a more or less violent
quaking of the earth's surface before they succeed in opening a
channel of escape through the mountain's heart.  One agency of
great potency, and one whose work never ceases, has doubtless much
to do with earthquake action.  In the description of this we cannot
do better than to quote from "The Earth's Beginning" of Sir Robert
S. Ball.


CAUSE OF EARTHQUAKES


"As to the immediate cause of earthquakes there is no doubt
considerable difference of opinion.  But I think it will not be
doubted that an earthquake is one of the consequences, though
perhaps a remote one, of the gradual loss of internal heat from the
earth.  As this terrestrial heat is gradually declining, it follows
from the law that we have already so often had occasion to use that
the bulk of the earth must be shrinking.  No doubt the diminution
in the earth's diameter due to the loss of heat must be exceedingly
small, even in a long period of time.  The cause, however, is
continually in operation, and, accordingly, the crust of the earth
has from time to time to be accommodated to the fact that the whole
globe is lessening.  The circumference of our earth at the equator
must be gradually declining; a certain length in that circumference
is lost each year.  We may admit that loss to be a quantity far too
small to be measured by any observations as yet obtainable, but,
nevertheless, it is productive of phenomena so important that it
cannot be overlooked.

"It follows from these considerations that the rocks which form the
earth's crust over the surface of the continents and the islands,
or beneath the bed of the ocean, must have a lessening acreage year
by year.  These rocks must therefore submit to compression, either
continuously or from time to time, and the necessary yielding of
the rocks will in general take place in those regions where the
materials of the earth's crust happen to have comparatively small
powers of resistance.  The acts of compression will often, and
perhaps generally, not proceed with uniformity, but rather with
small successive shifts, and even though the displacements of the
rocks in these shifts be actually very small, yet the pressures to
which the rocks are subjected are so vast that a very small shift
may correspond to a very great terrestrial disturbance.

"Suppose, for instance, that there is a slight shift in the rocks
on each side of a crack, or fault, at a depth of ten miles.  It
must be remembered that the pressure ten miles down would be about
thirty-five tons to the square inch.  Even a slight displacement of
one extensive surface over another, the sides being pressed
together with a force of thirty-five tons on the square inch, would
be an operation necessarily accompanied by violence greatly
exceeding that which we might expect from so small a displacement
if the forces concerned had been of more ordinary magnitude.  On
account of this great multiplication of the intensity of the
phenomenon, merely a small rearrangement of the rocks in the crust
of the earth, in pursuance of the necessary work of accommodating
its volume to the perpetual shrinkage, might produce an excessively
violent shock, extending far and wide.  The effect of such a shock
would be propagated in the form of waves through the globe, just as
a violent blow given at one end of a bar of iron by a hammer is
propagated through the bar in the form of waves.  When the effect
of this internal adjustment reaches the earth's surface it will
sometimes be great enough to be perceptible in the shaking it gives
that surface.  The shaking may be so violent that buildings may not
be able to withstand it.  Such is the phenomenon of an earthquake.

"When the earth is shaken by one of those occasional adjustments of
the crust which I have described, the wave that spreads like a
pulsation from the centre of agitation extends all over our globe
and is transmitted right through it.  At the surface lying
immediately over the centre of disturbance there will be a violent
shock.  In the surrounding country, and often over great distances,
the earthquake may also be powerful enough to produce destructive
effects.  The convulsion may also be manifested over a far larger
area of country in a way which makes the shock to be felt, though
the damage wrought may not be appreciable.  But beyond a limited
distance from the centre of the agitation the earthquake will
produce no destructive effects upon buildings, and will not even
cause vibrations that would be appreciable to ordinary observation.


THE RADIUS OF DISTURBANCE.


"In each locality in which earthquakes are chronic it would seem as
if there must be a particularly weak spot in the earth some miles
below the surface.  A shrinkage of the earth, in the course of the
incessant adjustment between the interior and the exterior, will
take place by occasional little jumps at this particular centre.
The fact that there is this weak spot at which small adjustments
are possible may provide, as it were, a safety-valve for other
places in the same part of the world.  Instead of a general
shrinking, the materials would be sufficiently elastic and flexible
to allow the shrinking for a very large area to be done at this
particular locality.  In this way we may explain the fact that
immense tracts on the earth are practically free from earthquakes
of a serious character, while in the less fortunate regions the
earthquakes are more or less perennial.

"Now, suppose an earthquake takes place in Japan, it originates a
series of vibrations through our globe.  We must here distinguish
between the rocks--I might almost say the comparatively pliant
rocks--which form the earth's crust, and those which form the
intensely rigid core of the interior of our globe.  The vibrations
which carry the tidings of the earthquake spread through the rocks
on the surface, from the centre of the disturbance, in gradually
enlarging circles.  We may liken the spread of these vibrations to
the ripples in a pool of water which diverge from the spot where a
raindrop has fallen.  The vibrations transmitted by the rocks on
the surface, or on the floor of the ocean, will carry the message
all over the earth.  As these rocks are flexible, at all events by
comparison with the earth's interior, the vibrations will be
correspondingly large, and will travel with vigor over land and
under sea.  In due time they reach, say the Isle of Wight, where
they set the pencil of the seismometer at work.  But there are
different ways round the earth from Japan to the Isle of Wight, the
most direct route being across Asia and Europe; the other route
across the Pacific, America, and the Atlantic.  The vibrations will
travel by both routes, and the former is the shorter of the two."


TRANSMISSIONS OF VIBRATIONS


Some brief repetition may not here be amiss as to the products of
volcanic action, of which so much has been said in the preceding
pages, especially as many of the terms are to some extent technical
in character.  The most abundant of these substances is steam or
water-gas, which, as we have seen, issues in prodigious quantities
during every eruption.  But with the steam a great number of other
volatile materials frequently make their appearance.  Though we
have named a number of these at the beginning of this chapter, it
will not be out of order to repeat them here.  The chief among
these are the acid gases known as hydrochloric acid, sulphurous
acid, sulphuretted hydrogen, carbonic acid, and boracic acid; and
with these acid gases there issue hydrogen, nitrogen ammonia, the
volatile metals arsenic, antimony, and mercury, and some other
substances.  These volatile substances react upon one another, and
many new compounds are thus formed.  By the action of sulphurous
acid and sulphuretted hydrogen on each other, the sulphur so common
in volcanic districts is separated and deposited.  The hydrochloric
acid acts very energetically on the rocks around the vents, uniting
with the iron in them to form the yellow ferric-chloride, which
often coats the rocks round the vent and is usually mistaken by
casual observers for sulphur.

Some of the substances emitted by volcanic vents, such as hydrogen
and sulphuretted hydrogen, are inflammable, and when they issue at
a high temperature these gases burst into flame the moment that
they come into contact with the air.  Hence, when volcanic fissures
are watched at night, faint lambent flames are frequently seen
playing over them, and sometimes these flames are brilliantly
colored, through the presence of small quantities of certain
metallic oxides.  Such volcanic flames, however, are scarcely ever
strongly luminous, and the red, glowing light which is observed
over volcanic mountains in eruption is due to quite another cause.
What is usually taken for flame during a volcanic eruption is
simply, as we have before stated, the glowing light of the surface
of a mass of red-hot lava reflected from the cloud of vapor and
dust in the air, much as the lights of a city are reflected from
the water vapor of the atmosphere during a night of fog.

Besides the volatile substances which issue from volcanic vents,
mingling with the atmosphere or condensing upon their sides, there
are many solid materials ejected, and these may accumulate around
the orifice's till they build up mountains of vast dimensions, like
Etna, Teneriffe, and Chimborazo.  Some of these solid materials are
evidently fragments of the rock-masses, through which the volcanic
fissure has been rent; these fragments have been carried upwards by
the force of the steam-blast and scattered over the sides of the
volcano.  But the principal portion of the solid materials ejected
from volcanic orifices consists of matter which has been extruded
from sources far beneath the surface, in highly-heated and fluid or
semi-fluid condition.

It is to these materials that the name of "lavas" is properly
applied.  Lavas present a general resemblance to the slags and
clinkers which are formed in our furnaces and brick-kilns, and
consist, like them, of various stony substances which have been
more or less perfectly fused.  When we come to study the chemical
composition and the microscopical structure of lavas, however, we
shall find that there are many respects in which they differ
entirely from these artificial products, they consisting chiefly of
felspar, or of this substance in association with augite or
hornblende.  In texture they may be stony, glassy, resin-like,
vesicular or cellular and light in weight, as in the case of pumice
or scoria.


FLOATING PUMICE


The steam and other gases rising through liquid lava are apt to
produce bubbles, yielding a surface froth or foam.  This froth
varies greatly in character according to the nature of the material
from which it is formed.  In the majority of cases the lavas
consist of a mass of crystals floating in a liquid magma, and the
distension of such a mass by the escape of steam from its midst
gives rise to the formation of the rough cindery-looking material
to which the name of "scoria" is applied.  But when the lava
contains no ready-formed crystals, but consists entirely of a
glassy substance in a more or less perfect state of fusion, the
liberation of steam gives rise to the formation of the beautiful
material known as "pumice."  Pumice consists of a mass of minute
glass bubbles; these bubbles do not usually, however, retain their
globular form, but are elongated in one direction through the
movement of the mass while it is still in a plastic state.  The
quantity of this substance ejected is often enormous.  We have seen
to what a vast extent it was thrown out from the crater of
Krakatoa.  During the year 1878, masses of floating pumice were
reported as existing in the vicinity of the Solomon Isles, and
covering the surface of the sea to such extent that it took ships
three days to force their way through them.  Sometimes this
substance accumulates in such quantities along coasts that it is
difficult to determine the position of the shore within a mile or
two, as we may land and walk about on the great floating raft of
pumice.  Recent deep-sea soundings, carried on in the Challenger
and other vessels, have shown that the bottom of the deepest
portion of the ocean, far away from the land, is covered with
volcanic materials which have been carried through the air or have
floated on the surface of the ocean.

Fragments of scoria or pumice may be thrown hundreds or thousands
of feet into the atmosphere, those that fall into the crater and
are flung up again being gradually reduced in size by friction.
Thus it is related by Mr. Poulett Scrope, who watched the Vesuvian
eruption of 1822, which lasted for nearly a month, that during the
earlier stages of the outburst fragments of enormous size were
thrown out of the crater, but by constant re-ejection these were
gradually reduced in size, till at last only the most impalpable
dust issued from the vent.  This dust filled the atmosphere,
producing in the city of Naples "a darkness that might be felt."
So excessively finely divided was it, that it penetrated into all
drawers, boxes, and the most closely fastened receptacles, filling
them completely.  The fragmentary materials ejected from volcanoes
are often given the name of cinders or ashes.  These, however, are
terms of convenience only, and do not properly describe the
volcanic material.

Sometimes the passages of steam through a mass of molten glass
produces large quantities of a material resembling spun glass.
Small particles of this glass are carried into the air and leave
behind them thin, glassy filaments like a tail.  At the volcano of
Kilauea in Hawaii, this substance, as previously stated, is
abundantly produced, and is known as 'Pele's Hair'--Pele being the
name of the goddess of the mountain.  Birds' nests are sometimes
found composed of this beautiful material.  In recent years an
artificial substance similar to this Pele's hair has been
extensively manufactured by passing jets of steam through the
molten slag of iron-furnaces; it resembles cotton-wool, but is made
up of fine threads of glass, and is employed for the packing of
boilers and other purposes.

The lava itself, as left in huge deposits upon the surface, assumes
various forms, some crystalline, others glassy.  The latter is
usually found in the condition known as obsidian, ordinarily black
in color, and containing few or no crystals.  It is brittle, and
splits into sharp-edged or pointed fragments, which were used by
primitive peoples for arrow-heads, knives and other cutting
implements.  The ancient Mexicans used bits of it for shaving
purposes, it having an edge of razor-like sharpness.  They also
used it as the cutting part of their weapons of war.



CHAPTER XX.

The Active Volcanoes of the Earth.


It is not by any means an easy task to frame an estimate of the
number of volcanoes in the world.  Volcanoes vary greatly in their
dimensions, from vast mountain masses, rising to a height of nearly
25,000 feet above sea-level, to mere molehills.  They likewise
exhibit every possible stage of development and decay: while some
are in a state of chronic active eruption, others are reduced to
the condition of solfataras, or vents emitting acid vapors, and
others again have fallen into a more or less complete state of ruin
through the action of denuding forces.


NUMBER OF ACTIVE VOLCANOES


Even if we confine our attention to the larger volcanoes, which
merit the name of mountains, and such of these as we have reason to
believe to be in a still active condition, our difficulties will be
diminished, but not by any means removed.  Volcanoes may sink into
a dormant condition that at times endures for hundreds or even
thousands of years, and then burst forth into a state of renewed
activity; and it is quite impossible, in many cases, to distinguish
between the conditions of dormancy and extinction.

We shall, however, probably be within the limits of truth in
stating that the number of great habitual volcanic vents upon the
globe which we have reason to believe are still in active
condition, is somewhere between 300 and 350.  Most of these are
marked by more or less considerable mountains, composed of the
materials ejected from them.  But if we include mountains which
exhibit the external conical form, crater-like hollows, and other
features of volcanoes, yet concerning the activity of which we have
no record or tradition, the number will fall little, if anything,
short of 1,000.

The mountains composed of volcanic materials, but which have lost
through denudation the external form of volcanoes, are still more
numerous, and the smaller temporary openings which are usually
subordinate to the habitual vents that have been active during the
periods covered by history and tradition, must be numbered by
thousands.  There are still feebler manifestations of the volcanic
forces--such as steam-jets, geysers, thermal and mineral waters,
spouting saline and muddy springs, and mud volcanoes--that may be
reckoned by millions.  It is not improbable that these less
powerful manifestations of the volcanic forces to a great extent
make up in number what they want in individual energy; and the
relief which they afford to the imprisoned activities within the
earth's crust may be almost equal to that which results from the
occasional outbursts at the great habitual volcanic vents.

In taking a general survey of the volcanic phenomena of the globe,
no facts come out more strikingly than that of the very unequal
distribution, both of the great volcanoes, and of the minor
exhibitions of subterranean energy.

Thus, on the whole of the continent of Europe, there is but one
habitual volcanic vent--that of Vesuvius--and this is situated upon
the shores of the Mediterranean.  In the islands of that sea,
however there are no less than six volcanoes: namely, Stromboli,
and Vulcano, in the Lipari Islands; Etna, in Sicily; Graham's Isle,
a submarine volcano, off the Sicilian coast; and Santorin and
Nisyros, in the Aegean Sea.

The African continent is at present known to contain about ten
active volcanoes--four on the west coast, and six on the east
coast, while about ten other active volcanoes occur on islands
close to the African coasts.  On the continent of Asia, more than
twenty active volcanoes are known or believed to exist, but no less
than twelve of these are situated in the peninsula of Kamchatka.
No volcanoes are known to exist in the Australian continent.

The American continent contains a greater number of volcanoes than
the continents of the Old World.  There are twenty in North
America, twenty-five in Central America, and thirty-seven in South
America.  Thus, taken altogether, there are about one hundred and
seventeen volcanoes situated on the great continental lands of the
globe, while nearly twice as many occur upon the islands scattered
over the various oceans.


ASIATIC INLAND VOLCANOES


Upon examining further into the distribution of the continental
volcanoes, another very interesting fact presents itself.  The
volcanoes are in almost every instance situated either close to the
coasts of the continent, or at no great distance from them.  There
are, indeed, only two exceptions to this rule.  In the great and
almost wholly unexplored table-land lying between Siberia and Tibet
four volcanoes are said to exist, and in the Chinese province of
Manchuria several others.  More reliable information is, however,
needed concerning these volcanoes.

It is a remarkable circumstance that all the oceanic islands which
are not coral-reefs are composed of volcanic rocks; and many of
these oceanic islands, as well as others lying near the shores of
the continents, contain active volcanoes.

Through the midst of the Atlantic Ocean runs a ridge, which, by the
soundings of the various exploring vessels sent out in recent
years, has been shown to divide the ocean longitudinally into two
basins.  Upon this great ridge, and the spurs proceeding from it,
rise numerous mountainous masses, which constitute the well-known
Atlantic islands and groups of islands.  All of these are of
volcanic origin, and among them are numerous active volcanoes.  The
Island of Jan Mayen contains an active volcano, and Iceland
contains thirteen, and not improbably more; the Azores have six
active volcanoes, the Canaries three; while about eight volcanoes
lie off the west coast of Africa.  In the West Indies there are six
active volcanoes; and three submarine volcanoes have been recorded
within the limits of the Atlantic Ocean.  Altogether, no less than
forty active volcanoes are situated upon the great submarine ridges
which traverse the Atlantic longitudinally.

But along the same line the number of extinct volcanoes is far
greater, and there are not wanting proofs that the volcanoes which
are still active are approaching the condition of extinction.


VOLCANOES OF THE PACIFIC


If the great medial chain of the Atlantic presents us with an
example of a chain of volcanic mountains verging on extinction, we
have in the line of islands separating the Pacific and Indian
Oceans an example of a similar range of volcanic vents which are in
a condition of the greatest activity.  In the peninsula of
Kamchatka there are twelve active volcanoes, in the Aleutian
Islands thirty-one, and in the peninsula of Alaska three.  The
chain of the Kuriles contains at least ten active volcanoes; the
Japanese Islands and the islands to the south of Japan twenty-five.
The great group of islands lying to the south-east of the Asiatic
continent is at the present time the grandest focus of volcanic
activity upon the globe.  No less than fifty active volcanoes occur
here.

Farther south, the same chain is probably continued by the four
active volcanoes of New Guinea, one or more submarine volcanoes,
and several vents in New Britain, the Solomon Isles, and the New
Hebrides, the three active volcanoes of New Zealand, and possibly
by Mount Erebus and Mount Terror in the Antarctic region.
Altogether, no less than 150 active volcanoes exist in the chain of
islands which stretch from Behring's Straits down to the Antarctic
circle; and if we include the volcanoes on Indian and Pacific
Islands which appear to be situated on lines branching from this
particular band, we shall not be wrong in the assertion that this
great system of volcanic mountains includes at least one half of
the habitually active vents of the globe.  In addition to the
active vents, there are here several hundred very perfect volcanic
cones, many of which appear to have recently become extinct, though
some of them may be merely dormant, biding their time.

A third series of volcanoes starts from the neighborhood of
Behring's Straits, and stretches along the whole western coast of
the American continent.  This is much less continuous, but
nevertheless very important, and contains, with its branches,
nearly a hundred active volcanoes.  On the north this great band is
almost united with the one we have already described by the chain
of the Aleutian and Alaska volcanoes.  In British Columbia about
the parallel of 60 degrees N. there exist a number of volcanic
mountains, one of which, Mount St. Elias, is believed to be 18,000
feet in height.  Farther south, in the territory of the United
States, a number of grand volcanic mountains exist, some of which
are probably still active, for geysers and other manifestations of
volcanic activity abound.  From the southern extremity of the
peninsula of California an almost continuous chain of volcanoes
stretches through Mexico and Guatemala, and from this part of the
volcanic band a branch is given off which passes through the West
Indies, and contains the volcanoes which have so recently given
evidence of their vital activity.

In South America the line is continued by the active volcanoes of
Ecuador, Bolivia and Chile, but at many intermediate points in the
chain of the Andes extinct volcanoes occur, which to a great extent
fill up the gaps in the series.  A small offshoot to the westward
passes through the Galapagos Islands.  The great band of volcanoes
which stretches through the American continent is second only in
importance, and in the activity of its vents, to the band which
divides the Pacific from the Indian Ocean.

The third volcanic band of the globe is that, already spoken of,
which traverses the Atlantic Ocean from north to south.  This
series of volcanic mountains is much more broken and interrupted
than the other two, and a greater proportion of its vents are
extinct.  It attained its condition of maximum activity during the
distant period of the Miocene, and now appears to be passing into a
state of gradual extinction.

Beginning in the north with the volcanic rocks of Greenland and
Bear Island, we pass southwards, by way of Jan Mayen, Iceland and
the Faroe Islands, to the Hebrides and the north of Ireland.
Thence, by way of the Azores, the Canaries and the Cape de Verde
Islands, with some active vents, we pass to the ruined volcanoes of
St. Paul, Fernando de Noronha, Ascension, St. Helena, Trinidad and
Tristan da Cunha.  From this great Atlantic band two branches
proceed to the eastward, one through Central Europe, where all the
vents are now extinct, and the other through the Mediterranean to
Asia Minor, the great majority of the volcanoes along the latter
line being now extinct, though a few are still active.  The
volcanoes on the eastern coast of Africa may be regarded as
situated on another branch from this Atlantic volcanic band.  The
number of active volcanoes on this Atlantic band and its branches,
exclusive of those in the West Indies, does not exceed fifty.


THIAN SHAN AND HAWAIIAN VOLCANOES


From what has been said, it will be seen that the volcanoes of the
globe not only usually assume a linear arrangement, but nearly the
whole of them can be shown to be thrown up along three well-marked
bands and the branches proceeding from them.  The first and most
important of these bands is nearly 10,000 miles in length, and with
its branches contains more than 150 active volcanoes; the second is
8,000 miles in length, and includes about 100 active volcanoes; the
third is much more broken and interrupted, extends to a length of
nearly 1,000 miles, and contains about 50 active vents.  The
volcanoes of the eastern coast of Africa, with Mauritius, Bourbon,
Rodriguez, and the vents along the line of the Red Sea, may be
regarded as forming a fourth and subordinate band.

Thus we see that the surface of the globe is covered by a network
of volcanic bands, all of which traverse it in sinuous lines with a
general north-and-south direction, giving off branches which often
run for hundreds of miles, and sometimes appear to form a
connection between the great bands.

To this rule of the linear arrangement of the volcanic vents of the
globe, and their accumulation along certain well-marked bands,
there are two very striking exceptions, which we must now proceed
to notice.

In the very centre of the continent formed by Europe and Asia, the
largest unbroken land-mass of the globe, there rises from the great
central plateau the remarkable volcanoes of the Thian Shan Range.
The existence of these volcanoes, of which only obscure traditional
accounts had reached Europe before the year 1858, appears to be
completely established by the researches of recent Russian and
Swedish travelers.  Three volcanic vents appear to exist in this
region, and other volcanic phenomena have been stated to occur in
the great plateau of Central Asia, but the existence of the latter
appears to rest on very doubtful evidence.  The only accounts which
we have of the eruptions of these Thian Shan volcanoes are
contained in Chinese histories and treatises on geography.

The second exceptionally situated volcanic group is that of the
Hawaiian Islands.  While the Thian Shan volcanoes rise in the
centre of the largest unbroken land-mass, and stand on the edge of
the loftiest and greatest plateau in the world, the volcanoes of
the Hawaiian Islands rise in the northern centre of the largest
ocean and from almost the greatest depths in that ocean.  All round
the Hawaiian Islands the sea has a depth of from 2,000 to 3,000
fathoms, and the island-group culminates in several volcanic cones,
which rise to the height of nearly 14,000 feet above the sea-level.
The volcanoes of the Hawaiian Islands are unsurpassed in height and
bulk by those of any other part of the globe.

With the exception of the two isolated groups of the Thian Shan and
the Hawaiian Islands, nearly all the active volcanoes of the globe
are situated near the limits which separate the great land-and-
water-masses of the globe--that is to say, they occur either on the
parts of continents not far removed from their coast-lines, or on
islands in the ocean not very far distant from the shores.  The
fact of the general proximity of volcanoes to the sea is one which
has frequently been pointed out by geographers, and may now be
regarded as being thoroughly established.


VOLCANOES PARALLEL TO MOUNTAIN CHAINS


Many of the grandest mountain-chains have bands of volcanoes lying
parallel to them.  This is strikingly exhibited by the great
mountain-masses which lie on the western side of the American
continent.  The Rocky Mountains and the Andes consist of folded and
crumpled masses of altered strata which, by the action of denuding
forces, have been carved into series of ridges and summits.  At
many points, however, along the sides of these great chains we find
that fissures have been opened and lines of volcanoes formed, from
which enormous quantities of lava have flowed and covered great
tracts of country.

This is especially marked in the Snake River plain of Idaho, in the
western United States.  In this, and the adjoining regions of
Oregon and Washington, an enormous tract of country has been
overflowed by lava in a late geological period, the surface covered
being estimated to have a larger area than France and Great Britain
combined.  The Snake River cuts through it in a series of
picturesque gorges and rapids, enabling us to estimate its
thickness, which is considered to average 4000 feet.  Looked at
from any point on its surface, one of these lava-plains appears as
a vast level surface, like that of a lake bottom.  This uniformity
has been produced either by the lava rolling over a plain or lake
bottom, or by the complete effacement of an original, undulating
contour of the ground under hundreds or thousands of feet of lava
in successive sheets.  The lava, rolling up to the base of the
mountains, has followed the sinuosities of their margin, as the
waters of a lake follow its promontories and bays.  Similar
conditions exist along the Sierra Nevada range of California, and
to some extent placer mining has gone on under immense beds of
lava, by a process of tunneling beneath the volcanic rock.

In some localities the volcanoes are of such height and dimensions
as to overlook and dwarf the mountain-ranges by the side of which
they lie.  Some of the volcanoes lying parallel to the great
American axis appear to be quite extinct, while others are in full
activity.  In the Eastern continent we find still more striking
examples of parallelism between great mountain-chains and the lands
along which volcanic activity is exhibited--volcanoes, active or
extinct, following the line of the great east and west chains which
extend through southern Europe and Asia.  There are some other
volcanic bands which exhibit a similar parallelism with mountain
chains; but, on the other hand, there are volcanoes between which
and the nearest mountain-axis no such connection can be traced.


AREAS OF UPHEAVAL AND SUBSIDENCE


There is one other fact concerning the mode of distribution of
volcanoes upon the surface of the globe, to which we must allude.
By a study of the evidences presented by coral-reefs, raised
beaches, submerged forests, and other phenomena of a similar kind,
it can be shown that certain wide areas of the land and of the
ocean-floor are at the present time in a state of subsidence, while
other equally large areas are being upheaved.  And the observations
of the geologist prove that similar upward and downward movements
of portions of the earth's crust have been going on through all
geological times.

Now, as Mr. Darwin has so well shown in his work on "Coral Reefs,"
if we trace upon a map the areas of the earth's surface which are
undergoing upheaval and subsidence respectively, we shall find that
nearly all the active volcanoes of the globe are situated upon
rising areas and that volcanic phenomena are conspicuously absent
from those parts of the earth's crust which can be proved at the
present day to be undergoing depression.

The remarkable linear arrangement of volcanic vents has a
significance that is well worthy of fuller consideration.  There
are facts known which point to the cause of this state of affairs.
It is not uncommon for small cones of scoriae to be seen following
lines on the flanks or at the base of a great volcanic mountain.
These are undoubtedly lines of fissure, caused by the subterranean
forces.  In fact, such fissures have been seen opening on the sides
of Mount Etna, in whose bottom could be seen the glowing lava.
Along these fissures, in a few days, scoriae cones appeared; on one
occasion no less than thirty-six in number.

It is believed by geologists that the linear systems of volcanoes
are ranged along similar lines of fissure in the earth's crust--
enormous breaks, extending for thousands of miles, and the result
of internal energies acting through vast periods of time.  Along
these immense fissures in the earth's rock-crust there appear, in
place of small scoriae cones, great volcanoes, built up through the
ages by a series of powerful eruptions, and only ceasing to spout
fire themselves when the portion of the great crack upon which they
lie is closed.  The greatest of these fissures is that along the
vast sinuous band of volcanoes extending from near the Arctic
circle at Behring's Straits to the Antarctic circle at South
Victoria Land, not far from half round the earth.  It doubtless
marks the line of mighty forces which have been active for millions
of years.



CHAPTER XXI.

The Famous Vesuvius and the Destruction of Pompeii.


The famous volcano of southern Italy named Vesuvius, which is now
so constantly in eruption, was described by the ancients as a cone-
shaped mountain with a flat top, on which was a deep circular
valley filled with vines and grass, and surrounded by high
precipices.  A large population lived on the sides of the mountain,
which was covered with beautiful woods, and there were fine
flourishing cities at its foot.  So little was the terrible nature
of the valley on the top understood, that in A. D. 72, Spartacus, a
rebellious Roman gladiator, encamped there with some thousands of
fighting men, and the Roman soldiers were let down the precipices
in order to surprise and capture them.

There had been earthquakes around the mountain, and one of the
cities had been nearly destroyed; but no one was prepared for what
occurred seven years after the defeat of Spartacus.  Suddenly, in
the year 79 A. D., a terrific rush of smoke, steam, and fire
belched from the mountain's summit; one side of the valley in which
Spartacus had encamped was blown off, and its rocks, with vast
quantities of ashes, burning stones, and sand, were ejected far
into the sky.  They then spread out like a vast pall, and fell far
and wide.  For eight days and nights this went on, and the enormous
quantity of steam sent up, together with the deluge of rain that
fell, produced torrents on the mountain-side, which, carrying
onward the fallen ashes, overwhelmed everything in their way.
Sulphurous vapors filled the air and violent tremblings of the
earth were constant.

A city six miles off was speedily rendered uninhabitable, and was
destroyed by the falling stones; but two others--Herculaneum and
Pompeii--which already had suffered from the down-pour of ashes,
were gradually filled with a flood of water, sand, and ashes, which
came down the side of the volcano, and covering them entirely.


BURIED CITIES EXCAVATED.


The difference in ease of excavation is due to the following
circumstance.  Herculaneum being several miles nearer the crater,
was buried in a far more consistent substance, seemingly composed
of volcanic ashes cemented by mud; Pompeii, on the contrary, was
buried only in ashes and loose stones.  The casts of statues found
in Herculaneum show the plastic character of the material that fell
there, which time has hardened to rock-like consistency.

These statues represented Hercules and Cleopatra, and the theatre
proved to be that of the long-lost city of Herculaneum.  The site
of Pompeii was not discovered until forty years afterward, but work
there proved far easier than at Herculaneum, and more progress was
made in bringing it back to the light of day.

The less solid covering of Pompeii has greatly facilitated the work
of excavation, and a great part of the city has been laid bare.
Many of its public buildings and private residences are now
visible, and some whole streets have been cleared, while a
multitude of interesting relics have been found.  Among those are
casts of many of the inhabitants, obtained by pouring liquid
plaster into the ash moulds that remained of them.  We see them to-
day in the attitude and with the expression of agony and horror
with which death met them more than eighteen centuries ago.

In succeeding eruptions much lava was poured out; and in A. D. 472,
ashes were cast over a great part of Europe, so that much fear was
caused at Constantinople.  The buried cities were more and more
covered up, and it was not until about A. D. 1700 that, as above
stated, the city of Herculaneum was discovered, the peasants of the
vicinity being in the habit of extracting marble from its ruins.
They had also, in the course of years, found many statues.  In
consequence, an excavation was ordered by Charles III, the earliest
result being the discovery of the theatre, with the statues above
named.  The work of excavation, however, has not progressed far in
this city, on account of its extreme difficulty, though various
excellent specimens of art-work have been discovered, including the
finest examples of mural painting extant from antiquity.  The
library was also discovered, 1803 papyri being found.  Though these
had been charred to cinder, and were very difficult to unroll and
decipher, over 300 of them have been read.


PLINY'S CELEBRATED DESCRIPTION


Pliny the Younger, to whom we are indebted for the only
contemporary account of the great eruption under consideration, was
at the time of its occurrence resident with his mother at Misenum,
where the Roman fleet lay, under the command of his uncle, the
great author of the "Historia Naturalis".  His account, contained
in two letters to Tacitus (lib. vi. 16, 20), is not so much a
narrative of the eruption, as a record of his uncle's singular
death, yet it is of great interest as yielding the impressions of
an observer.  The translation which follows is adopted from the
very free version of Melmoth, except in one or two places, where it
differs much from the ordinary text.  The letters are given entire,
though some parts are rather specimens of style than good examples
of description.

"Your request that I should send an account of my uncle's death, in
order to transmit a more exact relation of it to posterity,
deserves my acknowledgments; for if this accident shall be
celebrated by your pen, the glory of it, I am assured, will be
rendered forever illustrious.  And, notwithstanding he perished by
a misfortune which, as it involved at the same time a most
beautiful country in ruins, and destroyed so many populous cities,
seems to promise him an everlasting remembrance; notwithstanding he
has himself composed many and lasting works; yet I am persuaded the
mention of him in your immortal works will greatly contribute to
eternize his name.  Happy I esteem those to be, whom Providence has
distinguished with the abilities either of doing such actions as
are worthy of being related, or of relating them in a manner worthy
of being read; but doubly happy are they who are blessed with both
these talents; in the number of which my uncle, as his own writings
and your history will prove, may justly be ranked.  It is with
extreme willingness, therefore, that I execute your commands; and
should, indeed, have claimed the task if you had not enjoined it.

"He was at that time with the fleet under his command at Misenum.
On the 24th of August, about one in the afternoon, my mother
desired him to observe a cloud which appeared of a very unusual
size and shape.  He had just returned from taking the benefit of
the sun, and, after bathing himself in cold water, and taking a
slight repast, had retired to his study.  He immediately arose, and
went out upon an eminence, from whence he might more distinctly
view this very uncommon appearance.  It was not at that distance
discernible from what mountain the cloud issued, but it was found
afterward to ascend from Mount Vesuvius.  I cannot give a more
exact description of its figure than by comparing it to that of a
pine tree, for it shot up to a great height in the form of a trunk,
which extended itself at the top into a sort of branches;
occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden gust of air that impelled
it, the force of which decreased as it advanced upwards, or the
cloud itself being pressed back again by its own weight, and
expanding in this manner: it appeared sometimes bright, and
sometimes dark and spotted, as it was more or less impregnated with
earth and cinders.

"This extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical
curiosity to take a nearer view of it.  He ordered a light vessel
to be got ready, and gave me the liberty, if I thought proper, to
attend him.  I rather chose to continue my studies, for, as it
happened, he had given me an employment of that kind.  As he was
passing out of the house he received dispatches: the marines at
Retina, terrified at the imminent peril (for the place lay beneath
the mountain, and there was no retreat but by ships), entreated his
aid in this extremity.  He accordingly changed his first design,
and what he began with a philosophical he pursued with an heroical
turn of mind.


THE VOYAGE TO STABIAE


"He ordered the galleys to put to sea, and went himself on board
with an intention of assisting not only Retina but many other
places, for the population is thick on that beautiful coast.  When
hastening to the place from whence others fled with the utmost
terror, he steered a direct course to the point of danger, and with
so much calmness and presence of mind, as to be able to make and
dictate his observations upon the motion and figure of that
dreadful scene.  He was now so nigh the mountain that the cinders,
which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into
the ships, together with pumice-stones, and black pieces of burning
rock; they were in danger of not only being left aground by the
sudden retreat of the sea, but also from the vast fragments which
rolled down from the mountain, and obstructed all the shore.

"Here he stopped to consider whether he should return back again;
to which the pilot advised him.  'Fortune,' said he, 'favors the
brave; carry me to Pomponianus.'  Pomponianus was then at Stabiae,
separated by a gulf, which the sea, after several insensible
windings, forms upon the shore.  He (Pomponianus) had already sent
his baggage on board; for though he was not at that time in actual
danger, yet being within view of it, and indeed extremely near, if
it should in the least increase, he was determined to put to sea as
soon as the wind should change.  It was favorable, however, for
carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he found in the greatest
consternation.  He embraced him with tenderness, encouraging and
exhorting him to keep up his spirits; and the more to dissipate his
fears he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths to be got
ready; when, after having bathed, he sat down to supper with great
cheerfulness, or at least (what is equally heroic) with all the
appearance of it.

