25062	----	None 
26204	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A LETTER FROM THE LORD BISHOP OF _LONDON_, TO THE CLERGY and PEOPLE OF _London_ and _Westminster_; On Occasion of the Late EARTHQUAKES. _LONDON_: Printed for JOHN WHISTON in _Fleetstreet_. MDCCL. [Price Three-Pence.] TO THE CLERGY and Inhabitants OF THE Cities of _London_ and _Westminster_. _My Brethren and Friends_, The Relation I stand in to you, is a daily Call upon me to consider the spiritual State of these great Cities; and tho' I doubt not but GOD has many faithful and chosen Servants among you, yet the general View of the Wickedness and Corruption that abound, and are spreading far and wide, gives me, and must give to every serious Christian very painful Reflexions: It is hardly possible to think of the History of Providence, recorded in Holy Writ, and the many Examples of Divine Justice exercised, sometimes in punishing, sometimes in utterly destroying wicked Nations, or Cities, without being sensibly affected with Apprehensions for ourselves: But more especially have we Reason to fear, when we see the _Beginning of Sorrows_, and the Displeasure of the Almighty manifested in the Calamities we suffer under, and in the Signs and Tokens given us to expect a far more dreadful Judgment. It is every Man's Duty, and it is mine to call upon you, to give Attention to all the Warnings which God in his Mercy affords to a sinful People: Such Warning we have had, by two great Shocks of an Earthquake; a Warning, which seems to have been immediately and especially directed to these great Cities, and the Neighbourhood of them; where the Violence of the Earthquake was so sensible, tho' in distant Parts hardly felt, that it will be Blindness wilful and inexcusable not to apply to ourselves this strong Summons, from God, to Repentance. Thoughtless or hardened Sinners may be deaf to these Calls; and Little Philosophers, who see a little, and but very little into natural Causes, may think they see enough to account for what happens, without calling in the Aid and Assistance of a special Providence; not considering, that God who made all Things, never put any Thing out of his own Power, but has all Nature under Command to serve his Purposes in the Government of the World. But be their Imaginations to themselves, the Subject is too serious for trifling; and calls us off to other Views. If we consider the general Government of the World by God, and upon what Reasons and Motives he acts, when he brings Calamities and Plagues upon any People: Or if we recollect from History sacred and profane, what State and Condition with respect to Religion and Morality, the People were in, who have been Examples of Justice: And then compare our own Case with the general Reason by which Providence acts, and with the Circumstances of those by whose Example we ought to take Warning, we shall soon discover whether there be just Reason for our Apprehensions. If those who have been destroyed by Fire from Heaven, or swallowed up by the Earth were _Sinners_, and we are _righteous_, let us fear nothing, nor be dismayed though the _Foundations_ of the Earth be removed: But if our Consciences tell us, that we have sinned after their Example, what Consolation is there to be had against the just Expectation of suffering after their Example also? The same Conclusion will arise from a Contemplation of God's general Providence; which tho' it is not daily exerted in punishing all Men, or all Vices that deserve it; yet is always armed with Power to stop outrageous Wickedness; and he has told us in his holy Word, what we may expect from his Justice, when we are grown hardened and obdurate against his Mercy. Upon these Principles let your own Case be examined: But who shall be your Accuser? Shall I? God forbid, _My Heart's Desire and Prayer to God for you is, that you may be saved_. Hear me then with Patience, not as your Accuser, but as your faithful Servant and Monitor in Christ Jesus, warning you to flee from the Wrath that is to come. Had this Part of the World had less Knowledge and less Light, they might have some Excuse, and some Hope that GOD would wink at the Times of their Ignorance: But they have had the Light, and have loved Darkness: The Gospel of Christ in which all the Goodness and Mercy of GOD are display'd through the Redemption purchased by the Blood of Christ; in which the Aid and Comfort of the Holy Spirit of GOD is offered to all who diligently seek it; in which the Hopes and Fears of Eternity are display'd to guard us against the Temptations of Sin; has been not only rejected, but treated with a malicious Scorn; and all our Hopes in Christ represented as Delusions and Impositions upon the Weakness of Men. How has the Press for many Years past swarm'd with Books, some to dispute, some to ridicule the great Truths of Religion, both natural and revealed. I shall mention no particular Cases, there is no need for it; the Thing is notorious. I wish the Guilt in this Instance was confined to the Authors only, and that no body else was answerable for it: But the Earnestness with which these Books were sought after, the Pleasure and Approbation with which they were received, are too strong Indications of the general Taste to be dissembled; and the Industry used to disperse these Books at home and abroad, and especially to our Plantations in _America_; to which great Numbers, and at a great Expence have been conveyed; are Proofs of such Malice against the Gospel and the Holy Author of it, as would not be born even in a _Mahometan_ Country. In this Branch of Trade, this great City beats all the World; it is become even the Mart for Infidelity. It required no great Sagacity to foresee what the Consequence would be of the Pains taken to unsettle all Principles of Religion. Infidelity and Immorality are too nearly allied, to be long separated; and though some have pretended to preserve a Sense of Virtue without the Aid of Religion, yet Experience has shewed that People who have neither Hopes nor Fears with Respect to _another_ World, will soon abuse _this_ by indulging the worst of their Passions, and will not regard Man, when once they have learn'd to disregard GOD. Whether this be our Case, let every Man judge by what he hears and sees; by what, indeed, he _must_ hear and see, if he lives amongst us. Blasphemy and horrid Imprecations domineer in our Streets, and poor Wretches are every Hour wantonly and wickedly calling for Damnation on themselves and others, which may be ('tis much to be feared) too near them already. Add to this the Lewdness and Debauchery that prevail amongst the lowest People, which keeps them idle, poor, and miserable, and renders them incapable of getting an honest Livelihood for themselves and Families; the Number of lewd Houses, which trade in their Vices, and which must at any rate be paid for making Sin convenient to them; and it will account for Villainies of another Kind, which are growing so fast as to be insupportable, and almost incurable: For, Where is the Wonder that Persons so abandoned should be ready to commit all Sorts of Outrage and Violence?--A City without Religion can never be a safe Place to dwell in. The unnatural Lewdness, of which we have heard so much of late, is something more than brutish, and can hardly be mentioned without offending chaste Ears, and yet cannot be passed over entirely in Silence, because of the particular Mark of Divine Vengeance set upon it in the Destruction of _Sodom_ by Fire from Heaven. Dreadful Example! But these Vices are so enormous, that 'tis to be hoped the Generality of our People are not guilty; I hope in God they are not, I trust they are not. But how unhappy is it for this Country, that there should be any Ground even for Suspicion that these Vices are growing to be common! But to go one Step further-- When Men, not content with indulging their own brutish Passions, take Pains to corrupt others, they act with such cool and diabolical Malice, as outdoes former Examples, and seems to be a Challenge to the Power and Justice of God--Have not all the Abominations of the publick Stews been opened to View by lewd Pictures exposed to Sale at Noon-day? Have not Histories or Romances of the vilest Prostitutes been published, intended merely to display the most execrable Scenes of Lewdness; Lewdness represented without Disguise, and nothing omitted that might inflame the corrupt Passions of the Youth of the Nation! What was the Encouragement for Men to dare giving such an Affront not only to the common Sense, but to the common Law of the Country? Was it not the quick Sale these Pictures and these Books had? And is not this a deplorable Circumstance, and sad Instance of the corrupt Disposition of many among us? Is it to be wondered at, after so much Pains taken to corrupt the Religion and Morals of the People, that they should be indisposed to attend to any thing serious, or that they grow sick of Religion, which has no Comforts for them; that they fly from the Church and crowd to the Playhouse: That they are tired of themselves, and their own Thoughts, and want to lose themselves in Company from Morning to Night? It is this unhappy, unsettled State of Mind that has introduced a Kind of general Idleness among the People, and given Rise to almost infinite Places of Diversion in and about this Town; it were well if they were Places of Diversion only; but they are often Places for carrying on worse Business, and give Opportunities to the Profligate to seduce the Innocent, who often meet their Ruin, where they only came for Pleasure--While I was writing this I cast my Eye upon a News-Paper of the Day, and counted no less than fifteen Advertisements for _Plays_, _Operas_, _Musick_, and _Dancing_, for Meetings at _Gardens_, for _Cock-fighting_, _Prize-fighting_, &c? Should this Paper, (as many of our News-Papers do) go abroad, what an Idea must it give to all the Churches abroad, of the Manner in which _Lent_ is kept in this Protestant Country? What our Saviour said to the _Jews_ upon another Occasion, _You have turned the House of Prayer into a Den of Thieves_, may with a little Variation, be applied to Ourselves, We have turned this Season appointed for serious Reflexions, and Humiliation of Body and Spirit, into a Time of Mirth and Jollity, of Musick, Dancing, and riotous Living. How far this Spirit of Indolence and Idleness has gone, and to what Excess, may be seen in all Orders among us; friendly Visits for Conversation are become insipid Things, and are degenerated into Meetings for Gaming, where People hardly known to each other, are invited by one Tye only, the Love of Play: Which seems now to be, not an Amusement or Diversion, but a serious Business of Life, and one would think a _necessary_ one, by seeing how some Children are trained up to it. There is a great and a grievous Evil among us, which naturally springs from the Disorders beforementioned: I mean the great Increase of Popery in this Kingdom. When Men have lost all Principles of Religion, and are lost to all Sense of Morality, they are prepared to receive any Superstition, whenever the Decay of Health, or the cross Accidents of Life revive the Fears of Futurity; which may be stifled, but cannot be extinguished; such Persons not able to digest the wholesome Food of Repentance, by which their spiritual Condition might be gradually mended, greedily swallow the high Cordial of Absolution, which like other Cordials gives some present Ease, but works no Cure. And with respect to People of a serious and religious Turn of Mind, the manifest and almost general Contempt, or at least Neglect, of the Duties of Religion gives a great Advantage to the Emissaries of _Rome_ to impose on their Weakness, and to persuade them that they can have no Hopes in the Religion of a Church, where Religion itself is hardly to be found. Lay these Things together; and what more your own Observation and Reflexion may furnish, and much more they may furnish; and then ask your Heart, whether you have not Reason to fear, that God will visit for these Things. If your Heart misgives you, and forebodes the Time of taking Vengeance for these Iniquities to be drawing near, consider further, how graciously you have been dealt with by having had Warning of your Danger; and remember that the long _Sufferance of God is a Call to Repentance_. It is purely for the Sake of this Reflexion, that I now address myself to you: I have no Pleasure in laying open the Shame of my Country, or in exposing its Nakedness either to Friends or to Foes; and when I consider my own Situation, 'tis a Prospect void of all Comfort to me to see the Condition of the People, over whom I have a Charge; and, God knows my Heart, these Considerations are a Pain and Grief to my Mind. But, let us not despair; there is still one Remedy left, and whatever Reason we have to condemn ourselves, yet of this we may be sure, that God has not _forgotten to be gracious_. To him then let us turn, with hearty Repentance for our Sins; and with a Resolution to do, each of us in his proper Station, what lies in our Power to stem the Torrent of Iniquity which threatens our Ruin. As to You my Brethren of the Clergy, who share with me the Care of the Souls in these populous Cities, let me exhort You, (though I trust you want not to be exhorted) to awaken the People, to call them from the Lethargy in which they have too long lived, and make them see their own Danger. Speak to them, _perswade them as knowing the Terrors of the Lord_.--Speak to their Hearts and Consciences with such Plainness as becomes the Ministers of the Gospel; tell them in _Season and out of Season, that unless they repent, they must perish_. If the Warnings we have had are a Call on the People to Repentance, remember they are still stronger Calls on us, to _preach_ Repentance, and to discharge the Duty we owe to God and his Church, and to the Flock of Christ, over whom we are placed. May this Work of God prosper in our Hands! I should be wanting to the Duty I owe to the highest as well as the lowest, should I omit on this Occasion to remind those who are entrusted by their Country, with the Government of these populous Cities, how much the Welfare of the People depends upon the faithful Execution of the Law. I pretend not to accuse _them particularly_ of Neglect, a _general Neglect_ of this Kind is one of the worst Symptoms of the Time; every Man is left to do what is right in his own Eyes, one would think _there was no King in Israel_. Could the vile abominable Pictures of Lewdness have been offered to Sale in the most frequented Parts of the City; could Books for the Instruction of the Unexperienced in all the Mysteries of Iniquity have been publickly cried in our Streets; had not the Laws, and the Guardians of the Laws, been asleep?--But surely it is high Time to awake; and to let People once more know, (what seems to be almost forgotten) that Laws are made for the _Punishment of Wickedness and Vice, and for the Maintenance of true Religion_. Government is a great Trust, and the Powers of it are not intended merely to do Honour to those who have them, but must be used for the Good of the Community. This is a Truth sufficiently known, it has been founded in the Ears of the Nation, without Ceasing; but the Misfortune is, that this Doctrine has been applied so constantly to the _Supreme_ Magistrate only, that those who have _subordinate_ Powers derived from his Authority, forget, or are not accustomed, to make the Application to themselves. And yet surely, there is not a Constable but has, in Proportion to the Power the Law gives him, a Trust reposed in him in Behalf of his King and his Country: Those who are in higher Offices, have still greater Reason, as more depends upon the due Exercise of their Authority, to be watchful for the Community. The Good of Society must be influenced by their Conduct and Example, one Way or other. Great Officers of Justice cannot be _useless_, without being _pernicious_. If a Regard for the Publick is not a Motive strong enough in this Case, let every Magistrate consider that there is another of infinite Importance to himself; for if all Power be the _Ordinance_ of God, He will undoubtedly demand an Account of the Exercise of it: And who is he, that has so little to answer for on his own Account, as willingly to subject himself to be answerable for the Sins of others, which either by his Encouragement, or his Connivence he makes his own? Pardon the Freedom of this Address; I honour and reverence _your_ Office, and I hope I give you no Occasion to despise _mine_. Next to those in publick Offices of Power and Trust, the Happiness of the Publick depends upon those who have the Government in private Families. Here it is that the Youth of the Nation must be formed, and if they are suffered to be corrupted in their Religion or Morals before they come into the _World_, there is little Hope that the _World_ will reform them. All wise Men, Legislators, and Princes, have acknowledged, not only the Use, but the Necessity of an early Education to form the Mind, whilst tender, to the Principles of Honour and Virtue; and what is more, the wisest of all, the Writers inspired by the Holy Spirit, have required it as a Duty from Parents, and as Part of the Obedience they owe to God: Even our Unbelievers have seen how far Religion depended on this Care; and under a Pretence of maintaining the Liberty of the human Mind, and guarding it against early Prejudices, they have endeavoured to persuade the World, that Children should be taught nothing of Religion, but be left to form Notions for themselves. They have had but too great Success, and we begin to see the Fruits of it. The Children of this Age, grow soon to be Men and Women, and are admitted to be Partners, and Witnesses to the Follies and Vices of their Parents. Thus trained and educated, when they come to be Masters and Mistresses of Families, they answer fully what was to be expected from them; they are often a Torment to each other, and to themselves, and have Reason to bemoan themselves for the Indulgence shewn them in their early Days. Would you see the Effects of this Education in all Orders among us, look into the many Publick Assemblies; sometimes you may see Old Age affecting the Follies of Youth, and counterfeiting the Airs of Gaiety; sometimes Men lying in wait to seduce Women, and Women to seduce Men; and even Children seriously employed at the Gaming Table, as if their Parents were concerned to form them early to the Taste of the Age, and were afraid that they should not soon enough, of themselves, find the Way to their Ruin. Look near Home: See the Temptations of this Sort which surround these Cities, and are indeed so many Snares to catch your Sons and Daughters and Apprentices. Can you look on, and be unconcerned? For God's Sake, and for the Sake of your Children and your Country take the Courage to act like Parents and Masters of Families: Reformation must begin in private Families; the Law and the Magistrate can punish your Children when they become wicked; but it is you, who must make them good, by proper Instruction and proper Government. If you suffer them to meet Temptation, where Temptation is sure to meet them, never complain of him who corrupts your Child, you are the Corrupter yourself; to you he owes it, that he is undone. And perhaps there is not a more provoking Circumstance, nor a greater Call for Divine Vengeance on a wicked Nation, than this; that the Youth are prepared and brought up to inherit all the Vices of their Fathers, which cuts off all Prospect of Reformation; and stands as a Bar between us and Mercy. On you therefore, Fathers and Mothers, your Country, and the Church of God call for Assistance; your Endeavours may go a great Way towards saving us, and this wicked Generation may be spared, for the Hope of seeing the next better. In a word, let every Man, whatever his Station is, do his Part towards averting the Judgments of God: Let every Man reform himself, and others as far as his Influence goes: This is _our_ only proper Remedy; for the dissolute Wickedness of the Age, is a more dreadful Sign and Prognostication of Divine Anger, than even the Trembling of the Earth under us. To our own Endeavours, let us add continual and fervent Supplications to the Almighty, that he would _spare us, and not deal with us according to the Multitude of our Sins_; that he would give us the Grace of Repentance, and open our Eyes to see, before it is too late, _the Things which belong to our Salvation_. May the God of all Mercy hear you, in this Day of your Distress! To his Protection, and the Grace of our Lord _Jesus_ I earnestly recommend you. I am, _Your Affectionate Brother, and Servant in Christ Jesus_, THO. LONDON. _Printed_ for JOHN WHISTON _in_ Fleetstreet. _The Fifth Edition, on a fine Paper_, Price 5_s._ bound: I. The Use and Intent of Prophecy, in the several Ages of the World: In Six Discourses, delivered at the _Temple Church_; To which are added, Four Dissertations, and an _Appendix_, being a farther Enquiry into the _Mosaick_ Account of the _Fall_. _By_ THOMAS SHERLOCK, _D.D._ Master of the _Temple_, now Lord Bishop of _London_. _N.B._ The _Appendix_ may be had alone to compleat former Editions. Price 1_s._ II. The Tryal of the Witnesses of the Resurrection of JESUS. The Twelfth Edition, corrected. Price 1_s._ 6_d._ 
18527	----	* * * * * +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | In this document, _italics_ are represented as underscores, | | =bold text= is marked with equals signs, and bullets are | | represented as » | | | | One of the tables in this document is very wide (80 characters) | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * AN ASSESSMENT OF THE CONSEQUENCES AND PREPARATIONS FOR A CATASTROPHIC CALIFORNIA EARTHQUAKE: FINDINGS AND ACTIONS TAKEN PREPARED BY FEDERAL EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT AGENCY FROM ANALYSES CARRIED OUT BY THE NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL ad hoc COMMITTEE ON ASSESSMENT OF CONSEQUENCES AND PREPARATIONS FOR A MAJOR CALIFORNIA EARTHQUAKE [Illustration: fema symbol federal emergency management agency] Washington, D.C. 20472 November 1980 TABLE OF CONTENTS Page CHAPTER: I. Executive Summary of Findings, Issues, and Actions 1 II. Geologic Earthquake Scenarios 15 III. Assessment of Losses for Selected Potential California Earthquakes 21 IV. An Assessment of the Current State of Readiness Capability of Federal, State, and Local Governments for Earthquake Response 27 V. An Assessment of the Social Impacts 35 ANNEX: 1. Copies of Correspondence Between President Carter and Governor Brown 37 2. Current California and Federal Earthquake Response Planning 43 3. California Assembly Bill No. 2202 53 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 57 CHAPTER I EXECUTIVE SUMMARY OF FINDINGS, ISSUES, AND ACTIONS A. BACKGROUND After viewing the destruction wrought by the eruption of Mt. St. Helens in Washington State in May 1980, President Carter became concerned about the impacts of a similar event of low probability but high damage potential, namely a catastrophic earthquake in California, and the state of readiness to cope with the impacts of such an event. As a result of the President's concern, an _ad hoc_ committee of the National Security Council was formed to conduct a government review of the consequences of, and preparation for such an event. In addition to the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the Committee included representatives from the Office of Science and Technology Policy, the United States Geological Survey of the Department of the Interior, the Department of Defense, the Department of Transportation, and the National Communications System, at the Federal level; State of California agencies and California local governments at the State and local levels; and consultants from the private sector. During the summer of 1980, the participants in this review prepared working papers on relevant issues and problem areas for the consideration of the _ad hoc_ committee. Pertinent facts, conclusions and recommendations were reviewed with the Governor of the State of California. The President reviewed the _ad hoc_ committee's findings and approved the recommendations for Federal action. This report summarizes the results of the assessment and notes these actions. A number of Federal legislative and administrative actions have been taken to bring about, in the near future, an increased capability to respond to such an event. The Earthquake Hazards Reduction Act of 1977 (P.L. 95-124) authorizes a coordinated and structured program to identify earthquake risks and prepare to lessen or mitigate their impacts by a variety of means. The coordination of this program, the National Earthquake Hazards Reduction Program (NEHRP), is the responsibility of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), which is charged with focusing Federal efforts to respond to emergencies of all types and lessen their impacts before they occur. The NEHRP has six high-priority thrusts: » Overall coordination of Federal departments and agencies' programs » Maintenance of a comprehensive program of research and development for earthquake prediction and hazards mitigation » Leadership and support of the Federal Interagency Committee on Seismic Safety in Construction as it develops seismic design and construction standards for use in Federal projects » Development of response plans and assistance to State and local governments in the preparation of their plans » Analysis of the ability of financial institutions to perform their functions after a creditable prediction of an earthquake as well as after an event, together with an exploration of the feasibility of using these institutions to foster hazard reduction » An examination of the appropriate role of insurance in mitigating the impacts of earthquakes. More recently, a cooperative Federal, State, local, and private-sector effort was initiated to prepare for responding to a credible large-magnitude earthquake, or its prediction, in Southern California. B. SUMMARY The review provided the overall assessment that the Nation is essentially unprepared for the catastrophic earthquake (with a probability greater than 50 percent) that must be expected in California in the next three decades. While current response plans and preparedness measures may be adequate for moderate earthquakes, Federal, State, and local officials agree that preparations are woefully inadequate to cope with the damage and casualties from a catastrophic earthquake, and with the disruptions in communications, social fabric, and governmental structure that may follow. Because of the large concentration of population and industry, the impacts of such an earthquake would surpass those of any natural disaster thus far experienced by the Nation. Indeed, the United States has not suffered any disaster of this magnitude on its own territory since the Civil War. The basis for this overall assessment is summarized below and discussed in more detail in the subsequent chapters of this report. C. LIKELIHOOD OF FUTURE EARTHQUAKES Earth scientists unanimously agree on the inevitability of major earthquakes in California. The gradual movement of the Pacific Plate relative to the North American Plate leads to the inexorable concentration of strain along the San Andreas and related fault systems. While some of this strain is released by moderate and smaller earthquakes and by slippage without earthquakes, geologic studies indicate that the vast bulk of the strain is released through the occurrence of major earthquakes--that is, earthquakes with Richter magnitudes of 7.0 and larger and capable of widespread damage in a developed region. Along the Southern San Andreas fault, some 30 miles from Los Angeles, for example, geologists can demonstrate that at least eight major earthquakes have occurred in the past 1,200 years with an average spacing in time of 140 years, plus or minus 30 years. The last such event occurred in 1857. Based on these statistics and other geophysical observations, geologists estimate that the probability for the recurrence of a similar earthquake is currently as large as 2 to 5 percent per year and greater than 50 percent in the next 30 years. Geologic evidence also indicates other faults capable of generating major earthquakes in other locations near urban centers in California, including San Francisco-Oakland, the immediate Los Angeles region, and San Diego. Seven potential events have been postulated for purposes of this review and are discussed in chapter II. The current estimated probability for a major earthquake in these other locations is smaller, but significant. The aggregate probability for a catastrophic earthquake in the whole of California in the next three decades is well in excess of 50 percent. D. CASUALTIES AND PROPERTY DAMAGE Casualties and property damage estimates for four of the most likely catastrophic earthquakes in California were prepared to form a basis for emergency preparedness and response. Chapter III gives details on these estimates. Deaths and injuries would occur principally because of the failure of man-made structures, particularly older, multistory, and unreinforced brick masonry buildings built before the adoption of earthquake-resistant building codes. Experience has shown that some modern multistory buildings--constructed as recently as the late 1960's but not adequately designed or erected to meet the current understanding of requirements for seismic resistance--are also subject to failure. Strong ground shaking, which is the primary cause of damage during earthquakes, often extends over vast areas. For example, in an earthquake similar to that which occurred in 1857, strong ground shaking (above the threshold for causing damage) would extend in a broad strip along the Southern San Andreas fault, about 250 miles long and 100 miles wide, and include almost all of the Los Angeles-San Bernardino metropolitan area, and all of Ventura, Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, and Kern counties. For the most probable catastrophic earthquake--a Richter magnitude 8+ earthquake similar to that of 1857, which occurred along the Southern San Andreas fault--estimates of fatalities range from about 3,000, if the earthquake were to occur at 2:30 a.m. when the population is relatively safe at home, to more than 13,000, if the earthquake were to occur at 4:30 p.m. on a weekday, when much of the population is either in office buildings or on the streets. Injuries serious enough to require hospitalization under normal circumstances are estimated to be about four times as great as fatalities. For the less likely prospect of a Richter magnitude 7.5 earthquake on the Newport-Inglewood fault in the immediate Los Angeles area, fatalities are estimated to be about 4,000 to 23,000, at the same respective times. Such an earthquake, despite its smaller magnitude, would be more destructive because of its relative proximity to the most heavily developed regions; however, the probability of this event is estimated to be only about 0.1 percent per year. Smaller magnitude--and consequently less damaging--earthquakes are anticipated with greater frequency on a number of fault systems in California. In either of these earthquakes, casualties could surpass the previous single greatest loss of life in the United States due to a natural disaster, which was about 6,000 persons killed when a hurricane and storm surge struck the Galveston area of the Texas coast in 1900. The highest loss of life due to earthquakes in the United States occurred in San Francisco in 1906, when 700 people were killed. By way of comparison (in spite of the vast differences in building design and practices and socioeconomic systems) the devastating 1976 Tangshan earthquake in China caused fatalities ranging from the official Chinese Government figure of 242,000 to unofficial estimates as high as 700,000. Fortunately, building practices in the United States preclude such a massive loss of life. Property losses are expected to be higher than in any past earthquake in the United States. For example, San Francisco in 1906, and Anchorage in 1964, were both much less developed than today when they were hit by earthquakes. And the San Fernando earthquake in 1971, was only a moderate shock that struck on the fringe of a large urban area. Each of these three earthquakes caused damage estimated at about $0.5 billion in the then current dollars. Estimates of property damage for the most probable catastrophic earthquake on the Southern San Andreas (Richter magnitude 8+) and for the less probable but more damaging one (Richter magnitude 7.5) on the Newport-Inglewood fault, are about $15 billion and $70 billion respectively. By comparison, tropical storm Agnes caused the largest economic loss due to a natural disaster in the United States to date but it amounted to only $3.5 billion (in 1972 dollars). It should be noted, however, that substantial uncertainty exists in casualty and property damage estimates because they are based on experience with only moderate earthquakes in the United States (such as the 1971 San Fernando earthquake) and experience in other countries where buildings are generally less resistant to damage. The uncertainty is so large that the estimated impacts could be off by a factor of two or three, either too high or too low. Even if these lowest estimates prevail, however, the assessment about preparedness and the capability to respond to the disasters discussed in this report would be substantially unchanged. Assuming a catastrophic earthquake, a variety of secondary problems could also be expected. Search and rescue operations--requiring heavy equipment to move debris--would be needed to free people trapped in collapsed buildings. It is likely that injuries, particularly those immediately after the event, could overwhelm medical capabilities, necessitating a system of allocating medical resources to those who could be helped the most. Numerous local fires must be expected; nevertheless, a conflagration such as that which followed the Tokyo earthquake of 1923, or the San Francisco earthquake of 1906, is improbable, unless a "Santa Ana type" wind pattern is in effect. Since the near failure of a dam in the San Fernando, California, earthquake of 1971 (which was a moderate event), substantial progress has been made in California to reduce the hazard from dams, in some cases through reconstruction. For planning purposes, however, experts believe that the failure of at least one dam should be anticipated during a catastrophic earthquake in either the Los Angeles or San Francisco regions. Experience in past earthquakes, particularly the 1971 San Fernando earthquake, has demonstrated the potential vulnerability of commercial telephone service to earthquakes, including the possibility of damage to switching facilities from ground shaking and rupture of underground cables that cross faults. This is especially serious because immediately following earthquakes, public demand for telephone services increases drastically. This increased demand overloads the capability of the system, even if it had not been damaged, and therefore management action to reduce the availability of service to non-priority users and to accommodate emergency calls is mandatory. Radio-based communication systems, particularly those not requiring commercial power, are relatively safe from damage, although some must be anticipated. The redundancy of existing communication systems, including those designed for emergency use, means that some capability for communicating with the affected region from the outside would almost surely exist. Restoration of service by the commercial carriers should begin within 24 to 72 hours as a result of maintenance and management actions; however, total restoration of service would take significantly longer. While numerous agencies have the capability for emergency communication within themselves, non-telephonic communication among entities and agencies in the affected area is minimal. This is true for Federal, State, and local agencies. This weakness has been pointed out repeatedly by earthquake response exercises, and the problem is raised by almost every emergency preparedness official at every level of government. Consequently, a major problem for resolution is the operational integration of communications systems and networks among the relevant Federal, State, and local agencies. Because of their network-like character, most systems for transportation and water and power generation and distribution, as a whole, are resistant to failure, despite potentially severe local damage. These systems would suffer serious local outages, particularly in the first several days after the event, but would resume service over a few weeks to months. The principal difficulty would be the greatly increased need for these systems in the first few days after the event, when lifesaving activities would be paramount. Portions of the San Francisco Bay Area and of the Los Angeles Area contain substantial concentrations of manufacturing capacity for guided missiles and space vehicles, semiconductors, aircraft parts, electronic computing equipment, and airframes. Their specific vulnerability to the postulated earthquakes was not analyzed. In the event of major damage, however, the long-term impacts may be mitigated somewhat by such measures as the use of underutilized capacity located elsewhere, substitution of capacity from other industries, imports, use of other products, and drawing-down of inventories. Since we have not recently experienced a catastrophic earthquake in the United States, there are many unknowns which must be estimated with best judgment. This is true particularly for the response of individuals as well as governmental and other institutions. Popular assumptions of post-disaster behavior include antisocial behavior and the need for martial law, the breakdown of government institutions, and the requirement for the quick assertion of outside leadership and control. Practical experience and field studies of disasters, however, indicate that these assumptions are not necessarily correct. On the contrary, the impacts of the disaster commonly produce a sense of solidarity and cooperativeness among the survivors. Nonetheless, the perception remains among emergency response officials that there will be an increased need for law enforcement following the event. Another major unknown involves whether a medium or short-term warning of the event would be possible and how such a warning could be utilized most effectively. The technology for earthquake prediction is in an early stage of development and, therefore it is problematical that researchers will succeed in issuing a short-term warning before a catastrophic earthquake, should the event occur in the next few years. Yet as research progresses, scientifically-based, intermediate-term warnings are possible, but subject to a high degree of uncertainty. Consequently, response preparations must be made for both an earthquake without warning, and one with a short-or intermediate-term warning, possibly with a significant level of uncertainty. E. CAPABILITY FOR RESPONSE Planning for response to a large-scale disaster is a complicated process encompassing many variables such as population densities and distribution characteristics; land-use patterns and construction techniques; geographical configurations; vulnerability of transportation; communications and other lifeline systems; complex response operations; long-term physical, social, and economic recovery policies. These factors, together with the realization that an earthquake has the potential for being the greatest single-event catastrophe in California, make it incumbent upon the State to maintain as high a level of emergency readiness as is practicable, and to provide guidance and assistance to local jurisdictions desiring to plan and prepare for such events. Annex 2 reviews the general nature of preparedness planning and the basic characteristics of California and Federal Government plans. Federal, State, and local emergency response capabilities are judged to be adequate for moderate earthquakes--those that are most likely to occur frequently in California and cause property damage in the range of $1 billion. Such an event, however, would severely tax existing resources and provide a major test of management relationships among different governmental levels. Federal, State, and local officials, however, are quick to point out serious shortcomings in their ability to respond to a catastrophic earthquake. An analysis of the preparedness posture of 60 local governments, 34 California State organizations, and 17 Federal agencies, carried out by the California Office of Emergency Services (OES) and FEMA, indicates that response to such an earthquake would become disorganized and largely ineffective. Many governmental units have generalized earthquake response plans, some have tailored earthquake plans, and several plans are regularly exercised. The coordination of these plans among jurisdictions, agencies, and levels of government, however, is inadequate. In addition, the potential for prediction is not incorporated; long-term recovery issues are not considered; and communications problems are significant, as discussed above. Overall, Federal preparedness is deficient at this time. Early reaction to a catastrophic event would likely be characterized by delays, ineffective response, and ineffectively coordinated delivery of support. FEMA Region IX (San Francisco) has drafted an Earthquake Response Plan for the San Francisco Bay area. Annex 2 gives an overview of this draft plan. This is a site-specific plan for response to potential catastrophic earthquake occurrences. The emergency response portion relies upon a decentralized approach which provides for Federal disaster support activities to be assigned to selected Federal agencies by mission assignment letters. No specific plans have been prepared in this detail for other seismic risk areas, although it is expected that the Bay Area plan could be easily adapted to other areas. The Department of Defense and the Department of Transportation are developing detailed earthquake plans that would ensure a well-organized and adequate response to mission assignments for a major earthquake. The plans of other agencies need further development. Very significant capabilities to assist in emergency response exist within the California National Guard, California Highway Patrol, the Departments of Health Services and Transportation, and the U.S. Department of Defense. Capabilities exist for such lifesaving activities as _aerial reconnaissance, search and rescue, emergency medical services, emergency construction and repair, communications, and emergency housing and food_. Current estimates by both Federal and State officials, however, indicate that at least 6 to 8 hours would be required before personnel and equipment can be mobilized and begin initial deployment to the affected area. During the period before the arrival of significant outside assistance critical to the saving of lives (especially of those trapped in collapsed buildings), the public would be forced to rely largely upon its own resources for search and rescue, first aid, and general lifesaving actions. The current level of public preparation for this critical phase of response can be described as only minimal. Much of the current state of preparedness arises from past programs aimed at a wide spectrum of emergencies, particularly civil defense against nuclear attack. New or strengthened programs are needed to enhance public preparedness. FEMA has recently entered into a cooperative effort with California State and local governments to prepare an integrated prototype preparedness plan to respond to a catastrophic earthquake in Southern California or to a prediction of such an event. The plan's completion, in late 1981, promises to improve substantially the state of readiness to respond to the prediction and the occurrence of an earthquake in that area and to provide a model which could be applied to other earthquake-prone regions of California and the rest of the country. F. FINDINGS, ISSUES, AND ACTIONS The _ad hoc_ committee responsible for this review developed several significant findings related to the implications of major earthquakes in California and our capabilities to respond to them. It then identified major relevant issues raised by these findings and caused a number of actions to be taken. A brief discussion of the results of its review follows. 1. Leadership =Finding=: _Effective leadership at all governmental levels is the single most important factor needed to improve this Nation's preparedness for a catastrophic earthquake in California._ The problem of emergency preparedness is severely complicated because responsibilities for preparation and response cut across normal lines of authority. Further complication arises from the large areal extent of the impacts expected from a major earthquake, affecting literally dozens of government entities. The emergency services coordinator at any level of government is effective only to the extent he or she is backed by the political leadership at that level. This is especially true when preparedness activities must be done, for the most part, within existing resources. City and county officials must increasingly accept their share of the responsibility for preparedness, but commitment by State or Federal leaders is also essential. The general tendency among elected officials and the public is to ignore the existing hazard problem. Experience, however, teaches that effective response mechanisms must be in place before the disaster; they cannot be developed in the time of crisis. Overcoming this apathy and developing the organizational arrangements among Federal, State, and local government and volunteer agencies--together with the private sector and the general public will require, above all, leadership. =Issue=: The leadership role of the Federal Government in preparing for a catastrophic earthquake in California and how this leadership role is to be exerted require clarification. =Action=: The President has communicated with the Governor of California to indicate the results of this review, to express concern about the need for cooperative leadership to prepare for the event, and to offer to increase the Federal effort with the State of California and local governments in the cooperative undertaking to prepare for a catastrophic earthquake. He stressed that the Federal role is to supplement the effort and resources of the State, and that commitment of significant Federal resources would be contingent upon the application of significant State resources. In his response to the President's communications, the Governor of California underscored the State's readiness to participate in this cooperative effort and announced his signing into law a measure that would provide substantial State resources (see annex 1). A summary of the new law (A.B. 2202) is contained in annex 3. 2. Management of Preparedness and Response Activities =Finding=: _Preparedness must be developed as a partnership between Federal, State, and local governments with improvements needed at all levels_, as none have the resources or authorities to solve the problem alone. =Issue=: Since the Nation faces a very probable earthquake in California sometime during the next 30 years, FEMA should provide the necessary leadership, management, and coordination required to strengthen planning and preparedness within the Federal Government, as delegated under the National Earthquake Hazards Reduction Program of 1977 and the Disaster Relief Act of 1974. In this effort, FEMA requires the support and assistance of numerous other Federal agencies. =Actions=: FEMA is taking steps to: » Strengthen significantly its management, research, application, and coordination functions, as delegated under the National Earthquake Hazards Reduction Program and Disaster Relief Act. » Lead other agencies in the development of a comprehensive preparedness strategy detailing specific objectives and assignments, and periodically monitor accomplishments in meeting assigned responsibilities. Departments and agencies with appropriate capabilities will provide needed support to FEMA in strengthening Federal preparedness and hazard mitigation programs. =Issue=: A major deficiency that has been identified is the potential for delay following a catastrophic earthquake in processing a request for a Presidential declaration of a major disaster, and the subsequent initiation of full-scale Federal support for lifesaving actions. The first few hours are critical in saving the lives of people trapped in collapsed buildings; consequently, this is when Federal support is needed most. Decisions on post-event recovery aspects of Federal assistance can be deferred until lifesaving operations are underway and sufficient information about damage is in hand. =Action=: FEMA will develop and negotiate, before the event, an agreement with the State of California which will enable the President to declare a major disaster and initiate full-scale Federal support for lifesaving and humanitarian action within minutes of a catastrophic earthquake. The agreement will defer resolution of issues relating to longer-term restoration and recovery and similar questions with large budgetary implications until adequate damage estimates are available. The Executive Branch will thus be able to arrive at an informed decision. =Issue=: Significant improvements in the Federal, State, and local capability for coordination of operational response to a catastrophic earthquake are needed. =Actions=: FEMA and other appropriate Federal agencies will increase their efforts, in a partnership with appropriate State and local agencies and volunteer and private-sector organizations, to: » Complete development and agreement on fully integrated earthquake response plans for both the San Francisco and Los Angeles regions, including provision for predicted as well as unpredicted earthquakes, building upon the existing draft plan for San Francisco. » Establish a small FEMA staff in California dedicated to the coordination of earthquake preparedness planning and implementation. » Develop improved mechanisms for the coordination of medical and mortuary activities following a catastrophic earthquake. » Identify and document the critical requirements for emergency communications--particularly non-telephonic communications--among Federal, State, and local agencies. Shortfalls between critical requirements and current capabilities, as well as remedial actions or recommended solutions for each will be identified in accordance with the "National Plan for Communications Support in Emergencies and Major Disasters." This review will include consideration of using existing satellite communications or a dedicated system, should it be found necessary. » Cooperatively conduct practice response exercises with State and local officials that will prepare officials and the public for conditions that might be encountered in a catastrophic earthquake and that would reveal deficiencies in planning. =Issue=: Improving the current inadequate preparedness of the public for a catastrophic earthquake requires a substantial increase in public information and public awareness. Although public information is primarily a State, local, and private-sector responsibility, the Federal Government has a role as well. Because citizens will have no choice but to rely largely upon their own resources in the first several hours immediately following a catastrophic earthquake, it is important that certain basic knowledge about lifesaving measures be very widely disseminated. =Action=: FEMA will stimulate and work with the State of California and other appropriate groups to develop and publicize earthquake awareness, hazard mitigation techniques, specific post-earthquake actions to be taken, including first aid, and other pertinent information. =Issue=: The possibility of a credible, scientifically-based prediction of a catastrophic earthquake poses serious challenges to government and our society. The current level of scientific understanding of earthquake prediction and the available resources are such that present instrumentation efforts are directed toward research rather than maintaining extensive monitoring networks for real-time prediction. The transition from research to fully operational capability will require additional scientific understanding as well as resources. Earthquake predictions are possible, perhaps likely, however, from the current research effort. Even with a significant level of uncertainty, any scientifically credible prediction that indicates a catastrophic earthquake is expected within about 1 year or less, will require very difficult and consequential decisions on the part of elected officials at all levels of government. Decisions may include such possibilities as the mobilization of National Guard and U.S. Department of Defense resources prior to the event, the imposition of special procedures or drills at potentially hazardous facilities, such as nuclear reactors or dams, the condemnation or evacuation of particularly unsafe buildings with the subsequent need for temporary housing, and the provisions of special protection of fragile inventories. If the prediction is correct and appropriate actions are taken, thousands of lives can be saved and significant economic losses can be avoided. The costs of responding to a prediction may be substantial, however, and the commitment of resources undoubtedly will have to be made in the face of considerable uncertainty and even reluctance. Indeed, the possibility of an inaccurate prediction must be faced squarely. =Actions=: FEMA, in conjunction with other appropriate Federal agencies, State and local governments, and volunteer and private-sector organizations, will increase its actions to develop procedures for responding to a credible, scientific earthquake prediction, including: » Identification of constructive and prudent actions to be taken » Analysis of the costs and benefits of various alternative actions » Identification of roles and responsibilities in deciding which actions should be implemented and by whom » Criteria for evaluating circumstances when the provision of Federal assistance would be appropriate The U.S. Geological Survey of the Department of the Interior will: » Maintain a sound and well-balanced program of research in earthquake prediction and hazard assessment based upon a carefully considered strategic plan » Work with State and local officials and FEMA to develop improved mechanisms for the transmission of earthquake predictions and related information, and to plan for the utilization of the capability for earthquake prediction 3. Resources =Finding=: While leadership and management are essential ingredients to achieve an adequate earthquake preparedness posture, _the availability of adequate staffing and resources at all levels of government determines the efficacy of agency programs and initiatives_. In many agencies, earthquake preparedness has been accorded a low priority in their programs. This is a manifestation of a more general problem of minimal agency resource allocation to emergency preparedness. The results of the actions that have been indicated will be limited unless additional resources are made available. =Issue=: Additional resources should be provided as necessary to accelerate the earthquake hazard mitigation and preparedness activities under the National Earthquake Hazards Reduction Program. =Action=: FEMA has reassessed its priorities and is allocating resources to increase the staffing, funding, and management attention and direction for earthquake hazards mitigation, including preparations for a catastrophic earthquake in California. This includes an increase of staff resources in FEMA Region IX for Federal, State, and local coordination of planning, preparedness, and mitigation. Resource needs that cannot be fully met by the reassessment and reallocation for Fiscal Year 1981 should be identified and justified along with needs for Fiscal Year 1982 in the course of the budget submissions for Fiscal Year 1982. To facilitate an adequate and balanced response by other Federal agencies, FEMA will provide timely guidance to other agencies on specific priorities for this effort in relation to other major preparedness goals. The Office of Management and Budget and the Office of Science and Technology Policy will work together to develop a cross-agency ranking of budgetary resources for earthquake preparedness for Fiscal Year 1982. CHAPTER II GEOLOGIC EARTHQUAKE SCENARIOS A. MAJOR EVENTS For purposes of assessing the consequences of a major California earthquake, scenarios for seven large earthquakes were developed. The scenarios depict expectable earthquakes that could severely impact on the major population centers of California. In each case they are representative of only one possible magnitude of earthquake that could occur on the indicated fault system. On each fault system there is a greater probability of one or more damaging earthquakes of somewhat smaller magnitude than the postulated event. The postulated earthquakes are listed in the following table. TABLE 1 MAJOR CALIFORNIA EARTHQUAKES ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Current Annual Likelihood Probability of of Occurrence Richter Occurrence in Next Region Fault System Magnitude[1] (Percent) 20-30 Years ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Los Angeles- Southern San Bernardino San Andreas 8.3 2-5 High San Francisco Northern Bay Area San Andreas 8.3 1 Moderate San Francisco Bay Area Hayward 7.4 1 Moderate Los Angeles Newport- Moderate Inglewood 7.5 0.1 -Low San Diego Rose Canyon 7.0 0.01 Low Riverside Moderate- San Bernardino Cucamonga 6.8 0.1 Low Los Angeles Santa Monica 6.7 0.01 Low ------------------------------------------------------------------------- [1] This is the estimated largest magnitude earthquake expected at a reasonable level of probability. The main shock can be expected to be followed by large aftershocks over a period of weeks or longer. Each large aftershock would be capable of producing additional significant damage and hampering disaster assistance operations. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- These earthquake scenarios represent the largest magnitude events estimated on the basis of a variety of geologic assumptions. The appropriateness of these assumptions depends on the intent of the analysis and the state of geologic knowledge. Therefore, the resulting estimates may not be appropriate for other purposes, such as the development of seismic design criteria for a specific site. The development of such criteria commonly requires detailed analyses of the site and its immediate geologic environment beyond the scope of this report. Consequently, detailed site analyses may require modification of the conclusions reached in this report, particularly fault systems other than the San Andreas and Hayward faults. B. GEOLOGIC EVIDENCE Some of the possible earthquakes listed are repeat occurrences of historical events, others are not, but geologic evidence indicates that earthquakes occurred on these faults before settlement of the region. Based on available data, the postulated earthquake magnitudes would be the largest events that could be expected at a reasonable level of probability. They represent a selection of events useful for planning purposes, but are by no means the only such events likely to occur either on these or other fault systems. The historic record of seismicity in California is too short to determine confidently how often large earthquakes reoccur. Information on past earthquakes must be gleaned from the geologic record and therefore, presents a picture of past seismicity that is incomplete and not yet fully deciphered. Current knowledge about the recurrence of large earthquakes on specific faults is rudimentary. The probabilities of occurrence shown above are order-of-magnitude estimates and subject to considerable uncertainty, especially for the less probable events. C. DESCRIPTION OF EVENTS Following are brief descriptions of postulated events. Figure 1 gives their geographic location. 1. Los Angeles-San Bernardino/Southern San Andreas Fault (Magnitude 8.3) For the past several thousand years, great earthquakes have been occurring over a 300 km length of the San Andreas fault approximately every 100 to 200 years, 140 years on the average. The last such event took place in 1857. The probability of occurrence of this earthquake is estimated to be currently as large as 2 to 5 percent per year and greater than 50 percent in the next 30 years. The fault skirts the edge of the Los Angeles-San Bernardino metropolitan region, thus most of the urbanized area lies further than 20 miles from the source of strong shaking. Because of the distance, shaking would be more hazardous for large structures than for one- to two-story houses. The long duration of shaking could trigger numerous slides on steep slopes and cause liquefaction in isolated areas. 2. San Francisco Bay Area/Northern San Andreas Fault (Magnitude 8.3) A repeat occurrence of the 1906 earthquake, in which the San Andreas fault broke over 400 km of its length, would cause severe damage to structures throughout the Bay Area and adjacent regions. The extensive urban development on lowlands and landfill around San Francisco Bay would be especially hard hit and liquefaction in many of these areas would intensify the damage to structures erected on them. 3. San Francisco Bay Area/Hayward Fault (Magnitude 7.4) The last large events to occur on this fault were in 1836 and 1868. Should a major earthquake occur, severe ground shaking and liquefaction is expected to cause damage throughout the entire circum-bay area nearly as severe as that resulting from a 1906-type earthquake on the San Andreas fault. This earthquake would be of particular concern because of the many dams located along or near the fault. 4. Los Angeles/Newport-Inglewood Fault (Magnitude 7.5) This earthquake would be a serious threat to the nearby, densely-populated areas of Los Angeles. Shaking would cause extensive structural damage throughout the Los Angeles Basin and liquefaction near the coast would add still more destruction. 5. San Diego Area/Rose Canyon Fault (Magnitude 7.0) This fault--a segment of an active zone of faults extending from the Newport-Inglewood fault to Northern Mexico--would present the greatest earthquake risk to the San Diego area. Severe damage due to shaking and liquefaction could be expected in the coastal areas. Because of unstable sea-bed sediments in the offshore area, local tsunamis (tidal waves) are possible. 6. Los Angeles/Santa Monica Fault (Magnitude 6.7 and 7.0) and Riverside/San Bernardino/Cucamonga Fault (Magnitude 6.8) These faults are part of a system of east-west tending faults bordering the northern edge of the Los Angeles basin. This fault system caused the 1971 San Fernando earthquake and is geologically similar to the system that generated the large 1952 Kern County earthquake. Although smaller in magnitude than the earthquakes previously described, these postulated events are potentially quite dangerous because of their vicinity to high population densities in Southern California. D. EARTHQUAKE EFFECTS Detailed maps were prepared for each event showing qualitative estimates of ground shaking intensity resulting from each earthquake. These estimates are indicative of the general severity of damage to ordinary structures. Empirical formulae providing quantitative estimates of peak ground motion at various distances from the postulated earthquakes were developed for use in the effects of severe ground shaking on individual structures or critical facilities. No estimates were made of localized effects, such as ground failures related to liquefaction (the complete failure or loss of strength, of a saturated soil due to shaking), landslides, and fault rupture. These effects can be far more destructive than ground shaking alone. [Illustration: Figure 1. Geographic Locations of Selected Regional Events] CHAPTER III ASSESSMENT OF LOSSES FOR SELECTED POTENTIAL CALIFORNIA EARTHQUAKES A. INTRODUCTION As part of a program that FEMA and its predecessor agencies have had underway for a number of years, property loss and casualty estimates were prepared in 1972 and 1973 for a number of potential maximum credible earthquakes that could impact on the San Francisco and the Los Angeles areas--North San Andreas (Richter magnitude 8.3), Hayward (Richter magnitude 7.4), South San Andreas (Richter magnitude 8.3), and Newport-Inglewood (Richter magnitude 7.5). These estimates have now been updated as part of the current assessment. Estimates of property loss and casualties are based on the expected type and distribution of damage for each postulated earthquake as determined by the size and location of the earthquake and the distribution and character of the buildings and structures within the affected area. Methodologies for estimates of this type are approximate at best. Consequently, the figures shown below may vary upward or downward by as much as a factor of two or three. This degree of uncertainty does not affect the validity of the conclusions of this report, however, since there are greater uncertainties in all other aspects of emergency response planning. B. PROPERTY LOSS ESTIMATES The property loss estimates were obtained by first estimating the total replacement dollar value of buildings and their contents, multiplying them by percentage loss factors (inferred from the anticipated strength of shaking in each county), and then summing to obtain the aggregate loss. Included in the estimates are private as well as Federal, State, and local government buildings, insured and uninsured. Excluded from consideration is the replacement value of transportation and communication facilities, dams, utility installations, and special purpose structures (e.g., convention centers and sports arenas). Also excluded is the potential damage resulting from a major dam failure or the indirect dollar losses due to such factors as higher unemployment, lower tax revenue, reduced productivity, and stoppage of industrial production. Experience indicates that indirect losses could be approximately equal to the dollar amounts lost in buildings and their contents. The property loss estimates for four postulated earthquakes on the faults listed below are as follows. TABLE 2 ESTIMATES OF PROPERTY LOSSES FOR REPRESENTATIVE EARTHQUAKES[1] -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Loss to Loss of Building Contents Total Loss Fault ($ in Billions) ($ in Billions) ($ in Billions) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Northern San Andreas 25 13 38 Hayward 29 15 44 Newport-Inglewood 45 24 69 Southern San Andreas 11 6 17 ---------- [1] Uncertain by a possible factor of two to three. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- C. CASUALTY ESTIMATES Deaths and injuries in these earthquakes principally would occur from failures of man-made structures, particularly older, multistory, and unreinforced brick masonry buildings built before the institution of earthquake-resistant building codes. Experience has shown that some modern multistory buildings--constructed as recently as the late 1960's, but not adequately designed or constructed to meet the current understanding of requirements for seismic resistance--are also subject to failure. Consequently, the number of fatalities will be strongly influenced by the number of persons within high-occupancy buildings, capable of collapsing, or by failure of other critical facilities such as dams. Additional imponderables are the degree of saturation of the ground at the time of the event and the possibility of weather conditions conducive to the spread of fire. A conflagration such as occurred in the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, is not considered likely to occur in any of the analyzed events, however, because of improvements in fire resistance of construction and firefighting techniques. Nonetheless, numerous smaller fires must be anticipated in any of the analyzed events and a "Santa Ana type" wind could cause serious problems. An additional element of uncertainty in estimating casualties from earthquake stems from not knowing where most of the population will be at the time of the earthquake. In the early morning (i.e., 2:30 a.m.) most people are at home, by far the safest environment during a seismic emergency. At 2:00 in the afternoon, on the other hand, the majority of people are at their places of employment and therefore vulnerable to collapse of office buildings. Around 4:30 p.m. many more people are in the streets and thus subject to injury due to falling debris or failures of transportation systems. Consequently, depending on the time of day, wide variations in the number of casualties can be expected. Following are estimates of dead and injured (requiring hospitalization) for each of the four representative faults and for the three time periods just discussed. TABLE 3 ESTIMATES OF CASUALTIES[1] ------------------------------------------------------------------- Fault Time Dead Hospitalized[2] ------------------------------------------------------------------- Northern San Andreas 2:30 a.m. 3,000 12,000 2:00 p.m. 10,000 37,000 4:30 p.m. 11,000 44,000 Hayward 2:30 a.m. 3,000 13,000 2:00 p.m. 8,000 30,000 4:30 p.m. 7,000 27,000 Southern San Andreas 2:30 a.m. 3,000 12,000 2:00 p.m. 12,000 50,000 4:30 p.m. 14,000 55,000 Newport-Inglewood 2:30 a.m. 4,000 18,000 2:00 p.m. 21,000 83,000 4:30 p.m. 23,000 91,000 ---------- [1] Uncertain by a possible factor of two to three. [2] Injuries not requiring hospitalization are estimated to be from 15 to 30 times the number of deaths. ------------------------------------------------------------------- D. OVERVIEW OF OTHER TYPES OF DAMAGE For this assessment, estimates of damage to substantial numbers of different type facilities essential to the immediate response capability were updated. Earthquakes associated with the same four major fault systems identified earlier in this chapter were used as a basis for these estimates. The types of facilities analyzed included _hospitals_, _medical supply storages_, _blood banks_, and _custodial care homes_, together with their essential services and personnel resources. Although newer hospitals in California are being built according to substantially improved seismic safety standards and practices, older hospital facilities can be expected to be poorly resistant to earthquakes. Among residential buildings, single family homes are expected to suffer structural damage and loss of contents. Damage to multifamily dwellings--particularly older buildings--would, in all likelihood, be more extensive. Analysis of expected damage indicates that temporary housing for as many as 200,000 families might be needed--a requirement calling for careful planning and exceptional management skills. Schools are judged to be among the safest facilities exposed to the earthquakes. Since passage of the Field Act in 1933, after the Long Beach earthquake, school buildings in California have been continuously improved to withstand seismic hazards. As a result of continuing and substantial upgrading of design and construction practices in the past 10 years, dams and reservoirs can be expected to show an improved performance in an earthquake. Nonetheless, on a contingency basis, one dam failure might be assumed for each planning effort. Realizing the fact that 84 key communications facilities, earth stations, Department of Defense voice and data switches, commercial transoceanic cable heads, Federal Telecommunications System switches, and major direct distance dial switches are located within 55 miles of either Los Angeles or San Francisco, damage must be expected to occur. With this realization, priorities have been assigned to all critical circuits transiting the key facilities, based on established criteria of criticality of service continuity. _National warning systems circuitry, command and control circuits, and circuits supporting diplomatic negotiations_ (of which a high concentration exists in California) are examples of those circuits carrying high-restoration priority. In the civil sector there would be 24 to 72 hours of minimal communications, with a possible blackout of telephonic communications in the area immediately following an earthquake. The commercial carriers would institute network control procedures to regain control of the situation as fast as possible. The impact on transportation facilities in any of the four hypothesized earthquakes could be massive. Since the magnitude and severity is unprecedented in recent years, conclusions regarding losses must be accepted as tentative. As in the case of hospitals, however, the lessons learned in earthquakes during the past 10 years are being incorporated in the design and construction of new facilities. In general, all major transportation modes would be affected--_highways_, _streets_, _overpasses and bridges_, _mass transit systems_, _railroads_, _airports_, _pipelines_, and _ocean terminals_, although major variances in losses are expected among the modes. From a purely structural standpoint, the more rigid or elevated systems (such as railroads and pipelines) which cross major faults on an east-west axis would incur the heaviest damage, with initial losses approaching 100 percent. Other major systems (such as highways, airports, and pile-supported piers at water terminals) have better survivability characteristics and therefore would fare much better, with damage generally in the moderate range of 15 to 30 percent. These transportation facility loss estimates are stated in terms of immediate post-quake effects. They do not reflect the impact of priority emergency recovery efforts and expedient alternatives that are available, some within hours, to aid in restoration of transportation capacity. In addition, transportation systems generally have an inherently significant degree of redundancy and flexibility. Consequently, an unquantified but significant movement capability in all transport modes is expected to survive. Finally, these loss estimates do not take into account the question of availability of essential supporting resources, particularly petroleum fuels, electricity, and communications. In the initial response phase, these could prove to be the most limiting factors in the capability of the transportation system. Business and industry would be affected by damage to office buildings, plants, and other support facilities. Although the 1971 San Fernando earthquake occurred on the margin of a largely suburban area, industrial facilities incurred significant damage. For example, several buildings of the kind commonly used for light industry or warehouses suffered from collapsed roofs or walls. Generally, building codes do not apply to special industrial facilities, and the ability of these structures to resist earthquake shaking will depend largely on the foresight of the design engineer. For example, a major electrical power switching yard and a water filtration plant were seriously damaged in the 1971 San Fernando earthquake. About 10 percent of the population and industrial resources of the Nation are located in California. Over 85 percent of these resources (or about 8.5 percent of the Nation's total) are located in the 21 California counties that are subject to the possibility of damage from a major earthquake. Much of the aerospace and electronics industry is centered in California. For example, about 56 percent of the guided missiles and space vehicles, 40 percent of the semiconductors, 25 percent of the electronic computer equipment, and approximately 21 percent of the optical instruments and lenses manufactured in the Nation are manufactured in these 21 counties. The probability that all these counties would be affected by one earthquake is extremely remote; yet the significant concentration of key industries remains a concern. For example, about 25 percent of the Nation's semiconductors are manufactured in Santa Clara County, an area along the Northern San Andres fault that suffered very heavy damage in the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. Estimates of damage to these industrial facilities and the resulting loss of production have not been made. Similarly, the resulting impact of possible damage to national production has not been adequately analyzed. Federally regulated financial institutions were generically analyzed to determine their ability to continue to promote essential services in the event of a major earthquake like those that have been postulated for this assessment. The conclusion reached thus far is that large-magnitude earthquakes pose no significant or unanticipated problems of solvency and liquidity for such institutions. The Federal Reserve System and other regulatory entities have procedures in place that are designed--and have been tested--specifically to provide for the continued operation of financial institutions immediately following an earthquake or other emergency. CHAPTER IV AN ASSESSMENT OF THE CURRENT STATE OF READINESS CAPABILITY OF FEDERAL, STATE, AND LOCAL GOVERNMENTS FOR EARTHQUAKE RESPONSE A. INTRODUCTION An earthquake of catastrophic magnitude, with or without credible warning, happens suddenly. The potential for disaster, however, does not occur suddenly. The degree of preparedness and commitment to comprehensive planning and mitigation programs for the inevitable event will largely determine the degree of hardship to be experienced through loss of life, human suffering, property destruction, and the other related economic, social, and psychological aspects of disruption to day-to-day community activities. The impacts can be reduced substantially from current expected levels through the development and implementation of improved and more widely practiced earthquake hazards reduction measures. These include _coordinated emergency preparedness plans and procedures_, _earthquake prediction and warning systems_, _improved construction techniques_, and _effective public education and information programs_. The State of California Office of Emergency Services (OES) and FEMA conducted an analysis of the readiness capability for potential catastrophic earthquakes in California at the Federal, State, and local government levels. The planning of 22 counties and 38 cities, of 34 State agencies, and of 17 Federal organizations were reviewed with the following objectives: (a) identify opportunities for improvement; (b) provide a basis for making decisions that would strengthen program direction and planning efforts; and (c) specify resource needs and potential legislative initiatives. Annex 2 summarizes current Federal and California earthquake planning. The environment in which preparedness planning in California occurs is characterized by the following observations of public expectations and attitudes: » There is widespread public support for government action. » Most people have some ideas as to what government should be doing. » There is understanding of the need for hazard reduction as well as emergency response planning. » People are willing, in the abstract, to have government funds spent for hazard mitigation. » The public is not very satisfied with what government officials have done. » Public officials perceive that current preparedness plans and response are inadequate at best. As discussed below, the review indicates that all is not well in earthquake plans and preparedness. Current plans and preparedness are judged to be adequate for the "moderate" earthquakes most likely to occur frequently in California. By moderate it is meant an event causing property damage on the order of $1 to $2 billion. Such an event, however, will severely tax existing resources and provide a major test of management relationship among different governmental jurisdictions and levels. For a catastrophic earthquake, current plans and preparedness are clearly inadequate, leading to a high likelihood that Federal, State, and local response activities would become disorganized and largely fail to perform effectively for an extended period of time. B. STATE AND LOCAL RESPONSE Although there are widely differing approaches, local emergency planning in California generally consists of a basic plan and a series of contingency plans. The basic plan establishes the authority, sets forth references, addresses hazard vulnerability, states the planning assumptions, establishes an emergency services organization, assigns tasks, formulates a mutual aid system, and directs the development of specific support annexes. For those hazards identified in the basic plan, a separate contingency plan is then developed to address the unique nature of the hazardous event. The contingency plan contains service support plans for each of the functional operations, including detailed standard operating procedures. The planning efforts of local jurisdictions are coordinated with adjacent jurisdictions and the California OES for consistency. A plan is not considered complete without the support annexes which make the plan operational. The survey undertaken for this assessment disclosed that approximately 93 percent of the jurisdictions examined have existing, basic plans; 50 percent have completed annexes; 28 percent of the basic plans addressed an earthquake hazard vulnerability; 35 percent have planned for earthquake contingency; and only 1 percent (one city) has a plan to respond to an earthquake prediction. At the State level, the California OES, as an integral part of the Governor's Office, functions as his immediate staff and coordinating organization in carrying out the State's emergency responsibilities. Specific emergency assignments have been made to 34 State agencies by the OES Director through a series of Administrative Orders. During emergencies the activities of these agencies and departments are coordinated by the California OES. The State OES is also responsible for maintaining and updating the California Emergency Plan (CEP) and associated readiness plans. As in the case of local plans, the basic document is supported by operational annexes as listed below: CONTINGENCY MUTUAL AID Earthquake Fire and Rescue Earthquake Prediction Law Enforcement Oil Spill Medical Nuclear Blackmail Utilities Reactor Accident Military Support Radioactive Material Incident Flood SUPPORTING SYSTEMS EMERGENCY RESOURCES MANAGEMENT Warning Construction and Housing Emergency Broadcast System Economic Stabilization Emergency Public Information Food Intelligence Operations Health Radiological Defense Industrial Production Manpower Petroleum Telecommunications Transportation Utilities Based on this planning concept, the review assessed quantitatively the preparedness activities of the 34 State agencies that have preparedness responsibilities in accordance with the CEP. The quantitative data are listed in the following table. TABLE 4 QUANTITATIVE ASSESSMENT OF STATE PREPAREDNESS ACTIVITIES ----------------------------------------------------------------- Number of Percent of Preparedness Element Agencies 34 Agencies ----------------------------------------------------------------- Existence of Plan 22 65 Conduct of Exercises 27 79 Public Education Activities 10 29 Public Information Activities 9 26 Operational Capability 32 94 ----------------------------------------------------------------- The quality of the plans, activities, and operational capabilities were then evaluated on a scale of 1 (expected to fail/inadequate) to 5 (expected to succeed well/adequate). The qualitative results are shown below. TABLE 5 QUALITATIVE ASSESSMENT OF STATE PREPAREDNESS ACTIVITIES ---------------------------------------------------------- Preparedness Element Capability Rating ---------------------------------------------------------- Planning 2.67 Exercises 2.64 Public Education 1.44 Public Information 1.50 Operational Capability 2.91 ---------------------------------------------------------- It should be emphasized that these ratings apply to the State's _present_ level of planning and preparedness for response to a major destructive earthquake (magnitude 8), not a moderate (San Fernando-type) event. C. FEDERAL RESPONSE At the Federal level the principal capability to respond to a catastrophic earthquake in California resides in FEMA, the agency responsible by law to coordinate Federal activities in all emergencies. FEMA has developed a basic plan for supplemental Federal assistance for a major earthquake in the San Francisco Bay area. This plan, however, covers only the emergency phase of response (first few days of efforts to save lives and protect property). In addition, FEMA is participating in a broader effort concentrating in Southern California. This cooperative effort is getting under way with State and local governments, other Federal departments, voluntary agencies, practicing professions, business and commercial interests, labor, educators, and researchers. It is expected to develop an effective program to respond to an earthquake or a credible earthquake prediction in that part of the State. The emphasis is being placed on _public safety, reduction of property damage, self-help on the part of individuals, socioeconomic impacts, improved response and long-range recovery planning, mitigation activities, and public participation for both the post-prediction and immediate post-earthquake periods_. This pilot effort is expected to be usable in other highly seismic areas of California as well as in other States. In the event of a catastrophic earthquake, a substantial number of Federal agencies would provide support to and be coordinated by FEMA. Illustrative are the following: 1. Department of Defense (DOD) Initially, local military commanders may provide necessary support to save lives, alleviate suffering, or mitigate property damage. Normally, additional DOD resources would not be committed until a presidential declaration of an emergency or major disaster. When this occurs, the Secretary of the Army is DOD Executive Agent for military support. The Commander, Sixth U.S. Army, at the Presidio, San Francisco, has been further delegated authority to coordinate disaster relief operations in the western portion of the United States. Extensive planning and coordination have taken place between the Sixth U.S. Army and FEMA Region IX. DOD emergency functions include: _damage survey_, _search and rescue_, _emergency medical care_, _identification and disposition of dead_, _emergency debris clearance_, _emergency roads and bridge construction_, _airfield repair_, and _identification and demolition of unsafe structures_. Specific units have been identified to respond to an earthquake in any of the major population centers of California. For example, at this time the following units would be prepared for commitment within 8 hours after a disaster is declared by the President: » Six medical units with a 1,320 bed capacity » Seven helicopter units with 90 utility helicopters and 36 medium helicopters » One Infantry brigade of 1,500 personnel » Two engineer units with 78 pieces of heavy equipment » Two transportation units with 124 cargo trucks and trailers These as well as additional DOD assets could be made available, contingent on defense priorities. 2. The National Communication System This Agency's plan, the "National Plan for Communications Support in Emergencies and Major Disasters," provides for planning and using national telecommunications assets and resources during presidentially declared emergencies and major disasters. The plan, which has been exercised repeatedly in past disasters, provides the management structure and the communications staff to support FEMA. Restoration priorities have been assigned to all critical circuits. 3. Department of Transportation (DOT) DOT has established an Office of Emergency Transportation. This office has developed and maintains comprehensive emergency plans and procedural manuals for natural disasters and other civil crises. It constantly monitors the civil transportation system for indications of potential adverse impacts from all hazards. It conducts scheduled periodic training and readiness exercises for DOT emergency personnel and maintains quick response cells and emergency operating facilities at DOT headquarters and in the field to provide an immediate reaction capability. The system has been activated several times in the recent past (e.g., Three Mile Island, 1979 Energy/Fuel Crisis, Independent Truckers' Strike, and the Mt. St. Helens eruption). D. CONSIDERATIONS FOR IMPROVING RESPONSE CAPABILITY Earthquake prediction has not been incorporated into existing plans. Response to predictions in the current environment, if given, would be _ad hoc_. The State of California has only a rudimentary plan and the Federal Government none. The City of Los Angeles has examined the problem extensively, but only considers its own jurisdiction and has not produced an actionable plan. Current planning for the recovery period is incomplete, uncoordinated, and not functional. State and local governments have done little to plan for the recovery period when, following the emergency lifesaving phase, efforts and resources are concentrated on restoring the functioning of the community. They presume that the Federal Government will "step in" after a presidential declaration. The Federal Government has an untested draft plan for the San Francisco area that is not fully coordinated with the State plans. Current Federal plans are geared to the provision of assistance on the order of a few hundred million dollars. Thus, there is little confidence that they would function under the requirements for tens-of-billions-of-dollars and concomitant service demands. Both Federal and State agencies need to commit the financial resources and assignment of personnel to maintain and enhance earthquake plans and preparedness. Earthquake preparedness, although responding to high damage expectation, is still based upon a relatively low probability occurrence. When it is in competition with pressing social needs for a portion of limited resources, social needs tend to prevail at all levels of government. Without a clear commitment, future development of earthquake preparedness, as in the past, is problematic and its implementation is in considerable doubt. The Federal earthquake preparedness effort needs to focus on a high state of readiness. History in the area of natural hazard mitigation suggests that assignment of responsibility, even by the President, when not followed by leadership and regular oversight over the allocation of financial resources, seldom leads to programs which can be expected to function. The same weakness is evidenced at the State and local government levels with few exceptions. The stresses likely to occur in emergency response programs after a catastrophic earthquake will be such that effective response will require a cooperative, integrated effort among different jurisdictions and levels of government. Experience in other areas of planning and preparedness, particularly for civil defense, indicates that damage to existing programs occurs when the Federal Government raises expectations of the public and of other levels of government and then fails to follow through with implementation and funding. It is better to maintain the _status quo_ with minor changes at the margin than to announce substantial program initiatives and not meet their requirements. CHAPTER V AN ASSESSMENT OF THE SOCIAL IMPACTS Often, it is assumed that disasters leave masses of the population in the impacted areas dazed and helpless and unable to cope with the new conditions, or that those not so immobilized panic or display antisocial behavior. Another common assumption is that local communities and organizations are rendered ineffective to handle the many problems, leading to further disorganization, loss of morale, and requiring the quick assertion of "strong" outside leadership and control. Practical experience and field studies of disasters indicate that these assumptions are not necessarily correct. The widespread sharing of danger, loss, and deprivation produces an intimate cooperativeness among the survivors, which overcomes social isolation and provides a channel for very close communication and expression and a major source of physical and emotional support and reassurance. This capacity seems to account for the resiliency of personality and social organization in dealing with threat and danger. It is also at the base of the ability of social life to regenerate. In addition, a good case can be made in that community systems experiencing impact may be more efficient and rational than they are in "normal" circumstances. Normal (pre-disaster) community life traditionally operates at a low level of effectiveness and efficiency. Activities are directed toward a very diffuse set of goals, just as human resources within the community are inadequately utilized. Upon disaster impact, certain community goals--care for victims and the restoration of essential services--develop a high priority while others are ignored or held in abeyance. Thus, the entire range of community resources, even taking into account "losses," can be allocated to the accomplishment of the more critical goals. Also, human resources are better utilized. Many women, older persons, younger persons, and members of minorities now become "productive;" the "labor" market after impact is open to those underutilized resources. In effect, then, disasters create the conditions for the more efficient utilization of material resources and the more effective mobilization of human resources. To accomplish this, certain modifications have to occur in the normal community structure, since the usual decision-making structures are designed for a different range and type of problem. Outsiders see this restructuring process as disorganized, chaotic, and creating the necessity for the imposition of some strong outside authority. On the contrary, this restructuring process is functional and adaptive. Its consequences are seen in communities and societies that rebound dramatically from the disruption and destruction to levels of integration, productivity, and growth capacity far beyond the pre-disaster state. In summary, the picture drawn points to the capacity of individuals and institutions to deal with difficult problems created by disaster impact. It also points to the adaptive capacity of social organization within communities to deal with unique and dramatic problems. These findings are not an argument against planning nor against "outside" assistance, but they should condition both the nature of planning and the direction of assistance. ANNEX 1 LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENCE THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON September 19, 1980 To Governor Jerry Brown As you know, following my trip to view the destructive impacts of the volcanic eruption of Mt. St. Helens in the State of Washington, I directed that an assessment be undertaken of the consequences and state of preparedness for a major earthquake in California. This review, chaired by my Science and Technology Advisor, Frank Press, is now complete. We are grateful for the assistance provided by your staff and the other State, and local officials in this effort. Although current response plans are generally adequate for moderate earthquakes, Federal, State, and local officials agree that additional preparation is required to cope with a major earthquake. Prudence requires, therefore, that we take steps to improve our preparedness. While the primary responsibility for preparedness rests with the State of California, its local governments and its people, the magnitude of human suffering and loss of life that might occur and the importance of California to the rest of the Nation require increased Federal attention to this important issue. Accordingly, I have directed that the Federal government increase its work with you to supplement your efforts. The Federal efforts will be led by the Federal Emergency Management Agency and include the Department of Defense and other Departments and agencies as appropriate. As a Nation, we must reduce the adverse impacts of a catastrophic earthquake to the extent humanly possible by increasing our preparedness for this potential eventuality. Sincerely, [signed] Jimmy Carter The Honorable Edmund G. Brown, Jr. Governor of California Sacramento, California 95814 September 26, 1980 The Honorable Jimmy Carter The President The White House Washington, D.C. 20500 Dear Mr. President: Let me take this opportunity to review our conversations over the last few months regarding increased seismic activity in California. When we met in Oakland on July 4 I raised the issue of seismic hazards. I was concerned then with the steady increase in seismic activity in California since 1978. Sharing my concern, you directed that the National Security Council join with my staff and certain local experts to conduct a quick study on the potential for a great earthquake in California. As you know, significant theoretical and public policy research had already been completed by our Seismic Safety Commission, State Geologist, Earthquake Prediction Evaluation Council and the Office of Emergency Services. Together with the U.S. Geological Survey and the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), they had clearly been keeping abreast of the state of the art of earthquake prediction. Indeed, combined state and federal efforts, founded on major theoretical advances in American, Russian and Chinese seismic and geological theory since the early 1970s, had shifted the language of earthquake prediction in California from "if" to "when"! In light of my personal interest in this subject, I have signed into law Assemblyman Frank Vicencia's AB 2202, a jointly funded state-federal project to design a comprehensive earthquake prediction-response plan. It is the state's intention to prepare a plan for the greater Los Angeles area as quickly as feasible. In my view, such a fullscale prediction-response program had become possible only after the research findings of both physical and policy scientists during the past five years. It is my conviction that such a plan is now timely--neither too early nor too late. In this context, your recognition of this issue in our conversation of September 22 in Los Angeles was a welcome personal reinforcement of our state and local efforts. I am also grateful for the September 3 briefing in Sacramento by Mr. John Macy, Director of FEMA, regarding the latest U.S. Geological Survey interpretations of anomalies around California's system of geological faults. As soon as we have received the final FEMA report on the details of those anomalies, I will ask the state geologist to evaluate the report, confer with colleagues in the Geological Survey and have all state and local officials fully briefed. At that time, I would be grateful for an early opportunity to meet with you and explore next steps. I am confident that a heightened state of awareness among my fellow Californians will so deploy the resources of the state, plus available federal supplementary assistance, as to minimize the loss of life and property in the event of a great earthquake. Sincerely, /s/ Edmund G. Brown, Jr. Governor ANNEX 2 CURRENT CALIFORNIA AND FEDERAL EARTHQUAKE RESPONSE PLANNING A. NATURE OF EMERGENCY PLANNING An emergency, as used in this report, is defined as an unexpected, sudden or out-of-the-ordinary event or series of events adversely affecting lives and property which, because of its magnitude, cannot be handled by normal governmental processes. Emergency response planning is the process that addresses preparedness for and response to an emergency. Emergency response planning is an evolutionary, ongoing process and is prerequisite to all other emergency readiness activities. It is a comprehensive process that identifies the potential hazardous events, and the vulnerability to such hazards, estimates expected losses, and assesses impacts of such events. The development of written plans is followed by placement of capabilities to implement the response plan and by the conduct of periodic tests and exercises. The most difficult task in the development of an emergency plan is to anticipate as many of the problems and complications resulting from a given disaster situation as possible and to provide a basis for response to those not anticipated. The objective of emergency planning is to create the capacity for government to: » Save the maximum number of lives in the event of an emergency » Minimize injuries and protect property » Preserve the functions of civil government » Maintain and support economic and social activities essential for response and the eventual long-term recovery from the disaster Emergency planning is a logical and necessary pre-emergency activity for governmental (and other organizational) entities likely to be affected by a disaster's occurrence. To be successful, such planning must be accomplished within the framework of the day-to-day governmental structure and activity but at the same time provide for response to the extraordinary circumstances and requirements inherent in disaster situations. Emergency plans include the preparation of guidelines, policy directives, and procedures to be utilized in preparing for and conducting disaster operations, training, and test exercises. They should also contain clear statements of authorities, responsibilities, organizational relationships, and operating procedures necessary for the accomplishment of disaster response and recovery activities. Further, they should address the four elements of mitigation, preparedness, response, and recovery (immediate and long-term). Once plans are established they must be periodically updated as conditions change. Updating may become necessary for a number of reasons: increased scientific, technical, and managerial knowledge; feedback from evaluation of exercises; better understanding of vulnerability; shifts in population and economic activities; construction of new critical facilities; and changes in personnel, organization, and legislation. Emergency planning is a shared responsibility at all levels--in this case from the Federal through the State and local jurisdictional levels. It should include business, industry, research and scientific institutions, practicing professions, and the individuals. By involving all functions of government, the planning process enhances the capability for implementing the plans through the realistic consideration of available capabilities and elimination of conflicts and inconsistencies of roles and task assignments. Further, by being a part of the planning decision-making process and having identified the needs and areas of consideration, individuals, organizations, and officials responsible for emergency operations are better able to relate to the expected impact and the operational environment. The written plans also serve valuable purposes for training and familiarization of new organizations, individuals, and public officials. Experience has shown repeatedly that when emergency operations are conducted in accordance with existing plans, reaction time is reduced and coordination improved, with fewer casualties, less property damage, and a higher surviving socioeconomic capability to undertake recovery. Other benefits that accrue from planning include the enhancement of hazard awareness. B. CALIFORNIA EMERGENCY PLANNING RESPONSE The State of California emergency response planning is a series of related documents, each of which serve a specific purpose. (See figures 1 and 2.) The basic plan of a jurisdiction (item (1) in figures 1 and 2) is the foundation of this planning process. It is an essential administrative (rather than operational) document, and as such it: » Provides the basis (including legal authority) for and the objectives of emergency planning and operations » Outlines contingencies (emergency situations) to be planned and prepared for and establishes the general principles and policies (concepts of operations) to be applied to each » Describes the emergency organization in terms of who is responsible for what actions » Defines interjurisdictional and interservice relationships and the direction and control structure to make assignments and resolve conflicts » Contains or refers to information of common interest about supporting facilities, such as the Emergency Operations Center and warning and communications systems » Provides the planning basis for other supporting documents which are more operationally oriented The basic plan is supported by a Direction and Control annex and by functional annexes (see (2) and (3) respectively in figures 1 and 2). The Direction and Control annex details how overall responses to an emergency will be managed and coordinated. Functional annexes (for both staff and services) are designed to address the extraordinary requirements created by emergencies. They identify the specific needs, the organizational resources available to meet those needs, and the scheme or "concept of operations" for their application. It should be noted that, because of unique requirements, annexes often do not reflect normal departmental structure. An annex becomes a departmental plan only when an agency represents the sole resource for meeting the stated need and when satisfying that need is the only task assigned to that agency by the basic plan. The second major portion of the California State planning structure consists of specific contingency plans (see (4) in figures 1 and 2). One such plan is prepared for each extraordinary emergency or disaster, likely to occur, detailing the probable effects of the emergency on the jurisdiction and the actions to be taken in offsetting these effects. It is also called a "response plan" since it describes the operations to be undertaken to deal with catastrophic situations. Contingency plans include service support plans and checklists (see (5) and (6) respectively in figures 1 and 2). Each involved element of the emergency organization details its response actions in Service Support Plans and itemizes functions appropriate to the specific contingency. The contingency plans, service support plans, and related checklists and standard operating procedures constitute the "operational" portions of the overall emergency plan. They address internal procedures to accomplish stated objectives and document, in advance, the specific organizational elements that will respond to each type of disaster or "need," with identification of procedures and resources. The third major part of California's overall State plan is a compendium of information and resources needed to cope with emergencies (see (7) in figures 1 and 2). This includes references describing the control structure (Emergency Operations Center locations, communications, key facilities, personnel lists, and equipment source listings). C. FEDERAL EARTHQUAKE RESPONSE PLANNING Most Federal agencies operating within the State have a generic emergency response plan that establishes their internal procedures for responding to disasters. Certain agencies such as the Corps of Engineers and the Federal Highway Administration, which provide services and support that are used on a regular and fairly extensive basis in disaster, tend to have more highly developed disaster response plans. Some of them even have rather basic earthquake response segments included in their basic plans. Thus, for moderate earthquakes these plans are relatively effective and the Federal response can be expected to be at least adequate. Few Federal agencies, however, have developed any specific plan that is adequate to respond to the demands of a catastrophic event causing property damage exceeding the $2 billion range. Of 24 Federal agencies whose earthquake planning status were recently evaluated by FEMA Region IX, only the Sixth U.S. Army was determined to have developed a comprehensive capability that is in acceptable detail, has been exercised, and appears to be operationally adequate and reliable. Other Federal agencies are now beginning to perceive the need to improve their planning and response capability following the expected event, and are gradually responding to this need. Providing impetus to this expanded planning activity has been the emergence of the FEMA Region IX Earthquake Response Plan for the San Francisco Bay Area. This is a site-specific FEMA plan based on a 1974 draft that provided for a full range of Federal assistance during the emergency lifesaving phase following the earthquake. Although this plan never proceeded beyond the draft stage (because of evolving FEMA disaster field operations policy), it served as the basic guide for the development of the Sixth U.S. Army Plan, and has remained a core document for identifying expected Federal agency activities for earthquake recovery in the San Francisco Bay area. In 1979, the emergency response portion of the 1974 FEMA Region IX draft was restructured. The conduct of the post-event response program was shifted from being a centrally directed FEMA activity under the operational control of the Regional Director to a decentralized operation which provides for functional disaster support activities to be assigned by the Regional Director to certain Federal agencies by Mission Assignment Letters. Table 1 indicates functional task assignment areas. Those with the designation "Emergency Support Function (ESF)," have been assigned to other Federal agencies. Table 2 reviews the principal and support agency assignments for each of the ESF functions. On the basis of these anticipated mission assignments, the tasked Federal agencies participated in the development of operational annexes in the 1979 version of the San Francisco Earthquake Response Plan. Upon completion of the annexes, all agencies were then required to develop the necessary agency support plans and standard operating procedures for accomplishing the mission assignment tasks. Additionally, those Federal agencies designated in the plan as principal agencies were tasked with the responsibility of organizing and coordinating the activities of Federal agencies designated as support. The rationale for this approach was to identify the various functional areas of disaster response for which a Federal activity could reasonably be expected to maintain after the occurrence of the event. With the functional areas identified, the range of Federal agency talent was evaluated and Federal response capabilities matched to expected functional demands. By the development of a matrix (figure 2), a total of 16 functional response areas (such as transportation, mass care, and debris removal) were identified, and 20 Federal agencies, plus volunteer organizations such as the American National Red Cross, were designated as having appropriate disaster response capabilities. Subsequently, all agencies were rated on their capability for functioning in a principal or a support capacity. These agencies were then provided specific FEMA Region IX Mission Assignments or tasking statements which, when triggered by a Presidential disaster declaration, provide the legal basis for delivering the authorized assistance in response to State and local government needs. The end result of this approach has been to create a much more effective and reliable capability to respond to the needs of an earthquake disaster by those Federal agencies from which a significant response would be required. +----------+ |Basic Plan| . | (1) | . +----------+ . | | | . | | | . +-----------------+ | | +----------------------------|Contingency Plans| | | . | (4) | | | . +-----------------+ | | Administrative . Operational | | +-------------+ . | | |Direction and| . | | |Control Annex| . | | | (2) | . | | +-------------+ . | +------+------+ . | | | . | +-------+ +-------+ . +-----------------------+ | Staff | |Service| . | Service Support Plans | |Annexes| |Annexes|----------------------| (5) | | (3) | | (3) | . | Response Checklists | +-------+ +-------+ . | and SOP's (6) | . +-----------------------+ . | . | . | +--------------------+ |Resources Compendium| | (7) | +--------------------+ [Illustration: =Figure 1: Emergency Plans (Description of and Relationship Between Plan Components)=] +-------------------------+ +-------------------------+ | BASIC PLAN (1) | | | | |-+ | |-+ | Authorities | | | RESOURCES MANUAL(S) | | | Policies | |-+ | (7) | |-+ | Responsibilities | | | | | | | | System Interfaces | | |-+ | | | |-+ | | | | | | | | | | +-------------------------+ | | |-+ +-------------------------+ | | |-+ |Direction and Control (2) | | | | |Communication Capabilities| | | | +--------------------------+ | | |-+ +--------------------------+ | | |-+ |Public Safety (3) | | | | |Law Enforcement/Fire | | | | +---------------------------+ | | | +---------------------------+ | | | |People Care (3) | | | |Medical-Health/Welfare | | | +----------------------------+ | | +----------------------------+ | | |System Restoration (3) | | |Engineering/Utilities | | +-----------------------------+ | +-----------------------------+ | |Resource Management (3) | |Transportation, etc. | +------------------------------+ +------------------------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ | | | | | | | | | EARTHQUAKE |-+ | FLOOD |-+ | Response Plan | | | Response Plan | | | (4) | | | (4) | | | | | | | | | | |-+ | | |-+ +----------------+ | | +----------------+ | | | | | | | | | D & C Checklist | | | D & C Checklist | | +-----------------+ | +-----------------+ | |Svcs. Sup. | |Svcs. Sup. | | Plans (5) | | Plans (5) | |Checklists & | |Checklists & | | SOP's (6) | | SOP's (6) | +-----------------+ +-----------------+ +----------------+ +----------------+ | | | WAR | | |-+ | |-+ | WAR | | | | | | Response Plan | | | Response Plan | | | (4) | | | (4) | | | In-Place | | | Crisis | | | Protection | |-+ | Relocation | |-+ +----------------+ | | +----------------+ | | | | | | | | | D & C Checklist | | | D & C Checklist | | +-----------------+ | +-----------------+ | |Svcs. Sup. | | Svcs. Sup. | | Plans (5) | | Plans (5) | |Checklists & | | Checklists & | | SOP's (6) | | SOP's (6) | +-----------------+ +-----------------+ [Illustration: =Figure 2: Emergency Planning Format (A Partial Illustration of the Component Parts of a Jurisdictional Emergency Plan)=] TABLE 1 FEDERAL EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT AGENCY REGION IX EARTHQUAKE RESPONSE AND ASSISTANCE TASKS (San Francisco Bay Area) ANNEXES TO BASIC PLAN Disaster Field Activities Disaster Field Location Mission Assignments Emergency Transportation (ESF-1)[1] Communication (ESF-2) Emergency Debris Clearance (ESF-3) Fire Fighting (ESF-4) Emergency Roads, Airfields, and Bridges (ESF-5) Emergency Demolition (ESF-6) Administrative Logistical Support (ESF-7) Emergency Medical Care (ESF-8) Search and Rescue (ESF-9) Identification and Disposal of Dead (ESF-10) Warnings of Risks and Hazards (ESF-11) Emergency Distribution of Medicine (ESF-12) Emergency Distribution of Food (ESF-13) Emergency Distribution of Consumable Supplies (ESF-14) Emergency Shelter & Mass Care (ESF-15) Damage Reconnaissance (ESF-16) Isoseismal Analysis Authorities Referral Administration [1] Emergency Support Functions (ESF) are cross-referenced by number in table 2. TABLE 2 EMERGENCY SUPPORT FUNCTIONS KEY: a: Emergency Transportation b: Emergency Communications c: Emergency Debris Clearance d: Fire Fighting e: Emerg. Roads, Air Fields & Bridges f: Emergency Demolition g: Logistical Support h: Emergency Medical Care i: Search and Rescue j: Identif. & Disposal of Dead k: Warnings of Risks & Hazards l: Emergency Dist. of Medicine m: Emergency Dist. of Food n: Emergency Dist. of Consum. Supplies o: Emerg. Shelter, Feed, & Mass Care p: Damage Reconnaissance +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |ESF | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |ANNEX |(D)|(E)|(F)|(G)|(H)|(I)|(J)|(K)|(L)|(M)|(N)|(O)|(P)|(Q)|(R)|(S)| +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ | FEDERAL | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | AGENCIES | a | b | c | d | e | f | g | h | i | j | k | l | m | n | o | p | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOT - FAA | S | | | | | | | | S | | | | | | | S | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOT - FHWA | S | | | | S | | | | | | | | | | | S | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOT - FRA | S | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | S | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOT - RETCO-9 | P | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOT - UMTA | S | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | S | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOT - USCC | S | S | | S | | S | | | S | | | | | | | S | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOD - 6th USA | S | S | S | S | S | S | S | P | P | P | | S | S | S | S | P | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOD - COE | | S | P | S | P | P | | | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |ICC | S | | | | | | | | | | | | S | S | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DA - USFS | | S | | P | S | | | | S | | | | | | S | S | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DA - FNS | | | | | | | | | | | | | P | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOC - MARAD | S | | | | | S | | S | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |NCS | | P | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |AYRC | | | | | | | | S | | | | S | | | P | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |Volunteer | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Agencies | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | S | | | (Various) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |HEW | | | | | | | S | | | | | P | | | S | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |US ATTY | | | | | | | | | | S | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |DOL - OSHA | | | S | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |USPS | S | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |FBI | | | | | | | | | | S | | | | | | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |VA | | | | | | | | S | | S | | S | S | | S | | +--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+ |GSA | S | S | | | | S | P | | | | | S | | P | | | +------------------------------------------------------------------------------+ P - Principal Agencies S - Support Agencies ANNEX 3 ASSEMBLY BILL NO. 2202 The Governor of California signed into law Assembly Bill 2202 on September 25, 1980, which, among others, provides for State participation in a joint Federal, State, and local program to prepare a comprehensive program for responding to a major earthquake prediction. This action was initiated in January 1980 through the actions of the Assembly Committee on Government Organization, Frank Vicencia, Chairman. Inclusions of specific funds for preparedness was included following a subcommittee on Emergency Planning and Disaster Relief hearing on possible earthquake prediction on April 22, 1980. The text of the Law follows: Assembly Bill No. 2202 CHAPTER 1046 An act to amend Section 8897 of, to amend and renumber Section 8898 of, and to add Section 8895.1 to, the Government Code, relating to the Seismic Safety Commission, making an appropriation therefor, and declaring the urgency thereof, to take effect immediately. [Approved by Governor September 25, 1980. Filed with Secretary of State September 26, 1980.] LEGISLATIVE COUNSEL'S DIGEST AB 2202, Vicencia. Seismic Safety Commission. The Seismic Safety Commission Act, which will self-repeal, effective January 1, 1986, establishes the Seismic Safety Commission, and confers upon it various powers and duties relating to earthquake hazard reduction. The California Emergency Services Act confers various related powers and duties upon the Governor, the Director and the Department of Emergency Services, and the California Emergency Council. This bill would amend the Seismic Safety Commission Act by: changing the basic subject of the powers and duties of the commission to earthquake hazard mitigation and making certain corresponding changes in its powers and duties; including within commission responsibilities, scheduling on its agenda as required, a report on disaster mitigation issues from the Office of Emergency Services and defining, for such purposes, "disaster" as all natural hazards which could have an impact on public safety; and authorizing the commission to exercise various specified powers in relation to other disasters, as so defined, in connection with issues or items reported or discussed with the Office of Emergency Services at any commission meeting. This bill would also require the commission to initiate, as specified, a comprehensive program to prepare the state for responding to a major earthquake prediction, as specified. This bill would appropriate $750,000 for the purposes of this act. This act would take effect immediately as an urgency statute. Appropriation: yes. _The people of the State of California do enact as follows:_ SECTION 1. Section 8895.1 is added to the Government Code, to read: 8895.1. The commission shall initiate, with the assistance and participation of other state, federal, and local government agencies, a comprehensive program to prepare the state for responding to a major earthquake prediction. The program should be implemented in order to result in specific tools or products to be used by governments in responding to an earthquake prediction, such as educational materials for citizens. This program may be implemented on a prototypical basis in one area of the state affected by earthquake predictions, provided that it is useful for application in other areas of the state upon its completion. SEC. 2. Section 8897 of the Government Code is amended to read: 8897. The commission is responsible for all of the following in connection with earthquake hazard mitigation: (a) Setting goals and priorities in the public and private sectors. (b) Requesting appropriate state agencies to devise criteria to promote earthquake and disaster safety. (c) Scheduling a report on disaster mitigation issues from the Office of Emergency Services, on the commission agenda as required. For the purposes of this subdivision, the term disaster refers to all natural hazards which could have impact on public safety. (d) Recommending program changes to state agencies, local agencies, and the private sector where such changes would improve earthquake hazards and reduction. (e) Reviewing the recovery and reconstruction efforts after damaging earthquakes. (f) Gathering, analyzing, and disseminating information. (g) Encouraging research. (h) Sponsoring training to help improve the competence of specialized enforcement and other technical personnel. (i) Helping to coordinate the earthquake safety activities of government at all levels. (j) Establishing and maintaining necessary working relationships with any boards, commissions, departments, and agencies, or other public or private organizations. SEC. 3. Section 8898 of the Government Code is amended and renumbered to read: 8897.1. To implement the foregoing responsibilities, the commission may do any of the following: (a) Review state budgets and review grant proposals, other than those grant proposals submitted by institutions of postsecondary education to the federal government, for earthquake related activities and to advise the Governor and Legislature thereon. (b) Review legislative proposals, related to earthquake safety to advise the Governor and Legislature concerning such proposals, and to propose needed legislation. (c) Recommend the addition, deletion, or changing of state agency standards when, in the commission's view, the existing situation creates undue hazards or when new developments would promote earthquake hazard mitigation, and conduct public hearings as deemed necessary on the subjects. (d) In the conduct of any hearing, investigation, inquiry, or study which is ordered or undertaken in any part of the state, to administer oaths and issue subpoenas for the attendance of witnesses and the production of papers, records, reports, books, maps, accounts, documents, and testimony. (e) In addition, the commission may perform any of the functions contained in subdivisions (a) to (d), inclusive, in relation to other disasters, as defined in subdivision (c) of Section 8897, in connection with issues or items reported or discussed with the Office of Emergency Services at any commission meeting. SEC. 4. The sum of seven hundred fifty thousand dollars ($750,000) is hereby appropriated from the General Fund to the Seismic Safety Commission for carrying out the provisions of Section 8895.1 of the Government Code as added by this act, contingent upon receipt of matching federal funds. SEC. 5. This act is an urgency statute necessary for the immediate preservation of the public peace, health, or safety within the meaning of Article IV of the Constitution and shall go into immediate effect. The facts constituting such necessity are: In order to protect the public safety against earthquakes, including the imminent possibility of major earthquake predictions being made within the next 12 months, it is necessary that this act take effect immediately. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS =National Security Council Ad Hoc Committee on Assessment of Consequences and Preparation for a Major California Earthquake= _Dr. Frank Press_, Chairperson, President's Science Advisor _Clifton Alexander, Jr._, Secretary of the Army _Roderick Renick_, Department of Defense _Cecil Andres_, Secretary of the Department of Interior _H.W. Menard_, Department of Interior (USGS) _W. Bowman Cutter_, Executive Associate Director for Budget, Office of Management and Budget _Lynn Daft_, Associate Director for Domestic Policy Staff, White House _Peter Hamilton_, Special Assistant to the Secretary of the Department of Defense _Ted Hodkowski_, Intergovernmental Assistant to the President, White House _John W. Macy, Jr._, Director, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Richard Green_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Frank Camm_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _William Odom_, Military Assistant, National Security Council, White House _Robert P. Pirie, Jr._, Assistant Secretary for Manpower, Reserve Affairs and Logistics, Department of Defense =Working Group Members= _Philip Smith_, Chairperson, Office of Science and Technology Policy _Clarence G. Collins_, Department of Transportation _Richard DiConti_, National Communications System _Joseph Mullinix_, Office of Management and Budget _Chris Shoemaker_, National Security Council _Charles C. Thiel_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Stephen Travis_, Domestic Policy Staff _Robert L. Wesson_, Office of Science and Technology Policy =Selected Contributors= _Richard E. Adams_, State of California, OES Region V _James Alexander_, State of California, OES Region I _William Anderson_, National Science Foundation _Ralph Archuleta_, United States Geological Survey _Roger D. Borcherdt_, United States Geological Survey _Robert D. Brown, Jr._, United States Geological Survey _James Brown_, George Washington University _Richard J. Buzka_, United States Geological Survey _Maria D. Castain_, United States Geological Survey _Lloyd Cluff_, Woodward-Clyde Consultants _John Crawford_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Alex Cunningham_, State of California, OES _Donna Darling_, State of California, OES Region II _Gardner Davis_, State of California, OES Region VI _Henry Degenkolb_, H.J. Degenkolb & Associates _Joseph Domingues_, Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region IX _Russell Dynes_, American Sociological Association _Raymond R. Eis_, United States Geological Survey _Susan Elkins_, Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region IX _Jack F. Evernden_, United States Geological Survey _Charles Fritz_, National Academy of Sciences _Thomas E. Fumal_, United States Geological Survey _James T. Haigwood_, State of California, OES Region I _Jane Victoria Hindmarsh_, State of California, OES _Connie E. Hooper_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _William B. Joyner_, United States Geological Survey _Harry King_, State of California, OES Region II _Henry Lagorio_, University of California _Richard P. Liechti_, United States Geological Survey _Terry Meade_, Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region IX _Ugo Morelli_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _William Myers_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Robert A. Page_, United States Geological Survey _Daniel J. Ponti_, United States Geological Survey _H. Roger Pulley_, State of California, OES _F. Joseph Russo_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Louis Schwalb_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Wanda H. Seiders_, United States Geological Survey _Paul A. Spudich_, United States Geological Survey _Frank Steindl_, Oklahoma State University _Karl Steinbrugge_, Private Consultant _Christopher Stephens_, United States Geological Survey _Robert Stevens_, Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region IX _John Sucich_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Hurst Sutton_, Private Consultant _Richard Traub_, State of California, OES Region I _Monica L. Turner_, United States Geological Survey _Robert E. Wallace_, United States Geological Survey _Kay M. Walz_, United States Geological Survey _William W. Ward_, State of California, OES Region II _Robert R. Wilson_, Federal Emergency Management Agency _Robert P. Yerkes_, United States Geological Survey _Mark D. Zoback_, United States Geological Survey * * * * * 