"In the meantime, the eruption from Mount Vesuvius flamed out in
several places with much violence, which the darkness of the night
contributed to render still more visible and dreadful.  But my
uncle, in order to soothe the apprehensions of his friend, assured
him it was only the burning of the villages, which the country
people had abandoned to the flames; after this he retired to rest,
and it was most certain he was so little discomposed as to fall
into a deep sleep; for, being pretty fat, and breathing hard, those
who attended without actually heard him snore.  The court which led
to his apartment being now almost filled with stones and ashes, if
he had continued there any longer it would have been impossible for
him to have made his way out; it was thought proper, therefore, to
awaken him.  He got up and went to Pomponianus and the rest of his
company, who were not unconcerned enough to think of going to bed.
They consulted together whether it would be most prudent to trust
to the houses, which now shook from side to side with frequent and
violent concussions; or to fly to the open fields, where the
calcined stone and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell in large
showers and threatened destruction.  In this distress they resolved
for the fields as the less dangerous situation of the two--a
resolution which, while the rest of the company were hurried into
it by their fears, my uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate
consideration.


DEATH OF PLINY THE ELDER


"They went out, then, having pillows tied upon their heads with
napkins; and this was their whole defence against the storm of
stones that fell around them.  It was now day everywhere else, but
there a deeper darkness prevailed than in the most obscure night;
which, however, was in some degree dissipated by torches and other
lights of various kinds.  They thought proper to go down further
upon the shore, to observe if they might safely put out to sea; but
they found that the waves still ran extremely high and boisterous.
There my uncle, having drunk a draught or two of cold water, threw
himself down upon a cloth which was spread for him, when
immediately the flames, and a strong smell of sulphur which was the
forerunner of them, dispersed the rest of the company, and obliged
him to rise.  He raised himself up with the assistance of two of
his servants, and instantly fell down dead, suffocated, as I
conjecture, by some gross and noxious vapor, having always had weak
lungs, and being frequently subject to a difficulty of breathing.

"As soon as it was light again, which was not till the third day
after this melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and
without any marks of violence upon it, exactly in the same posture
as that in which he fell, and looking more like a man asleep than
dead.  During all this time my mother and I were at Misenum.  But
this has no connection with your history, as your inquiry went no
farther than concerning my uncle's death; with that, therefore, I
will put an end to my letter.  Suffer me only to add, that I have
faithfully related to you what I was either an eye-witness of
myself, or received immediately after the accident happened, and
before there was any time to vary the truth.  You will choose out
of this narrative such circumstances as shall be most suitable to
your purpose; for there is a great difference between what is
proper for a letter and a history: between writing to a friend and
writing to the public.  Farewell."

In this account, which was drawn up some years after the event,
from the recollections of a student eighteen years old, we
recognize the continual earthquakes; the agitated sea with its
uplifted bed; the flames and vapors of an ordinary eruption,
probably attended by lava as well as ashes.  But it seems likely
that the author's memory, or rather the information communicated to
him regarding the closing scene of Pliny's life, was defective.
Flames and sulphurous vapors could hardly be actually present at
Stabiae, ten miles from the centre of the eruption.

That lava flowed at all from Vesuvius on this occasion has been
usually denied; chiefly because at Pompeii and Herculaneum the
causes of destruction were different--ashes overwhelmed the former,
mud concreted over the latter.  We observe, indeed, phenomena on
the shore near Torre del Greco which seem to require the belief
that currents of lava had been solidified there at some period
before the construction of certain walls and floors, and other
works of Roman date.  In the Oxford Museum, among the specimens of
lava to which the dates are assigned, is one referred to A. D. 79,
but there is no mode of proving it to have belonged to the eruption
of that date.


PLINY'S SECOND LETTER


A second letter from Pliny to Tacitus (Epist. 20) was required to
satisfy the curiosity of that historian; especially as regards the
events which happened under the eyes of his friend.  Here it is
according to Melmoth:

"The letter which, in compliance with your request, I wrote to you
concerning the death of my uncle, has raised, it seems, your
curiosity to know what terrors and danger attended me while I
continued at Misenum: for there, I think, the account in my former
letter broke off.

'Though my shocked soul recoils, my tongue shall tell.'

"My uncle having left us, I pursued the studies which prevented my
going with him till it was time to bathe.  After which I went to
supper, and from thence to bed, where my sleep was greatly broken
and disturbed.  There had been, for many days before, some shocks
of an earthquake, which the less surprised us as they are extremely
frequent in Campania; but they were so particularly violent that
night, that they not only shook everything about us, but seemed,
indeed, to threaten total destruction.  My mother flew to my
chamber, where she found me rising in order to awaken her.  We went
out into a small court belonging to the house, which separated the
sea from the buildings.  As I was at that time but eighteen years
of age, I know not whether I should call my behavior, in this
dangerous juncture, courage or rashness; but I took up Livy, and
amused myself with turning over that author, and even making
extracts from him, as if all about me had been in full security.
While we were in this posture, a friend of my uncle's, who was just
come from Spain to pay him a visit, joined us; and observing me
sitting with my mother with a book in my hand, greatly condemned
her calmness at the same time that he reproved me for my careless
security.  Nevertheless, I still went on with my author.

"Though it was now morning, the light was exceedingly faint and
languid; the buildings all around us tottered; and, though we stood
upon open ground, yet as the place was narrow and confined, there
was no remaining there without certain and great danger: we
therefore resolved to quit the town.  The people followed us in the
utmost consternation, and, as to a mind distracted with terror
every suggestion seems more prudent than its own, pressed in great
crowds about us in our way out.

"Being got to a convenient distance from the houses, we stood
still, in the midst of a most dangerous and dreadful scene.  The
chariots which we had ordered to be drawn out were so agitated
backwards and forwards, though upon the most level ground, that we
could not keep them steady, even by supporting them with large
stones.  The sea seemed to roll back upon itself, and to be driven
from its banks by the convulsive motion of the earth; it is certain
at least that the shore was considerably enlarged, and many sea
animals were left upon it.  On the other side a black and dreadful
cloud, bursting with an igneous serpentine vapor, darted out a long
train of fire, resembling flashes of lightning, but much larger.


FEAR VERSUS COMPOSURE


"Upon this the Spanish friend whom I have mentioned, addressed
himself to my mother and me with great warmth and earnestness; 'If
your brother and your uncle,' said he, 'is safe, he certainly
wishes you to be so too; but if he has perished, it was his desire,
no doubt, that you might both survive him: why therefore do you
delay your escape a moment?'  We could never think of our own
safety, we said, while we were uncertain of his.  Hereupon our
friend left us, and withdrew with the utmost precipitation.  Soon
afterward, the cloud seemed to descend, and cover the whole ocean;
as it certainly did the island of Capreae, and the promontory of
Misenum.  My mother strongly conjured me to make my escape at any
rate, which, as I was young, I might easily do; as for herself, she
said, her age and corpulency rendered all attempts of that sort
impossible.  However, she would willingly meet death, if she could
have the satisfaction of seeing that she was not the occasion of
mine.  But I absolutely refused to leave her, and taking her by the
hand, I led her on; she complied with great reluctance, and not
without many reproaches to herself for retarding my flight.

"The ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no great quantity.
I turned my head and observed behind us a thick smoke, which came
rolling after us like a torrent.  I proposed, while we yet had any
light, to turn out of the high road lest she should be pressed to
death in the dark by the crowd that followed us.  We had scarce
stepped out of the path when darkness overspread us, not like that
of a cloudy night, or when there is no moon, but of a room when it
is all shut up and all the lights are extinct.  Nothing then was to
be heard but the shrieks of women, the screams of children and the
cries of men; some calling for their children, others for their
parents, others for their husbands, and only distinguishing each
other by their voices; one lamenting his own fate, another that of
his family; some wishing to die from the very fear of dying; some
lifting their hands to the gods; but the greater part imagining
that the last and eternal night was come, which was to destroy the
gods and the world together.  Among them were some who augmented
the real terrors by imaginary ones, and made the frighted multitude
believe that Misenum was actually in flames.

"At length a glimmering light appeared, which we imagined to be
rather the forerunner of an approaching burst of flames, as in
truth it was, than the return of day.  However, the fire fell at
distance from us; then again we were immersed in thick darkness,
and a heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which we were obliged
every now and then to shake off, otherwise we should have been
crushed and buried in the heap.

"I might boast that, during all this scene of horror, not a sigh or
expression of fear escaped me, had not my support been founded in
that miserable, though strong, consolation that all mankind were
involved in the same calamity, and that I imagined I was perishing
with the world itself!  At last this dreadful darkness was
dissipated by degrees, like a cloud of smoke; the real day
returned, and soon the sun appeared, though very faintly, and as
when an eclipse is coming on.  Every object that presented itself
to our eyes (which were extremely weakened) seemed changed, being
covered over with white ashes, as with a deep snow.  We returned to
Misenum, where we refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and
passed an anxious night between hope and fear, for the earthquake
still continued, while several greatly excited people ran up and
down, heightening their own and their friends' calamities by
terrible predictions.  However, my mother and I, notwithstanding
the danger we had passed and that which still threatened us, had no
thoughts of leaving the place till we should receive some account
from my uncle.

"And now you will read this narrative without any view of inserting
it in your history, of which it is by no means worthy; and, indeed,
you must impute it to your own request if it shall not even deserve
the trouble of a letter.  Farewell!"


DION CASSIUS ON THE ERUPTION


The story told by Pliny is the only one upon which we can rely.
Dion Cassius, the historian, who wrote more than a century later,
does not hesitate to use his imagination, telling us that Pompeii
was buried under showers of ashes "while all the people were
sitting in the theatre."  This statement has been effectively made
use of by Bulwer, in his "Last Days of Pompeii."  In this he
pictures for us a gladiatorial combat in the arena, with thousands
of deeply interested spectators occupying the surrounding seats.
The novelist works his story up to a thrilling climax in which the
volcano plays a leading part.

This is all very well as a vivid piece of fiction, but it does not
accord with fact, since Dion Cassius was undoubtedly incorrect in
his statement.  We now know from the evidence furnished by the
excavations that none of the people were destroyed in the theatres,
and, indeed, that there were very few who did not escape from both
cities.  It is very likely that many of them returned and dug down
for the most valued treasures in their buried habitations.  Dion
Cassius may have obtained the material for his accounts from the
traditions of the descendants of survivors, and if so he shows how
terrible must have been the impression made upon their minds.  He
assures us that during the eruption a multitude of men of
superhuman nature appeared, sometimes on the mountain and sometimes
in the environs, that stones and smoke were thrown out, the sun was
hidden, and then the giants seemed to rise again, while the sounds
of trumpets were heard.


LAKE AVERNUS


Not far from Vesuvius lay the famous Lake Avernus, whose name was
long a popular synonym for the infernal regions.  The lake is
harmless to-day, but its reputation indicates that it was not
always so.  There is every reason to believe that it hides the
outlet of an extinct volcano, and that long after the volcano
ceased to be active it emitted gases as fatal to animal life as
those suffocating vapors which annihilated all the cattle on the
Island of Lancerote, in the Canaries, in the year 1730.  Its name
signifies "birdless," indicating that its ascending vapors were
fatal to all birds that attempted to fly above its surface.

In the superstition of the Middle Ages Vesuvius assumed the
character which had before been given to Avernus, and was regarded
as the mouth of hell.  Cardinal Damiano, in a letter to Pope
Nicholas II., written about the year 1060 tells the story of how a
priest, who had left his mother ill at Beneventum, went on his
homeward way to Naples past the crater of Vesuvius, and heard
issuing therefrom the voice of his mother in great agony.  He
afterward found that her death coincided exactly with the time at
which he had heard her voice.

A trip to the summit of Vesuvius is one of the principal
attractions for strangers who are visiting Naples.  There is a
fascination about that awful slayer of cities which few can resist,
and no less attractive is the city of Pompeii, now largely laid
bare after being buried for eighteen centuries.  We are indebted to
Henry Haynie for the following interesting description: "Once seen,
it will never be forgotten.  It is full of suggestions.  It kindles
emotions that are worth the kindling, and brings on dreams that are
worth the dreaming.  Of the three places overwhelmed, Herculaneum,
Pompeii and Stabiae, the last scarcely repays excavation in one
sense, and the first in another; but to watch the diggers at
Pompeii is fascinating, even when there is no reasonable
expectation of a find.  Herculaneum was buried with lava, or rather
with tufa, and it is so very hard that the expense of uncovering of
only a small part of that city has been very great.


HOW POMPEII IMPRESSES ITS VISITORS


"Pompeii was smothered in ashes, however, and most of it is
uncovered now.  But while there is much that is fascinating, and
all of it is instructive, there is nothing grand or awe-inspiring
in the ruins of Pompeii.  No visitor stands breathless as in the
great hall of Karnak or in the once dreadful Coliseum at Rome, or
dreams with sensuous delight as before the Jasmine Court at Agra.

"The weirdness of the scene possesses us as a haunted chamber
might.  We have before us the narrow lanes, paved with tufa, in
which Roman wagon wheels have worn deep ruts.  We cross streets on
stepping-stones which sandaled feet ages ago polished.  We see the
wine shops with empty jars, counters stained with liquor, stone
mills where the wheat was ground, and the very ovens in which bread
was baked more than eighteen centuries ago.  'Welcome' is offered
us at one silent, broken doorway; at another we are warned to
'Beware of the dog!'  The painted figures,--some of them so
artistic and rich in colors that pictures of them are disbelieved,--
the mosaic pavements, the empty fountains, the altars and
household gods, the marble pillars and the small gardens are there
just as the owners left them.  Some of the walls are scribbled over
by the small boys of Pompeii in strange characters which mock
modern erudition.  In places we read the advertisements of
gladiatorial shows, never to come off, the names of candidates for
legislative office who were never to sit.  There is nothing like
this elsewhere.

"The value of Pompeii to those classic students who would
understand, not the speech only, but the life and the every-day
habits, of the ancient world, is too high for reckoning.  Its
inestimable evidence may be seen in the fact that any high-school
boy can draw the plan of a Roman house, while ripest scholars
hesitate on the very threshold of a Greek dwelling.  This is
because no Hellenic Pompeii has yet been discovered, but thanks to
the silent city close to the beautiful Bay of Naples, the Latin
house is known from ostium to porticus, from the front door to the
back garden wall.


STREETS AND HOUSES OF POMPEII


"The streets of Pompeii must have had a charm unapproached by those
of any city now in existence.  The stores, indeed, were wretched
little dens.  Two or three of them commonly occupied the front of a
house on either side of the entrance, the ostium; but when the door
lay open, as was usually the case, a passerby could look into the
atrium, prettily decorated and hung with rich stuffs.  The sunshine
entered through an aperture in the roof, and shone on the waters of
the impluvium, the mosaic floor, the altar of the household gods
and the flowers around the fountain.

"As the life of the Pompeiians was all outdoors, their pretty homes
stood open always.  There was indeed a curtain betwixt the atrium
and the peristyle, but it was drawn only when the master gave a
banquet.  Thus a wayfarer in the street could see, beyond the hall
described and its busy servants, the white columns of the
peristyle, with creepers trained about them, flowers all around,
and jets of water playing through pipes which are still in place.
In many cases the garden itself could be observed between the
pillars of the further gallery, and rich paintings on the wall
beyond that.

"But how far removed those little palaces of Pompeii were from our
notion of well-being is scarcely to be understood by one who has
not seen them.  It is a question strange in all points of view
where the family slept in the houses, nearly all of which had no
second story.  In the most graceful villas the three to five
sleeping chambers round the atrium and four round the peristyle
were rather ornamental cupboards than aught else.  One did not
differ from another, and if these were devoted to the household the
slaves, male and female, must have slept on the floor outside.  The
master, his family and his guest used these small, dark rooms,
which were apparently without such common luxuries as we expect in
the humblest home.  All their furniture could hardly have been more
than a bed and a footstool; but it should be remembered that the
public bath was a daily amusement.  The kitchen of each villa
certainly was not furnished with such ingenuity, expense or thought
as the stories of Roman gormandising would have led us to expect.
In the house of the Aedile--so called from the fact that 'Pansam
Aed.' is inscribed in red characters by the doorway--the cook seems
to have been employed in frying eggs at the moment when increasing
danger put him to flight.  His range, four partitions of brick, was
very small; a knife, a strainer, a pan lay by the fire just as they
fell from the slave's hand."


VALUE OF THE DISCOVERY OF POMPEII


This description strongly presents to us the principal value of the
discovery of Pompeii.  Interesting as are the numerous works of art
found in its habitations, and important as is their bearing upon
some branches of the art of the ancient world, this cannot compare
in interest with the flood of light which is here thrown on ancient
life in all its details, enabling us to picture to ourselves the
manners and habits of life of a cultivated and flourishing
population at the beginning of the Christian era, to an extent
which no amount of study of ancient history could yield.

Looking upon the work of the volcano as essentially destructive, as
we naturally do, we have here a valuable example of its power as a
preservative agent; and it is certainly singular that it is to a
volcano we owe much of what we know concerning the cities,
dwellings and domestic life of the people of the Roman Empire.

It would be very fortunate for students of antiquity if similar
disasters had happened to cities in other ancient civilized lands,
however unfortunate it might have been to their inhabitants.  But
doubtless we are better off without knowledge gained from ruins
thus produced.



CHAPTER XXII.

Eruptions of Vesuvius, Etna and Stromboli.


Mount Vesuvius is of especial interest as being the only active
volcano on the continent of Europe--all others of that region being
on the islands of the Mediterranean--and for the famous ancient
eruption described in the last chapter.  Before this it had borne
the reputation of being extinct, but since then it has frequently
shown that its fires have not burned out, and has on several
occasions given a vigorous display of its powers.

During the fifteen hundred years succeeding the destructive event
described eruptions were of occasional occurrence, though of no
great magnitude.  But throughout the long intervals when Vesuvius
was at rest it was noted that Etna and Ischia were more or less
disturbed.


THE BIRTH OF MONTE NUOVO


In 1538 a startling evidence was given that there was no decline of
energy in the volcanic system of Southern Italy.  This was the
sudden birth of the mountain still known as Monte Nuovo, or New
Mountain, which was thrown up in the Campania near Avernus, on the
spot formerly occupied by the Lucrine Lake.

For about two years prior to this event the district had been
disturbed by earthquakes, which on September 27 and 28, 1538,
became almost continuous.  The low shore was slightly elevated, so
that the sea retreated, leaving bare a strip about two hundred feet
in width.  The surface cracked, steam escaped, and at last, early
on the morning of the 29th, a greater rent was made, from which
were vomited furiously "smoke, fire, stones and mud composed of
ashes, making at the time of its opening a noise like the loudest
thunder."

The ejected material in less than twelve hours built the hill which
has lasted substantially in the same form to our day.  It is a
noteworthy fact that since the formation of Monte Nuovo there has
been no volcanic disturbance in any part of the Neapolitan district
except in Vesuvius, which for five centuries previous had remained
largely at rest.


LAVA FROM VESUVIUS


The first recognised appearance of lava in the eruptions of
Vesuvius was in the violent eruption of 1036.  This was succeeded
at intervals by five other outbreaks, none of them of great energy.
After 1500 the crater became completely quiet, the whole mountain
in time being grown over with luxuriant vegetation, while by the
next century the interior of the crater became green with
shrubbery, indicating that no injurious gases were escaping.

This was sleep, not death.  In 1631 the awakening came in an
eruption of terrible violence.  Almost in a moment the green mantle
of woodland and shrubbery was torn away and death and destruction
left where peace and safety had seemed assured.

Seven streams of lava poured from the crater and swept rapidly down
the mountain side, leaving ruin along their paths.  Resina,
Granasello and Torre del Greco, three villages that had grown up
during the period of quiescence, were more or less overwhelmed by
the molten lava.  Great torrents of hot water also poured out,
adding to the work of desolation.  It was estimated that eighteen
thousand of the inhabitants were killed.

What made the horror all the greater was a frightful error of
judgment, similar to that of the Governor of Martinique at St.
Pierre.  The Governor of Torre del Greco had refused to be warned
in time, and prevented the people from making their escape until it
was too late.  Not until the lava had actually reached the walls
was the order for departure given.  Before the order could be acted
upon the molten streams burst through the walls into the crowded
streets, and overwhelmed the vast majority of the inhabitants.

In this violent paroxysm the whole top of the mountain is said to
have been swept away, the new crater which took the place of the
old one being greatly lowered.  From that date Vesuvius has never
been at rest for any long interval, and eruptions of some degree of
violence have been rarely more than a few years apart.  Of its
various later manifestations of energy we select for description
that of 1767, of which an interesting account by a careful observer
is extant.


GREAT ERUPTION OF 1767


From the 10th of December, 1766, to March, 1767, Vesuvius was
quiet; then it began to throw up stones from time to time.  In
April the throws were more frequent, and at night the red glare
grew stronger on the cloudy columns which hung over the crater.
These repeated throws of cinders, ashes and pumice-stones so much
increased the small cone of eruption which had been left in the
centre of the flat crateral space that its top became visible at a
distance.

On the 7th of August there issued a small stream of lava from a
breach in the side of a small cone; the lava gradually filled the
space between the cone and the crateral edge; on the 12th of
September it overflowed the crater, and ran down the mountain.
Stones were ejected which took ten seconds in their fall, from
which it may be computed that the height which the stones reached
was 1,600 feet.  Padre Torre, a great observer of Vesuvius, says
they went up above a thousand feet.  The lava ceased on the 18th of
October, but at 8 A. M. on the 19th it rushed out at a different
place, after volleys of stones had been thrown to an immense
height, and the huge traditional pine-tree of smoke reappeared.  On
this occasion that vast phantom extended its menacing shadow over
Capri, at a distance of twenty-eight miles from Vesuvius.

The lava at first came out of a mouth about one hundred yards below
the crater, on the side toward Monte Somma.  While occupied in
viewing this current, the observer heard a violent noise within the
mountain; saw it split open at the distance of a quarter of a mile,
and saw from the new mouth a mountain of liquid fire shoot up many
feet, and then, like a torrent, roll on toward him.  The earth
shook; stones fell thick around him; dense clouds of ashes darkened
the air; loud thunders came from the mountain top, and he took to
precipitate flight.  The Padre's account is too lively and
instructive for his own words to be omitted.


PADRE TORRE'S NARRATIVE


"I was making my observations upon the lava, which had already,
from the spot where it first broke out, reached the valley, when,
on a sudden, about noon, I heard a violent noise within the
mountain, and at a spot about a quarter of a mile off the place
where I stood the mountain split; and with much noise, from this
new mouth, a fountain of liquid fire shot up many feet high, and
then like a torrent rolled on directly towards us.  The earth shook
at the same time that a volley of stones fell thick upon us; in an
instant clouds of black smoke and ashes caused almost a total
darkness; the explosions from the top of the mountain were much
louder than any thunder I ever heard, and the smell of the sulphur
was very offensive.  My guide, alarmed, took to his heels; and I
must confess that I was not at my ease.  I followed close, and we
ran near three miles without stopping; as the earth continued to
shake under our feet, I was apprehensive of the opening of a fresh
mouth which might have cut off our retreat.

"I also feared that the violent explosions would detach some of the
rocks off the mountain of Somma, under which we were obliged to
pass; besides, the pumice-stones, falling upon us like hail, were
of such a size as to cause a disagreeable sensation in the part
upon which they fell.  After having taken breath, as the earth
trembled greatly I thought it most prudent to leave the mountain
and return to my villa, where I found my family in great alarm at
the continual and violent explosions of the volcano, which shook
our house to its very foundation, the doors and windows swinging
upon their hinges.

"About two of the clock in the afternoon (19th) another lava stream
forced its way out of the same place from whence came the lava of
last year, so that the conflagration was soon as great on this side
of the mountain as on the other which I had just left.  I observed
on my way to Naples, which was in less than two hours after I had
left the mountain, that the lava had actually covered three miles
of the very road through which we had retreated.  This river of
lava in the Atrio del Cavallo was sixty or seventy feet deep, and
in some places nearly two miles broad.  Besides the explosions,
which were frequent, there was a continued subterranean and violent
rumbling noise, which lasted five hours in the night,--supposed to
arise from contact of the lava with rain-water lodged in cavities
within.  The whole neighborhood was shaken violently; Portici and
Naples were in the extremity of alarm; the churches were filled;
the streets were thronged with processions of saints, and various
ceremonies were performed to quell the fury of the mountain.

"In the night of the 20th, the occasion being critical, the
prisoners in the public jail attempted to escape, and the mob set
fire to the gates of the residence of the Cardinal Archbishop
because he refused to bring out the relics of St. Januarius.  The
21st was a quieter day, but the whole violence of the eruption
returned on the 22d, at 10 A. M., with the same thundering noise,
but more violent and alarming.  Ashes fell in abundance in the
streets of Naples, covering the housetops and balconies an inch
deep.  Ships at sea, twenty leagues from Naples, were covered with
them.

"In the midst of these horrors, the mob, growing tumultuous and
impatient, obliged the Cardinal to bring out the head of St.
Januarius, at the extremity of Naples, toward Vesuvius; and it is
well attested here that the eruption ceased the moment the saint
came in sight of the mountain.  It is true the noise ceased about
that time after having lasted five hours, as it had done the
preceding days.

"On the 23d the lava still ran, but on the 24th it ceased; but
smoke continued.  On the 25th there rose a vast column of black
smoke, giving out much forked lightning with thunder, in a sky
quite clear except for the smoke of the volcano.  On the 26th smoke
continued, but on the 27th the eruption came to an end."

This eruption was also described by Sir William Hamilton, who
continued to keep a close watch on the movements of the volcano for
many years.  The next outbreak of especial violence took place in
1779, when what seemed to the eye a column of fire ascended two
miles high, while cinder fragments fell far and wide, destroying
the hopes of harvest throughout a wide district.  They fell in
abundance thirty miles distant, and the dust of the explosion was
carried a hundred miles away.

In 1793 the crater became active again, and in 1794 after a period
of short tranquillity or comparative inaction, the mountain again
became agitated, and one of the most formidable eruptions known in
the history of Vesuvius began.  It was in some respects unlike many
others, being somewhat peculiar as to the place of its outburst,
the temperature of the lava, and the course of the current.
Breislak, an Italian geologist, observed the characteristic
phenomena with the eye of science, and his account supplies many
interesting facts.


BREISLAK ON THE ERUPTION OF 1794


Breislak remarked certain changes in the character of the earth's
motions during this six hours' eruption, which led him to some
particular conjecture of the cause.  At the beginning the trembling
was continual, and accompanied by a hollow noise, similar to that
occasioned by a river falling into a subterranean cavern.  The
lava, at the time of its being disgorged, from the impetuous and
uninterrupted manner in which it was ejected, causing it to strike
violently against the walls of the vent, occasioned a continual
oscillation of the mountain.  Toward the middle of the night this
vibratory motion ceased, and was succeeded by distant shocks.  The
fluid mass, diminished in quantity, now pressed less violently
against the walls of the aperture, and no longer issued in a
continual and gushing stream, but only at intervals, when the
interior fermentation elevated the boiling matter above the mouth.
About 4 A. M. the shocks began to be less numerous, and the
intervals between them rendered their force and duration more
perceptible.

During this tremendous eruption at the base of the Vesuvian cone,
and the fearful earthquakes which accompanied it, the summit was
tranquil.  The sky was serene, the stars were brilliant, and only
over Vesuvius hung a thick, dark smoke-cloud, lighted up into an
auroral arch by the glare of a stream of fire more than two miles
long, and more than a quarter of a mile broad.  The sea was calm,
and reflected the red glare; while from the source of the lava came
continual jets of uprushing incandescent stones.  Nearer to view,
Torre del Greco in flames, and clouds of black smoke, with falling
houses, presented a dark and tragical foreground, heightened by the
subterranean thunder of the mountain, and the groans and
lamentations of fifteen thousand ruined men, women and children.

The heavy clouds of ashes which were thrown out on this occasion
gathered in the early morning into a mighty shadow over Naples and
the neighborhood; the sun rose pale and obscure, and a long, dim
twilight reigned afterward.

Such were the phenomena on the western side of Vesuvius.  They were
matched by others on the eastern aspect, not visible at Naples,
except by reflection of their light in the atmosphere.  The lava on
this side flowed eastward, along a route often traversed by lava,
by the broken crest of the Cognolo and the valley of Sorienta.  The
extreme length to which this current reached was not less than an
Italian mile.  The cubic content was estimated to be half that
already assigned to the western currents.  Taken together they
amounted to 20,744,445 cubic metres, or 2,804,440 cubic fathoms;
the constitution of the lava being the same in each, both springing
from one deep-seated reservoir of fluid rock.

The eruption of lava ceased on the 16th, and then followed heavy
discharges of ashes, violent shocks of earthquakes, thunder and
lightning in the columns of vapors and ashes, and finally heavy
rains, lasting till the 3d of July.  The barometer during all the
eruption was steady.

Breislak made an approximate calculation of the quantity of ashes
which fell on Vesuvius during this great eruption, and states the
result as equal to what would cover a circular area 6 kilometres
(about 3 1/2 English miles) in radius, and 39 centimetres (about 15
inches) in depth.


STRANGE EFFECTS


Among the notable things which attended this eruption, it is
recorded that in Torre del Greco metallic and other substances
exposed to the current were variously affected.  Silver was melted,
glass became porcelain, iron swelled to four times its volume and
lost its texture.  Brass was decomposed, and its constituent copper
crystallized in cubic and octahedral forms aggregated in beautiful
branches.  Zinc was sometimes turned to blende.  During the
eruption, the lip of the crater toward Bosco Tre Case on the south
east, fell in, or was thrown off, and the height of that part was
reduced 426 feet.

On the 17th, the sea was found in a boiling state 100 yards off the
new promontory made by the lava of Torre del Greco, and no boat
could remain near it on account of the melting of the pitch in her
bottom.  For nearly a month after the eruption vast quantities of
fine white ashes, mixed with volumes of steam, were thrown out from
the crater; the clouds thus generated were condensed into heavy
rain, and large tracts of the Vesuvian slopes were deluged with
volcanic mud.  It filled ravines, such as Fosso Grande, and
concreted and hardened there into pumiceous tufa--a very
instructive phenomenon.

Immense injury was done to the rich territory of Somma, Ottajano
and Bosco by heavy rains, which swept along cinders, broke up the
road and bridges, and overturned trees and houses for the space of
fifteen days.

There were few years during the nineteenth century in which
Vesuvius did not show symptoms of its internal fires, and at
intervals it manifested much activity, though not equaling the
terrible eruptions of its past history.  The severest eruptions in
that century were those of 1871 and 1876.  In the first a sudden
emission of lava killed twenty spectators at the mouth of the
crater, and only spent its fury after San Sebastian and Massa had
been well nigh annihilated.  Fragments of rock were thrown up to
the height of 4,000 feet, and the explosions were so violent that
the whole countryside fled panic stricken to Naples.  The activity
of the volcano, accompanied by distinct shocks of earthquake,
lasted for a week.

In 1876, for three weeks together, lava streamed down the side of
Vesuvius, sweeping away the village of Cercolo and running nearly
to the sea at Ponte Maddaloni.  There were then formed ten small
craters within the greater one.  But these were united by a later
eruption in 1888, and pressure from beneath formed a vast cone
where they had been.


HARDIHOOD OF THE PEOPLE


It may seem strange that so dangerous a neighborhood should be
inhabited.  But so it is.  Though Pompeii, Herculaneum and Stabiae
lie buried beneath the mud and ashes belched out of the mouth of
Vesuvius, the villages of Portici and Revina, Torre del Greco and
Torre del Annunziata have taken their place, and a large
population, cheerful and prosperous, flourishes around the
disturbed mountain and over the district of which it is the
somewhat untrustworthy safety-valve.

It is thus that man, in his eagerness to cultivate all available
parts of the earth, dares the most frightful perils and ventures
into the most threatening situations, seeking to snatch the means
of life from the very jaws of death.  The danger is soon forgotten,
the need of cultivation of the ground is ever pressing, and no
threats of peril seem capable of restraining the activity of man
for many years.  Though the proposition of abandoning the Island of
Martinique has been seriously considered, the chances are that,
before many years have passed, a cheerful and busy population will
be at work again on the flanks of Mont Pelee.


MOUNT ETNA


On the eastern coast of the Island of Sicily, and not far from the
sea, rises in solitary grandeur Mount Etna, the largest and highest
of European volcanoes.  Its height above the level of the sea is a
little over 10,870 feet, considerably above the limit of perpetual
snow.  It accordingly presents the striking phenomenon of volcanic
vapors ascending from a snow-clad summit.  The base of the mountain
is eighty-seven miles in circumference, and nearly circular; but
there is a wide additional extent all around overspread by its
lava.  The lower portions of the mountain are exceedingly fertile,
and richly adorned with corn-fields, vineyards, olive-groves and
orchards.  Above this region are extensive forests, chiefly of oak,
chestnut, and pine, with here and there clumps of cork-trees and
beech.  In this forest region are grassy glades, which afford rich
pasture to numerous flocks.  Above the forest lies a volcanic
desert, covered with black lava and slag.  Out of this region,
which is comparatively flat rises the principal cone, about 1,100
feet in height, having on its summit the crater, whence sulphurous
vapors are continually evolved.

The great height of Etna has exerted a remarkable influence on its
general conformation: for the volcanic forces have rarely been of
sufficient energy to throw the lava quite up to the crater at the
summit.  The consequence has been, that numerous subsidiary craters
and cones have been formed all around the flanks of the mountain,
so that it has become rather a cluster of volcanoes than a single
volcanic cone.

The eruptions of this mountain have been numerous, records of them
extending back to several centuries before the Christian era, while
unrecorded ones doubtless took place much further back.  After the
beginning of the Christian era, and more especially after the
breaking forth of Vesuvius in 79 A. D., Etna enjoyed longer
intervals of repose.  Its eruptions since that time have
nevertheless been numerous--more especially during the intervals
when Vesuvius was inactive--there being a sort of alternation
between the periods of great activity of the two mountains;
although there are not a few instances of their having been both in
action at the same time.


SIMILARITY IN ETNA'S ERUPTIONS


There is a great similarity in the character of the eruptions of
Etna.  Earthquakes presage the outburst, loud explosions follow,
rifts and bocche del fuoco open in the sides of the mountain;
smoke, sand, ashes and scoriae are discharged, the action localizes
itself in one or more craters, cinders are thrown up and accumulate
around the crater and cone, ultimately lava rises and frequently
breaks down one side of the cone where the resistance is least;
then the eruption is at an end.

Smyth says: "The symptoms which precede an eruption are generally
irregular clouds of smoke, ferilli or volcanic lightnings, hollow
intonations and local earthquakes that often alarm the surrounding
country as far as Messina, and have given the whole province the
name of Val Demone, as being the abode of infernal spirits.  These
agitations increase until the vast cauldron becomes surcharged with
the fused minerals, when, if the convulsion is not sufficiently
powerful to force them from the great crater (which, from its great
altitude and the weight of the candent matter, requires an uncommon
effort), they explode through that part of the side which offers
the least resistance with a grand and terrific effect, throwing
red-hot stones and flakes of fire to an incredible height, and
spreading ignited cinders and ashes in every direction."