18556	----	public domain works from the University of Michigan Digital Libraries) * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Most of the information in this document is presented in | | wide tables (75 characters per line). | | | | A number of obvious typographical errors have been corrected | | in this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of | | this document. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR WEATHER BUREAU MANILA CENTRAL OBSERVATORY CATALOGUE OF VIOLENT AND DESTRUCTIVE EARTHQUAKES IN THE PHILIPPINES WITH AN APPENDIX EARTHQUAKES IN THE MARIANAS ISLANDS 1599-1909 BY REV. MIGUEL SADERRA MASÓ, S. J. ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF THE WEATHER BUREAU MANILA BUREAU OF PRINTING 1910 CATALOGUE OF VIOLENT AND DESTRUCTIVE EARTHQUAKES IN THE PHILIPPINES (1599-1909). Introduction.--The occasion for publishing this catalogue of Philippine earthquakes which were of violent and destructive character has been furnished by a request from Prof. John Milne for a list of such phenomena, to be included in the General Earthquake Catalogue which this eminent seismologist is preparing under the auspices of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. The said general catalogue has been undertaken with a view toward reducing to uniformity and completing those published years ago by Robert Mallet (1859) and Perrey (1844-1871). The form adopted for Professor Milne's new catalogue is very concise, comprising only the date, intensity, and region together with principal localities affected. It will contain only the earthquakes of intensities VII to X according to the scale of De Rossi-Forel, and these will be divided into three classes: Class I will be formed by the earthquakes of sufficient force to produce cracks in buildings and to throw down chimneys; they correspond to force VII of De Rossi-Forel. Class II consists of the earthquakes which not only threw down chimneys but also walls and some weak structures; force VIII of De Rossi-Forel. Class III comprises the earthquakes which caused general destruction; force IX and X of De Rossi-Forel. As this classification is as purely conventional as every other and adopted only in the catalogue mentioned, we do not employ it in the present catalogue of Philippine earthquakes, but retain the almost universally adopted scale of De Rossi-Forel. We shall also present more details as to the towns and buildings damaged, the number of victims and other disastrous effects than enter into the catalogue of Professor Milne. Hence, the differences between the list prepared for Professor Milne as well as the partial catalogue published in our Monthly Bulletin for February of the present year consist in the following: (1) This catalogue contains also several earthquakes whose intensities were between VI and VII, while in the former only such figure as according to their effects were decidedly of force VII. (2) The new catalogue is more complete as to details concerning the towns, etc., which have been destroyed. It is to be regretted that we are unable to present here a complete historical catalogue of all the destruction wrought in the Archipelago by earthquakes since the time when Legaspi and Urdaneta first set foot on these shores. But the old chroniclers, who dwell upon the political happenings with an attention to detail which is occasionally overdone, were invariably laconic when there was question of earthquakes and similar natural phenomena; as a rule they were satisfied with mentioning the occurrence in a general and therefore vague way, without any attempt at precision as to dates and places. Still the writers in the Philippines did nothing worse than imitate their colleagues throughout the rest of the world. This fact is responsible for the great contrast exhibited by our catalogue as regards the number and details of earthquakes which occurred prior to 1800, records of which have been preserved, and the same data for the period from 1800 to the present time. This same difference is observable in all catalogues of a similar nature, even in those which cover phenomena which occurred in Europe. As to the Philippine writers, an additional excuse is found in the peculiar conditions of life in these Islands. As far as we know, only two earthquakes which took place during the period which alone can come under consideration--that is, since the discovery of the Archipelago--have claimed a considerable number of victims, and these in the capital, because outside of Manila--if we except two or three of the principal cities--the buildings which could become dangerous during an earthquake have always been few. Moreover, in a country in which fires consume every year thousands of dwellings and where the terrible typhoons frequently destroy whole towns with heavy loss of lives, the damage done by earthquakes has rarely been so great as to impress those occurrences indelibly upon the memory. This is beyond doubt one of the reasons why prior to the beginning of the nineteenth century hardly any data can be found concerning the numerous earthquakes which during the preceding two centuries must have occurred in the Visayas and above all on the large Island of Mindanao. The first earthquake of which the chronicles contain a mention is that of 1599. There is no reasonable doubt that during the twenty-eight years which had then elapsed since the founding of Manila by Legaspi, several strong and possibly even destructive earthquakes occurred in this part of Luzon Island, but, as the author of the "Verdadera relación de la grande destrucción * * * del año 1645" tells us, "when first founded, Manila consisted of wooden houses roofed with a certain kind of palm leaves, the same which the natives use in their buildings." Hence the damage done by these earthquakes must have been insignificant. Much more terrible were the losses caused by conflagrations which within a few years twice wiped out the entire city. The first Bishop of Manila, Domingo de Salazar, seeing the city exposed to such general destructions by fire like the one of February 14, 1583, gave the first impulse to the construction of stone buildings and worked indefatigably in this direction. In person he explored the surroundings of Manila in quest of stone quarries and by the middle of the year 1591 he had nearly finished his palace and the cathedral, when financial difficulties caused a temporary suspension of the work. At the same time a great number of public and private buildings were under construction. The enthusiasm for structures of stone or brick with tile roofs did not diminish during the next fifty years. The chroniclers tell us that "the Spaniards began to build their houses of stone and tiles without the so necessary precautions against earthquakes. * * * Beautiful structures and dwelling houses were reared, so high and spacious that they resembled palaces; magnificent churches with lofty and graceful towers, within the walls of Manila as well as outside of them: all of which made the city very beautiful and gay and contributed equally to health and pleasure." The disaster of 1645, commonly called the earthquake of St. Andrew, as it occurred on the feast of this apostle, November 30, razed nearly every one of these buildings to the ground, and since then the style and appearance of buildings has changed greatly throughout the Archipelago, with a correspondingly great saving of lives in the subsequent earthquakes. Masonry arches were henceforth banished from the churches; the heavy walls of the latter were further strengthened by massive buttresses; and the towers were given truly enormous substructures. But even with these precautions there is at present hardly one out of the hundreds of churches built during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries which did not some time or other require important repairs of its masonry work or even partial reconstruction owing to earthquake damages. The only structure of this class which thus far has withstood all convulsions, is the church of St. Agustin, Manila. Nevertheless, as we have stated before, the chroniclers hardly mention all this destruction, except in a very general and cursory manner. I do not hesitate to say: they were accustomed to see similar havoc created nearly every year in one part of the Archipelago or the other by some severe typhoon, accompanied by far greater loss of lives and property, and consequently much more felt by the people than the destruction of a church, _convento_, municipal building ("tribunal"), one or two bridges, or other masonry structure. In the present catalogue our aim has been to present all that is known of the various violent and destructive earthquakes on record. The first column of each page contains the ordinal number of the disturbance for purposes of reference. In the second, the date is given as accurately as it could be ascertained, Roman numerals being used to designate the months. Unfortunately, of some earthquakes only the year is known; of others, the year and month. Of one (No. 32) the approximate hour has been recorded, but not the day of the month; while of another (No. 38) the hour has been preserved for posterity, but whether the phenomenon occurred during February or March, the records leave undecided. In the third column will be found, in the first place, the intensity of the disturbance, Roman numerals representing the degrees of the scale of De Rossi-Forel (I-X); then the region affected most, and finally the damages caused, if known, and other information, if available. In describing the epicentral regions, the present distribution of the Archipelago into provinces has been used throughout the catalogue. This division is shown on the first of the two maps of the Philippines which accompany this catalogue (Plate I). As to the designation "Benguet" occasionally occurring in the text where provinces are enumerated, but not found on the map, we beg to offer the excuse that the region thus named is exceedingly well known in the Philippines as it contains Baguio, _the_ health resort of the Islands. For the readers outside of the Archipelago we remark that Benguet is at present a subprovince of the Mountain Province, of which it forms the southernmost part. The location of Baguio is shown on the map on Plate II. A similar remark applies to Lepanto and Bontoc, likewise divisions of the Mountain Province, whose capitals, Cervantes and Bontoc, are indicated on the same map. As we would hardly be justified in assuming that every reader is in possession of a detailed map of the Philippines, and a knowledge of the general distribution and the main directions of the principal mountain systems of an earthquake country is important, we add a second map on which these data are shown by means of dashes, together with the most important seismic regions, and the positions of the principal towns, bays, etc., mentioned in the text. (Plate II.) Near the left margin of this second map will be found an index of the seismic regions just mentioned, each of them being represented by its ordinal number (large Roman figures). Near each of these ordinals is placed the corresponding number of earthquakes since 1862 contained in the catalogue (Arabic figures), which is followed, in brackets, by an analysis of the said number, in which Roman figures designate the degrees of the earthquake, scale of De Rossi-Forel, while small Arabic figures, written like exponents, give the number of earthquakes of each degree of intensity. In drawing the map on Plate II it was not intended to represent the epicentric area of every individual earthquake center (which would have crowded the map beyond reasonable limits), but rather to show the principal seismic regions. Hence most of these curves contain more than one focus. The approximate position of each of the latter has, however, been indicated by a star, while the figure placed close to the star gives the number of earthquakes which proceeded from the said center. A word must be said in apology for the constant use in the following list of the Spanish word "_convento_." This word which means monastery, cloister, or convent, is universally used in the Philippines to designate also the habitation of the clergy attached to a parish church. Although these are, as a rule, spacious buildings and were formerly inhabited well-nigh exclusively by friars, they can not properly be called monasteries. Wherefore, in order to avoid lengthy circumlocutions, the Spanish word "_convento_" has been retained. The reader who is not familiar with this country may find it strange that in reporting earthquake damages so much emphasis appears to be laid on the harm done to churches and _conventos_. This is easily explained by the fact that these buildings were often the only structures within the meizoseismal area, and built nearly everywhere in the most substantial manner. In the present catalogue we have also included, by way of an appendix, the earthquakes which are known to have occurred in the Marianas or Ladrones group of islands. While their number is too small to warrant separate publication, we believe that the data concerning them will be welcome to the earthquake investigator. CATALOGUE OF VIOLENT AND DESTRUCTIVE EARTHQUAKES IN THE PHILIPPINES. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 1 |1599 VI 25 3 20 | IX |Manila and neighboring provinces. Damaged | | |many private buildings in Manila; cracked | | |the vault of the Jesuit Church so badly | | |that it had to be demolished and replaced | | |by a ceiling; fissured the walls and | | |ruined the roof of Santo Domingo Church. | | | 2 |1600 I 2 0 0 |VIII |Earthquake of destructive force and long | | |duration in Manila; extent of damage | | |unknown. | | | 3 |1600 XI -- -- -- | VI |Violent and protracted earthquake. | | | 4 |1601 I 16 0 -- |VIII |Manila and adjacent provinces. Did | | |considerable damage to some churches and | | |many private houses in Manila. Its | | |duration was unusually great, it being | | |said that during 7 minutes the shocks were | | |almost continuous. There were several dead | | |and a great number of injured. The | | |repetitions were frequent throughout the | | |year. | | | 5 |1608 XII 3 -- -- | VI-|Leyte Island. Violent chiefly in the | | VII |country around Dulag and Palo (E coast of | | |northern Leyte). It does not appear to | | |have been destructive. | | | 6 |1610 XI -- -- -- | IX |Manila and provinces east of it. Several | | |writers call it a "terrible earthquake | | |which progressed from E to W." | | | 7 |1620 -- -- -- -- | IX |Panay Island. Great convulsions of the | | |ground; the Aclan River changed its | | |course. The few stone buildings in the | | |affected districts, as, for instance, the | | |church at Passi, Province of Iloilo, were | | |badly cracked, the wooden structures | | |either fell, owing to the snapping of the | | |uprights, or remained inclined in various | | |directions. The provinces which suffered | | |most were those of Iloilo and Capiz. | | | 8 |1627 VIII -- -- -- | X |Northern Luzon. The historians mention it | | |as one of the earthquakes which caused the | | |greatest convulsions in northern Luzon, | | |especially in Ilocos Norte and Cagayan, | | |but above all in the region of the Central | | |Central Cordillera, Lepanto, and Bontoc. | | |The data are somewhat vague. It is said | | |that part of the northern Caraballo | | |Mountains subsided. | | | 9 |1628 -- -- -- -- | IX |Camarines and Albay. A destructive | | |earthquake in which, it is said, a | | |mountain burst and emitted a river of | | |water and mud which swept away the town | | |of Camarines and others. The name of | | |Camarines was at the time used to | | |designate the present town of Camalig | | |and the district near the southern slopes | | |of Mayon Volcano. The flood mentioned | | |was probably an avalanche of water, sand, | | |volcanic ashes, and lapilli, such as also | | |on other occasions have occurred on the | | |slopes of the same volcano during periods | | |of torrential rains. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 10 |1636 XII 21 -- -- | IX |Western Mindanao. Destructive earthquake. | | |The epicenter appears to have been in | | |Illana Bay. Great landslides are reported | | |to have occurred at Point Flechas which is | | |between the Bays of Illana and Sibuguey. | | | 11 |1641 I 4 -- -- | X |Northern Luzon. Destructive earthquake, | | |accompanied by great landslides in the | | |mountains and eruptions of water and mud | | |in the region of northern Luzon which | | |comprises the Provinces of the Ilocos, of | | |Cagayan, and the Cordillera Central. All | | |the historians of the Archipelago mention | | |this cataclysm which occurred shortly | | |after the almost simultaneous eruptions of | | |Sanguir and Jolo. | | | 12 |1645 XI 30 20 -- | X |The most terrible earthquake recorded in | | |the annals of the Archipelago. It might | | |almost be said that from Manila to Cagayan | | |and Ilocos Norte it left no stone upon the | | |other. In the capital, where during the | | |preceding fifty years a great number of | | |stone buildings had been erected, | | |magnificent churches, palaces, and public | | |buildings, as well as private residences | | |and villas, the destruction was frightful. | | |Ten churches were wrecked entirely, to | | |wit: the Royal Chapel, Cathedral, Santo | | |Domingo, those of the Recollects and | | |Franciscans, Santiago, San Antonio, | | |Nuestra Señora de Guia, and the parish | | |churches of Binondo and San Miguel; only | | |San Agustin and the Jesuit Church remained | | |standing. Twelve monasteries, colleges, | | |and hospitals were likewise converted into | | |ruins. No better fared the palace of the | | |Governor-General, the Real Audiencia and | | |up to 150 of the finest residences which, | | |as one author puts it, "in other cities | | |would have been considerable palaces." The | | |rest of the private houses were damaged | | |to so great an extent that the majority | | |had to be demolished. The number of | | |persons killed exceeded 600 and the total | | |of killed and injured is stated to have | | |been 3,000. | | | | | |Outside of Manila there was a general | | |destruction of villas and other buildings | | |which had been erected on both banks of | | |the Pasig River. Throughout the | | |neighboring provinces the masonry | | |structures built by the missionaries | | |suffered the same fate as those in Manila. | | |From the farthest provinces in the north | | |were reported great alterations of the | | |surface with almost complete disappearance | | |of some native villages, changes in the | | |courses of rivers, subsidences of plains, | | |eruptions of sand, etc. All the writers of | | |the time qualify this disturbance as the | | |most disastrous earthquake not only in | | |Luzon, but likewise in Mindoro, | | |Marinduque, and the other islands south of | | |Luzon. On the other hand, the provinces of | | |Camarines and Albay appear to have | | |suffered little or nothing. | | | 13 |1645 XII 5 23 -- |VIII |The earthquake of November 30 was followed | | |by almost daily repetitions and countless | | |aftershocks, one of which, on December 5, | | |was of such intensity as to finish the | | |wrecking of many buildings, "leaving [as a | | |chronicler writes] the city in such | | |condition that it was impossible to walk | | |through it." Aftershocks of variable force | | |continued to be very frequent throughout | | |an entire year; that is, until the end of | | |1646. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 14 |1646 III -- -- -- | VI |According to several chroniclers, the | | |aforementioned aftershocks were more were | | |more frequent and of greater intensity | | |during the month of March, some of them | | |assuming a violent character. | | | 15 |1648 -- -- -- -- |VIII |Southern Luzon. Very violent earthquake, | | |damaging many buildings (Von Hoff). | | | 16 |1653 V 1 -- -- | VI |Earthquake in Manila and surrounding | | |provinces. | | | 17 |1658 VIII 20 17 -- | IX |Destructive earthquake. Some historians | | |maintain that it was as severe as that of | | |1645; but it caused fewer ruins, partly on | | |account of its short duration, partly | | |because it found buildings of less height | | |and greater power or resistance than those | | |erected before 1645. Nevertheless it | | |destroyed the monastery of Santa Clara and | | |did great damage to the churches and | | |monasteries of the Dominicans and | | |Recollects, likewise to the archiepiscopal | | |palace, the Jesuit College, and a | | |considerable number of private buildings. | | |The epicentral region appears to have | | |included only the southern part of Luzon. | | | 18 |1665 VI 19 -- -- |VIII |Destructive in Manila and adjacent | | |provinces. In the ruins of numerous houses | | |19 persons perished and many more were | | |injured. Of public buildings only the | | |Jesuit Church is mentioned as having | | |suffered to some extent. | | | 19 |1675 II -- -- -- |VIII |Destructive in northern Mindoro and | | |Batangas Province. Mention is made of | | |extensive landslides, the opening of many | | |fissures and the subsidence of large | | |tracts on the beach of the northeast | | |coast of Mindoro. The repetitions were many | | |and severe. | | | 20 |1683 VIII 24 -- -- | VII |Damaged some buildings in Manila. | | | 21 |1687 II -- -- -- | VI |Several violent earthquakes, which, | | |however, caused no notable damages. | | | 22 |1699 -- -- -- -- | VII |Many chroniclers assure us that during | | |this year and the following destructive | | |earthquakes visited Manila; but there is | | |great confusion as to the days and months | | |in which they occurred. | | | 23 |1716 IX 24 -- -- | VII |Vicinity of Taal Volcano. Violent in | | |Manila and the Provinces of Rizal, Laguna, | | |Cavite, and Batangas. Connected with an | | |eruption of the volcano. At each spasm of | | |the latter the earth shook so violently | | |that many buildings in Manila and the | | |provinces mentioned suffered much harm, | | |especially those in the vicinity of Lake | | |Bombon, within which is situated the said | | |volcano. | | | 24 |1728 XI 28 -- -- | IX |Remarkable on account of its having been | | |very perceptible throughout the entire | | |Archipelago. Caused considerable damage in | | |Manila and towns in southern Luzon. | | | 25 |1730 -- -- -- -- | IX |Destructive in the Provinces of Tayabas | | |and Laguna; ruined the church and the | | |church and _convento_ at Mauban and other | | |buildings in this and other towns of the | | |two provinces. | | | 26 |1743 -- -- -- -- | IX |Destructive in Tayabas Province, wrecking | | |masonry structures in the town of Tayabas | | |and others. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 27 |1749 VIII 12 9 -- | IX |A violent eruption of Taal Volcano, which | | |caused great havoc in all the towns on the | | |shores of Lake Bombon. The shocks which | | |accompanied each of the intermittent | | |outbursts of the volcano were so severe | | |that they left hardly any building | | |undamaged throughout the provinces in the | | |neighborhood of Manila--Rizal, Laguna, | | |Cavite, Batangas, Tayabas, and in northern | | |Mindoro. The convulsions of the ground | | |were very remarkable; displacement | | |occurred and fissures, both wide and deep, | | |opened in the entire Province of Batangas | | |and likewise in Cavite Province, up to | | |Lake Bay. As the shocks occurred during | | |many days, the majority of Manila's | | |inhabitants abandoned the Walled City and | | |lived under tents or in structures of | | |bamboo and nipa. The greatest force of | | |the earthquakes and, consequently, the | | |greatest upheavals seem to have occurred | | |in the region stretching from Taal Volcano | | |toward Talim Island (Lake Bay) and the | | |Antipolo Mountain Range. | | | | | |Repetitions and aftershocks were frequent | | |during nearly a year. | | | 28 |1754 V 15 21 -- | X |Another eruption of Taal Volcano, the most | | |terrible in the history of the Islands. | | |All the towns which surrounded Lake Bombon | | |were destroyed completely. When rebuilt, | | |they were placed at a distance from the | | |lake. There occurred most violent | | |earthquakes which produced disasters in | | |the neighboring provinces equal too, if | | |not exceeding those of 1749. The spasms, | | |separated by intervals of greater or less | | |duration, lasted 7 months, the principal | | |outbursts being always accompanied by very | | |intense earthquakes which made themselves | | |felt throughout a large part of Luzon, on | | |Mindoro Island, and northern Panay. | | | 29 |1766 XII 7 10 45 | VII |A violent earthquake, but did very slight | | |damage in Manila. During the month many | | |more earthquakes of less intensity were | | |felt; in fact they had been frequent ever | | |since the preceding August. There exist no | | |data concerning the provinces around | | |Manila. | | | 30 |1767 II 8 1 5 | VII |Manila and neighboring provinces. Violent | | |earthquake, preceded and followed by | | |numerous shocks of smaller intensity. | | | 31 |1767 XI 13 15 25 | VII |Very violent. In Manila a few walls fell | | |and tile roofs sagged. Slight repetitions | | |marked the succeeding days. Nothing is | | |known of the happenings in the near-by | | |provinces. | | | 32 |1770 XII -- 23 -- |VIII |Destructive earthquake. Mr. Sonnerat | | |states that it wrecked many houses in | | |Manila. This traveler was at the time on | | |board a ship in the very Bay of Manila; | | |hence it is very strange that he does not | | |give the day of the month on which the | | |disaster took place. | | | 33 |1771 II 1 -- -- |VIII |Very severe earthquake which laid in ruins | | |several buildings in Manila, express | | |mention being made of the Church of | | |Nuestra Señora de Guia in Ermita, a suburb | | |of Manila. This is probably the same | | |disturbance which, according to some | | |writers, in the beginning of February | | |damaged the church of Antipolo and others | | |in La Laguna and Cavite Provinces. | | | 34 |1783 IV 19 -- -- | VI |Violent earthquake in Dapitan and the | | |whole of northwestern Mindanao. | | | 35 |1787 V 13 6 -- |VIII |Very violent in southern Panay, | | |especially in the Province of Iloilo. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 36 |1787 VII 13 7 -- | X |Panay Island. A terrible earthquake which | | |left the whole island strewn with ruins. | | |Of 15 to 20 churches and _conventos_ in | | |Iloilo Province only two or three remained | | |standing; in the two other provinces, | | |Capiz and Antique, the destruction was | | |less universal. Even the thick walls of | | |the fort at Iloilo were breached in many | | |places. There were subsidences in the | | |plains and landslides in the mountains and | | |mighty fissures opened. It is stated that | | |the victims were numerous: in one building | | |15 persons perished. | | | 37 |1796 -- -- -- -- | IX |Many writers assert that during this year | | |a most violent earthquake shook Manila | | |and was followed by severe repetitions | | |during the succeeding 20 days. But, | | |although all agree that the quake was | | |destructive, not one of them gives | | |precise information as to its effects. | | | 38 |1797 II- -- 14 -- | VII |A violent earthquake but not destructive | III | |in Manila took place between February 11 | | |and March 7. It fissured walls and ruined | | |tile roofs. | | | 39 |1811 X 5 -- -- | IX |Destructive earthquake in Camarines | | |Province. It wrecked many churches, | | |_conventos_, and other buildings | | |throughout the province, from San Miguel | | |Bay to the vicinity of Albay. | | | 40 |1814 II 2 -- -- | VII |Albay. Violent earthquakes which preceded | | |and accompanied the great eruption of | | |Mayon Volcano, Province of Albay. Several | | |towns situated on the slopes of the | | |mountain were destroyed by this outburst, | | |while others, at a greater distance, | | |suffered less severely. | | | 41 |1818 -- -- -- -- | VII |Dapitan, northwestern Mindanao. Several | | |violent earthquakes with countless | | |repetitions distributed through 6 months. | | | 42 |1824 I -- -- -- | VII |Earthquake, violent in Manila and | | |destructive in Cagayan and Isabela | | |Provinces, northeastern Luzon. | | | 43 |1824 IX 29 -- -- | IX |Central Luzon. Destructive, making many | | |ruins throughout the Provinces of Tayabas, | | |Laguna, Rizal, and Nueva Ecija. The | | |churches of Cavinti and Lukban were | | |destroyed, that of Antipolo and others | | |badly damaged. | | | 44 |1824 X 26 -- -- | IX |Destructive in Manila and neighboring | | |provinces. Spoiled the Bridge of Spain | | |and the barracks in its vicinity, the | | |church of Saint Francis and others and | | |many private houses. Frightened by the | | |continual repetitions, people left the | | |city to live in nipa houses and under | | |tents. The undulations seemed to come | | |from north-northwest. | | | 45 |1828 XI 9 18 30 |VIII |Destructive earthquake. Damaged several | | |churches in Manila, likewise the prison | | |and many private residences. The shocks | | |appeared to advance from south to north. | | | 46 |1830 I 18 17 -- | IX |Southern Luzon. Destructive in the | | |Provinces of Rizal, Laguna, and Tayabas. | | |In Manila the damage was confined to the | | |cracking of walls and the falling of such | | |as had little power of resistance; but | | |toward Laguna and Tayabas the destruction | | |was greater; the complete destruction of | | |the church and _convento_ of Mauban is | | |expressly mentioned. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 47 |1836 I 5 -- -- | VII |Very violent earthquake in western | | |Mindanao. The epicenter was in Illana | | |Bay. Severe shocks were felt in Cotabato | | |and Zamboanga, 250 kilometers distant | | |from each other. | | | 48 |1840 -- -- -- -- | IX |Destructive earthquake in Sorsogon and | | |Masbate. Ruined the masonry buildings. In | | |Sorsogon Bay extensive subsidences | | |occurred; the sea invaded the town, | | |causing great destruction and claiming | | |many victims. | | | 49 |1852 IX 16 18 45 | IX |Central Luzon. Destructive earthquake | | |which made itself felt with violence in | | |the Provinces of Rizal, Laguna, Cavite, | | |Batangas, Tayabas, Bataan, Zambales, | | |Pampanga, Bulacan, and Nueva Ecija. In | | |Manila it damaged severely a great number | | |of buildings, among them the cathedral and | | |the churches of the Jesuits, San Miguel, | | |and Paco, the church and _convento_ at | | |Pandacan (near Manila), and many houses. | | |It is stated that the damage was | | |(relatively) vastly greater in the | | |Provinces of Bataan, Cavite, and Batangas, | | |where many fissures opened and subsidences | | |and landslides occurred. The zone most | | |severely chastised seems to have stretched | | |from the Zambales Mountain Range as far as | | |the coasts of Batangas and Northern | | |Mindoro. Aftershocks were frequent until | | |the middle of October. | | | 50 |1852 IX 25 -- -- | VI |Very strong earthquake in Camarines and | | |Albay Provinces. | | | 51 |1852 XII 24 -- -- | IX |Destructive earthquake in Batangas | | |Province and northern Mindoro. Ruined | | |many buildings, among which were the | | |church of Taal and the church and | | |_convento_ of Bauang; the church of | | |Batangas likewise suffered severely. | | | 52 |1853 -- -- -- -- |VIII |Destructive earthquake in Camarines | | |Province. Made ruins in many towns of the | | |southeastern part of the province, express | | |mention being made of the church, | | |_convento_, tribunal, and the schools of | | |Pulangui. | | | 53 |1855 III 22 -- -- |VIII |Very violent earthquake in southeastern | | |Luzon. Caused likewise some ruins in the | | |Provinces of Camarines, Albay, and | | |Sorsogon. | | | 54 |1858 -- -- -- -- | VI |Very strong earthquakes throughout the | | |district of Cotabato and the south of | | |Lanao district; but it is not known | | |whether they caused extensive damages. | | | 55 |1862 III 4 17 30 | VII |Violent earthquake; cracked some buildings | | |in Manila and the neighboring provinces. | | | 56 |1862 VII 13 16 2 | VII |Violent earthquake which displayed its | | |greatest intensity to the east-northeast | | |of Manila, in the vicinity of Casiguran | | |and Baler Bays. Damaged the church and | | |_convento_ of Baler. Several aftershocks | | |followed during the next 4 days. | | | 57 |1862 IX 9 3 -- |VIII |Ilocos Norte and Cagayan. The epicenter | | |lay within the Central Cordillera. Did | | |some damage to the church of Piddig and to | | |other towns situated near the Cordillera. | | | 58 |1862 X 30 12 30 | VI |Laguna Province. Very strong earthquake, | | |doing slight damage in the towns south of | | |Lake Bay and close to the volcanic cone of | | |Mount Maquiling. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 59 |1863 VI 3 19 20 | X |Manila and adjacent provinces. A | | |disastrous earthquake, comparable with | | |that of 1645. Laid in ruins the cathedral | | |and nearly all the other churches, except | | |San Agustin, the palace of the | | |Governor-General, the Audiencia, the | | |barracks, warehouses, etc.; all in all, 46 | | |public buildings in ruins and 25 others | | |badly damaged. Of private houses 570 were | | |destroyed, 531 left tottering. Total, | | |1,172 buildings in ruins or badly damaged. | | |The number of victims was appalling. It is | | |estimated that in Manila and the | | |surrounding towns alone the number of | | |killed reached 400, that of the injured | | |2,000. The catastrophe likewise involved | | |many towns in Rizal, Laguna, and Cavite, | | |where it destroyed churches and a great | | |number of houses. | | | 60 |1863 VI 9 -- -- | VII |Violent earthquake which in Manila and | | |neighboring towns brought to the ground | | |several buildings left in a tottering | | |condition by the preceding disturbance. | | | 61 |1864 I 3 -- -- | VI |Origin, south of Illana Bay. It was felt | | |very strongly both at Zamboanga and | | |Cotabato; the former west, the latter | | |east of the bay mentioned. | | | 62 |1865 XI 23 4 -- | VI |Strong earthquake which caused great | | |excitement in Manila and adjacent | | |provinces. | | | 63 |1866 XII 29 3 -- | VII |Ilocos Norte. Very violent earthquake. | | |Damaged several buildings at Laoag and in | | |other towns of the province. | | | 64 |1867 I 5 9 45 | VI |Albay Province. Very strong earthquake. | | | 65 |1867 III 26 13 -- | VI |Ilocos Norte. Very strong earthquake. | | |Shocks of varying intensity were frequent | | |in this province during the months | | |December, 1866, to April, 1867. | | | 66 |1867 XII 27 9 11 | VI |Samar Island. Very strong and prolonged | | |earthquake. | | | 67 |1868 IV 4 -- -- | VI |Leyte Island. Very strong earthquake. | | | 68 |1868 VI 29 8 11 | VI |Panay Island. Very strong earthquake in | | |Iloilo and other towns of the southern | | |part of the island. Frequent, but weak | | |shocks had been felt since June 7. | | | 69 |1869 VIII 16 15 -- | IX |Masbate Island. Disastrous earthquake. | | |Destroyed the few masonry buildings extant | | |on the island and ruined or inclined | | |hundreds of houses of wood or light | | |materials; large trees fell, fissures | | |opened, and vast landslides occurred in | | |the mountains and along the coasts, | | |especially in the south of the island. | | |Countless repetitions followed, over 100 | | |of the more severe ones having been | | |counted during the first fortnight after | | |the earthquake. | | | 70 |1869 X 1 11 35 |VIII |Neighboring provinces east and south of | | |Manila, and northern Mindoro. On Luzon the | | |provinces chiefly affected were Rizal, | | |Laguna, Cavite, and Batangas. In Manila | | |this earthquake did considerable damage to | | |quite a number of buildings. In the | | |Provinces of Cavite and Batangas a few | | |churches and _conventos_ were wrecked. | | |There was no loss of life. Repetitions | | |were frequent during the 5 days | | |immediately following the earthquake. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 71 |1869 X 23 16 30 | VII |Very violent earthquake in southern | | |Luzon, especially in Laguna Province. | | |Slightly damaged some buildings. | | | 72 |1870 III 2 3 -- | VI |Northeastern Samar. Very strong | | |earthquake. | | | 73 |1870 V 23 23 55 | VII |Northern Luzon. Very violent earthquake | | |in the Provinces of Ilocos Norte, | | |Cagayan, Isabela, and the northern part | | |of the Mountain Province. | | | 74 |1870 XI 4 4 -- | VII |Central Mindanao. A violent earthquake | | |whose epicenter lay between the Gulf of | | |Davao and the Province of Misamis. During | | |the months of November and December | | |occurred many repetitions, some of them | | |very intense. | | | 75 |1871 II 21 4 -- | IX |Camiguin Island. Destructive earthquake | | |which affected only the extreme north of | | |the island, where subsequently, on the | | |30th of April, a volcano which had been | | |believed extinct, burst forth again near | | |its base. This great earthquake was the | | |first of a series of shocks which preceded | | |the eruption. It ruined many buildings | | |constructed of wood, and rent asunder the | | |massive walls of the churches at Mambajao | | |and Catarman, while in the mountains it | | |caused many landslides. Between February | | |21 and April 30, the date of the volcanic | | |eruption, four violent earthquakes were | | |felt on Camiguin and the neighboring | | |Islands of Mindanao, Cebu, Bohol, etc., | | |aside from countless shocks of less | | |intensity. With the eruption, the | | |earthquakes ceased completely. | | | 76 |1871 VI 28 5 30 | VI |District of Davao, southeastern Mindanao. | | |Violent earthquake throughout the region | | |surrounding Davao Gulf, with frequent | | |aftershocks during the ensuing 8 days. | | | 77 |1871 VII 11 21 19 | VI |Very strong earthquake, remarkable for its | | |wide extension, as it was felt strongly in | | |all the provinces of Luzon north of the | | |sixteenth parallel of north latitude. | | |Repetitions were frequent for three or | | |four days. | | | 78 |1871 X 4 20 30 | VII |District of Davao, southeastern Mindanao. | | |A very violent earthquake, shaking the | | |region around the Gulf of Davao. | | | 79 |1871 XI 5 9 -- | VII |Surigao, northeastern Mindanao. Very | | |violent and prolonged earthquake in the | | |Province of Surigao; also remarkable for | | |its extension, being felt intensely | | |throughout eastern Mindanao and | | |perceptible on all the Visayan Islands. | | | 80 |1871 XI 29 16 30 | VII |Very violent earthquake in western | | |Mindanao and on the Islands of Basilan | | |and Jolo. It caused slight damage to | | |several buildings at Zamboanga. | | | 81 |1871 XII 8 17 30 | IX |Destructive earthquake throughout the | | |districts of Lanao, Cotabato, and Davao, | | |Mindanao. It is reported that at Cotabato | | |and Pollok not a single building remained | | |standing; the happenings in the Moro | | |villages and forts are not known. Even in | | |Davao, at a distance of 200 kilometers, | | |it developed great violence. Within one | | |hour three series of most violent shocks | | |were experienced, accompanied by | | |subterraneous rumblings. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 82 |1871 XII 9 7 30 |VIII |Most violent earthquake in the same | | |regions of Lanao and Cotabato, which | | |completed the devastation of the | | |preceding. Also in this earthquake several | | |separate groups of shocks could be | | |distinguished, which occurred within the | | |space of a little more than half an hour. | | |The subterranean noises were much stronger | | |than on the preceding day and caused | | |consternation. During the first few days | | |following these quakes occurred uncounted | | |repetitions, some of which, like the | | |principal earthquakes, were perceptible | | |not only throughout Mindanao, but likewise | | |in the Visayas up to distances exceeding | | |500 kilometers. | | | 83 |1871 XII 19 22 30 | VII |Very violent earthquake throughout the | | |length of eastern Mindanao, from Surigao | | |to Davao. It was likewise very perceptible | | |on Samar and Leyte Islands. For a number | | |of days there were many repetitions, some | | |of them very intense, notably those which | | |took place on the 21st and 22d. | | | 84 |1872 I 26 19 30 | VII |Violent earthquake close to the coast of | | |Zambales, near the town of Agno. The | | |shock was repeated ten to twelve times, | | |accompanied by subterraneous noises; an | | |extraordinary wave was seen in the sea | | |close to the coast and in the Agno River | | |which empties into the sea near the town. | | |The affected area was very small, which | | |makes it appear probable that the cause | | |must be sought in some displacements in | | |the scarps of the coast. | | | 85 |1872 I 27 16 30 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the Province of | | |Ilocos Norte, followed by numerous | | |repetitions of considerable intensity | | |during the 28th, 29th, and 30th. | | | 86 |1872 VII 22 22 50 | VI |Camarines and Albay. Very strong | | |earthquake, followed by frequent | | |repetitions during the next two days. | | | 87 |1872 VIII 24 21 -- | VI |District of Davao, southeastern Mindanao. | | |Very strong and prolonged earthquake in | | |the vicinity of Mount Apo; repetitions | | |somewhat frequent during several days. | | | 88 |1872 IX 6 0 -- | VI |Violent earthquake in northern Samar, | | |Catanduanes Island, and the Provinces of | | |Sorsogon and Albay, having its origin | | |to the northeast of San Bernardino Strait. | | |On the same and the following day occurred | | |four repetitions of moderate intensity. | | | 89 |1872 IX 10 20 20 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the northern | | |part of the Mountain Province, Luzon, | | |which, during the month, was preceded and | | |followed by other shocks of less | | |intensity. | | | 90 |1872 XII 29 11 48 |VIII |Most violent earthquake in the region | | |southwest of Manila, which is comprised | | |between the Zambales Mountain Range and | | |the northern part of Mindoro. It did | | |considerable damage to buildings in the | | |Provinces of Bataan, Cavite, and Batangas. | | |The towns which suffered most severely | | |were Balanga, Tuy, Nasugbu, Calaca, | | |Balayan, Taal, and Batangas. Several | | |shocks of small intensity preceded the | | |principal quake between 6 and 9 o'clock. | | | 91 |1873 I 16 23 45 | VI |An earthquake which was very strong in | | |Batangas Province and strong in northern | | |Mindoro and the Provinces of Tayabas, | | |Cavite, Laguna, Rizal, and Bulacan. | | |During the preceding days several light | | |shocks had been felt. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 92 |1873 III 18 13 -- |VIII |Southern Samar. Destructive earthquake | | |whose meizoseismic area included only the | | |town of Mercedes--where some walls were | | |thrown down and others cracked--and a few | | |unimportant villages in the vicinity, | | |situated on the Pacific coast, near which | | |was the seat of disturbance. | | | 93 |1873 III 31 1 58 | VII |Northern Luzon. This earthquake was | | |violent in Ilocos Norte, Ilocos Sur, and | | |the Mountain Province. It was remarkable | | |for its duration of nearly one minute. | | |The resulting damage was negligible. | | | 94 |1873 VI 11 23 15 | VI |This earthquake was violent in | | |northeastern Mindoro and very strong on | | |Romblon and Marinduque Islands, likewise | | |in the Province of Batangas. During June, | | |July, and August the same region | | |experienced several shocks of less | | |intensity. | | | 95 |1873 XI 14 17 30 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in Tayabas Province | | |and on Marinduque Island. It caused great | | |harm in towns of Mauban, Lucban, and | | |others in northeastern Tayabas, and | | |likewise at Boac and Santa Cruz on | | |Marinduque. Many repetitions of smaller | | |intensity occurred during that day and the | | |following. | | | 96 |1874 I 17 4 -- | VI |Sorsogon Province and Masbate Island. | | |Intense earthquake, followed by frequent | | |light repetitions and five strong | | |earthquakes during the months of February | | |and March. | | | 97 |1874 IV 14 6 45 | VI |Northern Luzon. A very strong earthquake | | |throughout northern Luzon; that is, in | | |the provinces north of the 16th parallel | | |of latitude. Its center appears to have | | |been near the Ilocos coast. | | | 98 |1874 VII 8 10 32 | VI |Central Luzon. Strong earthquake in the | | |Provinces of Pangasinan, Union, Benguet, | | |Nueva Vizcaya, Isabela, Tarlac, Zambales, | | |Pampanga, Nueva Ecija, and Bulacan. The | | |epicenter was near the shores of | | |Casiguran Bay. | | | 99 |1874 VIII 25 6 30 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in Zamboanga, | | |western Mindanao. It did considerable | | |damage to masonry buildings and overturned | | |walls. Many large fissures opened near the | | |beach of the sea. | | | 100 |1874 IX 16 10 9 | VII |Violent earthquake in central and eastern | | |Luzon, with innumerable repetitions until | | |the end of October. The center lay near | | |Casiguran Bay. The provinces affected | | |most were northern Camarines, Tayabas, | | |Laguna, Rizal, Bulacan, Nueva Ecija, | | |Nueva Vizcaya, and Isabela. | | | 101 |1875 III 9 3 30 | VII |Very violent earthquake in Abra and the | | |Mountain Province. Destroyed some houses | | |and caused landslides on the mountain | | |sides, ruining rice terraces. It was | | |preceded by feeble shocks and followed by | | |many repetitions until the 14th. | | | 102 |1876 V 19 11 30 |VIII |An earthquake which displayed destructive | | |force in the Camarines. Considerable | | |damage resulted to many buildings in Daet, | | |Nueva Caceres, Iriga, Buhi, and some other | | |towns. The duration of this earthquake was | | |quite unusual. Many repetitions were felt | | |during the following five days. | | | 103 |1877 VI 2 11 6 | VI |Very strong earthquake throughout central | | |Luzon. The meizoseismal area comprised | | |the northern and east-northeastern part | | |of Pangasinan Province. The shocks had | | |still considerable force on the southern | | |and northern coast of Luzon, at distances | | |of about 300 kilometers. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 104 |1877 VI 24 7 -- | VII |Very violent earthquake in Batangas and | | |Cavite Provinces, in the vicinity of Taal | | |Volcano. During the 5 hours immediately | | |preceding the quake, seven series of | | |violent shocks were felt. The earthquake | | |cracked many walls in the towns closest | | |to Lake Bombon. | | | 105 |1877 VII 5 12 7 | VII |Violent earthquake in Camarines, which did | | |no damage, but is remarkable on account of | | |its having been felt with considerable | | |force throughout a great part of Luzon and | | |the Visayas. It was followed by very many | | |aftershocks of variable intensity, 20 | | |having been recorded during the first 24 | | |hours following the earthquake. | | | 106 |1877 VII 23 16 24 | VII |Leyte Island. Very violent earthquake, | | |doing some harm in the northern part of | | |the island. | | | 107 |1878 VIII 13 12 14 | VI |Very strong earthquake of great extension. | | |Its epicenter was southwest of Luzon, near | | |the western coast of Cavite and Zambales | | |Provinces. It was felt intensely from | | |Mindoro to the Provinces of Union and | | |Isabela. | | | 108 |1878 IX 17 0 50 | VII |Violent earthquake to the west of the | | |Gulf of Davao, in the neighborhood of Apo | | |Volcano. Many buildings of Davao suffered | | |seriously. Repetitions were frequent | | |until the 22d. | | | 109 |1879 VII 1 2 38 | X |Surigao Peninsula. Destructive earthquake, | | |with disastrous results to buildings and | | |the topography of the region. Not a single | | |stone building remained inhabitable, | | |although some of them, like the church, | | |government house, and prison at Surigao, | | |were of most solid construction. Besides | | |the opening of innumerable fissures and | | |vast landslides on the coasts and in the | | |mountains, there occurred extensive | | |subsidences: several accurate observations | | |seem to prove that a great part of the | | |peninsula was depressed by about 2 feet. | | |In short, this earthquake was one of those | | |which produced the greatest changes of | | |topography experienced in the Philippines. | | |There followed other very strong quakes on | | |July 5, 24, and 28, and August 8, with | | |countless repetitions of less importance | | |during several months. From July 1 to 15 | | |occurred on the average 5 perceptible | | |shocks per day. | | | 110 |1879 VIII 29 6 -- | VI |District of Cotabato, Mindanao. Very | | |strong earthquake which closed a series of | | |quakes which had begun on the 10th of the | | |month. Of these, two felt on the 13th and | | |one on the 21st had been rather intense. | | | 111 |1879 IX 28 -- -- | VI |District of Davao, Mindanao. Very strong | | |earthquake followed by some repetitions. | | |On the 16th of the same month a somewhat | | |less intense earthquake had been felt in | | |the same region. | | | 112 |1879 X 14 9 -- | VII |Ilocos Norte. Very violent earthquake | | |which damaged buildings in the town of | | |Baccarra. | | | 113 |1879 XII 19 -- -- | VII |Ilocos Norte. Very violent earthquake | | |resulting in damaged buildings at Laoag | | |and other towns of the province. | | | 114 |1880 III 28 5 4 | VI |Very strong earthquake in eastern Panay | | |and the northwestern part of Negros | | |Island. | | | 115 |1880 VII 15 0 53 |VIII |Eastern part of Luzon. Destructive | | |earthquake in the Provinces of Tayabas | | |and Laguna. It damaged to some extent all | | |masonry structures, both public and | | |private, in the towns east of Lake Bay. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 116 |1880 VII 18 12 40 | IX |Central and southern Luzon. Destructive | | |earthquake affecting the Provinces of | | |Tayabas, Cavite, Laguna, Rizal, Bulacan, | | |Bataan, Pampanga, Tarlac, Nueva Ecija, and | | |Pangasinan. In Manila, as well as in the | | |towns of the provinces mentioned, the | | |earthquake did incalculable harm to | | |buildings, besides causing subsidences, | | |fissures, lateral displacements and | | |similar effects, especially in the | | |alluvial lands along the banks of the | | |Rivers Pasig, the Great and Little | | |Pampanga, and the Agno. | | | 117 |1880 VII 20 15 40 |VIII |Earthquake of destructive violence in the | | |towns surrounding Lake Bay, especially in | | |those south and west of the lake. | | | | | |Within the epicentral region of the three | | |preceding earthquakes, which measures | | |about 300 kilometers from north to south | | |and 200 kilometers from east to west, | | |severe damage was done to the principal | | |stone buildings, such as churches, | | |_conventos_, court-houses, schools, and a | | |few private houses, of 112 of the city | | |principal towns. In the of Manila some 30 | | |public buildings (administration | | |buildings, barracks, churches, | | |monasteries, and colleges) and about 200 | | |private houses of strong materials were | | |either wrecked or badly damaged. | | |Fortunately the number of victims was not | | |in proportion to the magnitude of the | | |disaster, neither in Manila nor in the | | |provinces. From the various reports | | |published at the time we conclude that | | |the number of killed did not exceed 20, | | |nor that of the injured 50. | | | 118 |1880 IX 23 22 30 | VI |Strong earthquake along the Zambales | | |coast, western Luzon. Frequent | | |repetitions until October 2d. | | | 119 |1881 VII 11 12 35 | VI |Very strong earthquake in southern Panay | | |and northwestern Negros. | | | 120 |1881 VII 27 16 30 | VII |Violent earthquake in the Province of | | |Nueva Vizcaya. This was the first violent | | |forerunner of the innumerable shocks which | | |during the months of August, September, | | |and October were to spread devastation and | | |terror throughout this province. | | | 121 |1881 IX 1 12 20 | IX |Destructive earthquake in Nueva Vizcaya. | | | 122 |1881 IX 18 4 55 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in Nueva Vizcaya. | | | 123 |1881 IX 18 22 40 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in Nueva Vizcaya. | | | 124 |1881 IX 20 14 25 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in Nueva Vizcaya. | | | | | |This memorable seismic period of Nueva | | |Vizcaya ended after October 15. During | | |August and September a missionary made a | | |list comprising over 150 distinct | | |earthquakes, without including countless | | |repetitions of smaller intensity. The | | |effects of these earthquakes were more | | |notable by the alterations in the | | |topography of the region than by the | | |damage done to buildings, as the latter | | |were of wood and thatched with cogon | | |grass. The inhabitants were | | |terror-stricken and the authorities had | | |to work hard to prevent a general exodus | | |from the country. | | | 125 |1882 IV 10 19 30 | VI |District of Cotabato, Mindanao. Violent | | |earthquake, preceded by subterraneous | | |rumblings and followed by frequent | | |repetitions. Already during March some | | |very strong shocks had preceded. | | | 126 |1882 X 10 16 57 | VII |Violent earthquake in Camarines Province | | |with several repetitions. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 127 |1882 XII 6 -- -- | VII |Very violent earthquake in the north of | | |Cebu Island and southern Masbate. | | | 128 |1883 II 10 3 28 | VII |Very violent earthquake in Nueva Vizcaya | | |and Benguet Provinces. It had been | | |preceded by a strong shock at 12h 20m of | | |the 6th. | | | 129 |1884 I 10 7 22 | VII |Very violent earthquake near the southern | | |coasts of Camarines Province, followed by | | |a strong quake on the 11th and by | | |numerous repetitions. | | | 130 |1884 VI 5 -- -- | VI |Very strong earthquake in the Province of | | |Misamis, northern Mindanao. Repeated with | | |the same intensity at 8h and 13h. | | | 131 |1884 X 29 4 10 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the whole south | | |and southeast of Luzon, chiefly in the | | |Provinces of Laguna, Tayabas, Camarines, | | |Albay, and Sorsogon; likewise on Masbate | | |Island. Many repetitions occurred until | | |the end of November. | | | 132 |1884 XII 24 5 -- | VI |Samar, Leyte, and northeast Mindanao. Very | | |strong earthquake, with very severe | | |repetitions on the 26th, 27th, and 28th. | | | 133 |1885 II 22 15 30 |VIII |East coast of Mindanao. Destructive | | |earthquake, which did extensive damage to | | |the churches and other buildings of stone | | |or wood and caused mighty fissures and | | |landslides in the mountains as well as in | | |the scarps of the Pacific coast. | | | 134 |1885 VII 23 22 45 | IX |Northwestern Mindanao. Destructive | | |earthquake which ruined several buildings | | |in the towns and villages of the Dapitan | | |district. The origin lay in the | | |east-northeastern part of the Sulu Sea. | | |The disturbance was felt strongly in | | |nearly all of the Visayan Islands, in | | |western Mindanao and the Sulu Archipelago. | | |Repetitions were frequent until the end of | | |October, those of July 31, September 9, | | |September 23, and October 25 being very | | |intense. | | | 135 |1885 IX 30 6 -- | VI |Northeastern Mindanao and southeastern | | |Leyte. Very strong earthquake, followed by | | |many repetitions. | | | 136 |1885 XI 19 21 31 | VII |Very violent earthquake in the Provinces | | |of Nueva Vizcaya, Isabela, and Benguet, | | |followed by strong repetitions on | | |December 8, 19, and 27. | | | 137 |1886 IV 10 8 -- | VI |Very strong earthquake in the southeast | | |of Panay and northwest of Negros Islands. | | | 138 |1887 II 2 23 -- | IX |Panay Island. Destructive earthquake, | | |causing notable damages, especially in | | |the towns of the Provinces of Iloilo and | | |Capiz. The two days following the | | |earthquake brought many aftershocks. | | | 139 |1887 III 24 21 14 |VIII |Camarines Province. Destructive earthquake | | |doing considerable harm in several towns | | |in the vicinity of Nueva Caceres. The 25th | | |witnessed a very intense repetition, while | | |lighter aftershocks were frequent until | | |the month of May. | | | 140 |1888 I 27 3 45 | VI |Very strong earthquake in eastern | | |Mindanao, which had its epicenter in the | | |Agusan River Valley. | | | 141 |1888 VIII 19 14 39 | VI |Northeastern Luzon. Very strong | | |earthquake, especially in the Provinces | | |of Cagayan and Isabela, followed by many | | |repetitions of varying intensity. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 142 |1889 I 1 10 20 | VII |Northeastern Mindanao. Violent earthquake | | |in the districts of Surigao and Butuan. | | |Repeated with equal force at 21h 40m of | | |the 12th, doing slight damage to buildings | | |in Surigao, Placer, and Gigaquit, and | | |opening numerous fissures in the ground. | | |Repetitions were very frequent throughout | | |the month, more than 100 having been | | |recorded until the 22d. | | | 143 |1889 II 5 15 53 |VIII |Western Mindanao. Destructive earthquake | | |whose origin lay south of Illana Bay. It | | |was felt with equal force at Zamboanga and | | |Cotabato, each at a distance of more than | | |100 kilometers from the epicenter, but did | | |no harm worth mentioning. | | | 144 |1889 V 26 2 23 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in the Province of | | |Batangas and northern Mindoro. It wrecked | | |the church at Ibaan and severely damaged | | |the church and other buildings in | | |Batangas, Bauang, Calapan, and several | | |other towns. | | | 145 |1889 X 6 11 10 | VII |Very violent earthquake throughout eastern | | |Mindanao, with epicenter in the valley of | | |the Agusan River. It was very perceptible | | |in every part of the island and on many of | | |the Visayas. | | | 146 |1890 II 7 0 10 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in northern Leyte | | |which split walls in Barugo, Carigara, and | | |other towns, and produced large fissures | | |in the lowlands along the coast. On the | | |7th and 8th occurred 2 strong and more | | |than 20 light repetitions. | | | 147 |1890 IV 13 14 4 | VI |Northern Luzon. Very strong earthquake in | | |Ilocos Norte and Sur, the Mountain | | |Province, Cagayan, and Isabela. A | | |repetition occurring at 20h developed the | | |same intensity. | | | 148 |1891 VI 25 20 10 | VII |Very violent earthquake in eastern | | |Mindanao whose center was in the Agusan | | |River Valley. Slightly damaged buildings | | |at Davao and Butuan, situated 100 | | |kilometers south and north, respectively, | | |of the focus. | | | 149 |1892 III 8 -- -- |VIII |Batanes Islands. Destructive earthquake. | | |All that is known of the effects is that | | |it wrecked some buildings at Santo Domingo | | |and other towns on Batan Island. | | | 150 |1892 III 16 20 58 | X |Disastrous earthquake in the Provinces of | | |Pangasinan, Union, and Benguet. It created | | |great havoc in the masonry buildings, such | | |as churches, _conventos_, court-houses, | | |and schools, besides a few private houses, | | |of 30 of the principal towns within the | | |meizoseismic area, produced great fissures | | |and extensive subsidences in the alluvial | | |plains, and many landslides in the steep | | |mountains of northern Pangasinan. Luckily | | |the falling buildings killed only one or | | |two persons. Repetitions were frequent up | | |to the end of the month; of these three | | |occurring on the 17th and one each on the | | |26th and 28th were of exceptional | | |intensity. | | | 151 |1892 III 17 0 34 | VII |Very violent earthquake in the region | | |mentioned under No. 150. Wrecked some | | |buildings damaged by the preceding. | | | 152 |1893 III 9 0 35 | VI |Central Luzon. Very strong earthquake in | | |the Provinces of Nueva Vizcaya, Benguet, | | |and Pangasinan. | | | 153 |1893 IV 12 13 48 | VI |Very strong earthquake in Camarines, | | |Albay, Sorsogon, Masbate, and northern | | |Samar. Its epicenter was close to Masbate | | |Island. | | | 154 |1893 VI 3 6 23 | VII |Violent earthquake in the whole western | | |part of Mindanao, proceeding from the | | |neighborhood of Illana Bay. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 155 |1893 VI 21 14 50 | X |Disastrous earthquake in the Agusan River | | |Valley. The fact that there was no general | | |destruction of buildings with heavy loss | | |of life is due solely to the circumstance | | |that the region affected contained only | | |structures of bamboo and nipa. The effects | | |of the convulsions on the topography of | | |the region give an idea of what the | | |consequences of the quake might have been | | |had it found another class of buildings. | | |There are indications that in the southern | | |part of the valley an area of many square | | |kilometers subsided to a considerable | | |extent. Repetitions were frequent | | |throughout an entire year. | | | 156 |1893 VII 1 4 8 | VII |Very violent earthquake in the valley of | | |the Agusan River. | | | 157 |1893 XII 24 0 24 | VI |Very strong earthquake in southeastern | | |Luzon, northern Samar, and Masbate. The | | |epicenter lay northeast of Masbate Island, | | |close to Capul Island, on which latter the | | |quake was violent. Repeated at 18h 2m of | | |the same day. | | | 158 |1894 II 10 0 42 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in southeastern | | |Mindanao, having its epicenter in the | | |region east of Davao Gulf. It produced | | |many fissures and displacements in the | | |mountains and cracked a few houses of wood | | |in the towns of Mati and Sigaboy. The | | |aftershocks continued on the 10th and | | |11th, occurring at intervals of about 5 | | |minutes. | | | 159 |1894 II 18 5 23 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the valley of | | |the Agusan River which was repeated with | | |the same intensity at 23h 58m of the 19th. | | | 160 |1894 IV 2 2 34 | VI |Very strong earthquake in central Luzon, | | |especially in Nueva Ecija, Pangasinan, and | | |Benguet. | | | 161 |1894 VI 29 2 57 |VIII |Agusan River Valley. Destructive | | |earthquake whose effects were similar to | | |those of the earthquake on June 21, 1893 | | |(No. 155). The aftershocks, which had been | | |felt ever since the latter disturbance, | | |increased in force and frequency. | | | 162 |1894 VI 30 5 50 | VII |Violent earthquake in Agusan River Valley. | | |Repeated with the same intensity at 20h | | |8m. | | | 163 |1895 V 14 6 42 | VII |Northern Mindoro. Very violent earthquake | | |which damaged considerably the church and | | |_convento_ at Calapan, these being the | | |only masonry buildings in the town. It was | | |repeated with great intensity at 23h 52m | | |of the same day and at 0h 3m of the 17th. | | |On the 14th more than 40 aftershocks of | | |variable intensity were counted. | | | 164 |1895 VI 7 21 56 | VII |Northern Mindoro. Very violent earthquake | | |which ruined part of the church at Calapan. | | |Severe repetitions occurred at 4h 0m and | | |6h 26m of the 8th. | | | 165 |1896 IX 13 12 58 | VII |Northwestern Luzon. Very violent | | |earthquake which damaged several buildings | | |in Laoag and other towns of Ilocos Norte. | | |Strong repetitions at 16h 45m and 17h 10m. | | | 166 |1897 I 18 2 35 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the Mountain | | |Province and the Provinces of Isabela and | | |Cagayan. Numerous aftershocks followed | | |during the day. | | | 167 |1897 II 16 5 4 | VII |Agusan River Valley. Violent earthquake | | |with daily aftershocks during the rest of | | |the month. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 168 |1897 IV 8 21 20 |VIII |Agusan River Valley. Destructive | | |earthquake. | | | 169 |1897 V 13 19 22 |VIII |Masbate Island. Destructive earthquake | | |which heavily damaged several buildings, | | |bridges, and wharves. A strong repetition | | |occurred at 14h 9m of the 15th. Weak | | |aftershocks were frequent until the 27th. | | | 170 |1897 VIII 15 20 17 |VIII |Ilocos Sur. Destructive earthquake with | | |epicentric area of 50 kilometers in length | | |and 20 kilometers in width. The towns | | |which suffered most were those between | | |Candon and Vigan. | | | 171 |1897 IX 21 3 10 | VII |Very violent earthquake in northwestern | | |Mindanao. It produced fissures in the | | |ground and slightly injured buildings in | | |the district of Dapitan. More than 36 | | |aftershocks of varying intensity were | | |recorded during the next 10 hours. | | | 172 |1897 IX 21 13 15 | IX |Disastrous earthquake in the district of | | |Zamboanga, Basilan, and Jolo Islands. It | | |wrought great destruction of buildings and | | |produced fissures, landslides, and similar | | |effects. A formidable "tsunami" (tidal | | |wave) claimed hundreds of victims on the | | |western shores of Basilan. This "tsunami" | | |was the most imposing recorded in the | | |seismological history of the Archipelago. | | |There followed innumerable aftershocks | | |during 18 months, 200 having been counted | | |before the middle of October, of which | | |those on September 22, 23, 24, 26, and 29, | | |and October 12 and 15 deserve special | | |mention on account of their great | | |intensity. | | | 173 |1897 X 8 5 0 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the district of | | |Davao. | | | 174 |1897 X 19 8 5 | IX |Northern Samar. Destructive earthquake | | |which damaged to a considerable extent | | |buildings in Sulat, Palapag, Catubic, | | |Oras, Gandara, and Laoang, towns near the | | |northern and northeastern coasts of the | | |island, and also produced vast fissures | | |and other notable effects which resulted | | |in the destruction of various bridges and | | |roads. | | | 175 |1897 X 19 15 15 |VIII |Northern Samar. Most violent earthquake, | | |with results similar to those of the | | |preceding, though less severe. Countless | | |aftershocks continued until the following | | |April, those of October 19, 20, and 21 | | |being the strongest. | | | 176 |1897 XI 14 8 59 | VII |Very violent earthquake, but of very | | |limited epicentral area, in Ilocos Sur, | | |northwestern Luzon. It wrecked the church | | |at Candon. | | | 177 |1898 I 30 19 15 | VII |Sulu Archipelago. Violent earthquake, | | |preceded by two of less severity at | | |18h 10m and 18h 36m. | | | 178 |1899 XII 26 4 20 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the Agusan River | | |Valley. | | | 179 |1900 VIII 14 4 14 | VI |Very strong earthquake in Masbate and | | |northern Cebu. | | | 180 |1901 IX 10 8 30 | VII |Very violent earthquake in eastern | | |Tayabas; damaged the church of Calauag and | | |other towns on the eastern shores of Lamon | | |Bay. Large fissures opened on the beach | | |and the water became very turbid; dead | | |fishes were likewise found. | | | 181 |1901 XII 15 6 58 | VII |Very violent earthquake in southern Luzon. | | |Some towns in Batangas Province suffered | | |slight damage. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 182 |1902 VII 12 21 47 | VI |Northeastern Mindanao. Very strong | | |earthquake with epicenter in Butuan Bay. | | |Two repetitions, which occurred on the | | |13th, showed little intensity. | | | 183 |1902 VIII 21 19 17 | X |Southwestern Mindanao. Destructive | | |earthquake in the Lanao and Cotabato | | |districts. It proceeded from the center | | |which lies in the northern part of Illana | | |Bay, and caused heavy damage to all the | | |buildings in the towns and in the Moro | | |villages and strongholds within the | | |meizoseismal region. The effects were | | |extraordinary on land as well as within | | |the bay; in the latter the telegraph | | |cables were found broken and buried by | | |débris. It is assumed as certain that | | |there were many lives lost in the Moro | | |forts, but their number is not known. The | | |aftershocks were so frequent that some 400 | | |could be counted within the first 8 days | | |after the disaster, some 10 or 12 of these | | |reaching force VI and VII. | | | 184 | 1902 VIII 26 1 9 | IX |Province of Iloilo, Panay. Destructive | | |earthquake which seriously damaged the | | |churches and other buildings in the towns | | |of Maasin, Calinog, and Janiuay. Many | | |fissures opened in the mountains and | | |extensive subsidences took place. The | | |disturbance was preceded by an | | |extraordinary noise, which was audible at | | |great distances from the epicentral | | |region. The reports do not mention a | | |single aftershock. | | | 185 |1902 XI 17 8 38 | VII |Southwestern Luzon. Very violent | | |earthquake in the Provinces of Batangas, | | |Cavite, Bataan and Zambales. The effects | | |were confined to slight damages to several | | |buildings in Batangas, Taal, and other | | |towns south and west of Taal Volcano. The | | |epicenter was near the coasts of | | |southwestern Luzon, where intense | | |subterranean noises were heard. The 7 | | |aftershocks which have been recorded were | | |of little intensity. | | | 186 |1903 V 24 6 11 | VI |Southeastern Mindanao. Very intense | | |earthquake, having its center to the | | |northwest of Davao Gulf. The shock was | | |perceptible throughout the island. | | | 187 |1903 XII 28 10 56 |VIII |Destructive earthquake in the region east | | |of Davao Gulf which damaged many houses in | | |Mati, Caraga, Sigaboy, etc. Large fissures | | |opened and several displacements occurred | | |in the limestone layers of the Pacific | | |coast near Caraga. A few aftershocks were | | |felt on the 29th and 30th. | | | 188 |1904 X 1 18 16 | VII |Very violent earthquake in the southern | | |part of the Agusan River Valley. | | | 189 |1904 X 9 2 39 | VII |Northern Luzon. Very violent earthquake | | |whose epicenter lay in the northern part | | |of the Mountain Province. Slight damage | | |was done in several towns of Ilocos Norte | | |and Cagayan, situated near the Central | | |Cordillera. | | | 190 |1905 XII 8 16 22 | VII |Very violent earthquake in southeastern | | |Luzon and the eastern Visayas. Its | | |epicenter lay underneath the sea, to | | |the south of Masbate Island. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 191 |1905 XII 11 2 12 |VIII |Agusan River Valley. Destructive | | |earthquake, which left its history written | | |on the topography of the region, but made | | |little impression upon the buildings, as | | |these were of bamboo and palm leaves. The | | |shock was well felt throughout Mindanao | | |and the eastern Visayas. | | | 192 |1906 VI 19 19 23 | VI |Batanes Islands. Violent earthquake | | |accompanied by subterranean noises. It | | |proceeded from a center situated south of | | |Balintang Channel, and showed likewise | | |considerable intensity in northern Luzon. | | |The 20th and 21st witnessed many | | |aftershocks. | | | 193 |1907 IV 19 5 0 | IX |Camarines Province. Destructive earthquake | | |which, within an area of 200 kilometers | | |in length and 60 in width, wrecked many | | |masonry buildings, produced great | | |fissures in the ground and landslides in | | |the mountains. Only two cases of death | | |and a few of injuries received have been | | |recorded. | | | 194 |1907 IV 19 7 53 | VII |Very violent earthquake in the same region | | |as the preceding. It completed the ruin of | | |some buildings weakened by its | | |predecessor. These two earthquakes were | | |followed by numerous aftershocks of | | |varying intensity until the month of July. | | | 195 |1907 V 20 15 49 |VIII |Southern Leyte. Very violent earthquake | | |with a very intense repetition at 16h | | |3m. The meizoseismic area had a diameter | | |of only 10 kilometers, determined by an | | |extinct volcano, Mount Cabalían, which is | | |situated in this part of the island. From | | |May 17 to 25 some 60 earthquakes of | | |various intensities were felt. No enhanced | | |activity was observed in the volcano, but | | |many fissures and great landslides were | | |produced on its slopes. | | | 196 |1907 V 25 23 52 |VIII |Northern Luzon. Very violent earthquake | | |whose center was in the northern part of | | |the Central Cordillera (Mountain | | |Province). It did considerable damage in | | |the Provinces of Ilocos Norte and Cagayan. | | |The central part of the epicentral region, | | |where the effects must have been more | | |severe, is inhabited exclusively by wild | | |tribes. No aftershocks have been recorded. | | | 197 |1907 XI 24 21 59 | IX |Camarines Province. Destructive earthquake | | |which ruined nearly all the masonry | | |buildings of the towns within an area of | | |some 30 kilometers in length and 20 in | | |width. Within this small region, composed | | |of recent alluvial soil and traversed by | | |the Quinali River, a great number of | | |fissures opened and various subsidences | | |took place. | | | 198 |1908 I 21 4 5 | VI |Western Leyte. Very strong earthquake | | |proceeding from a submarine center not | | |far from Ormoc Bay. It was followed by | | |two very intense aftershocks at 4h 30m and | | |7h 57m and many of less severity until | | |the 23d. | | | 199 |1908 III 5 10 20 | VI |Agusan River Valley. Very strong | | |earthquake. | | | 200 |1908 V 14 21 18 | VI |Very strong earthquake in western | | |Mindanao and the Sulu Archipelago. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 201 |1909 II 7 0 1 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the region | | |south of Butuan Bay. Its epicentral area | | |was very small, comprising only Butuan | | |and the towns close to the mouth of the | | |Agusan River. | | | 202 |1909 III 18 16 30 |VIII |Eastern Mindanao. Very violent earthquake | | |whose epicenter stretched in a narrow | | |belt along parallel 8° 12' latitude north | | |from the Agusan River to the Pacific | | |coast. It did severe damage to the church | | |and _convento_ of Bislig and in some | | |neighboring towns. | | | 203 |1909 IV 14 6 37 | VI |Very strong earthquake in the extreme | | |southeast of Luzon, having its center | | |underneath the sea to the south of | | |Catanduanes Island. | | | APPENDIX. EARTHQUAKES IN THE MARIANAS ISLANDS. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 1 |1825 IV -- -- -- |VIII |Destructive earthquake in the Marinas or | | |Ladrones group of islands. Ruined many | | |buildings at Agaña, Guam Island. | | | 2 |1834 V -- -- -- |VIII |Destructive earthquake on Guam Island. | | |Considerable havoc and great panic at | | |Agaña and in the other towns of the | | |island. | | | 3 |1849 I 25 14 56 | IX |Destructive earthquake. Laid in ruins all | | |the masonry buildings on the islands--the | | |church, _convento_, and college at Agaña, | | |the churches at Umata, Pago, and Agat, | | |together with a great number of houses. | | |Immense fissures opened in many places, | | |and an extraordinary commotion of short | | |duration was observed in the sea. There | | |followed countless aftershocks, some of | | |them very intense; from January 25 to | | |March 11 no fewer than 150 were actually | | |counted. | | | 4 |1862 VII 1 7 48 | VII |Violent earthquake. Did great damage to | | |the tile roofs at Agaña and in other towns | | |on the Island of Guam. | | | 5 |1863 XII 7 3 -- | VI |Guam. Violent earthquake causing great | | |alarm but little harm. | | | 6 |1866 VI 24 13 -- | VI |Guam. Very strong earthquake. | | | 7 |1870 V 13 15 27 | VI |Guam. Two very strong shocks at an | | |interval of 10 seconds. The fact that they | | |did no damage has been attributed to the | | |absence of horizontal movements. | | | 8 |1892 V 16 21 10 |VIII |Destructive earthquake which severely | | |damaged the masonry buildings in Agaña and | | |other towns, produced many fissures and | | |displacements on the coasts and in other | | |places. The sea retired suddenly, but no | | |devastating alternations of floods and | | |ebbs followed. The few aftershocks which | | |occurred during the two following days | | |were feeble. | | | 9 |1902 IX 22 11 15 | IX |Destructive earthquake which wrecked or | | |damaged very seriously all the buildings | | |at Agaña, Guam. Great fissures opened in | | |the ground and displacements occurred | | |which resulted in the destruction of | | |several bridges. Similar effects are | | |reported from Saipan Island. Personal | | |accidents were limited to a few injured. | | |Aftershocks were very numerous during the | | |first days after the earthquake. | | | 10 |1902 XII 24 7 15 | VI |Very strong earthquake lasting over a | | |minute. At this time the aftershocks of | | |the earthquake of September 22 were still | | |continuing. | | | 11 |1903 II 10 12 39 | VII |Guam. Violent earthquake which damaged to | | |some extent the government house at Agaña. | | |Two distinct series of shocks were | | |observed, having a total duration of more | | |than a minute. | | | ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ No. | Date. |Intensity. | | | Epicenter and effects. ----+--------------------+-----+------------------------------------------ | _Y. M. d. h. m._ | | 12 |1909 XII 10 9 0 |VIII |Guam. Destructive earthquake. Two shocks | | |lasting 20 seconds, of which the second | | |was the more severe. Direction of the | | |shocks SE-NW. In Agaña practically all the | | |east and west walls of native mortar | | |houses were badly cracked. In nearly every | | |house articles on shelves of these walls | | |were thrown down, while those on the north | | |and south sides remained in place. The | | |women's hospital, built of local mortar, | | |was so badly injured as to require tearing | | |down; its tiled roof slid off to westward | | |and the worst cracks were in the east | | |wall. Many ceiling boards in different | | |houses were shaken down. Several fissures | | |opened in the ground, from one of which, | | |near the river, came a large flow of | | |water. The river bed sank in several | | |places. The passing wave could be seen | | |distinctly as it crossed the plaza, and | | |the station ship in the harbor reported | | |having felt the shock. No damage of | | |importance was done in the other towns on | | |the island. The buildings of the cable | | |station at Sumay, constructed of | | |reinforced concrete, were not injured, but | | |a few objects were thrown down and the | | |steel water towers could be seen swaying. | | |No shocks were noticed before or after the | | |earthquake, nor was anything extraordinary | | |observed in the sea. The disturbance was | | |not felt at Yap, Western Carolines. No | | |information from the other islands. | | | [Illustration: (Map of the Philippine Islands)] [Illustration: EARTHQUAKE MAP OF THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS 1599-1909] * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 10: neihgboring replaced with neighboring | | Page 10: Iloílo replaced with Iloilo | | Page 11: Iloílo replaced with Iloilo | | Page 21: damage replaced with damaged | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * 