After the eruption of ashes, lava frequently follows, sometimes
rising to the top of the cone of cinders, at others disrupting it
on the least resisting side.  When the lava has reached the base of
the cone it begins to flow down the mountain, and, being then in a
very fluid state, it moves with great velocity.  As it cools, the
sides and surface begin to harden, its velocity decreases, and
after several days it moves only a few yards an hour.  The internal
portions, however, part slowly with their heat, and months after
the eruption clouds of steam arise from the black and externally
cold lava-beds after rain; which, having penetrated through the
cracks, has found its way to the heated mass within.


THE ERUPTION OF 1669


The most memorable of the eruptions of Etna was that which elevated
the double cone of Monte Rossi and destroyed a large part of the
city of Catania.  It happened in the year 1669, and was preceded by
an earthquake, which overthrew the town of Nicolosi, situated ten
miles inland from Catania, and about twenty miles from the top of
Etna.  The eruption began with the sudden opening of an enormous
fissure, extending from a little way above Nicolosi to within about
a mile of the top of the principal cone, its length being twelve
miles, its average breadth six feet, its depth unknown.

We have a more detailed account of this eruption than of any
preceding one, as it was observed by men of science from various
countries.  The account from which we select is that of Alfonso
Borelli, Professor of Mathematics in Catania.

From the fissure above mentioned, he says, there came a bright
light.  Six mouths opened in a line with it and emitted vast
columns of smoke, accompanied by loud bellowings which could be
heard forty miles off.  Towards the close of the day a crater
opened about a mile below the others, which ejected red-hot stones
to a considerable distance, and afterward sand and ashes which
covered the country for a distance of sixty miles.  The new crater
soon vomited forth a torrent of lava which presented a front of two
miles; it encircled Monpilieri, and afterward flowed towards
Belpasso, a town of 8,000 inhabitants, which was speedily
destroyed.  Seven mouths of fire opened around the new crater, and
in three days united with it, forming one large crater 800 feet in
diameter.  All this time the torrent of lava continued to descend,
it destroying the town of Mascalucia on the 23d of March.  On the
same day the crater cast up great quantities of sand, ashes and
scoriae, and formed above itself the great double-coned hill now
called Monte Rossi, from the red color of the ashes of which it is
mainly composed.


VILLAGES AND CITIES BURIED


On the 25th very violent earthquakes occurred, and the cone above
the great central crater was shaken down into the crater for the
fifth time since the first century A. D.  The original current of
lava divided into three streams, one of which destroyed San Pietro,
the second Camporotondo, and the third the lands about Mascalucia
and afterward the village of Misterbianco.  Fourteen villages were
altogether destroyed, and the lava flowed toward Catania.  At
Albanelli, two miles from the city, it undermined a hill covered
with cornfields and carried it forward a considerable distance.  A
vineyard was also seen to be floating on its fiery surface.  When
the lava reached the walls of Catania, it accumulated without
progression until it rose to the top of the wall, 60 feet in
height, and it then fell over in a fiery cascade and overwhelmed a
part of the city.  Another portion of the same stream threw down
120 feet of the wall and flowed into the city.

On the 23d of April the lava reached the sea, which it entered as a
stream 600 yards broad and 40 feet deep.  The stream had moved at
the rate of thirteen miles in twenty days, but as it cooled it
moved less quickly, and during the last twenty-three days of its
course, it advanced only two miles.  On reaching the sea the water,
of course, began to boil violently, and clouds of steam arose,
carrying with them particles of scoriae.  Towards the end of April
the stream on the west side of Catania, which had appeared to be
consolidated, again burst forth, and flowed into the garden of the
Benedictine Monastery of San Niccola, and then branched off into
the city.  Attempts were made to build walls to arrest its
progress.

An attempt of another kind was made by a gentleman of Catania,
named Pappalardo, who took fifty men with him, having previously
provided them with skins for protection from the intense heat and
with crowbars to effect an opening in the lava.  They pierced the
solid outer crust of solidified lava, and a rivulet of the molten
interior immediately gushed out and flowed in the direction of
Paterno, whereupon 500 men of that town, alarmed for its safety,
took up arms and caused Pappalardo and his men to desist.  The lava
did not altogether stop for four months, and two years after it had
ceased to flow it was found to be red hot beneath the surface.
Even eight years after the eruption quantities of steam escaped
from the lava after a shower of rain.


THE STONES EJECTED


The stones which were ejected from the crater during this eruption
were often of considerable magnitude, and Borelli calculated that
the diameter of one which he saw was 50 feet; it was thrown to a
distance of a mile, and as it fell it penetrated the earth to a
depth of 23 feet.  The volume of lava emitted during the eruption
amounted to many millions of cubic feet.  Ferara considers that the
length of the stream was at least fifteen miles, while its average
width was between two and three miles, so that it covered at least
forty square miles of surface.

Among the towns overflowed by this great eruption was Mompilieri.
Thirty-five years afterward, in 1704, an excavation was made on the
site of the principal church of this place, and at the depth of
thirty-five feet the workmen came upon the gate, which was adorned
with three statues.  From under an arch which had been formed by
the lava, one of these statues, with a bell and some coins, were
extracted in good preservation.  This fact is remarkable; for in a
subsequent eruption, which happened in 1766, a hill about fifty
feet in height, being surrounded on either side by two streams of
lava, was in a quarter of an hour swept along by the current.  The
latter event may be explained by supposing that the hill in
question was cavernous in its structure, and that the lava,
penetrating into the cavities, forced asunder their walls, and so
detached the superincumbent mass from its supports.

It is not by its streams of fire alone that Etna ravages the
valleys and plains at its base.  It sometimes also deluges them
with great floods of water.  On the 2d of March, 1755, two streams
of lava, issuing from the highest crater, were at once precipitated
on an enormous mass of very deep snow, which then clothed the
summit.  These fiery currents ran through the snow to a distance of
three miles, melting it as they flowed.  The consequence was, that
a tremendous torrent of water rushed down the sides of the
mountain, carrying with it vast quantities of sand, volcanic
cinders and blocks of lava, with which it overspread the flanks of
the mountain and the plains beneath, which it devastated in its
course.

The volume of water was estimated at 16,000,000 cubic feet, it
forming a channel two miles broad and in some places thirty-four
feet deep, and flowing at the rate of two-thirds of a mile in a
minute.  All the winter's snow on the mountain could not have
yielded such a flood, and Lyell considered that it melted older
layers of ice which had been preserved under a covering of volcanic
dust.


ETNA IN 1819


Another great eruption took place in 1819, which presented some
peculiarities.  Near the point whence the highest stream of lava
issued in 1811, there were opened three large mouths, which, with
loud explosions, threw up hot cinders and sand, illuminated by a
strong glare from beneath.  Shortly afterwards there was opened, a
little lower down, another mouth, from which a similar eruption
took place; and still farther down there soon appeared a fifth,
whence there flowed a torrent of lava which rapidly spread itself
over the Val del Bove.  During the first forty-eight hours it
flowed nearly four miles, when it received a great accession.  The
three original mouths became united into one large crater, from
which, as well as from the other two mouths below, there poured
forth a vastly augmented torrent of lava, which rushed with great
impetuosity down the same valley.

During its progress over this gentle slope, it acquired the usual
crust of hardened slag.  It directed its course towards that point
at which Val del Bove opens into the narrow ravine beneath it--
there being between the two a deep and almost perpendicular
precipice.  Arrived at this point, the lava-torrent leaped over the
precipice in a vast cascade, and with a thundering noise, arising
chiefly from the crashing and breaking up of the solid crust, which
was in a great measure pounded to atoms by the fall; it throwing up
such vast clouds of dust as to awaken an alarm that a fresh
eruption had begun at this place, which is within the wooded
region.

A very violent eruption, which lasted more than nine months,
commenced on the 21st of August, 1852.  It was first witnessed by a
party of English tourists, who were ascending the mountain from
Nicolosi in order to see the sunrise from the summit.  As they
approached the Casa Inglesi the crater commenced to give forth
ashes and flames of fire.  In a narrow defile they were met by a
violent hurricane, which overthrew both the mules and their riders,
and urged them toward the precipices of the Val del Bove.  They
sheltered themselves beneath some masses of lava, when suddenly an
earthquake shook the mountain, and their mules in terror fled away.
As day approached they returned on foot to Nicolosi, fortunately
without having sustained injury.  In the course of the night many
bocche del fuoco (small lava vents) opened in that part of the Val
del Bove called the Bazo di Trifoglietto, a great fissure opened at
the base of the Giannicola Grande, and a crater was thrown up from
which for seventeen days showers of sand and scoriae were ejected.


EFFECT OF THE ERUPTION


During the next day a quantity of lava flowed down the Val del
Bove, branching off so that one stream advanced to the foot of
Monte Finocchio, and the other to Monte Calanna.  Afterwards it
flowed towards Zaffarana, and devastated a large tract of wooded
region.  Four days later a second crater was formed near the first,
from which lava was emitted, together with sand and scoriae, which
caused cones to arise around the craters.  The lava moved but
slowly, and towards the end of August it came to a stand, only a
quarter of a mile from Zaffarana.

On the second of September, Gemellaro ascended Monte Finocchio in
the Val del Bove in order to witness the outburst.  He states that
the hill was violently agitated, like a ship at sea.  The surface
of the Val del Bove appeared like a molten lake; scoriae were
thrown up from the craters to a great height, and loud explosions
were heard at frequent intervals.  The eruption continued to
increase in violence.  On October 6 two new mouths opened in the
Val del Bove, emitting lava which flowed towards the valley of
Calanna, and fell over the Salto della Giumenta, a precipice nearly
200 feet deep.  The noise which it produced was like that of a
clash of metallic masses.  The eruption continued with abated
violence during the early months of 1853, and it did not finally
cease till May 27.  The entire mass of lava ejected is estimated to
have been equal to an area six miles long by two miles broad, with
an average depth of about twelve feet.

This eruption was one of the grandest of all the known eruptions of
Etna.  During its outflow more than 2,000,000,000 cubic feet of
molten lava was spread out over a space of three square miles.
There have been several eruptions since its date, but none of
marked prominence, though the mountain is rarely quiescent for any
lengthened period.


THE LIPARI VOLCANOES


South-eastward of Ischia, between Calabria and Sicily, the Lipari
Islands arrest attention for the volcanic phenomena they present.
On one of these is Mount Vulcano, or Volcano, from which all this
class of mountains is named.  At present the best known of the
Lipari volcanoes is Stromboli, which consists of a single mountain,
having a very obtuse conical form.  It has on one side of it
several small craters, of which only one is at present in a state
of activity.

The total height of the mountain is about 2000 feet, and the
principal crater is situated at about two-thirds of the height.
Stromboli is one of the most active volcanoes in the world.  It is
mentioned as being in a state of activity by several writers before
the Christian era, and the commencement of its operations extends
into the past beyond the limits of tradition.  Since history began
its action has never wholly ceased, although it may have varied in
intensity from time to time.

It has been observed that the violence of its eruptive force has a
certain dependence on the weather--being always most intense when
the barometer is lowest.  From the position of the crater, it is
possible to ascend the mountain and look down upon it from above.
Even when viewed in this manner, it presents a very striking
appearance.  While there is an uninterrupted continuance of small
explosions, there is a frequent succession of more violent
eruptions, at intervals varying in length from seven to fifteen
minutes.


HOFFMAN AT STROMBOLI


Several eminent observers have approached quite close to the
crater, and examined it narrowly.  One of these was M. Hoffman, who
visited it in 1828.

This eminent geologist, while having his legs held by his
companions, stretched his head over the precipice, and, looking
right down into the mouth of one of the vents of the crater
immediately under him, watched the play of liquid lava within it.
Its surface resembled molten silver, and was constantly rising and
falling at regular intervals.  A bubble of white vapor rose and
escaped, with a decrepitating noise, at each ascent of the lava--
tossing up red-hot fragments of scoria, which continued dancing up
and down with a sort of rhythmic play upon the surface.  At
intervals of fifteen minutes or so, there was a pause in these
movements.  Then followed a loud report, while the ground trembled,
and there rose to the surface of the lava an immense bubble of
vapor.  This, bursting with a crackling noise, threw out to the
height of about 1200 feet large quantities of red-hot stones and
scoriae, which, describing parabolic curves, fell in a fiery,
shower all around.  After another brief repose, the more moderate
action was resumed as before.

Lipari, a neighboring volcano, was formerly more active than
Stromboli, though for centuries past it has been in a state of
complete quiescence.  The Island of Volcano lies south of Lipari.
Its crater was active before the Christian era, and still emits
sulphurous and other vapors.  At present its main office is to
serve as a sulphur mine.  Thus the peak which gives title to all
fire-breathing mountains has become a servant to man.  So are the
mighty fallen!



CHAPTER XXIII.

Skaptar Jokull and Hecla, the Great Icelandic Volcanoes.


The far-northern island of Iceland, on the verge of the frozen
Arctic realm, is one of the most volcanic countries in the world,
whether we regard the number of volcanoes concentrated in so small
a space, or the extraordinary violence of their eruptions.  Of
volcanic mountains there are no less than twenty which have been
active during historical times.  Skaptar in the north, and Hecla in
the south, being much the best known.  In all, twenty-three
eruptions are on record.

Iceland's volcanoes rival Mount Aetna in height and magnitude,
their action has been more continuous and intense, and the range of
volcanic products is far greater than in Sicily.  The latter
island, indeed, is not one-tenth of volcanic origin, while the
whole of Iceland is due to the work of subterranean forces.  It is
entirely made up of volcanic rocks, and has seemingly been built up
during the ages from the depths of the seas.  It is reported,
indeed, that a new island, the work of volcanic forces, appeared
opposite Mount Hecla in 1563; but this statement is open to doubt.


VOLCANOES IN ICELAND


The eruptions of the volcanoes in Iceland have been amongst the
most terrible of those carefully recorded.  The cold climate of the
island and the height of the mountains produce vast quantities of
snow and ice, which cover the volcanoes and fill up the cracks and
valleys in their sides.  When, therefore, an eruption commences,
the intense heat of the boiling lava, and of the steam which rushes
forth from the crater, makes the whole mountain hot, and vast
masses of ice, great fields of snow, and deluges of water roll down
the hill-sides into the plains.  The lava pours from the top and
from cracks in the side of the mountain, or is ejected hundreds of
feet, to fall amongst the ice and snow; and the great masses of
red-hot stone cast forth, accompanied by cinders and fine ashes,
splash into the roaring torrent, which tears up rocks in its course
and devastates the surrounding country for miles.


DREADFUL FLOODS


An eruption of Kotlugja, in 1860, was accompanied by dreadful
floods.  It began with a number of earthquakes, which shook the
surrounding country.  Then a dark columnar cloud of vapor was seen
to rise by day from the mountain, and by night balls of fire
(volcanic bombs) and red-hot cinders to the height of 24,000 feet
(nearly five miles), which were seen at a distance of 180 miles.
Deluges of water rushed from the heights, bearing along whole
fields of ice and rocky fragments of every size, some vomited from
the volcano, but in great part torn from the flanks of the mountain
itself and carried to the sea, there to add considerably to the
coastline after devastating the intervening country.  The fountain
of volcanic bombs consisted of masses of lava, containing gases
which exploded and produced a loud sound, which was said to have
been heard at a distance of 100 miles.  The size of the bombs, and
the height to which they must have reached, were very great.  But
the most remarkable of the historical eruptions in Iceland were
those of Skaptar Jokull in 1783, and of Hecla in 1845.  Of these an
extended description is worthy of being given.

Of these two memorable eruptions, that of Skaptar Jokull began on
the 11th of June, 1783.  It was preceded by a long series of
earthquakes, which had become exceedingly violent immediately
before the eruption.  On the 8th, volcanic vapors were emitted from
the summit of the mountain, and on the 11th immense torrents of
lava began to be poured forth from numerous mouths.  These torrents
united to form a large stream, which, flowing down into the river
Skapta, not only dried it up, but completely filled the vast gorge
through which the river had held its course.  This gorge, 200 feet
in breadth, and from 400 to 600 feet in depth, the lava filled so
entirely as to overflow to a considerable extent the fields on
either side.  On issuing from this ravine, the lava flowed into a
deep lake which lay in the course of the river.  Here it was
arrested for a while; but it ultimately filled the bed of the lake
altogether--either drying up its waters, or chasing them before it
into the lower part of the river's course.  Still forced onward by
the accumulation of molten lava from behind, the stream resumed its
advance, till it reached some ancient volcanic rocks which were
full of caverns.  Into these it entered, and where it could not eat
its way by melting the old rock, it forced a passage by shivering
the solid mass and throwing its broken fragments into the air to a
height of 150 feet.


A TORRENT OF LAVA


On the 18th of June there opened above the first mouth a second of
large dimensions, whence poured another immense torrent of lava,
which flowed with great rapidity over the solidified surface of the
first stream, and ultimately combined with it to form a more
formidable main current.  When this fresh stream reached the fiery
lake, which had filled the lower portion of the valley of the
Skapta, a portion of it was forced up the channel of that river
towards the foot of the hill whence it takes its rise.  After
pursuing its course for several days, the main body of this stream
reached the edge of a great waterfall called Stapafoss, which
plunged into a deep abyss.  Displacing the water, the lava here
leaped over the precipice, and formed a great cataract of fire.
After this, it filled the channel of the river, though extending
itself in breadth far beyond it, and followed it until it reached
the sea.


ENORMOUS QUANTITY OF LAVA


The 3rd of August brought fresh accessions to the flood of lava
still pouring from the mountain.  There being no room in the
channel, now filled by the former lurid stream, which had pursued a
northwesterly course, the fresh lava was forced to take a new
direction towards the southeast, where it entered the bed of
another river with a barbaric name.  Here it pursued a course
similar to that which flowed through the channel of the Skapta,
filling up the deep gorges, and then spreading itself out into
great fiery lakes over the plains.

The eruptions of lava from the mountain continued, with some short
intervals, for two years, and so enormous was the quantity poured
forth during this period that, according to a careful estimate
which has been made, the whole together would form a mass equal to
that of Mont Blanc.  Of the two streams, the greater was fifty, the
less forty, miles in length.  The Skapta branch attained on the
plains a breadth varying from twelve to fifteen miles--that of the
other was only about half as much.  Each of the currents had an
average depth of 100 feet, but in the deep gorges it was no less
than 600 feet.  Even as late as 1794 vapors continued to rise from
these great streams, and the water contained in the numerous
fissures formed in their crust was hot.

The devastation directly wrought by the lava currents themselves
was not the whole of the evils they brought upon unfortunate
Iceland and its inhabitants.  Partly owing to the sudden melting of
the snows and glaciers of the mountain, partly owing to the
stoppage of the river courses, immense floods of water deluged the
country in the neighborhood, destroying many villages and a large
amount of agricultural and other property.  Twenty villages were
overwhelmed by the lava currents, while the ashes thrown out during
the eruption covered the whole island and the surface of the sea
for miles around its shores.  On several occasions the ashes were
drifted by the winds over considerable parts of the European
continent, obscuring the sun and giving the sky a gray and gloomy
aspect.  In certain respects they reproduced the phenomena of the
explosion of Mount Krakatoa, which, singularly, occurred just a
century later, in 1883.  The strange red sunset phenomena of the
latter were reproduced by this Icelandic event of the eighteenth
century.

Out of the 50,000 persons who then inhabited Iceland, 9,336
perished, together with 11,460 head of cattle, 190,480 sheep and
28,000 horses.  This dreadful destruction of life was caused partly
by the direct action of the lava currents, partly by the noxious
vapors they emitted, partly by the floods of water, partly by the
destruction of the herbage by the falling ashes, and lastly in
consequence of the desertion of the coasts by the fish, which
formed a large portion of the food of the people.


ERUPTION OF MOUNT HECLA


After this frightful eruption, no serious volcanic disturbance took
place in Iceland until 1845, when Mount Hecla again became
disastrously active.  Mount Hecla has been the most frequent in its
eruptions of any of the Icelandic volcanoes.  Previous to 1845
there had been twenty-two recorded eruptions of this mountain,
since the discovery of Iceland in the ninth century; while from all
the other volcanoes in the island there had been only twenty during
the same period.  Hecla has more than once remained in activity for
six years at a time--a circumstance that has rendered it the best
known of the volcanoes of this region.


LATER OUTBREAKS


After enjoying a long rest of seventy-nine years, this volcano
burst again into violent activity in the beginning of September,
1845.  The first inkling of this eruption was conveyed to the
British Islands by a fall of volcanic ashes in the Orkneys, which
occurred on the night of September 2nd during a violent storm.
This palpable hint was soon confirmed by direct intelligence from
Copenhagen.  On the 1st of September a severe earthquake, followed
the same night by fearful subterranean noises, alarmed the
inhabitants and gave warning of what was to come.  About noon the
next day, with a dreadful crash, there opened in the sides of the
volcano two new mouths, whence two great streams of glowing lava
poured forth.  They fortunately flowed down the northern and
northwestern sides of the mountain, where the low grounds are mere
barren heaths, affording a scanty pasture for a few sheep.  These
were driven before the fiery stream, but several of them were burnt
before they could escape.  The whole mountain was enveloped in
clouds of volcanic ashes and vapors.  The rivers near the lava
currents became so hot as to kill the fish, and to be impassable
even on horseback.

About a fortnight later there was a fresh eruption, of greater
violence, which lasted twenty-two hours, and was accompanied by
detonations so loud as to be heard over the whole island.  Two new
craters were formed, one on the southern, the other on the eastern
slope of the cone.  The lava issuing from these craters flowed to a
distance of more than twenty-two miles.  At about two miles from
its source the fiery stream was a mile wide, and from 40 to 50 feet
deep.  It destroyed a large extent of fine pasture and many cattle.
Nearly a month later, on the 15th of October, a fresh flood of lava
burst from the southern crater, and soon heaped up a mass at the
foot of the mountain from 40 to 60 feet in height, three great
columns of vapor, dust and ashes rising at the same time from the
three new craters of the volcano.  The mountain continued in a
state of greater or less activity during most of the next year; and
even as late as the month of October, 1846, after a brief pause, it
began again with renewed vehemence.  The volumes of dust, ashes and
vapor, thrown up from the craters, and brightly illuminated by the
glowing lava beneath, assumed the appearance of flames, and
ascended to an immense height.


ELECTRIC PHENOMENA


Among the stones tossed out of the craters was one large mass of
pumice weighing nearly half a ton, which was carried to a distance
of between four and five miles.  The rivers were flooded by the
melting of ice and snow which had accumulated on the mountain.  The
greatest mischief wrought by these successive eruptions was the
destruction of the pasturages, which were for the most part covered
with volcanic ashes.  Even where left exposed, the herbage acquired
a poisonous taint which proved fatal to the cattle, inducing among
them a peculiar murrain.  Fortunately, owing to the nature of the
district through which the lava passed, there was on this occasion
no loss of human life.

The Icelandic volcanoes are remarkable for the electric phenomena
which they produce in the atmosphere.  Violent thunder-storms, with
showers of rain and hail, are frequent accompaniments of volcanic
eruptions everywhere; but owing to the coldness and dryness of the
air into which the vapors from the Icelandic volcanoes ascend,
their condensation is so sudden and violent that great quantities
of electricity are developed.  Thunder-storms accompanied by the
most vivid lightnings are the result.  Humboldt mentions in his
"Cosmos" that, during an eruption of Kotlugja, one of the southern
Icelandic volcanoes, the lightning from the cloud of volcanic vapor
killed eleven horses and two men (Cosmos i. 223).  Great displays
of the aurora borealis usually accompany the volcanic eruptions of
this island--doubtless resulting from the quantity of electricity
imparted to the higher atmosphere by the condensation of the
ascending vapors.  On the 18th of August, 1783, while the great
eruption of Skaptar Jokull was in progress, an immense fire-ball
passed over England and the European continent as far as Rome.
This ball which was estimated to have had a diameter exceeding half
a mile, is supposed to have been of electrical origin, and due to
the high state of electric tension in the atmosphere over Iceland
at that time.



CHAPTER XXIV.

Volcanoes of the Philippines and Other Pacific Islands.


We cannot do better than open this chapter with an account of the
work of volcanoes in the mountain-girdled East Indian island of
Java.  This large and fertile tropical island has a large native
population, and many European settlers are employed in cultivating
spices, coffee and woods.  The island is rather more than 600 miles
long, and it is not 150 miles broad in any part; and this narrow
shape is produced by a chain of volcanoes which runs along it.
There is scarcely any other region in the world where volcanoes are
so numerous, even in the East, where the volcano is a very common
product of nature.  Some of the volcanoes of Java are constantly in
eruption, while others are inactive.

One of their number, Galung Gung, was previous to 1822 covered from
top to bottom with a dense forest; around it were populous
villages.  The mountain was high; there was a slight hollow on its
top--a basin-like valley, carpeted with the softest sward; brooks
rippled down the hillside through the forests, and, joining their
silvery streams, flowed on through beautiful valleys into the
distant sea.  In the month of July, 1822, there were signs of an
approaching disturbance; this tranquil peacefulness was at an end;
one of the rivers became muddy, and its waters grew hot.

In October, without any warning, a most terrific eruption occurred.
A loud explosion was heard; the earth shook, and immense columns of
hot water, boiling mud mixed with burning brimstone, ashes and
stones, were hurled upwards from the mountain top like a
waterspout, and with such wonderful force that large quantities
fell at a distance of forty miles.  Every valley near the mountain
became filled with burning torrents; the rivers, swollen with hot
water and mud, overflowed their banks, and swept away the escaping
villagers; and the bodies of cattle, wild beasts, and birds were
carried down the flooded stream.


ERUPTION OF GALUNG GUNG


A space of twenty-four miles between the mountain and a river forty
miles distant was covered to such a depth with blue mud, that
people were buried in their houses, and not a trace of the numerous
villages and plantations was visible.  The boiling mud and cinders
were cast forth with such violence from the crater, that while many
distant villages were utterly destroyed and buried, others much
nearer the volcano were scarcely injured; and all this was done in
five short hours.

Four days afterwards a second eruption occurred more violent than
the first, and hot water and mud were cast forth with masses of
slag like the rock called basalt some of which fell seven miles
off.  A violent earthquake shook the whole district, and the top of
the mountain fell in, and so did one of its sides, leaving a gaping
chasm.  Hills appeared where there had been level land before, and
the rivers changed their courses, drowning in one night 2,000
people.  At some distance from the mountain a river runs through a
large town, and the first intimation the inhabitants had of all
this horrible destruction was the news that the bodies of men and
the carcases of stags, rhinoceroses, tigers, and other animals,
were rushing along to the sea.  No less than 114 villages were
destroyed, and above 4,000 persons were killed by this terrible
catastrophe.

Fifty years before this eruption, Mount Papandayang, one of the
highest burning mountains of Java, was constantly throwing out
steam and smoke, but as no harm was done, the natives continued to
live on its sides.  Suddenly this enormous mountain fell in, and
left a gap fifteen miles long and six broad.  Forty villages were
destroyed, some being carried down and others overwhelmed by mud
and burning lava.  No less than 2,957 people perished, with vast
numbers of cattle; moreover, most of the coffee plantations in the
neighboring districts were destroyed.

Even more terrible was the eruption of Mount Salek, another of the
volcanoes of Java.  The burning of the mountain was seen 100 miles
away, while the thunders of its convulsions and the tremblings of
the earth reached the same distance.  Seven hills, at whose base
ran a river--crowded with dead buffaloes, deer, apes, tigers, and
crocodiles--slipped down and became a level plain.  River-courses
were changed, forests were burnt up, and the whole face of the
country was completely altered.

Later volcanic eruptions in Java include that of 1843, when Mount
Guntur flung out sand and ashes estimated at the vast total of
thirty million tons, and those of 1849 and 1872 when Mount Merapi,
a very active volcano, covered a great extent of country with
stones and ashes, and ruined the coffee plantations of the
neighboring districts.

We have said nothing concerning the most terrible explosion of all,
that of the volcanic island of Krakatoa, off the Javan coast.  This
event was so phenomenal as to deserve a chapter of its own, for
which we reserve it.

The United States, as one result of its recent acquisition of
island dominions, has added largely to its wealth in volcanic
mountains.  The famous Hawaiian craters, far the greatest in the
world, now belong to our national estate, and the Philippine
Islands contain various others, of less importance, yet some of
which have proved very destructive.  A description of those of the
Island of Luzon, which are the most active in the archipelago, is
here sub-joined.


THE LUZON VOLCANOES.


Volcanoes have played an important part in the formation of the
Philippine Islands and have left traces of their former activity in
all directions.  Most of them, however, have long been dead and
silent, only a few of the once numerous group being now active.  Of
these there are three of importance in the southern region of
Luzon--Taal, Bulusan and Mayon or Albay.

The last named of these is the largest and most active of the
existing volcanoes.  In form it is of marvellous grace and beauty,
forming a perfect cone, about fifty miles in circuit at base and
rising to a height of 8,900 feet.  It is one of the most prominent
landmarks to navigators in the island.  From its crater streams
upward a constant smoke, accompanied at times by flame, while from
its depths issue subterranean sounds, often heard at a distance of
many leagues.  The whole surrounding country is marked by evidences
of old eruptions.

This mountain, in 1767, sent up a cone of flame of forty feet in
diameter at base, for ten days, and for two months a wide stream of
lava poured from its crater.  A month later there gushed forth
great floods of water, which filled the rivers to overflow, doing
widespread damage to the neighboring plantations.  But its greatest
and most destructive eruption took place in 1812, the year of the
great eruption of the St. Vincent volcano.  On this fatal occasion
several towns were destroyed and no less than 12,000 people lost
their lives.  The debris flung forth from the crater were so
abundant that deposits deep enough to bury the tallest trees were
formed near the mountain.  In 1867 another disastrous explosion
took place, and still another in 1888.  A disaster different in
kind and cause occurred in 1876, when a terrible tropical storm
burst upon the mountain.  The floods of rain swept from its sides
the loose volcanic material, and brought destruction to the
neighboring country, more than six thousand houses being ruined by
the rushing flood.


BULUSAN AND TAAL


Bulusan, a volcano on the southern extremity of the island,
resembles Vesuvius in shape.  For many years it remained dormant,
but in 1852 smoke began to issue from its crater.  In some respects
the most interesting of these three volcanoes is that of Taal,
which lies almost due south of Manila and about forty-five miles
distant, on a small island in the middle of a large lake, known as
Bombom or Bongbong.  A remarkable feature of this volcanic mountain
is that it is probably the lowest in the world, its height being
only 850 feet above sea level.  There are doubtful traditions that
Lake Bombom, a hundred square miles in extent, was formed by a
terrible eruption in 1700, by which a lofty mountain 8000 or 9000
feet high, was destroyed.  The vast deposits of porous tufa in the
surrounding country are certainly evidences of former great
eruptions from Mount Taal.

The crater of this volcano is an immense, cup-shaped depression, a
mile or more in diameter and about 800 feet deep.  When recently
visited by Professor Worcester, during his travels in these
islands, he found it to contain three boiling lakelets of
strangely-colored water, one being of a dirty brown hue, a second
intensely yellow in tint, and the third of a brilliant emerald
green.  The mountain still steams and fumes, as if too actively at
work below to be at rest above.  In past times it has shown the
forces at play in its depths by breaking at times into frightful
activity.  Of the various explosions on record, the three most
violent were those of 1716, 1749, and 1754.  In the last-named year
the earth for miles round quaked with the convulsive throes of the
deeply disturbed mountain, and vast quantities of volcanic dust
were hurled high into the air, sufficient to make it dark at midday
for many leagues around.  The roofs of distant Manila were covered
with volcanic dust and ashes.  Molten lava also poured from the
crater and flowed into the lake, which boiled with the intense
heat, while great showers of stones and ashes fell into its waters.


VOLCANOES IN THE SOUTHERN ISLANDS


Extinct volcanoes are numerous in Luzon, and there are smoking
cones in the north, and also in the Babuyanes Islands still farther
north.  Volcanoes also exist in several of the other islands.  On
Negros is the active peak of Malaspina, and on Camiguin, an island
about ninety miles to the southeast, a new volcano broke out in
1876.  The large island of Mindanao has three volcanoes, of which
Cottabato was in eruption in 1856 and is still active at intervals.
Apo, the largest of the three, estimated to be 10,312 feet high,
has three summits, within which lies the great crater, now extinct
and filled with water.

In evidence of former volcanic activity are the abundant deposits
of sulphur on the island of Leyte, the hot springs in various
localities, and the earthquakes which occasionally bring death and
destruction.  Of the many of these on record, the most destructive
was in 1863, when 400 people were killed and 2,000 injured, while
many buildings were wrecked.  Another in 1880 wrought great
destruction in Manila and elsewhere, though without loss of life.
An earthquake in Mindanao in 1675 opened a passage to the sea, and
a vast plain emerged.  These convulsions of the earth affect the
form and elevation of buildings, which are rarely more than two
stories high and lightly built, while translucent sea-shells
replace glass in their windows.

While Java is the most prolific in volcanoes of the islands of the
Malayan Archipelago, other islands of the group possess active
cones, including Sumatra, Bali, Amboyna, Banda and others.  In
Sanguir, an island north of Celebes, is a volcanic mountain from
which there was a destructive eruption in 1856.  The country was
devastated with lava, stones and volcanic ashes, ruining a wide
district and killing nearly 3,000 of the inhabitants.  Mount
Madrian in one of the Spice Islands, was rent in twain by a fierce
eruption in 1646, and since then has remained two distinct
mountains.  It became active again in 1862, after two centuries of
repose, and caused great loss of life and property.  Sorea, a small
island of the same group, forming but a single volcanic mountain,
had an eruption in 1693, the cone crumbling gradually till a vast
crater was formed, filled with liquid lava and occupying nearly
half the island.  This lake of fire increased in size by the same
process till in the end it took possession of the island and forced
all the inhabitants to flee to more hospitable shores.


THE GREAT ERUPTION OF TOMBORO


But of the East Indian Islands Sumbawa, lying east of Java,
contains the most formidable volcano--one indeed scarcely without a
rival in the world.  This is named Tomboro.  Of its various
eruptions the most furious on record was that of 1815.  This, as we
are told by Sir Stamford Raffles, far exceeded in force and
duration any of the known outbreaks of Etna or Vesuvius.  The
ground trembled and the echoes of its roar were heard through an
area of 1,000 miles around the volcano, and to a distance of 300
miles its effects were astounding.

In Java, 300 miles away, ashes filled the air so thickly that the
solar rays could not penetrate them, and fell to the depth of
several inches.  The detonations were so similar to the reports of
artillery as to be mistaken for them.  The Rajah of Sang'ir, who
was an eye-witness of the eruption, thus described it to Sir
Stamford:

"About 7 P. M. on the 10th of April, three distinct columns of
flame burst forth near the top of the Tomboro mountain (all of them
apparently within the verge of the crater), and, after ascending
separately to a very great height, their tops united in the air in
a troubled, confused manner.  In short time the whole mountain next
Sang'ir appeared like a body of liquid fire, extending itself in
every direction.  The fire and columns of flame continued to rage
with unabated fury, until the darkness caused by the quantity of
falling matter obscured them, at about 8 P. M.  Stones at this time
fell very thick at Sang'ir--some of them as large as two fists, but
generally not larger than walnuts.  Between 9 and 10 P. M. ashes
began to fall, and soon after a violent whirlwind ensued, which
blew down nearly every house in the village of Sang'ir--carrying
the roofs and light parts away with it.  In the port of Sang'ir,
adjoining Tomboro, its effects were much more violent--tearing up
by the roots the largest trees, and carrying them into the air,
together with men, horses, cattle, and whatever else came within
its influence.  This will account for the immense number of
floating trees seen at sea.  The sea rose nearly twelve feet higher
than it had ever been known to do before, and completely spoiled
the only spots of rice-land in Sang'ir--sweeping away houses and
everything within its reach.  The whirlwind lasted about an hour.
No explosions were heard till the whirlwind had ceased, at about 11
P.M.  From midnight till the evening of the 11th, they continued
without intermission.  After that time their violence moderated,
and they were heard only at intervals; but the explosions did not
cease entirely until the 15th of July.  Of all the villages of
Tomboro, Tempo, containing about forty inhabitants, is the only one
remaining.  In Pekate no vestige of a house is left; twenty-six of
the people, who were at Sumbawa at the time, are the whole of the
population who have escaped.  From the most particular inquiries I
have been able to make, there were certainly no fewer than 12,000
individuals in Tomboro and Pekate at the time of the eruption, of
whom only five or six survive.  The trees and herbage of every
description, along the whole of the north and west sides of the
peninsula, have been completely destroyed, with the exception of
those on a high point of land, near the spot where the village of
Tomboro stood."

Tomboro village was not only invaded by the sea on this occasion,
but its site permanently subsided; so that there is now eighteen
feet of water where there was formerly dry land.


THE VOLCANOES OF JAPAN


The Japanese archipelago, as stated in an earlier chapter, is
abundantly supplied with volcanoes, a number of them being active.
Of these the best known to travelers is Asamayama, a mountain 8,500
feet high, of which there are several recorded eruptions.  The
first of these was in 1650; after which the volcano remained feebly
active till 1783, when it broke out in a very severe eruption.  In
1870 there was another of some severity, accompanied by violent
shocks of earthquake felt at Yokohama.  The crater is very deep,
with irregular rocky walls of a sulphurous character.

Far the most famous of all the Japanese mountains, however, is that
named Fuji-san, but commonly termed in English Fujiyama or
Fusiyama.  It is in the vicinity of the capital, and is the most
prominent object in the landscape for many miles around.  The apex
is shaped somewhat like an eight-petaled lotus flower, and offers
to view from different directions from three to five peaks.

Though now apparently extinct, it was formerly an active volcano,
and is credited in history with several very disastrous eruptions.
The last of these was in 1707, at which time the whole summit burst
into flames.  Rocks were split and shattered by the heat, and
stones fell to the depth of several inches in Yeddo (now Tokyo),
sixty miles away.  At present there are in its crater, which has a
depth of 700 or 800 feet, neither sulphurous exhalations nor steam.
According to Japanese tradition this great peak was upheaved in a
single night from the bottom of the sea, more than twenty-one
hundred years ago.

Nothing can be more majestic than this volcano, extinct though it
be, rising in an immense cone from the plain to the height of over
twelve thousand feet, truncated at the top, and with its peak
almost always snow-covered.  Its ascent is not difficult to an
expert climber, and has frequently been made.  From its summit is
unfolded a panorama beyond the power of words to describe, and
probably the most remarkable on the globe.  Mountains, valleys,
lakes, forests and the villages of thirteen counties may be seen.
As we gaze upon its beautifully shaped and lofty mass, visible even
from Yokohama and a hundred miles at sea, one does not wonder that
it should be regarded as a holy mountain, and that it should form a
conspicuous object in every Japanese work of art.  It is to the
natives of Japan as Mont Blanc is to Europeans, the "monarch of
mountains."

In summer pilgrimages are made around the base of the summit
elevation, and there are on the upward path a number of Buddhist
temples and shrines, made of blocks of stone, for devotion, shelter
and the storage of food for pilgrims.  Hakone Lake is three
thousand feet above the sea, and probably lies in the crater of an
extinct volcano.  Its waters are very deep; it is several miles
long and wide, and is surrounded by high hills which abound in fine
scenery, solfataras and mineral springs.


HOT SPRINGS NEAR HAKONE LAKE


At this place the mountain seems to be smouldering, as sulphur
fumes and steam issue at many points, and the ground is covered
with a friable white alkaline substance.  In many a hollow the
water bubbles with clouds of vapor and sulphuretted hydrogen; here
the soil is hot and evidently underlaid by active fires.  It is not
safe to go very near, as the crust is thin and crumbling.  The
water running down the hills has a refreshing sound and a tempting
clearness, but the thirsty tongue at once detects it to be a very
strong solution of alum.  The whole aspect of the place is
infernal, and naturally suggests the name given its principal
geyser, O-gigoko (Big Hell).

Fujiyama is almost a perfect cone, with, as above said, a truncated
top, in which is the crater.  It is, however, less steep than
Mayon.  Its upper part is comparatively steep, even to thirty-five
degrees, but below this portion the inclination gradually lessens,
till its elegant outlines are lost in the plain from which it
rises.  The curves of the sides depend partly on the nature, size
and shape of the ejected material, the fine uniform pieces
remaining on comparatively steep slopes, while the larger and
rounder ones roll farther down, resting on the inclination that
afterward becomes curved from the subsidence of the central mass.

The most recent and one of the most destructive of volcanic
eruptions recorded in Japan was that of Bandaisan or Baldaisan.
For ages this mountain had been peaceful, and there was scarcely an
indication of its volcanic character or of the terrific forces
which lay dormant deep within its heart.  On its flanks lay some
small deposits of scoriae, indications of far-past eruptions, and
there were some hot springs at its base, while steam arose from a
fissure.  Yet there was nothing to warn the people of the vicinity
that deadly peril lay under their feet.


BANDAISAN'S WORK OF TERROR


This sense of security was fatally dissipated on a day in July,
1888, when the mountain suddenly broke into eruption and flung
1,600 million cubic yards of its summit material so high into the
air that many of the falling fragments, in their fall, struck the
ground with such velocity as to be buried far out of sight.  The
steam and dust were driven to a height of 13,000 feet, where they
spread into a canopy of much greater elevation, causing pitchy
darkness beneath.  There were from fifteen to twenty violent
explosions, and a great landslide devastated about thirty square
miles and buried many villages in the Nagase Valley.

Mr. Norman, a traveler who visited the spot shortly afterward, thus
describes the scene of ruin.  After a journey through the forests
which clothed the slopes of the volcanic mountain and prevented any
distant view, the travelers at last found themselves "standing upon
the ragged edge of what was left of the mountain of Bandaisan,
after two-thirds of it, including, of course, the summit, had been
literally blown away and spread over the face of the country.

"The original cone of the mountain," he continues, "had been
truncated at an acute angle to its axis.  From our very feet a
precipitous mud slope falls away for half a mile or more till it
reaches the level.  At our right, still below us, rises a mud wall
a mile long, also sloping down to the level, and behind it is
evidently the crater; but before us, for five miles in a straight
line, and on each side nearly as far, is a sea of congealed mud,
broken up into ripples and waves and great billows, and bearing
upon its bosom a thousand huge boulders, weighing hundreds of tons
apiece."

On reaching the crater he found it to resemble a gigantic cauldron,
fully a mile in width, and enclosed with precipitous walls of
indurated mud.  From several orifices volumes of steam rose into
the air, and when the vapor cleared away for a moment glimpses of a
mass of boiling mud were obtained.  Before the eruption the
mountain top had terminated in three peaks.  Of these the highest
had an elevation of about 5,800 feet.  The peak destroyed was the
middle one, which was rather smaller than the other two.

"The explosion was caused by steam; there was neither fire nor lava
of any kind.  It was, in fact, nothing more nor less than a
gigantic boiler explosion.  The whole top and one side of Sho-
Bandai-san had been blown into the air in a lateral direction, and
the earth of the mountain was converted by the escaping steam, at
the moment of the explosion, into boiling mud, part of which was
projected into the air to fall at a long distance, and then take
the form of an overflowing river, which rushed with vast rapidity
and covered the country to a depth of from 20 to 150 feet.  Thirty
square miles of country were thus devastated."

In the devastated lowlands and buried villages below and on the
slopes of the mountain many lives were lost.  From the survivors
Mr. Norman gathered some information, enabling him to describe the
main features of the catastrophe.  We append a brief outline of his
narrative:


MR. NORMAN'S NARRATIVE


"At a few minutes past 8 o'clock in the morning a frightful noise
was heard by the inhabitants of a village ten miles distant from
the crater.  Some of them instinctively took to flight, but before
they could run much more than a hundred yards the light of day was
suddenly changed into a darkness more intense than that of
midnight; a shower of blinding hot ashes and sand poured down upon
them; the ground was shaken with earthquakes, and explosion
followed explosion, the last being the most violent of all.  Many
fugitives, as well as people in the houses, were overwhelmed by the
deluge of mud, none of the fugitives, when overtaken by death,
being more than two hundred yards from the village."  From the
statements made by those fortunate enough to escape with their
lives, and from a personal examination of the ground, Mr. Norman
inferred that the mud must have been flung fully six miles through
the air and then have poured in a torrent along the ground for four
miles further.  All this was done in less than five minutes, so
that "millions of tons of boiling mud were hurled over the country
at the rate of two miles a minute."

The velocity of the mud torrent may perhaps be overestimated, but
in its awful suddenness this catastrophe was evidently one with few
equals.  The cone destroyed may have been largely composed of
rather fine ashes and scoriae, which was almost instantaneously
converted into mud by the condensing steam and the boiling water
ejected.  The quantity of water thus discharged must have been
enormous.

Of the remaining volcanic regions of the Pacific, the New Zealand
islands present some of the most striking examples of activity.
All the central parts, indeed, of the northern island of the group
are of a highly volcanic character.  There is here a mountain named
Tongariro, on whose snow-clad summit is a deep crater, from which
volcanic vapors are seen to issue, and which exhibits other
indications of having been in a state of greater activity at a not
very remote period of time.  There is also, at no great distance
from this mountain, a region containing numerous funnel-shaped
chasms, emitting hot water, or steam, or sulphurous vapors, or
boiling mud.  The earthquakes in New Zealand had probably their
origin in this volcanic focus.


THE NEW ZEALAND VOLCANOES


Tongariro has a height of about 6,500 feet, while Egmont, 8,270
feet in height, is a perfect cone with a perpetual cap of snow.
There are many other volcanic mountains, and also great numbers of
mud volcanoes, hot springs and geysers.  It is for the latter that
the island is best known to geologists.  Their waters are at or
near the boiling point and contain silica in abundance.

At a place called Rotomahana, in the vicinity of Mount Tarawera,
there was formerly a lake of about one hundred and twenty acres in
area, which was in its way one of the most remarkable bodies of
water upon the earth.  Formerly, we say, for this lake no longer
exists, it having been destroyed by the very forces to which it
owed its fame.  Its waters were maintained nearly at the boiling
point by the continual accession of boiling water from numerous
springs.  The most abundant of those sources was situated at the
height of about 100 feet above the level of the lake.  It kept
continually filled an oval basin about 250 feet in circumference--
the margins of which were fringed all round with beautiful pure
white stalactites, formed by deposits of silica, with which the hot
water was strongly impregnated.  At various stages below the
principal spring were several others, that contributed to feed the
lake at the bottom, in the centre of which was a small island.
Minute bubbles continually escaped from the surface of the water
with a hissing sound, and the sand all round the lake was at a high
temperature.  If a stick was thrust into it, very hot vapors would
ascend from the hole.  Not far from this lake were several small
basins filled with tepid water, which was very clear, and of a blue
color.

The conditions here were of a kind with those to which are due the
great geysers of Iceland and the Yellowstone Park, but different in
the fact that instead of being intermittent and throwing up jets at
intervals, the springs allowed the water to flow from them in a
continuous stream.


THE PINK AND WHITE TERRACES


The silicious incrustations left by the overflow from the large
pool had made a series of terraces, two to six feet high, with the
appearance of being hewn from white or pink marble; each of the
basins containing a similar azure water.  These terraces covered an
area of about three acres, and looked like a series of cataracts
changed into stone, each edge being fringed with a festoon of
delicate stalactites.  The water contained about eighty-five per
cent. of silica, with one or two per cent of iron alumina, and a
little alkali.

There were no more beautiful products of nature upon the earth than
those "pink and white terraces," as they were called.  The hot
springs of the Yellowstone have produced formations resembling
them, but not their equal in fairy-like charm.  One series of these
terraced pools and cascades was of the purest white tint, the other
of the most delicate pink, the waters topping over the edge of each
pool and falling in a miniature cascade to the one next below, thus
keeping the edges built up by a continual renewal of the silicious
incrustation.  But all their beauty could not save them from utter
and irremediable destruction by the forces below the earth's
surface.

On June 9, 1886, a great volcanic disturbance began in the Auckland
Lake region with a tremendous earthquake, followed during the night
by many others.  At seven the next morning a lead-covered cloud of
pumice sand, advancing from the south, burst and discharged showers
of fine dust.  The range of Mount Tarawera seemed to be in full
volcanic activity, including some craters supposed to be extinct,
and embracing an area of one hundred and twenty miles by twenty.

The showers of dust were so thick as to turn day into night for
nearly two days.  Some lives were lost, and several villages were
destroyed, these being covered ten feet deep with ashes, dust and
clayey mud.  The volcanic phenomena were of the most violent
character, and the whole island appears to have been more or less
convulsed.  Mount Tarawera is said to be five hundred feet higher
than before the eruption; glowing masses were thrown up into the
air, and tongues of fiery hue, gases or illuminated vapors, five
hundred feet wide, towered up one thousand feet high.  The mountain
was 2,700 feet in height.


TARAWERA IN ERUPTION


This eruption presented a spectacle of rarely-equalled grandeur.
To travelers and strangers the greatest resultant loss will be the
destruction of those world-famous curiosities, the white and pink
terraces, in the vicinity of Lake Rotomahana and the region of the
famous geysers.  The natives have a superstition that the eruption
of the extinct Tarawera was caused by the profanation of foreign
footsteps.  It was to them a sacred place, and its crater a
repository for their dead.  The first earthquake occurred in this
region.  One side of the mountain fell in, and then the eruption
began.  The basin of the lake was broken up and disappeared, but
again reappeared as a boiling mud cauldron; craters burst out in
various places, and the beautiful terraces were no more.  After the
first day the violence gradually diminished, and in a week had
ceased.  Very possibly another lake will be formed, and in time
other terraces; but it is hardly within the range of probability
that the beauty of the lost terraces will ever be paralleled.

In this eruption, as usual, we find the earthquake preceding the
volcanic outburst.  New Zealand, like the Philippines, Java and the
Japanese Islands, is situated over a great earth-fissure or line of
weakness.  Subsidence or dislocation from tensile strain of the
crust took place, and the influx of water to new regions of heated
strata may have developed the explosive force.  The earthquake and
the volcano worked together here, as they frequently do,
unfortunately in this case destroying one of the most beautiful
scenes on the surface of the globe.


THE ANTARCTIC VOLCANOES


Much further south, on the frozen shore of Victoria Land in the
Antarctic regions, Sir James Ross, in 1841, sailing in his
discovery ships the Erebus and Terror, discovered two great
volcanic mountains, which he named after those two vessels.  Mount
Erebus is continually covered, from top to bottom, with snow and
glaciers.  The mountain is about 12,000 feet high, and although the
snow reaches to the very edge of the crater, there rise continually
from the summit immense volumes of volcanic fumes, illuminated by
the glare of glowing lava beneath them.  The vapors ascend to an
estimated height of 2,200 feet above the top of the mountain.



CHAPTER XXV.

The Wonderful Hawaiian Craters and Kilauea's Lake of Fire.


In the central region of the North Pacific Ocean lies the
archipelago formerly known as the Sandwich Islands, now
collectively designated as Hawaii.  The people of the United States
should be specially interested in this island group, for it has
become one of our possessions, an outlying Territory of our growing
Republic, and in making it part of our national domain we have not
alone extended our dominion far over the seas, but have added to
the many marvels of nature within our land one of the chief wonders
of the world, the stupendous Hawaiian volcanoes, before whose
grandeur many of more ancient fame sink into insignificance.


THE ISLAND OF HAWAII


The Island of Hawaii, the principal island of the group, we may
safely say contains the most enormous volcano of the earth.
Indeed, the whole island, which is 4000 square miles in extent, may
be regarded as of volcanic origin.  It contains four volcanic
mountains--Kohola, Hualalia, Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa.  The two last
named are the chief, the former being 13,800 feet, the latter
13,600 feet, above the sea-level.  Although their height is so
vast, the ascent to their summits is so gradual that their
circumference at the base is enormous.  The bulk of each of them is
reckoned to be equal to two and a half times that of Etna.  Some of
the streams of lava which have emanated from them are twenty-six
miles in length by two miles in breadth.

On the adjoining island of Maui is a still larger volcano, the
mighty Haleakala, long since extinct, but memorable as possessing
the most stupendous crater on the face of the earth.  The mountain
itself is over 10,000 feet high, and forms a great dome-like mass
of 90 miles circumference at base.  The crater on its summit has a
length of 7 1/2 and a width of 2 1/4 miles, with a total area of
about sixteen square miles.  The only approach in dimensions to
this enormous opening exists in the still living crater of Kilauea,
on the flank of Mauna Loa.


A VOLCANIC ISLAND GROUP


The peaks named are the most apparent remnants of a world-rending
volcanic activity in the remote past, by whose force this whole
Hawaiian island group was lifted up from the depths of the ocean,
here descending some three and a half miles below the surface
level.  The coral reefs which abound around the islands are of
comparatively recent formation, and rest upon a substratum of lava
probably ages older, which forms the base of the archipelago.  The
islands are volcanic peaks and ridges that have been pushed up
above the surrounding seas by the profound action of the interior
forces of the earth.

It must not be supposed that this action was a violent
perpendicular thrust upward over a very limited locality, for the
mountains continue to slope at about the same angle under the sea
and for great distances on every side, so that the islands are
really the crests of an extensive elevation, estimated to cover an
area of about 2000 miles in one direction by 150 or 200 miles in
the other.  The process was probably a gradual one of up-building,
by means of which the sea receded as the land steadily rose.  Some
idea of the mighty forces that have been at work beneath the sea
and above it can be gained by considering the enormous mass of
material now above the sea-level.  Thus, the bulk of the island of
Hawaii, the largest of the group, has been estimated by the
Hawaiian Surveyor General as containing 3,600 cubic miles of lava
rock above sea-level.  Taking the area of England at 50,000 square
miles, this mass of volcanic matter would cover that entire country
to a depth of 274 feet.  We must remember, however, that what is
above sea-level is only a small fraction of the total amount, since
it sweeps down below the waves hundreds of miles on every side.


CRATER OF HALEAKALA


Of the lava openings on these islands, the extinct one of
Haleakala, as stated, with its twenty-seven miles circumference, is
far the most stupendous.  It is easy of access, the mountain sides
leading to it presenting a gentle slope; while the walls of the
crater, in places perpendicular, in others are so sloping that man
and horse can descend them.  The pit varies from 1500 to 2000 feet
in depth, its bottom being very irregular from the old lava flows
and the many cinder cones, these still looking as fresh as though
their fires had just gone out.  Some of these cones are over 500
feet high.  There is a tradition among the natives that the vast
lava streams which in the past flowed from the crater to the sea
continued to do so in the period of their remote ancestors.  They
still, indeed, appear as if recent, though there are to-day no
signs of volcanic activity anywhere on this island.

In fact, the only volcano now active in the Hawaiian Islands is
Mauna Loa, in the southern section of the Island of Hawaii.  A
striking feature of this is that it has two distinct and widely
disconnected craters, one on its summit, the other on its flank, at
a much lower level.  The latter is the vast crater of Kilauea, the
largest active crater known on the face of the globe.


MISS BIRD IN THE CRATER OF KILAUEA


We cannot offer a better description of the aspect of this lava
abyss than to give Miss Bird's eloquent description of her
adventurous descent into it:

"The abyss, which really is at a height of four thousand feet on
the flank of Mauna Loa, has the appearance of a pit on a rolling
plain.  But such a pit!  It is quite nine miles in circumference,
and at its lowest area--which not long ago fell about three hundred
feet, just as the ice on a pond falls when the water below is
withdrawn--covers six square miles.  The depth of the crater varies
from eight hundred to one thousand feet, according as the molten
sea below is at flood or ebb.  Signs of volcanic activity are
present more or less throughout its whole depth and for some
distance along its margin, in the form of steam-cracks, jets of
sulphurous vapor, blowing cones, accumulating deposits of acicular
crystals of sulphur, etc., and the pit itself is constantly rent
and shaken by earthquakes.  Great eruptions occur with
circumstances of indescribable terror and dignity; but Kilauea does
not limit its activity to these outbursts, but has exhibited its
marvellous phenomena through all known time in a lake or lakes on
the southern part of the crater three miles from this side.

"This lake--the Hale-mau-mau, or "House of everlasting Fire", of
the Hawaiian mythology, the abode of the dreaded goddess Pele--is
approachable with safety, except during an eruption.  The
spectacle, however, varies almost daily; and at times the level of
the lava in the pit within a pit is so low, and the suffocating
gases are evolved in such enormous quantities, that travellers are
unable to see anything.

"At the time of our visit there had been no news from it for a
week; and as nothing was to be seen but a very faint bluish vapor
hanging round its margin, the prospect was not encouraging.  After
more than an hour of very difficult climbing, we reached the lowest
level of the crater, pretty nearly a mile across, presenting from
above the appearance of a sea at rest; but on crossing it, we found
it to be an expanse of waves and convolutions of ashy-colored lava,
with huge cracks filled up with black iridescent rolls of lava only
a few weeks old.  Parts of it are very rough and ridgy, jammed
together like field-ice, or compacted by rolls of lava, which may
have swelled up from beneath; but the largest part of the area
presents the appearance of huge coiled hawsers, the ropy formation
of the lava rendering the illusion almost perfect.  These are riven
by deep cracks, which emit hot sulphurous vapors.

"As we ascended, the flow became hotter under our feet, as well as
more porous and glistening.  It was so hot that a shower of rain
hissed as it fell upon it.  The crust became increasingly insecure,
and necessitated our walking in single file with the guide in
front, to test the security of the footing.  I fell through several
times, and always into holes full of sulphurous steam so
malignantly acid that my strong dogskin gloves were burned through
as I raised myself on my hands.

"We had followed the lava-flow for thirty miles up to the crater's
brink, and now we had toiled over recent lava for three hours, and,
by all calculations, were close to the pit; yet there was no smoke
or sign of fire, and I felt sure that the volcano had died out for
once for my special disappointment.

"Suddenly, just above and in front of us, gory drops were tossed in
the air, and springing forwards, we stood on the brink of Hale-mau-
mau, which was about thirty-five feet below us.  I think we all
screamed.  I know we all wept; but we were speechless, for a new
glory and terror had been added to the earth.  It is the most
unutterable of wonderful things.  The words of common speech are
quite useless.  It is unimaginable, indescribable; a sight to
remember forever; a sight which at once took possession of every
faculty of sense and soul, removing one altogether out of the range
of ordinary life.  Here was the real 'bottomless pit', 'the fire
which is not quenched', 'the place of Hell', 'the lake which
burneth with fire and brimstone', 'the everlasting burnings', 'the
fiery sea whose waves are never weary'.  Perhaps those Scripture
phrases were suggested by the sight of some volcano in eruption.
There were groanings, rumblings, and detonations; rushings,
hissings, splashings, and the crashing sound of breakers on the
coast; but it was the surging of fiery waves upon a fiery shore.
But what can I write?  Such words as jets, fountains, waves, spray,
convey some idea of order and regularity, but here there are none.

"The inner lake, while we stood there, formed a sort of crater
within itself; the whole lava sea rose about three feet; a blowing
cone about eight feet high was formed; it was never the same two
minutes together.  And what we saw had no existence a month before,
and probably will be changed in every essential feature a month
from hence.  The prominent object was fire in motion; but the
surface of the double lake was continually skimming over for a
second or two with a cool crust of lustrous grey-white, like frost-
silver, broken by jagged cracks of a bright rose-color.  The
movement was nearly always from the sides to the centre; but the
movement of the centre itself appeared independent, and always took
a southerly direction.  Before each outburst of agitation there was
much hissing and throbbing, with internal roaring as of imprisoned
gases.  Now it seemed furious, demoniacal, as if no power on earth
could bind it, then playful and sportive; then for a second
languid, but only because it was accumulating fresh force.
Sometimes the whole lake took the form of mighty waves, and,
surging heavily against the partial barrier with a sound like the
Pacific surf, lashed, tore, covered it, and threw itself over it in
clots of living fire.  It was all confusion, commotion, forces,
terror, glory, majesty, mystery, and even beauty.  And the color,
'eye hath not seen' it!  Molten metal hath not that crimson gleam,
nor blood that living light."

To this description we may add that of Mr. Ellis, a former
missionary to these islands, and one of the number who have
descended to the shores of Kilauea's abyss of fire.  He says, after
describing his difficult descent and progress over the lava-strewn
pit:


MR. ELLIS VISITS THE LAKE OF LAVA


"Immediately before us yawned an immense gulf, in the form of a
crescent, about two miles in length, from northeast to southwest;
nearly a mile in width, and apparently 800 feet deep.  The bottom
was covered with lava, and the southwestern and northern parts of
it were one vast flood of burning matter in a state of terrific
ebullition, rolling to and fro its 'fiery surges' and flaming
billows.  Fifty-one conical islands, of varied form and size,
containing as many craters, rose either round the edge or from the
surface of the burning lake; twenty-two constantly emitted columns
of gray smoke or pyramids of brilliant flame, and several of these
at the same time vomited from their ignited mouths streams of lava,
which rolled in blazing torrents down their black indented sides
into the boiling mass below.

"The existence of these conical craters led us to conclude that the
boiling cauldron of lava before us did not form the focus of the
volcano; that this mass of melted lava was comparatively shallow,
and that the basin in which it was contained was separated by a
stratum of solid matter from the great volcanic abyss, which
constantly poured out its melted contents through these numerous
craters into this upper reservoir.  The sides of the gulf before
us, although composed of different strata of ancient lava, were
perpendicular for about 400 feet, and rose from a wide horizontal
ledge of solid black lava of irregular breadth, but extending
completely round.  Beneath this ledge the sides sloped gradually
towards the burning lake, which was, as nearly as we could judge,
300 or 400 feet lower.

"It was evident that the large crater had been recently filled with
liquid lava up to this black ledge, and had, by some subterraneous
canal, emptied itself into the sea or spread under the low land on
the shore.  The gray and in some places apparently calcined sides
of the great crater before us, the fissures which intersected the
surface of the plain on which we were standing, the long banks of
sulphur on the opposite side of the abyss, the vigorous action of
the numerous small craters on its borders, the dense columns of
vapor and smoke that rose at the north and west end of the plain,
together with the ridge of steep rocks by which it was surrounded,
rising probably in some places 300 or 400 feet in perpendicular
height, presented an immense volcanic panorama, the effect of which
was greatly augmented by the constant roaring of the vast furnaces
below."


MAUNA LOA IN ERUPTION


Of the two great craters of Mauna Loa, the summit one has
frequently in modern times overflowed its crest and poured its
molten streams in glowing rivers over the land.  This has rarely
been the case with the lower and incessantly active crater of
Kilauea, whose lava, when in excess, appears to escape by
subterranean channels to the sea.  We append descriptions of some
of the more recent examples of Mauna Loa's eruptive energy.  The
lava from this crater does not alone flow over the crater's lip,
but at times makes its way through fissures far below, the immense
pressure causing it to spout in great flashing fountains high into
the air.  In 1852 the fiery fountains reached a height of 500 feet.
In some later eruptions they have leaped 1,000 feet high.  The lava
is white hot as it ascends, but it assumes a blood-red tint in its
fall, and strikes the ground with a frightful noise.

The quantities of lava ejected in some of the recent eruptions have
been enormous.  The river-like flow of 1855 was remarkable for its
extent, being from two to eight miles wide, with a depth of from
three to three hundred feet, and extending in a winding course for
a distance of sixty miles.  The Apostle of Hawaiian volcanoes, the
Rev. Titus Coan, who ventured to the source of this flow while it
was in supreme action, thus describes it:--

"We ascended our rugged pathway amidst steam and smoke and heat
which almost blinded and scathed us.  We came to open orifices down
which we looked into the fiery river which rushed madly under our
feet.  These fiery vents were frequent, some of them measuring ten,
twenty, fifty or one hundred feet in diameter.  In one place we saw
the river of lava uncovered for thirty rods and rushing down a
declivity of from ten to twenty-five degrees.  The scene was awful,
the momentum incredible, the fusion perfect (white heat), and the
velocity forty miles an hour.  The banks on each side of the stream
were red-hot, jagged and overhanging.  As we viewed it rushing out
from under its ebon counterpane, and in the twinkling of an eye
diving again into its fiery den, it seemed to say, 'Stand off!
Scan me not!  I am God's messenger.  A work to do.  Away!'"

Later he wrote again:--"The great summit fountain is still playing
with fearful energy, and the devouring stream rushes madly down
toward us.  It is now about ten miles distant, and heading directly
for our bay.  In a few days we may be called to announce the
painful fact that our beauteous Hilo is no more,--that our lovely,
our inimitable landscape, our emerald bowers, our crescent strand
and our silver bay are blotted out.  A fiery sword hangs over us.
A flood of burning ruin approaches us.  Devouring fires are near
us.  With sure and solemn progress the glowing fusion advances
through the dark forest and the dense jungle in our rear, cutting
down ancient trees of enormous growth and sweeping away all
vegetable life.  For months the great summit furnace on Mauna Loa
has been in awful blast.  Floods of burning destruction have swept
wildly and widely over the top and down the sides of the mountain.
The wrathful stream has overcome every obstacle, winding its fiery
way from its high source to the bases of the everlasting hills,
spreading in a molten sea over the plains, penetrating the ancient
forests, driving the bellowing herds, the wild goats and the
affrighted birds before its lurid glare, leaving nothing but ebon
blackness and smoldering ruin in its track."

His anticipation of the burial of Hilo under the mighty flow was
happily not realized.  It came to an abrupt halt while seven miles
distant, the checked stream standing in a threatening and rugged
ridge, with rigid, beetling front.


THE ERUPTIONS OF 1859 AND 1865


In January, 1859, Mauna Loa was again at its fire-play, throwing up
lava fountains from 800 to 1,000 feet in height.  From this great
fiery fountain the lava flowed down in numerous streams, spreading
over a width of five or six miles.  One stream, probably formed by
the junction of several smaller, attained a height of from twenty
to twenty-five feet, and a breadth of about an eighth of a mile.
Great stones were thrown up along with the jet of lava, and the
volume of seeming smoke, composed probably of fine volcanic dust,
is said to have risen to the height of 10,000 feet.

An eruption of still greater violence took place in 1865,
characterized by similar phenomena, particularly the throwing up of
jets of lava.  This fiery fountain continued to play without
intermission for twenty days and nights, varying only as respects
the height to which the jet arose, which is said to have ranged
between 100 and 1,000 feet, the mean diameter of the jet being
about 100 feet.  This eruption was accompanied by explosions so
loud as to have been heard at a distance of forty miles.

A cone of about 300 feet in height, and about a mile in
circumference, was accumulated round the orifice whence the jet
ascended.  It was composed of solid matters ejected with the lava,
and it continued to glow like a furnace, notwithstanding its
exposure to the air.  The current of lava on this occasion flowed
to a distance of thirty-five miles, burning its way through the
forests, and filling the air with smoke and flames from the ignited
timber.  The glare from the glowing lava and the burning trees
together was discernible by night at a distance of 200 miles from
the island.


THE LAVA FLOW OF 1880


A succeeding great lava flow was that which began on November 6,
1880.  Mr. David Hitchcock, who was camping on Mauna Kea at the
time of this outbreak, saw a spectacle that few human eyes have
ever beheld.  "We stood," writes he, "on the very edge of that
flowing river of rock.  Oh, what a sight it was!  Not twenty feet
from us was this immense bed of rock slowly moving forward with
irresistible force, bearing on its surface huge rocks and immense
boulders of tons' weight as water would carry a toy-boat.  The
whole front edge was one bright red mass of solid rock incessantly
breaking off from the towering mass and rolling down to the foot of
it, to be again covered by another avalanche of white-hot rocks and
sand.  The whole mass at its front edge was from twelve to thirty
feet in height.  Along the entire line of its advance it was one
crash of rolling, sliding, tumbling red-hot rock.  We could hear no
explosions while we were near the flow, only a tremendous roaring
like ten thousand blast furnaces all at work at once."

This was the most extensive flow of recent years, and its progress
from the interior plain through the dense forests above Hilo and
out on to the open levels close to the town was startling and
menacing enough.  Through the woods especially it was a turbulent,
seething mass that hurled down mammoth trees, and licked up streams
of water, and day and night kept up an unintermitting cannonade of
explosions.  The steam and imprisoned gases would burst the
congealing surface with loud detonations that could be heard for
many miles.  It was not an infrequent thing for parties to camp out
close to the flow over night.  Ordinarily a lava-flow moves
sluggishly and congeals rapidly, so that what seems like hardihood
in the narrating is in reality calm judgment, for it is perfectly
safe to be in the close vicinity of a lava-stream, and even to walk
on its surface as soon as one would be inclined to walk on cooling
iron in a foundry.  This notable flow finally ceased within half a
mile of Hilo, where its black form is a perpetual reminder of a
marvellous deliverance from destruction.


KILAUEA IN 1840


Kilauea seems never, in historic times, to have filled and
overflowed its vast crater.  To do so would need an almost
inconceivable volume of liquid rock material.  But it approached
this culmination in 1840, when it became, through its whole extent,
a raging sea of fire.  The boiling lava rose in the mighty
mountain-cup to a height of from 500 to 600 feet.  Then it forced a
passage through a subterranean cavity twenty-seven miles long, and
reached the sea forty miles distant, in two days.  The stream where
it fell into the sea was half a mile wide, and the flow kept up for
three weeks, heating the ocean twenty miles from land.  An eye-
witness of this extraordinary flow thus describes it:

"When the torrent of fire precipitated itself into the ocean, the
scene assumed a character of terrific and indescribable grandeur.
The magnificence of destruction was never more perceptibly
displayed than when these antagonistic elements met in deadly
strife.  The mightiest of earth's magazines of fire poured forth
its burning billows to meet the mightiest of oceans.  For two score
miles it came rolling, tumbling, swelling forward, an awful agent
of death.  Rocks melted like wax in its path; forests crackled and
blazed before its fervent heat; the works of man were to it but as
a scroll in the flames.  Imagine Niagara's stream, above the brink
of the Falls, with its dashing, whirling, madly-raging waters
hurrying on to their plunge, instantaneously converted into fire; a
gory-hued river of fused minerals; volumes of hissing steam
arising; some curling upward from ten thousand vents, which give
utterance to as many deep-toned mutterings, and sullen, confined
clamorings; gases detonating and shrieking as they burst from their
hot prison-house; the heavens lurid with flame; the atmosphere dark
and oppressive; the horizon murky with vapors and gleaming with the
reflected contest!