17985	----	[Transcriber's Note: Illustration descriptions in (parentheses) are provided by the transcriber.] * * * * * [Illustrated Cover with Text:] The new TOM SWIFT Jr. Adventures TOM SWIFT and The Visitor from Planet X By VICTOR APPLETON II [Spine Text:] Tom Swift and the Visitor from Planet X Victor Appleton II The new TOM SWIFT Jr. Adventures 17 Grosset & Dunlap 9117 [Dust Jacket text:] TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X By VICTOR APPLETON II Tom Swift Jr. and his associates at Swift Enterprises wait breathlessly for what may well be the most important scientific event in history--the arrival of the visitor from Planet X--a visitor in the form of energy. But there are factions at work determined to snatch the energy, which Tom has named Exman, from the young scientist-inventor's grasp. First, a series of unexplainable, devastating earthquakes threaten to destroy a good portion of the earth, and Tom suspects the Brungarian rebels who obviously would like to capture Exman and use the space visitor to further their own evil purposes. With the security of Enterprises and Exman at stake, Tom creates two of his greatest inventions--a Quakelizor to counteract the simulated earth tremors, and a container or "body" to house the energy from outer space. If the earthquakes cannot be stopped, the entire world will be threatened by destruction, and the Brungarian forces will conquer the earth. How Tom utilizes all his scientific knowledge to produce swift-action results and outwit the Brungarians makes one of the most exciting Tom Swift adventures to date. GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ New York 10, N.Y. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [Illustration: inside cover (Tom Swift in his lab)] * * * * * TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X * * * * * THE NEW TOM SWIFT JR. ADVENTURES BY VICTOR APPLETON II TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB TOM SWIFT AND HIS JETMARINE TOM SWIFT AND HIS ROCKET SHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ATOMIC EARTH BLASTER TOM SWIFT AND HIS OUTPOST IN SPACE TOM SWIFT AND HIS DIVING SEACOPTER TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF NUCLEAR FIRE TOM SWIFT ON THE PHANTOM SATELLITE TOM SWIFT AND HIS ULTRASONIC CYCLOPLANE TOM SWIFT AND HIS DEEP-SEA HYDRODOME TOM SWIFT IN THE RACE TO THE MOON TOM SWIFT AND HIS SPACE SOLARTRON TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRONIC RETROSCOPE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SPECTROMARINE SELECTOR TOM SWIFT AND THE COSMIC ASTRONAUTS TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X * * * * * [Frontispiece: _The raiders transferred Exman to the enemy sub_] * * * * * The New Tom Swift Jr. Adventures TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X BY VICTOR APPLETON II ILLUSTRATED BY GRAHAM KAYE Grosset & Dunlap New York Publishers [c] by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., 1961 All Rights Reserved Printed in the United States of America * * * * * CONTENTS Chapter Page 1 The Earthquake 1 2 The Mysterious Hitchhiker 11 3 Report from Interpol 18 4 Another Tremor! 30 5 Secret Cache 39 6 Brungarian Coup 46 7 Wall of Water! 55 8 A Suspect Talks 65 9 The Cave Monster 73 10 Energy from Planet X 83 11 An Electrical Christening 92 12 Exman Takes Orders 99 13 Disaster Strikes 106 14 Air-borne Hijackers 115 15 Kidnaped! 125 16 A Unique Experiment 137 17 An Urgent Warning 145 18 Earthquake Island 155 19 A Fiendish Machine 166 20 The Robot Spy's Story 177 CHAPTER I THE EARTHQUAKE "Tom, we're having a problem with the gyro-stabilizer," said Mark Faber, gray-haired president of the Faber Electronics Company. "Hope you can find out what's wrong." The eighteen-year-old inventor accepted the challenge with a smile. "I'll be glad to try, sir," he replied. Bud Barclay, a dark-haired young flier and Tom Swift Jr.'s closest friend, chuckled. "If anyone can get the bugs out of your new invention, genius boy here will do it!" The two boys followed Mr. Faber and his engineers to a wooden building which was tightly guarded. Inside, a secret rocket-telemetering device was mounted on its test stand. "As you know, Tom," Mr. Faber began, "the usual conditions of rocket flight will be--" He broke off with a gasp of astonishment as the whole building suddenly began to shake. "Good grief!" Bud exclaimed. "This isn't part of your testing routine, is it?" His question was drowned out by cries of alarm and the sound of cracking glass. The walls and roof were shuddering and creaking, and the concrete floor was heaving under their feet. [Illustration (earthquake in the lab)] "Look out! The test stand's breaking loose!" Tom warned. Mr. Faber and two of his men tried frantically to brace the heavy test stand which held the telemetering device. Another engineer rushed toward the door to see what was happening outside. Before he reached it, another shock knocked all of them off their feet. Electronic equipment cascaded from the wall shelves, and a heavy-duty chain hoist came loose from its overhead track, plunging to the floor with a terrifying crash. "An earthquake!" Tom gasped. Bud, meanwhile, clawed a handhold on a wire screen enclosing an air compressor and pulled himself to his feet. But the next moment a third, more violent tremor rocked the building, knocking him over. "The roof! It's caving in!" he heard someone scream. As his eyes flashed upward in panic, Bud caught a brief glimpse of the ponderous test stand with the priceless telemeter tilting to one side. An instant later it crashed over, pinning Mark Faber beneath it! Bud threw up his arms to protect himself, but too late! A falling beam caught him on the back of the head and the young flier blacked out. For minutes, no one stirred among the wreckage. Then Tom, who had been stunned by some falling debris, raised himself to a sitting position. "Good night!" Tom's eyes focused in horror on the wreckage enveloped by still-billowing dust. The sky was visible through several gaping holes in the roof, which was sagging dangerously on its supporting trusses. Only two thirds of the walls were still standing. Suddenly Tom stiffened in fear. "Bud!" The young inventor had just noticed his friend lying pinned beneath a heavy beam nearby. _Was he still breathing?_ Disregarding his own injuries, Tom hastily freed himself from the debris and groped his way to Bud's side. With a desperate heave, he shoved the beam away, then cradled Bud's head in his arm. His friend's eyelids flickered. "Are you all right?" Tom asked fearfully. The answer came in a groan. "O-oh!... Wow!... What hit me?" "You got conked by a falling timber. Or grazed, at least," Tom added thankfully. "If that beam had landed square on your noggin, even a rock-head like you couldn't have survived!" Bud managed to grin. "We grow 'em tough out in California where I come from!" he joked. Somewhat shakily, Bud got to his feet with Tom's assistance. Both boys were heartsick as they surveyed the damaged laboratory, wondering where to begin rescue operations. "It was a quake," Bud stated grimly. He had heard about the great San Francisco earthquake from his grandfather, and had no doubt about the nature of the tremors. Just then Tom glimpsed a body protruding from under the wreckage of the telemetering device. "Mr. Faber!" he gasped. The two boys scrambled through the clutter of debris toward the spot where the test stand had been erected. Bud seized a slender, steel I beam and managed to pry up the wreckage while Tom carefully extricated Mr. Faber. The scientist seemed to be badly injured. "We'd better not try to move him," Tom decided. "We'll get an ambulance." Of the four other company engineers, two were now stirring and partly conscious. The boys found a first-aid cabinet and gave what help they could to them and the other two men. Then Tom taped a bandage on Bud's scalp wound. "Let's see if we can find a telephone and call the local hospital," Tom said. "Right!" Bud responded. They picked their way through the wreckage and emerged on a scene of frightful destruction. The main plant building of Faber Electronics had been partially demolished by the quake. Power lines were down and an outlying storage shed was ablaze. Dazed and panic-stricken survivors were wandering around aimlessly or rushing about to assist the injured. "Good thing the main shift of workers knocked off before this happened," Bud observed with a shudder. "There would've been a lot more casualties." "Look!" Tom pointed to a huge crevasse. "Right where we landed our Whirling Duck!" The boys exchanged rueful glances as they realized that the craft which had brought them to Faber Electronics--one of Tom's unique helijets--had been swallowed up in the gaping chasm. "No use fussing about it now," Tom said. "Come on, Bud! Let's see about getting help for Mr. Faber!" Despite the chaotic confusion, the boys managed to locate the plant superintendent--a harried, middle-aged man named Simkins--who was doing his best to restore order. Simkins, who had not been injured, informed them that electricians were rigging an emergency telephone line in order to get through to the nearby town of Harkness. "Mr. Faber is badly injured," Tom said. "Why not send a car? It's only a few miles away, isn't it?" "I'll send the plant nurse to him," Simkins said. "As for going to town, take a look at the parking lot." He pointed with a jerk of his thumb. The cars on the lot had been smashed into junk by bricks from a collapsing wall of one of the buildings. "And the only truck we had available was in that burning shed," the superintendent added bitterly. "Tough break," Tom sympathized. "Anyhow, we want to help. Got a job for us?" Simkins was only too glad to put Tom's quick mind and keen technical know-how to use. Within minutes, Tom was in charge of clearing away rubble and extricating anyone who might be trapped inside the buildings. Bud organized a fire-fighting crew to keep the blaze in the shed from spreading. The telephone line was soon repaired and a steady stream of rescue vehicles began arriving from Harkness--fire trucks, three ambulances, and private cars driven by volunteers. Two hours later there was nothing more Tom and Bud could do at the disaster scene and they hitched a ride into Harkness. The town had suffered some damage, though only slight compared to the destruction at the plant. "The center of the quake was right under Faber Electronics," Tom remarked. From a pay telephone, he called Swift Enterprises in Shopton. This was the experimental station where he and his father developed their many amazing inventions. Tom asked the operator to send a helicopter immediately to pick them up. He also called home and spoke to his sister, Sandra. "What a relief!" Sandy gasped. "We heard a bulletin about the quake over the radio!" "Don't worry, Sis. Tell Mother and Dad that we're okay," Tom said. "We'll be home in a jiffy--with big appetites!" The helicopter arrived within twenty minutes at the place Tom had named. After landing at Enterprises, the boys drove to the pleasant, tree-shaded Swift home on the outskirts of town. Mrs. Swift, a slender, petite woman, tried not to show concern when she saw the boys, bruised and disheveled. "I'm so thankful you're both safe!" she murmured. Blond, blue-eyed Sandy, who was a year younger than Tom, had invited her friend Phyllis Newton to the house for dinner. Phyl, a pretty, dark-haired girl, was the daughter of Mr. Swift's long-time friend and business associate, "Uncle Ned" Newton. The two girls were as much upset as Tom's mother. Tom laughed. "We're not stretcher cases," he said. "Why, one of the ambulance doctors checked us out." Bud groaned. "Why did you have to go and spoil it?" he complained jokingly. "I was all set for Sandy's cool soothing touch on my fevered brow!" Mr. Swift came into the living room just then and told Tom how worried Mrs. Swift and Sandy had been. "I tried to assure them that you and Bud can take care of yourselves in any crisis." He smiled guiltily as he added, "But I must admit I was more than a little concerned myself." As Tom grinned, the resemblance between him and his father was very evident. Both had the same clean-cut features and deep-set blue eyes, although Tom Jr. was lankier and taller. After the two boys had showered and changed their clothes, Mrs. Swift served them a delicious, hot meal. While they ate, Mr. Swift managed after some difficulty to get a call through to the Harkness Hospital. His face was grave as he hung up. "Mark Faber is not expected to live," the elder inventor reported. "A pity. He's a great scientist." Tom nodded unhappily. Sandy, to take her brother's mind off the disaster, said, "Dad, tell Tom and Bud about the visitor who's coming." "A visitor?" Tom looked at his father. "From another planet," Mr. Swift revealed. Both boys were amazed and excited. "Wow!" Bud gasped. "Male or female? Human or animal?" Mr. Swift's eyes twinkled. "None of those," he replied as the boys stared, mystified. CHAPTER II THE MYSTERIOUS HITCHHIKER Tom and Bud were bursting with curiosity. Although the Swifts had been in radio contact with creatures from outer space for many months, this was the most exciting news yet! On one occasion, the unknown beings had moved a small asteroid--the phantom satellite Nestria--into orbit about the earth. Later they had sent strange samples of the animal life of their planet, aboard orbiting missiles, to be studied by the Swifts. They had also helped Tom, Bud, and Mr. Swift a number of times when their lives were at stake while on daring voyages beyond the earth. What was their latest intention? The telephone rang and Sandy went to answer it. "For Pete's sake, Dad," Tom pleaded, "don't keep us in suspense! Who or what is this visitor?" Mr. Swift smiled at the boys' baffled expressions. "The fact is that a message came through today that--" He was interrupted by Sandy who had come to the door. "The phone call's for you, Dad. Long distance from Washington." Bud groaned as Mr. Swift went off to take the call. "It's a conspiracy," Bud said. "Everyone's ganging up to keep us from finding out about that mysterious visitor!" Tom grinned. "We lasted through an earthquake this afternoon, pal," he said consolingly. "I guess we can last through a phone call." Inwardly Tom was as impatient as Bud about the exact nature of the message. Several months ago, the space creatures had sent their first communication in the form of mathematical symbols carved on a black missile which had landed on the grounds of Swift Enterprises. Tom and his father had decoded the symbols and beamed out a reply over a powerful radio transmitter. Later messages had been picked up by radio telescope and converted to appear as symbols on the oscilloscope screen. "Sandy must know what it's all about," Bud broke in. "She's the one who first mentioned the visitor." "Of course I know," Sandy said mysteriously. "So does Mother and so does Phyl. But don't think we're going to give it away!" she added teasingly. Tom and Bud cajoled the two girls and Mrs. Swift for further information. But Sandy and Phyl only shook their heads, obviously enjoying the situation. "At last we're getting back at them for the way they've neglected us!" Phyl said, her brown eyes sparkling with laughter. "Come on, Mother!" Tom said. "Be a sport. You tell us!" But Mrs. Swift too shook her head. "I'm sorry, Tom," she demurred gently, "but I think the girls are right. I'll say this much, though," she relented, "it will be the biggest challenge that Tom Swift Jr. and Sr. have ever faced!" "Whew!" Bud remarked as the two boys glanced at each other. "That must mean it's _plenty_ big news! It would have to be, skipper, to top all the other jobs you and your dad have taken on!" Conquering outer space, probing the ocean's secrets, drilling to the earth's core--these were only a few of Tom Swift's many exciting exploits. In his first adventure, Tom, in his Flying Lab, had gone to South America to fend off a gang of rebels seeking a valuable radioactive ore deposit. In his most recent challenge, Tom had defied the threats of Oriental killers determined to ferret out the secret of the Swifts' latest space research. As the two boys silently recalled the exciting events of the past months, Mr. Swift returned to the living room. Tom and Bud leaned forward in their chairs. "Well, boys," Mr. Swift said, "as I started to tell you, the space receiver picked up a message today from our unknown planetary friends. The message informed us that they are sending a visitor to earth--a visitor consisting of _pure energy!_" "_Energy?_" Tom was startled. "I don't get it, Dad!" "Frankly, I don't quite understand it myself," Tom Sr. confessed. "The message didn't explain how or in what form the energy would arrive. But, at any rate, they want us to construct some sort of container for it." The elder scientist paused thoughtfully. "In my opinion, the energy which they speak of must be a sort of invisible brain. The symbols were rather difficult to decode, but apparently our job will be to construct a device through which the energy will be able to receive impressions of what life is like here on earth, and also to communicate its own responses to us." Tom sat bolt upright. "Dad, this is terrific news!" he exclaimed. "If we're able to make this energy or 'brain' communicate, it may be able to tell _us_ what the space people are like!" Mr. Swift nodded, his own eyes blazing with as much excitement as Tom's were. Bud, too, was deeply impressed but could not resist quipping, "What sort of body will you give it? How about a beautiful, superintelligent space girl for me to date?" "Nothing doing!" Sandy retorted mischievously. "I insist on a handsome young man who'd have time to take two nice earth girls out on dates!" "Ouch!" Bud pretended to wince. "I really left myself wide open for that one!" Mrs. Swift put in, "Goodness, mightn't it get out of control and be rather overpowering? Suppose it went berserk!" "Rather an unpleasant possibility," Mr. Swift agreed, smiling wryly. "But I trust our space friends wouldn't let that happen." Both he and Tom became thoughtful as they discussed the problem. "The energy will arrive in two weeks," Mr. Swift added. "Unfortunately that phone call was a request that I go to Washington on urgent government business. So you may have to take over and work out a solution on your own, Tom." It was a sobering thought to the young inventor. "You were right, Mother. This is a terrific challenge." Soon afterward, the little gathering broke up. Bud, who had left his own convertible at the Swifts' that morning, offered to drop Phyl at her home. Tom awoke the next morning, refreshed by a good night's sleep. After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, he drove off to Enterprises in his low-slung silver sports car. "Think I'll listen to the news," Tom thought, and switched on his dashboard radio. A moment later the announcer's voice came over the loud-speaker. "Casualties from yesterday's disastrous earthquake now total thirty-one injured," the announcer reported. "Most of these are employees of the Faber Electronics plant and four are in critical condition. There is one note of cheer, however. At last report, Mark Faber, the brilliant president of the company, is now expected to recover." Tom gave a thankful sigh of relief. The announcer continued, "The nearby town of Harkness was only lightly damaged, but the plant itself was almost totally demolished. No estimate of the losses has been released, but will certainly run into millions of dollars, including some highly secret defense items which were being developed at the plant. Scientists are puzzled by the severity of the quake in what had been considered a 'dead' area." For the first time Tom, too, was struck by this curious aspect of the disaster. So far as he knew, no serious tremors had ever before been reported within hundreds of miles of the region. He was mulling over the matter as he drove along a lonely wooded area, not far from Lake Carlopa. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted as a man stepped out from among the trees ahead and gestured with his thumb for a ride. "Sorry, mister," Tom reflected, "but I've had trouble with hitchhikers before!" He shook his head to let the man know that he did not intend to stop. To the young inventor's amazement, the pedestrian deliberately stepped onto the road--squarely in the path of Tom's oncoming car! Tom jammed on the brakes, and the silver sports car screeched to a stop. Only a quick twist of the wheel had prevented an accident! Somewhat angrily, Tom exclaimed, "What's the big idea, mister? Don't you realize you might have been--" "Shut up!" the stranger snarled. In an instant the man had yanked open the door and climbed in beside Tom. "Take me inside the grounds of Swift Enterprises," he commanded in a foreign accent. "And no tricks or you will regret it!" CHAPTER III REPORT FROM INTERPOL Tom, astonished, stared at the stranger. "Who are you?" the young inventor demanded. "Never mind who I am. Just do as I say!" By this time Tom had recovered from his surprise and coolly sized up his enemy. The man was about thirty years old, with close-cropped black hair. Steely eyes glinted in a lean, hard-jawed face. Tom wondered, "_Should I risk a fight? Or is he armed?_" As if in answer, the stranger growled, "I gave you an order, my friend. Don't press your luck! Get going!" As he spoke, the man thrust one hand deep into his coat pocket, and Tom felt something hard poke against his ribs. The young inventor drove on, but proceeded slowly. He wanted time to think. Presently Swift Enterprises, enclosed by a high wall, came into view. Tom's brain was working fast. At last he decided on a ruse. He would head for the main gate, get out, and use his electronic key without waiting for the guard to admit him. At the same time, he would press a secret warning bell to alert the Swift security force. But the stranger seemed to read his thoughts. As Tom started to turn off toward the main gate, his passenger snapped, "Go to the private gate which you and your father use!" "And if I refuse?" Again the hard object poked into his ribs. "You will be what you call in this country a dead duck!" the stranger warned. "I will then let myself in with your key!" Tight-lipped, Tom drove on another half mile, then turned in at the private gate. The man got out with him as Tom walked up to the gate and beamed his electronic key at the hidden mechanism. Instantly the gate swung open, then closed again automatically after the car passed through. Tom parked in his usual spot. The stranger kept his hand in his pocket, still covering Tom but glancing around cautiously. The sprawling experimental station was a vast four-mile-square area with a cluster of gleaming modern laboratory buildings and workshops. In the distance, a tall glassed-in control tower overlooked Enterprises' long runways for jet planes. Suddenly the stranger stiffened. A paunchy, bowlegged figure, topped by a white Texas sombrero, was coming straight toward them. Tom's heart gave a leap of hope. The man was Chow Winkler, formerly a chuck-wagon cook and now head chef for the Swifts' expeditions. "Hi, boss!" Chow bellowed in his foghorn voice. As usual he was wearing a gaudy cowboy shirt. "Who's the new buckaroo?" the cook added, squinting at the stranger with open but friendly curiosity. "Why--actually I don't know his name yet, but he's looking for a job," Tom replied. Turning to the stranger, he added, "What _is_ your name, mister?" The stranger glared from Tom to Chow, as if not certain what to answer. Chow's eyes narrowed. He had detected something strange in the way Tom addressed the fellow as "mister," and had also noticed how the man kept one hand hidden in his pocket. Looking to Tom for a lead, Chow suddenly noticed the young inventor make a quick "thumbs down" gesture. "My name is..." The man's voice fell to a mumble, obscuring the syllables. "Frankly I am not yet sure I desire a job here, but being an engineer, I thought perhaps--" [Illustration (Tom and Chow fight the intruder)] The man's gaze switched back to Tom, and in that instant Chow jumped the intruder. With surprising agility for his rotund bulk, the cook bore down on him and let fly a gnarled fist at the stranger's jaw. Tom followed up like lightning, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking his hand out of his pocket. He was clutching a snub-nosed automatic. Tom twisted it from his grasp as the man landed, writhing on the hard ground. Chow quickly pinned his other arm and drove a knee into the man's solar plexus. "Jest lie quiet now, you varmint, or you may git yourself roughed up a bit," Chow warned, then added, "Who is he, Tom?" "Search me. He stopped my car on the road and forced me to drive him in through the private gate. Boy, was I ever glad to see you, old-timer!" Tom emptied out the clip of shells. Then he searched the stranger while Chow continued holding him down. The man carried no wallet, papers, or other means of identification. "Brand my tumbleweed salad," Chow grumbled, "he sure wasn't takin' no chances on people findin' out who he is! Which proves he's some sort o' crooked cowpoke! Honest ones ain't afeared o' showin' their own brand!" The man muttered something angrily in a foreign tongue. Chow merely pressed down harder with his knee. "What'll we do with him, boss?" "Let him up, Chow," Tom said. "Security should be here any second." Even as he spoke, Tom glimpsed a jeep speeding toward them in the distance. The young inventor knew what had happened. Since the stranger did not have the special electronic wrist amulet worn by all Swift employees, his presence had automatically shown up on the master radarscope. A security squad was coming to investigate. As Chow released the man, he got to his feet slowly. Then, without warning, he suddenly butted the cook square in the stomach. Chow was knocked sprawling! Before Tom could counter the surprise attack, the man's fist cracked against his cheekbone. Tom, though stunned, lashed out. More punches flew back and forth. Tom landed a stinging blow to his opponent's midriff, then took a punishing one himself. Suddenly Tom felt the stranger's hand clawing at his pocket for the key to the gate. With all his wiry strength, Tom locked his arms around the man and wrestled him to the ground. The stranger fought like a tiger. But a second later a jeep screeched to a stop. Three security guards, led by stocky Phil Radnor, leaped out. Within moments they had the man subdued. Tom quickly briefed the security men on what had happened. "All right, mister, start talking!" snapped Radnor, head security police officer. The man's only reply was a scowl of rage. "Okay, take him away till he cools off," Tom ordered. Disheveled and still panting, the man was bundled into the jeep and driven off to the security building. Tom arrived there by motor scooter several minutes later. Harlan Ames, the slim, dark-haired security chief of Enterprises, had taken charge of the case, and the prisoner was now being fingerprinted and photographed. "Any leads?" Tom inquired. Ames shook his head. "He won't talk and we've nothing on him in our files. His clothes have no tags or laundry marks, but I'd say they're of foreign make." Tom nodded. "He's definitely foreign. He spoke with an accent and he also muttered something at Chow--I didn't catch it, but it certainly wasn't in English." Ames frowned. "I don't like the looks of this, skipper. He may be a spy." "Have you notified the police?" Tom asked. "Right. Also the FBI. They're on the way right now to pick him up. Maybe they'll be able to worm something out of him." Tom spent the morning in routine work in the big double office which he shared with his father in Enterprises' main building. It was equipped with huge twin modern desks, deep-pile carpeting, and roomy leather chairs. Each of the two inventors had his own drawing board, designed to swing out from the wall at the press of a button. Small scale models of some of their most famous inventions were also placed about the office, including a red-and-silver replica of Tom's first rocket ship, the _Star Spear_; a blue plastic model of the jetmarine in which he had fought a band of undersea pirates; and also a gleaming silvery model of Tom's latest, unique space craft, the _Cosmic Sailer_. Because of his father's absence in Washington, the burden of administering the vast experimental station now fell on Tom's youthful shoulders. Telephone calls, letters, and other detailed work occupied him until noon. Chow broke in, bringing a lunch tray with milk, a hot chicken sandwich, and a chocolate eclair. Tom ate hungrily. "Kind o' peps up the ole supercharger, eh?" said Chow, lingering to chat. "Sure does," Tom agreed. "Wal, jest remember that, an' don't go missin' any meals--or sleep, either," Chow advised as he gathered up the tray. "A brainy young hombre like you needs plenty o' rest an' vitamins to keep from burnin' himself out." "I'll remember." Tom grinned affectionately as the leathery-faced old Texan took his leave. The Swifts had first met Chow when they were on an atomic research expedition in the Southwest. Chow had become so attached to Tom that he had returned to Shopton with the Swifts as a permanent employee. Soon after Chow left the office, the telephone rang. Tom took the call and had just finished talking with Harlan Ames when Bud came strolling in. "Any more news on that nut who jumped you this morning?" the young flier asked. "Ames told me about it." "Not yet, but there may be soon," Tom said. "Harlan just phoned and said he'd had a call from Washington, asking us to stand by the videophone at one-thirty sharp." Ames arrived in person shortly before the scheduled time. Moments later, a red signal flashed on the control board of the Swifts' private TV network. Tom flicked on the videophone and two men appeared on the screen. One was Blake, the Swifts' Washington, D.C., telecaster. He introduced the other man, a calm-faced, balding individual in a dark suit. "This is John Thurston of the Central Intelligence Agency, Tom," Blake said. "He thought it might be better to discuss this with you face to face." Tom, Bud, and Ames were also visible to the pair in Washington. "Glad to know you, sir," Tom said, and introduced his companions. "We've identified the man you captured this morning," Thurston began. "He's in the United States on a French passport under the name of Jacques Renard. But we've just learned from the International Police Organization that he's actually a Brungarian. His name is Samson Narko." Tom and Ames exchanged startled glances. In the past, certain Brungarian factions had been responsible for some of the most fiendish plots ever perpetrated against the Swifts. "Unfortunately, that's not all," Thurston went on. "Interpol believes that Narko is also a member of the same rebel outfit with whom you've had trouble before." Tom was dismayed by the news. "I sure thought that group had been smashed!" he said. Soon after Tom had balked their attempts to seize the satellite Nestria, the rebel ringleaders had reportedly been arrested and tried for treason. "It now appears," Thurston explained, "that only one segment was quelled. Other members of the antigovernment movement are active again and are said to be strongly organized." The CIA man related even more sinister news. It was suspected that a larger nation--by aiding the rebels--was planning a coup to take over Brungaria. They had already subverted various government agencies and were sending their own professors to staff the Brungarian technical schools. It was all part of their insidious fifth-column pattern. "Many top Brungarian officials have joined the plotters," Thurston added, "and it's now becoming very difficult for anyone to enter or leave the country." Ames asked for information on any rebel sympathizers known to be in the United States. Thurston was able to tell him very little. "We keep strict tabs, of course, on all Brungarians entering this country," Thurston explained. "But even though we screen them carefully, a rebel agent like Narko may slip in--usually on a stolen or faked passport." When the telecast ended, Tom, Bud, and Ames discussed the news grimly. "What if Narko has pals working with him?" Bud conjectured. "If he does," Tom said, "they may try carrying through Narko's mission." "I'll station extra guards around the outer wall on twenty-four-hour alert," Ames promised. Tom approved this measure wholeheartedly, but the purpose of Narko's secret mission remained a mystery. Why had he tried to force his way into Enterprises? What was he after? There was little hope of resolving these questions, since United States Intelligence had learned of the rebel movement itself only within the past few days. Thurston had asked Tom and his companions to treat the information as confidential. "I'd better get back to work," Tom decided after Bud and Ames had left his office. Tom sat down at his drawing board and began to sketch out some rough ideas for a vehicle to house the "brain energy" from space. Tom wondered if the brain would be able to perform actions by itself, given the proper mechanical output devices. Or would he have to help it function via an electronic computer to digest incoming information or stimuli and then to respond through servo controls? The problem was so baffling and complex that Tom became completely oblivious to the passage of time. He sketched out plan after plan, only to crumple and discard each one. Suddenly a disturbing thought jarred the young inventor out of his concentration. Perhaps the Brungarian rebel scientists had now figured out how to decode the radio messages from the Swifts' space friends! If so, when the brain energy was launched toward earth, they might try to divert it to their own receiving setup! CHAPTER IV ANOTHER TREMOR! Tom was appalled at this new danger. Shoving his drawing board back into its wall slot, the young inventor hurried to his desk and made a number of telephone calls. Within minutes, a group of five of his most trusted associates had assembled in Tom's office. First to arrive were Bud Barclay, Ames, and George Dilling, the Swifts' communications chief. They were joined moments later by Hank Sterling, the square-jawed chief engineer and trouble shooter of Enterprises, and Arvid Hanson. Hanson, a hulking six-footer, made all the delicate scale models of Tom Jr.'s and Tom Sr.'s inventions. He was not only an expert craftsman, but, like all the Swifts' key men, a trained aircraft and space pilot as well. "What's up, skipper?" Bud asked. "I guess you might call this a council of war," Tom replied. He divulged his fears that Brungarian scientists might hijack the brain energy to be sent from Planet X, home of the Swifts' unknown space friends. "Bud, you recall Mother's remark last night about the danger that this energy may prove overwhelmingly powerful," Tom went on. "Well, just suppose that our Brungarian pals fit it out in robot form, then turn it loose against us or our friends in other countries." Bud gave an awed whistle. "Boy, a thing like that might make even a powerful missile look like a toy!" Even if the brain energy proved too small to be harnessed for destructive purposes, Tom went on, it might turn out to possess superintelligence. Gifted with all the scientific know-how of the space people, it might be made to reveal those secrets to the Brungarians. "They might learn from it how to construct weapons or space craft powerful enough to conquer the free world!" Tom ended. His listeners were grim-faced at the thought. "I'd say that's a far worse danger than any chance of their coming up with a robot monster," Ames said. "Ditto!" Hanson agreed. "I think so too," Tom replied. "In any case, it's up to us to make sure the Brungarians don't switch that energy off course before it lands here." "Think their scientists are capable of such a stunt?" George Dilling inquired. Tom shrugged. "They're certainly far advanced in the fields of rocket guidance and telemetry. But actually we just don't know." Hank Sterling glanced hopefully at the young inventor. "Got any ideas, skipper?" he asked. Tom drummed a pencil on the table thoughtfully before replying. "Maybe our best bet is first to find out all we can about the lines of research on which they're concentrating. That might be the tip-off." After a thorough discussion, it was decided that Ames and Dilling would fly to Washington at once and talk to the FBI and Central Intelligence. Their job would be to garner and piece together every scrap of information on Brungarian scientists' accomplishments. "Let us know as soon as you get a general picture," Tom said. Ames and Dilling promised to do so, and the meeting broke up. Feeling somewhat reassured now that a definite plan of action had been decided upon, Tom resumed work on his sketches. Although both the problem and the solution were still hazy in his mind, a few ideas began to take shape. A radio antenna would certainly be needed, to receive or transmit signals at a distance. And repelatron units would give the brain a way to exert force when it wanted to act. These were devices which Tom had invented to produce a repulsion-force ray. He had used the principle in both air and space flight. A power plant might also be needed to generate additional energy in case the brain's own energy was very small. Lastly, there would have to be a control system for use either by the brain itself or by its human operators. After an hour of work at top speed, Tom was rather pleased with one rough sketch. He was mulling over the idea when Chow Winkler and Bud Barclay wandered into the office. Both were impressed when Tom explained the sketch. Chow stared at it, goggle-eyed at the thought of such a contraption "coming to life." "So that's the Ole Think Box, eh?" he muttered. Tom laughed. "Good name, Chow!" All three were startled as a voice suddenly broke in over the wall intercom. It was the operator on duty at the plant's communication center. "Turn on your TV, skipper," the operator suggested. "We've just had a news bulletin that an earthquake tremor has been felt over in Medfield. There's a big plant there that makes rocket nose cones. A mobile TV crew's been rushed to the scene in a helicopter and they're trying to pick up the action with a television camera." "Good night! Another quake?" Bud gasped. Tom had already rushed to the videophone. Flicking it on, he switched to a commercial channel. Soon a picture appeared on the screen. It was a panoramic shot of a landscape, evidently viewed from a hovering aircraft, with a large industrial plant just below. A TV commentator's voice was reporting developments. "Few visible signs of a tremor," he said. "As you can see, the rocket-plant personnel and the people of Medfield are making desperate attempts to evacuate. Fortunately, most of them have already left the immediate area." A few cars and trucks could still be seen speeding along the ribbonlike roads within view of the hovering television camera. "Oh--oh!" The commentator's voice broke in again. "Notice that tall stack just over the plant--see how it's starting to tremble!... It's beginning to crumble!... This must be it!" Suddenly the whole scene seemed to explode. Plant buildings collapsed like toy houses built of cards, while at the same time huge rocks and trees were uprooted as a yawning crack opened in the ground below. The three watchers in Tom's office stared in horrified dismay. But a moment later the picture on the TV screen became jerky and distorted, then faded out completely. After a brief interval, a studio announcer came on. "The relay transmitter must have been knocked out by the quake. We return you now to our regularly scheduled program, but will keep you informed as bulletins come in." "Great balls o' fire!" Chow gulped as Tom turned off the set. "I sure hope all o' those poor folks in cars got away safe!" Tom rushed to a wall shelf and pulled out a book on geology. He leafed quickly to a section dealing with known earthquake faults and the distribution of quakes. When he looked up at the others, his face was grim. "What's wrong, skipper?" Bud asked tensely. "That quake," Tom replied, "wasn't in a patterned zone any more than the Faber one was!" Chow's jaw dropped open in a comic look of dismay. "You mean this here ole earth we live on is gettin' all busted up an' twisted around inside?" "I wish I knew, Chow!" Tom paced worriedly about the office. "It just seems queer to me that both of those quakes should have destroyed vital defense factories!" On a sudden impulse, Tom snatched up the telephone. His two companions listened as he put through a call to the FBI in Washington. Within moments, a friend at the Bureau, Wes Norris, came on the line. "Look, Wes," Tom said, "is there any chance this quake that just happened at Medfield and the earlier one at Faber Electronics might have been caused by underground H-bomb blasts?" "As a matter of fact, we're checking on that very possibility," Norris replied. "In other words, sabotage. Things are pretty hot around here since that news on Medfield came in, so I can't talk much right now, Tom. But I can tell you this," Wes concluded, "we _are_ investigating, and I do mean thoroughly!" Bud and Chow were shocked when Tom reported his conversation with the FBI agent. "Brand my rattlesnake stew!" Chow exploded. "Any ornery varmint that'd cause an earthquake ought to be strung up like a hoss thief!" "I agree, Chow," Tom said. "But how do we find out for sure?" After closing time at the plant, Bud drove home with Tom. Both Mrs. Swift and Sandy were upset as the boys discussed the situation. "Tom, if this was deliberate," Mrs. Swift pointed out, "Enterprises may be next on the enemy's list!" Tom did his best to allay his mother's fears, but inwardly he himself felt apprehensive. Any large-scale sabotage plot would be almost certain to include Swift Enterprises, America's most daring and advanced research center. When his mother went upstairs to her room, Tom suggested to Bud that they drive to the nearby State Police post. Here he confided his fears to Captain Rock, an old friend of the Swifts. "You have some request in mind?" Captain Rock inquired. "How about making a search for any signs of suspicious digging or underground activity in the vicinity of Shopton?" Tom said. "There would have to be an excavation of some sort in order to set off an underground blast." Captain Rock mulled over Tom's suggestion. "Sounds like a big job, but I'm afraid you're right, Tom. We can't risk a similar disaster here." "We'd better move fast, too," Bud put in. "Those two quakes so far came only a day apart!" Rock picked up the telephone and barked out orders. Within half an hour, several carloads of troopers were covering the outlying roads that converged on Shopton. Firemen and Chief Slater's town police force were also pressed into action. They would search every cellar in town for signs of recent digging. Bud rode in one police car and Tom in another as a house-to-house search was conducted along the highway that ran past Enterprises. At one weather-beaten house, where Bud stopped with a state trooper, an old man came to the door. "What you fellers prowlin' around for?" he asked. "Bomb emergency," the trooper said laconically. "We have orders to search every house cellar for underground openings." Grumbling, the old man let them enter. He followed them down a rickety stairway. A moment later Bud stumbled and gave a yell. The trooper swung around just in time to see Bud drop from view! CHAPTER V SECRET CACHE As the trooper's flashlight stabbed through the cellar gloom at the spot where Bud had disappeared, there came a loud splash! The light showed a round hole in the floor, rimmed by a low circle of brickwork. "What's that hole?" the trooper snapped at the owner. "What does it look like?" the elderly man snapped back. "It's an old well." "A _well!_" the trooper exclaimed as he rushed to the spot. "And not even covered? What're you trying to do--kill people?" The old man sniffed. "Used to be covered, but the lid's gone. Didn't expect to have a bunch of nosy fellers pokin' around down here!" The state trooper muttered angrily under his breath as he shone his flashlight into the well-shaft. Bud was splashing around below, soaked and chagrined by his accident. "Give me a hand!" he called up. The trooper reached down, but was barely able to touch Bud's finger tips. To make matters worse, the sides of the well were slippery with moss. "Get a rope," the trooper ordered the old man. "Ain't got one." The policeman reddened and stood up to his full six-foot-two. "Look, mister--what's your name?" The elderly man shrank back, as if suspecting that the trooper's patience might have been tried too far. "Ben Smith," he mumbled. "Okay, Mr. Smith, you get a rope or something else to pull this boy out. And fast!" Ben Smith gulped on his chewing tobacco and hurried off. A minute or so later he returned with a length of clothesline. The trooper lowered it into the well and Bud was soon climbing out, looking like a drenched rat. "Sorry, son," Smith said apologetically. "Guess I should have warned ye." Bud chuckled good-naturedly. "It's all right," he said. "It was my own fault for not watching where I was going. Besides, you can't blame an American for not liking the idea of having his home searched." The old man chuckled too and flashed a wary eye at the trooper. "I'll go get ye a towel to dry off with," he told Bud. Meanwhile, Tom was investigating a house down the road with another state trooper. The owner, a paunchy unshaven bachelor named Pete Latty, and his seventeen-year-old nephew accompanied them to the basement. A naked light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, revealed an ancient furnace, and an accumulation of junk. Most of it was covered with dust, but Tom noticed a large packing crate that looked as if it had been freshly moved. He walked over and began to shove the heavy box aside. "What're you doing?" Latty asked gruffly. "I want to look underneath," Tom replied. A second later his eyes widened as he saw a trap door, evidently leading to a subcellar. Tom beckoned his partner over and showed his discovery. "Where does this lead to?" the trooper asked, turning back to Latty. "Just a little storage place," the owner replied with a shrug. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning. You'd better not go down there," he added hastily. "The steps ain't safe." "Just the same, we'll take a look," the trooper said. "Then do it at your own risk!" Latty snapped. The officer pulled up the trap door and Tom shone a light down. The shallow dirt-walled room below was about six feet square. On the floor, at the foot of a short rickety ladder, lay a large bundle wrapped in a tarpaulin. Tom descended the ladder cautiously and opened the tarpaulin to see what was inside. The contents made him gasp--a large, well-oiled collection of rifles and pistols! Looking up, Tom saw both the state trooper and Latty peering down at him--the trooper openmouthed with surprise, Latty scowling nervously. "Don't touch 'em!" Latty warned. "Some are loaded. I keep 'em hidden for safety, but sometimes my nephew Fred here and I have target practice." Just then Tom's keen eyes spotted a slip of paper tucked among the guns. He pulled it out. His heart gave a leap of excitement as he saw two words written on the paper--_Samson Narko!_ Hiding his amazement, Tom read the name aloud and added casually, "What's this? The make of one of the guns?" "Uh, yeah--that's right," the man replied. Without comment, Tom climbed out of the subcellar. As he bent down to drop the trap door, Tom flashed the officer a signal. Instantly the trooper grabbed Latty. "Hey! Why the rough stuff?" the prisoner exclaimed. Then, as he realized the officer was about to handcuff him, the man's face turned pasty white. He pulled free from the trooper's grasp and bolted toward the stairway. His nephew stood as if paralyzed at the sudden turn of events. [Illustration (Tom finds Latty's store of weapons)] Latty's attempt at flight was hopeless. Tom quickly brought him down with a flying tackle. Later, after Latty had been manacled, Tom helped him up. "In case you don't know it," the young inventory said coldly, "your friend Narko is in jail, so you may as well talk. What's the pitch?" Latty was trembling and still pale. "I--I d-didn't know there'd be any trouble with the cops or I'd never have done it," he quavered. "Narko offered me some dough to hide the guns. I needed money, so I took him up. That's all there was to it." "How long have you known this Narko?" Tom asked. "I met him a few days ago in a restaurant. Believe me, I'd never laid eyes on him before. And I wish I never had!" Latty added bitterly. The man's story had a ring of truth. "All right, Officer, let's take him in," Tom said. To the still-astounded Fred, he added, "We're sorry about this." Two hours later Tom and Bud sat in Chief Slater's office at Shopton police headquarters. Captain Rock and the Shopton fire chief were also on hand. "We've had troopers, detectives, and fire inspectors swarming all over Latty's place," Captain Rock reported. "They examined his house, the garage, two sheds out back, and every inch of the grounds. But there's no indication of any place where a bomb might have been planted to cause an underground explosion in Shopton." The fire chief nodded confirmation. "So that clue peters out," he said. With the waning of daylight, the other groups had finally abandoned their search of the Shopton area without turning up any information. "I'll notify the FBI immediately," Chief Slater said. Nevertheless, he promised that his men would continue their efforts the next day. "Even if we find nothing more, that arms cache was worth all the trouble," Slater added. "The country owes you a vote of thanks, Tom. A bunch of enemy agents could have hurt a lot of people with an arsenal like that!" "That's for sure," Captain Rock agreed. "It was a good day's haul, Tom." The two boys drove back to the Swift home and had a quick shower. Bud borrowed clean clothes from Tom. Then they sat down to enjoy a warmed-up but tasty supper, served by Sandy and Mrs. Swift. As they ate, the boys listened to music on the radio, interspersed with eager questions from Sandy about the bomb search. Suddenly the radio announcer broke in. "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important news bulletin!" CHAPTER VI BRUNGARIAN COUP Tom, Sandy, and Bud listened as the radio announcer continued: "Reports just in say that Brungaria has been taken over by a rebel group. Military aid to support the rebel coup is pouring in from Maurevia, Brungaria's powerful province in the north. The Brungarian prime minister, his cabinet, and all loyal administrative personnel have fled or been arrested. "Worried United States State Department officials admit that the surprise coup poses a new and dangerous threat to free-world security. Further news reports will be broadcast as soon as they reach this station," the announcer ended. For a moment Tom and Bud were too stunned to speak. Sandy was wide-eyed with the realization that the news spelled trouble for Swift Enterprises and all America. "Looks as though that CIA man who briefed us wasn't kidding, eh, skipper?" Bud muttered at last. "It came sooner than he expected!" Tom said. Jumping up from the table, Tom switched off the radio and hurried to the hall telephone. In a few moments he managed to get a long-distance call through to Wes Norris of the FBI. "Is the news on this Brungarian coup as bad as it sounds, Wes?" Tom inquired. "Worse! That rebel bunch really has it in for us, as you know, Tom," Norris replied. "They envy America and they'll move heaven and earth to steal our scientific secrets. This could touch off a whole epidemic of sabotage and other spy activity!" Tom's jaw clenched grimly. He then asked the FBI man his opinion about the discovery of the secret arms cache in Pete Latty's basement. Norris admitted he was puzzled. "It doesn't add up, Tom," the FBI agent said thoughtfully. "If our enemies were planning to destroy Shopton by a quake, why would anyone be needing a gun?" "I can't figure it myself, Wes--unless they were planning to raid and loot Enterprises after the place was thrown into disorder," Tom deduced. "What about Narko himself? Has he talked yet?" Norris replied that although he had not interviewed Narko himself, FBI agents who had grilled the spy had failed to elicit any information. "Here's something else, though, which might interest you," Norris went on. "We now have reports that at the time of the Harkness and Medfield disasters, seismographs recorded simultaneous quakes off the coast of Alaska near the Aleutian chain. Tremors were also felt off the southwest coast of South America." A new factor to consider! Tom frowned in puzzlement as he hung up the telephone after completing his talk with the FBI man. After Tom had repeated the conversation to his companions, Bud said, "You mean the H-bomb idea goes out the window?" Tom shrugged. "Wes says they've found no evidence to support the theory of man-produced underground blasts. It just doesn't jibe with those other remote tremors. They'd be too much of a coincidence, happening at the same time!" "Then the quakes at Harkness and Medfield were real earthquakes!" Sandy put in. "Looks that way," Tom admitted. "Those other tremors Wes mentioned follow a natural circum-Pacific belt which is well known to seismologists. I'm no expert, but perhaps they could have set off chain reactions below the earth's crust which triggered the two quakes in this part of the country." In that case, the young inventor reflected, it was only a freak of nature that the Faber and nose-cone factories had been wrecked by the shock. But in spite of the seismographic clues, Tom was not entirely convinced. A nagging doubt still buzzed in the back of his mind. The next morning Tom hurried off to his private glass-walled laboratory at Enterprises, eager to continue work on his container, or robot body, for the brain from space. Tom frowned as he studied the rough sketch he had drawn in his office the afternoon before. "This setup's full of bugs!" he muttered. Nevertheless, Tom decided, the basic idea was sound. Grabbing pencil and slide rule, he began to dash off page after page of diagrams and equations. "Chow down!" boomed a foghorn voice. Chow Winkler, wearing a white chef's hat, wheeled a lunch cart into the lab. "Oh... thanks." Tom scarcely looked up from his work as the cook set out an appetizing meal of Texas hash, milk, and deep-dish apple pie on the bench beside the young inventor's papers. Grumbling under his breath, Chow sauntered out. Tom went on working intently between mouthfuls. In another hour he finished a set of pilot drawings. Then he called Hank Sterling and Arvid Hanson and asked them to come to the laboratory. They listened with keen interest as Tom explained his latest creation. "No telling if it will work when the energy arrives from space," Tom said, "but I think everything tracks okay. Hank, get these plans blueprinted and assign an electronics group to the project. You'd better handle the hardware yourself." "Right." Hank rolled up the sketches. "And, Arv," Tom went on, "I'd like a scale model made to guide them on assembly. How soon can you have it?" Hanson promised the model for some time the next day, and the two men hurried off. As usual, Arv proved slightly better than his word. The expert modelmaker was devoted to his craft and as apt to forget the clock as Tom himself, when absorbed in a new project. By working on in his shop long after closing hours, Hanson had a desk-size model of the space-brain robot ready for Tom's inspection when the young inventor arrived at the plant early the following morning. "Wonderful, Arv!" Tom approved. "Every time I see one of your models of a new invention, I'm _sure_ it'll work!" Hanson grinned, pleased at the compliment. Tom hopped into a jeep and sped across the plant grounds to deliver the model to Hank Sterling and his project crew. Work was already well along on the electronic subassemblies and the strange-looking "body" was taking shape. That afternoon Ames and Dilling returned from Washington. The report they gave to Tom bore out his hunch that the rebel Brungarian scientists might well be able to divert the space energy. The next day was Friday. Tom was hoping, although none too optimistically, that the container might be completed before the week end. To his delight, an Enterprises pickup truck pulled up outside the laboratory later that afternoon and Hank rolled the queer-looking device inside. "Hi, buster!" Tom greeted it. "Is this your daddy?" Hank chuckled. "Don't look at me. It claims _you're_ its daddy. But hanged if I can see much resemblance!" "Think it'll live?" "If not," Hank replied, only half jokingly, "the boys who worked on it will sure be disappointed. No kidding, skipper, that's quite a gadget you dreamed up!" The device stood about shoulder-high, with a star-shaped head, one point of which could be opened. The head would contain the actual brain energy. Its upper body, cylindrical in shape and of gleaming chrome, housed the output units through which the brain would react, and also the controls. Antennas projecting out on either side gave the look of arms. Its "waist" was girdled with a ring of repelatron radiators for exerting a repulsion force when it wanted to move, by repelling itself away from nearby objects. Below the repelatrons was an hourglass-shaped power unit, housing a solar-charged battery. The power unit, in turn, was mounted on a pancake-shaped transportation unit. This unit was equipped with both casters and a sort of caterpillar-crawler arrangement for the contrivance to get about over obstacles. Inside was a gyro-stabilizer to keep the whole device upright. Tom felt a glow of pride--and eager impatience--as he inspected the device. If it worked as he hoped, this odd creature might one day provide earth scientists with a priceless store of information about intelligent life on Planet X! Bud and Chow, entering the laboratory soon after Hank Sterling had left, found Tom still engrossed in his thoughts. "Wow! Is this your spaceman?" Bud inquired. Tom nodded, then grinned at his callers' gaping expressions. Each was trying to imagine how the "thing" would look in action. "Sure is a queer-lookin' buckaroo!" Chow commented, when Tom finished explaining how it was supposed to work. On a sudden impulse, the old cowpoke took off his ten-gallon hat and plumped it on the creature. Then he removed his polka-dotted red bandanna and knotted it like a neckerchief just below the star head. Tom laughed heartily as Bud howled, "Ride 'em, spaceman!" Tom was eager to notify his mysterious space friends that the container was now ready to receive the brain energy. Bud went with him by jeep to the space-communications laboratory. Chow, however, stayed behind and stared in fascination at the odd-looking robot creature. The stout cook walked back and forth, eying the thing suspiciously from every angle. "Wonder what the critter eats?" he muttered. Feeling in his shirt pocket, Chow brought out a wad of his favorite bubble gum. Should he or shouldn't he? "Shucks, won't hurt to try," the old Texan decided. Chow unlocked the hinged point of the star head and popped the gum inside. He was somewhat disappointed when nothing happened. Feeling a trifle foolish, Chow finally removed his hat and bandanna from the creature and stumped off. Meanwhile, in the space-communications laboratory, Tom was pounding out a message on the keyboard of the electronic brain. Tom had invented this device for automatically coding and decoding messages between the Swifts and their space friends. It was connected to a powerful transmitting-and-receiving apparatus, served by a huge radio-telescope antenna mounted atop the communications building. Bud looked on as Tom signaled: TOM SWIFT TO SPACE FRIENDS. CONTAINER FOR ENERGY IS NOW READY. SHOULD IT BE PLACED OUTDOORS? Stirred by a worrisome afterthought, Tom added: MESSAGES MAY BE INTERCEPTED BY ENEMY WHO WISHES TO STEAL ENERGY. SUGGEST YOU USE FLIGHT PATH TO LAND EXACTLY TWO MILES WEST OF FIRST CONTACT WITH US. "By 'first contact,' you mean when that black missile landed at Enterprises?" Bud asked. Tom nodded. At that time, he reminded Bud, the Brungarians and their conquerors had not yet learned of the Swifts' communication from another planet. Hence they would have no idea of the site referred to--which would hamper any plans to kidnap the brain energy. "I get it," Bud said. "Smart idea, pal!" Tensely the two boys waited for a reply from outer space. CHAPTER VII WALL OF WATER! Minutes went by before the signal bell rang on the electronic brain. Both Tom and Bud dashed over to the machine as it began to spell out the incoming message on tape: ENERGY WILL COME TO THE SPOT YOU SUGGESTED. WE CAN CONTROL FLIGHT COURSE BUT WHILE THE ENERGY IS ON EARTH YOU WILL BE IN CHARGE. WE WILL HAVE NO CONTROL FOR TWENTY-ONE DAYS. THEN WE WILL RECALL ENERGY TO BRING US IMPRESSIONS AND DATA OF YOUR WORLD. The two boys stared at each other excitedly as the transmission ended. "Wow!" Bud murmured. "If Planet X is a peaceful place, Ole Think Box is sure in for a jolt here on earth!" Tom grinned fleetingly at the reference to Chow's nickname for the robot creature. Then he became serious, knowing that Bud's words were all too true. The space visitor might also take back impressions of the suffering and warlike threats that some earth countries inflict on one another. Maybe one day, Tom reflected, it would be different. In the meantime, the young inventor realized he had an awesome responsibility. He must not only make the best use of the brain energy during its stay on earth, but also keep it from falling into the hands of treacherous Brungarian plotters. Tom's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of girls' voices. Sandy and Phyl were standing in the doorway of the space-communications laboratory. "Talk about deep thinkers!" Sandy said teasingly. "Goodness, we had no idea we'd be interrupting a session of the brain trust," Phyl added with a mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes. "Maybe we should go away again, Sandy!" "Hey! Hold it, you two!" Bud exclaimed. "What do you think, Tom--are these the visitors we've been expecting from outer space?" "Well! I like that!" Sandy pouted. "Do we look like a couple of little green people?" Tom chuckled and seized the opportunity to do a little teasing of his own. "I think it's just your pointed heads that fooled us, Sis." Then, as the two girls broke down in laughter, he added, "Why the unexpected visit?" Sandy and Phyl explained that they had come to invite the boys to a picnic cruise on Lake Carlopa the next day. "And while we're here, since it's practically quitting time anyhow," Sandy went on, her blue eyes twinkling, "we might even let you drive us some place for dinner." "Guess they've trapped us, Bud," Tom said with a grin. "Okay, it's a deal. But first we have something to show you." He took the girls to his laboratory to show them the robot creature. "It's marvelous!" Sandy exclaimed, and Phyl agreed. Early the next morning Bud called for Tom and Sandy in his tomato-red convertible. Then they stopped at the Newtons' house to pick up Phyl. Each girl had packed a picnic basket for the day's sail. "Hmm. Looks as though we're going to be well fed," Bud commented jokingly. "What's on the menu, girls?" "Chicken and ham sandwiches..." Sandy began. "Pickles, olives, hard-boiled eggs, potato salad..." Phyl went on. "Chocolate cake, milk..." Sandy took up the list. "Stop! You have us hungry as bears already!" Tom warned. "Right!" Bud agreed. "Come on! Let's get this cruise under way!" The two couples drove to the Shopton Yacht Club dock on Lake Carlopa. There they boarded the _Sunspot_, a beautiful thirty-foot sailing ketch with auxiliary engine which Mr. Swift and Mr. Newton had purchased for a frequently promised but not yet realized joint family vacation. The craft was equipped with twin gravitex stabilizers, mounted one on each side of the hull. These gave it amazing smoothness even when plowing through rough seas. They were adaptations of a device Tom had invented for his space kite and _Cosmic Sailer_. "Oh, what a gorgeous day for a sail!" Phyl said, aglow with enthusiasm. The sky was a cloudless blue. Under a hot summer sun, a brisk breeze was ruffling the lake into tiny whitecaps. The two couples cast off eagerly and were soon scudding out across the water under full sail. Tom and Bud wore swimming trunks under their slacks. Unfortunately the girls had forgotten to bring their suits. When the _Sunspot_ reached the center of the lake, the boys hove to, stripped down to their trunks, and dived overboard. Meanwhile, the girls sun-bathed on deck. Soon it was time for the picnic lunch, and all four ate with healthy young appetites. "Jeepers!" Sandy whispered to Phyl with a giggle. "After a feast like this, we'll have to go on a diet!" "Don't say it," Phyl warned, "or Tom and Bud will use that as an excuse for never taking us out ag--" She broke off with a gasp. "What's wrong?" Tom asked. Breathless with fright, Phyl pointed off to starboard. The others paled. An enormous wave was sweeping across the lake, straight toward the ketch! "Jumpin' jets!" Bud gulped. "It's like a tidal wave!" The boat was already rocking under the swells that preceded the oncoming huge breaker. "Quick!" Tom yelled. "Grab life jackets while I start the engine!" The four leaped into action. Every instant the terrifying wave rushed closer! By now it was a twelve-foot wall of water! Tom and the others had just put on the jackets and the engine had barely gunned into life when disaster struck. The mammoth wave swept up the _Sunspot_ and heeled it far over into the trough like a toy bark. The next instant a cataract of water poured over the deck with stunning force! "We're going under!" Phyl screamed. All four were swept overboard in the maelstrom! Under the smashing impact of the water, the ketch's mainmast bent and groaned. A moment later came a crack like a gunshot. The mast broke off, hung teetering by shreds, then toppled into the water. As it fell, the mast struck Sandy a grazing blow on the head! "Sandy!" Bud cried fearfully as he struggled in the swirling torrent. Calling on every ounce of strength, he swam with powerful strokes toward the girl. Sandy was dazed and limp. Bud's husky arm circled her tightly. Then he began to fight his way toward shore. Tom and Phyl--each struggling in the turbulent water--could only breathe a prayer of thanks as they watched the rescue. [Illustration (a huge wave capsizes the Sunspot)] As the huge wave raced shoreward, the lake water gradually became calmer in its wake. Tom was able to assist Phyl, and Sandy by now had recovered her faculties. The _Sunspot_ had capsized but could still be seen afloat, some distance away. Rather than swim to it and cling to the hulk in the hope that a rescue boat would arrive, the four decided to continue on toward shore. They knew that the aftermath of the tidal wave would keep all shore facilities in an uproar for hours to come. As they neared the beach, the young people could see other overturned craft and heads bobbing in the water. A few daring persons finally began putting out in motorboats and rowboats to pick up the survivors. A hundred yards from shore, one of the boats took Tom's group aboard. Minutes later, they were scrambling out onto a dock. "Are you all right, Sandy?" Bud asked, his arm still around her. "I--I think so," she gasped weakly, "but I must have swallowed half the lake!" "Take it easy, Sis!" Tom added, as Sandy swayed and shuddered from the shock of her recent ordeal. Gently he made Sandy lie down and pillowed her head on a folded tarpaulin provided by the sympathetic boatman. Phyl, though wan and white-faced, was in somewhat better shape. "Tom, we must get these girls home as soon as possible," Bud declared. This, however, was not easily accomplished. The tidal wave had caused devastation along the entire shore front. Many docks had been wrecked, boats splintered like matchsticks, and buildings along the water smashed. When Tom's group reached Bud's convertible, parked near the yacht club pier, they found the car completely waterlogged. Its electrical system gave not even a faint sputter or spark. "Oh, fine!" Bud groaned. "The crowning touch!" Eventually ambulances and private cars began to arrive to transport the injured. Tom, Bud, and the two girls were given a lift to the Swift home where Sandy and Phyl were immediately put to bed by a worried Mrs. Swift. Downstairs, Tom switched on the TV set. A mobile camera crew from the local station was scanning the water front and interviewing witnesses of the disaster. To the two boys, the most interesting note came in a statement by the announcer that a very slight earth tremor had been felt in Shopton. "But no damage occurred except along the water front," the announcer explained. Tom gave a snort of anger, jumped up from his chair, and began pacing about the living room. "Bud, I feel sure that wall of water was caused by a minor earthquake!" the young inventor declared. "What's more, I'll bet it was _man-made!