"Such was the scene as the fiery cataract, leaping a precipice of
fifty feet, poured its flood upon the ocean.  The old line of
coast, a mass of compact, indurated lava, whitened, cracked and
fell.  The waters recoiled, and sent forth a tempest of spray; they
foamed and dashed around and over the melted rock, they boiled with
the heat, and the roar of the conflicting agencies grew fiercer and
louder.  The reports of the exploding gases were distinctly heard
twenty-five miles distant, and were likened to a whole broadside of
heavy artillery.  Streaks of the intensest light glanced like
lightning in all directions; the outskirts of the burning lava as
it fell, cooled by the shock, were shivered into millions of
fragments, and scattered by the strong wind in sparkling showers
far into the country.  For three successive weeks the volcano
disgorged an uninterrupted burning tide, with scarcely any
diminution, into the ocean.  On either side, for twenty miles, the
sea became heated, with such rapidity that, on the second day of
the junction of the lava with the ocean, fishes came ashore dead in
great numbers, at a point fifteen miles distant.  Six weeks later,
at the base of the hills, the water continued scalding hot, and
sent forth steam at every wash of the waves."


THE SINKING OF KILAUEA'S FIRE-LAKE


In 1866 the great crater of Kilauea presented a new and unlooked-
for spectacle in the sinking and vanishing of its great lava lake.
In March of that year the fires in the ancient cauldron totally
disappeared, and the surrounding lava rock sank to a depth of
nearly 600 feet.  Mr. Thrum, in a pamphlet on "The Suspended
Activity of Kilauea," says of it:

"Distant rumbling noises were heard, accompanied by a series of
earthquakes, forty-three in number.  With the fourth shock the
brilliancy of New Lake disappeared, and towards 3 A. M. the fires
in Halemaumau disappeared also, leaving the whole crater in
darkness.

"With the dawn the shocks and noises ceased, and revealed the
changes which Kilauea had undergone in the night.  All the high
cliffs surrounding Halemaumau and New Lake, which had become a
prominent feature in the crater, had vanished entirely, and the
molten lava of both lakes had disappeared by some subterranean
passage from the bottom of Halemaumau.  There was no material
change in the sunken portion of the crater except a continual
falling in of rocks and debris from its banks as the contraction
from its former intense heat loosened their compactness and sent
them hurling some 200 or 300 feet below, giving forth at times a
boom as of distant thunder, followed by clouds of cinders and ashes
shooting up into the air 100 to 300 feet, proportionate, doubtless,
to the size of the newly fallen mass.

This remarkable recession of the liquid lava in Halemaumau was
probably due to the opening of some deep subterranean passage
through which the lake of lava made its way unseen to the ocean's
depths.  The Rev. Mr. Baker, probably the most adventuresome
explorer of Hawaiian volcanoes, actually descended into that
crumbling pit to a point within what he judged to be fifty feet of
the bottom.  But Halemaumau had only taken an intermission, for in
two short months signs of returning life became frequent and
unmistakable, and, in June, culminated in the sudden outbreak of a
lake that has since then steadily increased in activity.


THE GODDESS PELE


We cannot close this chapter without some reference to the Goddess
Pele, to whom the Hawaiians long imputed the wonder-work of their
volcanic mountains.  When there is unusual commotion in Kilauea
myriads of thread-like filaments float in the air and fall upon the
cliffs, making deposits much resembling matted hair.  A single
filament over fifteen inches long was picked up on a Hilo veranda,
having sailed in the air a distance of fifty miles.  This is the
famous Pele's Hair, being the glass-like product of volcanic fires.
It resembles Prince Rupert's Drops, and the tradition is that
whenever the volcano becomes active it is because Pele, the Goddess
of the crater, emerges from her fiery furnace and shakes her
vitreous locks in anger.

This fabled being, according to Emerson, in a paper on "The Lesser
Hawaiian Gods," "could at times assume the appearance of a handsome
young woman, as when Kamapauaa, to his cost, was smitten with her
charms when first he saw her with her sisters at Kilauea."
Kamapauaa was a gigantic hog, who "could appear as a handsome young
man, a hog, a fish or a tree."  "At other times the innate
character of the fury showed itself, and Pele appeared in her usual
form as an ugly and hateful old hag, with tattered and fire-burnt
garments, scarcely concealing the filth and nakedness of her
person.  Her bloodshot eyes and fiendish countenance paralized the
beholder, and her touch turned him to stone.  She was a jealous and
vindictive monster, delighting in cruelty, and at the slightest
provocation overwhelming the unoffending victims of her rage in
widespread ruin."

The superstition regarding the Goddess Pele was thought to have
received a death blow in 1825, when Kapiolani, an Hawaiian princess
and a Christian convert, ascended, with numerous attendants, to the
crater of Kilauea, where she publicly defied the power and wrath of
the goddess.  No response came to her defiance, she descended in
safety, and faith in Pele's power was widely shaken.

Yet as late as 1887 the old superstition revived and claimed an
exalted victim, for in that year the Princess Like Like, the
youngest sister of the king, starved herself to death to appease
the anger of the Goddess Pele, supposed to be manifested in Mauna
Loa's eruption of that year, and to be quieted only by the
sacrifice of a victim of royal blood.  Thus slowly do the old
superstitions die away.



CHAPTER XXVI.

Popocatapetl and Other Volcanoes of Mexico and Central America.


Mexico is very largely a vast table-land, rising through much of
its extent to an elevation of from 7,000 to 8,000 feet above sea-
level, and bounded east and west by wide strips of torrid lowlands
adjoining the oceans.  It is crossed at about 19 degrees north
latitude by a range of volcanic mountains, running in almost a
straight line east and west, upon which are several extinct
volcanic cones, and five active or quiescent volcanoes.  The
highest of these is Popocatapetl, south of the city of Mexico and
nearly midway between the Atlantic and Pacific.

East of this mountain lies Orizabo, little below it in height, and
San Martin or Tuxtla, 9,700 feet high, on the coast south of Vera
Cruz.  West of it is Jorullo, 4,000 feet, and Colima, 12,800, near
the Pacific coast.  The volcanic energy continues southward toward
the Isthmus, but decreases north of this volcanic range.  These
mountains have shown little signs of activity in recent times.
Popocatapetl emits smoke, but there is no record of an eruption
since 1540.  Orizabo has been quiet since 1566.  Tuxtla had a
violent eruption in 1793, but since then has remained quiescent.
Colima is the only one now active.  For ten years past it has been
emitting ashes and smoke.  The most remarkable of these volcanoes
is Jorullo, which closely resembled Monte Nuovo, described in
Chapter XIII., in its mode of origin.

Popocatapetl, the hill that smokes, in the Mexican language, the
huge mountain clothed in eternal snows, and regarded by the
idolaters of old as a god, towers up nearly 18,000 feet above the
level of the sea, and in the days of the conquest of Mexico was a
volcano in a state of fierce activity.  It was looked upon by the
natives with a strange dread, and they told the white strangers
with awe that no man could attempt to ascend its slopes and yet
live; but, from a feeling of vanity, or the love of adventure, the
Spaniards laughed at these fears, and accordingly a party of ten of
the followers of Cortes commenced the ascent, accompanied by a few
Indians.  But these latter, after ascending about 13,000 feet to
where the last remains of stunted vegetation existed, became
alarmed at the subterranean bellowings of the volcano, and
returned, while the Spaniards still painfully toiled on through the
rarefied atmosphere, their feet crushing over the scoriae and
black-glazed volcanic sand, until they stood in the region of
perpetual snow, amidst the glittering, treacherous glaciers and
crevasses, with vast slippery-pathed precipices yawning round.

Still they toiled on in this wild and wondrous region.  A few hours
before they were in a land of perpetual summer; here all was snow.
They suffered the usual distress awarded to those who dare to
ascend to these solitudes of nature but it was not given to them to
achieve the summit, for suddenly, at a higher elevation, after
listening to various ominous threatenings from the interior of the
volcano, they encountered so fierce a storm of smoke, cinders, and
sparks, that they were driven back half suffocated to the lower
portions of the mountain.

Some time after another attempt was made; and upon this occasion
with a definite object.  The invaders had nearly exhausted their
stock of gunpowder, and Cortes organized a party to ascend to the
crater of the volcano, to seek and bring down sulphur for the
manufacture of this necessary of warfare.  This time the party
numbered but five, led by one Francisco Montano; and they
experienced no very great difficulty in winning their way upwards.
The region of verdure gave place to the wild, lava-strewn slope,
which was succeeded in its turn by the treacherous glaciers; and at
last the gallant little band stood at the very edge of the crater,
a vast depression of over a league in circumference, and 1,000 feet
in depth.


SULPHUR FROM THE CRATER


Flame was issuing from the hideous abysses, and the stoutest man's
heart must have quailed as he peered down into the dim, mysterious
cavity to where the sloping sides were crusted with bright yellow
sulphur, and listened to the mutterings which warned him of the
pent-up wrath and power of the mighty volcano.  They knew that at
any moment flame and stifling sulphurous vapor might be belched
forth, but now no cowardice was shown.  They had come provided with
ropes and baskets, and it only remained to see who should descend.
Lots were therefore drawn, and it fell to Montano, who was
accordingly lowered by his followers in a basket 400 feet into the
treacherous region of eternal fires.

The basket swayed and the rope quivered and vibrated, but the brave
cavalier sturdily held to his task, disdaining to show fear before
his humble companions.  The lurid light from beneath flashed upon
his tanned features, and a sulphurous steam rose slowly and
condensed upon the sides; but, whatever were his thoughts, the
Spaniard collected as much sulphur as he could take up with him,
breaking off the bright incrustations, and even dallying with his
task as if in contempt of the danger, till he had leisurely filed
his basket, when the signal was given and he was drawn up.  The
basket was emptied, and then he once more descended into the lurid
crater, collected another store and was again drawn up; but far
from shrinking from his task, he descended again several times,
till a sufficiency had been obtained, with which the party
descended to the plain.


THE VOLCANO JORULLO


No further back than the middle of the eighteenth century the site
of Jorullo was a level plain, including several highly-cultivated
fields, which formed the farm of Don Pedro di Jorullo.  The plain
was watered by two small rivers, called Cuitimba and San Pedro, and
was bounded by mountains composed of basalt--the only indications
of former volcanic action.  These fields were well irrigated, and
among the most fertile in the country, producing abundant crops of
sugar-cane and indigo.

In the month of June, 1759, the cultivators of the farm began to be
disturbed by strange subterranean noises of an alarming kind,
accompanied by frequent shocks of earthquake, which continued for
nearly a couple of months; but they afterward entirely ceased, so
that the inhabitants of the place were lulled into security.  On
the night between the 28th and 29th of September, however, the
subterranean noises were renewed with greater loudness than before,
and the ground shook severely.  The Indian servants living on the
place started from their beds in terror, and fled to the
neighboring mountains.  Thence gazing upon their master's farm they
beheld it, along with a tract of ground measuring between three and
four square miles, in the midst of which it stood, rise up bodily,
as if it had been inflated from beneath like a bladder.  At the
edges this tract was uplifted only about 39 feet above the original
surface, but so great was its convexity that toward the middle it
attained a height of no less than 524 feet.

The Indians who beheld this strange phenomenon declared that they
saw flames issuing from several parts of this elevated tract, that
the entire surface became agitated like a stormy sea, that great
clouds of ashes, illuminated by volcanic fires glowing beneath
them, rose at several points, and that white-hot stones were thrown
to an immense height.  Vast chasms were at the same time opened in
the ground, and into these the two small rivers above mentioned
plunged.  Their waters, instead of extinguishing the subterranean
conflagration, seemed only to add to its intensity.  Quantities of
mud, enveloping balls of basalt, were then thrown up, and the
surface of the elevated ground became studded with small cones,
from which volumes of dense vapor, chiefly steam, were emitted,
some of the jets rising from 20 to 30 feet in height.

These cones the Indians called ovens, and in many of them was long
heard a subterranean noise resembling that of water briskly
boiling.  Out of a great chasm in the midst of those ovens there
were thrown up six larger elevations, the highest being 1,640 feet
above the level of the plain, 4,315 above sea level, and now
constituting the principal volcano of Jorullo.  The smallest of the
six was 300 feet in height; the others of intermediate elevation.
The highest of these hills had on its summit a regular volcanic
crater, whence there have been thrown up great quantities of dross
and lava, containing fragments of older rocks.  The ashes were
transported to immense distances, some of them having fallen on the
houses at Queretaro, more than forty-eight leagues from Jorullo.
The volcano continued in this energetic state of activity for about
four months; in the following years its eruptions became less
frequent, but it still continues to emit volumes of vapor from the
principal crater, as well as from many of the ovens in the upheaved
ground.


EFFECT ON THE RIVERS


The two rivers, which disappeared on the first night of this great
eruption, now pursue an underground course for about a mile and a
quarter, and then reappear as hot springs, with a temperature of
126 degrees F.

This wonderful volcanic upheaval is all the more remarkable, from
the inland situation of the plain on which it occurred, it being no
less than 120 miles distant from the nearest ocean, while there is
no other volcano nearer to it than 80 miles.  The activity of the
ovens has now ceased, and portions of the upheaved plain on which
they are situated have again been brought under cultivation, and
the volcano is in a state of quiescence.

The crater of Popocatapetl, which towers to a height of 17,000
feet, is a vast circular basin, whose nearly vertical walls are in
some parts of a pale rose tint, in others quite black.  The bottom
contains several small fuming cones, whence arise vapors of
changeable color, being successively red, yellow and white.  All
round them are large deposits of sulphur, which are worked for
mercantile purposes.

Orizaba has a little less lofty snow-clad peak.  This mountain was
in brisk volcanic activity from 1545 to 1560, but has since then
relapsed into a prolonged repose.  It was climbed, in 1856, by
Baron Muller, to whose mind the crater appeared like the entrance
to a lower world of horrible darkness.  He was struck with
astonishment on contemplating the tremendous forces required to
elevate and rend such enormous masses--to melt them, and then pile
them up like towers, until by cooling they became consolidated into
their present forms.  The internal walls of the crater are in many
places coated with sulphur, and at the bottom are several small
volcanic craters.  At the time of his visit the summit was wholly
covered with snow, but the Indians affirmed that hot vapors
occasionally ascend from fissures in the rocks.  Since then others
have reached its summit, among them Angelo Heilprin, the first to
gaze into the crater of Mont Pelee after its eruption.


ERUPTIONS IN NICARAGUA


On the 14th of November, 1867, there commenced an eruption from a
mountain about eight leagues to the eastward of the city of Leon,
in Nicaragua.  This mountain does not appear to have been
previously recognized as an active volcano, but it is situated in a
very volcanic country.  The outburst had probably some connection
with the earthquake at St. Thomas, which took place on the 18th of
November following.  The mountain continued in a state of activity
for about sixteen days.  There was thrown out an immense quantity
of black sand, which was carried as far as to the coast of the
Pacific, fifty miles distant.  Glowing stones were projected from
the crater to an estimated height of three thousand feet.

Central America is more prolific of volcanoes than Mexico, and the
State of Guatemala in particular.  One authority credits this State
with fifteen or sixteen and another with more than thirty volcanic
cones.  Of these at least five are decidedly active.  Tajumalco,
which was in eruption at the time of the great earthquake of 1863,
yields great quantities of sulphur, as also does Quesaltenango.
The most famous is the Volcan de Agua (Water Volcano), so called
from its overwhelming the old city of Guatemala with a torrent of
water in 1541.

Nicaragua is also rich in volcanoes, being traversed its entire
length by a remarkable chain of isolated volcanic cones, several of
which are to some extent active.  We have already told the story of
the tremendous eruption of Coseguina in 1835, one of the most
violent of modern times.  The latest important eruption here was
that of Ometepec, a volcanic mount on an island of the same name in
Lake Nicaragua.  This broke a long period of repose on June 19,
1883, with a severe eruption, in which the lava, pouring from a new
crater, in seven days overflowed the whole island and drove off its
population.  Incessant rumblings and earthquake shocks accompanied
the eruption, and mud, ashes, stones and lava covered the mountain
slopes, which had been cultivated for many centuries.  These were
the most recent strong displays of volcanic energy in Central
America, though former great outflows of lava are indicated by
great fields of barren rock, which extend for miles.



CHAPTER XXVII.

The Terrible Eruption of Krakatoa.


The most destructive volcanic explosion of recent times, one
perhaps unequalled in violence in all times, was that of the small
mountain island of Krakatoa, in the East Indian Archipelago, in
1883.  This made its effects felt round the entire globe, and
excited such wide attention that we feel called upon to give it a
chapter of its own.

The island of Krakatoa lies in the Straits of Sunda, between Java
and Sumatra.  In size it is insignificant, and had been silent so
long that its volcanic character was almost lost sight of.  Of its
early history we know nothing.  At some remote time in the past it
may have appeared as a large cone, of some twenty-five miles in
circumference at base and not less than 10,000 feet high.  Then,
still in unknown times, its cone was blown away by internal forces,
leaving only a shattered and irregular crater ring.  This crater
was two or three miles in diameter, while the highest part of its
walls rose only a few hundred feet above the sea.  Later volcanic
work built up a number of small cones within the crater, and still
later a new cone, called Rakata, rose on the edge of the old one to
a height of 2,623 feet.

The first known event in the history of the island volcano was an
eruption in the year 1680.  After that it lay in repose, forming a
group of islands, one much larger than the others.  Some of the
smaller islands indicated the rim of the old crater, much of which
was buried under the sea.  Its state of quiescence continued for
two centuries, a tropical vegetation richly mantled the island, and
to all appearance it had sunk permanently to rest.

Indications of a coming change appeared in 1880, in the form of
earthquakes, which shook all the region around.  These continued at
intervals for more that two years.  Then, on May 20, 1883, there
were heard at Batavia, a hundred miles away, "booming sounds like
the firing of artillery."  Next day the captain of a vessel passing
through the Straits saw that Krakatoa was in eruption, sending up
clouds of smoke and showers of dust and pumice.  The smoke was
estimated to reach a height of seven miles, while the volcanic dust
drifted to localities 300 miles away.


AWFUL PREMONITIONS


The mountain continued to play for about fourteen weeks with
varying activity, several parties meanwhile visiting it and making
observations.  Such an eruption, in ordinary cases, would have
ultimately died away, with no marked change other than perhaps the
ejection of a stream of lava.  But such was not now the case.  The
sequel was at once unexpected and terrible.  As the island was
uninhabited, no one actually saw what took place, those nearest to
the scene of the eruption having enough to do to save their own
lives, while the dense clouds of vapor and dust baffled
observation.

The phase of greatest violence set in on Sunday, August 26th.  Soon
after midday sailors on passing ships saw that the island had
vanished behind a dense cloud of black vapor, the height of which
was estimated at not less than seventeen miles.  At intervals
frightful detonations resounded, and after a time a rain of pumice
began to fall at places ten miles distant.  For miles round fierce
flashes of lightning rent the vapor, and at a distance of fully
forty miles ghostly corposants gleamed on the rigging of a vessel.

These phenomena grew more and more alarming until August 27th, when
four explosions of fearful intensity shook earth and sea and air,
the third being "far the most violent and productive of the most
widespread results."  It was, in fact, perhaps the most tremendous
volcanic outburst, in its intensity, known in human history.  It
seemed to overcome the obstruction to the energy of the internal
forces, for the eruption now declined, and in a day or two
practically died away, though one or two comparatively
insignificant outbursts took place later.


FAR-REACHING DESTRUCTION


The eruption spread ruin and death over many surrounding leagues.
At Krakotoa itself, when men once more reached its shores,
everything was found to be changed.  About two-thirds of the main
island were blown completely away.  The marginal cone was cut
nearly in half vertically, the new cliff falling precipitously
toward the centre of the crater.  Where land had been before now
sea existed, in some places more than one hundred feet deep.  But
the part of the island that remained had been somewhat increased in
size by ejected materials.

Of the other islands and islets some had disappeared; some were
partially destroyed; some were enlarged by fallen debris, while
many changes had taken place in the depth of the neighboring sea-
bed.  Two new islands, Steers and Calmeyer, were formed.  The
ejected pumice, so cavernous in structure as to float upon the
water, at places formed great floating islands which covered the
sea for miles, and sometimes rose from four to seven feet above it,
proving a serious obstacle to navigation.  On vessels near by dust
fell to the depth of eighteen inches.  The enormous clouds of
volcanic dust which had been flung high into the air darkened the
sky for a great area around.  At Batavia, about a hundred miles
from the volcano, it produced an effect not unlike that of a London
fog.  This began about seven in the morning of August 27th.  Soon
after ten the light had become lurid and yellow, and lamps were
required in the houses; then came a downfall of rain, mingled with
dust, and by about half-past eleven the town was in complete
darkness.  It soon after began to lighten, and the rain to
diminish, and about three o'clock it had ceased.

At Buitenzorg, twenty miles further away, the conditions were
similar, but lasted for a shorter time.  In places much farther
away the upper sky presented a strangely murky aspect, and the sun
assumed a green color.  Phenomena of this kind were traced over a
broad area of the globe, even as far as the Hawaiian Islands, while
over a yet wider area the sky after sunset was lit up by after-
glows of extraordinary beauty.  The height to which the dust was
projected has been calculated from various data, with the result
that 121,500 feet, or nearly 25 miles, is thought to be a probable
maximum estimate, though it may be that occasional fragments of
larger size were shot up to a still greater height.


A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF THE ERUPTION


Another effect, of a distressing character, followed the eruption.
A succession of enormous waves, emanating from Krakatoa, traversed
the sea, and swept the coast bordering the Straits of Sunda with
such force as to destroy many villages on the low-lying shores in
Java, Sumatra and other islands.  Some buildings at a height of
fifty feet above sea-level were washed away, and in some places the
water rose higher, in one place reaching the height of 115 feet.
At Telok Betong, in Sumatra, a ship was carried inland a distance
of nearly two miles, and left stranded at a height of thirty feet
above the sea.

The eruption of Krakatoa seems to have been due to some deep-lying
causes of extraordinary violence, this appearing not only in the
terrible explosion which tore the island to fragments and sent its
remnants as floating dust many miles high into the air, but also
from an internal convulsion that affected many of the volcanoes of
Java, which almost simultaneously broke into violent eruption.  We
extract from Dr. Robert Bonney's "Our Earth and its Story" a
description of these closely-related events.

"The disturbances originated on the island of Krakatoa, with
eruptions of red hot stones and ashes, and by noon next day Semeru,
the largest of the Javanese volcanoes, was reported to be belching
forth flames at an alarming rate.  The eruption soon spread to
Gunung Guntur and other mountains, until more than a third of the
forty-five craters of Java were either in activity or seriously
threatening it.

"Just before dusk a great cloud hung over Gunung Guntur, and the
crater of the volcano began to emit enormous streams of white
sulphurous mud and lava, which were rapidly succeeded by
explosions, followed by tremendous showers of cinders and enormous
fragments of rock, which were hurled high into the air and
scattered in all directions, carrying death and destruction with
them.  The overhanging clouds were, moreover, so charged with
electricity that water-spouts added to the horror of the scene.
The eruption continued all Saturday night, and next day a dense
cloud, shot with lurid red, gathered over the Kedang range,
intimating that an eruption had broken out there.

"This proved to be the case, for soon after streams of lava poured
down the mountain sides into the valleys, sweeping everything
before them.  About two o'clock on Monday morning--we are drawing
on the account of an eye-witness--the great cloud suddenly broke
into small sections and vanished.  When light came it was seen that
an enormous tract of land, extending from Point Capucin on the
south, and Negery Passoerang on the north and west, to the lowest
point, covering about fifty square miles, had been temporarily
submerged by the 'tidal wave.'  Here were situated the villages of
Negery and Negery Babawang.  Few of the inhabitants of these places
escaped death.  This section of the island was less densely
populated than the other portions, and the loss of life was
comparatively small, although it must have aggregated several
thousands.  The waters of Welcome Bay in the Sunda Straits, Pepper
Bay on the east, and the Indian Ocean on the south, had rushed in
and formed a sea of turbulent waves.


DETONATIONS HEARD FOR MANY MILES AWAY


"On Monday night the volcano of Papandayang was in an active state
of paroxysmal eruption, accompanied by detonations which are said
to have been heard for many miles away.  In Sumatra three distinct
columns of flame were seen to rise from a mountain to a vast
height, and its whole surface was soon covered with fiery lava
streams, which spread to great distances on all sides.  Stones fell
for miles around, and black fragmentary matter carried into the air
caused total darkness.  A whirlwind accompanied the eruption, by
which house-roofs, trees, men, and horses were swept into the air.
The quantity of matter ejected was such as to cover the ground and
the roofs of the houses at Denamo to the depth of several inches.
Suddenly the scene changed.  At first it was reported that
Papandayang had been split into seven distinct peaks.  This proved
untrue; but in the open seams formed could be seen great balls of
molten matter.  From the fissures poured forth clouds of steam and
black lava, which, flowing in steady streams, ran slowly down the
mountain sides, forming beds 200 or 300 feet in extent.  At the
entrance to Batavia was a large group of houses extending along the
shore, and occupied by Chinamen.  This portion of the city was
entirely destroyed, and not many of the Chinese who lived on the
swampy plains managed to save their lives.  They stuck to their
homes till the waves came and washed them away, fearing torrents of
flame and lava more than torrents of water.

"Of the 3,500 Europeans and Americans in Batavia--which for several
hours was in darkness, owing to the fall of ashes--800 perished at
Anjer.  The European and American quarter was first overwhelmed by
rocks, mud and lava from the crater, and then the waters came up
and swallowed the ruins, leaving nothing to mark the site, and
causing the loss of about 200 lives of the inhabitants and those
who sought refuge there."

The loss of life above mentioned was but a small fraction of the
total loss.  All along the coasts of the adjoining large islands
towns and villages were swept away and their inhabitants drowned,
till the total loss was, as nearly as could be estimated, 36,000
souls.  Krakatoa thus surpassed Mont Pelee in its tale of
destruction.  These two, indeed, have been the most destructive to
life of known volcanic explosions, since the volcano usually falls
far short of the earthquake in its murderous results.

The distant effects of this explosion were as remarkable as the
near ones.  The concussion of the air reached to an unprecedented
distance and the clouds of floating dust encircled the earth,
producing striking phenomena of which an account is given at the
end of this chapter.

The rapidity with which the effects of the Krakatoa eruption made
themselves evident in all parts of the earth is perhaps the most
remarkable outcome of this extraordinary event.  The floating
pumice reached the harbor of St. Paul on the 22nd of March, 1884,
after having made a voyage of some two hundred and sixty days at a
rate of six-tenths of a mile an hour.  Immense quantities of pumice
of a similar description, and believed to have been derived from
the same source, reached Tamatave in Madagascar five months later,
and no doubt much of it long continued to float round the world.


SERIES OF ATMOSPHERIC WAVES


Another result of the eruption was the series of atmospheric waves,
caused by the disturbance in the atmosphere, which affected the
barometer over the entire world.  The velocity with which these
waves traveled has been variously estimated at from 912.09 feet to
1066.29 feet per second.  This speed is, of course, very much
inferior to that at which sound travels through the air.  Yet, in
three distinct cases, the noise of the Krakatoa explosions was
plainly heard at a distance of at least 2,200 miles, and in one
instance--that recorded from Rodriguez--of nearly 3,000.  The sound
travelled to Ceylon, Burmah, Manila, New Guinea and Western
Australia, places, however, within a radius of about 2,000 miles;
out Diego Garcia lies outside that area, and Rodriguez a thousand
miles beyond it.  Six days subsequent to the explosion, after the
atmospheric waves had traveled four times round the globe, the
barometer was still affected by them.

Another result, similar in kind, was the extraordinary
dissemination of the great ocean wave, which in a like manner seems
to have encircled the earth, since high waves, without evident
cause, appeared not only in the Pacific, but at many places on the
Atlantic coast within a few days after the event.  They were
observed alike in England and at New York.  The writer happened to
be at Atlantic City, on the New Jersey coast, at this time.  It was
a period of calm, the winds being at rest, but, unheralded, there
came in an ocean wave of such height as to sweep away the ocean-
front boardwalk and do much other damage.  He ascribed this strange
wave at the time to the Krakatoa explosion, and is of the same
opinion still.

In addition to the account given of this extraordinary volcanic
event, it seems desirable to give Sir Robert S. Ball's description
of it in his recent work, "The Earth's Beginnings."  While
repeating to some extent what we have already said, it is worthy,
from its freshness of description and general readability, of a
place here.


SIR ROBERT S. BALL'S DESCRIPTION


"Until the year 1883 few had ever heard of Krakatoa.  It was
unknown to fame, as are hundreds of other gems of glorious
vegetation set in tropical waters.  It was not inhabited, but the
natives from the surrounding shores of Sumatra and Java used
occasionally to draw their canoes up on its beach, while they
roamed through the jungle in search of the wild fruits that there
abounded.  It was known to the mariner who navigated the Straits of
Sunda, for it was marked on his charts as one of the perils of the
intricate navigation in those waters.  It was no doubt recorded
that the locality had been once, or more than once, the seat of an
active volcano.  In fact, the island seemed to owe its existence to
some frightful eruption of by-gone days; but for a couple of
centuries there had been no fresh outbreak.  It almost seemed as if
Krakatoa might be regarded as a volcano that had become extinct.
In this respect it would only be like many other similar objects
all over the globe, or like the countless extinct volcanoes all
over the moon.

"As the summer of 1883 advanced the vigor of Krakatoa, which had
sprung into notoriety at the beginning of the year, steadily
increased and the noises became more and more vehement; these were
presently audible on shores ten miles distant, and then twenty
miles distant; and still those noises waxed louder and louder,
until the great thunders of the volcano, now so rapidly developing,
astonished the inhabitants that dwelt over an area at least as
large as Great Britain.  And there were other symptoms of the
approaching catastrophe.  With each successive convulsion a
quantity of fine dust was projected aloft into the clouds.  The
wind could not carry this dust away as rapidly as it was hurled
upward by Krakatoa, and accordingly the atmosphere became heavily
charged with suspended particles.

"A pall of darkness thus hung over the adjoining seas and islands.
Such was the thickness and density of these atmospheric volumes of
Krakatoa dust that, for a hundred miles around, the darkness of
midnight prevailed at midday.  Then the awful tragedy of Krakatoa
took place.  Many thousands of the unfortunate inhabitants of the
adjacent shores of Sumatra and Java were destined never to behold
the sun again.  They were presently swept away to destruction in an
invasion of the shore by the tremendous waves with which the seas
surrounding Krakatoa were agitated.

"As the days of August passed by the spasms of Krakatoa waxed more
and more vehement.  By the middle of that month the panic was
widespread, for the supreme catastrophe was at hand.  On the night
of Sunday, August 26, 1883, the blackness of the dust-clouds, now
much thicker than ever in the Straits of Sunda and adjacent parts
of Sumatra and Java, was only occasionally illumined by lurid
flashes from the volcano.

"At the town of Batavia, a hundred miles distant, there was no
quiet that night.  The houses trembled with subterranean violence,
and the windows rattled as if heavy artillery were being discharged
in the streets.  And still these efforts seemed to be only
rehearsing for the supreme display.  By ten o'clock on the morning
of Monday, August 27, 1883, the rehearsals were over, and the
performance began.  An overture, consisting of two or three
introductory explosions, was succeeded by a frightful convulsion
which tore away a large part of the island of Krakatoa and
scattered it to the winds of heaven.  In that final outburst all
records of previous explosions on this earth were completely
broken.


AN EXTRAORDINARY NOISE


"This supreme effort it was which produced the mightiest noise
that, so far as we can ascertain, has ever been heard on this
globe.  It must have been indeed a loud noise which could travel
from Krakatoa to Batavia and preserve its vehemence over so great a
distance; but we should form a very inadequate conception of the
energy of the eruption of Krakatoa if we thought that its sounds
were heard by those merely a hundred miles off.  This would be
little indeed compared with what is recorded on testimony which it
is impossible to doubt.

"Westward from Krakatoa stretches the wide expanse of the Indian
Ocean.  On the opposite side from the Straits of Sunda lies the
island of Rodriguez, the distance from Krakatoa being almost three
thousand miles.  It has been proved by evidence which cannot be
doubted that the thunders of the great volcano attracted the
attention of an intelligent coast-guard on Rodriguez, who carefully
noted the character of the sounds and the time of their occurrence.
He had heard them just four hours after the actual explosion, for
this is the time the sound occupied on its journey.


A CONSTANT WIND


"This mighty incident at Krakatoa has taught us other lessons on
the constitution of our atmosphere.  We previously knew little, or
I might say almost nothing, as to the conditions prevailing above
the height of ten miles overhead.  It was Krakatoa which first gave
us a little information which was greatly wanted.  How could we
learn what winds were blowing at a height four times as great as
the loftiest mountain on the earth, and twice as great as the
loftiest altitude to which a balloon has ever soared?  No doubt a
straw will show which way the wind blows, but there are no straws
up there.  There was nothing to render the winds perceptible until
Krakatoa came to our aid.  Krakatoa drove into those winds
prodigious quantities of dust.  Hundreds of cubic miles of air were
thus deprived of that invisibility which they had hitherto
maintained.

"With eyes full of astonishment men watched those vast volumes of
Krakatoa dust on a tremendous journey.  Of course, every one knows
the so-called trade-winds on our earth's surface, which blow
steadily in fixed directions, and which are of such service to the
mariner.  But there is yet another constant wind.  It was first
disclosed by Krakatoa.  Before the occurrence of that eruption, no
one had the slightest suspicion that far up aloft, twenty miles
over our heads, a mighty tempest is incessantly hurrying, with a
speed much greater than that of the awful hurricane which once laid
so large a part of Calcutta on the ground and slew so many of its
inhabitants.  Fortunately for humanity, this new trade-wind does
not come within less than twenty miles of the earth's surface.  We
are thus preserved from the fearful destruction that its
unintermittent blasts would produce, blasts against which no tree
could stand and which would, in ten minutes, do as much damage to a
city as would the most violent earthquake.  When this great wind
had become charged with the dust of Krakatoa, then, for the first,
and, I may add, for the only time, it stood revealed to human
vision.  Then it was seen that this wind circled round the earth in
the vicinity of the equator, and completed its circuit in about
thirteen days.


A VAST CLOUD Of DUST


"The dust manufactured by the supreme convulsion was whirled round
the earth in the mighty atmospheric current into which the volcano
discharged it.  As the dust-cloud was swept along by this
incomparable hurricane it showed its presence in the most glorious
manner by decking the sun and the moon in hues of unaccustomed
splendor and beauty.  The blue color in the sky under ordinary
circumstances is due to particles in the air, and when the ordinary
motes of the sunbeam were reinforced by the introduction of the
myriads of motes produced by Krakatoa even the sun itself sometimes
showed a blue tint.  Thus the progress of the great dust-cloud was
traced out by the extraordinary sky effects it produced, and from
the progress of the dust-cloud we inferred the movements of the
invisible air current which carried it along.  Nor need it be
thought that the quantity of material projected from Krakatoa
should have been inadequate to produce effects of this world-wide
description.  Imagine that the material which was blown to the
winds of heaven by the supreme convulsion of Krakatoa could be all
recovered and swept into one vast heap.  Imagine that the heap were
to have its bulk measured by a vessel consisting of a cube one mile
long, one mile broad and one mile deep; it has been estimated that
even this prodigious vessel would have to be filled to the brim at
least ten times before all the products of Krakatoa had been
measured."