_" Bud stared at his friend, appalled but feeling a hot surge of anger himself. "If you're right, pal, it's the most fiendish sabotage I've ever heard of! Think of all the lives that were endangered!" Tom nodded grimly. "I _am_ thinking!" Both boys jerked around to look at the TV set again as a studio announcer's voice suddenly broke into the telecast: "Flash! A severe quake has occurred at the headquarters of the American Archives Foundation, a hundred miles from Shopton. The Foundation's buildings, containing many priceless government and scientific documents, were badly damaged, and an underground microfilm vault was utterly destroyed. Apparently this quake was part of the tremor felt here at Shopton." Within minutes the Swifts' home phone began jangling constantly. Some calls were from friends, others from strangers. Many of the calls were routed through from the Enterprises switchboard. One was from Dan Perkins of the _Shopton Bulletin_. "What about it, Tom?" the editor demanded. "I guess you know by now the public's aroused and in a state of near panic over all these quakes. What they all want to know is this: are you, Tom Swift, going to find a way to stop all this destruction?" Tom's jaw jutted out angrily. "Yes, I am!" he snapped. "And you can quote me on that!" CHAPTER VIII A SUSPECT TALKS The next morning Tom was up at the crack of dawn, grimly determined to find an answer to the earthquake menace. He ate a hasty breakfast, then drove to his private laboratory at Enterprises. He instructed the switchboard operator to shut off all incoming calls, then plunged into a study of the mystifying problem. Earthquake activity, Tom knew, tends to occur in circular patterns, like bands around the earth--for instance, the circum-Pacific belt, and another belt extending eastward from the Mediterranean through Asia and on into the East Indies. Often these quake lines are visible as breaks or ruptures along the ground surface, called _fault traces_. No doubt, Tom thought, there were many more uncharted ones. Could an enemy scientist be making use of these earth faults to produce a man-made quake? Tom mulled over the disturbing idea. "How would I tackle the job myself, if I had to undertake such a project for national defense?" the young inventor mused. He felt a growing sense of excitement as an idea began to take shape in his mind. _What about an artificial shock wave!_ An hour later Bud Barclay walked into the laboratory and found Tom hunched over a jumbled pile of reference books on his workbench. "What cooks, skipper?" Bud asked. Tom looked up, his blue eyes blazing. "Bud, I think I may have the answer!" Tom got up from his stool and paced about the laboratory. "Suppose the Brungarian rebel scientists have invented some sort of shock-wave producer--a device for sending vibrations through the earth's crust or the mantle underneath." "Okay, suppose they have," Bud replied. Tom snatched up a piece of chalk and made some quick diagrams on a blackboard. "Just this, pal. Let's say they set up two or three stations around the world for sending out such waves in a definite direction. Wherever the wave crosses an earth fault or another wave--_boom!_ An earthquake!" Bud stared. "No kidding, is that how those rats triggered off all these quakes?" "It must be," Tom declared. "It's the only possible explanation." "Good night!" Bud gasped weakly. "What a weapon! Just push a button every so often and you could blow up another country bit by bit--and no one could ever prove who was behind the attack!" Tom nodded. "Enough to make every American shiver, if he only knew!" "What can we do about it?" Bud asked. Tom resumed his worried pacing. "I'll have to invent a shock-wave deflector, Bud. It must be done in a hurry, too. Our enemy may start to destroy American cities as well as vital defense plants!" Immediately Tom put through an urgent call to an eminent scientist in Washington who was a member of the National Research Council. Quickly he outlined a plan. "Tom, I'll talk to the president's special science adviser at once," the man promised. "I'll try to set up a meeting for ten o'clock tomorrow morning at Enterprises." Feeling relieved, Tom left the plant with Bud. The two boys drove off to attend church with Mrs. Swift and Sandy. Then, after the Sunday midday meal, Tom returned to his laboratory to work on ideas for a shock-wave deflector. Bud and Sandy, meanwhile, drove to the Shopton Yacht Club to inspect the damage to the _Sunspot_. Tom had arranged with a salvage crew to tow the disabled ketch back to its slip. Monday morning, a sleek Air Force jet transport touched down at Swift Enterprises. Aboard were a select group of top government scientists. Tom and Bud greeted them as they disembarked on the runway, then drove them to a conference room in the Enterprises main building. "I'd say your theory is right, Tom, about the quakes being produced by artificial shock waves," said Bernt Ahlgren, a tall, hawk-faced man with a shock of red hair. He was a member of the Defense Department's Advanced Research Projects Agency. "But how do we stop them?" "I believe they can be damped out by opposing waves," Tom replied. "This is assuming that I can design the right sort of equipment to do the job--and also that we can set up a warning system to alert us of the enemy shock waves in time." The young inventor sketched out the sort of shock-wave deflector which he had in mind. The government experts were very much impressed. In the session that followed, the visiting scientists contributed many tips and suggestions. Tom noted them down gratefully. After a thorough discussion, it was agreed that the Defense Department would set up detectors at fifty check points around the country. Tom would choose the exact spots. Detection data from the check points would be fed to an electronic computer. The computer would establish the pattern, if any, of incoming enemy shock waves. Dr. Gregg Miles, a seismologist from the Bureau of Mines, agreed to take on the job of setting up the check points. "Thanks for your prompt co-operation," Tom said, smiling gratefully as the meeting broke up. "We should thank you, Tom, for coming up with a plan to cope with this fiendish threat," Ahlgren replied. The others heartily agreed. Shortly after lunch, Tom was hard at work in his laboratory when the telephone rang. It was Chief Slater at Shopton police headquarters. "You'd better get over here fast, Tom," Slater said. "Samson Narko is ready to talk!" Tom needed no urging. "Right, Chief!" As he drove into Shopton, Tom wondered what the Brungarian agent would reveal. Was it possible that he might tip off the whole secret behind the destructive man-made earthquakes? Chief Slater was waiting in his office. "Narko showed signs of cracking this morning," Slater told Tom, "so I notified the Central Intelligence Agency. They're flying a man up here--in fact he should be here by now. Narko won't talk till he arrives." "How come?" Tom asked. "Narko wants a bargain," Slater explained. "If the government will promise to deport him at once without trial, he'll spill what he knows." Tom whistled. "I sure wouldn't want to be in _his_ shoes when he gets back to Brungaria! His bosses aren't stupid. They'll know he must have made a deal to get off scot free!" Just then a taxi from the airport pulled up outside police headquarters, and the CIA official was ushered into Slater's office. He proved to be John Thurston. "Narko's waiting in his cell," Slater said, after an exchange of handshakes. "Let's hope he hasn't changed his mind." The Brungarian spy rose from his cot as the turnkey unlocked his cell door. "You are from Washington, eh?" Narko said to Thurston. "Very well. I presume the police have told you my offer. Is it a bargain?" Thurston was poker-faced. "You know the penalty for spying!" he snapped. "In your own country it would mean death. Why should we let you off?" Narko's calmness evaporated. Beads of sweat burst out on his forehead. "I have done no harm and I know little or nothing of my superiors' plans!" the spy said excitedly. "Why should I lie to you with my life at stake? After all, I am only an insignificant agent. But one important thing I do know--and this I will reveal if you promise to deport me at once!" Thurston eyed him coldly. "Very well," the CIA man decided. "You have my word." Narko sat down on his cot, breathing heavily. Then he looked up at the three Americans. "Your nation's capital, Washington, D.C., is going to be blown up!" the Brungarian asserted. His words struck like a bombshell. Chief Slater and John Thurston stared at Narko in open-mouthed astonishment. Then Slater scowled. "What a preposterous story! I suppose they're going to fly a plane over and drop an atom bomb--just like that!" He snapped his fingers. Thurston was also inclined to doubt Narko's story. Any such bold move by the Brungarians, he declared, would amount to an act of war. "It is the truth!" Narko shouted. "Do not forget--you have made a promise." Tom Swift did not share Chief Slater's and Thurston's skepticism. Narko's words had chilled him with dismay. He called the other two aside and gave them a quick whispered briefing on the theory he had discussed with the government scientists, asking them to keep it confidential. If the Brungarians indeed had a means of producing artificial shock waves, Tom pointed out, they could easily destroy Washington without the slightest risk to themselves. Both Thurston and Chief Slater were alarmed. Turning back to Narko, they grilled him for clues. But it seemed obvious that the Brungarian was telling all he knew--or, at any rate, all he intended to reveal. "We're wasting our time," Thurston said finally, with a look of disgust. "But I made a promise in the name of the United States government and the promise will be kept." Turning to Chief Slater, the CIA man added, "Turn him over to the FBI and have them take him to New York. I'll arrange for a seat on the first plane for Brungaria." Tom drove back thoughtfully to Enterprises. Bud was waiting in his laboratory with news. "Your dad went from Washington to Fearing Island and has gone up to your space outpost," Bud reported. "He has to do some experiments for the government project he's working on." The outpost was a space station which Tom Swift Jr. had built 22,300 miles above the earth. It was a production factory for his famous solar batteries, and also an immensely valuable setup for space research and exploration. "Think I'll radio Dad and let him know what's going on," Tom decided. "He may have some good suggestions. He usually does!" Tom warmed up his private transmitter-receiver and beamed out a code call through the automatic scrambler. Seconds later, the loud-speaker crackled in response. But just as the outpost operator's voice came through, the radio set exploded in Tom's face! CHAPTER IX THE CAVE MONSTER "Skipper!" Bud cried anxiously as Tom staggered back, his hands to his face. "I'm all right--no harm done," Tom assured his friend. Both boys were a bit shaken by the accident, nevertheless. Chow came rushing in as Bud was brushing the fragments of debris from Tom's clothes and examining the young inventor's face. "Brand my flyin' flapjacks, what happened?" Chow asked. The chef had been bringing a tray of fruit juice to the laboratory and had heard the explosion outside. "The radio set just blew up in my face," Tom explained. "Fortunately, the equipment was transistorized mostly with printed circuits. Otherwise," he added, "I might have been badly cut by slivers of glass from the exploding vacuum tubes." As it was, the young inventor had suffered only a few slight scratches and a bruise on the temple from a piece of the shattered housing. Bud swabbed Tom's injuries with antiseptic from the first-aid cabinet while Chow poured out glasses of grape juice. "What caused it, Tom?" Bud asked as they paused to sip the fruit drink. "Good question," Tom replied. "Frankly, I don't know." But he was wondering if the set might have been sabotaged. Tom was still eager to get in touch with his father and telephoned the electronics department to bring another set to his laboratory. Chow left just as the new set arrived. Tom hooked it up quickly, donned a set of goggles, and tuned to the space-station frequency. Then he picked up the microphone and stepped well back from the set, waving Bud out of range at the same time. "Tom Swift calling Outpost!... Come in, please!" A moment later came another explosion! _The new set had also blown up!_ "Good night!" Bud gasped in a stunned voice. "Don't tell me that's just a coincidence!" Tom shrugged. "We can certainly rule out the possibility that anything was wrong with the radio itself. Every set is checked before it leaves the electronics department." "So where does that leave us?" Bud persisted. Tom shook his head worriedly as he took off the goggles. "Both times it seemed to happen just as the reply was coming through from the space station. There is no possibility that their signal was too strong--in other words, that the explosion was caused by overloading the receiving circuits." "Are you implying that an enemy intercepted the message and sent some sort of ray that caused the set to explode?" Bud demanded. Tom's face showed clearly that Bud had pinpointed the suspicion in the young inventor's mind. "Could be." Bud was worried by this latest development. "Skipper, suppose I hop up to the space wheel and talk it over with your dad. He may be able to help us detect any enemy moves." "Good idea, pal," Tom agreed. "The sooner the better, I'd say." The boys exchanged a quick handshake and affectionate shoulder slaps. Then Bud hurried out to one of the Enterprises hangars to ready a helijet for the flight to Fearing Island. This was the Swifts' rocket base, just off the Atlantic coast. From there, Bud would board one of the regular cargo shuttle rockets operating between the space station and Fearing. Tom, meanwhile, plunged back to work on his shock-wave deflector. At ten the next morning he called in Hank Sterling and showed him a set of completed drawings. "Hank, you did a fast job on the container for the brain," Tom began apologetically, "but you'll really have to burn out a bearing on this one!" Hank grinned. "I'm geared to action. Say, what do we call it, anyhow?" he asked. Tom grinned. "Chow told me last night this gadget looked like a fireplug under a rose trellis and I ought to call it Fireplug Rose! But I've given it a more dignified name--the Quakelizor, which stands for an underground quake wave deflector." Briefly, Tom explained the various parts of his latest invention, which consisted of a hydrant-sized cylinder to be inserted into the ground, with magnetic coils near the top. A smaller hydraulic cylinder, mounted above this, was wired to a metal framework and radio transmitter. "This setup will detect any incoming enemy shock waves," Tom said. "We'll need fifty of 'em, so turn the job over to Swift Construction. And have Uncle Ned put on extra shifts." The Swift Construction Company, managed by Ned Newton, was the commercial division which mass-produced Tom Jr.'s and Tom Sr.'s inventions. Information from the detector-transmitters, Tom went on, would be fed into an electronic computer at the Bureau of Mines in Washington. The Quakelizor itself was housed in a massive cube-shaped casting with two large spheres mounted on top. From each of its four sides jutted a hydraulic piston. "How does it work, Tom?" Hank asked. "Dual-control spheres on top," Tom explained, "will receive by radio signal the pulse frequency computed in Washington." He added that inside each sphere was a "pulsemaker." This would produce changes in the pressure of the hydraulic fluid by affecting the kinetic energy of the fluid's atoms. The pressure changes would then be enormously magnified in the four hydraulic output drivers. When the unit was embedded in rock, underground, the huge pistons would send out counter shock waves through the earth's crust to neutralize the enemy waves. "Wow!" Hank Sterling was breathless at the sheer scope of the young scientist's newest invention. "I'll get hot on the job right away." After forty-eight hours of round-the-clock work, the equipment was ready. Tom conferred by telephone with both Dr. Miles in the Bureau of Mines and Bernt Ahlgren in the Pentagon. He had already chosen the spots for the detector-transmitter check points. Tom told the men that he believed the best spot for the Quakelizor itself was on a certain government reservation in Colorado. A deep underground cave there would provide a perfect site. "We'll be close enough to the San Andreas fault to prevent a really huge-scale disaster," Tom explained. "And the Rocky Mountain structure will give us a good bedrock medium for shooting out waves anywhere across the continent." Dr. Miles and Ahlgren agreed enthusiastically. Tom and the two scientists spoke over a three-way telephone hookup--with automatic scramblers to counter the danger of enemy monitors--laying plans to install the equipment. Ahlgren agreed to fly a technical crew out to the spot in Colorado which Tom had named. The next day, Tom, Hank, and several top Enterprises' engineers, including Art Wiltessa, took off in the _Sky Queen_. This was Tom's huge atomic-powered Flying Lab. The massive plane flew at supersonic speeds and was equipped with jet lifters for vertical take-off or hovering. A Whirling Duck heliplane, loaded with communications equipment, accompanied the _Sky Queen_. In little more than an hour, the two craft touched down in a rugged Colorado canyon. The government technical crew was already on hand. "Glad to know you," Tom said, shaking hands with the engineer in charge. He introduced his own men and added, "Better roll up your sleeves. This job is going to take plenty of oomph!" The parts of the Quakelizor were unloaded from the _Sky Queen_ onto dollies. Then the group, armed with bull's-eye lanterns, flashlights, and walkie-talkies, hauled the parts by tractor into the cave. "Okay. Now let's pick out the spot for embedding the unit," Tom said. The men had no sooner begun to look around the huge underground chamber when a fearsome growl rumbled through the cave. Everyone whirled about and the next instant froze in horror. A huge bear reared up in the mouth of the cave! The monster snarled and blinked its yellow eyes in the glare of lights. "We're trapped!" Hank cried out. The enormous bruin was now waving his huge head from side to side, as if daring the intruders to step up and fight. Several of the government men had brought rifles and shotguns. But in spite of their peril, no one wanted to shoot the handsome old fellow. "I'll send out an SOS," Tom said. "If help arrives before the bear attacks, we won't use guns." He radioed the local Forest Ranger post. After a nerve-racking wait, with the group expecting a charge from the beast at any minute, two rangers appeared and captured the bear with a net. One man of the government work crew knocked together a stout wooden cage. The beast, outraged, was loaded aboard the heliplane to be released in an area remote from the cave. [Illustration (Tom and Hank meet a bear in the cave)] Now the grueling job of installing the Quakelizor began. First the cave was cleared of debris, bats, and other small living creatures. Then a site was marked out on the cave floor. Tom had brought along a midget model of his great atomic earth blaster, which he had invented to drill for iron at the South Pole. With the blaster, Tom quickly drilled a pit of exact size into the bedrock. Then the Quakelizor was assembled and lowered into place by a portable crane. A power plant and radio antenna were set up and the installation was finally completed. "I must return to Shopton now," Tom said. "Art here will stick around and help you operate the setup," he told the government engineers after radio contact had been made with Washington. "If anything goes wrong, just flash word to Enterprises." The _Sky Queen_ and the heliplane sped back across the continent. As Tom landed at Enterprises he was greeted by Bud, who came speeding out on the airfield by jeep. "Just got back from the space wheel about an hour ago," Bud said. "Your dad's really worried about those exploding radio sets, Tom. He has no clues, but he's sure the scientists working for the Brungarian rebel setup are responsible. He thinks they may try to ruin all of Enterprises' communications system by remote control." Tom's face was grave as he listened. The two boys discussed the problem as they drove to the Swifts' office in the main building. "Boy, I sure wish I could think of some way to cope with it," Tom said wearily, flopping down in his desk chair. "Your dad said to give it the old college try," Bud reported. "And he also said he'd be back in two days to help you on the problem." Tom glanced at the calendar. "Which reminds me," he said, "on Monday the brain energy will be due from space!" The thought sent a thrill of excitement tinged with worry through the young inventor's mind. Would the container he had devised prove suitable? "Hey! A call on the videophone!" Bud pointed to the red light flashing on the control board. He jumped up and switched on the set. Blake, the Washington announcer, appeared on the screen. "Bad news, skipper," he said ominously. "An earthquake tremor was just felt here in Washington. It centered in a shipyard on the Potomac and caused great damage!" CHAPTER X ENERGY FROM PLANET X Tom and Bud listened in dismay as Blake reported all the details he had been able to gather. "Was my Quakelizor a flop, Bud?" Tom muttered, his shoulders drooping as the announcer signed off. "It must have been!" "Don't be silly! Snap out of it!" Bud gave his pal a cheerful poke in the ribs, hoping to buck him up. "You heard what Blake said--Washington itself was hardly touched. Without your setup, think of all the people that _might_ have been killed or injured! And all the government buildings that might have been wrecked, maybe even the White House. I'd say your shock-wave deflector must have been at least ninety per cent effective!" Tom brightened somewhat on hearing Bud's words. He picked up the phone, and placed a call to Dr. Miles at the Bureau of Mines. It was almost half an hour before the operator was able to get a line through. But Tom felt the suspense had been worth while when Dr. Miles exclaimed: "Tom, it was a miracle you completed the Quakelizor installation in time! In all probability it saved us from a major national disaster, perhaps worse than Pearl Harbor!" Tom felt a glow of pride and relief. "Thanks, sir. But what about the shipyard destruction?" he added, still not entirely convinced. "That was a bad break, Tom," Dr. Miles admitted. "Our detectors showed that the shock waves had been almost damped out when a sudden power failure occurred. It turned out that an overload had shorted the Quakelizor's power plant. The crew had it fixed within moments, but by that time the damage was done." Tom winced as he heard of the unfortunate accident, but was thankful the results had been no worse. Miles went on to say that he had just been conferring with Ahlgren at the Pentagon. The Defense Department now feared that attempts might be made against other large cities and was therefore eager to have Tom deliver several quake deflectors as soon as possible. These would be installed at strategic points around the country. "The government heads were so impressed with your invention, Tom," Dr. Miles added, "that they'll probably be walking the floor anxiously until the others arrive." Tom chuckled, then became serious. "Tell them we'll go to work right away," he informed the seismologist. "I'll have the new Quakelizors ready as soon as possible, but you'd better warn your associates it's bound to take a few days." As soon as the conversation was completed, Tom dialed Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company. Although he was actually not a relative of the Swifts, both Tom and Sandy had from childhood called him "Uncle Ned." "What's up, Tom?" he asked. Tom told him of the latest request from Washington and asked that another three-shift work schedule be set up to turn out the additional Quakelizors. "Hank and I will bring the blueprints over right away, if you don't mind being late to dinner," Tom said. Ned Newton agreed willingly, only too happy to help cope with the quake menace. By eight o'clock that evening, work on the project was proceeding at great speed. The Swift Construction Company continued humming with activity around the clock. The week end was almost over by the time Mr. Swift arrived back from the space station. Tom flew to Fearing Island to meet him. On the short hop back to Enterprises, they discussed the radio problem. "I think the solution's been staring us in the face, Dad, but we've been too worried to think of it," Tom said. "Remember Li Ching's jamming-wave generator?" He was referring to a device used recently by an Oriental foe of Tom and his father. Mr. Swift's eyes lighted up with a quick flash of understanding. "Dad, you wrote a report on the generator for the government with a memo on possible ways to combat it," Tom went on. "Maybe the same measures would work in this case." The Swifts had discovered that their enemy had been intercepting Tom's messages, thereby learning the frequency to which the Swifts' receiver was tuned. They then radiated a signal at this frequency, modulated at the frequency to which the local oscillator was set. This had caused a buildup of energy in the I.F. transformers, resulting in their explosion. Now Mr. Swift said, "You're right, son. We'll insert a blocking filter in the R.F. stage that should do the trick." Their minds relieved of this problem, the Swifts were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the brain energy from space the next day. The scheduled time, if pinpointed at exactly two weeks from the moment when the first message was received, would be half an hour past noon. The spot, two miles from Enterprises, was on a lonely hillside. It was shaded by trees, higher up the slope, with bushes and other wild-growing greenery softening its contours. Over the week end, Tom had had carpenters from Enterprises put up a small cabin at the foot. As twelve-thirty approached, Tom, Bud, Mr. Swift, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and several other Swift technicians stood by at the scene with the star-headed container. Chow had also begged to be on hand. "I jest got to see Ole Think Box come to life!" he said. Eyes darted back and forth from wrist watches to sky as the zero moment ticked closer. Bud even began muttering a countdown. "X minus three... X minus two... X minus one... This is it!" All eyes flashed skyward. _But nothing happened!_ Not a speck showed in the blue, cloudless sky. The watchers glanced at one another uncertainly. More minutes went by. Soon it was quarter to one... then one o'clock. "No mistake about the time, was there?" Arv asked. Mr. Swift shook his head. "Not if the code was translated correctly." He frowned. "It's true they spoke merely in terms of days. But their time references are usually very precise." The waiting group fidgeted and prowled back and forth to ease their tension. Feelings of suspense began changing into gloom after two more hours had passed with no sign from the sky. Disappointed but unable to wait any longer, the technical men went back to the plant, one by one. Hank Sterling, too, and Arv Hanson finally had to leave. "Sorry, skipper," Hank muttered. "Ring us right away if it shows up." "Sure, Hank." As six o'clock went by, Chow tried to pep up his companions' drooping spirits with a simple but tasty supper, warmed up on an electric hot plate in the cabin. "What do you think, skipper? Are we out of luck?" Bud asked as they ate. "Our space friends haven't let us down yet," Tom replied. "I'm sure they won't this time." Though he didn't say so aloud, Tom was worried that their Brungarian enemies might have managed to divert and capture the energy. Mr. Swift seemed to read Tom's thoughts. "Let's hope no hitch has occurred," he said quietly. The sun went down. Twilight slowly deepened. The trees on the hillside faded from view in the gathering darkness. "_There it is!_" Bud yelled suddenly. Electrified, the four sprang up in an instant. A speck of light was sailing across the sky! But their faces fell as it drew closer. "Only an airplane," Bud grumbled. At ten o'clock Mr. Swift gave a weary yawn. "The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak," he confessed. "I got only two hours of sleep on the space wheel, and apparently last night wasn't enough to catch up. Sorry, fellows." "Why don't you go home, Dad? Hit the hay," Tom said sympathetically. Promising to take a turn on watch if the vigil continued through the next day, Mr. Swift drove off in his car. Time dragged by slowly as the three remaining watchers chatted and looked hopefully at the stars. Eventually Chow propped himself against a tree and dropped off to sleep to the accompaniment of low-droning snores. Bud too began to drowse. It was long past midnight when Tom suddenly caught sight of a moving light in the sky. He stiffened and held his breath. Another false alarm? But no! A glowing, faintly bluish mass with a comet tail of luminous orange red was slowly proceeding through the pattern of stars! "Hey, fellows! Wake up!" Tom shouted. He sprang to his feet and unlatched a single point of the star head. Within seconds, Bud and Chow were both wide awake, as excited as Tom. The blue nebulous mass moved closer and closer. The three watchers were speechless with awe. As the ball of energy descended toward them, it lit up the whole scene. The hillside looked almost as if it were on fire. The earth vibrated, and the air had the sharp smell of ozone. This was followed by a frightening clatter and rumble. The force of the energy was sweeping down rocks, gravel, and shrubbery in a hillside avalanche! "Look out!" Chow shrieked. "We'll be pulverized in this rock stampede!" He streaked for cover as a huge boulder came plunging straight toward him. "Hold fast, Bud!" Tom cried. "Nothing's headed our way!" Steeling his nerves, he grabbed the waiting container and held on grimly. An instant later the glowing mass sharpened and narrowed itself into a snakelike bolt of fire that arced straight into the head of Tom's invention. Tom gave a yell of triumph and clamped the star point shut, then pushed a button to activate the self-sealing process. Chow peered out cautiously from behind a clump of rock. The next second, he let out a Texas whoop, bounded from cover like an over-sized gnome, and sent his ten-gallon hat sailing high into the air. "_Yippee!_" Bud cheered too. "The visitor from Planet X has arrived!" In their excitement and relief, the three hugged one another and jumped for joy. "Should we wake up your dad and tell him the good news--or keep it a surprise till morning?" Bud asked Tom. "I guess we'd better--" Tom broke off in a gasp as the robotlike container suddenly began to whirl--slowly at first, then faster and faster. Spinning crazily like a huge runaway top, it darted up, down, and about the hillside. Tom and his two companions stared in helpless amazement. "Great horned toads! What's it up to?" Chow exclaimed. "Seems like the energy's trying to get out!" Bud guessed. "Something must be bothering it." Tom shook his head incredulously. "No reason for that. The container was absolutely empty." Chow suddenly gave a groan and slapped his forehead in dismay. "Brand my Big Dipper!" the cook said. "Mebbe Ole Think Box has gone loco! An' it could be my fault!" CHAPTER XI AN ELECTRICAL CHRISTENING "What are you talking about, Chow?" Tom asked, turning to the old Westerner in amazement. Chow related how he had dropped the bubble gum inside the robot's head. "Did I ruin the critter?" he asked fearfully. Tom was thoughtful for a moment, frowning as they watched Ole Think Box continue its gyrations. The figure seemed to be calming down somewhat, although Tom could not be sure of this. Suddenly his face brightened. A new thought had just struck the young inventor! To Chow's amazement, Tom slapped the cook happily on the back. "I think you've done me a favor, Chow!" he exclaimed. "I have?" The old Texan stared at his young boss, as if not sure whether or not to believe him. "How come?" "You saw how Ole Think Box reacted to the gum," Tom explained. "That shows the energy really is like a brain! It's responsive and sensitive to conditions of its environment, especially when coming up against something new and unexpected." "You mean they don't have bubble gum on Planet X?" Chow asked with a grin. Tom smiled as Bud said, "This means we should be able to communicate with it." "And the brain will probably be able to communicate back to us!" Tom went on excitedly. "We may even be able to learn about Planet X!" As he spoke, Ole Think Box's whirling became slower and slower. Finally it came to rest close to the three humans. "What do you suppose happened to the gum?" Bud asked. "Did he chew it all up?" "It's probably unchanged," Tom replied. "Our visitor is used to it now." Chow was still wide-eyed with awe. He stared at the strange creature as if expecting it to snap at him in revenge for the gum. "Don't worry, old-timer. Think Box won't bite," Bud teased. "With that gum spree, he's just been initiated into our American tribal customs!" The pilot grinned. "Hey! We haven't given him a proper name." "You're right." Tom looked at his pal and chuckled. "Got any ideas?" "Hmm. Let me see." Bud scowled and paced about with his hands clasped behind his back. "Firetop--John Q. Pyro--" "But it ain't on fire now," Chow pointed out. "Maybe not, but he sure blazed a trail getting here," Bud argued. Tom and Chow countered with several ideas of their own, but nothing seemed suitable until Bud suddenly stopped short and snapped his fingers. "I have it! He's a visitor from Planet X, so let's call him _Exman!_" Bud spelled it out. "Perfect!" Tom was delighted and Chow agreed that it seemed "a right good monicker." The Texan insisted seriously that if the creature were going to be named, he should also have a proper christening. "Why not?" Tom agreed, as both boys broke into laughter. Bud also liked the idea. Chow had a troublesome afterthought. He shoved back his sombrero, squinted frowningly at the brain container, and scratched his bald head. "For boat christenings and statues and what not, you break bottles on 'em or cut ribbons or pull a sheet off 'em," the cook said. "But how in tarnation do you christen a buckaroo from space?" "Nothing to it, Chow," Tom assured him. "We'll do the job up nice and fancy with a display of electricity. But first let's get Exman over to the lab." The three loaded the energy container into the pickup truck which had brought it to the hillside spot. Then Tom drove back to Enterprises and they took Exman into his private laboratory. Here Tom attached an electrode to each side of the star head. One electrode was safely grounded, the other connected to a Tesla coil. Then, with all lights turned off in the laboratory, Tom threw a switch. Instantly a dazzling arc of electricity sputtered through the darkness across the creature's head! The eerie display lit up the room with such impressive effect that both Bud and Chow felt their spines tingle. "I christen you Exman!" Tom intoned. For several moments he allowed the fiery arc to continue playing about the star head. Then he opened the power switch and turned the room lights back on. "Wow! Quite a ceremony!" Bud murmured. "After a send-off like that, I'll be expectin' the critter to do great things here on this lil ole planet Earth!" Chow declared fervently. "You could be right," Tom said. Worn out by the long wait for their visitor from Planet X and the excitement following his arrival, Chow finally went off to his own quarters at Enterprises for a well-earned sleep. "Guess you and I had better get some shut-eye too, pal," Tom told Bud. "And I think I won't tell Dad until morning." [Illustration (Tom, Bud and Chow celebrate building Exman)] The two boys decided to bunk on cots in the small apartment adjoining Tom's laboratory. Exman, meanwhile, was left locked in the laboratory with a tiny "night light" showing on him. "Just a little ray of energy to keep him company," Tom explained with a chuckle. Minutes later, the two boys were sound asleep. For a while, all was silent. Then the apartment's telephone rang, shattering the stillness. Tom struggled out of the depths of sleep, got up, and groped his way over to the wall phone. "Tom Swift Jr. speaking." A familiar voice asked, "Did it come?" "Oh, hi, Dad!" Tom replied, yawning. "Yes, Exman arrived in fine shape. We've put him to bed. Tell you all about it tomorrow morning." "Okay, Tom." As Tom hung up, Bud roused and switched on a lamp. He had awakened in time to catch only part of Tom's words. "Your father?" he inquired. Tom nodded sleepily and was about to go back to bed. But Bud, still fascinated by the space visitor, decided to have a peek at Exman. He got up and opened the door to the laboratory. A yell from him brought Tom rushing to his side. "Hey! It's gone!" The spot by the night light where they had left Exman was now deserted! Tom found a wall switch and pressed it. As light from the overhead fluorescent tubes flooded the room, the boys gave laughing cries of relief. Ole Think Box had merely moved himself to another corner of the room! "Guess he didn't like that little chum we left on for him," Bud said with a chuckle. "Let's leave him where he is," Tom agreed. The two boys went back to the adjoining apartment and were soon asleep again. Several hours later they were rudely awakened by a loud crash of glass and a heavy thud. "Something's happening to Exman!" Tom cried. With Bud at his heels, the young inventor dashed into the laboratory. CHAPTER XII EXMAN TAKES ORDERS A strange sight greeted Tom's and Bud's eyes. In the first rays of sunlight, the space robot was moving back and forth about the laboratory in wild zigzag darts and lunges. As he rolled toward a bench or other object, the brain energy seemed to send out invisible waves that knocked things over! Already the floor was strewn with toppled lab stools, books, and broken test tubes. The heavy thud had apparently been caused by a falling file cabinet. "Stop him!" Bud yelped. Exman was heading straight for a plate-glass window! Reaching from floor to ceiling, the glass formed one entire wall of the laboratory. "Oh, no!" Tom tensed, realizing that it was hopeless to try to stop Exman in time. But an instant later, the rolling robot stopped of its own accord, as if registering the fact that its energy waves were now striking a fragile surface. The thick pane of glass vibrated in its frame. "Good grief!" Tom wiped his brow. "Let's corral that thing before he wrecks the whole lab!" Exman was already rolling off on a new tack. The two boys managed to grab him before more harm was done. The brain energy in its container seemed to calm under their touch. "What in the name of space science triggered it off?" Bud wondered out loud. "Time. It must have reacted to the passage of time," Tom conjectured. "I suppose it just decided to explore this place." He added a bit nervously, "The sooner we can communicate with this energy, the better!" "But how?" Bud asked. Tom's brow furrowed. "Say, I wonder if Exman might understand a direct order?" Tom backed a few paces away from the space robot, then said in a loud, clear voice, "Come here!" Exman remained fixed to its spot. "Move right!" No response. "Move left!" Still no response. "Guess you're not getting through, skipper," Bud commented with a grin. "No," Tom agreed. "I can't predict what kind of energy this brain will respond to. Being only energy, it must respond to other energy and sound is our form of energy. The problem is the same as with radio waves, which are also energy. We must figure out how we can vary the energy, so it can transmit information to Exman." "What _do_ we try?" Bud asked. "Or is it hopeless?" "I'll try communicating with it via the electronic brain, which I have adapted to fit this problem." The boys cleaned up the wreckage caused by Exman in his dawn venturings. Then Tom went by jeep to the computer laboratory, made connections to his electronic brain, and wired it for remote control. Then he returned to the private laboratory. There Bud watched as he hooked up the leads from the computer to a transmitting-receiving decoder with a short-range antenna. "Speak, O Master!" Bud said, imitating a squeaky robot voice. "Sound off loud and clear!" Tom grinned and tapped out a command on the keyboard: _Move backward._ Exman rolled backward! Bud gave a whoop of delight. Tom signaled: _Move forward._ Obediently Exman rolled toward him. _Stop._ Exman stopped. "Hey, how about that?" Bud exclaimed happily. "It really savvies those electronic brain impulses!" "And minds them--which is equally important," Tom added. A moment later the brain energy seemed to become impatient. It spurted off in its wheeled container toward a laboratory workbench. _Crash!_ A rack of test tubes went sailing to the floor with an explosion of tinkling glass. _Stop!_ Tom signaled frantically. Again Exman obeyed the order. "It's like a mischievous kid," Bud said. Almost as if in defiance, Exman scooted off in another direction. Then it stopped abruptly and swiveled around, one of its antenna arms knocking a Bunsen burner to the floor as it did so. _Come here!_ Tom signaled. As the culprit approached, he added sternly, _Stop where you are. And stay there until you receive further orders._ This time Exman stood patiently, awaiting the next signal. Bud got a brush and dustpan, and the boys cleaned up the broken test tubes and replaced the burner on its shelf. Then Tom began feeding more complicated instructions to Exman through the electronic brain. He guided him through a number of dancelike movements and other drills, and got him to send out a wave of heat which the boys could instantly feel. Tom was even able to make the robot aim its wave energy so as to short-circuit a switch on an electrical control panel. Tom was both pleased and excited. "Bud," he exclaimed, "the brain reacts as quickly as that of a highly intelligent being! Just imagine--without any sort of decoding equipment, it can pick up and _understand_ the radio signals I beam out to it!" "What we need now," Tom went on, "is a simple language to get our ideas across to Exman without having to use the electronic brain all the time. That means I must find a way to give Exman senses as we humans have--smell, touch, sight, hearing, taste. Then it could receive the same reactions we do and talk directly to us!" "Sounds like quite an order," Bud said wryly. "Speaking of which, how about us phoning Chow an order for breakfast?" He did so, and a short time later Chow wheeled a food cart into the laboratory. As he dished out man-sized helpings of ham and eggs, the cook kept a wary eye on Exman. Tom was putting the robot through a few more lively maneuvers. "A good meal'd calm down Ole Think Box," Chow observed grumpily. "But what do you feed that there kind o' contraption?" "Well, not gum, that's for sure!" Bud teased. After tasting his first forkful of food, he gasped, "And none of this ham!" Jumping up from his lab stool, Bud began whirling, dancing around, and flapping his arms as if he were burning up. "Help! Help!" he yelled. "Chow's poisoned me--just like he did Exman!" Chow's leathery old face paled under its desert tan. "Great snakes, Tom!" the Texan gulped. "Have I really pizened him? Maybe we should call Doc Simpson!" Doc was the medic in charge of the Enterprises infirmary. Tom was unable to keep a straight face. "Better call someone with a strait jacket--or a butterfly net!" he said, quaking with laughter. "I'm afraid he's just pulling your leg, Chow!" Chow's jaw clamped shut like a bear trap and he glared at the pirouetting young flier. Bud collapsed on his stool, doubled over with mirth. "Sorry, old-timer," he gasped. "I just couldn't resist!" "Okay, Buddy boy," Chow said darkly. "And mebbe I won't be able to resist gettin' even one o' these days!" The cook stumped out of the laboratory in his high-heeled cowboy boots, a picture of outraged dignity. "Better watch out, pal!" Tom warned with a grin. "Just remember: it's never smart to bite the hand that feeds you!" "I guess you're right," Bud agreed, wiping away the tears of laughter. "I'll remember, just as long as Chow promises not to serve us any more armadillo soup or rattlesnake salad!" Chow's fondness for experimenting with weird dishes was a standing joke around Enterprises. The boys ate their meal hungrily. As they were finishing, Tom glanced at the big clock on the wall. It was now well past eight o'clock. "Wonder why Dad hasn't come to the lab," he remarked. "I'd better call and find out if he's all right." Tom picked up the telephone and asked the operator for the direct line to the Swifts' home. His father answered. "'Morning, Dad!" Tom greeted him. "I thought after your call last night, you'd be over bright and early to see our visitor. He's already--" "What are you talking about, son?" Mr. Swift broke in. "I didn't phone you last night!" CHAPTER XIII DISASTER STRIKES Tom was thunderstruck. "You didn't phone me? But, Dad, I got the call--I definitely heard your voice!" "That's impossible," Mr. Swift insisted. "Believe me, son, I slept soundly from the time I turned in until a little while ago." There was a moment of stunned silence as both Swifts realized that the telephone call had been faked! Then Tom exclaimed: "Dad, this is serious!" "Deadly serious, I agree," his father replied. "Are you calling from your lab?" "Yes!" "Stay there. I'll be right over," the elder scientist said. When Mr. Swift arrived, Tom related his conversation with the mysterious caller. His father listened with worried eyes and a puzzled frown. "It's bad enough that an enemy was able to get the information," Mr. Swift remarked. "But, potentially at least, it's even more dangerous that he was able to imitate my voice so well. If he could fool you, Tom, he could fool anyone!" "Are you thinking the same thing I am, Dad?" "That it may have been some insider here at Enterprises?" When Tom nodded, his father gravely agreed. "Yes, son, it does look that way. To imitate my voice convincingly, it would almost certainly have to be someone who's had close contact with us--either at the plant or here in Shopton." The thought of a traitor at the experimental station was repugnant to the Swifts and to Bud as well. Not only were all employees carefully screened, but there was a close, almost family relationship among those who took part in the exciting scientific ventures at Swift Enterprises. Tom called Security and asked Harlan Ames to come over to the laboratory at once. The security chief arrived within moments. Quickly Tom filled him in on the details of the puzzling telephone call. "Think back, skipper," Ames urged. "Was there anything at all you can remember about the voice that might give us a tip-off? I mean, was it deep, or maybe a bit higher-pitched than you expected? Or anything about the way the caller pronounced his words?" Tom shook his head. "Nothing. That's the trouble. He spoke only a couple of sentences, but so far as I knew, it _was_ my father calling!" "Hmmm." Ames frowned. "What about background noises?" Tom thought hard. "None. If I had detected any special sounds during the call, I'm sure they would have stuck in my mind." Ames tried another tack. He asked how many people had known about the expected arrival of the brain energy from space. This was harder to answer, but as Tom and his father enumerated the persons, it did help to narrow the circle of suspects. Besides the Swifts, Chow, Phyl, Ames, and George Dilling, there were three groups who had had access to the information. One was the radio operators at the space-communications laboratory. Another consisted of Arv Hanson and Hank Sterling and the workmen who had taken part in building the energy container. The last group, which also included Hank and Arv, were the technicians who had actually gone to the hillside to await the visitor from Planet X. Tom scowled. "None of those people would pull such a trick, Harlan--any more than the ones like you and Arv and Hank who are above suspicion. Most of them could have easily obtained the news without going through such a rigmarole." Mr. Swift nodded. "Tom's right. Unless, of course, they had some urgent reason for wanting to find out as soon as possible." "Which makes me think it may have been an outsider after all," Tom argued. "Remember, the Brungarians may have intercepted the code messages to or from our space friends." After a moment's silence, he added gloomily, "Whoever the caller was, he knew the energy was arriving. And now he knows it's here!" Bud interjected, "Well, if he was a Brungarian agent and he's hoping to steal the brain energy, one thing's sure. No earthquake will demolish this place as long as the energy is here at Enterprises." "A comforting thought, Bud," Mr. Swift commented with a wry smile. Again Tom frowned. "At any rate, Harlan, see if you can get a line on that impostor." Ames departed to begin a thorough check of all personnel at the plant who might have been implicated. Bud went on an errand, as Tom began showing his father the accomplishments of the space robot. "We've christened him Exman," Tom said. By means of the electronic brain, he made the visitor do a number of maneuvers in response to orders. "Wonderful!" Mr. Swift exclaimed, greatly impressed. "Let's see if he can use his caterpillar treads as well as he does the wheels." Tom brought a small flight of portable aluminum stairs which he used for reaching up on high shelves or tinkering with outsized machines. Tom was uncertain at first how to code the command, having no symbol for steps or stairs. Finally he moved Exman to the bottom of the steps and signaled simply: _Go up!_ Exman paused for a moment, then attempted the ascent. His caterpillar tracks clawed their way up the first step. Then, gingerly, he essayed the next. The robot body tilted, but its gyro kept it from toppling over. "Bravo!" Mr. Swift applauded encouragingly. But the next instant Exman gave up! He slid back to the floor again with a heavy bump. Then he began whirling and darting about madly. "Good night! Exman's gone berserk!" Tom cried. Now wafts of smoke could be seen issuing from the robot's wheels. He was banging wildly about the laboratory, leaving a trail of havoc. Bud, who had returned, opened the door to come in. Instantly Exman lunged toward him, antennas sparking fiercely and wheels smoking. Bud slammed the door hastily. The Swifts, too, found it wiser to take cover. They crouched behind a lab workbench until the frenzy was over. Presently Exman subsided and rolled to a complete standstill. "Good grief!" Tom stood up cautiously and eyed the creature. It made no further move. Bud poked his head through the doorway for a wary look, then re-entered the laboratory. "What made him blow his top?" Bud asked. Then Tom heard a quiet chuckle from his father. "Actually, boys," the elder scientist said, "I think we should be encouraged." "_Encouraged?_" Tom stared at his father. [Illustration (Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. watch as Exman tries to climb stairs)] Mr. Swift nodded. "Yes, the whole thing was rather a noteworthy reaction. I believe Exman was displaying a fear complex about navigating up those stairs." Tom gasped, then broke out laughing. "Dad, you're right! I'll bet when its body tilted over, the brain wasn't sure whether the gyro would keep it from being wrecked. It just shows Ole Think Box is getting more human all the time!" Bud ventured to pat Exman on its "back." "Relax, kid," he said with a chuckle. "You're among friends and we wouldn't dream of letting you get hurt. You're too valuable!" Mr. Swift stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "Valuable, yes, if we can only get it to communicate. Tom, I believe the first project we should work on is a way to make Exman talk." After the debris had been cleaned up, the two scientists pulled up stools to the workbench and began to discuss the problem. Bud, seeing them absorbed, and realizing the discussion would soon be far beyond his depth, snapped a grinning salute at Exman and quietly left the laboratory. "Dad, the toughest part won't be the speech mechanism itself," Tom pointed out. "There are several ways we could handle that--by modulating a column of air, for instance, or by some sort of speaker diaphragm. The real stumper will be how to teach him our spoken language." Mr. Swift nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. If the inhabitants of Planet X communicate telepathically, or by some sort of wave transfer, they may have long since forgotten any concept of a spoken language." The Swifts batted several ideas back and forth. Then Tom snapped his fingers. "Wait, Dad! We have the answer! The electronic brain!" Mr. Swift's eyes lighted up. "Of course! The machine already translates the space code into written English. All we need do is add a device to convert the machine's impulses into sound!" In two hours the Swifts had put together a mechanism designed to work through a tape recorder. This was hooked up to the electronic brain. After recording for several moments, Tom reversed the tape and switched on the playback. A squeaky jumble of noises could be heard. But one word seemed to come through fairly distinctly. "Universe!" "It's talking!" Tom cried out. "Trying to, but not succeeding very well," Mr. Swift said. Nevertheless, the two scientists were jubilant at this first breakthrough. Eagerly they began making adjustments--both on the electronic-brain hookup and the converter mechanism. Tom was just about to switch on the tape recorder again when the telephone rang. The young inventor was annoyed at being interrupted at such a crucial moment, but picked up the phone. "Tom Swift Jr. speaking." "You have an urgent call from Washington," the operator informed him. "Just a moment, please." Bernt Ahlgren was calling from the Pentagon. The defense expert's voice was strained. "Tom, there's just been another attempt to cause an earthquake here in Washington!" Tom gasped. "What happened?" "It failed, thanks to you. But Intelligence believes an attempt will be made on New York City very soon. We need your help to stop it. How near completion are the other shock deflectors?" Before Tom could answer, he heard excited voices at the other end of the line. Then Ahlgren broke in again abruptly. "A news flash, Tom! The Walling range-finder plant has been demolished by an earthquake!" CHAPTER XIV AIR-BORNE HIJACKERS Mr. Swift, hearing Tom's dismayed reaction, rushed to the telephone. "What's wrong, son?" Tom clamped his hand over the mouthpiece and quickly gave his father the news of the destroyed range-finder plant. Then he spoke into the telephone. "Bernt, we must prevent another disaster! Let me check with our construction company on the Quakelizors and I'll call you right back!" "Right, Tom," Ahlgren agreed. Both Tom and Mr. Swift were shocked by this latest blow of their enemies. Tom called Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company at once and told him the news. "How soon will the Quakelizors be ready, Uncle Ned?" "They're finished, Tom. We're running a final inspection on them right now. We can have them ready to ship out by one o'clock." Tom relayed word to the Pentagon. Bernt Ahlgren was greatly relieved. "By the way," Tom went on, "what about the sites? Have they been chosen yet?" "Only tentatively," Ahlgren replied. "We wanted to get your opinion first." One of the deflectors, Ahlgren felt, should be based in position to guard the New York and New England area, in view of Intelligence warnings about a probable attack on New York City. Another, in the Cumberland plateau region of Kentucky, could damp out shock waves threatening either the heavily industrialized Great Lakes area or any southern city. As to the other three Quakelizors, Ahlgren suggested that one be installed on the West Coast, one in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and the third on the Atlantic island of San Rosario. This would protect both Latin-American allies and Caribbean defense bases of the United States. Before deciding, Tom asked that Dr. Miles at the Bureau of Mines be circuited into the telephone conversation. Mr. Swift, too, joined in on another line. The four scientists discussed the problem and referred to geologic maps. Finally the exact sites were agreed upon. "Dad, I'm going to deliver and install one of those Quakelizors myself," Tom declared, after the telephone conference ended. "Judging from that phone impostor last night, there's no telling what sort of trick our enemies may try next!" Mr. Swift approved heartily. "Good idea, son. In the meantime, I'll see what I can accomplish with Ole Think Box here." Tom notified Uncle Ned of the delivery sites. He requested that because of the urgency of the situation, Swift planes transport the Quakelizors. Mr. Newton promised to have five cargo jets loaded and prepared for take-off from the construction company airfield. Next, Tom turned to the job of rounding up flight crews. He decided that Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, Art Wiltessa, and a crack Swift test pilot, Slim Davis, would each captain a plane. Tom was just hanging up the telephone when Chow wheeled in a lunch cart, bearing sizzling servings of steak for the two Swifts. "How's Ole Think Box comin' along?" Chow inquired. "All right now, but he went berserk a while back," Tom replied with a chuckle. Chow eyed the robot apprehensively and made a hasty exit. Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were amused. As they ate, the two scientists continued their discussion on how to equip Exman with senses and the power of speech. Several minutes later, when they were finishing dessert, Bud came into the laboratory. "Tom, what's this about you hopping off somewhere to install a Quakelizor?" he asked anxiously. "Don't worry, pal. I'll need my usual copilot," Tom said with a grin. "Just didn't have time to call you before lunch. We'll be flying down to a place called San Rosario in the Caribbean." At one o'clock Tom briefed the flight crews and technicians. Slim was provided with three men who had worked on the original model of the quake deflector. After making sure that every man knew his job, Tom had the groups flown by helicopter over to the Swift Construction Company airfield. Tom and Bud's cargo jet was the second to take off. On signal from the tower, the big workhorse thundered down the runway and soared off into the blue. Soon it was spearing southward above the waters of the Atlantic. Presently Bud drew Tom's attention to some blurry specks of light on the radarscope. "Looks like a formation of planes, skipper." Tom studied the blips for a while. "Guess you're right. It's sure not a flock of sea gulls!" The young inventor frowned. "Worried, Tom?" Bud asked quietly. Tom shrugged. "It could be a routine military flight." He increased speed and climbed for altitude. But the blips on the radarscope showed that the planes were coming steadily closer. It was clear that they were targeting on the Swift cargo jet. Tom switched on the radio. Presently a voice crackled over their headphones: "Calling Swift jet!" The voice was heavily accented. "Brungarians!" Bud muttered. Tom made no reply to the radio challenge. Again came the voice: "Calling Swift jet! Make emergency landing on the water!" Tom's only response was a fresh burst of speed. Gunning the jet motors, he sent the big cargo ship arrowing forward at supersonic velocity. "There they are!" Bud cried suddenly. He pointed to a cluster of silvery glints in the sky at seven o'clock. Tom zoomed downward into a billowing cloud bank. It was a feeble hope and Tom knew it. His only real chance now was to outrun or outmaneuver the marauders. The slim hope faded as they emerged from the cloud cover moments later. The enemy planes were not only still dogging them, but closing in rapidly. Sleek, needle-nosed attack ships, they appeared to have seaplane hulls. "Wow! Those are new ones!" Bud gasped. "Our last warning to Swift jet! Hit the water or be shot down!" came the enemy voice. Tom raced along, his mind searching frantically for a method of escape. Bud switched off radio power momentarily. "If we're going to be hijacked, skipper, let's ditch your invention before it's too late!" Tom shook his head stubbornly. "Why should I let those pirates bulldoze us? Actually, I think they're after Exman!" This last thought was a hunch that had just occurred to Tom. It was clear that their foe had learned about the arrival of the energy from space. "But so far," Tom reasoned, "there's no cause to suppose they know anything about the quake deflectors." Stalling for time, Tom switched on the radio again and spoke into the mike. "Swift jet to attack planes. Our home base is picking up every word of your threats. Shoot us down and America will consider it an act of war!... Care to risk it?" There was a moment's silence, then a reply. "War, you say? How can there be a question of war? War against whom? You do not even know our national identity!" "Don't kid yourselves, mister!" Bud put in with a snarl. "We know, all right, and so does United States Intelligence!" Tom decided to risk a blunt query, without actually giving away any facts, in case his hunch about the Brungarian's knowledge was wrong. "There was a phone call to Swift Enterprises last night," he radioed. "We know it was a fake. We also know your agents are aware of our visitor.... Right?" After a pause, the enemy spokesman replied, "Perhaps. If so, what then?" "Just this," Tom radioed back. "If you're hoping to meet our visitor, you're out of luck. I'll give you my word for it. Do you think we'd risk such a valuable character in an unguarded crate like this?" Tom and Bud looked at each other. Somehow, both boys felt instinctively that Tom's words had struck home. The enemy had certainly risen to the bait. Finally came the reply. "You Swifts have a reputation for scrupulous honesty." There was a slight sneer in the speaker's voice as if he considered this a foolish weakness. "You give me your word of honor that this--er--character is not aboard?" "I do!" Tom snapped. "And if you don't trust me, go ahead and risk a war!" The boys waited breathlessly for the outcome of Tom's bold gamble. Soon they saw the result. The pursuing planes suddenly peeled off and sped away in the direction from which they had first appeared. "Whew!" Bud wiped his hand across his face and drew it away moist with perspiration. "How do you like that?" Tom chuckled with relief. "I like it fine, fly boy. But I was sure worried there for a while!" Less than an hour later, the big cargo jet touched down at the San Rosario airport. An armed guard was on hand to greet the boys, under command of an officer named Captain Sanchez. He had brought along a work crew of soldiers and also a geology expert, Professor Leone, from the island's small technical school. "I have selected a spot on the eastern shore of the island," the professor told Tom. He unrolled a map and explained the site. "Excellent," Tom agreed. The Quakelizor parts, communications equipment, and small atomic earth blaster were quickly unloaded and transported to the site by trucks. In three hours the installation was finished. Tom, who spoke Spanish fairly well, explained to a small group of San Rosario military technicians how the quake deflector worked. He also detailed one of his own men to stay on as trouble shooter for the setup. "And now," said Captain Sanchez, beaming, "we must relax and celebrate the friendship of our two countries." Tom and Bud, though eager to get home, hesitated to hurt the friendly officer's feelings. They sat through a delicious meal, followed by numerous speeches. When his own turn to speak came, Tom used it to warn against possible sabotage attempts by the Brungarians. At last the boys were allowed to take off with their crew. "Swell guys," Bud said, when the boys were airborne, "but a bit hard to break away from!" Tom grinned, then became serious. "You know, Bud," he said thoughtfully, "those aerial hijackers gave me an idea." "Let's have it, skipper." "If only I could get Exman perfected so he would report back to me," Tom explained, "I could _let_ him be kidnaped. Think what a wonderful 'inside man' he'd make in the enemy setup! He could tip us off to everything the Brungarians were doing!" "Hey, that's neat!" Bud exclaimed, wide-eyed. "But how could you be sure those Brungarian rebel scientists wouldn't change him somehow? I mean they might brainwash him or something." "It's a risk," Tom agreed. "But that's my problem--how to make a perfect spy out of him." It was midnight when the cargo jet touched down on the Enterprises airfield. The boys slept soundly. The next morning Tom reported to Mr. Swift and Harlan Ames the outcome of his trip to San Rosario, including the attack en route by unmarked sky raiders. He also privately told his father about his plan to use Exman as an electronic spy. Mr. Swift was enthusiastic. The two scientists promptly set to work. Mr. Swift built two powerful but miniature radio sets; one for receiving, one for transmitting. Tom, meanwhile, was busy on another device, also highly miniaturized, combining features of both the electronic decoder and Tom's famous midget computers, known as Little Idiots. With this equipment, Tom hoped, Exman would be able to monitor all communications at Brungarian rebel headquarters, then radio the information to Enterprises. Chow brought lunch to the laboratory at noon, and Bud came in later. Both stayed to watch the outcome of the experiment. Hank Sterling and Arv Hanson joined the group. By midafternoon the equipment was ready for a tryout. Tom opened Exman's star head, inserted the gear, and made the delicate wiring connections. "So far, so good," the young inventor murmured, stepping back. "Now for the real test! Will Exman answer our questions?" Tom walked over to the electronic decoder brain and began to tap out a message on the keyboard. The others waited in breathless suspense. CHAPTER XV KIDNAPED! The message which Tom signaled in code over the electronic brain said: WE HAVE A DANGEROUS PLAN. IF PLAN WORKS, YOU MAY BE EXPOSED TO ENEMY TAMPERING. WILL THIS BE SAFE? CAN YOU STAND THIS? There was a tense pause. Then the signal bell rang on the machine and the keys began to punch out a reply on tape: NO ONE CAN ALTER THIS BRAIN NOR CAN THEY CHANGE ITS PURPOSE. THEY CAN ONLY DESTROY THE ENERGY HOLDER. As Tom finished reading the message aloud, Chow gave a whoop of delight and the whole group burst into spontaneous cheers. "Terrific, skipper!" Bud exclaimed, clapping his pal on the back. The others gathered around to add their congratulations. Mr. Swift, beaming with pride, gave Tom a quick hand-squeeze. "It's an amazing achievement, son. And it may prove to be the key for unlocking the secrets of space, if and when we have time for some research after this crisis is over." "I sure hope so, Dad," Tom murmured. Though jubilant, the young inventor realized that this was only the first step in his plan to checkmate the Brungarian rebels. _The real perils still lay ahead!_ Tom called Harlan Ames and asked him to come to the laboratory for a conference. When the security chief arrived, he was as impressed as the others with the way Tom was able to communicate with Exman. "The problem now," Tom said, "is how do we have him kidnaped?" Chow, wary as a coyote, offered his opinion that the safest way would be merely to leave the space robot unguarded somewhere about the grounds of Enterprises. Ames shook his head. "Too obvious. They'd suspect a trap." Tom agreed. "Wal, then, how about truckin' him along the highway hereabouts, as if you all were sendin' him down to Washington?" This, too, was vetoed on the grounds that a shrewd espionage agent would guess that such a valuable prize would never be entrusted to a slow and vulnerable method of transport. "Then what about an air flight?" Hank Sterling suggested. "Brand my six-guns, that'd be jest beggin' to git yourself shot down!" Chow fumed. "Not if we used a plane like the _Sky Queen_, equipped with jet lifters," Hank argued. "If any hijack planes jumped us, they'd have to let us come down safely in order to get their hands on Exman. We could land on the water or just hover while they made the transfer." "And after they had it safe aboard their own plane, they'd blast yours to smithereens!" Chow retorted. Tom, too, thought a plane flight unwise, but for different reasons. It might look suspicious to the Brungarians after the Swifts had been warned by one aerial hijack attempt. Also, they might be deterred by fear of war, thinking that the United States Air Force would doubtless be alerted to the possibility of attack. "So right," Ames agreed. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "Tom, what about transporting Exman by submarine? We know that every spy apparatus in this hemisphere is constantly trying to probe what goes on at Fearing Island, where our subs are based." "No doubt about that," Tom conceded. "So," Ames continued, "any move to Fearing would certainly make the Brungarian agents prick up their ears. Their own spy subs probably would come prowling around the island and detect the departure of a Swift sub. And they might feel that an undersea hijack attempt would be a fairly safe gamble." The others looked thoughtful, then slowly nodded in agreement. Ames's reasoning sounded highly logical. "Tom, you'll insist on going, I suppose," Mr. Swift said somberly. "Of course, Dad. After all, the kidnap plan was my own idea," Tom replied. "Another thing I'll insist on is that you _don't_ go. We have Mother and Sandy to think of, and it's not right that both of us risk our necks." Realizing that it was hopeless to dissuade his son, and realizing the basic fairness of Tom's position, Mr. Swift did not argue. Bud, Hank, Chow, and Arv immediately volunteered to accompany the young inventor on his dangerous mission. Tom gratefully accepted their help. He asked all hands to assemble on the Enterprises airfield at six the next morning for the flight to Fearing. After the others had left, Tom and his father resumed their experiments with Exman. Mr. Swift suggested adding a device to the radio equipment to make it disintegrate if tampered with. "Before those rebel Brungarians can learn the secret of your electronic spy." "Good idea, Dad. And how about our doing the job with Swiftonium?" This was an unusual radioactive ore which Tom had discovered in South America. Mr. Swift nodded as he began work. Tom watched admiringly as his father reconstructed the radio, coating the entire thing with a Swiftonium compound. He at once placed the set in a small oven which he raised to 50 degrees centigrade. "When this cools, the set will be stable," Mr. Swift said. "But if you should move any part of it after it cools, all of the organic parts, like the circuit boards, the insulation, the carbon resistors, etc., will oxidize and disappear as gas. You will not even be able to tamper with a single unit." "Wonderful, Dad," Tom murmured when the device was finished. "I wish I had your know-how in microchemistry." "And I wish I had yours in electronics!" the elder scientist declared with a chuckle. After Mr. Swift had installed the device in Exman's star head, Tom used the electronic brain to inform the robot about the whole scheme. Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were delighted when Exman showed real enthusiasm. It replied via the printed tape on the decoder: DO NOT WORRY, MY FRIENDS. I WILL NOT RESPOND TO ANY ATTEMPTS BY BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME. MY PLANET IS WELL AWARE OF THEIR DANGEROUS AIMS. HAVING CONQUERED YOUR WORLD, THEY WOULD NEXT INVADE SPACE. "Looks as though Exman's got their number, all right!" Tom said with satisfaction. Early the next morning Mr. Swift drove Tom to the Enterprises airfield to meet his friends. Hank Sterling, Bud, and Chow were already on hand, and Arv Hanson arrived a few moments later. Tom and Bud left the others to bring Exman in a small panel truck. Soon the space robot was safely loaded aboard a transport helicopter. The others took their places inside the cabin. "Good luck, son!" Mr. Swift forced a smile as he gave Tom a parting handshake. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be back soon!" Tom assured him. The nature of the trip had been described only vaguely to Mrs. Swift and Sandy in order to keep them from worrying. The short hop overwater to Fearing Island was soon completed. Lying just off the Atlantic coast, Fearing had once been a barren, thumb-shaped expanse of scrubgrass and sand dunes. Now it was the Swifts' top-secret rocket base, tightly guarded by drone planes and radar. As the helicopter approached its destination, Tom radioed for clearance, then whirred down toward the landing field. The barracks, workshops, and launching area of the base lay spread out in full view. Cargo rockets bristled on their launching pads, along with Tom's spaceships, including the mighty _Titan_, and the oddly shaped _Challenger_ and _Cosmic Sailer_. North and south, the island was fringed with docks. Here the recovery tugs and fuel tankers were moored, as well as the Swifts' fleet of undersea craft. Tom had chosen a cargo-hauling jetmarine, named the _Swiftsure_. It was a larger version of his original two-man jet sub, the _Ocean Dart_. He had given orders the night before to have it ready for sea by morning. By jeep and truck, Tom's group sped across the island to the dock. Exman was quickly lowered aboard through the sub's hatch. The others followed, the conning-tower hatch was dogged shut, and soon the _Swiftsure_ was gliding off into the shadowy blue-green depths. "What's your sailing plan, skipper?" Hank Sterling inquired. The quiet-spoken, square-jawed engineer stood beside Tom at the atomic turbine controls and looked out through the transparent nose of the jetmarine. "Go slow. Give 'em plenty of chance to pick up our trail," Tom replied. For two hours they cruised at moderate speed. Nothing happened. Disappointed, Tom surfaced and radioed his father for news, after cutting in the automatic scrambling device. "You're in time for an exciting flash," Mr. Swift reported jubilantly. "What is it, Dad?" "An attempt to earthquake New York has just failed!" Grins broke out on the faces of the crew as they heard Mr. Swift's words come over the loud-speaker. Bud let out a happy whoop. "That's great, Dad!" Tom said. "Maybe we've got 'em licked on the quake front. No luck so far, though, on our new project." "Well, keep in touch and let me know at once if anything happens," Mr. Swift urged. "Right, Dad!" Tom promised. Again the _Swiftsure_ submerged. This time it was only a few minutes before Arv Hanson gave a cry of warning. "Something on the sonarscope, skipper!" Bud, Hank, and Chow hastily gathered around the scope to watch. The blip grew larger rapidly. It was clearly another submarine, closing in on a collision course. Tom put on a burst of speed, as if attempting to outrace their pursuer. But he was careful to gauge his knots by reports from the sonarscope, in order not to widen the gap between the two craft. There seemed no danger that this would happen, although the _Swiftsure_ raced ahead faster and faster. Still the enemy sub continued to close in like a marauding shark, finally passing Tom's craft. "Some baby!" Bud muttered respectfully. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile streaked across their bow, in plain view through the _Swiftsure's_ transparent nose. Its foaming wake rocked the jetmarine. "They're attacking us!" Bud cried out. Tom slammed shut the turbine throttle, bringing his craft to a gliding halt in the water. At the same time, he switched on the sonarphone. "Orders to Swift sub!" a voice barked over the set. "Surface and heave to! No tricks, or the next missile will not be across your bow!" Tom blew his tanks and sent the _Swiftsure_ spearing upward. As the conning tower broke water, Tom and his men swarmed up on deck. Seconds later, a sleek gray enemy submarine knifed into view. Its hatch opened and several men climbed out. To Tom's amazement, their leader was Samson Narko! Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, you sneakin', double-dyed, bushwhackin' polecat!" the old Westerner bellowed. "We shoulda kept you hawg-tied, 'stead o' lettin' you go free!" Narko ignored the outburst and raised a megaphone to his lips. "Hand over your cargo and do it quickly!" "What cargo?" Tom snapped back. "And what's the meaning of this outrage? You realize this is piracy?" "I realize you will wind up on the bottom at the slightest show of resistance!" Narko warned menacingly. "You know very well what cargo I refer to! Now do not try our patience!" [Illustration (a submarine attacks the Swiftsure)] Tom and his crew pretended to put up a blustering, indignant front. Chow was especially convincing, with a blistering torrent of salty Texas invectives. Narko's only response was a barked-out order to his men in Brungarian. Quickly the enemy submarine maneuvered closer until the two craft were almost chockablock. Narko and his men then leaped aboard the _Swiftsure_, armed with sub-machine guns and automatics. "I'm warning you, Narko--" Tom began angrily. But Narko cut the young inventor short by a poke in his ribs with the gun muzzle, then issued orders to two of his men to go below. Moments later, Exman was being hauled up through the hatch and transferred aboard the raider. The Americans glared in angry silence. "Thanks so much, my stupid friends!" Narko taunted them with a jeering laugh. Then he followed his crewmen as the last one scrambled back to the enemy submarine. With laughs and waves, they disappeared into its conning tower. The hatch was clamped shut and the raider promptly submerged. Tom and his men were amazed, but delighted at not having been taken prisoner along with Exman. All of them broke into happy chuckles of relief. "Wow! That's what I call fast service!" Bud exclaimed. "It was sure a blamed sight easier'n I expected," Chow said. "Thought fer a while we might end up feedin' the fishes!" "You put on a real act, Chow!" Tom said, clapping the stout old cook on the back. "Well, they've taken the bait. Now let's hope it pays off--for us!" The Americans swarmed below again, closed the hatch, and submerged. Tom took his time in bringing the jet pumps up to speed. "Wonder if we should pretend to proceed on course, or turn around and head for home?" he murmured to Hank. Hank's reply was cut short by a yell from Hanson at the sonarphone. "Missile coming, skipper! Straight at us!" CHAPTER XVI A UNIQUE EXPERIMENT "Bearing?" Tom cried. "One-seven-five!" Arv Hanson sang out. Tom gunned his port jet turbine and swung the _Swiftsure_ hard right. The abrupt turn at high speed sent the craft sideslipping crazily like a skidding race boat. "Here she comes, skipper!" Bud yelled. He had rushed to the sonarscope with the other members of the crew. Tom's maneuver had carried them a good hundred yards off the missile's course. Now he yanked a lever, pulling the cadmium rods still farther from the atomic pile, in order to increase power and jet-blast their sub still farther out of range. But suddenly the men at the scope blanched. "The missile's turning too!" Hank cried. "It's homing in on us!" Unlike most Swift craft used on scientific expeditions, the cargo sub's hull had not been coated with Tomasite. This would have insulated it from all magnetic effects or any form of pulse detection. Tom had chosen the _Swiftsure_ partly for this very reason, so that the Brungarian rebels could easily pick up its trail after leaving Fearing. How ironic if his choice should prove fatal! As the thought flashed through Tom's brain, the missile came streaking into view through the sub's transparent nose. By this time, Tom had flipped up the _Swiftsure's_ diving planes. The craft plummeted deeper into the ocean depths. "Brand my whale blubber, she's turnin' again!" Chow gulped. The missile's arc, as it veered around to follow, painted a streak of light on the sonarscope. Anxious moments raced by while Tom steered their craft in a deadly game of tag with the sub-killer. Gradually the missile appeared to be losing momentum. "It's slowing down, all right!" Arv called out. In a few minutes the missile had lost so much way that Tom was easily able to outdistance it. The crew crowded to the scope, heaving sighs of relief. The missile, its velocity spent, sank harmlessly toward the bottom. "Boy, what a close call!" Bud gasped weakly. "You played that thing like a toreador sidestepping a bull, Tom! Nice going!" The others echoed Bud's sentiments, with fervent handshakes and backslaps for Tom's skillful evasive action. "Jest the same," said Chow, "I'd sure like to make Narko an' them Brungarian hoss thieves dance a Texas jig with a little hot lead sprayed around their boot heels! Sneakin' bushwhackers! It's jest like I told Hank about his airplane scheme--they'd try to gun us down, like as not, soon as they got their hands on Exman!" "I guess you had them figured right, Chow," Tom agreed wryly. "Well, at least we've lost their sub!" The Brungarian raider was no longer visible even as a faint blip on their radarscope. Evidently Narko had thought the jetmarine a sure victim and headed back to his own base. Nevertheless, Tom steered a wary zigzag course back to Fearing. When they arrived at the island, he immediately telephoned Bernt Ahlgren and Wes Norris in Washington to report the hijacking of the space brain. Both men praised the young inventor for his daring scheme to outwit the ruthless Brungarian rebel clique. "If your idea pays off, Tom, we should be able to checkmate every move those phonies and their allies make!" Norris declared. "I'm hoping we can do even better than that," Tom replied. "Part of my plan is to help the Brungarian loyalists through Exman's tip-offs. With some smart quarterbacking, we might be able to rally the rightful government before all resistance is crushed out." "Terrific!" Norris exclaimed. "Let's hope your scheme works!" Tom had ordered the space oscilloscopes to be manned constantly, both at Fearing and at Enterprises, in case of a flash from Exman. But no word had yet been received when Tom and his companions arrived at the mainland late that afternoon. Mr. Swift greeted his son warmly at the airfield. Tom had refrained from radioing the news to Enterprises after the hijacking and the missile attempt. Any such message, Tom feared, might be picked up by the enemy and bring on another attack. But the young inventor had telephoned his father immediately after calling Washington. Now Mr. Swift threw his arm affectionately around the lanky youth. "You look pretty well bushed, son. Why not hustle home and call it a day? That goes for the rest of you, too," he added to Bud, Chow, and the others. "You've just risked your lives and the strain is bound to tell." Tom urged his companions to comply. "But I'm sticking right here," the young inventor told his father. "I want to be on hand the minute Exman contacts us." Bud insisted upon staying with his pal. The two boys ate a quiet supper in Tom's private laboratory and finally lay down on cots in the adjoining apartment. But first Tom posted a night operator to watch the electronic brain. "Wake me up the second that alarm bell goes off," he ordered. "Okay, skipper," the radioman promised. No message arrived to disturb the boys' rest. Tom felt a pang of worry as he dressed the next morning, and then relieved the man on duty at the decoder. Had the Brungarians somehow outwitted him? Surely Exman should have reported by this time! "Relax, pal," Bud urged. "Our space chum's hardly had time to learn any secrets yet. Besides, those Brungarian scientists are probably giving him the once-over with all sorts of electronic doodads. Why risk sending a message till he has something important to tell us?" "That's true," Tom admitted. Chow brought in breakfast. "You jest tie into these vittles, boss, an' stop frettin'," the cook said soothingly. "I reckon Ole Think Box won't let us down." Tom sniffed the appetizing aroma of flapjacks and sausages. "Guess you're right, Chow," he said with a chuckle. As the boys ate hungrily, Tom's thoughts turned back to the problem of how to equip Exman with senses. He talked the project over with Bud. Most of his ideas were too technical for Bud to follow, but he listened attentively. He knew the young inventor found it helpful to have a "sounding board" for his ideas. "Too bad I didn't have time to tackle the job before Exman was kidnaped," Tom mused. "Think how much more he could learn with 'eyes' and 'ears'!" "Stop crabbing," Bud joked. "Isn't an electronic spy with a brain like Einstein's good enough?" Mr. Swift arrived at the laboratory an hour or so later. He found Tom setting up an experiment with a glass sphere to which were affixed six powerful electromagnets. Two shiny electrodes, with cables attached to their outer ends, had also been molded into the glass. Bud was looking on, wide-eyed. Tom explained to his father that he had blown the sphere himself, following a formula adapted from the quartz glass used for view panels in his space and undersea craft. "What's it for, son?" Mr. Swift asked, after studying the setup curiously. "Don't laugh, Dad, but I'm trying to produce a brain of pure energy. A substitute for Exman, so we can go ahead with our sensing experiments." Mr. Swift reacted with keen interest and offered to help. "But remember, son," he cautioned, "at best you can only hope to produce an ersatz brain energy--which will be vastly different from the real thing. Don't forget, Tom, the mind of a human being or any thinking inhabitant of our universe is based on a divine soul. No scientist must ever delude himself into thinking he can copy the work of our Creator." "I know that, Dad," Tom said soberly. "Man's work will always be a crude groping, compared to the miracles of Nature. All I'm hoping to come up with here is a sort of stimulus-response unit that we can use for testing any sensing apparatus we devise." The two scientists plunged into work. First, a bank of delicate gauges was assembled to record precisely every electrical reaction that took place inside the sphere. Then Tom threw a switch, shooting a powerful bolt of current across the electrodes. The field strength of the electromagnets, controlled by rheostats, instantly shaped the charge into a glowing ball of fire! "Wow! A real hothead!" Bud wisecracked, trying to hide his excitement. Tom grinned as he twirled several knobs and checked the gauges. The slightest variation in field strength triggered an instant response from the ball of energy. Mr. Swift tried exposing it to radio and repelatron waves. Each time the gauges showed a sensitive reaction. "Looks as if we're in business, Dad!" Tom said jubilantly. Bud left soon afterward as the two Swifts buckled down to work on the problem of perfecting an apparatus to simulate the human senses. Each concentrated on a different line of approach. At noon they broke off briefly for a lunch wheeled in by Chow. Then silence settled again over the laboratory. Tom had rigged up a jointed, clawlike mechanical arrangement with sensitive diaphragms in its "finger tips." The diaphragms were connected to a transistorized circuit designed to modulate the field current to the electromagnets. Suddenly the young inventor looked up at his father with a glow of triumph. "Dad, I just got a reaction to my sense-of-touch experiment!" CHAPTER XVII AN URGENT WARNING Mr. Swift looked on eagerly as Tom explained and demonstrated his touch apparatus. By moving a pantograph control, Tom was able to manipulate the claws like a hand with fingers. Whenever they touched any material, the brain gauges instantly registered an electrical reaction inside the sphere. The swing of a voltmeter needle showed how firmly the substance resisted the claw's touch, thus indicating its hardness or softness. "With a computer device, such as we planted in Exman," Tom went on, "the brain would also be able to assimilate the textural pattern of any substance." "Wonderful, son!" Mr. Swift exclaimed. "I hope I can do as well with this artificial sense of sight I'm working on." Another hour went by before Mr. Swift was ready to test his own arrangement. "You've probably heard of the experiments conducted with blind persons," he told Tom. "By stimulating the right part of their brain with a lead from a cathode-ray-tube device, an awareness of light and dark can be restored." Tom nodded. "Well, I'm using the same principle," Mr. Swift went on, "but with a sort of television camera scanning setup." He asked Tom to draw the drapes and shut off the room lights, throwing the laboratory into complete darkness, except for the weirdly glowing "brain" in the glass sphere. Then Mr. Swift shone a flashlight at the scanner. The brain responded by glowing more brightly itself! Next, after the drapes were opened again and the overhead fluorescent lights switched on, Mr. Swift painted a pattern of black-and-white stripes on a large piece of cardboard. He held this up to the scanner. Visible ripples of brightness and less-brightness passed through the glowing ball of energy inside the sphere. It was reproducing the striped pattern! "Dad, that's amazing!" Tom said with real admiration. Mr. Swift shook his head. "Pretty crude, I'm afraid. The brain energy by itself can't take the place of a picture tube in a TV receiver. What we need is an analog computer to sum up the scanning pattern picked up by the camera tube and then pass this information along in code form." Before Tom could comment, the alarm bell rang on the electronic brain. The Swifts dropped everything and rushed to the machine. "Wonder if it's Exman?" Tom exclaimed. The answer was quickly revealed as the keys began punching out the incoming message on tape. At the same time, a flow of strange mathematical symbols flashed, one after another, on the lighted oscilloscope screen mounted above the keyboard. Tom and his father read the tape as it unreeled. SPACE BEINGS TO SWIFTS. REQUEST INFORMATION ON PROGRESS AND RESULTS OF ENERGY SENT TO YOUR PLANET. After a quick consultation with his father, Tom beamed out the reply: WE ARE PLEASED WITH RESULTS SO FAR. FURTHER EXPERIMENTS NOW GOING ON. REQUEST VISIT TO CONTINUE LONGER THAN TWENTY-ONE DAYS AS PLANNED. Hopefully the Swifts stood by the machine. Would their space friends agree? As the minutes went by without a response coming through, father and son exchanged anxious glances. "They've _got_ to let Exman stay, Dad!" Tom said. Mr. Swift nodded. "I'm afraid, though, the space beings have decided otherwise. They--" He was interrupted by the ringing of the alarm bell. "Message, Dad!" Tom said tersely. A moment later they were overjoyed to see three words appear on the tape: VISIT EXTENSION GRANTED. Relieved, the two scientists went back to work on their sensing experiments. Twenty minutes later the signal bell rang again on the electronic brain. "This time it _must_ be Exman!" Tom cried. The unreeling tape quickly bore out his guess. EXMAN TO SWIFTS. TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR EARTHQUAKE UNDER HIGH LOYALTY. "What!" Tom stared at the tape, his brow creased in a puzzled frown. "That 'twenty-four-hour earthquake' bit must mean he's warning us that a quake will occur in twenty-four hours. But what about the rest of it?" "Hmm... 'Under high loyalty.'" Mr. Swift was as baffled as Tom. He studied the message for several minutes. It seemed highly unlikely that the electronic brain had made an error in decoding. Any new or untranslatable symbol caused a red light to flash on the machine. "I think the only thing we can do is signal Exman and ask for a clarification, Tom," Mr. Swift decided at last. Tom agreed. He beamed out a hasty code signal: EXPLAIN MESSAGE. Seconds later came Exman's reply. It was identical with the first message: TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR EARTHQUAKE UNDER HIGH LOYALTY. Tom and Mr. Swift stared at each other anxiously. "Good night, Dad! This is horrible!" Tom exclaimed. "Exman sends us ample warning of a disaster and we're stymied!" [Illustration (Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. read a message from Exman)] "Hi! What's going on, you two?" asked a merry voice. "More heavy thinking?" Sandy Swift stood smiling in the doorway. The smile gave way to a look of concern as Tom explained the crisis. "How dreadful!" Sandy gasped. "We _must_ figure out what it means!... Wait a minute!" Tom looked at her expectantly. "Got an idea, Sis?" "Well..." The pretty, blond teen-ager hesitated. "You don't suppose Exman might have been translating some foreign words with a meaning similar to 'high loyalty'? For instance, high loyalty could mean 'good faith.' I know that in Latin 'good faith' would be _bona fide_." "Sandy! You've guessed it!" Tom crossed the room in a single bound, gave his sister a quick hug, and whirled her around. "Exman must mean the Bona Fide Submarine Building Corporation! He didn't dare risk telling us the exact translation." "Of course!" Mr. Swift was equally jubilant. But his face was grave as he added, "The company's located on the West Coast close to the San Andreas fault. Tom, a quake in that area could be devastating!" "You're right, Dad," the young inventor replied. "I'll call Dr. Miles and Bernt Ahlgren at once!" The telephone conversation that followed was grim with tension. Both government men begged Tom to take personal charge of the quake-deflection measures. Dr. Miles pointed out that tremors along the fault might trigger off a chain of quakes amounting to a national disaster. After a hasty discussion, Tom agreed that he should station himself at the Colorado site, rather than at the West Coast Quakelizor installation. This would give him broader scope for damping out shock waves across the continent. "I'll fly out immediately!" the young inventor promised. Ahlgren, meanwhile, would flash orders to the Bona Fide Company and to civilian officials to have the entire area evacuated as soon as possible. Hasty preparations were made for Tom's departure. He telephoned the airfield to have a jet plane with lifters readied for take-off. He also had Bud paged over the plant intercom. The copilot came on the run. When he heard the news, he was eager to accompany his pal. "Listen, you two! I insist you have something to eat before you leave!" Sandy declared. Tom was impatient over any delay. When Sandy proceeded to call Chow, the old Texan solved the problem by volunteering to go along as cook. A short time later Chow came jouncing out to the airfield astride a motor scooter, hauling a cart loaded with supplies. "Good grief!" Tom said, unable to suppress a grin. "We'll be back tomorrow, unless something goes wrong!" "Bring food--that's my motto," Chow retorted, "like any good cook." Minutes later, after a parting handshake from his father and a worried kiss from Sandy, Tom sent the sleek jet racing down the runway for take-off. Soon they were air-borne and heading westward. Chow served a tasty meal en route. It was still daylight when the jet landed vertically in the Colorado canyon. The government crew manning the installation, and the Swift technician who had relieved Art Wiltessa as trouble shooter on the setup, greeted them eagerly. "Looks as if we're in for a real test, Tom," said Mike Burrows, the engineer in charge. "Let's hope we pass!" said Tom, holding up crossed fingers. He checked every detail of the Quakelizor, power plant, and the communications gear. He opened an inspection panel in each of the dual-control spheres and tuned the kinetic-hydraulic units so as to step up the working pressure of the four powerful drivers. "Well, all we can do now is wait," the young inventor muttered, wiping his arm across his forehead. Tom passed the night in a fitful sleep, half expecting to be wakened at any moment by the stand-by crew on watch. No alarm occurred, however. Dawn broke, and Chow delighted all hands with a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and corn fritters. More hours of waiting dragged by. "What time do you think the attack will occur?" Bud asked. Tom shrugged. "The 'twenty-four-hour' business may have been approximate. But I'd say from two o'clock on is the danger period." The young inventor checked frequently with Washington and the other crews stationed around the country. Suddenly the radiotelephone operator gave a yell. "Your father is on the line, skipper!" The scientist was calling from the receiver-computer headquarters at Enterprises. "Exman has reported a quake pulse will be sent in seven minutes--at 21.36 G.M.T." "I'm ready, Dad," Tom said, then asked for various technical details before hanging up. He passed the word to the crew and glanced at his watch. A hasty, last-moment inspection was carried out, every man checking certain details of the setup. Soon the pulsemakers began ticking inside the dual-control spheres as they picked up the frequency signal by radio. Tom studied the gauge dials. Tension mounted rapidly among the waiting group. The same thought was throbbing through every mind: _Was the nation on the brink of a terrible disaster? Or would Tom Swift's invention safeguard the threatened area?_ As the deadline approached, Tom pushed a button. The mighty hydraulic drivers throbbed into action, sending out their pulse waves across the continent! CHAPTER XVIII EARTHQUAKE ISLAND Now came the hardest part of all for Tom and his companions--waiting to learn if the shock deflectors had succeeded in blotting out the enemy quake wave. No one spoke. As the silence deepened inside the cave, the suspense became almost unbearable. Minutes passed. "When will we know, skipper?" a crewman ventured at last. "Soon, I hope," Tom replied tersely. But the waiting seemed endless. Bud's eyes met Tom's. The flier grinned and held up crossed fingers, just as Tom had done to Mike Burrows the previous evening. Tom managed a feeble grin in response. Suddenly the telephone shrilled, shattering the silence of the cave. Tom snatched it from the radioman's hands. "Tom Swift here!... Yes?... Thank heavens! I guess we can all be grateful, Dr. Miles!" "Providence protected us, I'm sure, Tom," the seismologist replied at the other end of the line. "But in this instance it worked through Tom Swift's Quakelizors! The Bona Fide plant and the surrounding area never even felt the tremor--your quake deflectors worked perfectly!" There was no need to tell the others. Tom's words on the telephone and the grin on his face told the story. A spontaneous volley of cheers echoed through the cave as he hung up. Then the crew crowded around to slap Tom on the back and shake his hand. "I hope the whole country learns what you've done, Tom," Mike Burrows said. "If it doesn't, I'll be the first to spread the word as soon as the secrecy lid's taken off!" "Shucks, I knew all along Tom's contraption would do the trick!" Chow boasted, glowing with pride over his young boss's achievement. Tom could only smile happily. "Guess we can go home now," he said to Bud and Chow. They were preparing to leave when another flash from Washington came over the radiotelephone. A ship's captain, five hundred miles out on the Pacific, had just reported sighting a great waterspout, accompanied by considerable wave turbulence. "It could have been the spot where the enemy shock waves and our deflector waves met and damped out," Tom commented. "Dr. Miles thinks so, too," the caller said. Soon the sleek Swift jet was arrowing back across the continent. En route, Tom radioed word of his latest triumph to Mr. Swift. As always, he used the automatic scramblers to make sure any enemy eavesdroppers would pick up only static. "Great work, son!" Mr. Swift congratulated Tom. "I was confident you could handle the situation with your Quakelizors." "Thanks, Dad. See you soon." When the jet finally landed at Enterprises and came to a halt on the runway, the control tower operator spoke over the radio. "Harlan Ames would like to see Tom Jr. at the security building. He left word just a few minutes ago." "Roger!" Tom replied. Chow frugally carted off his leftover supplies. Tom and Bud, meanwhile, went by jeep across the plant grounds to security headquarters. Ames greeted the two boys enthusiastically. "Nice going on that earthquake situation, Tom!" he said. "And now I have some more good news. We've just nabbed the man who imitated your father's voice over the phone the other night." "What!" Both boys were excited, and Tom added eagerly, "Who is he?" "An actor at the Shopton summer playhouse." "How did you find out?" Tom asked. "I had a hunch," Ames went on. "If the impersonator wasn't a plant employee at Enterprises, then he had to be a person with a trained voice. That gave me the idea of checking on all actors and station announcers here in the vicinity. It paid off right away. The guy's name is Brent Nolan." "Have you questioned him yet?" Tom asked. "I'm about to," Ames replied. "Radnor just brought him in." The security chief led the way into an adjoining office. A slender, good-looking young man with blond wavy hair was seated on a chair with Phil Radnor on one side of him and a Shopton police officer on the other. The actor was visibly nervous and perspiring. "This is Tom Swift Jr.," Ames told him. "Brent Nolan." Nolan nodded. "Yes, I've seen your picture in the papers many times." The actor tried to force a smile but his face muscles twitched. "I--I seem to have pulled a pretty dumb stunt by faking that phone call from your father. I'm sorry." "What was the reason?" Tom asked. Nolan fingered his wavy blond hair uneasily and swallowed hard. "A man named Professor Runkle paid me to do it." "Professor Runkle?" Tom frowned. The name seemed vaguely familiar. "He spoke with a foreign accent. Said he was doing research at Grandyke University," Nolan explained. "He told me you might be expecting a rare biological specimen from the East Indies. He said both of you were eager to get hold of it for research purposes, but he was afraid that you had outbid him. However, if he asked you straight out, you would guard the secret very jealously. So he hired me to find out." "Didn't it occur to you he might be an espionage agent?" Ames asked coldly. Nolan seemed shocked. "Believe me, I had no such idea!" he averred. "Runkle seemed pleasant. He said it all was merely a short cut to save him from wasting any more time on the project. If Tom Swift had the specimen, he would quit. I--I guess I'm a little bit vain about the way I can mimic voices, and this gave me a chance to show off. Besides, I saw no harm in doing it." "No harm?" Bud snorted. "You had Swift Enterprises in a real lather when we found out." Nolan spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm truly sorry," he repeated. "How were you able to find out how my father's voice sounded?" Tom asked. "I listened to a recording of a speech he made at the Fourth of July rally here in Shopton," Nolan explained. "I borrowed the tape from a local radio station. Guess that's how your security men got onto me." "What did this fellow Runkle look like?" Ames asked. Nolan thought for a moment. "Oh, he was past middle age, I should say. Grizzled hair, thick-lensed glasses. And he was quite heavy-set." "Hmm. Then it certainly wasn't Narko," Ames murmured to Tom. The young inventor nodded. "I believe I know him. The name just came back to me. I met a Professor Runkle in New York about a month ago, at a scientific convention. He was a member of the visiting Brungarian delegation." "We'll check on him," Ames promised. He turned back sternly to the young actor. "All right, Nolan, I guess you can go. But I warn you--no more impersonations." After more flustered apologies, the actor hurried out, obviously relieved. "What a dumb egg he is!" Bud muttered. "In a way he may have helped us," Tom pointed out. "If the Brungarian rebels hadn't found out about Exman, we couldn't have lured them into that kidnap plot. It's already helped us to save the Bona Fide Submarine Building Corporation." Monday morning Ames reported that Professor Runkle had left the country. Tom was not sorry, since an arrest and public trial might have led to dangerous publicity about Exman. The probings of a sharp-tongued defense attorney might even have tipped off the Brungarian to Tom's real purpose in letting the space brain be hijacked. Meanwhile, a telephone call from Washington announced that State Department men were flying to Enterprises to confer with the Swifts about taking official action against the Brungarian attacks. The group arrived by jet after lunch. Thurston of the CIA was also present. "The problem is this," a State Department official said as they discussed the matter in the Swifts' office. "Should we bring charges against Brungaria before the United Nations? Or should we rely on other means, short of war, to block the Brungarian rebel coup?" Mr. Swift frowned thoughtfully. "It might be difficult to prove they were responsible for the earthquake attacks," he pointed out. "I'd say it's impossible," Tom said, "unless we give away the secret about our electronic spy." He paused, then added, "Sir, if the State Department will agree, I'd like more time before you make any official moves." The Quakelizors, Tom argued, seemed to offer protection against any future quake waves, unless the power of the shocks was greatly stepped up. Meantime, working through Exman, Tom might be able to provide the Brungarian loyalists with valuable information. "I'm hoping it will help them overthrow the rebel clique and their brutal allied military bosses." The State Department men conferred, then Thurston spoke up quietly, "In our opinion, it's worth a gamble." After the group had left, the Swifts resumed their sensing experiments in Tom's private laboratory. They were hard at work when the signal bell suddenly rang on the electronic brain. The two scientists rushed to read the incoming message. It said: EXMAN TO SWIFTS. ONE ENEMY EARTHQUAKE PRODUCER IS AT... Here the message gave precise latitude and longitude figures. It went on: RUIN OF SWIFT PLACE IN ONE WEEK. Tom and his father gasped in dismay. "I thought the New York-New England Quakelizor was going to protect us!" the young inventor exclaimed. "Our enemies must have located another earth fault with Enterprises right in its path!" Hastily opening an atlas, Tom fingered the location of the proposed source of attack. It was Balala Island off the coast of Peru. "Dad, that settles it!" Tom declared grimly. "It's clear now that those Brungarian rebels want to destroy us and use Exman in some way to conquer the earth!" "I don't doubt that you're right, son," Mr. Swift said grimly. "We must act fast! But how?" Again, the signal bell interrupted. This time, Exman gave a number of military details, evidently picked up from orders issuing from Brungarian rebel headquarters. They concerned incoming troop movements from the north and operational plans for crushing out the last pockets of resistance by loyal government forces. Tom recorded them with TV tape, then snatched up the telephone and called the Central Intelligence Agency in Washington. He relayed the information from Exman and asked if American agents could transmit it to the loyalists. "Don't worry. We'll see that it reaches them," the CIA chief assured Tom. "Many thanks. This _could_ have important consequences." As Tom hung up he decided on a bold move. "Dad, I'm going to lead a raid on Balala!" "A raid!" The elder scientist was electrified. "According to the atlas, the island is barren and deserted," Tom said, "so no friendly power will object if we land there. If it's being used as an enemy base for quake attacks against our country, we have every right to investigate. I might be able to learn the secret of the setup--perhaps even put the equipment out of commission." "Nevertheless, a raid by a United States force could lead to trouble if the base there puts up any resistance," Mr. Swift said gravely. "That's why I intend to handle it myself," Tom declared. "I'll take all responsibility." Tom Sr.'s eyes flashed as he recalled some of his own hair-raising exploits in younger days. "All right, son," he said, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "I know I can trust your judgment. Good luck!" Again Tom issued a call for volunteers. Bud, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and Chow were all eager to take part. Within an hour they were taking off for Fearing. At the rocket base, they embarked in the _Sea Hound_, Tom's favorite model of his diving seacopter. A powerful central rotor with reversible-pitch blades, spun by atomic turbines, enabled the craft to rise through the air or descend into the deepest abysses of the ocean. Propulsion jets gave it high speed in either medium. Loaded with equipment, the _Sea Hound_ streaked southward through the skies--first to Florida, then across the Gulf and Central America into the Pacific. Here Tom eased down to the surface of the water and submerged. It was near midnight when the _Sea Hound_ rose from the depths just off Balala. The lonely rocky island lay outlined like a huddled black mass against the star-flecked southern sky. No glimmer of light showed anywhere ashore. "Maybe no one's here," Bud murmured. "Don't bank on that," Tom said. "They wouldn't be apt to advertise their presence to passing ships or planes." Tom nosed inshore as closely as he dared from sonar soundings, finally easing the _Sea Hound_ up to a rocky reef that fingered out from the beach. Then he, Bud, Hank, and Arv clambered out, armed with wrecking tools and powerful flashlights. Chow, in spite of his muttered grumblings, was ordered to stay aboard and guard the ship with the other two crewmen who had come along. Tom led his party cautiously ashore from the reef. They probed the darkness of the beach. Their footfalls sounded eerily in the night silence, broken only by the soughing of the sea wind and splash of breakers. "Good place for spooks!" Bud whispered jokingly. A steep draw led upward among the rocky slopes. A hundred feet on, Tom's group found the black yawning mouth of a cave. The yellow beams of their flashlights revealed a tunnel leading downward inside. Tom checked with a pocket detector. Its gauge needle showed no field force caused by electrical equipment in operation. "Okay, let's go in!" Tom murmured. Cautiously they moved into the tunnel. Then suddenly ahead of them a powerful dazzling light burst on, nearly blinding the searchers! CHAPTER XIX A FIENDISH MACHINE A chill of fear gripped Tom and his companions as they blinked helplessly in the glare! Had the enemy detected them the first moment they had set foot on Balala Island? Had they walked blindly into a trap? Gradually Tom's eyes and those of his friends adjusted to the dazzling radiance. A door, blocking the tunnel just ahead, had slid open and the light was pouring out of a room beyond. "What happened?" Arv gasped. Tom pointed downward to a pedallike plunger inserted in the tunnel floor. "This must be a switch," he explained. "When I stepped on it accidentally, it must have opened the door and flashed on the lights." Bud whistled. "Wow! Let's be thankful it wasn't a booby trap!" "Maybe it is," murmured Hank grimly. Steeling their nerves, and with every sense alert, the searchers advanced into the secret room. Tom suddenly gave a cry of amazement. "The earthquake machine!" A huge hydraulic device, with massive steel bed and supporting pillars, looking somewhat like the enormous body presses found in automobile plants, stood embedded in a recess in one wall. Tom rushed to the machine and examined it in fascination. A powerful diesel generator stood nearby with banks of complicated electrical equipment, amid a spider-web tangle of wiring. Tom assumed this gear was for timing and synchronizing the shock waves. Evidently the whole setup was operated from a single control panel in the wall, studded with knobs and dials. "What a job of design!" Tom exclaimed in awe. His eyes roved over every detail of the equipment while he poked here and there with his hands. He was getting the "feel" of the setup almost as much by touch and handling as by his superb technical intuition. "Boy, I hate to admire anything those Brungarian rebel scientists do, but this is really masterful!" "Yes? Well, don't go ga-ga over it," said Bud. "Let's do what we came to do and scram out of here. This place makes me jumpy!" Tom appeared oblivious. "It seems like vandalism to wreck such an engineering achievement! Also, and this may sound strange to you," he went on in a doubtful tone, "are we _really_ justified in taking the law into our own hands?" "They're trying to wreck _our_ setup, aren't they?" Bud retorted. "Think of the destruction they've caused already! Do you want to stand by and see Enterprises destroyed too?" "Bud's right," Hank Sterling spoke up quietly. "Take a look at this." He beckoned them over to another corner of the cave and pointed to a series of notations, crudely scrawled in white chalk on the cave wall. Half hidden behind a clump of rock, they would have escaped casual notice. Tom read them and gave an angry gasp. A list of places and dates, already checked off, showed the quakes that had occurred so far. The last notation, not yet checked, said: SWIFT ENTERPRISES and was dated five days ahead. "Okay, that's all the convincing I need!" Tom said grimly. He issued quick orders. Hank and Arv were to rush back to the _Sea Hound_, get an underwater pump from the gear carried aboard, and install it just off the beach. From there, they were to run a pipe line up into the cave, using special plastic tubing which hooked together in a jiffy. "Cover the piping with sand and gravel, so it won't be noticed," Tom added. "In the meantime, Bud and I will go to work on this setup here." "Aye-aye, skipper!" Hank and Arv responded. As they hurried out through the tunnel, Tom and Bud set to work with the tools they had brought along. The diesel was partly dismantled, sand poured into its fuel feed, and the generator windings ripped out. The boys then tore off and tangled all wiring leads to the electrical equipment, took apart much of the equipment itself, and smashed the control panel. "Boy, if those Brungarian creeps get this setup working again, they're _really_ geniuses!" Bud said as he and Tom paused a second. "This is only the beginning, pal!" Tom said. "Let's tackle the machine!" The huge earthquake device was a far more difficult proposition to disable. Its heavy structural parts had to be disassembled or pried apart, one by one. Both boys were streaked with sweat as they finished. By this time, Hank and Arv had the piping installed halfway into the tunnel. Spurred on as if by a sixth sense of danger, Tom told them to go back to the beach and get the pump working while he and Bud connected the few remaining pipe lengths into the machine room. Minutes later, their job done, Tom and Bud rushed out to the mouth of the cave and waved their flashlights. Soon the water could be heard boiling through the pipeline. It gushed out with a roar, flooding the machine room. "Let's go!" Tom cried, yanking Bud's arm. As they reached the beach and joined Hank and Arv, Tom's keen ears picked up the drone of a plane somewhere in the darkness. He gave a yell of alarm and pointed skyward. A ghostlike jet came zooming into view, boring straight toward them. All four broke into a mad dash for the seacopter. They were halfway out on the reef when the plane leveled out of its dive with an earsplitting whine. "Hide!" Tom shouted, fearing a bomb might be dropped. [Illustration (Tom and friends are attacked by a ray gun from an airplane)] All leaped for cover among the rocks. At the same instant, a fiery beam like a bolt of lightning shot from the plane. It seared the spot on the reef they had just vacated! "A ray gun!" Bud gasped. The plane's speed had already carried it far past the island. Before it could maneuver around for another pass, Tom and his companions were on their feet, racing for the safety of the _Sea Hound_. They were aboard and clamping shut the hatch lid as the jet made its second pass. This time its fiery ray glanced harmlessly off the seacopter's Tomasite sheathing. Seconds later, the _Sea Hound_ had darted off beyond reach into the ocean waters. "Whew! We really broke all speed records that time!" Arv panted. The others looked at him with wan but triumphant grins. Then they began to speculate on what the beamlike bolt was, who was in the plane, and if their enemy knew who Tom's group were. Dawn was streaking the sky when the seacopter arrived at Fearing Island. The adventurers flew back to Enterprises at once. Tom and Bud snatched a few hours' sleep in the apartment adjoining Tom's laboratory. Later in the morning the whole group gathered in Tom's laboratory to recount the raid to Mr. Swift and Harlan Ames. A bell signal from the electronic brain brought them rushing to the decoder. Grim news awaited them. The message said: EXMAN TO SWIFTS. YOUR ENEMIES ARE NOW SURE I AM SPY. THEY PLAN TO DESTROY ME. "No! It mustn't happen!" Tom cried in dismay. "Dad, I'll rescue him myself!" His words were greeted with shocked protests from the others. "Don't be crazy!" Bud said. "You wouldn't have a chance!" "It would be suicide!" Arv Hanson declared. Chow grabbed his young boss by the arm. "Brand my cayenne pepper, before I'd let you make a blame fool move like that, I'd rope an' hawg-tie you myself!" Ames interjected the most convincing argument. "I know how you feel, Tom," he said sympathetically, "but I'm positive the United States government would never permit such a risky undertaking." Tom was beside himself with anxiety. Not only had he worked and struggled to make the space brain's visit a scientific success, but also it was he who had thought of the scheme to use Exman as a spy. In Tom's eyes, if the Brungarian rebels were to destroy the brain's body, it would amount to murder! The young inventor knew that the destruction of the "body" would not destroy the energy, but that it would be "lost" as far as the earth was concerned. Who knew, Tom asked himself, what priceless secrets the "brain" might ultimately yield to earth's scientific researchers? If the Brungarians were to succeed, this might deter the Swifts' space friends from ever attempting another visit to our planet! In despair, Tom turned to his father. "You know how much is at stake, Dad!" he pleaded. "Isn't there something we can do?" Mr. Swift had been silent, thoughtfully drumming his pencil on the workbench. He looked up. "Tom, I can think of only one thing," he said. "Perhaps our friends on Planet X can help us. They said they would have no control over the energy until it was ready to return home. But maybe we can get them to help us transfer the energy back here--not by any means of earth transportation, but by some extraterrestrial means known to their scientists." Tom's eyes kindled with hope. "Dad, that's a terrific idea!" he exclaimed. "Let's try!" A message was quickly beamed out into space. Minutes went by. Then the machine signaled a reply. It said: WE WILL ATTEMPT RESCUE IF YOU WILL ARC A POWERFUL RADIO BEAM FROM POINT OF ORIGINAL EARTH LANDING TO POINT WHERE ENERGY IS NOW. Moments later, a further message followed, giving technical instructions on how to project the beam. It ended: NOTIFY US WHEN SETUP IS READY. "Yahoo!" Chow whooped. "Brand my space guns, I reckon we'll get Ole Think Box home safe after all!" "He's not home yet, Chow," Tom cautioned, grinning but still tense with worry. "Glad you said that, though. It reminds me that the first job on our hands is to build a new think box for Exman!" With hope alive, Tom turned icy calm and buckled down to the work at hand. Before beginning construction of a new space robot, he contacted Exman via the electronic brain and asked him for his exact location in Brungaria. The answer came in precise latitude and longitude. Next, Tom radioed instructions for the rescue plan. As soon as Exman was notified that the invisible force from Planet X was ready to transport his energy, he was to unlatch point five of his star head. He would then be free to attach his energy to the rescue beam and be arced back to the hillside spot near Enterprises, where Tom would have a new robot body waiting. Exman replied tersely: MESSAGE UNDERSTOOD. WILL COMPLY. Tom snapped out orders. "Hank! Arv! Bud! And, Dad, we can sure use your help too! Every hour may be precious! We must construct a replica of Exman's robot container as fast as possible!" Every resource of Swift Enterprises was convulsed into action. But for all their scientific miracles, the staff could not perform magic. The complicated robot device required hours of highly skilled construction. Darkness had fallen by the time the energy container was ready. Meanwhile, a powerful transmitter and directional antenna had been set up at the hillside spot. Extensive reports on the condition of the ionosphere poured into headquarters. The Swifts and their small group of trusted associates trucked the new robot and the electronic brain out to the site. Tom then signaled his space friends that he was ready. They responded with the exact time for the rescue attempt. Tom transmitted the information to Exman, who replied: DANGER NEAR. BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS READY TO DESTROY ME. "Great bellowin' buffaloes!" Chow gulped. "Please make it quick, Tom! We got to save that space critter!" Tom glanced at his illuminated watch dial. The countdown ticked by. Suddenly his hand closed a switch, transmitting the rescue beam. More moments passed as the Swifts and the watchers strained their eyes toward the night sky. "Here it comes!" Bud yelled suddenly. A fiery bluish-white light had suddenly flamed into view. It grew steadily larger. Tom poised the container and opened one point of the star head. Now the blue fireball was arcing down over the hillside, trailing its orange-red comet tail. It hissed into the container and Tom snapped shut the star head. The next moment, the young inventor wavered and slumped unconscious! CHAPTER XX THE ROBOT SPY'S STORY "Tom!" his father cried. Anxiously the others crowded around the lanky young inventor, who had fallen beside the new robot. "Stand back! Give him air!" Bud urged. "How is he, Mr. Swift?" The elder scientist was feeling Tom's wrist. "His pulse is beating, but it's a bit weak. He must have received a terrific shock from all that energy!... Tom!... Tom, son, can you hear me?" The young inventor moaned and stirred faintly but his eyes did not open. His cheeks and lips seemed colorless in the glow of Mr. Swift's flashlight. Chow was terrified, hovering about helplessly. "I'll call Doc Simpson to bring a pulmotor!" Hank exclaimed. "Yes, do, Hank!" Mr. Swift pleaded. "Quick!" An ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Doc Simpson and an attendant leaped out, and the resuscitation equipment--specially designed by the Swifts for their plant infirmary--was hastily unloaded. Anxious moments followed, but finally Tom began to respond to the treatment. Soon his eyes were open and he regained full consciousness. As Doc held a paper cup of water for him to sip, Tom smiled wanly. "Okay." he murmured, "I'm all right now. Sorry if I scared you, Dad." He started to get up. "It's a hospital bed for you, skipper. And no arguments!" Doc Simpson said sternly. "What happened here?" "I believe," Mr. Swift answered, "that our space friends, in finding a way to move the energy back to us, had less close control over it on earth than when they sent it from space." By midmorning the next day, Tom had awakened refreshed from a good night's sleep and felt normal again. Over Doc Simpson's protests, he insisted upon dressing and hurrying over to his laboratory. Here he found his father working intently amid a jumble of mechanical parts, tools, and electronic equipment. Nearby stood Exman with a panel open in his upper body, exposing the controls and output equipment. "Hi, Dad!" Tom exclaimed as he strode into the laboratory. "What's doing with Ole Think Box?" Mr. Swift looked up with a smile of relief. "'Morning, son! All well again? That's wonderful! I'm just giving Exman an artificial speech mechanism. He's already briefed us via the electronic brain on the situation in Brungaria. But I thought it would be even better if he could tell us in person." Details on the earthquake plot, Mr. Swift went on, had already been reported to the Defense Department. Tom's raid on Balala Island had effectively blocked further quake attempts. The Brungarian rebels had become enraged by their failure to extract Exman's secrets, and had decided to disintegrate the robot creature and its brain energy. But the youthful Brungarian loyalist group had kept them so busy with resistance outbreaks that they had delayed too long. "Lucky thing!" Tom put in with an affectionate grin at Exman. "If they had started to destroy him half an hour sooner, it might have been pretty sad for Ole Think Box!" Tom was intrigued by his father's design for an artificial speech mechanism. After talking it over, they decided that Tom would go to work on a central computer device to integrate all the senses. He would also provide Exman with "ears," which would be sound-reception equipment. Mr. Swift, meanwhile, would continue work on the speech mechanism and also perfect the seeing equipment he had started earlier. The day sped by as the two Swifts worked with feverish intensity. Lunch was eaten from their workbenches, but the inventors reluctantly halted at dinnertime. After a tasty meal of fried chicken at home with Mrs. Swift and Sandy, both Toms returned to the plant. Father and son labored until well past midnight on their experiments. Then they snatched a few hours of sleep and resumed their tasks early the next morning. By early afternoon an atmosphere of excitement pervaded Enterprises. The visitor from Planet X would soon be able to communicate directly with his earth friends! Bud, Chow, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and Art Wiltessa gathered in the laboratory, along with several other Swift key men. Mrs. Swift, Sandy, and Phyl also arrived to watch. At last the sensing equipment was completed and installed. Exman was ready to speak! His voice came out haltingly, but as the words were selected from a vast taped collection, they were clear and bold: GREETINGS TO YOU, MY EARTH FRIENDS! Sandy gave a squeal of delight and the room echoed with applause for Exman's first effort. After a few adjustments, he was able to speak more freely and smoothly. Tom whispered to Phyl, "Confidentially, we had a dummy run before lunchtime. At first, all Exman could do was croak like a frog." Phyl, thrilled by the spectacle of a speaking space creature, gave the young inventor's hand a squeeze. "Tom, he's just wonderful!" Tom agreed. "Our country owes him a lot for exposing the Brungarian rebel schemes." To Tom's amazement, Exman's "ears" picked up his murmured words, even above the babble of the spectators crowding the room. "Your country owes you much, Tom Swift," the creature said. "You conceived the idea of an electronic spy and found ways to block the rebels' destructive earthquake plans." As Tom flushed at the crowd's applause, Exman continued, "Unless I am mistaken, you will soon learn that you have accomplished even more." Tom was mystified by this. Meanwhile, the spectators listened spellbound as Exman went on talking, telling what he had learned of the valiant resistance efforts to overthrow the Brungarian rebels. A short time later the telephone rang. Tom answered, and the operator informed him that John Thurston of Central Intelligence was calling. "Great news, Tom," the CIA man said. "We've just learned that the rightful Brungarian government forces have struck hard in the capital city and at half a dozen other points. The rebel puppets and their troops have been crushed completely!" Tom was enthusiastic over the news. "That's not all," Thurston went on. "In case you don't realize it, the information which you supplied by means of your electronic spy is chiefly what enabled the government forces to win out. They've promised to dismantle the rebels' other two earthquake bases." As Tom hung up and relayed the electrifying news, Bud and the others burst into cheers. "It is all due to Tom Swift and his secret assistant," Exman said. Tom was puzzled by the remark but had no time to ask what he meant as the people in the room crowded around to shake his hand. Mr. and Mrs. Swift smiled proudly at their son's latest triumph. Phyl and Sandy expressed their feelings by giving Tom a quick kiss. "Hey! Where do I come in?" Bud protested. Before the girls could answer, the door of the laboratory opened and Harlan Ames walked in, accompanied by a lean, gray-eyed young man with dark close-cropped hair. _Samson Narko!_ Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, brand my sagebrush hash, it's that double-crossin' Brungarian--" "Hold it, Chow!" Ames cut short the outburst. "Allow me to introduce one of America's most effective counterespionage agents, Mr. Samson Narko!" Tom and his friends were astounded. Narko himself smiled somewhat uncomfortably. "I can imagine how you all feel--you especially, Tom. But, believe me, I could not risk pulling my punches even when it put you all in grave peril, such as when I fired that missile across the bow of your sub. I could only hope that Tom Swift would succeed in eluding us." Ames quickly briefed the others on Narko's background. Brungarian-born, he had received his engineering training in the United States and had learned to love America. When he saw his own country threatened by the forces of dictatorship, he had secretly offered his services to the CIA against the rebels. Soon afterward, the agency had approached him to become a counterspy. "I dared not relax from my role as a spy for a moment," Narko added. "I even grabbed the chance to plant that cache of firearms in Latty's cellar to convince any rebel agents who might be watching me that I was on their side. Tom, the rebels gave me the job of hijacking your space robot. But, going on the brief messages that the CIA was able to get through to me, I guessed that you were using it as bait." "I guess we all owe _you_ an apology," Tom said. "And our thanks. We were lucky to have you on our side." "He saved the lives of a number of loyalist prisoners and gave the government forces some vital tip-offs of his own," Ames added. As Tom shook hands with Narko, the young Brungarian said warmly, "It is good to know that Tom Swift is my friend." With a chuckle, Narko added, "I know from experience that you certainly make a dangerous enemy!" As the others gathered around to speak to Samson Narko and add their friendly congratulations, Bud slapped Tom on the back. "Well, skipper, what's next on the schedule?" For a moment Tom did not reply. He too wondered where his next scientific adventure would lead him. Finally Tom turned to Bud. "I'm not sure. But who knows what space secrets Exman may have up his mechanical sleeve!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [Errors noted by transcriber: Tom and Bud wore swimming trunks under their slacks. _text reads_ swiming Tom looked up, his blue eyes blazing. _text has period for comma_ KIDNAPED! [chapter title] _and elsewhere_ _spelling "kidnaped" consistent in text_ ] 