It is not specially to the quantity of material ejected from
Krakatoa that it owes its reputation.  Great as it was, it has been
much surpassed.  Professor Judd says that the great eruptions of
Papapandayang, in Java, in 1772, of Skaptur Jokull, in Iceland, in
1783, and of Tamboro, in Sumbawa, in 1815, were marked by the
extrusion of much larger quantities of material.  The special
feature of the Krakatoa eruption was its extreme violence, which
flung volcanic dust to a height probably never before attained, and
produced sea and air waves of an intensity unparalleled in the
records of volcanic action.  Judd thinks this was due to the
situation of the crater, and the possible inflow through fissures
of a great volume of sea water to the interior lava, the result
being the sudden production of an enormous volume of steam.


EXTRAORDINARY RED SUNSETS


The red sunsets spoken of above were so extraordinary in character
that a fuller description of them seems advisable.  A remarkable
fact concerning them is the great rapidity with which they were
disseminated to distant regions of the earth.  They appeared around
the entire equatorial zone in a few days after the eruption, this
doubtless being due to the great rapidity with which the volcanic
dust was carried by the upper air current.  They were seen at
Rodriguez, 3,000 miles away, on August 28, and within a week in
every part of the torrid zone.  From this zone they spread north
and south with less rapidity.  Their first appearance in Australia
was on September 15th, and at the Cape of Good Hope on the 20th.
On the latter day they were observed in California and the Southern
United States.  They were first seen in England on November 9th.
Elsewhere in Europe and the United States they appeared from
November 20th to 30th.

The effect lasted in some instances as long as an hour and three-
quarters after sunset.  In India the sun and skies assumed a
greenish hue, and there was much curiosity regarding the cause of
the "green sun."  Another remarkable phenomenon of this period was
the great prevalence of rain during the succeeding winter.  This
probably was due to the same cause; that is, to the fact of the air
being so filled with dust; the prevailing theory in regard to rain
being that the existence of dust in the air is necessary to its
fall.  The vapor of the air concentrates into drops around such
minute particles, the result being that where dust is absent rain
cannot fall.

As regards the sunsets spoken of, there are three similar instances
on record.  The first of these was in the year 526, when a dry fog
covered the Roman Empire with a red haze.  Nothing further is known
concerning it.  The other instances were in the years 1783 and
1831.  The former of these has been traced to the great eruption of
Skaptur Jokull in that year.  It lasted for several months as a
pale blue haze, and occasioned so much obscurity that the sun was
only visible when twelve degrees above the horizon, and then it had
a blood-red appearance.  Violent thunderstorms were associated with
it, thus assimilating it with that of 1883.  Alike in 1783 and 1831
there was a pearly, phosphorescent gleam in the atmosphere, by
which small print could be read at midnight.  We know nothing
regarding the meteorological conditions of 1831.

The red sunsets of 1883 were remarkable for their long persistence.
They were observed in the autumn of 1884 with almost their original
brilliancy, and they were still visible in 1885, being seen at
intervals, as if the dust was then distributed in patches, and
driven about by the winds.  In fact, similar sunsets were
occasionally visible for several years afterwards.  These may well
have been due to the same cause, when we consider with what extreme
slowness very fine dust makes its way through the air, and how much
it may be affected by the winds.


THE RED SUNSETS DESCRIBED


One writer describes the appearance of these sunsets in the
following terms: "Immediately after sunset a patch of white light
appeared ten or fifteen degrees above the horizon, and shone for
ten minutes with a pearly lustre.  Beneath it a layer of bright red
rested on the horizon, melting upward into orange, and this passed
into yellow light, which spread around the lucid spot.  Next the
white light grew of a rosy tint, and soon became an intense rose
hue.  A vivid golden oriole yellow strip divided it from the red
fringe below and the rose red above."  This description, although
exaggerated, represents the general conditions of the phenomenon.

On October 20th, 1884, the author observed the sunset effect as
follows: "Immediately after the sun had set, a broad cone of
silvery lustre rested upon a horizon of smoky pink.  After fifteen
minutes the white became rose color above and yellowish below,
deepening to lemon color, and finally into reddish tint, while the
rose faded out.  The whole cone gradually sank and died away in the
brownish red flush on the horizon, more than an hour after sunset."
The time of duration varied, since, on the succeeding evening, it
lasted only a half-hour.  These sunset effects, if we can justly
attribute them all to the Krakatoa eruption, were extraordinary not
alone for their intensity and beauty but for their extended
duration, the influence of this remarkable volcanic outbreak being
visible for several years after the event.

Though no doubt is entertained concerning the cause of the red
sunset effects of 1783 and 1883, that of 1831 is not so readily
explained, there having been no known volcanic explosion of great
intensity in that year.  But in view of the fact that volcanoes
exist in unvisited parts of the earth, some of which may have been
at work unknown to scientific man, this difficulty is not
insuperable.  Possibly Mounts Erebus or Terror, the burning
mountains of the Antarctic zone, may, unseen by man, have prepared
for civilized lands this grand spectacular effect of Nature's
doings.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

Mount Pelee and its Harvest of Death.


St. Pierre, the principal city of the French island of Martinique,
in the West Indies, lies for the length of about a mile along the
island coast, with high cliffs hemming it in, its houses climbing
the slope, tier upon tier.  At one place where a river breaks
through the cliffs, the city creeps further up towards the
mountains.  As seen from the bay, its appearance is picturesque and
charming, with the soft tints of its tiles, the grey of its walls,
the clumps of verdure in its midst, and the wall of green in the
rear.  Seen from its streets this beauty disappears, and the chief
attraction of the town is gone.

Back from the three miles of hills which sweep in an arc round the
town, is the noble Montagne Pelee lying several miles to the north
of the city, a mass of dark rock some four thousand feet high, with
jagged outline, and cleft with gorges and ravines, down which flow
numerous streams, gushing from the crater lake of the great
volcano.

Though known to be a volcano, it was looked upon as practically
extinct, though as late as August, 1856, it had been in eruption.
No lava at that time came from its crater, but it hurled out great
quantities of ashes and mud, with strong sulphurous odor.  Then it
went to rest again, and slept till 1902.

The people had long ceased to fear it.  No one expected that grand
old Mount Pelee, the slumbering (so it was thought) tranquil old
hill, would ever spurt forth fire and death.  This was entirely
unlooked for.  Mont Pelee was regarded by the natives as a sort of
protector; they had an almost superstitious affection for it.  From
the outskirts of the city it rose gradually, its sides grown thick
with rich grass, and dotted here and there with spreading shrubbery
and drooping trees.  There was no pleasanter outing for an
afternoon than a journey up the green, velvet-like sides of the
towering mountain and a view of the quaint, picturesque city
slumbering at its base.


A PEACEFUL SCENE


There were no rocky cliffs, no crags, no protruding boulders.  The
mountain was peace itself.  It seemed to promise perpetual
protection.  The poetic natives relied upon it to keep back storms
from the land and frighten, with its stern brow, the tempests from
the sea.  They pointed to it with profoundest pride as one of the
most beautiful mountains in the world.

Children played in its bowers and arbors; families picnicked there
day after day during the balmy weather; hundreds of tourists
ascended to the summit and looked with pleasure at the beautiful
crystal lake which sparkled and glinted in the sunshine.  Mont
Pelee was the place of enjoyment of the people of St. Pierre.  I
can hear the placid natives say: "Old Father Pelee is our
protector--not our destroyer."

Not until two weeks before the eruption did the slumbering mountain
show signs of waking to death and disaster.  On the 23d of April it
first displayed symptoms of internal disquiet.  A great column of
smoke began to rise from it, and was accompanied from time to time
by showers of ashes and cinders.

Despite these signals, there was nothing until Monday, May 5th, to
indicate actual danger.  On that day a stream of smoking mud and
lava burst through the top of the crater and plunged into the
valley of the River Blanche, overwhelming the Guerin sugar works
and killing twenty-three workmen and the son of the proprietor.
Mr. Guerin's was one of the largest sugar works on the island; its
destruction entailed a heavy loss.  The mud which overwhelmed it
followed the beds of streams towards the north of the island.

The alarm in the city was great, but it was somewhat allayed by the
report of an expert commission appointed by the Governor, which
decided that the eruption was normal and that the city was in no
peril.  To further allay the excitement, the Governor, with several
scientists, took up his residence in St. Pierre.  He could not
restrain the people by force, but the moral effect of his presence
and the decision of the scientists had a similar disastrous result.


A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION BY A SUFFERER.


The existing state of affairs during these few waiting days is so
graphically given in a letter from Mrs. Thomas T. Prentis, wife of
the United States Consul at St. Pierre, to her sister in Melrose, a
suburban city of Boston, that we quote it here:

"My Dear Sister: This morning the whole population of the city is
on the alert and every eye is directed toward Mont Pelee, an
extinct volcano.  Everybody is afraid that the volcano has taken
into its heart to burst forth and destroy the whole island.

"Fifty years ago Mont Pelee burst forth with terrific force and
destroyed everything within a radius of several miles.  For several
days the mountain has been bursting forth in flame and immense
quantities of lava are flowing down its sides.

"All the inhabitants are going up to see it.  There is not a horse
to be had on the island, those belonging to the natives being kept
in readiness to leave at a moment's notice.

"Last Wednesday, which was April 23d, I was in my room with little
Christine, and we heard three distinct shocks.  They were so great
that we supposed at first that there was some one at the door, and
Christine went and found no one there.  The first report was very
loud, and the second and third were so great that dishes were
thrown from the shelves and the house was rocked.

"We can see Mont Pelee from the rear windows of our house, and
although it is fully four miles away, we can hear the roar of the
fire and lava issuing from it.

"The city is covered with ashes and clouds of smoke have been over
our heads for the last five days.  The smell of sulphur is so
strong that horses on the streets stop and snort, and some of them
are obliged to give up, drop in their harness and die from
suffocation.  Many of the people are obliged to wear wet
handkerchiefs over their faces to protect them from the fumes of
sulphur.

"My husband assures me that there is no immediate danger, and when
there is the least particle of danger we will leave the place.
There is an American schooner, the R. F. Morse, in the harbor, and
she will remain here for at least two weeks.  If the volcano
becomes very bad we shall embark at once and go out to sea.  The
papers in this city are asking if we are going to experience
another earthquake similar to that which struck here some fifty
years ago."


THE FATEFUL EIGHTH OF MAY


The writer of this letter and her husband, Consul Prentis, trusted
Mont Pelee too long.  They perished, with all the inhabitants of
the city, in a deadly flood of fire and ashes that descended on the
devoted place on the fateful morning of Thursday, May 8th.  Only
for the few who were rescued from the ships in the harbor there
would be scarcely a living soul to tell that dread story of ruin
and death.  The most graphic accounts are those given by rescued
officers of the Roraima, one of the fleet of the Quebec Steamship
Co., trading with the West Indies.  This vessel had left the Island
of Dominica for Martinique at midnight of Wednesday, and reached
St. Pierre about 7 o'clock Thursday morning.  The greatest
difficulty was experienced in getting into port, the air being
thick with falling ashes and the darkness intense.  The ship had to
grope its way to the anchorage.  Appalling sounds were issuing from
the mountain behind the town, which was shrouded in darkness.  The
ashes were falling thickly on the steamer's deck, where the
passengers and others were gazing at the town, some being engaged
in photographing the scene.

The best way in which we can describe a scene of which few lived to
tell the story, is to give the narratives of a number of the
survivors.  From their several stories a coherent idea of the
terrible scene can be formed.  From the various accounts given of
the terrible explosion by officers of the Roraima, we select as a
first example the following description by Assistant Purser
Thompson:


A TALE OF SUDDEN RUIN


"I saw St. Pierre destroyed.  It was blotted out by one great flash
of fire.  Nearly 40,000 persons were all killed at once.  Out of
eighteen vessels lying in the roads only one, the British steamship
Roddam, escaped, and she, I hear, lost more than half on board.  It
was a dying crew that took her out.

"Our boat, the Roraima, of the Quebec Line, arrived at St. Pierre
early Thursday morning.  For hours before we entered the roadstead
we could see flames and smoke rising from Mont Pelee.  No one on
board had any idea of danger.  Captain G. T. Muggah was on the
bridge, and all hands got on deck to see the show.

"The spectacle was magnificent.  As we approached St. Pierre we
could distinguish the rolling and leaping of the red flames that
belched from the mountain in huge volumes and gushed high in to the
sky.  Enormous clouds of black smoke hung over the volcano.

"When we anchored at St. Pierre I noticed the cable steamship
Grappler, the Roddam, three or four American schooners and a number
of Italian and Norwegian barks.  The flames were then spurting
straight up in the air, now and then waving to one side or the
other for a moment and again leaping suddenly higher up.

"There was a constant muffled roar.  It was like the biggest oil
refinery in the world burning up on the mountain top.  There was a
tremendous explosion about 7.45 o'clock, soon after we got in.  The
mountain was blown to pieces.  There was no warning.  The side of
the volcano was ripped out, and there was hurled straight toward us
a solid wall of flame.  It sounded like thousands of cannon.

"The wave of fire was on us and over us like a lightning flash.  It
was like a hurricane of fire.  I saw it strike the cable steamship
Grappler broadside on and capsize her.  From end to end she burst
into flames and then sank.  The fire rolled in mass straight down
upon St. Pierre and the shipping.  The town vanished before our
eyes and the air grew stifling hot, and we were in the thick of it.

"Wherever the mass of fire struck the sea the water boiled and sent
up vast clouds of steam.  The sea was torn into huge whirlpools
that careened toward the open sea.

"One of these horrible hot whirlpools swung under the Roraima and
pulled her down on her beam ends with the suction.  She careened
way over to port, and then the fire hurricane from the volcano
smashed her, and over she went on the opposite side.  The fire wave
swept off the masts and smokestack as if they were cut with a
knife.


HEAT CAUSED EXPLOSIONS


"Captain Muggah was the only one on deck not killed outright.  He
was caught by the fire wave and terribly burned.  He yelled to get
up the anchor, but, before two fathoms were heaved in the Roraima
was almost upset by the boiling whirlpool, and the fire wave had
thrown her down on her beam ends to starboard.  Captain Muggah was
overcome by the flames.  He fell unconscious from the bridge and
toppled overboard.

"The blast of fire from the volcano lasted only a few minutes.  It
shriveled and set fire to everything it touched.  Thousands of
casks of rum were stored in St. Pierre, and these were exploded by
the terrific heat.  The burning rum ran in streams down every
street and out to the sea.  This blazing rum set fire to the
Roraima several times.  Before the volcano burst the landings of
St. Pierre were crowded with people.  After the explosion not one
living being was seen on land.  Only twenty-five of those on the
Roraima out of sixty-eight were left after the first flash.

"The French cruiser Suchet came in and took us off at 2 P. M.  She
remained nearby, helping all she could, until 5 o'clock, then went
to Fort de France with all the people she had rescued.  At that
time it looked as if the entire north end of the island was on
fire."

C. C. Evans, of Montreal, and John G. Morris, of New York, who were
among those rescued, say the vessel arrived at 6 o'clock.  As eight
bells were struck a frightful explosion was heard up the mountain.
A cloud of fire, toppling and roaring, swept with lightning speed
down the mountain side and over the town and bay.  The Roraima was
nearly sunk, and caught fire at once.

"I can never forget the horrid, fiery, choking whirlwind which
enveloped me," said Mr. Evans.  "Mr. Morris and I rushed below.  We
are not very badly burned, not so bad as most of them.  When the
fire came we were going to our posts (we are engineers) to weigh
anchor and get out.  When we came up we found the ship afire aft,
and fought it forward until 3 o'clock, when the Suchet came to our
rescue.  We were then building a raft."

"Ben" Benson, the carpenter of the Roraima, said: "I was on deck,
amidships, when I heard an explosion.  The captain ordered me to up
anchor.  I got to the windlass, but when the fire came I went into
the forecastle and got my 'duds.'  When I came out I talked with
Captain Muggah, Mr. Scott, the first officer and others.  They had
been on the bridge.  The captain was horribly burned.  He had
inhaled flames and wanted to jump into the sea.  I tried to make
him take a life-preserver.  The captain, who was undressed, jumped
overboard and hung on to a line for a while.  Then he disappeared."


THE COOPER'S STORY.


James Taylor, a cooper employed on the Roraima, gives the following
account of his experience of the disaster:

"Hearing a tremendous report and seeing the ashes falling thicker,
I dived into a room, dragging with me Samuel Thomas, a gangway man
and fellow countryman, shutting the door tightly.  Shortly after I
heard a voice, which I recognized as that of the chief mate, Mr.
Scott.  Opening the door with great caution, I drew him in.  The
nose of Thomas was burned by the intense heat.

"We three and Thompson, the assistant purser, out of sixty-eight
souls on board, were the only persons who escaped practically
uninjured.  The heat being unbearable, I emerged in a few moments,
and the scene that presented itself to my eyes baffles description.
All around on the deck were the dead and dying covered with boiling
mud.  There they lay, men, women and little children, and the
appeals of the latter for water were heart-rending.  When water was
given them they could not swallow it, owing to their throats being
filled with ashes or burnt with the heated air.

"The ship was burning aft, and I jumped overboard, the sea being
intensely hot.  I was at once swept seaward by a tidal wave, but,
the sea receding a considerable distance, the return wave washed me
against an upturned sloop to which I clung.  I was joined by a man
so dreadfully burned and disfigured as to be unrecognizable.
Afterwards I found he was the captain of the Roraima, Captain
Muggah.  He was in dreadful agony, begging piteously to be put on
board his ship.

"Picking up some wreckage which contained bedding and a tool chest,
I, with the help of five others who had joined me on the wreck,
constructed a rude raft, on which we placed the captain.  Then,
seeing an upturned boat, I asked one of the five, a native of
Martinique, to swim and fetch it.  Instead of returning to us, he
picked up two of his countrymen and went away in the direction of
Fort de France.  Seeing the Roddam, which arrived in port shortly
after we anchored, making for the Roraima, I said good-bye to the
captain and swam back to the Roraima.

"The Roddam, however, burst into flames and put to sea.  I reached
the Roraima at about half-past 2, and was afterwards taken off by a
boat from the French warship Suchet.  Twenty-four others with
myself were taken on to Fort de France.  Three of these died before
reaching port.  A number of others have since died."

Samuel Thomas, the gangway man, whose life was saved by the
forethought of Taylor, says that the scene on the burning ship was
awful.  The groans and cries of the dying, for whom nothing could
be done, were horrible.  He describes a woman as being burned to
death with a living babe in her arms.  He says that it seemed as if
the whole world was afire.


CONSUL AYME'S STATEMENT


The inflammable material in the forepart of the ship that would
have ignited that part of the vessel was thrown overboard by him
and the other two uninjured men.  The Grappler, the telegraph
company's ship, was seen opposite the Usine Guerin, and disappeared
as if blown up by a submarine explosion.  The captain's body was
subsequently found by a boat from the Suchet.

Consul Ayme, of Guadeloupe, who, as already stated, had hastened to
Fort de France on hearing of the terrible event, tells the story of
the disaster in the following words:

"Thursday morning the inhabitants of the city awoke to find heavy
clouds shrouding Mont Pelee crater.  All day Wednesday horrid
detonations had been heard.  These were echoed from St. Thomas on
the north to Barbados on the south.  The cannonading ceased on
Wednesday night, and fine ashes fell like rain on St. Pierre.  The
inhabitants were alarmed, but Governor Mouttet, who had arrived at
St. Pierre the evening before, did everything possible to allay the
panic.

"The British steamer Roraima reached St. Pierre on Thursday with
ten passengers, among whom were Mrs. Stokes and her three children,
and Mrs. H. J. Ince.  They were watching the rain of ashes, when,
with a frightful roar and terrific electric discharges, a cyclone
of fire, mud and steam swept down from the crater over the town and
bay, sweeping all before it and destroying the fleet of vessels at
anchor off the shore.  There the accounts of the catastrophe so far
obtainable cease.  Thirty thousand corpses are strewn about, buried
in the ruins of St. Pierre, or else floating, gnawed by sharks, in
the surrounding seas.  Twenty-eight charred, half-dead human beings
were brought here.  Sixteen of them are already dead, and only four
of the whole number are expected to recover."


A WOMAN'S EXPERIENCE ON THE "RORAIMA"


Margaret Stokes, the 9 year old daughter of the late Clement
Stokes, of New York, who, with her mother, a brother aged 4 and a
sister aged 3 years, was on the ill-fated steamer Roraima, was
saved from that vessel, but is not expected to live.  Her nurse,
Clara King, tells the following story of her experience:

She says she was in her stateroom, when the steward of the Roraima
called out to her:

"Look at Mont Pelee."

She went on deck and saw a vast mass of black cloud coming down
from the volcano.  The steward ordered her to return to the saloon,
saying, "It is coming."

Miss King then rushed to the saloon.  She says she experienced a
feeling of suffocation, which was followed by intense heat.  The
afterpart of the Roraima broke out in flames.  Ben Benson, the
carpenter of the Roraima, severely burned, assisted Miss King and
Margaret Stokes to escape.  With the help of Mr. Scott, the first
mate of the Roraima, he constructed a raft, with life preservers.
Upon this Miss King and Margaret were placed.

While this was being done Margaret's little brother died.  Mate
Scott brought the child water at great personal danger, but it was
unavailing.  Shortly after the death of the little boy Mrs. Stokes
succumbed.  Margaret and Miss King eventually got away on the raft,
and were picked up by the steamer Korona.  Mate Scott also escaped.
Miss King did not sustain serious injuries.  She covered the face
of Margaret with her dress, but still the child was probably
fatally burned.

The only woman known at that time to have survived the disaster at
St. Pierre was a negress named Fillotte.  She was found in a cellar
Saturday afternoon, where she had been for three days.  She was
still alive, but fearfully burned from head to toes.  She died
afterward in the hospital.


CAPTAIN FREEMAN'S THRILLING ACCOUNT


Of the vessels in the harbor of St. Pierre on the fateful morning,
only one, the British steamer Roddam, escaped, and that with a crew
of whom few reached the open sea alive.  Those who did escape were
terribly injured.  Captain Freeman, of this vessel, tells what he
experienced in the following thrilling language:

"St. Lucia, British West Indies, May 11.--The steamer Roddam, of
which I am captain, left St. Lucia at midnight of May 7, and was
off St. Pierre, Martinique, at 6 o'clock on the morning of the 8th.
I noticed that the volcano, Mont Pelee, was smoking, and crept
slowly in toward the bay, finding there among others the steamer
Roraima, the telegraph repairing steamer Grappler and four sailing
vessels.  I went to anchorage between 7 and 8 and had hardly moored
when the side of the volcano opened out with a terrible explosion.
A wall of fire swept over the town and the bay.  The Roddam was
struck broadside by the burning mass.  The shock to the ship was
terrible, nearly capsizing her.


AWFUL RESULTS


"Hearing the awful report of the explosion and seeing the great
wall of flames approaching the steamer, those on deck sought
shelter wherever it was possible, jumping into the cabin, the
forecastle and even into the hold.  I was in the chart room, but
the burning embers were borne by so swift a movement of the air
that they were swept in through the door and port holes,
suffocating and scorching me badly.  I was terribly burned by these
embers about the face and hands, but managed to reach the deck.
Then, as soon as it was possible, I mustered the few survivors who
seemed able to move, ordered them to slip the anchor, leaped for
the bridge and ran the engine for full speed astern.  The second
and the third engineer and a fireman were on watch below and so
escaped injury.  They did their part in the attempt to escape, but
the men on deck could not work the steering gear because it was
jammed by the debris from the volcano.  We accordingly went ahead
and astern until the gear was free, but in this running backward
and forward it was two hours after the first shock before we were
clear of the bay.

"One of the most terrifying conditions was that, the atmosphere
being charged with ashes, it was totally dark.  The sun was
completely obscured, and the air was only illuminated by the flames
from the volcano and those of the burning town and shipping.  It
seems small to say that the scene was terrifying in the extreme.
As we backed out we passed close to the Roraima, which was one mass
of blaze.  The steam was rushing from the engine room, and the
screams of those on board were terrible to hear.  The cries for
help were all in vain, for I could do nothing but save my own ship.
When I last saw the Roraima she was settling down by the stern.
That was about 10 o'clock in the morning.

"When the Roddam was safely out of the harbor of St. Pierre, with
its desolations and horrors, I made for St. Lucia.  Arriving there,
and when the ship was safe, I mustered the survivors as well as I
was able and searched for the dead and injured.  Some I found in
the saloon where they had vainly sought for safety, but the cabins
were full of burning embers that had blown in through the port
holes.  Through these the fire swept as through funnels and burned
the victims where they lay or stood, leaving a circular imprint of
scorched and burned flesh.  I brought ten on deck who were thus
burned; two of them were dead, the others survived, although in a
dreadful state of torture from their burns.  Their screams of agony
were heartrending.  Out of a total of twenty-three on board the
Roddam, which includes the captain and the crew, ten are dead and
several are in the hospital.  My first and second mates, my chief
engineer and my supercargo, Campbell by name, were killed.  The
ship was covered from stem to stern with tons of powdered lava,
which retained its heat for hours after it had fallen.  In many
cases it was practically incandescent, and to move about the deck
in this burning mass was not only difficult but absolutely
perilous.  I am only now able to begin thoroughly to clear and
search the ship for any damage done by this volcanic rain, and to
see if there are any corpses in out-of-the-way places.  For
instance, this morning, I found one body in the peak of the
forecastle.  The body was horribly burned and the sailor had
evidently crept in there in his agony to die.

"On the arrival of the Roddam at St. Lucia the ship presented an
appalling appearance.  Dead and calcined bodies lay about the deck,
which was also crowded with injured helpless and suffering people.
Prompt assistance was rendered to the injured by the authorities
here and my poor, tortured men were taken to the hospital.  The
dead were buried.  I have omitted to mention that out of twenty-one
black laborers that I brought from Grenada to help in stevedoring,
only six survived.  Most of the others threw themselves overboard
to escape a dreadful fate, but they met a worse one, for it is an
actual fact that the water around the ship was literally at a
boiling heat.  The escape of my vessel was miraculous.  The
woodwork of the cabins and bridge and everything inflammable on
deck were constantly igniting, and it was with great difficulty
that we few survivors managed to keep the flames down.  My ropes,
awnings, tarpaulins were completely burned up.

"I witnessed the entire destruction of St. Pierre.  The flames
enveloped the town in every quarter with such rapidity that it was
impossible that any person could be saved.  As I have said, the day
was suddenly turned to night, but I could distinguish by the light
of the burning town people distractedly running about on the beach.
The burning buildings stood out from the surrounding darkness like
black shadows.  All this time the mountain was roaring and shaking,
and in the intervals between these terrifying sounds I could hear
the cries of despair and agony from the thousands who were
perishing.  These cries added to the terror of the scene, but it is
impossible to describe its horror or the dreadful sensations it
produced.  It was like witnessing the end of the world.

"Let me add that, after the first shock was over, the survivors of
the crew rendered willing help to navigate the ship to this port.
Mr. Plissoneau, our agent in Martinique, happening to be on board,
was saved, and I really believe that he is the only survivor of St.
Pierre.  As it is, he is seriously burned on the hands and face.

"FREEMAN,

"Master British Steamship Roddam."


THE "ETONA" PASSES ST. PIERRE


The British steamer Etona, of the Norton Line, stopped at St. Lucia
to coal on May 10th.  Captain Cantell there visited the Roddam and
had an interview with Captain Freeman.  On the 11th the Elona put
to sea again, passing St. Pierre in the afternoon.  We subjoin her
captain's story:

"The weather was clear and we had a fine view, but the old outlines
of St. Pierre were not recognizable.  Everything was a mass of blue
lava, and the formation of the land itself seemed to have changed.
When we were about eight miles off the northern end of the island
Mount Pelee began to belch a second time.  Clouds of smoke and lava
shot into the air and spread over all the sea, darkening the sun.
Our decks in a few minutes were covered with a substance that
looked like sand dyed a bluish tint, and which smelled like
phosphorus.  For all that the day was clear, there was little to be
seen satisfactorily.  Over the island there hung a blue haze.  It
seemed to me that the formation, the topography, of the island was
altered.

"Everything seemed to be covered with a blue dust, such as had
fallen aboard us every day since we had been within the affected
region.  It was blue lava dust.  For more than an hour we scanned
the coast with our glasses, now and then discovering something that
looked like a ruined hamlet or collection of buildings.  There was
no life visible.  Suddenly we realized that we might have to fight
for our lives as the Roddam's people had done.

"We were about four miles off the northern end of the island when
suddenly there shot up in the air to a tremendous height a column
of smoke.  The sky darkened and the smoke seemed to swirl down upon
us.  In fact, it spread all around, darkening the atmosphere as far
as we could see.  I called Chief Engineer Farrish to the deck.

"'Do you see that over there?' I asked, pointing to the eruption,
for it was the second eruption of Mont Pelee.  He saw it all right.
Captain Freeman's story was fresh in my mind.

"'Well, Farrish, rush your engines as they have never been rushed
before,' I said to him.  He went below, and soon we began to burn
coal and pile up the feathers in our forefoot.

"I was on watch with Second Officer Gibbs.  At once we began to
furl awnings and make secure against fire.  The crew were all
showing an anxious spirit, and everybody on board, including the
four passengers, were serious and apprehensive.

"We began to cut through the water at almost twelve knots.
Ordinarily we make ten knots.  We could see no more of the land
contour, but everything seemed to be enveloped in a great cloud.
There was no fire visible, but the lava dust rained down upon us
steadily.  In less than an hour there were two inches of it upon
our deck.

"The air smelled like phosphorus.  No one dared to look up to try
to locate the sun, because one's eyes would fill with lava dust.
Some of the blue lava dust is sticking to our mast yet, although we
have swabbed decks and rigging again and again to be clear of it.

"After a little more than an hour's fast running we saw daylight
ahead and began to breathe easier.  If I had not talked with
Captain Freeman and heard from him just how the black swirl of wind
and fire rolled down upon him, I would not have been so
apprehensive, but would have thought that the darkness and cloud
that came down upon us meant just an unusually heavy squall."


CHIEF ENGINEER FARRISH'S STORY


"The Etona's run from Montevideo was a fast one--I think a record
breaker.  We were 22 days and 21 hours from port to port.  Off
Martinique I stared at the coast for about an hour, and then went
below.  The blue lava that covered everything faded into the haze
that hung over the island so that nothing was distinctly visible.
Through my glass I discovered a stream of lava, though.  It
stretched down the mountain side, and seemed to be flowing into the
sea.  It was not clearly and distinctly visible, however.

"About 3 o'clock I went below to take forty winks.  I had been in
my berth only a few minutes when the steward told me the captain
wanted me on the bridge.

"'Do you see that, Farrish?' he asked, pointing at the land.  An
outburst of smoke seemed to be sweeping down upon us.  It made me
think of the Roddam's experience.  Smoke and dust closed in about
us, shutting out the sunlight, and precipitating a fall of lava on
our decks.

"'Go below and drive her,' said the captain, and I didn't lose any
time, I can tell you.  We burned coal as though it didn't cost a
cent.  The safety valve was jumping every second, even though we
were making twelve knots an hour.  For two hours we kept up the
pace, and then, running into clear daylight, let the engines slow
down and we all cheered up a bit."


CAPTAIN CANTELL VISITS THE "RODDAM"


Captain Cantell went on board the Roddam, whose frightful condition
he thus describes:

"At St. Lucia, on May 11th, I went on board the British steamship
Roddam, which had escaped from the terrible volcanic eruption at
Martinique two days before.  The state of the ship was enough to
show that those on board must have undergone an awful experience.

"The Roddam was covered with a mass of fine bluish gray dust or
ashes of cement-like appearance.  In some parts it lay two feet
deep on the decks.  This matter had fallen in a red-hot state all
over the steamer, setting fire to everything it struck that was
burnable, and, when it fell on the men on board, burning off limbs
and large pieces of flesh.  This was shown by finding portions of
human flesh when the decks were cleared of the debris.  The
rigging, ropes, tarpaulins, sails, awnings, etc., were charred or
burned, and most of the upper stanchions and spars were swept
overboard or destroyed by fire.  Skylights were smashed and cabins
were filled with volcanic dust.  The scene of ruin was deplorable.

"The captain, though suffering the greatest agony, succeeded in
navigating his vessel safely to the port of Castries, St. Lucia,
with eighteen dead bodies on the deck and human limbs scattered
about.  A sailor stood by constantly wiping the captain's injured
eyes.

"I think the performance of the Roddam's captain was most
wonderful, and the more so when I saw his pitiful condition.  I do
not understand how he kept up, yet when the steamer arrived at St.
Lucia and medical assistance was procured, this brave man asked the
doctors to attend to the others first and refused to be treated
until this was done.

"My interview with the captain brought out this account.  I left
him in good spirits and receiving every comfort.  The sight of his
face would frighten anyone not prepared to see it."


THE VIVID ACCOUNT OF M. ALBERT


To the accounts given by the survivors of the Roraima and the
officers of the Etona, it will be well to add the following graphic
story told by M. Albert, a planter of the island, the owner of an
estate situated only a mile to the northeast of the burning crater
of Mont Pelee.  His escape from death had in it something of the
marvellous.  He says:

"Mont Pelee had given warning of the destruction that was to come,
but we, who had looked upon the volcano as harmless, did not
believe that it would do more than spout fire and steam, as it had
done on other occasions.  It was a little before eight o'clock on
the morning of May 8 that the end came.  I was in one of the fields
of my estate when the ground trembled under my feet, not as it does
when the earth quakes, but as though a terrible struggle was going
on within the mountain.  A terror came upon me, but I could not
explain my fear.

"As I stood still Mont Pelee seemed to shudder, and a moaning sound
issued from its crater.  It was quite dark, the sun being obscured
by ashes and fine volcanic dust.  The air was dead about me, so
dead that the floating dust seemingly was not disturbed.  Then
there was a rending, crashing, grinding noise, which I can only
describe as sounding as though every bit of machinery in the world
had suddenly broken down.  It was deafening, and the flash of light
that accompanied it was blinding, more so than any lightning I have
ever seen.

"It was like a terrible hurricane, and where a fraction of a second
before there had been a perfect calm, I felt myself drawn into a
vortex and I had to brace myself firmly.  It was like a great
express train rushing by, and I was drawn by its force.  The
mysterious force levelled a row of strong trees, tearing them up by
the roots and leaving bare a space of ground fifteen yards wide and
more than one hundred yards long.  Transfixed I stood, not knowing
in what direction to flee.  I looked toward Mont Pelee, and above
its apex there appeared a great black cloud which reached high in
the air.  It literally fell upon the city of St. Pierre.  It moved
with a rapidity that made it impossible for anything to escape it.
From the cloud came explosions that sounded as though all of the
navies of the world were in titanic combat.  Lightning played in
and out in broad forks, the result being that intense darkness was
followed by light that seemed to be of magnifying power.

"That St. Pierre was doomed I knew, but I was prevented from seeing
the destruction by a spur of the hill that shut off the view of the
city.  It is impossible for me to tell how long I stood there
inert.  Probably it was only a few seconds, but so vivid were my
impressions that it now seems as though I stood as a spectator for
many minutes.  When I recovered possession of my senses I ran to my
house and collected the members of the family, all of whom were
panic stricken.  I hurried them to the seashore, where we boarded a
small steamship, in which we made the trip in safety to Fort de
France.

"I know that there was no flame in the first wave that was sent
down upon St. Pierre.  It was a heavy gas, like firedamp, and it
must have asphyxiated the inhabitants before they were touched by
the fire, which quickly followed.  As we drew out to sea in the
small steamship, Mont Pelee was in the throes of a terrible
convulsion.  New craters seemed to be opening all about the summit
and lava was flowing in broad streams in every direction.  My
estate was ruined while we were still in sight of it.  Many women
who lived in St. Pierre escaped only to know that they were left
widowed and childless.  This is because many of the wealthier men
sent their wives away, while they remained in St. Pierre to attend
to their business affairs."


WHAT HAPPENED ON THE "HORACE"


The British steamer Horace experienced the effect of the explosion
when farther from land.  After touching at Barbados, she reached
the vicinity of Martinique on May 9th, her decks being covered with
several inches of dust when she was a hundred and twenty-five miles
distant.  We quote engineer Anderson's story:

"On the afternoon of May 8 (Thursday) we noticed a peculiar haze in
the direction of Martinique.  The air seemed heavy and oppressive.
The weather conditions were not at all unlike those which precede
the great West Indian hurricanes, but, knowing it was not the
season of the year for them, we all remarked in the engine room
that there must be a heavy storm approaching.

"Several of the sailors, experienced deep water seamen, laughed at
our prognostications, and informed us there would be no storm
within the next sixty hours, and insisted that, according to all
fo'cas'le indications, a dead calm was in sight.

"So unusually peculiar were the weather conditions that we talked
of nothing else during the evening.  That night, in the direction
of Martinique, there was a very black sky, an unusual thing at this
season of the year, and a storm was apparently brewing in a
direction from which storms do not come at this season.


GREAT FLASHES OF LIGHT


"As the night wore on those on watch noticed what appeared to be
great flashes of lightning in the direction of Martinique.  It
seemed as though the ordinary conditions were reversed, and even
the fo'cas'le prophets were unable to offer explanations.

"Occasionally, over the pounding of the engines and the rush of
water, we thought we could hear long, deep roars, not unlike the
ending of a deep peal of thunder.  Several times we heard the
rumble or roar, but at the time we were not certain as to exactly
what it was, or even whether we really heard it.

"There would suddenly come great flashes of light from the dark
bank toward Martinique.  Some of them seemed to spread over a great
area, while others appeared to spout skyward, funnel shaped.  All
night this continued, and it was not until day came that the
flashes disappeared.  The dark bank that covered the horizon toward
Martinique, however, did not fade away with the breaking of day,
and at eight in the morning of the 9th (Friday) the whole section
of the sky in that direction seemed dark and troubled.

"About nine o'clock Friday morning I was sitting on one of the
hatches aft with some of the other engineers and officers of the
ship, discussing the peculiar weather phenomena.  I noticed a sort
of grit that got into my mouth from the end of the cigar I was
smoking.

"I attributed it to some rather bad coal which we had shipped
aboard, and, turning to Chief Engineer Evans, I remarked that 'that
coal was mighty dirty,' and he said that it was covering the ship
with a sort of grit.  Then I noticed that grit was getting on my
clothes, and finally some one suggested that we go forward of the
funnels, so we would not get dirt on us.  As we went forward we met
one or two of the sailors from the forecastle, who wanted to know
about the dust that was falling on the ship.  Then we found that
the grayish-looking ash was sifting all over the ship, both forward
and aft.


ASHES RAINED ON THE SHIP


"Every moment the ashes rained down all over the ship, and at the
same time grew thicker.  A few moments later, the lookout called
down that we were running into a fog-bank dead ahead.  Fog banks in
that section are unheard of at nine o'clock in the morning at this
season, and we were more than a hundred miles from land, and what
could fog and sand be doing there.

"Before we knew it, we went into the fog, which proved to be a big
dense bank of this same sand, and it rained down on us from every
side.  Ventilators were quickly brought to their places, and later
even the hatches were battened down.  The dust became suffocating,
and the men at times had all they could do to keep from choking.
What the stuff was we could not at first conjecture, or rather, we
didn't have much time to speculate on it, for we had to get our
ship in shape to withstand we hardly knew what.

"At first we thought that the sand must have been blown from shore.
Then we decided that if the Captain's figures were right we
wouldn't be near enough to shore to have sand blow on us, and as we
had just cleared Barbados, we knew that the Captain's figures had
to be right.

"Just as the storm of sand was at its height, Fourth Engineer Wild
was nearly suffocated by it, but was easily revived.  About this
time it became so dark that we found it necessary to start up the
electric lights, and it was not until after we got clear from the
fog that we turned the current off.  In the meantime they had
burned from nine o'clock in the morning until after two in the
afternoon.


THE ENGINE BECAME CHOKED


"Then there was another anxious moment shortly after nine o'clock.
Third Engineer Rennie had been running the donkey engine, when
suddenly it choked, and when he finally got it clear from the sand
or ashes, he found the valves were all cut out, and then it was we
discovered that it was not sand, but some sort of a composition
that seemed to cut steel like emery.  Then came the danger that it
would get into the valves of the engine and cut them out, and for
several moments all hands scurried about and helped make the engine
room tight, and even then the ash drifted in and kept all the
engine room force wiping the engines clear of it.

"Toward three o'clock in the afternoon of Friday we were
practically clear of the sand, but at eleven o'clock that night we
ran into a second bank of it, though not as bad as the first.  We
made some experiments, and found the stuff was superior to emery
dust.  It cut deeper and quicker, and only about half as much was
required to do the work.  We made up our minds we would keep what
came on board, as it was better than the emery dust and much
cheaper, so we gathered it up.

"That night there were more of the same electric phenomena toward
Martinique, but it was not until we got into St. Lucia, where we
saw the Roddam, that we learned of the terrible disaster at St.
Pierre, and then we knew that our sand was lava dust."

The volcanic ash which fell on the decks of the Horace was ground
as fine as rifle powder, and was much finer than that which covered
the decks of the Etona.

Returning to the stories told by officers of the Roraima, of which
a number have been given, it seems desirable to add here the
narrative of Ellery S. Scott, the mate of the ruined ship, since it
gives a vivid and striking account of his personal experience of
the frightful disaster, with many details of interest not related
by others.


MATE SCOTT'S GRAPHIC STORY


"We got to St. Pierre in the Roraima," began Mr. Scott, "at 6.30
o'clock on Thursday morning.  That's the morning the mountain and
the town and the ships were all sent to hell in a minute.

"All hands had had breakfast.  I was standing on the fo'c's'l head
trying to make out the marks on the pipes of a ship 'way out and
heading for St. Lucia.  I wasn't looking at the mountain at all.
But I guess the captain was, for he was on the bridge, and the last
time I heard him speak was when he shouted, 'Heave up, Mr. Scott;
heave up.'  I gave the order to the men, and I think some of them
did jump to get the anchor up, but nobody knows what really
happened for the next fifteen minutes.  I turned around toward the
captain and then I saw the mountain.

"Did you ever see the tide come into the Bay of Fundy.  It doesn't
sneak in a little at a time as it does 'round here.  It rolls in in
waves.  That's the way the cloud of fire and mud and white-hot
stones rolled down from that volcano over the town and over the
ships.  It was on us in almost no time, but I saw it and in the
same glance I saw our captain bracing himself to meet it on the
bridge.  He was facing the fire cloud with both hands gripped hard
to the bridge rail, his legs apart and his knees braced back stiff.
I've seen him brace himself that same way many a time in a tough
sea with the spray going mast-head high and green water pouring
along the decks.

"I saw the captain, I say, at the same instant I saw that ruin
coming down on us.  I don't know why, but that last glimpse of poor
Muggah on his bridge will stay with me just as long as I remember
St. Pierre and that will be long enough.

"In another instant it was all over for him.  As I was looking at
him he was all ablaze.  He reeled and fell on the bridge with his
face toward me.  His mustache and eyebrows were gone in a jiffy.
His hat had gone, and his hair was aflame, and so were his clothes
from head to foot.  I knew he was conscious when he fell, by the
look in his eyes, but he didn't make a sound.

"That all happened a long way inside of half a minute; then
something new happened.  When the wave of fire was going over us, a
tidal wave of the sea came out from the shore and did the rest.
That wall of rushing water was so high and so solid that it seemed
to rise up and join the smoke and flame above.  For an instant we
could see nothing but the water and the flame.

"That tidal wave picked the ship up like a canoe and then smashed
her.  After one list to starboard the ship righted, but the masts,
the bridge, the funnel and all the upper works had gone overboard.

"I had saved myself from fire by jamming a metal ventilator cover
over my head and jumping from the fo'c's'l head.  Two St. Kitts
negroes saved me from the water by grabbing me by the legs and
pulling me down into the fo'c's'l after them.  Before I could get
up three men tumbled in on top of me.  Two of them were dead.

"Captain Muggah went overboard, still clinging to the fragments of
his wrecked bridge.  Daniel Taylor, the ship's cooper, and a Kitts
native jumped overboard to save him.  Taylor managed to push the
captain on to a hatch that had floated off from us and then they
swam back to the ship for more assistance, but nothing could be
done for the captain.  Taylor wasn't sure he was alive.  The last
we saw of him or his dead body it was drifting shoreward on that
hatch.

"Well, after staying in the fo'c's'l about twenty minutes I went
out on deck.  There were just four of us left aboard who could do
anything.  The four were Thompson, Dan Taylor, Quashee, and myself.
It was still raining fire and hot rocks and you could hardly see a
ship's length for dust and ashes, but we could stand that.  There
were burning men and some women and two or three children lying
around the deck.  Not just burned, but burning, then, when we got
to them.  More than half the ship's company had been killed in that
first rush of flame.  Some had rolled overboard when the tidal wave
came and we never saw so much as their bodies.  The cook was burned
to death in his galley.  He had been paring potatoes for dinner and
what was left of his right hand held the shank of his potato knife.
The wooden handle was in ashes.  All that happened to a man in less
than a minute.  The donkey engineman was killed on deck sitting in
front of his boiler.  We found parts of some bodies--a hand, or an
arm or a leg.  Below decks there were some twenty alive.

"The ship was on fire, of course, what was left of it.  The stumps
of both masts were blazing.  Aft she was like a furnace, but
forward the flames had not got below deck, so we four carried those
who were still alive on deck into the fo'c's'l.  All of them were
burned and most of them were half strangled.

"One boy, a passenger and just a little shaver [the four-year-old
son of the late Clement Stokes, above spoken of] was picked up
naked.  His hair and all his clothing had been burned off, but he
was alive.  We rolled him in a blanket and put him in a sailor's
bunk.  A few minutes later we looked at him and he was dead.

"My own son's gone, too.  It had been his trick at lookout ahead
during the dog watch that morning, when we were making for St.
Pierre, so I supposed at first when the fire struck us that he was
asleep in his bunk and safe.  But he wasn't.  Nobody could tell me
where he was.  I don't know whether he was burned to death or
rolled overboard and drowned.  He was a likely boy.  He had been
several voyages with me and would have been a master some day.  He
used to say he'd make me mate.

"After getting all hands that had any life left in them below and
'tended to the best we could, the four of us that were left half
way ship-shape started in to fight the fire.  We had case oil
stowed forward.  Thanks to that tidal wave that cleared our decks
there wasn't much left to burn, so we got the fire down so's we
could live on board with it for several hours more and then the
four turned to to knock a raft together out of what timber and
truck we could find below.  Our boats had gone overboard with the
masts and funnel.


PREPARED TO TRUST TO LUCK


"We made that raft for something over thirty that were alive.  We
put provisions on for two days and rigged up a make-shift mast and
sail, for we intended to go to sea.  We were only three boats'
length from the shore, but the shore was hell itself.  We intended
to put straight out and trust to luck that the Korona, that was
about due at St. Pierre, would pick us up.  But we did not have to
risk the raft, for about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when we were
almost ready to put the raft overboard, the Suchet came along and
took us all off.  We thought for a minute just after we were
wrecked that we were to get help from a ship that passed us.  We
burned blue lights, but she kept on.  We learned afterward that she
was the Roddam."

Soundings made off Martinique after the explosion showed that
earthquake effects of much importance had taken place under the sea
bottom, which had been lifted in some places and had sunk in
others.  While deep crevices had been formed on the land, a still
greater effect had seemingly been produced beneath the water.
During the explosion the sea withdrew several hundred feet from its
shore line, and then came back steaming with fury; this indicating
a lift and fall of the ocean bed off the isle.  Soundings made
subsequently near the island found in one place a depth of 4,000
feet where before it had been only 600 feet deep.  The French Cable
Company, which was at work trying to repair the cables broken by
the eruption, found the bottom of the Caribbean Sea so changed as
to render the old charts useless.

New charts will need to be made for future navigation.  The changes
in sea levels were not confined to the immediate centre of volcanic
activity, but extended as far north as Porto Rico, and it was
believed that the seismic wave would be found to have altered the
ocean bed round Jamaica.  Vessels plying between St. Thomas,
Martinique, St. Lucia and other islands found it necessary to heave
the lead while many miles at sea.

It is estimated that the sea had encroached from ten feet to two
miles along the coast of St. Vincent near Georgetown, and that a
section on the north of the island had dropped into the sea.
Soundings showed seven fathoms where before the eruption there were
thirty-six fathoms of water.  Vessels that endeavored to approach
St. Vincent toward the north reported that it was impossible to get
nearer than eight miles to the scene of the catastrophe, and that
at that distance the ocean was seriously perturbed as from a
submarine volcano, boiling and hissing continually.

In this connection the remarkable experience reported by the
officers of the Danish steamship Nordby, on the day preceding the
eruption, is of much interest, as seeming to show great convulsions
of the sea bottom at a point several hundred miles from Martinique.
The following is the story told by Captain Eric Lillien-skjold:


THE STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF THE "NORDBY"


"On May 5th," the captain said, "we touched at St. Michael's for
water.  We had had an easy voyage from Girgenti, in Sicily, and we
wanted to finish an easy run here.  We left St. Michael's on the
same day.  Nothing worth while talking about occurred until two
days afterward--Wednesday, May 7th.

"We were plodding along slowly that day.  About noon I took the
bridge to make an observation.  It seemed to be hotter than
ordinary.  I shed my coat and vest and got into what little shade
there was.  As I worked it grew hotter and hotter.  I didn't know
what to make of it.  Along about 2 o'clock in the afternoon it was
so hot that all hands got to talking about it.  We reckoned that
something queer was coming off, but none of us could explain what
it was.  You could almost see the pitch softening in the seams.

"Then, as quick as you could toss a biscuit over its rail, the
Nordby dropped--regularly dropped--three or four feet down into the
sea.  No sooner did it do this than big waves, that looked like
they were coming from all directions at once, began to smash
against our sides.  This was queerer yet, because the water a
minute before was as smooth as I ever saw it.  I had all hands
piped on deck and we battened down everything loose to make ready
for a storm.  And we got it all right--the strangest storm you ever
heard tell of.

"There was something wrong with the sun that afternoon.  It grew
red and then dark red and then, about a quarter after 2, it went
out of sight altogether.  The day got so dark that you couldn't see
half a ship's length ahead of you.  We got our lamps going, and put
on our oilskins, ready for a hurricane.  All of a sudden there came
a sheet of lightning that showed up the whole tumbling sea for
miles and miles.  We sort of ducked, expecting an awful crash of
thunder, but it didn't come.  There was no sound except the big
waves pounding against our sides.  There wasn't a breath of wind.

"Well, sir, at that minute there began the most exciting time I've
ever been through, and I've been on every sea on the map for
twenty-five years.  Every second there'd be waves 15 or 20 feet
high, belting us head-on, stern-on and broadside, all at once.  We
could see them coming, for without any stop at all flash after
flash of lightning was blazing all about us.

"Something else we could see, too.  Sharks!  There were hundreds of
them on all sides, jumping up and down in the water.  Some of them
jumped clear out of it.  And sea birds!  A flock of them, squawking
and crying, made for our rigging and perched there.  They seemed
like they were scared to death.  But the queerest part of it all
was the water itself.  It was hot--not so hot that our feet could
not stand it when it washed over the deck, but hot enough to make
us think that it had been heated by some kind of a fire.

"Well that sort of thing went on hour after hour.  The waves, the
lightning, the hot water and the sharks, and all the rest of the
odd things happening, frightened the crew out of their wits.  Some
of them prayed out loud--I guess the first time they ever did in
their lives.  Some Frenchmen aboard kept running around and
yelling, 'Cest le dernier jour!'  (This is the last day.)  We were
all worried.  Even the officers began to think that the world was
coming to an end.  Mighty strange things happen on the sea, but
this topped them all.

"I kept to the bridge all night.  When the first hour of morning
came the storm was still going on.  We were all pretty much tired
out by that time, but there was no such thing as trying to sleep.
The waves still were batting us around and we didn't know whether
we were one mile or a thousand miles from shore.  At 2 o'clock in
the morning all the queer goings on stopped just the way they
began--all of a sudden.  We lay to until daylight; then we took our
reckonings and started off again.  We were about 700 miles off Cape
Henlopen.

"No, sir; you couldn't get me through a thing like that again for
$10,000.  None of us was hurt, and the old Nordby herself pulled
through all right, but I'd sooner stay ashore than see waves
without wind and lightning without thunder."


FIERY STREAM CONTAINED POISONOUS GASES


Careful inspection showed that the fiery stream which so completely
destroyed St. Pierre must have been composed of poisonous gases,
which instantly suffocated every one who inhaled them, and of other
gases burning furiously, for nearly all the victims had their hands
covering their mouths, or were in some other attitude showing that
they had perished from suffocation.

It is believed that Mont Pelee threw off a great gasp of some
exceedingly heavy and noxious gas, something akin to firedamp,
which settled upon the city and rendered the inhabitants
insensible.  This was followed by the sheet of flame that swept
down the side of the mountain.  This theory is sustained by the
experience of the survivors who were taken from the ships in the
harbor, as they say that their first experience was one of
faintness.

The dumb animals were wiser than man, and early took warning of the
storm of fire which Mont Pelee was storing up to hurl upon the
island.  Even before the mountain began to rumble, late in April,
live stock became uneasy, and at times were almost uncontrollable.
Cattle lowed in the night.  Dogs howled and sought the company of
their masters, and when driven forth they gave every evidence of
fear.

Wild animals disappeared from the vicinity of Mont Pelee.  Even the
snakes, which at ordinary times are found in great numbers near the
volcano, crawled away.  Birds ceased singing and left the trees
that shaded the sides of Pelee.  A great fear seemed to be upon the
island, and though it was shared by the human inhabitants, they
alone neglected to protect themselves.

Of the villages in the vicinity of St. Pierre only one escaped, the
others suffering the fate of the city.  The fortunate one was Le
Carbet, on the south, which escaped uninjured, the flood of lava
stopping when within two hundred feet of the town.  Morne Rouge, a
beautiful summer resort, frequented by the people of the island
during the hot season as a place of recreation, also escaped.  In
the height of the season several thousand people gathered there,
though at the time of the explosion there were but a few hundred.
Though located on an elevation between the city and the crater, it
was by great good fortune saved.

The Governor of Martinique, Mr. Mouttet, whose precautions to
prevent the people fleeing from the city aided to make the work of
death complete, was himself among the victims of the burning
mountain.  With him in this fate was Colonel Dain, commander of the
troops who formed a cordon round the doomed city.



CHAPTER XXIX.

St. Vincent Island and Mont Soufriere in 1812.


Among all the islands of the Caribbees St. Vincent is unique in
natural wonders and beauties.  Situated about ninety-five miles
west of Barbados, it has a length of eighteen and a width of eleven
miles, the whole mass being largely composed of a single peak which
rises from the ocean's bed.  From north to south volcanic hills
traverse its length, their ridges intersected by fertile and
beautiful valleys.

A ridge of mountains crosses the island, dividing it into eastern
and western parts.  Kingstown, the capital, a town of 8,000
inhabitants, is on the southward side and extends along the shores
of a beautiful bay, with mountains gradually rising behind it in
the form of a vast amphitheatre.  Three streets, broad and lined
with good houses, run parallel to the water-front.  There are many
other intersecting highways, some of which lead back to the
foothills, from which good roads ascend the mountains.

The majority of the houses have red tile roofing and a goodly
number of them are of stone, one story high, with thick walls after
the Spanish style--the same types of houses that were in St. Pierre
and which are not unlike the old Roman houses which in all stages
of ruin and semi-preservation are found in Pompeii to this day.

Behind the general group of the houses of the town loom the
Governor's residence and the buildings of the botanical gardens
which overlook the town.

Kingstown is the trading centre and the town of importance in the
island.  It contains the churches and chapels of five Protestant
denominations and a number of excellent schools.  Away from
Kingstown, and the smaller settlement of Georgetown, the population
is almost wholly rural, occupying scattered villages which consist
of negro huts clustering around a few substantial buildings or of
cabins grouped about old plantation buildings somewhat after the
ante-bellum fashion in our own Southern States.

One of the tragedies of the West Indies was the sinking of old Port
Royal, the resort of buccaneers, in 1692.  The harbor of Kingstown
is commonly supposed to cover the site of the old settlement.
There is a tradition that a buoy for many years was attached to the
spire of a sunken church in order to warn mariners.  Three thousand
persons perished in the disaster.


DESCENDANTS OF ORIGINAL INDIAN POPULATION


The northern portion of the island, that desolated by the recent
volcanic eruption, was inhabited by people living in the manner
just described, the great majority of them being negroes.  The
total population of the island is about 45,000, of whom 30,000 are
Africans and about 3,000 Europeans, the remainder being nearly all
Asiatics.  There are, or rather were, a number of Caribs, the
descendants of the original warlike Indian population of these
islands.  Many of these live in St. Vincent, though there are
others in Dominico.  As their residence was in the northern section
of the island, the volcano seems to have completed the work for the
Caribs of this island which the Spaniard long ago began.  These
Caribs were really half-breds, having amalgamated with the negroes.
Many of the blacks own land of their own, raising arrow root,
which, since the decay of the sugar industry, is the chief export.

In an island only eighteen miles long by eleven broad there is not
room for any distinctly marked mountain range.  The whole of St.
Vincent, in fact, is a fantastic tumble of hills, culminating in
the volcanic ridge which runs lengthwise of the oval-shaped island.
The culminating peak of the great volcanic mass, for St. Vincent is
nothing more, is Mont Garou, of which La Soufriere is a sort of
lofty excrescence in the northwest, 4,048 feet high, and flanking
the main peak at some distance away.

It may be said that all the volcanic mountains in this part of the
West Indies have what the people call a "soufriere"--a "sulphur
pit," or "sulphur crater"--the name coming, as in the case of past
disturbances of Mont Pelee, from the strong stench of sulphuretted
hydrogen which issues from them when the volcano becomes agitated.

In 1812 it was La Soufriere adjacent to Mont Garou which broke
loose on the island of St. Vincent, and it is the same Soufriere
which again has devastated the island and has bombarded Kingstown
with rocks, lava and ashes.

The old crater of Mont Garou has long been extinct, and, like the
old crater of Mont Pelee, near St. Pierre, it had far down in its
depths, surrounded by sheer cliffs from 500 to 800 feet high, a
lake.  Glimpses of the lake of Mont Garou are difficult to get,
owing to the thick verdure growing about the dangerous edges of the
precipices, but those who have seen it describe it as a beautiful
sheet of deep blue water.


THE APPEARANCE OF THE SOUFRIERE


Previous to the eruption of 1812 the appearance of the Soufriere
was most interesting.  The crater was half a mile in diameter and
five hundred feet in depth.  In its centre was a conical hill,
fringed with shrubs and vines; at whose base were two small lakes,
one sulphurous, the other pure and tasteless.  This lovely and
beautiful spot was rendered more interesting by the singularly
melodious notes of a bird, an inhabitant of these upper solitudes,
and altogether unknown to the other parts of the island--hence
called, or supposed to be, "invisible," as it had never been seen.
(It is of interest to state that Frederick A. Ober, in a visit to
the island some twenty years ago, succeeded in obtaining specimens
of this previously unknown bird.)  From the fissures of the cone a
thin white smoke exuded, occasionally tinged with a light blue
flame.  Evergreens, flowers and aromatic shrubs clothed the steep
sides of the crater, which made, as the first indication of the
eruption on April 27, 1812, a tremulous noise in the air.  A severe
concussion of the earth followed, and then a column of thick black
smoke burst from the crater.


THE ERUPTION OF 1812


The eruption which followed these premonitory symptoms was one of
the most terrific which had occurred in the West Indies up to that
time.  It was the culminating event which seemed to relieve a
pressure within the earth's crust which extended from the
Mississippi Valley to Caracas, Venezuela, producing terrible
effects in the latter place.  Here, thirty-five days before the
volcanic explosion, the ground was rent and shaken by a frightful
earthquake which hurled the city in ruins to the ground and killed
ten thousand of its inhabitants in a moment of time.

La Soufriere made the first historic display of its hidden powers
in 1718, when lava poured from its crater.  A far more violent
demonstration of its destructive forces was that above mentioned.
On this occasion the eruption lasted for three days, ruining a
number of the estates in the vicinity and destroying many lives.
Myriads of tons of ashes, cinders, pumice and scoriae, hurled from
the crater, fell in every section of the island.  Volumes of sand
darkened the air, and woods, ridges and cane fields were covered
with light gray ashes, which speedily destroyed all vegetation.
The sun for three days seemed to be in a total eclipse, the sea was
discolored and the ground bore a wintry appearance from the white
crust of fallen ashes.

Carib natives who lived at Morne Rond fled from their houses to
Kingstown.  As the third day drew to a close flames sprang
pyramidically from the crater, accompanied by loud thunder and
electric flashes, which rent the column of smoke hanging over the
volcano.  Eruptive matter pouring from the northwest side plunged
over the cliff, carrying down rocks and woods in its course.  The
island was shaken by an earthquake and bombarded with showers of
cinders and stones, which set houses on fire and killed many of the
natives.


THE TERRIBLE EARTHQUAKE AT CARACAS


For nearly two years before this explosion earthquakes had been
common, and sea and land had been agitated from the valley of the
Mississippi to the coasts of Venezuela and the mountains of New
Grenada, and from the Azores to the West Indies.  On March 26,
1812, these culminated in the terrible tragedy, spoken of above, of
which Humboldt gives us a vivid account.

On that day the people of the Venezuelan city of Caracas were
assembled in the churches, beneath a still and blazing sky, when
the earth suddenly heaved and shook, like a great monster waking
from slumber, and in a single minute 10,000 people were buried
beneath the walls of churches and houses, which tumbled in hideous
ruin upon their heads.  The same earthquake made itself felt along
the whole line of the Northern Cordilleras, working terrible
destruction, and shook the earth as far as Santa Fe de Bogota and
Honda, 180 leagues from Caracas.  This was a preliminary symptom of
the internal disorder of the earth.

While the wretched inhabitants of Caracas who had escaped the
earthquake were dying of fever and starvation, and seeking among
villages and farms places of safety from the renewed earthquake
shocks, the almost forgotten volcano of St. Vincent was muttering
in suppressed wrath.  For twelve months it had given warning, by
frequent shocks of the earth, that it was making ready to play its
part in the great subterranean battle.  On the 27th of April its
deep-hidden powers broke their bonds, and the conflict between rock
and fire began.


THE MOUNTAIN STONES A HERD-BOY


The first intimation of the outbreak was rather amusing than
alarming.  A negro boy was herding cattle on the mountain side.  A
stone fell near him.  Another followed.  He fancied that some other
boys were pelting him from the cliff above, and began throwing
stones upward at his fancied concealed tormentors.  But the stones
fell thicker, among them some too large to be thrown by any human
hand.  Only then did the little fellow awake to the fact that it
was not a boy like himself, but the mighty mountain, that was
flinging these stones at him.  He looked up and saw that the black
column which was rising from the crater's mouth was no longer
harmless vapor, but dust, ashes and stones.  Leaving the cattle to
their fate, he fled for his life, while the mighty cannon of the
Titans roared behind him as he ran.  For three days and nights this
continued; then, on the 30th, a stream of lava poured over the
crater's rim and rushed downward, reaching the sea in four hours,
and the great eruption was at an end.

On the same day, says Humboldt, at a distance of more than 200
leagues, "the inhabitants not only of Caracas, but of Calabozo,
situated in the midst of the Lianos, over a space of 4,000 square
leagues, were terrified by a subterranean noise which resembled
frequent discharges of the heaviest cannon.  It was accompanied by
no shock, and, what is very remarkable, was as loud on the coast as
at eighty leagues' distance inland, and at Caracas, as well as at
Calabozo, preparations were made to put the place in defence
against an enemy who seemed to be advancing with heavy artillery."

It was no enemy that man could deal with.  Fortunately, it confined
its assault to deep noises, and desisted from earthquake shocks.
Similar noises were heard in Martinique and Guadeloupe, and here
also without shocks.  The internal thunder was the signal of what
was taking place on St. Vincent.  With this last warning sound the
trouble, which had lasted so long, was at an end.  The earthquakes
which for two years had shaken a sheet of the earth's surface
larger than half Europe, were stilled by the eruption of St.
Vincent's volcanic peak.


BARBADOS COVERED WITH ASHES


Northeast of the original crater of the Soufriere a new one was
formed which was a half mile in diameter and five hundred feet
deep.  The old crater was in time transformed into a beautiful blue
lake, as above stated, walled in by ragged cliffs to a height of
eight hundred feet.

It was looked upon as a remarkable circumstance that although the
air was perfectly calm during the eruption, Barbados, which is
ninety-five miles to the windward, was covered inches deep with
ashes.  The inhabitants there and on other neighboring islands were
terrified by the darkness, which continued for four hours and a
half.  Troops were called under arms, the supposition from the
continued noise being that hostile fleets were in an engagement.

The movement of the ashes to windward, as just stated, was viewed
as a remarkable phenomenon, and is cited by Elise Reclus, in "The
Ocean," to show the force of different aerial currents; "On the
first day of May, 1812, when the northeast trade-wind was in all
its force, enormous quantities of ashes obscured the atmosphere
above the Island of Barbados, and covered the ground with a thick
layer.  One would have supposed that they came from the volcanoes
of the Azores, which were to the northeast; nevertheless they were
cast up by the crater in St. Vincent, one hundred miles to the
west.  It is therefore certain that the debris had been hurled, by
the force of the eruption, above the moving sheet of the trade-
winds into an aerial river proceeding in a contrary direction."
For this it must have been hurled miles high into the air, till
caught by the current of the anti-trade winds.


KINGSLEY'S VISIT TO SAINT VINCENT


From Charles Kingsley's "At Last" we extract, from the account of
the visit of the author to St. Vincent, some interesting matter
concerning the 1812 eruption and its effect on the mountain; also
its influence upon distant Barbados, as just stated.

"The strangest fact about this eruption was, that the mountain did
not make use of its old crater.  The original vent must have become
so jammed and consolidated, in the few years between 1785 and 1812,
that it could not be reopened, even by a steam force the vastness
of which may be guessed at from the vastness of the area which it
had shaken for two years.  So, when the eruption was over, it was
found that the old crater-lake, incredible as it may seem, remained
undisturbed, so far as has been ascertained; but close to it, and
separated only by a knife-edge of rock some 700 feet in height, and
so narrow that, as I was assured by one who had seen it, it is
dangerous to crawl along it, a second crater, nearly as large as
the first, had been blasted out, the bottom of which, in like
manner, was afterward filled with water.

"I regretted much that I could not visit it.  Three points I longed
to ascertain carefully--the relative heights of the water in the
two craters; the height and nature of the spot where the lava
stream issued; and, lastly, if possible, the actual causes of the
locally famous Rabacca, or 'Dry River,' one of the largest streams
in the island, which was swallowed up during the eruption, at a
short distance from its source, leaving its bed an arid gully to
this day.  But it could not be, and I owe what little I know of the
summit of the soufriere principally to a most intelligent and
gentleman-like young Wesleyan minister, whose name has escaped me.
He described vividly, as we stood together on the deck, looking up
at the volcano, the awful beauty of the twin lakes, and of the
clouds which, for months together, whirl in and out of the cups in
fantastic shapes before the eddies of the trade wind.


BLACK SUNDAY AT BARBADOS


"The day after the explosion, 'Black Sunday,' gave a proof of,
though no measure of, the enormous force which had been exerted.
Eighty miles to windward lies Barbados.  All Saturday a heavy
cannonading had been heard to the eastward.  The English and French
fleets were surely engaged.  The soldiers were called out; the
batteries manned; but the cannonade died away, and all went to bed
in wonder.  On the 1st of May the clocks struck six, but the sun
did not, as usual in the tropics, answer to the call.  The darkness
was still intense, and grew more intense as the morning wore on.  A
slow and silent rain of impalpable dust was falling over the whole
island.  The negroes rushed shrieking into the streets.  Surely the
last day was come.  The white folk caught (and little blame to
them) the panic, and some began to pray who had not prayed for
years.  The pious and the educated (and there were plenty of both
in Barbados) were not proof against the infection.  Old letters
describe the scene in the churches that morning as hideous--
prayers, sobs, and cries, in Stygian darkness, from trembling
crowds.  And still the darkness continued and the dust fell.


INCIDENTS AT BARBADOS


"I have a letter written by one long since dead, who had at least
powers of description of no common order, telling how, when he
tried to go out of his house upon the east coast, he could not find
the trees on his own lawn save by feeling for their stems.  He
stood amazed not only in utter darkness, but in utter silence; for
the trade-wind had fallen dead, the everlasting roar of the surf
was gone, and the only noise was the crashing of branches, snapped
by the weight of the clammy dust.  He went in again, and waited.
About one o'clock the veil began to lift; a lurid sunlight stared
in from the horizon, but all was black overhead.  Gradually the
dust drifted away; the island saw the sun once more, and saw itself
inches deep in black, and in this case fertilizing, dust.  The
trade-wind blew suddenly once more out of the clear east, and the
surf roared again along the shore.

"Meanwhile a heavy earthquake-wave had struck part at least of the
shores of Barbados.  The gentleman on the east coast, going out,
found traces of the sea, and boats and logs washed up some ten to
twenty feet above high-tide mark; a convulsion which seemed to have
gone unmarked during the general dismay.

"One man at least, an old friend of John Hunter, Sir Joseph Banks
and others their compeers, was above the dismay, and the
superstitious panic which accompanied it.  Finding it still dark
when he rose to dress, he opened (so the story used to run) his
window; found it stick, and felt upon the sill a coat of soft
powder.  "The volcano in St. Vincent has broken out at last,' said
the wise man, 'and this is the dust of it.'  So he quieted his
household and his negroes, lighted his candles, and went to his
scientific books, in that delight, mingled with an awe not the less
deep, because it is rational and self-possessed, with which he,
like the other men of science, looked at the wonders of this
wondrous world."



CHAPTER XXX.

Submarine Volcanoes and their Work of Island Building.