6716	----	Geo. W. Brooks, Secretary and Treasurer, Founder of the Company as reorganized in the year 1905 The Spirit of 1906 By George W. Brooks Founder of the California Insurance Company (as reorganized in the year 1905) and who has continuously occupied the position of Secretary and Managing Underwriter with the Corporation since that date. Published by the California Insurance Company of San Francisco 1921 Copyright 1921 By Geo. W. Brooks Dedicated to the Directors and Shareholders of the California Insurance Company in 1906 who so nobly, at their own financial cost, did their "Big Bit." "On fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled."--Spenser Foreword Whatever of effort has been given in the pleasant pastime of writing these rambling and sketchy pages of reminiscences is dedicated to those who in the hours of trial and tribulation felt with Sir Philip Sidney, "Honor is the idol of man's mind" and determined to do that which honor demanded knowing that if they lost their honor they lost their all. Reading between these lines, it is hoped there will be found some intimation, some outline, of the character of the men who composed the directors and stockholders of the California Insurance Company, who acted well their part, who fought the good fight and held the faith, whose stern sense of duty and heroic courage led them to lay upon the altar of their idealism the financial sacrifices which they made. Theirs is the honor achieved. They neither faltered nor hesitated in upholding and protecting their own individual good name, the fair name of the Company nor the integrity of the financial institutions of California, and they, like Bacon "May leave their name and memory to man's charitable speeches, to the next age and foreign nations." The Spirit of 1906 The California Insurance Company having played one of the leading parts in the reconstruction of San Francisco following the disaster of 1906 and there being no record of its activities, I have, after insistent and repeated requests from directors, stockholders and others, finally yielded to their importunities to preserve for reference my impressions and memories of that most important crisis ever known to fire insurance. From the time when Nero played the violin accompaniment to the burning of Rome, down, through the ages, to 5:15 a. m., April 18, 1906, and up to the present date, the San Francisco disaster is the most prominent recorded in history. It was the greatest spectacular drama ever staged and produced the biggest heap of the "damn'dest, finest ruins" the world has ever seen. In transferring the records from the tablets of my memory to the printed page, I am dealing with accurate historical facts of the California Insurance Company together with my own impressions. The facts and figures regarding the Company are incontrovertible. My own impressions are but those which were felt by thousands of other San Franciscans in a greater or lesser or more varying degree. These may be taken as merely the local color, the object being to set forth for enduring vision, the splendid performances of honorably disposed fire insurance companies amongst which none discharged to policyholders the liabilities under their contracts with any greater sense of equity, honor and liberality than did the California Insurance Company. The Morning of April 18th In common with the other half million citizens of San Francisco on that fateful morning, I was awakened from a sound sleep by a continuous and violent shaking and oscillation of my bed. I was bewildered, dazed, and only awakened fully when my wife suddenly screamed, "Earthquake!" It was a whopper, bringing with it a ghastly sensation of utter and absolute helplessness and an involuntary prayer that the vibrations might cease. Short as was the period of the earth's rocking, it seemed interminable, and the fear that the end would never come dominated the prayer and brought home with tremendous import the realization of our insignificance, of what mere atoms we become when turned on the wheel of destiny in the midst of such abnormal phenomena of nature's forces. It was 5:15, broad daylight, and as I glanced at my watch those figures were indelibly fixed in my memory for the rest of my existence. The terror and horror which suddenly sprang like a beast of prey out of the gray dawn and grasped our heart strings, came unheralded from a day that otherwise promised all that should make life worth living. The night had been particularly warm and inviting. So vivid was this impression of the glory of the morning that I was possessed by a feeling of irony that such a beginning should herald the inception of so bitter a calamity. Fascinated, I stood gazing at a weathervane on the top of a house across the street. It swayed to and fro like the light branch of a tree in a heavy gale. I was jarred out of my inanition by a terrific shock. The house lurched and trembled and I felt that now was the end. It was afterward discovered that this crash and jar was caused by the falling of a heavy outside chimney, attached to the adjoining house. It had broken and struck our dwelling at about the first floor level and torn away about twenty feet of the sheathing, some of the studding and left a big hole through which the dust and sound poured in volumes, adding to the already almost unbearable confusion. The first natural impulse of a human being in an earthquake is to get out into the open, and as I and those who were with me were at that particular moment decidedly human in both mold and temperament, we dressed hastily and joined the group of excited neighbors gathered on the street. Pale faced, nervous and excited, we chattered like daws until the next happening intervened, which was the approach of a man on horseback who shouted as he "Revere-d" past us the startling news that numerous fires had started in various parts of the city, that the Spring Valley Water Company's feed main had been broken by the quake, that there was no water and that the city was doomed. This was the spur I needed. Fires and no water! It was a call to duty. The urge to get downtown and to the office of the "California" enveloped me to such an extent that my terror left me. Activity dominated all other sensations and I started for the office. As all street car lines and methods of transportation had ceased to operate it meant a hike of about two miles. My course was down Vallejo street to Van Ness avenue, thence over Pacific street to Montgomery. When I reached the top of the hill at Pacific street where it descends to the business section, a vision of tremendous destruction, like a painted picture, opened before my eyes. I saw fires on the water front, fires in the commercial district and also portentous columns of smoke hovering over the southern part of the city. Then like a blow in the face came the realization that all fire fighting facilities were nil owing to the lack of water. One short hour previous, San Francisco was sleeping peacefully in its prosperity, and now the sight was appalling. Devastation, far as the eye could see, was spelling death and destruction. My route was down Clay street from Montgomery to Sacramento. In that one block I counted twenty-one dead horses, killed by falling walls. They had belonged to the corps of men who bring in to the market with the dawn the city's supplies. When I reached the corner of California and Sansome streets (the California office being one block away on California and Battery) I found a rope stretched across from the Mutual Life Insurance Company Building to the site where the Alaska Commercial Company building now stands. All beyond was policed. A soldier of the regular army was on guard and no one was permitted to pass. Arguments and beseechments to get to the office were of no avail. The necessity and the emergency, however, stimulated my determination and aroused my ingenuity. Suddenly, I ducked under the rope and ran a Marathon which was not only a surprise to myself but also to the officers and the crowd who yelled after me. I am sure that in this one block my speed record for a flat run still stands unequaled. I reached the office and there found every intimation of a hasty departure on the part of the janitor. The front door of the building stood wide open. I rushed in, threw open my desk and hastily gathered an armful of what I deemed were the more important books and papers. Glancing around to see if there was any way of saving anything else I again received a jolt by noticing that the fire was coming down a light shaft from an adjoining building and through an open window into the rear office of the "California's" office. In fact, furniture was already burning in the president's room. This was no place for me. The only avenue of escape was the way I had come, since so rapid was the spread of the conflagration that north, south and east were already in flames. Upon reaching California street I rushed and headed west, and the instant I had passed, the entire four-story outer wall of the building located on the southwest corner of California and Battery streets (then known as the "Insurance Building"), fell with a roar, completely blocking the street over which I had just made my escape. Realizing that my safety was measured by a matter of seconds, I was for a moment unnerved. My legs trembled, my heart pounded and my breath came quickly, and only by a great exertion of will induced by the thought that it was time to do and not to hesitate, I made the effort and arrived safely at the rope from which I had started. I shook as if with the ague. Sweat and grime poured from me, but the shout that went up from the watching crowd and the many friendly hands that sought mine, gave me my second wind. I had already made up my mind that possibly the Liverpool and London and Globe Insurance Company and Colonel C. Mason Kinne would allow me to store within their vaults whatever salvage I had taken from my desk. My trust in their courtesy was justified. I was made welcome and the Colonel, in the name of the company, placed anything and everything that it had in the shape of assistance at my disposal. As we stood talking on the corner of California and Leidesdorff streets, a friend still living in San Francisco who had an office in the Liverpool and London and Globe Building suggested to me that I had better take an option on some of that company's vacant rooms. I spoke to Colonel Kinne, a verbal agreement to that effect was made, and I turned and smilingly remarked, little knowing what the future had in store, that the California Insurance Company would resume business in the Liverpool and London and Globe Building "tomorrow morning." I then stood and watched the firemen lower a suction pipe through a manhole in the middle of the street and pump sewerage on to the old Wells Fargo Building. It had about as much effect as a garden hose and the supply was soon exhausted. The firemen stood perfectly helpless, like soldiers without ammunition, in front of the enemy. The fire had now about everything east of Sansome street and in the absence of water it was only a question of one or two days at most when the entire city would be in ashes. This was not alone my impression but the same ghastly prospect impressed itself upon all those who were gathered in the vicinity. The minutes had ticked off until it was now about 8 a. m., when another violent shock occurred--a sort of postscript to the original 5:15 trembler. It was of short duration but while it lasted it was decidedly impressive. The crowd scattered and I with them, for we suddenly realized that another wall might fall with a crash and that we might be caught. This is the only reason I can assign for our agility in getting away, unless it might be that we simply followed the first and natural impulse of our overwrought nerves. The Dominant Thought As the various impressions and shocks succeeded one another, there always came in the interim the dominant thought of the California Insurance Company. This thought again became uppermost and I concluded to at once get in touch with the president. I proceeded by devious ways over bricks, past wreck and ruin, through the stunned and gaping crowds, until I reached the St. Francis Hotel where he resided, and finally found him in the lobby, which was packed by an excited throng of humanity. If ever the St. Francis needed the S. O. S. sign, it was the morning of this day. Everybody in the hotel must have been, with others, in the lobby. The president was in his usual hopeful and optimistic frame of mind. He had no fear whatever but that the fire would be shortly under control. How this was to be brought about, he could not tell, but he was perfectly satisfied that it would be done. I looked at the man in wonder and admiration. Such colossal optimism was superb. To expect from fate what appeared to me to be the impossible was indicative of a hope sublime. I envied such a nature. It was not only a great asset but was also a great solace in the face of an unprecedented disaster. But he had not been where I had been nor had he seen what I had seen. Then my thoughts turned toward home and my depression increased almost to despair as I walked past the wreck and ruin and through the crowds who themselves were fleeing in indescribable habiliments and with all sorts of futile treasures grasped in their hands. No water! Little, if any, police protection! In fact, nothing, apparently, except Divinity itself, to prevent the conflagration from finally burning to the ocean. A most sublime tragedy! It meant the impoverishment and lack of homes to thousands; it meant the sweeping away of accumulations of years of endeavor; it might mean starvation; it meant beginning again to climb the uphill trail to success; and last, but worst, it meant the tremendous death toll either from immediate causes or from after effects. Even today, years after the conflagration, many men and women live in San Francisco in a greater or less degree of ill health, the seeds of which were planted by the terror and mental strain which they endured on the morning of that day. Progress of the Fire The day passed. Neither I nor any other can remember all the details which marked the hours of suspense. It is to be presumed that others like myself found various, and what then appeared to them to be tremendous, things to claim their attention and then--the second day! The fire had now reached Van Ness avenue and again came the messengers on horseback who shouted in passing that everyone must move. My home was on Vallejo street about five blocks beyond Van Ness and it was generally believed that inasmuch as that street was one hundred and twenty feet wide that it would form a fire break which could not be crossed. Backfiring had already been started to meet the oncoming conflagration, but everything, including the elements, seemed to favor destruction and, as time passed, the worry and fear increased. Owing to inability to combat the fire, through the lack of water, doubt began to creep in as to whether the width of Van Ness avenue and the puny attempts at fire fighting would check the march of the flames. About this time the question dawned upon myself and neighbors as to what we should do with the more precious of our personal belongings. Mr. Joseph Weisbein, a friendly neighbor, since dead, and myself evolved a scheme to bury our belongings in the garden at the rear of my house. We assembled four trunks, packed these with silverware and wearing apparel, and some of the hardest physical work I have ever done was in burying these trunks, digging the hole with a worn out shovel and a broken spade. Then, with the help of our Chinese cook, I brought out of the cellar a baby's buggy which had lain forgotten and unused for several years. We loaded it with bedding and other things and trundled it down the hill to Lobos Park near the bay shore. Trip after trip we made before we decided that we had all that was necessary or, rather, absolutely needful for a camp existence. The next question was shelter. After prowling around the partially quake-wrecked gas works, I found some pieces of timber out of which I constructed a sort of framework for a large A tent. I borrowed a hatchet from another refugee, a stranger in adversity. The disaster had broken down the barriers of formality and we all lent a willing hand each to the other. I secured some spare rope and got up my framework. This was covered to windward with some Indian blankets sewn together by those we were trying to make comfortable. Under that hastily erected rude shelter nineteen people slept on mattresses that night. I did not have the good fortune to sleep. Sleep would not come to "knit up the ravelled sleeve of care," and through the long hours I watched the intermittent flashes, heard the noises and in the darkness went through the added suffering of overstrained nerves. A neighbor, J. F. D. Curtis, since dead, but at that time and for years after the manager of the "Providence Washington Insurance Company," passed the silent watches of the night with me, each of us smoking ourselves blind and watching--talking but little, although thinking and feeling a whole lot. We were a mile from the fire, nevertheless it was so light that a newspaper could easily have been read by its glow from the time when the sun set on the ruins to the hour when it rose on the next day of horror. Curtis, turning and pointing to the flaming city, inquired in quiet tones if the California Insurance Company could pay the bill. I replied that as a stockholder in the company, I felt that I was ruined and I feared that the company would "go broke." He stated that he believed the Providence Washington would weather the storm and if the worst came to the worst with me, he would like to have me join him in the management of the company he represented. It was a ray of sunshine. It was a beacon of hope. It was like a life buoy thrown to a drowning man, and I shall never forget the encouragement that came with his offer nor the gratitude I felt, and, although subsequent events have shown that my first fears were wrong, my gratitude endures to this day. The night passed and while we were eating a cold breakfast, principally composed of sandwiches, the man on horseback arrived again; this time, however, with the glad tidings that the fire had been stopped at Van Ness avenue and we could return to our homes. It was afterward learned that the salvaging of the section of the city beyond Van Ness avenue was due to the excellent work done by two salt water streams pumped from the bay by tugs stationed at the foot of Van Ness avenue and carried along by relays of fire engines. So intense and so furious was the fire that while one set of firemen, their heads covered with blankets, held the hose, the second stream was used to drench them, also the engine. Further proof of the fierce and terrific heat was shown in the circumstance that houses one hundred and twenty-five to one hundred and thirty-five feet across the avenue had windows cracked and paint blistered. The last grand heroic stand of the fire fighters was made at the corner of Van Ness avenue and Vallejo streets. A man was found with a wagon to cart our things back to the house and, while we did not have much worldly wealth in our clothes, we were prepared to pay liberally. Under the circumstances, when his modest charge of two dollars was met we felt that he had earned it many times and in addition, our gratitude. Arriving at the residence, we found the sidewalks and the street in front of it three inches thick with ashes and cinders. Now came the task of unearthing the trunks and with it came the thought that had this section been entirely burned how difficult it might have been to locate the place where they had been buried. Necessity for action and to be up and doing was too strong, however, to allow time for any such conjectures. There was too much going on to dwell on post-mortems. That night the streets were patrolled by marines from United States warships in the harbor, whom the government had hurried to the scene of action with all promptness possible. No lights nor fires were permitted in houses. It was either retire at sundown or retire in the dark. Whatever water was needed had to be carried from the nearest well and even after the mains had been restored to normal efficiency this practice was continued for fear that the possibly broken sewers might contaminate or pollute the water. No fires nor cooking were permitted in any building until every chimney and flue had been passed upon by the authorities. In order to obtain water it was necessary first to procure buckets, then carry it from an old well in Lafayette Square, some dozen blocks away. Baths were forgotten and shaving was a luxury. It entailed severe labor to secure water with which to prepare the necessities of life and to maintain a reasonable degree of personal cleanliness. In common with every other citizen our stove was placed on the curb and this was our kitchen and dining room for over six weeks. As there was no oven, baking and roasting had to be dispensed with, boiling and frying being the established fashion. The second day after the fire, a food station was opened across the street in an old carriage house which belonged to Mr. J. L. Flood. Here lines would form to receive rations, the millionaire rubbing shoulders with the laborer. The panhandler got as much as the plutocrat. The disaster leveled all classes. A million dollars in one's pocket would have been of little use. Nothing could be bought with it and it could not serve as either food or drink. Getting Back to Work Betweenwhiles, as one crisis after another came and went, I was still constant to the idea and still felt my responsibility to the California, and from time to time as circumstances permitted, was strenuously endeavoring to reach the directors and stockholders. The president, in spite of his optimism, had fled from the Hotel St. Francis and gone to the home of his mother on Clay and Larkin streets. For the same reason he left there and went to the yards of the Fulton Iron Works where his yacht "Lady Ada" was laid up, got her off the ways and tacked over to Tiburon where he remained for some time. Finally word was received from him that the directors of the company would hold a meeting at the Blake and Moffitt Building on the corner of Eighth and Broadway, Oakland, on May 2, 1906. Who really located them, scattered as they were, and finally got them together, has remained an unexplained mystery. It must have been either the president or Chief Clerk Shallenberger. The late Mr. James Moffitt, a stockholder in the company and the owner of the building named, kindly secured for us two rooms in that building for an office. They were on the third floor facing Broadway and the location and the habitat of the company was disclosed by a canvas sign which, banner-like, hung upon the outer wall proclaiming this to be the office of the California Insurance Company. For furniture, there was a flat top desk and a typewriter (both secondhand) and the balance of the equipment was handmade, of ordinary lumber, by a local carpenter. There was not very much cash among those thus assembled, but, fortunately, the company had maintained a deposit in an Oakland bank and this was immediately available for checking purposes. First Meeting of the Board of Directors Quietly and almost silently the directors gathered. The only emotion apparent was that of the usual caution shown by men of large affairs who meet to face a crisis. The president called the meeting to order and stated that the object of the gathering was to inform the directors that the company was heavily involved in the conflagration which visited San Francisco on April 18, 19 and 20, 1906, that the amount of which obligations was at present unknown, that they overshadowed the resources of the company and that ways and means would have to be devised to finance the California through this crisis. The fire maps of the company were entirely destroyed and it was not advisable to open the safe in which the records of the company were kept until it was sufficiently cool to prevent danger of combustion. In light of these facts, it was impossible to immediately ascertain the actual amount of the company's obligations. In response to an inquiry as to the probable extent of our liabilities, I, as secretary of the company, ventured the statement that I believed they would reach a total of $1,500,000 net, explaining that I based this estimate upon the company's income and the average rate. I also knew that the larger part of the entire liabilities in San Francisco were in the burned area and that if the safe did not afford protection it would mean the loss of the company's records, leaving it without means of ascertaining the amount of the loss until claims were filed. This would cause a delay of several months before the exact total could be developed. I explained that the policy contract allowed sixty days for filing claims and expressed the thought that this limit would undoubtedly be extended by legislative action in view of the magnitude of the disaster. In the meantime, in the April 27 edition of the Examiner, on the first page, extending over its entire width, had appeared the following statement: "The California Insurance Company Will Pay in Full." This was discussed and the meeting began to assume a more lively interest and the members to more actively participate. Director W. E. Dean offered a resolution that has passed into history as being, possibly, the most noticeable ever adopted by the directors of a fire insurance company. It is a question whether a motion under like conditions had ever before been put or carried or ever will be in the future. This motion was seconded by Director Mark L. Gerstle. It was as follows: That the action of the president of this corporation in publicly announcing that the California Insurance Company would pay all its losses in full as ascertained and adjusted, be, and the same is hereby confirmed and ratified, provided that each of the directors of the corporation affixes his signature to the matters of this meeting. Unless such ratification be unanimous and evidenced by the signature of each director to the matters of this meeting, the above action of the board be null and void. The signature of each and every director was subsequently affixed to this resolution and it then remained a matter of detail to find how funds were to be procured to make this resolution possible of fulfillment and something more than a mere matter of words. In the absence of any specific or definite information as to the amount of the company's indebtedness this action of the directors was a most magnificent exemplification of nerve and integrity and a superb testimony reinforcing the axiom that a California man's word is as good as his bond. The board might have instructed its secretary to make the best compromise settlements possible and have wound up the affairs of the corporation. The public mind was in a receptive mood to accept such compromise settlements and such action would have resulted in extreme financial advantage to the stockholders at the time when the resolution was passed. No one at that time believed that the California would discharge its obligations on a parity with the largest and strongest insurance companies in the world. Indeed the public announcement that the company would pay in full was regarded as ridiculous and unbelievable and was generally considered in the light of an extremely sagacious bluff. The directors of the company were not bluffers; they were made of different stuff. They did not hesitate. They were in deadly earnest and absolutely meant to live up to their spoken word and the world knows how they redeemed their promises. My original estimate of $1,500,000 fell far short of the final net payment which amounted to $1,840,000, but long before this had developed the stockholders were too deeply involved to think of turning back even had they desired to do so. Staunchly and loyally they stayed and paid to the end, building a monument to their good name that turned the sneers of welshing competitors into envy and admiration. Second Meeting of the Board of Directors In the advance of the company, the next historical date of importance was May 11, 1906, when the succeeding meeting of the Board of Directors was held at the home of Director Mark L. Gerstle, 2350 Washington street, San Francisco. Again, I was called upon to bring bad news. I was compelled to inform the Board of Directors that all the records of the company had been destroyed as the safe which contained them had been smashed by falling walls and the contents absolutely obliterated. The only thing recovered was some rolls of silver coins melted together by the intense heat. I also reported that three hundred and fifty claims had been filed for an amount totaling over $650,000. The loss of the records was a very serious matter and complicated proceedings to a degree apparently almost insurmountable. Lost in the destruction of the safe were some $900,000 in re-insurance policies. This meant restoration of this data from the records of the re-insuring companies and at that time this looked like a superhuman undertaking. However, I immediately detailed two employes with instructions to devote their entire time to this angle of affairs. The companies met the situation with every courtesy and finally after several months' exertion all of the reinsurance was located, with the exception of about $18,000. I do not like to harbor the thought, but nevertheless I feel that some company or companies, possibly still doing business, know that they owe the California some part of this re-insurance, which goes to show that in the insurance business, as in other enterprises, there are those who cannot bear the light of day. About twelve months after the "Big Fire" I remember having received a re-insurance claim from a company whose home office is in New York. As this particular company was one of the very few that declined to respond to the request to assist us in restoring the lost data, I thought it the better part of wisdom to ask it to furnish the information previously requested, holding up their claim in the meantime while awaiting their reply. It never came, and their claim against the California still remains unpaid. The conclusion is too glaring to need further comment. A few similar instances might be recorded but they are best forgotten. This meeting also made history. It levied the first assessment of $40 per share on the six thousand shares of capital stock of the corporation. This would bring in $240,000 and was subsequently followed, month by month, by seven others, until the total assessment had reached $305 per share, amounting in all to $1,830,000, of which $1,800,000, or 98 per cent, to the everlasting glory of the stockholders of the California, be it said, was paid. The resolution bringing this about was as follows: "Notice is hereby given that at a meeting of the directors held on the 11th day of May, 1906, an assessment of forty (40) dollars per share was levied upon the capital stock of the corporation payable on or before the 13th day of June, 1906, to Mark L. Gerstle, assistant secretary, at the principal place of business of the corporation, No. 2350 Washington street, San Francisco, Cal. Any stock upon which this assessment shall remain unpaid on the 13th day of June, 1906, will be delinquent and will be advertised for sale at public auction, and unless payment is made before will be sold on the 2d day of July, 1906, at 2 o'clock p. m. to pay the delinquent assessment, together with cost of advertising and expenses of sale." The "'Dollar for Dollar" Resolution It became my duty to inform the directors that a meeting of the representatives of all the fire insurance companies interested in the conflagration was called for an early date at Reed's Hall, Oakland, and that I understood the principal object of this meeting was to secure an expression of opinion as to the method to be adopted in settling San Francisco losses, whether seventy-five cents on the dollar should be paid or settlement on a 100 per cent basis be made, and I requested instructions. This was merely pro forma as the company had already announced its position publicly as being in favor and promising to pay cent for cent the full obligation of its contracts. The board gave me the instructions I had expected. The meeting at Reed's Hall was a most memorable one. The late Geo. W. Spencer, at that time manager of the Aetna Insurance Company, presided, and to his fair and impartial rulings and usual courtesy and dignity of manner, is attributable the fact that there was not considerably more friction than developed. Even as it was, the discussions were acrid and verged at times close to personalities and the oratory, especially on the part of those who advocated the "six-bit" policy, was both perfervid and vociferous. However, the representatives of the companies that had made up their minds that their honor and contracts were worth dollar for dollar had little to say and were not influenced by the alleged arguments of the "six-bit-ers." They felt that in the last analysis there was no logical, honest argument for the discounting of payments unless it were a case of absolute insolvency with individual companies. It was maintained by the opponents to the "six-bit" policy that the insuring public had paid for what it assumed to be valid contracts and was entitled to just indemnity and payment in full. Finally, the roll call came to ascertain the sense of the meeting--seventy-five cents or one dollar. The roll call was thrilling in the intensity of feeling it developed and in the position in which it revealed each company's standing, whether for an honorable fulfillment on the one hand or a dishonorable scaling of losses on the other. Alphabetically, the California Insurance Company came early in the list and I voted with those who felt their obligation to be one hundred cents on the dollar. The position which the California would take had been awaited with considerable interest. The public announcement that the company would pay dollar for dollar was still recent and this announcement had appealed to nearly every person at that gathering as a promise which the company was absolutely and physically unable to perform. The registering of the vote called forth quite a demonstration. Laughter, smiles and sarcasm predominated in the part of the hall where I was located. For a moment I was the center of attraction. Despite the embarrassment and annoyance under which I labored, I felt that I was called upon to defend the good name of the company and, gaining recognition from the chairman, I said that the manner in which the "California" voted seemed to cause some of those present considerable amusement and that, individually, I didn't see anything in it that was funny; that it was more of a tragedy than a comedy, and that it was a solemn and serious matter for the company of which I was the representative to go on record for the second time, publicly, as pledging itself to pay so tremendous an amount of money out of the pockets of its stockholders; that I was present at the meeting to carry out the expressed instructions and wishes of these same stockholders and that they intended to be scrupulously careful in keeping their promises, backing their words with their deeds and dollars. This statement brought from the dollar-for-dollar companies a gratifying amount of applause and the "six-bit-ers" sank into silence. As the days passed and the "tumult and shouting" died, it gave a certain amount of satisfaction to find that amongst the jeerers and sneerers at the memorable Reed's Hall meeting, those who had battled most vigorously for the horizontal cut of twenty-five cents were those who afterward developed into the worst welshers and shavers in the entire history of the loss settlements of the San Francisco or any other conflagration. The "sparkling" Rhine, the "still" Moselle, the far-famed "Dutchess," the German of Freeport, the Traders of Chicago, the Austrian Phoenix, the Calumet, the American of Boston and others soon after sought the seclusion which a receiver or cessation of business in California grants, and like the Arab, they folded their tents and silently stole away. At the termination of the meeting, President Chase of the Hartford, President Damon of the Springfield, Chairman Spencer and several others, all leaders in dollar-for-dollar ranks, some of whom are alive and some of whom are gone, gathered around and congratulated the California upon its attitude. Individually, it gave me a feeling of pride and satisfaction to be the representative of a company which manfully stood up to the rack with the best traditions of American fire insurance. It may be well to recall to mind as a historical fact that it was at this meeting the term "dollar-for-dollar" companies was born. Coming Back to San Francisco Early in June we made arrangements to vacate our quarters in Oakland in the Blake and Moffitt Building, and on the 5th of that month the California was moved to an office in San Francisco. This was a temporary frame structure erected on identically the same site which the company had occupied prior to the fire, and where the magnificent new skyscraper known as the "Newhall" Building now stands. As things go now, it was not much of an office either as to style or appearance, but it was roomy, light, well ventilated and comfortable and in every respect preferable to the two crowded rooms that had so hospitably housed us in Oakland. The return to San Francisco heartened us. The daily trip from the city to Oakland and return had been a hardship, in addition to the time lost when every minute was too precious to be wasted. Less time was lost in crossing the bay than in getting to and from the Ferry. The street cars were not in operation and I was compelled daily to make the walk over the hills and through the ruins threading my way through the ashes and over brick piles a distance of quite two miles, from my home to the water front. This twice a day for six days a week, and often seven, was exhausting in the extreme, so the wear was not altogether mental. The thought was very often in my mind that I had about the most trying job of anyone in the business. Other managers seemed to me to be paying very little attention, if any, to the detail of settling claims and, of course, had nothing whatever to do with providing the sinews of war. They were fortunate in being able to pursue the even tenor of their way, their entire business and time being occupied with current routine, just as if nothing of an extraordinary nature had happened. This condition arose from the fact that the companies in the East hurried to San Francisco and Oakland all the adjusters, both near and alleged, that they could obtain from any portion of the United States and a few from abroad, in order that the losses might be promptly taken care of. The home offices saw to it that the funds were provided. The special agents and field men of these offices were not disturbed in their usual work and were rarely, if ever, made use of at headquarters to make adjustments. With the California it was quite different. Our entire field force was called in and promptly clothed with authority to adjust. This left our agency plant entirely unprotected as to cultivation. Financially, we were in such a crippled condition that we felt we could not afford the expense of employing independent adjusters. These were a luxury in any event and some of them, alas, would have been dear at any price. The thought often comes that perhaps this policy was poor economics. This was a golden opportunity for representatives of the "dollar-for-dollar" companies to secure valuable agents, as carrying capacity was in large demand to replace those companies that had either failed or made unsatisfactory loss settlements. That there was an abundance of the latter admits of no dispute. Possibly, we might not at that time have been able to secure many of these valuable connections, even if we had had the field force requisite for the required technical work, for the reason that doubts were still expressed as to our ability to fulfill our promises. Duties of the Secretary In the California Insurance Company office, the position of secretary was closely akin to that of the celebrated "Pooh-Bah." Attached to the office was the duty of collecting the assessments on the capital stock, adjuster in chief, the underwriting, a court of appeal on technical points in disputed settlements, a diplomatic agency and encouragement dispensatory with and for the stockholders. The latter item took considerable time. Singly and in groups they fired their questions: "How many assessments will there be?" "How much do you think the losses will total?" "How soon will you know the amount?" "When we do get out of this shall we be as big as any other fire company or bigger?" This was the daily grind. But since it was their money and they were laymen, their anxiety was as pardonable as their courage was commendable. The president occupied an office on the other side of the hail, directly opposite mine. The one door was lettered "President" and the other "Secretary." One of the stockholders cornered me and demanded a full and explicit statement of conditions. I gave him the facts and frankly confessed that the prospect was not alluring. He bade me goodbye with a long face and went directly across the hall into the office of the president. In a brief while, he returned, his face wreathed in smiles, and quietly said 'that the president's office was "Heaven" and my office was "Hell"; that I was a "gloomy Gus" anyway, but I couldn't help it and he pitied me, but as for the president, he was the right man in the right place, and he knew our exact position.' I did not make any reply. The optimism of the president was a very great asset and in those days optimism and hope were at a premium. Turning of the Tide Finally the tide turned. Several months had elapsed, however, before it became generally known and admitted and the insurance world had hammered into it the conviction that the California was truly "Californian." At this time our field men were again in the saddle and the agency of the California was not only readily accepted whenever offered, but eagerly pleaded for by connections which materially contributed to subsequent success. Adjustments There are millions of stories with regard to the adjustment and settlement of claims during this period. All kinds of pressure, all kinds of seduction and all kinds of bribes were offered the adjusters. There appeared to be in the minds of many a conviction that this was the time to make a claim against the insurance companies; that everything was burned and that with the upset conditions any old claim could get by. Stevedores, laborers and others not generally credited with an excess amount of worldly wealth gayly and festively swore to proofs showing the loss of family plate, ancestral pictures, silk underwear, ball gowns, evening clothes and jewels. There was no possibility of disciplining these perjurors and it was up to the expertness of the adjusters to defend their companies from being looted. There were all kinds of attempts to defraud on the part of other policyholders. One instance in which the California was interested was a proof for a $16,000 loss on a policy covering on stock of dry and fancy goods located in a building on Market street. I received a visit from the policyholder who made a request for prompt payment. I explained that our funds were being raised by assessments which were levied once a month and that, if agreeable, we would pay him sixty per cent of his claim and the balance in sixty days. This appeared to be satisfactory and he left in a happy frame of mind. Thirteen thousand dollars of the risk in question was ceded to other companies and we naturally filed claims with the reinsurers for their proportion. The following day a friend who was acting as chief adjuster for another office which was one of the re-insurers on this risk, called upon me regarding this particular claim. He laid upon my desk a photographic album and called my attention to a large photograph of the building wherein the stock was located. It was a two-story brick and the picture showed that the entire front of the second story had, as the result of the earthquake, been thrown into the street. This was taken before the fire had reached the property. He stated that the authenticity of the photograph was absolutely guaranteed and that in event of litigation, the testimony of the photographer was available. He further stated that acting for the re-insuring company, he would not follow the California for more than sixty-five cents on the dollar. I borrowed the photograph and at once sent for the claimant. He called the next day. It was found on examination that he had made the statement to the general adjustment committee that the property was not damaged prior to the fire. Unfortunately, no affidavit was taken from him to that effect. With the photograph before me, I realized at once that the claim was not an honest one. I explained that the larger part of our policy had been ceded to other companies and that some of them demanded, earthquake affidavits with every claim; that while I regretted to put him to any inconvenience, it would be necessary for him to produce this testimony. He looked me squarely in the eye and said, "I'll sign it and swear to it. Not a brick in the whole building was disturbed." He attached his signature to the affidavit. I showed him the photograph and then stated that we should be compelled to penalize him to the extent of thirty-five cents on the dollar. As a matter of equity, there was little, if any, liability under the policy. He shouted, "Fake!" "No," I replied, "simply a matter of contractural rights and of justice. The picture is absolutely bona fide." He left, emphatically stating that he would at once "go to the bat." I suggested that he submit the matter to his attorney. Fortunately for him, he had a wise one who promptly advised that he accept the terms offered. This is another angle of the settlement of the San Francisco losses--no more nor less in fact, methods, and manner, than that with which other legitimate companies had to contend. Another instance is recalled of a claim for a thousand dollars covering on lodging house furniture in a building on Sixth street, with the loss made payable to the owner of the building. I supposed that the policy was collateral for payment of rent. It developed that the claimant was a widow with one child. She was without a cent in the world, and called to request payment. By this time the company was running short of ready funds to such an extent that instructions had been issued to adjusters that all claims hereafter would take the customary sixty days before payment. She stated that the fire had canceled her lease, that she had seen the payees and that they would waive the claim and that she was absolutely destitute and would be willing to take whatever we would offer, if she could get the cash. The position of the company was explained to her with the result that she felt that we were working for a discount. But it was not the intention of the California to take advantage of people's necessities and we informed her that such was the case. Her claim was a just one. I accepted her proofs, paid her twenty-five per cent cash and the balance at the end of thirty days. These are but isolated instances among many. Special Meeting of Stockholders Another historical meeting was held August 9th. This time at the office of the company. It was a special meeting of the stockholders. Three assessments had been levied of forty dollars each, amounting in all to $720,000. This money had been paid out in settlement of claims. This was the first meeting of the stockholders proper since the fire. The directors realized that in response to inquiries from the stockholders who were principally interested that they were entitled to a report as to the progress made and the policy to be adopted for the future. Over ninety individual stockholders were present and in order to accommodate the crowd, the employes removed their desks and chairs, and during the time of the meeting adjusted losses and discharged their duties on the sidewalk in front of the building. The early-comers had seats. The late-comers stood, but so interesting was the meeting that discomforts were forgotten. The president made a very full and analytical report, finishing with the announcement that another million dollars would be needed to continue the splendid work and accomplish the final result of bringing the California through the disaster with justice, equity and fairness to all its contract-holders. The atmosphere was charged with optimism and enthusiasm and amongst all the speeches made, and they were many, not one bore any intimation of regret or of any desire to do other than march steadily ahead. Mr. Ignatz Steinhart, at the time manager of the Anglo-Californian Bank, careful, cautious, shrewd and a hard-headed financier, in his speech practically struck the keynote of the whole meeting. He said in substance: "I have lived here many years and I expect to die here. I love San Francisco and I know you all feel the same and it is my honest conviction that the directors of the California have adopted the proper and only course and that its stockholders will stand behind them, and that, the company will pay its losses at the rate of one hundred cents on the dollar without discount. I now present a motion that it is the sense of this meeting that the Board of Directors be given all that they request and that all their actions are hereby heartily ratified, approved and confirmed." There was not a single dissenting vote. At this time a stockholder enthusiastically jumped on his chair and proposed three cheers for the company and the management. The clerks on the sidewalk and some of the passers by rushed into the crowd to see what was the cause of the commotion. When the meeting adjourned, the confidence of all was renewed. The barometer of their enthusiasm and determination had risen and smiles and handshakes put the period to the gathering. Seldom, if ever, has an Irish dividend meeting been held and disbursed with such a wholesome feeling of satisfaction. It was more like a "melon cutting" than a preparation to excavate to still lower depths their pocketbooks. Never was the true California spirit more faithfully portrayed. The Final Supreme Effort The annual statement of the company at the end of the year showed beyond the peradventure of a doubt that the company had kept the faith, but it was left with a very attenuated surplus. Then business began to grow by leaps and bounds. The bread which had been cast upon the waters was returning and another problem now confronted the company--to protect the reserves on the rapidly increasing income. This required a working surplus and meant more assessments which seemed to be adding insult to injury. The stockholders had already provided the funds to pay losses and to now ask for more money for any other than loss-paying purposes, gallant as was the spirit of those directly interested, seemed dangerous. The directors and some of the more prominent stockholders met informally and discussed the situation and the concensus of opinion was that the honor of the company demanded that it continue to the end to accomplish to the fullest that for which so many financial sacrifices had been made--to take any other course, to discontinue, to fall down, or to break faith with those who had given us their confidence would be suicidal. In this deduction proof was given of the sound judgment and business acumen of those who bore the brunt of the burden in those hot days of battle. They took the position that the reputation which the company had already builded was an asset of almost unlimited value and realized that the peak of the mountain was just a few steps further on--that summit from which the company could look out upon the valley of success and reap the full reward for all the sacrifices its stockholders had made. Plan after plan was submitted for financing, change after change was suggested, but for a time concerted action seemed almost impossible of attainment. Finally, I called upon the largest stockholder and treasurer of the company, Mr. Geo. L. Payne, in his office at the Payne Bolt Works. I laid before him the plan of increasing the capital stock from six thousand shares to ten thousand shares by the sale of four thousand shares at sixty dollars per share which would realize for the company a total amount of $240,000 of which $160,000 could be applied to capital, bringing that item up to $400,000, and $80,000 to surplus. While this did not make the surplus as much as was desirable, we were used to economies, to making every dollar count. This has always been a feature of the management of the company. With this sum and by a continuance of conservative methods and proper management we believed it possible to provide for all contingencies. Mr. Payne listened quietly, a pad of paper before him and a pencil in his hand. When I had exhausted every argument and made the best possible statement of the exact conditions, he stated that he realized fully the gravity of the position and then came the flood. He said that, if it became necessary, he, as the largest stockholder in the company, would endorse the proposition to the extent of taking the entire issue. The balance of the consummation of the idea was merely a matter of detail. Another meeting of the stockholders was called and of the many meetings that we had gone through, this stands out brightest of all. The plan was presented and as might naturally be expected invoked little enthusiasm and did not appear to interest anybody. Mr. Payne quietly rose to his feet, explained the position of the company as he saw it and then shocked the assemblage into activity by making public the announcement of his willingness to take the entire issue of additional stock. That was a flash of optimistic lightning the bolt of which apparently struck every man in the room. They sat up, took notice, and awoke to the fact that they were possibly missing something worth while. The outcome was that Mr. Payne was only able to secure his pro rata as the entire issue was promptly over subscribed by the stockholders, it being understood that the right of subscription should be confined rigidly to stockholders of record. Never in my business career have I seen the value or virtue of a leader expressed in so forceful a manner as in the effect of Mr. Payne's offer upon that meeting. It was the greatest evidence of applied psychology that ever it has been my good fortune to experience. Recapitulation These memoranda I have written years after the happenings which they sketch. They are drawn from the records of the company and from the tablets of my memory. Those upon which I have touched were amongst the higher lights, they are vivid in recollection and as well remembered as if they had taken place at a recent date. Those were strenuous times. Times that not alone tested the dignity and honor of men, but rocked them to their very foundations. Only the admittedly honest and honorable men survived the experiences of those days without blotch upon their escutcheons. It is naturally to be presumed that the minds of those who passed through those days of reconstruction recall many deeds of heroism, of sacrifices made upon the altar of duty. Each has the surmounting of his individual trials to remember, but amongst all that was done as the result of the San Francisco conflagration there is, in my opinion, nothing carrying greater, honor or higher integrity than the work and sacrifice of that gallant band of men who were directors and shareholders of the California Insurance Company. They were the pioneers and the sons of pioneers who braved the hardships and terrors of desert and sea--the founders of this great commonwealth. Incidents and happenings which have passed from public record will still live in the memory of those who played a part. The wonderful rehabilitation period, with all that it meant of physical and mental suffering, but typifies today in concrete, stone and brick the sturdy and stalwart spirit of those men who were made absolute pioneers by the ash heap of 1906. Some of these have gone to their last accounting, but for those who are still serving, and still tugging at the oar, there remains but to guard the heritage which they bequeathed--to bring upon the results of their work a continuation of their ideals. The spirit of 1906, glorified by San Franciscans, which alone made possible the resurrection from the ashes of that "city loved around the world," sitting serenely upon its seven hills by the portals of the Golden Gate and whose destiny is oblivious of fire and earthquake, is worthy of more than a passing tribute. Its example should thrill and encourage those who are inclined to falter. It is a beacon light to those who are to continue the struggle with the petty details and the larger duties of everyday life. And among the contributors none are more to be admired or borne in reverent respect than the directors, those men who held either large or small investments in the "California" and were true to their trust. Conclusion Whether the end justifies the means depends upon the judgment of the critic. It is possible that there is too much of personality herein, but in justice to the writer, it must be borne in mind that no attempt has been made for literary style; that the task imposed upon him was attempted solely to comply with the insistence of others and that the use of the first personal pronoun is the readiest vehicle of expression. No special mantle of credit rests upon his shoulders. If there be any such garment it drapes the shoulders of every man connected with the company from the humblest employee up through the heaviest stockholders to the highest official. It overlaps and falls with becoming dignity on the shoulders of those who are fellow citizens and fellow Californians, who shared with us as we shared with them the heat and burden of the days succeeding the never-to-be-forgotten disaster of April 18, 1906. The Spirit of 1906 is a book of the Primo Press, San Francisco, printed in April, 1921 
22566	----	[Illustration: DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD] [Illustration: PICKING THE PRINCESS.] DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ BY L. FRANK BAUM AUTHOR OF THE WIZARD OF OZ, THE LAND OF OZ, OZMA OF OZ, ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN R. NEILL BOOKS OF WONDER WILLIAM MORROW & CO., INC. NEW YORK [Illustration] COPYRIGHT 1908 BY L. FRANK BAUM ALL RIGHTS RESERVED * * * * * [Illustration] DEDICATED TO HARRIET A. B. NEAL. * * * * * To My Readers It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling tales of the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. They cry: "Oz--Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I do but obey their commands? This is Our Book--mine and the children's. For they have flooded me with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and I have honestly tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story. After the wonderful success of "Ozma of Oz" it is evident that Dorothy has become a firm fixture in these Oz stories. The little ones all love Dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "It isn't a real Oz story without her." So here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, I hope, and the heroine of another strange adventure. There were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the Wizard." It seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first Oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." The children had heard how he mounted into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. So what could I do but tell "what happened to the Wizard afterward"? You will find him in these pages, just the same humbug Wizard as before. There was one thing the children demanded which I found it impossible to do in this present book: they bade me introduce Toto, Dorothy's little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. But you will see, when you begin to read the story, that Toto was in Kansas while Dorothy was in California, and so she had to start on her adventure without him. In this book Dorothy had to take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next Oz book, if I am permitted to write one, I intend to tell a good deal about Toto's further history. Princess Ozma, whom I love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of Oz. You will also become acquainted with Jim the Cab-Horse, the Nine Tiny Piglets, and Eureka, the Kitten. I am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. Dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody knows. I believe, my dears, that I am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. Many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while I read the tender, loving, appealing letters that come to me in almost every mail from my little readers. To have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become President of the United States. Indeed, I would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the President. So you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and I am more grateful to you, my dears, than I can express in words. I try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer. But be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books. Besides, I am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and I am sure they would not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance. L. FRANK BAUM CORONADO, 1908. LIST OF CHAPTERS CHAPTER PAGE 1 THE EARTHQUAKE 13 2 THE GLASS CITY 23 3 THE ARRIVAL OF THE WIZARD 41 4 THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM 55 5 DOROTHY PICKS THE PRINCESS 64 6 THE MANGABOOS PROVE DANGEROUS 77 7 INTO THE BLACK PIT AND OUT AGAIN 88 8 THE VALLEY OF VOICES 95 9 THEY FIGHT THE INVISIBLE BEARS 106 10 THE BRAIDED MAN OF PYRAMID MT 120 11 THEY MEET THE WOODEN GARGOYLES 131 12 A WONDERFUL ESCAPE 142 13 THE DEN OF THE DRAGONETTES 160 14 OZMA USES THE MAGIC BELT 172 15 OLD FRIENDS ARE REUNITED 187 16 JIM, THE CAB-HORSE 203 17 THE NINE TINY PIGLETS 217 18 THE TRIAL OF EUREKA, THE KITTEN 231 19 THE WIZARD PERFORMS ANOTHER TRICK 240 20 ZEB RETURNS TO THE RANCH 251 [Illustration] CHAPTER 1. THE EARTHQUAKE The train from 'Frisco was very late. It should have arrived at Hugson's siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up to the open shed that served for the station-house. As it came to a stop the conductor called out in a loud voice: "Hugson's Siding!" At once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. The conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. The reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his passengers. So he moved the cars slowly and with caution. The little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a curve; then she turned to see where she was. The shed at Hugson's Siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not look very inviting. As she peered through the soft gray light not a house of any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees a short distance away. She walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. It was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. She could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body, and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not fit. His tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. The buggy seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. Getting around in front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the seat, fast asleep. She set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol. Presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly. "Hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you Dorothy Gale?" "Yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes. "Have you come to take me to Hugson's Ranch?" "Of course," he answered. "Train in?" "I couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said. He laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. Jumping out of the buggy he put Dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor in front. "Canary-birds?" he asked. "Oh, no; it's just Eureka, my kitten. I thought that was the best way to carry her." The boy nodded. "Eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked. "I named my kitten that because I found it," she explained. "Uncle Henry says 'Eureka' means 'I have found it.'" "All right; hop in." She climbed into the buggy and he followed her. Then the boy picked up the reins, shook them, and said "Gid-dap!" The horse did not stir. Dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all. "Gid-dap!" called the boy, again. The horse stood still. "Perhaps," said Dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go." The boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out. "Guess I'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "But Jim knows his business all right--don't you, Jim?" patting the long nose of the animal. Then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the sandy road which was just visible in the dim light. "Thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "I've waited at that station for five hours." "We had a lot of earthquakes," said Dorothy. "Didn't you feel the ground shake?" "Yes; but we're used to such things in California," he replied. "They don't scare us much." [Illustration: DOROTHY POKED THE BOY WITH HER PARASOL.] "The conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew." "Did he? Then it must have happened while I was asleep," he said, thoughtfully. "How is Uncle Henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse continued to trot with long, regular strides. "He's pretty well. He and Uncle Hugson have been having a fine visit." "Is Mr. Hugson your uncle?" she asked. "Yes. Uncle Bill Hugson married your Uncle Henry's wife's sister; so we must be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone. "I work for Uncle Bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my board." "Isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully. "Why, it's a great deal for Uncle Hugson, but not for me. I'm a splendid worker. I work as well as I sleep," he added, with a laugh. "What is your name?" asked Dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the cheery tone of his voice. "Not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "My whole name is Zebediah; but folks just call me 'Zeb.' You've been to Australia, haven't you?" "Yes; with Uncle Henry," she answered. "We got to San Francisco a week ago, and Uncle Henry went right on to Hugson's Ranch for a visit while I stayed a few days in the city with some friends we had met." "How long will you be with us?" he asked. "Only a day. Tomorrow Uncle Henry and I must start back for Kansas. We've been away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again." The boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. Then he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to rise up before them. Next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at her side Dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together again. "Goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "What was that?" "That was an awful big quake," replied Zeb, with a white face. "It almost got us that time, Dorothy." The horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. Zeb shook the reins and urged him to go, but Jim was stubborn. Then the boy cracked his whip and touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest Jim stepped slowly along the road. Neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. There was a breath of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake violently. Jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. He was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf. The sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley. Suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. With a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him. Dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. The sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think. Blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths. The horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises, proved more than Dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl lost consciousness. Zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every moment would be his last. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER 2. THE GLASS CITY When Dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast. The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. The worst thing was their terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. Crash after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side. These they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and Jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck his boney body. They did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured. How long this state of things continued Dorothy could not even guess, she was so greatly bewildered. But bye and bye, as she stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see the form of the horse Jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. Also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself. Dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. She began to realize that death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were those she had before encountered. With this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. Far below her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. The central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. Around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. This splendid group of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and buggy--with Dorothy and Zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow, growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was brilliantly illuminated. Dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of Jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. Then she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous. "Isn't it funny?" she said. The boy was startled and his eyes were big. Dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright. "I--I don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered. [Illustration: HORSE, BUGGY AND ALL FELL SLOWLY.] Just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse tipping also. But they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. Then they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were right side up again. During this time Jim struggled frantically, all his legs kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said, in a relieved tone of voice: "Well, that's better!" Dorothy and Zeb looked at one another in wonder. "Can your horse talk?" she asked. "Never knew him to, before," replied the boy. "Those were the first words I ever said," called out the horse, who had overheard them, "and I can't explain why I happened to speak then. This is a nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?" "As for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered Dorothy, cheerfully. "But never mind; something will happen pretty soon." "Of course," growled the horse; "and then we shall be sorry it happened." Zeb gave a shiver. All this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid. Swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside them. The light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. There was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again. "We've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked Zeb, with a deep sigh. "We can't keep falling forever, you know." "Of course not," said Dorothy. "We are somewhere in the middle of the earth, and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. But it's a big hollow, isn't it?" "Awful big!" answered the boy. "We're coming to something now," announced the horse. At this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down. Yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. But they were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them. They saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by the variegated lights from the six suns. Here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because they sparkled so brightly. "I'm sure we are in no danger," said Dorothy, in a sober voice. "We are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty." "We'll never get home again, though!" declared Zeb, with a groan. "Oh, I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "But don't let us worry over such things, Zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and I've always been told it's foolish to borrow trouble." The boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them. They seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. These spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury. Jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with fear, while Dorothy and Zeb held their breaths in suspense. But no; they floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last. When Jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so much that he could hardly stand; but Zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over Dorothy's birdcage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. At once a pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and yawned and blinked its round eyes. "Oh," said Dorothy. "There's Eureka." "First time I ever saw a pink cat," said Zeb. "Eureka isn't pink; she's white. It's this queer light that gives her that color." "Where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into Dorothy's face. "I'm 'most starved to death." "Oh, Eureka! Can you talk?" "Talk! Am I talking? Good gracious, I believe I am. Isn't it funny?" asked the kitten. "It's all wrong," said Zeb, gravely. "Animals ought not to talk. But even old Jim has been saying things since we had our accident." "I can't see that it's wrong," remarked Jim, in his gruff tones. "At least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. What's going to become of us now?" "I don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously. The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as though a window. Dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the corners of these rooms. The roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass were lying scattered in every direction. A near by steeple had been broken off short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. Other buildings were cracked in places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. The rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see. But not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived, except that of their own voices. They began to wonder if there were no people to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world. Suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view. He was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait. His clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was not wholly influenced by the solar rays. The man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. There was no expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange animal. "Look out!" cried Dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!" But he paid no attention to her warning. He reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground. The girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. Soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings. "How strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "Yes; but it's lots of fun, if it _is_ strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and Dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof. "Come back, Eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed." "I have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a circle and then came back to the roof; "but I can't lose even one of them by falling in this country, because I really couldn't manage to fall if I wanted to." "Does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl. "Of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and back to the edge of the roof. "It's wonderful!" said Dorothy. "Suppose we let Eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us," suggested Zeb, who had been even more amazed than Dorothy at these strange happenings. "Perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl. Zeb drew back with a shiver. "I wouldn't dare try," he said. "May be Jim will go," continued Dorothy, looking at the horse. "And may be he won't!" answered Jim. "I've tumbled through the air long enough to make me contented on this roof." "But we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached here we were floating very slowly, and I'm almost sure we could float down to the street without getting hurt. Eureka walks on the air all right." "Eureka weighs only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful tone, "while I weigh about half a ton." "You don't weigh as much as you ought to, Jim," remarked the girl, shaking her head as she looked at the animal. "You're dreadfully skinny." "Oh, well; I'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and I've had lots of trouble in my day, little one. For a good many years I drew a public cab in Chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny." "He eats enough to get fat, I'm sure," said the boy, gravely. "Do I? Can you remember any breakfast that I've had today?" growled Jim, as if he resented Zeb's speech. "None of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating." "Nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are, they are liable to be glass oats!" [Illustration: "COME ON, JIM! IT'S ALL RIGHT."] "Oh, no!