In November, 1867, a volcano suddenly began to show signs of
activity beneath the deep sea of the Pacific Ocean.  There are some
islands nearly two thousands miles to the east of Australia called
the Navigator's Group, in which there had been no history of an
eruption, nor had such an event been handed down by tradition.
Most of the islands in the Pacific Ocean are old volcanoes, or are
made up of rocks cast forth from extinct burning mountains.  They
rise up like peaks through the great depths of the ocean, and the
top, which just appears above the sea-level, is generally encircled
by a growth of coral.  Hence they are termed coral islands.  These
islands every now and then rise higher than the sea-level, owing to
some deep upheaving force, and then the coral is lifted up above
the water, and become a solid rock.  But occasionally the reverse
of this takes place, and the islands begin to sink into the sea,
owing to a force which causes the base of the submarine mountain to
become depressed.  Sometimes they disappear.  All this shows that
some great disturbing forces are in action at the bottom of the
sea, and just within the earth's crust, and that they are of a
volcanic nature.

For some time before the eruption in question, earthquakes shook
the surrounding islands of the Navigator's Group, and caused great
alarm, and when the trembling of the earth was very great, the sea
began to be agitated near one of the islands, and vast circles of
disturbed water were formed.  Soon the water began to be forced
upwards, and dead fish were seen floating about.  After a while,
steam rushed forth, and jets of mud and volcanic sand.  Moreover,
when the steam began to rush up out of the water, the violence of
the general agitation of the land and of the surface of the sea
increased.


AN ERUPTION DESCRIBED


When the eruption was at its height vast columns of mud and masses
of stone rushed into the air to a height of 2,000 feet, and the
fearful crash of masses of rock hurled upwards and coming in
collision with others which were falling attested the great volume
of ejected matter which accumulated in the bed of the ocean,
although no trace of a volcano could be seen above the surface of
the sea.  Similar submarine volcanic action has been observed in
the Atlantic Ocean, and crews of ships have reported that they have
seen in different places sulphurous smoke, flame, jets of water,
and steam, rising up from the sea, or they have observed the waters
greatly discolored and in a state of violent agitation, as if
boiling in large circles.

New shoals have also been encountered, or a reef of rocks just
emerging above the surface, where previously there was always
supposed to have been deep water.  On some few occasions, the
gradual building up of an island by submarine volcanoes has been
observed, as that of Sabrina in 1181, off St. Michael's, in the
Azores.  The throwing up of ashes in this case, and the formation
of a conical hill 300 feet high, with a crater out of which spouted
lava and steam, took place very rapidly.  But the waves had the
best of it, and finally washed Sabrina into the depths of the
ocean.  Previous eruptions in the same part of the sea were
recorded as having happened in 1691 and 1720.

In 1831, a submarine volcanic eruption occurred in the
Mediterranean Sea, between Sicily and that part of the African
coast where Carthage formerly stood.  A few years before, Captain
Smyth had sounded the spot in a survey of the sea ordered by
Government, and he found the sea-bottom to be under 500 feet of
water.  On June 28, about a fortnight before the eruption was
visible, Sir Pulteney Malcom, in passing over the spot in his ship,
felt the shock of an earthquake as if he had struck on a sandbank,
and the same shocks were felt on the west coast of Sicily, in a
direction from south-west to north-east.


BUILDING UP OF AN ISLAND BY SUBMARINE VOLCANOES


About July 10, the captain of a Sicilian vessel reported that as he
passed near the place he saw a column of water like a waterspout,
sixty feet high, and 800 yards in circumference, rising from the
sea, and soon after a dense rush of steam in its place, which
ascended to the height of 1,800 feet.  The same captain, on his
return eighteen days after, found a small island twelve feet high,
with a crater in its centre, throwing forth volcanic matter and
immense columns of vapor, the sea around being covered with
floating cinders and dead fish.  The eruption continued with great
violence to the end of the same month.  By the end of the month the
island grew to ninety feet in height, and measured three-quarters
of a mile round.  By August 4th it became 200 feet high and three
miles in circumference; after which it began to diminish in size by
the action of the waves.  Towards the end of October the island was
levelled nearly to the surface of the sea.

Naval officers and foreign ministers alike took an absorbing
interest in this new island.  The strong national thirst for
territory manifested itself and eager mariners waited only till the
new land should be cool enough to set foot on to strive who should
be first to plant there his country's flag.  Names in abundance
were given it by successive observers,--Nerita, Sciacca,
Fernandina, Julia, Hotham, Corrao, and Graham.  The last holds good
in English speech, and as Graham's Island it is known in books to-
day, though the sea took back what it had given, leaving but a
shoal of cinders and sand.

The Bay of Santorin, in the island of that name, which lies
immediately to the north of Crete, has long been noted for its
submarine volcanoes.  According to one account, indeed, the whole
island was at a remote period raised from the bottom of the sea;
but this is questionable.  It is, with more reason, supposed that
the bay is the site of an ancient crater, which was situated on the
summit of a volcanic cone that subsequently fell in.  Certain it is
that islands have from time to time been thrown up by volcanic
forces from the bottom of the sea within this bay, and that some of
them have remained, while others have sunk again.


HOW AN ISLAND GREW


Of the existing islands, some were thrown up shortly before the
beginning of the Christian era; in particular, one called the Great
Cammeni, which, however, received a considerable accession to its
size by a fresh eruption in A. D. 726.  The islet nearest Santorin
was raised in 1573, and was named the Little Cammeni; and in 1707
there was added, between the other two, a third, which is now
called the Black Island.  This made its appearance above water on
the 23rd of May, 1707, and was first mistaken for a wreck; but some
sailors, who landed on it, found it to be a mass of rock;
consisting of a very white soft stone, to which were adhering
quantities of fresh oysters.  While they were collecting these, a
violent shaking of the ground scared them away.

During several weeks the island gradually increased in volume; but
in July, at a distance of about sixty paces from the new islet,
there was thrown up a chain of black calcined rocks, followed by
volumes of thick black smoke, having a sulphurous smell.  A few
days thereafter the water all around the spot became hot, and many
dead fishes were thrown up.  Then, with loud subterraneous noises,
flames arose, and fresh quantities of stones and other substances
were ejected, until the chain of black rocks became united to the
first islet that had appeared.  This eruption continued for a long
time, there being thrown out quantities of ashes and pumice, which
covered the island of Santorin and the surface of the sea--some
being drifted to the coasts of Asia Minor and the Dardanelles.  The
activity of this miniature volcano was prolonged, with greater or
less energy, for about ten years.

In 1866 similar phenomena took place in the Bay of Santorin,
beginning with underground sounds and slight shocks of earthquake,
which were followed by the appearance of flames on the surface of
the sea.  Soon after there arose, out of a dense smoke, a small
islet, which gradually increased until in a week's time it was 60
feet high, 200 long and 90 wide.  The people of Santorin named it
"George," in honor of the King of Greece.  In another week it
joined and became continuous with the Little Cammeni.  The
detonations increased in loudness, and large quantities of
incandescent stones were thrown up from the crater.

About the same time, at the distance of nearly 150 feet from the
coast, to the westward of a point called Cape Phlego, there rose
from the sea another island, to which was given the name of
Aphroessa.  It sank and reappeared several times before it
established itself above water.  The detonations and ejection of
incandescent lava and stones continued at intervals during three
weeks.  From the crater of the islet George, which attained a
height of 150 feet, some stones several cubic yards in bulk were
projected to a great distance.  One of them falling on board of a
merchant vessel, killed the captain and set fire to the ship.

By the 10th of March the eruptions had partially subsided, but were
then renewed, and a third island, which was named Reka, rose
alongside of Aphroessa.  They were at first separated by a channel
sixty feet deep; but in three days this was filled up, and the two
islets became united.

Reference may properly be made here to Monte Nuovo and Jorullo, not
that they appertain to the present subject, but that they form
examples of the action of similar forces, in the one instance
exerted on a lake bottom, in the other on dry land, each yielding
permanent volcanic elevations in every respect analogous to those
which rise as islands from the bottom of the sea.


IN THE ICELANDIC SEAS


Off the coast of Iceland islands have appeared during several of
the volcanic eruptions which that remote dependency of Denmark has
manifested, and at various periods in Iceland's history the sea has
been covered with pumice and other debris, which tell their own
tale of what has been going on, without being in sufficient
quantity to reach the surface in the form of an island mass.  The
sea off Reykjanes--Smoky Cape, as the name means--has been a
frequent scene of these submarine eruptions.  In 1240, during what
the Icelandic historians describe as the eighth outburst, a number
of islets were formed, though most of them subsequently
disappeared, only to have their places occupied by others born at a
later date.  In 1422 high rocks of considerable circumference
appeared.  In 1783, about a month before the eruption of Skaptar
Jokull, a volcanic island named Nyoe, from which fire and smoke
issued, was built up.  But in time it vanished under the waves, all
that remains of it to-day being a reef from five to thirty-five
fathoms below the sea-level.  In 1830, after several long-continued
eruptions of the usual character, another isle arose; while at the
same time the skerries known as the Geirfuglaska disappeared, and
with them vanished the great auks, or gare-fowls--birds now
extinct--which up to that time had bred on them.  At all events,
though the auks could not well have been drowned, no traces of them
were seen after the date mentioned.  In July, 1884, an island again
appeared about ten miles off Reykjanes; but it is already beginning
to diminish in size, and may soon disappear.


OFF THE COAST OF ALASKA


Elsewhere in the region of the northern seas there are other
instances of the influence of the submarine forces in raising up
and lowering land.  The coast of Alaska is a region of intense
volcanic action.  In 1795, during a period of volcanic activity in
the craters of Makushina, on Unalaska, and in others on Umnak
Island, a volume of smoke was seen to rise out of the sea about 42
miles to the north of Unalaska, and the next year it was followed
by a heap of cindery material, from which arose flame and volcanic
matter, the glow being visible over a radius of ten miles.  In four
years the island grew into a large cone, 3000 feet above the sea-
level, and two or three miles in circumference.  Two years later it
was still so hot that when some hunters landed on it they found the
soil too warm for walking.  It was named Ionna Bogoslova (St. John
the Theologian), by the Russians, Agashagok by the Aleuts, and is
now known to the whites of that region as Bogosloff.  Mr. Dall
believes that it occupies the site of some rocks that existed there
as long as tradition extends.

There were additions to the cone up to the year 1823, when it
became so quiescent as to be the favorite haunt of seals and sea-
fowls, and, when the weather was favorable, was visited by native
egg-hunters from Unalaska.  During the summer of 1883 Bogosloff was
again seen in eruption, as it was thought.  However, on closely
examining the neighborhood, it was found that the old island was
undisturbed, but that there had been a fresh eruption, which had
resulted in the extension of Bogosloff by the appearance of a cone
and crater (Hague Volcano), 357 feet high, connected with the
parent island by a low sand-spit, and situated in a spot where, the
year before, the lead showed 800 fathoms of water.  At the same
time Augustin and two other previously quiet islands on the
peninsula of Alaska began simultaneously to emit smoke, dust and
ashes, while a reef running westward and formerly submerged became
elevated to the sea surface.  Other islands, of origin exactly
similar to Bogosloff and those mentioned, are to be found in this
region, notably Koniugi and Kasatochi, in the western Aleutians,
and Pinnacle Island, near St. Matthew Island.  Indeed, the volcano
of Kliutchevsk, which rises to a height of over 15,000 feet, is
really a volcanic island.

A permanent addition was made to the Aleutian group of Islands by
the action of a submarine volcano in 1806.  This new island has the
form of a volcanic peak, with several subsidiary cones.  It is four
geographical miles in circumference.  In 1814 another arose out of
the sea in the same archipelago, the cone of which attained a
height of 3,000 feet; but at the end of a year it lost a portion of
this elevation.

In 1856, in the sea in the same neighborhood, Captain Newell, of
the whaling bark Alice Fraser, witnessed a submarine eruption,
which was also seen by the crews of several other vessels.  There
was no island formed on this occasion, but large jets of water were
thrown up, and the sea was greatly agitated all around.  Then
followed volcanic smoke, and quantities of stones, ashes, and
pumice; the two latter being scattered over the surface of the sea
to a great distance.  Loud thundering reports accompanied this
eruption, and all the ships in the neighborhood felt concussions
like those produced by an earthquake.  These phenomena seem to have
ended in the formation of some great submarine chasm, into which
the waters rushed with extreme violence and a terrific roar.

Occurrences similar to this last have been several times observed
in a tract of open sea in the Atlantic, about half a degree south
of the equator, and between 20 and 22 degrees of west longitude.
Although quantities of volcanic dross have been from time to time
thrown up to the surface in this region, no island has yet made its
appearance above water.

The events here described repeat on a far smaller scale similar
ones which have occurred in remote ages in many parts of the ocean
and left great island masses as the permanent effects of their
work.  We may instance the Hawaiian group, which is wholly of
volcanic origin, with the exception of its minor coral additions,
and represents a stupendous activity of underground agencies
beneath the domain of Father Neptune.

In part, as we have said elsewhere in this work, all oceanic
islands, remote from those in the shoal bordering waters of the
continents, have been of volcanic or coral formation, or more often
a combination of the two.  No sooner does an island mass appear
above or near the surface of tropical waters than the minute coral
animals--effective only by their myriads--begin their labors,
building fringes of coral rock around the cindery heaps lifted from
the ocean floor.  The atolls of the Pacific--circular or oval rings
of coral with lagunes of sea-water within--have long been thought
to be built on the rims of submarine volcanoes, rising to within a
few hundred feet of the surface, much as coral reefs around actual
islands.  If the volcanic mass should subsequently subside, as it
is likely to do, the minute ocean builders will continue their
work--unless the subsidence be too rapid for their powers of
production--and in this way ring-like islands of coral may in time
rise from great depths of sea, their basis being the volcanic
island which has sunk from near the surface far toward old ocean's
primal floor.



CHAPTER XXXI.

Mud Volcanoes, Geysers, and Hot Springs.


Our usual impression of a volcano is indicated in the title of
"burning mountain," so often employed, a great fire-spouting cone
of volcanic debris, from which steam, lava, rock-masses, cinder-
like fragments, and dust, often of extreme fineness, are flung high
into the air or flow in river-like torrents of molten rock.  This,
no doubt, applies in the majority of cases, but the volcanic forces
do not confine themselves to these magnificent displays of energy,
nor are their products limited to those above specified.  We have
seen that mud is a not uncommon product, due to the mingling of
water with volcanic dust, while water alone is occasionally
emitted, of which we have a marked instance in the Volcan de Agua,
of Guatemala, already mentioned.  As regards mud flows, we may
specially instance the first outflow from Mont Pelee, that by which
the Guerin sugar works were overwhelmed.

The imprisoned forces of the earth have still other modes of
manifestation.  A very frequent one of these, and the most
destructive to human life of them all, is the earthquake.

Minor manifestations of volcanic action may be seen in the geyser
and the hot spring, the latter the most widely disseminated of all
the resultant effects of the heated condition of the earth's
interior.  It is these displays of subterranean energy, differing
from those usually termed volcanic, yet due to the same general
causes, that we have next to consider.  And it may be premised that
their manifestations, while, except in the case of the earthquake,
less violent, are no less interesting, especially as the minor
displays are free from that peril to human life which renders the
major ones so terrible.

While the largest volcanoes at times pour out rivers of liquid mud,
there are volcanoes from which nothing is ever ejected but mud and
water, the latter being generally salt.  From this circumstance
they are sometimes called salses, but they are more generally
termed mud-volcanoes.  Some varieties of them throw out little else
than gases of different sorts, and these are called air-volcanoes.


THE GREAT MUD VOLCANO OF SICILY


One of the best known mud-volcanoes is at Macaluba, near Girgenti,
in Sicily.  It consists of several conical mounds, varying from
time to time in their form and height, which ranges from eight to
thirty feet.  From orifices on the tops of these mounds there are
thrown out sometimes jets of warmish water and mud mixed with
bitumen, sometimes bubbles of gas, chiefly carbonic acid and
carburetted hydrogen, occasionally pure nitrogen.  The mud ejected
has often a strong sulphurous smell.  The jets in general ascend
only to a moderate height; but occasionally they are thrown up with
great violence, attaining a height of about 200 feet.  In 1777
there was ejected an immense column, consisting of mud strongly
impregnated with sulphur and mixed with naphtha and stones,
accompanied also by quantities of sulphurous vapors.  This mud-
volcano is known to have been in action for fifteen centuries.

Very recently a small mud-volcano has been formed on the flanks of
Mount Etna.  It began with the throwing up of jets of boiling
water, mixed with petroleum and mud, great quantities of gas
bubbling up at the same time.  In several of the valleys of Iceland
there are similar phenomena, the boiling water and mud being thrown
up in jets to the height of fifteen feet and upwards, the mud
accumulating around the orifices whence the jets arise.

A mud-volcano named Korabetoff, in the Crimea, presents phenomena
more akin to those of the igneous volcanoes of South America.
There was an eruption from this mountain on the 6th of August,
1853.  It began by throwing up from the summit a column of fire and
smoke, which ascended to a great height.  This continued for five
or six minutes, and was followed at short intervals by two similar
eruptions.  There was then ejected with a hissing noise a quantity
of black fetid mud, which was so hot as to scorch the grass on the
edges of the stream.  The mud continued to pour out for three
hours, covering a wide space at the mountain's base.  The mud-
volcanoes on the coast of Beloochistan are very numerous, and
extend over an area of nearly a thousand square miles.  Their
action resembles that at Macaluba.


THE MUD VOLCANO OF JAVA


There is a mud volcano in Java which is of interest as somewhat
resembling the geyser in its mode of operation and apparently due
to similar agencies.  It is thus described by Dr. Horsfield:--

"On approaching it from a distance, it is first discovered by a
large volume of smoke, rising and disappearing at intervals of a
few seconds, resembling the vapors rising from a violent surf.  A
loud noise is heard, like that of distant thunder.  Having advanced
so near that the vision was no longer impeded by the smoke, a large
hemispherical mass was observed, consisting of black earth mixed
with water, about sixteen feet in diameter, rising to the height of
twenty or thirty feet in a perfectly regular manner, and as if it
were pushed up by a force beneath, which suddenly exploded with a
loud noise, and scattered about a volume of black mud in every
direction.  After an interval of two or three, or sometimes four or
five seconds, the hemispherical body of mud rose and exploded
again.  In the manner stated this volcanic ebullition goes on
without interruption, throwing up a globular body of mud, and
dispersing it with violence through the neighboring plain.  The
spot where the ebullition occurs is nearly circular, and perfectly
level.  It is covered only with the earthy particles, impregnated
with salt water, which are thrown up from below.  The circumference
may be estimated at about half an English mile.  In order to
conduct the salt water to the circumference, small passages or
gutters are made in the loose muddy earth, which lead to the
borders, where it is collected in holes dug in the ground for the
purpose of evaporation."

The mud has a strong, pungent, sulphurous smell, resembling that of
mineral oil, and is hotter than the surrounding atmosphere.  During
the rainy season the explosions increase in violence.

There are submarine mud volcanoes as well as those of igneous kind.
In 1814 one of this character broke out in the Sea of Azof,
beginning with flame and black smoke, accompanied by earth and
stones, which were flung to a great height.  Ten of these
explosions occurred, and, after a period of rest, others were heard
during the night.  The next morning there was visible above the
water an island of mud some ten feet high.  A very similar
occurrence took place in 1827, near Baku, in the Caspian sea.  This
began with a flaming display and the ejection of great fragments of
rock.  An eruption of mud succeeded.  A set of small volcanoes
discovered by Humboldt in Turbaco, in South America, confined their
emissions almost wholly to gases, chiefly nitrogen.

There is a close connection in character between mud volcanoes and
those intermittent boiling springs named geysers.  A good many of
the mud volcanoes throw out jets of boiling water along with the
mud; but in the case of the geysers, the boiling water is ejected
alone, without any visible impregnation, though some mineral in
solution, as silica, carbonate of lime, or sulphur, is usually
present.


THE GEYSER IS A WATER VOLCANO


The phenomenon of the geyser serves in a measure to support the
theory that steam is an important agent in volcanic action.  A
geyser, in fact, may be designated as a water volcano, since it
throws up water only.  It comprises a cone or mound, usually only a
few feet high.  In the middle of this is a crater-like opening with
a passage leading down into the earth.  As in the case of the
volcano, the geyser cone is built up by its own action.  In the
boiling water which is ejected there is dissolved a certain amount
of silica.  As the water falls and cools this mineral is deposited,
gradually building up a cup-like elevation.  The basin of the
geyser is generally full of clear water, with a little steam rising
from its surface; but at intervals an eruption takes place,
sometimes at regular periods, but more often at irregular
intervals.

Among the largest and best known geysers in the world are those of
Iceland, chief among them being the Great Geyser.  Silica is the
mineral with which the waters of this fountain are impregnated, and
the substance which they deposit, as they slowly evaporate, is
named siliceous sinter.  Of this material is composed the mound,
six or seven feet high, on which the spring is situated.  On the
top of the mound is a large oval basin, about three feet in depth,
measuring in its larger diameter about fifty-six, and in its
shorter about forty-six feet.  The centre of this basin is occupied
by a circular well about ten feet in diameter, and between seventy
and eighty feet deep.

Out of the central well springs a jet of boiling water, at
intervals of six or seven hours.  When the fountain is at rest,
both the basin and the well appear quite empty, and no steam is
seen.  But on the approach of the moment for action, the water
rises in the well, till it flows over into the basin.  Then loud
subterranean explosions are heard, and the ground all round is
violently shaken.

Instantly, and with immense force, a steaming jet of boiling water,
of the full width of the well, springs up and ascends to a great
height in the air.  The top of this large column of water is
enveloped in vast clouds of steam, which diffuse themselves through
the air, rendering it misty.  These jets succeed each other with
great rapidity to the number of sixteen or eighteen, the period of
action of the fountain being about five minutes.  The last of the
jets generally ascends to the greatest height, usually to about
100, but sometimes to 150 feet; on one occasion it rose to the
great height of 212 feet.  Having ejected this great column of
water, the action ceases, and the water that had filled the basin
sinks down into the well.  There it remains till the time for the
next eruption, when the same phenomena are repeated.  It has been
found that, by throwing large stones into the well, the period of
the eruption may be hastened, while the loudness of the explosions
and the violence of the fountain effect are increased, the stones
being at the same time ejected with great force.


ERUPTION CAN BE INDUCED BY ARTIFICIAL MEANS


Geysers are found all over the island, presenting various
peculiarities.  In the case of one of the smaller ones, which is
called Strokr, or the Churn, an eruption can be induced by
artificial means.  A barrow-load of sods is thrown into the crater
of the geyser, with the effect of causing an eruption.  The
sensitiveness of Strokr is due to its peculiar form.  An observer
states that, "The bore is eight feet in diameter at the top, and
forty-four feet deep.  Below twenty-seven feet it contracts to
nineteen inches, so that the turf thrown in completely chokes it.
Steam collects below; a foaming scum covers the surface of the
water, and in a quarter of an hour it surges up the pipe.  The
fountain then begins playing, sending its bundles of jets rather
higher than those of the Great Geyser, flinging up the clods of
turf which have been its obstruction like a number of rockets.
This magnificent display continues for a quarter of an hour or
twenty minutes.  The erupted water flows back into the pipe from
the curved sides of the bowl.  This occasions a succession of
bursts, the last expiring effort, very generally, being the most
magnificent.  Strokr gives no warning thumps, like the Great
Geyser, and there is not the same roaring of steam accompanying the
outbreak of the water."

The same author thus describes an eruption of the Great Geyser,
which occurred about two o'clock in the morning: "A violent
concussion of the ground brought me and my companions to our feet.
We rushed out of the tent in every condition of dishabille and were
in time to see Geyser put forth his full strength.  Five strokes
underground were the signal, then an overflow, wetting every side
of the mound.  Presently a dome of water rose in the centre of the
basin and fell again, immediately to be followed by a fresh bell,
which sprang into the air fully forty feet high, accompanied by a
roaring burst of steam.  Instantly the fountain began to play with
the utmost violence, a column rushing up to the height of ninety or
one hundred feet against the gray night sky, with mighty volumes of
white steam cloud rolling after it and swept off by the breeze to
fall in torrents of hot rain.  Jets and lines of water tore their
way through the clouds, or leaped high above its domed mass.  The
earth trembled and throbbed during the explosion, then the column
sank, started up again, dropped once more, and seemed to be sucked
back into the earth.  We ran to the basin, which was left dry, and
looked down the bore at the water, which was bubbling at the depth
of six feet."

In the case of Strokr, the cause of this eruption is not difficult
to understand.  The narrow part of the channel is choked up by the
turf and the steam, and prevented from escaping.  Finally it gains
such force as to drive out the obstacle with a violent explosion,
just as a bottle of fermenting liquor may blow out the cork and
discharge some of its contents.

Geysers are somewhat abundant phenomena, existing in many parts of
the earth, while striking examples of them are found in the widely
separated regions of Iceland, New Zealand, Japan and the western
United States.  In the volcanic region of New Zealand geysers and
their associated hot springs are abundant.  It was to their action
that we owed the famous white and pink terraces and the warm lake
of Rotomahana which were ruined by the destructive eruption of
Mount Tarawera, already described.


GEYSERS OF THE UNITED STATES


The United States is abundantly supplied with hot springs, but
geysers, outside of the Yellowstone region, are found only in
California and Nevada.  Those of California exist chiefly in Napa
Valley, north of San Francisco, in a canon or defile.  Their waters
are impregnated not with silica, but with sulphur, and they thus
approach more nearly in their character to mud-volcanoes, whose
ejections are, in like manner, much impregnated with that
substance.  They are also, like them, collected in groups, there
being no less than one hundred openings within a space of flat
ground a mile square.  Owing to their number and proximity, their
individual energy is nothing like so violent as that of the geysers
of Iceland.  Their jets seldom rise higher than 20 or 30 feet; but
so great a number playing within so confined a space produces an
imposing effect.  The jets of boiling water issue with a loud noise
from little conical mounds, around which the ground is merely a
crust of sulphur.  When this crust is penetrated, the boiling water
may be seen underneath.  The rocks in the neighborhood of these
fountains are all corroded by the action of the sulphurous vapors.
Nevertheless, within a distance of not more than 50 feet from them,
trees grow without injury to their health.

Few of these fountains, however, are regular geysers, most of them
discharging only steam.  From the Steamboat Geyser this ascends to
a height of from 50 to 100 feet, with a roar like that of the
escape from a steamboat boiler.  Associated with the geysers are
numerous hot springs, some clear, some turbid, and variously
impregnated with iron, sulphur or alum.  In Nevada the Steamboat
Springs, as they are designated, exist in Washoe Valley, east of
the Virginian range.  They come nearer in character to the
Yellowstone geysers, their waters depositing true geyserite, or
silicious concretions.  The Volcano Springs, in Lauder County, are
also true geysers, though of small importance.  The ground here is
so thickly perforated by holes from which steam escapes that it
looks like a cullender.


THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS


The most remarkable geyser country in the world, alike for the size
and the number of its spouting fountains, is the Yellowstone region
in the northwest part of the Territory of Wyoming, in the United
States, which, by a special act of Congress, has been reserved as
the Yellowstone National Park, exempt from settlement, purchase or
pre-emption.  Here nearly every form of geyser and unintermittent
hot spring occurs, with deposits of various kinds, silicious,
calcareous, etc.  Of the hot springs, Dr. Peale enumerates 2,195,
and considers that within the limits of the park--which is about 54
miles by 62 miles, and includes 3,312 square miles--as many as
3,000 actually exist.  The same geologist notes the existence of 71
geysers in the area mentioned, though some of the number are only
inferred to be spouting springs from the form of their basins and
the character of the surrounding deposits.  Of this vast collection
of still and eruptive springs, between which there seems every
gradation, those which do not send water into the air are, owing to
the magnificent cascades which they form, often quite as remarkable
as those which take the shape of geysers.  The more striking of the
latter may, however, be briefly mentioned.

In the Gibbon Basin is a geyser of late origin.  In 1878 this
consisted of two steam holes, roaring on the side of a hill, that
looked as if they had recently burst through the surface; and the
gully leading towards the ravine was at that date filled with sand,
which appeared to have been poured out during an eruption.  Dead
trees stood on the line of this sand floor, and others, with their
bark still remaining, and even with their foliage not lost, were
uprooted hard by, everything indicating that the "steamboat vent,"
as it was called, was of recent formation.  In 1875 it had no
existence, but in 1879 the spouting spring--which first opened, it
is believed, on the 11th of August in the preceding year--had
"settled down to business as a very powerful flowing geyser," with
a double period; one eruption occurring every half hour, and
projecting water to the height of 30 feet; the main eruption
occurring every six or seven days, with long continued action, and
a column of nearly 100 feet.

The New Geyser in the same basin is also of quite recent origin.
It consists of two fissures in the rock, in which the water boils
vigorously.  But there is no mound, and the rocks of the fissure
are just beginning to get a coating of the silicious geyserite
deposited from the water, so that it cannot long have been
spouting.  Again, in the Grotto Geyser--in the Upper Geyser Basin
of Fire Hole River--the main or larger crater is hollowed into
fantastic arches, beneath which are the grotto-like cavities from
which it is named, which act as lateral orifices for the escape of
water during an eruption.  It plays several times in the course of
the twenty-four hours, and sends a column of water sixty feet high,
the eruption lasting an hour.  As yet, however, the force of the
water has not been sufficient, or of sufficiently long duration, to
break through the arches covering the basin or crater.  The
Excelsior--claimed to be the largest of its order, which sent water
nearly 300 feet into the air at intervals of about five hours, and
of such volume as to wash away bridges over small streams below--
was not, until comparatively recent years, known as a specially
powerful geyser.  But if it had for a time waned in importance, its
immense crater, 330 feet in length and 200 feet at the widest part,
shows that at a still earlier date it was a gigantic fountain.  In
this deep pit, when the breeze wafted aside the clouds of steam
constantly arising from its surface, the water could be seen
seething 15 or 20 feet below the surrounding level.  Yet into the
cauldron of boiling water a little stream of cold water, from the
melting snow of the uplands, ran unceasingly.  Since 1888 this
great geyser has been inactive.

The Castle Geyser is so named on account of the fancied resemblance
which its mound of white and grey deposit presents to the ruins of
a feudal keep, the crater itself being placed on a cone or turret,
which has a somewhat imposing appearance compared with the other
geysers in the neighborhood.  It throws a column usually about
fifty or sixty feet high, at intervals of two or three hours, but
sometimes the discharge shoots up much higher.

The Giant, in the Upper Geyser Basin, has a peculiar crater, which
has been likened to the stump of a hollow sycamore tree of gigantic
proportions, whose top has been wrenched off by a storm.  This
curious cup is broken down at one side, as though it had been torn
away during an eruption of more than ordinary violence, and on this
side the visitor is able to look into the crater, if he can
contrive to avoid the jets which are constantly spouted from it.
The periods of rest which it takes are varied, an eruption often
not occurring for several days at a time; yet when it breaks out it
continues playing for more than three hours, with a volume of water
reaching a height of from 130 to 140 feet.  In the interval little
spouts are constantly in progess.  Mr. Stanley saw one eruption
which he calculated to have shot a column of water to the height of
more than 200 feet.  At first it seemed as though the geyser was
only making a feint, the discharge which preceded the great one
being merely repeated several times, followed by a cessation both
of the rumbling noises and of the ejection of water.  But soon,
after a premonitory cloud of steam, the geyser began to work in
earnest, the column discharged rising higher and higher, until it
reached the altitude mentioned.

"At first it appeared to labor in raising the immense volume, which
seemed loath to start on its heavenward tour; but it was with
perfect ease that the stupendous column was held to its place, the
water breaking into jets and returning in glittering showers to the
basin.  The steam ascended in dense volumes for thousands of feet,
when it was freighted on the wings of the winds and borne away in
clouds.  The fearful rumble and confusion attending it were as the
sound of distant artillery, the rushing of many horses to battle,
or the roar of a fearful tornado.  It commenced to act at 2 P. M.,
and continued for an hour and a half, the latter part of which it
emitted little else than steam, rushing upward from its chambers
below, of which, if controlled, there was enough to run an engine
of wonderful power.  The waving to and fro of such a gigantic
fountain, when the column is at its height,


     'Tinselled o'er in robes of varying hues,'


and glistening in the bright sunlight, which adorns it with the
glowing colors of many a gorgeous rainbow, affords a spectacle so
wonderful and grandly magnificent, so overwhelming to the mind,
that the ablest attempt at description gives the reader who has
never witnessed such a display but a feeble idea of its glory."


A DESCRIPTION OF THE GEYSER AT WORK


The only other geysers in this remarkable geyserland which we can
spare room to notice are those known as the Giantess, the Beehive,
and the Grand.  The Giantess sends a column of water to the height
of 250 feet.  An eruption is usually divided into three periods--
two preliminary efforts and a final one, divided from each other by
intervals of between one and two hours, while the intervals of
discharge are very long.  Sometimes it does not play for several
weeks.  The Beehive, which is 400 feet from the Giantess, gets its
name from the peculiar beehive-like cone which it has formed.  The
eruption is also almost unique.  It is heralded by a slight escape
of steam, which is followed by a column of steam and water,
shooting to the height of over 200 feet.  The column is somewhat
fan-shaped, but it does not fall in rain, the spray being
evaporated and carried off as steam--if, indeed, there is not more
steam than water in the column.  The duration of the discharge is
between four and five minutes, and the interval between two
eruptions from twenty-one to twenty-five hours.

The Grand is one of the most important in the Upper Geyser basin.
Yet, unlike the Grotto, the Giant, or the Old Faithful,--so called
from its frequent and regular eruptions--it has no raised cone or
crater, and a much less cavernous bowl than the Giantess and other
geysers.  The column discharged ascends to the height of from
eighty to two hundred feet, and the eruptions last from fifteen
minutes to three-quarters of an hour, with intervals on an average
of from seven to twenty hours.  This fountain is apparently very
irregular in its action, though it is just possible that when the
Yellowstone geysers have been more consecutively studied, it will
be found that these seeming irregularities depend on the varying
supplies of water at different times of the year.


THE MAMMOTH HOT SPRINGS


The marvellous phenomena of the Yellowstone region are not confined
to geyser action, hot springs of steady flow being, as above
stated, exceedingly numerous.  Of these the most striking are those
known as the Mammoth Hot Springs, whose waters find their way
through underground passages, finally flowing from an opening as
the "Boiling River," which empties into the Gardiner River.

These springs are marvels of beauty.  Their terraced bowls, adorned
with delicate fret-work, are among the finest specimens of Nature's
handiwork in the world, and the colored waters themselves are
startling in their brilliancy.  Red, pink, black, canary, green,
saffron, blue, chocolate, and all their intermediate gradations are
found here in exquisite harmony.  The springs rise in terraces of
various heights and widths, having intermingled with their delicate
shades chalk-like cliffs, soft and crumbly, these latter being the
remains of springs from which the life and beauty have departed.
The great spring is the largest in the country, the water flowing
through three openings into a basin forty feet long by twenty-five
feet wide.  From this the hot mineral waters drip over into lower
basins, of gracefully curved and scalloped outline, the minerals
deposited on the lips of the basin forming stalagmites of
variegated hue, yielding a brilliant and beautiful effect.  The
terraced basins bear a close resemblance to the former New Zealand
pink and white terraces, and since the annihilation of the latter
are the most charming examples in existence of this rare form of
Nature's artistic handiwork.





End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The San Francisco Calamity