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to the ground." "Why don't you walk down?" asked Eureka. "I'm as hungry as the horse is, and I want my milk." "Will you try it, Zeb" asked the girl, turning to her companion. Zeb hesitated. He was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. But he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof. Dorothy stretched out a hand to him and Zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. It seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. Dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them. "Come on, Jim!" called the boy. "It's all right." Jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. So, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. His great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred. "Well, well!" said Dorothy, drawing a long breath, "What a strange country this is." People began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. There were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. There was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet Dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. They simply stared at the strangers, paying most attention to Jim and Eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves. Pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. He seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. After turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to Zeb, who was a little taller than Dorothy: "Tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the Rain of Stones?" For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. Then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered: "No, sir; we didn't cause anything. It was the earthquake." The man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. Then he asked: "What is an earthquake?" "I don't know," said Zeb, who was still confused. But Dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered: "It's a shaking of the earth. In this quake a big crack opened and we fell through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with us." The man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes. "The Rain of Stones has done much damage to our city," he said; "and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence." "How can we do that?" asked the girl. "That I am not prepared to say. It is your affair, not mine. You must go to the House of the Sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth." "Where is the House of the Sorcerer?" the girl enquired. "I will lead you to it. Come!" He turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation Dorothy caught Eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. The boy took his seat beside her and said: "Gid-dap, Jim." As the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. Slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner. [Illustration] CHAPTER 3. THE ARRIVAL OF THE WIZARD The doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so Zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. The people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall. "Come to us, oh, Gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice. Instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before Jim's nose. He was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. But he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. There was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that Dorothy laughed when she saw him. The Sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant. "Why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded Land of the Mangaboos?" he asked, sternly. "'Cause we couldn't help it," said Dorothy. "Why did you wickedly and viciously send the Rain of Stones to crack and break our houses?" he continued. "We didn't," declared the girl. "Prove it!" cried the Sorcerer. "We don't have to prove it," answered Dorothy, indignantly. "If you had any sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake." "We only know that yesterday came a Rain of Stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. Today came another Rain of Stones, and soon after it you appeared among us." "By the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the Sorcerer, "you told us yesterday that there would not be a second Rain of Stones. Yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. What is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?" "My sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man. "I said there would be but one Rain of Stones. This second one was a Rain of People-and-Horse-and-Buggy. And some stones came with them." "Will there be any more Rains?" asked the man with the star. "No, my Prince." "Neither stones nor people?" "No, my Prince." "Are you sure?" "Quite sure, my Prince. My sorcery tells me so." Just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the Prince after making a low bow. "More wonders in the air, my Lord," said he. Immediately the Prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. Dorothy and Zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran after them, but the Sorcerer remained calmly in his throne. Far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. It was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move. The throng stood still and waited. It was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. The earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the Mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the House of the Sorcerer, with Eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy. Gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the Land of the Mangaboos. Dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. A balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their difficulties. In an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement. Then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of Mangaboos around him. He was quite an old little man, and his head was long and entirely bald. "Why," cried Dorothy, in amazement, "it's Oz!" The little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. But he smiled and bowed as he answered: "Yes, my dear; I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Eh? And you are little Dorothy, from Kansas. I remember you very well." "Who did you say it was?" whispered Zeb to the girl. "It's the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Haven't you heard of him?" Just then the man with the star came and stood before the Wizard. "Sir," said he, "why are you here, in the Land of the Mangaboos?" "Didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant smile; "and, to be honest, I didn't mean to visit you when I started out. I live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday I went up in a balloon, and when I came down I fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. I had let so much gas out of my balloon that I could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. So I continued to descend until I reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, I'll go with pleasure. Sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn't be helped." The Prince had listened with attention. Said he: "This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?" "It's better," replied Oz, promptly. "One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers." "Ah, you shall prove that," said the Prince. "We Mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?" "Never!" declared the Wizard, boldly. "Oh, Oz!" said Dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous Land of Oz." "Nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face. "Come with me," said the Prince to him. "I wish you to meet our Sorcerer." The Wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. So he followed the Prince into the great domed hall, and Dorothy and Zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also. There sat the thorny Sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the Wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles. "What an absurd creature!" he exclaimed. "He may look absurd," said the Prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an excellent Sorcerer. The only fault I find with him is that he is so often wrong." "I am never wrong," answered the Sorcerer. "Only a short time ago you told me there would be no more Rain of Stones or of People," said the Prince. "Well, what then?" "Here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong." "One person cannot be called 'people,'" said the Sorcerer. "If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right." "Very clever," said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. "I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?" "No," said the Sorcerer. "You ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "I belong to Bailum & Barney's Great Consolidated Shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. It's a fine aggregation, I assure you." "What do you do?" asked the Sorcerer. "I go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. But I've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than I intended. But never mind. It isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your Land of the Gabazoos." "Mangaboos," said the Sorcerer, correcting him. "If you are a Wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names." "Oh, I'm a Wizard; you may be sure of that. Just as good a Wizard as you are a Sorcerer." "That remains to be seen," said the other. "If you are able to prove that you are better," said the Prince to the little man, "I will make you the Chief Wizard of this domain. Otherwise--" "What will happen otherwise?" asked the Wizard. "I will stop you from living, and forbid you to be planted," returned the Prince. "That does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. "But never mind. I'll beat Old Prickly, all right." "My name is Gwig," said the Sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. "Let me see you equal the sorcery I am about to perform." He waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. Yet, look where she would, Dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall. The Mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. It was one of the things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer. Now was the Wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked: "Will somebody kindly loan me a hat?" No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air. "Ahem!" said the Wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?" But they had no handkerchiefs, either. "Very good," remarked the Wizard. "I'll use my own hat, if you please. Now, good people, observe me carefully. You see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. Also, my hat is quite empty." He took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly. "Let me see it," said the Sorcerer. He took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the Wizard. "Now," said the little man, "I will create something out of nothing." He placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice. The people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant. He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. The Wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way. "Now," said the Wizard of Oz, "having created something from nothing, I will make something nothing again." With this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. Then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. This the Wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. When he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely. The little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the Prince said, in his cold, calm voice: "You are indeed a wonderful Wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my Sorcerer." "He will not be a wonderful Wizard long," remarked Gwig. "Why not?" enquired the Wizard. "Because I am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "I perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive." The little man looked troubled. "How long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked. "About five minutes. I'm going to begin now. Watch me carefully." He began making queer signs and passes toward the Wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. By the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the Sorcerer was beginning to take effect. So the Wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the Sorcerer exactly in two. Dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves of the Sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a sliced turnip or potato. "Why, he's vegetable!" cried the Wizard, astonished. "Of course," said the Prince. "We are all vegetable, in this country. Are you not vegetable, also?" "No," answered the Wizard. "People on top of the earth are all meat. Will your Sorcerer die?" "Certainly, sir. He is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. So we must plant him at once, that other Sorcerers may grow upon his bush," continued the Prince. "What do you mean by that?" asked the little Wizard, greatly puzzled. "If you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the Prince, "I will explain to you much better than I can here the mysteries of our Vegetable Kingdom." [Illustration: THE WIZARD CUT THE SORCERER EXACTLY IN TWO.] CHAPTER 4. THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM After the Wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered some of his people to carry the two halves of the Sorcerer to the public gardens. Jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so Zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the Wizard to ride with them. The seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and when Jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat there quite contentedly. So the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the Sorcerer first, the Prince next, then Jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could neither smile nor frown. The glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there; but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain covered with gardens and watered by many pretty brooks that flowed through it. There were paths through these gardens, and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges. Dorothy and Zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the Prince, so that they might see and examine the flowers and plants better. "Who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl. "No one built them," answered the man with the star. "They grow." "That's queer," said she. "Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?" "Of course," he replied. "But it took a good many years for them to grow as large and fine as they are now. That is why we are so angry when a Rain of Stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs." "Can't you mend them?" she enquired. "No; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they do." They first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew nearest the city; but Dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of the six suns. A flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to the ground. When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble. "A nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!" "It's violet," said the Wizard, who was in the buggy. "Now it's blue," complained the horse. "As a matter of fact, I'm eating rainbow grass." "How does it taste?" asked the Wizard. "Not bad at all," said Jim. "If they give me plenty of it I'll not complain about its color." By this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the Prince said to Dorothy: "This is our planting-ground." Several Mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground. Then they put the two halves of the Sorcerer into it and covered him up. After that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth. "He will sprout very soon," said the Prince, "and grow into a large bush, from which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers." "Do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy. "Certainly," was the reply. "Do not all people grow upon bushes where you came from, on the outside of the earth." "Not that I ever heard of." "How strange! But if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens I will show you the way we grow in the Land of the Mangaboos." It appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. There were no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level surface they generally walked just as we do. The little party of strangers now followed the Prince across a few more of the glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by a high hedge. Jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was engaged in busily eating; so the Wizard got out of the buggy and joined Zeb and Dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels. Inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the ground. In the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed Mangaboo, for the clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their bodies. The growing Mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. On some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life. This sight explained to Dorothy why she had seen no children among the Mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for. "Our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes," said the Prince. "You will notice they are all attached to the plants by the soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. So while they grow they cannot be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good citizens." "How long do you live, after you are picked?" asked Dorothy. "That depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied. "If we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five years. I've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be especially long lived." "Do you eat?" asked the boy. "Eat! No, indeed. We are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to eat, any more than does a potato." "But the potatoes sometimes sprout," said Zeb. "And sometimes we do," answered the Prince; "but that is considered a great misfortune, for then we must be planted at once." "Where did you grow?" asked the Wizard. "I will show you," was the reply. "Step this way, please." He led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush. "This," said he, "is the Royal Bush of the Mangaboos. All of our Princes and Rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial." They stood before it in silent admiration. On the central stalk stood poised the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the expression of her delicate features that Dorothy thought she had never seen so sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. The maiden's gown was soft as satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries trimmed the bodice and sleeves. Her flesh was fine and smooth as polished ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace. "Who is this?" asked the Wizard, curiously. The Prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. Now he answered, with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones: "She is the Ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a Royal Princess. When she becomes fully ripe I must abandon the sovereignty of the Mangaboos to her." "Isn't she ripe now?" asked Dorothy. He hesitated. "Not quite," said he, finally. "It will be several days before she needs to be picked, or at least that is my judgment. I am in no hurry to resign my office and be planted, you may be sure." "Probably not," declared the Wizard, nodding. "This is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives," continued the Prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow and give birth to other people." "I'm sure the Princess is ready to be picked," asserted Dorothy, gazing hard at the beautiful girl on the bush. "She's as perfect as she can be." "Never mind," answered the Prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few days longer, and it is best for me to rule until I can dispose of you strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at once." "What are you going to do with us?" asked Zeb. "That is a matter I have not quite decided upon," was the reply. "I think I shall keep this Wizard until a new Sorcerer is ready to pick, for he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. But the rest of you must be destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because I do not wish horses and cats and meat people growing all over our country." "You needn't worry," said Dorothy. "We wouldn't grow under ground, I'm sure." "But why destroy my friends?" asked the little Wizard. "Why not let them live?" "They do not belong here," returned the Prince. "They have no right to be inside the earth at all." "We didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said Dorothy. "That is no excuse," declared the Prince, coldly. The children looked at each other in perplexity, and the Wizard sighed. Eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice: "He won't need to destroy _me_, for if I don't get something to eat pretty soon I shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble." "If he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the Wizard. "Oh, Eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat," said the boy. "Phoo!" snarled the kitten; "I wouldn't touch the nasty things!" "You don't need milk, Eureka," remarked Dorothy; "you are big enough now to eat any kind of food." "If I can get it," added Eureka. "I'm hungry myself," said Zeb. "But I noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place. These people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let us get them." "Never mind your hunger," interrupted the Prince. "I shall order you destroyed in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and berry bushes. Follow me, please, to meet your doom." CHAPTER 5. DOROTHY PICKS THE PRINCESS The words of the cold and moist vegetable Prince were not very comforting, and as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. The children, feeling sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the Wizard touched Dorothy softly on her shoulder. "Wait!" he whispered. "What for?" asked the girl. "Suppose we pick the Royal Princess," said the Wizard. "I'm quite sure she's ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the Ruler, and may treat us better than that heartless Prince intends to." "All right!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly. "Let's pick her while we have the chance, before the man with the star comes back." So together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand of the lovely Princess. "Pull!" cried Dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them and the stems snapped and separated from her feet. She was not at all heavy, so the Wizard and Dorothy managed to lift her gently to the ground. The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice: "I thank you very much." "We salute your Royal Highness!" cried the Wizard, kneeling and kissing her hand. Just then the voice of the Prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people. Instantly the Princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was picked the Prince stood still and began to tremble. "Sir," said the Royal Lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly, and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my rescue. I have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand silent upon my bush." "I did not know that you were ripe," answered the Prince, in a low voice. "Give me the Star of Royalty!" she commanded. Slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of the Princess. Then all the people bowed low to her, and the Prince turned and walked away alone. What became of him afterward our friends never knew. The people of Mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform those ceremonies proper to the occasion. But while the people in the procession walked upon the ground the Princess walked in the air just above their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her subjects. No one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so Dorothy and Zeb and the Wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens. They did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks, but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the other side. This was a very interesting experience to them, and Dorothy said: "I wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air." "Perhaps," answered the Wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. But I've noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries." "Is this a fairy country?" asked the boy. "Of course it is," returned Dorothy, promptly. "Only a fairy country could have veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could Eureka and Jim talk as we do." "That's true," said Zeb, thoughtfully. In the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. But the kitten bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the Wizard names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical arts. As they sat upon the grass watching Jim, who was still busily eating, Eureka said: "I don't believe you are a Wizard at all!" "No," answered the little man, "you are quite right. In the strict sense of the word I am not a Wizard, but only a humbug." "The Wizard of Oz has always been a humbug," agreed Dorothy. "I've known him for a long time." "If that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?" "Don't know," said Dorothy, "but it must have been humbug." "Very true," declared the Wizard, nodding at her. "It was necessary to deceive that ugly Sorcerer and the Prince, as well as their stupid people; but I don't mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick." "But I saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed Zeb. "So did I," purred the kitten. "To be sure," answered the Wizard. "You saw them because they were there. They are in my inside pocket now. But the pulling of them apart and pushing them together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick." "Let's see the pigs," said Eureka, eagerly. The little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades. "They're hungry, too," he said. "Oh, what cunning things!" cried Dorothy, catching up one and petting it. "Be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!" "Dear me!" murmured the Wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "They can actually talk!" "May I eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice. "I'm awfully hungry." "Why, Eureka," said Dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! It would be dreadful to eat these dear little things." "I should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; "cats are cruel things." "I'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "I'm just hungry." "You cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little man, in a stern voice. "They are the only things I have to prove I'm a wizard." "How did they happen to be so little?" asked Dorothy. "I never saw such small pigs before." "They are from the Island of Teenty-Weent," said the Wizard, "where everything is small because it's a small island. A sailor brought them to Los Angeles and I gave him nine tickets to the circus for them." "But what am I going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of Dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. "There are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers. And if I can't eat the piglets you may as well plant me at once and raise catsup." "I have an idea," said the Wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. Do you like fish?" "Fish!" cried the kitten. "Do I like fish? Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!" "Then I'll try to catch you some," said he. "But won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten. "I think not. Fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves. There is no reason, that I can see, why they may not exist in the waters of this strange country." Then the Wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his pocket for a fish-line. The only bait he could find was a bright red blossom from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. Having thrown the end of his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement. [Illustration: IN THE GARDEN OF THE MANGABOOS.] The fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut jewels set close together; but there was no time to examine it closely, for Eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws, and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared. "Oh, Eureka!" cried Dorothy, "did you eat the bones?" "If it had any bones, I ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal. "But I don't think that fish had any bones, because I didn't feel them scratch my throat." "You were very greedy," said the girl. "I was very hungry," replied the kitten. The little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with frightened eyes. "Cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them. "I'm glad we are not fishes!" said another. "Don't worry," Dorothy murmured, soothingly, "I'll not let the kitten hurt you." Then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them. Eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up in a jiffy. "Now let us go back to the city," suggested the Wizard. "That is, if Jim has had enough of the pink grass." The cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh. "I've tried to eat a lot while I had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to be a long while between meals in this strange country. But I'm ready to go, now, at any time you wish." So, after the Wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and Jim started back to the town. "Where shall we stay?" asked the girl. "I think I shall take possession of the House of the Sorcerer," replied the Wizard; "for the Prince said in the presence of his people that he would keep me until they picked another Sorcerer, and the new Princess won't know but that we belong there." They agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square Jim drew the buggy into the big door of the domed hall. "It doesn't look very homelike," said Dorothy, gazing around at the bare room. "But it's a place to stay, anyhow." "What are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings that appeared near the top of the dome. "They look like doorways," said Dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to them." "You forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the Wizard. "Let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to." With this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and Dorothy and Zeb followed him. It was the same sort of climb one experiences when walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the upper part of the house. Following these halls they discovered many small rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables and chairs. But there were no beds at all. "I wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl. "Why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," Zeb replied. "Those colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if there is no sunset there can be no night." "Very true," agreed the Wizard. "But it is a long time since I have had any sleep, and I'm tired. So I think I shall lie down upon one of these hard glass benches and take a nap." "I will, too," said Dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall. Zeb walked down again to unharness Jim, who, when he found himself free, rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with Eureka nestling comfortably beside his big, boney body. Then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland. [Illustration] CHAPTER 6. THE MANGABOOS PROVE DANGEROUS When the Wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the Land of the Mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. The little man, having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the glass partition of the room he saw Zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. So the Wizard went in to him. "Zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so I may as well leave it on the square where it fell. But in the basket-car are some things I would like to keep with me. I wish you would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. There is nothing else that I care about." So the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned Dorothy was awake. Then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition. "I don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl. "They're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness." "I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them," remarked the Wizard. "And they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves," declared the boy. "The Princess is lovely to look at," continued Dorothy, thoughtfully; "but I don't care much for her, after all. If there was any other place to go, I'd like to go there." "But _is_ there any other place?" asked the Wizard. "I don't know," she answered. Just then they heard the big voice of Jim the cab-horse calling to them, and going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the Princess and a throng of her people had entered the House of the Sorcerer. So they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them: "I have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have decided that you do not belong in the Land of the Mangaboos and must not remain here." "How can we go away?" asked Dorothy. "Oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed," was the answer. "In what way?" enquired the Wizard. "We shall throw you three people into the Garden of the Twining Vines," said the Princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make themselves grow bigger. The animals you have with you we will drive to the mountains and put into the Black Pit. Then our country will be rid of all its unwelcome visitors." "But you are in need of a Sorcerer," said the Wizard, "and not one of those growing is yet ripe enough to pick. I am greater than any thorn-covered sorcerer that ever grew in your garden. Why destroy me?" "It is true we need a Sorcerer," acknowledged the Princess, "but I am informed that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of Gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. Let us see your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. Then I will decide whether to destroy you with the others or not." At this the Wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. He did it very cleverly, indeed, and the Princess looked at the strange piglets as if she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. But afterward she said: "I have heard of this wonderful magic. But it accomplishes nothing of value. What else can you do?" The Wizard tried to think. Then he jointed together the blades of his sword and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. But even that did not satisfy the Princess. Just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which Zeb had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those commonplace things. "Your Highness," said he, "I will now proceed to prove my magic by creating two suns that you have never seen before; also I will exhibit a Destroyer much more dreadful than your Clinging Vines." So he placed Dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads. "Don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my magic." [Illustration: "NOW, PRINCESS," EXCLAIMED THE WIZARD.] Then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face, the Wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. The glare they made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. The Mangaboos were much impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come directly from their suns. Next the Wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where it covered quite a broad surface. When he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing. "Now, Princess," exclaimed the Wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to throw us into the Garden of Clinging Vines must step within this circle of light. If they advised you well, and were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. But if any advised you wrongly, the light will wither him." The advisors of the Princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. Some of the Mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once. "Sir," said the Princess to the Wizard, "you are greater than any Sorcerer we have ever known. As it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, I will not cast you three people into the dreadful Garden of the Clinging Vines; but your animals must be driven into the Black Pit in the mountain, for my subjects cannot bear to have them around." The Wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he said nothing against this decree; but when the Princess had gone both Jim and Eureka protested they did not want to go to the Black Pit, and Dorothy promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate. For two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep, there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not disturbed in any way. They were even permitted to occupy the House of the Sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens in search of food. Once they came near to the enclosed Garden of the Clinging Vines, and walking high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. They saw a mass of tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a nest of great snakes. Everything the vines touched they crushed, and our adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them. Whenever the Wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome, walking through the air as easily as Eureka could. They knew the kitten, by this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside Jim and commenced to frisk and play with her. The cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval. "Don't be rough!" he would call out, if Eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly. Suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed Mangaboos. Each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the piglets. "Here--stop this foolishness!" Jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns. The Mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven from the room and out upon the street. Here were more of the vegetable people with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the street. Jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered under his feet grunting and squealing, while Eureka, snarling and biting at the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things from injury. Slowly but steadily the heartless Mangaboos drove them on, until they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains leading to the mountain. "What does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn. "Why, they are driving us toward the Black Pit, into which they threatened to cast us," replied the kitten. "If I were as big as you are, Jim, I'd fight these miserable turnip-roots!" "What would you do?" enquired Jim. "I'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs." "All right," said the horse; "I'll do it." An instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of Mangaboos and kicked out his hind legs as hard as he could. A dozen of them smashed together and tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success Jim kicked again and again, charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending the others scattering to escape his iron heels. Eureka helped him by flying into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the Mangaboos feared her as much as they did the horse. But the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. They tired Jim and Eureka out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and disabled Mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow themselves to be driven to the mountain. [Illustration] CHAPTER 7. INTO THE BLACK PIT AND OUT AGAIN When they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. Half way up the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it. The Mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners could not get out again. "This is dreadful!" groaned Jim. "It will be about the end of our adventures, I guess." "If the Wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so." "We ought to have called him and Dorothy when we were first attacked," added Eureka. "But never mind; be brave, my friends, and I will go and tell our masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue." The mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. The Mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave chase, mounting through the air after her. Eureka, however, was lighter than the Mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. So she ran along over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to the city and the House of the Sorcerer. There she entered in at Dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her sleep. As soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the Wizard and Zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of Jim and the piglets. The Wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and Zeb carried the two lanterns and the oil can. Dorothy's wicker suit-case was still under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from Jim to let the horse lie down and rest. So there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten, which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart was still beating rapidly. Some of the Mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the House of the Sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind them so that they could not go back again. Before long they neared the Black Pit, where a busy swarm of Mangaboos, headed by their Princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance. "Stop, I command you!" cried the Wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began pulling down the rocks to liberate Jim and the piglets. Instead of opposing him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in the barrier, when by order of the Princess they all sprang forward and thrust out their sharp thorns. [Illustration: THROUGH THE BLACK PIT.] Dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and Zeb and the Wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her. At once the Mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he said to the children: "My dears, what shall we do? Jump out and fight?" "What's the use?" replied Dorothy. "I'd as soon die here as live much longer among those cruel and heartless people." "That's the way I feel about it," remarked Zeb, rubbing his wounds. "I've had enough of the Mangaboos." "All right," said the Wizard; "I'm with you, whatever you decide. But we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain." Noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket. Zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. The rays of the colored suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled up in the wall that separated their prison from the Land of the Mangaboos. "How big is this hole?" asked Dorothy. "I'll explore it and see," replied the boy. So he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while Dorothy and the Wizard followed at his side. The cavern did not come to an end, as they had expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain, running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the Mangaboo country. "It isn't a bad road," observed the Wizard, "and if we followed it it might lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are now in. I suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so I propose that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to." The others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness Jim to the buggy. When all was in readiness the three took their seats in the buggy and Jim started cautiously along the way, Zeb driving while the Wizard and Dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could see where to go. Sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident. Jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome. "We must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said Dorothy. "I didn't know this mountain was so tall." "We are certainly a good distance away from the Land of the Mangaboos," added Zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started." But they kept steadily moving, and just as Jim was about tired out with his long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and Zeb put out the lanterns to save the oil. To their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. The sides of the tunnel showed before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more level. Jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and found themselves face to face with a new and charming country. [Illustration] CHAPTER 8. THE VALLEY OF VOICES By journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends. It was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape here and there. There were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all unknown in our world. Alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld. None of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it. As the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. Several minutes were consumed in silent admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this valley. One was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a clear and perfect light. The second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of this splendid place. From their elevated position they could overlook the entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. All appeared mysteriously deserted. The mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to granite. With some difficulty and danger Jim drew the buggy over the loose rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and gardens began. The nearest cottage was still some distance away. "Isn't it fine?" cried Dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the buggy and let Eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass. "Yes, indeed!" answered Zeb. "We were lucky to get away from those dreadful vegetable people." "It wouldn't be so bad," remarked the Wizard, gazing around him, "if we were obliged to live here always. We couldn't find a prettier place, I'm sure." He took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and Jim tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in his new surroundings. "We can't walk in the air here, though," called Eureka, who had tried it and failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the Wizard said they must be nearer the surface of the earth than they had been in the Mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural. "But where are the people?" asked Dorothy. The little man shook his bald head. "Can't imagine, my dear," he replied. They heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature anywhere. Slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the piglets racing and gambolling beside them and Jim pausing at every step for another mouthful of grass. Presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. The fruit was so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious that Dorothy stopped and exclaimed: "What is it, do you s'pose?" The piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and commenced to devour it with great eagerness. "It's good, anyway," said Zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily." "Where are they?" asked Dorothy, in astonishment. They all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared. "Dear me!" cried the Wizard; "they must have run away. But I didn't see them go; did you?" "No!" replied the boy and the girl, together. "Here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously. Several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the Wizard could not discover a single piglet. "Where are you?" he asked. "Why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "Can't you see us?" [Illustration: "ARE THERE REALLY PEOPLE IN THIS ROOM?"] "No," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone. "We can see you," said another of the piglets. The Wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat body of one of his pets. He picked it up, but could not see what he held. "It is very strange," said he, soberly. "The piglets have become invisible, in some curious way." "I'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten. "It wasn't a peach, Eureka," said Dorothy. "I only hope it wasn't poison." "It was fine, Dorothy," called one of the piglets. "We'll eat all we can find of them," said another. "But _we_ mus'n't eat them," the Wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other. If we come across another of the strange fruit we must avoid it." Calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present. The travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently reached. It was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad front porch. The door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with four chairs drawn up to it. On the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and fruits. The meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. But not a single person appeared to be in the room. "How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy, who with Zeb and the Wizard now stood in the doorway. A peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the plates with a clatter. One of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that Dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright. "Here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen person. "So I see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly. "What do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent. "Well, well!" said the Wizard; "are there really people in this room?" "Of course," replied the man's voice. "And--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?" "Surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "Are you surprised that you are unable to see the people of Voe?" "Why, yes," stammered the Wizard. "All the people I have ever met before were very plain to see." "Where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone. "We belong upon the face of the earth," explained the Wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the Country of the Mangaboos." "Dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "I've heard of them." "They walled us up in a mountain," continued the Wizard; "but we found there was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here. It is a beautiful place. What do you call it?" "It is the Valley of Voe." "Thank you. We have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house to enquire our way." "Are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice. "I could eat something," said Dorothy. "So could I," added Zeb. "But we do not wish to intrude, I assure you," the Wizard hastened to say. "That's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before. "You are welcome to what we have." As he spoke the voice came so near to Zeb that he jumped back in alarm. Two childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and Dorothy was sure they were in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be seen. "What curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired the man's voice. "That's Jim," said the girl. "He's a horse." "What is he good for?" was the next question. "He draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead of walking," she explained. "Can he fight?" asked the man's voice. "No! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but Jim can't 'zactly fight," she replied. "Then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices. "Bears!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Are these bears here?" "That is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "Many large and fierce bears roam in the Valley of Voe, and when they can catch any of us they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught." "Are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl. "Yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal." "Does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?" asked the Wizard. "Yes," was the reply. "If it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" Dorothy enquired. "For two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "The dama-fruit is the most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears cannot find us to eat us up. But now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like." [Illustration] CHAPTER 9. THEY FIGHT THE INVISIBLE BEARS The strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. In front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible. But Dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did likewise, resisting the temptation. "Why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice. "We don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl. "But if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "We who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears." "And we do not have to be so particular about our dress," remarked the man. "And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully. "But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not." Dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands. "Come here, please--Ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she requested. They came to her willingly, and Dorothy passed her hands over their faces and forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy somewhat smaller. The girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin. When Dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed to be well and delicately formed. "If I could see you I am sure you would be beautiful," she declared. The girl laughed, and her mother said: "We are not vain in the Valley of Voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. Yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky." "How about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked Zeb. "The birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them. Neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit. But the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to eat." "It occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while invisible," remarked the Wizard. "Nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible while we are in your valley." Just then Eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with Jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out: "Now you must feed me, Dorothy, for I'm half starved." The children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal, which reminded them of the bears; but Dorothy reassured them by explaining that Eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. Then, as the others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. To her surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. Eureka was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she was dropped to the floor. "Did you see that, Dorothy?" she gasped. "Yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house, although we cannot see them. And you must have better manners, Eureka, or something worse will happen to you." She placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily. "Give me that nice-smelling fruit I saw on the table," she begged, when she had cleaned the plate. "Those are damas," said Dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, Eureka, or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all." The kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit. "Does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked. "I don't know," Dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose you." "Very well, I won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away from me, for the smell is very tempting." "Can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the Wizard, addressing the air because he did not quite know where the unseen people stood, "if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful Valley, and on top of the Earth again." "Oh, one can leave the Valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country. As for reaching the top of the earth, I have never heard that it is possible to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall off." "Oh, no," said Dorothy, "we've been there, and we know." "The Valley of Voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the Wizard; "but we cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. Even if we should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it." "In that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our Valley and mount the spiral staircase inside the Pyramid Mountain. The top of that mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful Land of Naught, where the Gargoyles live." "What are Gargoyles?" asked Zeb. "I do not know, young sir. Our greatest Champion, Overman-Anu, once climbed the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the Gargoyles before he could escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up." The wanderers were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but Dorothy said with a sigh: "If the only way to get home is to meet the Gurgles, then we've got to meet 'em. They can't be worse than the Wicked Witch or the Nome King." "But you must remember you had the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman to help you conquer those enemies," suggested the Wizard. "Just now, my dear, there is not a single warrior in your company." "Oh, I guess Zeb could fight if he had to. Couldn't you, Zeb?" asked the little girl. "Perhaps; if I had to," answered Zeb, doubtfully. "And you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table Sorcerer in two with," the girl said to the little man. "True," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with." "What the Gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice. "Our Champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. But they were in great numbers, and the Champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting." "Very good," said the Wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the Gargoyles." "But tell me," said Dorothy, "how did such a brave Champion happen to let the bears eat him? And if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows that they really ate him up?" "The Champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man; "and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly seen by all eyes. When the Champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and when the bears killed the Champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them." They now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the opposite side of the Valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it, they again started upon their journey. They followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. Fruits and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious damas that the people of Voe were so fond of. About noon they stopped to allow Jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard, and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there a soft voice suddenly said to them: "There are bears near by. Be careful." The Wizard got out his sword at once, and Zeb grabbed the horse-whip. Dorothy climbed into the buggy, although Jim had been unharnessed from it and was grazing some distance away. The owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said: "You cannot escape the bears that way." "How _can_ we 'scape?" asked Dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always the hardest to face. "You must take to the river," was the reply. "The bears will not venture upon the water." "But we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl. "Oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones seemed to belong to a young girl. "You are strangers in the Valley of Voe, and do not seem to know our ways; so I will try to save you." The next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew and held suspended in the air before the Wizard. [Illustration: ESCAPING THE INVISIBLE BEARS.] "Sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below the surface. It is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of Voe usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies." "Thank you!" cried the Wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the soles of Dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. The girl took a leaf and rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to Zeb, who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of Jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. He had nearly finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels. "Quick! To the water, or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without hesitation the Wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad river, for Dorothy was still seated in it with Eureka in her arms. They did not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the Wizard returned to the bank to assist Zeb and Jim. The horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely. "Run for the river!" shouted the Wizard, and Jim quickly freed himself from his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. As soon as he trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit, and Zeb was already running across the water toward Dorothy. As the little Wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. At once he began stabbing at the air with his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew back the blade it was dripping with blood. The third time that he thrust out the weapon there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger and fiercer. The beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears were near. On the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. Dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. The Wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts Jim had received from the claws of the bears. "I think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said Dorothy. "If our unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time." "That is true," agreed the Wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the Pyramid Mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel." Zeb hitched Jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. The kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but Dorothy let her down and soon Eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. Once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but Dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach. After a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the Valley before they came to the Pyramid Mountain. There were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts. "You'll have to make a dash, Jim," said the Wizard, "and run as fast as you can go." "All right," answered the horse; "I'll do my best. But you must remember I'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone." All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no guidance of any sort. The horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made Dorothy catch her breath. Then Zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and Jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. His boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the Wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled "Whoa!" at the top of his voice. "I--I'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped Dorothy. "I _know_ he is," said Zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait--and the harness or the buggy don't break." Jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the Wizard and Zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over several times before they stopped. Dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. She squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all. [Illustration] CHAPTER 10. THE BRAIDED MAN OF PYRAMID MOUNTAIN The mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. Directly facing the place where Jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. The stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. At the foot of the stairs was a sign reading: WARNING. These steps lead to the Land of the Gargoyles. DANGER! KEEP OUT. "I wonder how Jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said Dorothy, gravely. "No trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "Still, I don't care to drag any passengers. You'll all have to walk." "Suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested Zeb, doubtfully. "Then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all," answered Jim. "We'll try it, anyway," said the Wizard. "It's the only way to get out of the Valley of Voe." So they began to ascend the stairs, Dorothy and the Wizard first, Jim next, drawing the buggy, and then Zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness. The light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the Wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. But this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. Looking through this opening they could see the Valley of Voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance. After resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for Jim to draw the buggy easily after him. The old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. At such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one's legs ache. They wound about, always going upward, for some time. The lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing. Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge. The opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the Valley of Voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. Below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. Just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. The blues and greys were very beautiful, and Dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the Cloud Fairies. Mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly. "Are they real?" asked Zeb, in an awed voice. "Of course," replied Dorothy, softly. "They are the Cloud Fairies." "They seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently. "If I should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it." In the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. These birds were of enormous size, and reminded Zeb of the rocs he had read about in the Arabian Nights. They had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern. "Well, I declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little Wizard. "What in the world is this?" They turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. He was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. These were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon. "Where did you come from?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly. "No place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently. Once I lived on top the earth, but for many years I have had my factory in this spot--half way up Pyramid Mountain." "Are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone. "I believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "But as I have never been in either direction, down or up, since I arrived, I cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not." "Have you a factory in this place?" asked the Wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully. "To be sure," said the other. "I am a great inventor, you must know, and I manufacture my products in this lonely spot." "What are your products?" enquired the Wizard. "Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of Rustles for ladies' silk gowns." "I thought so," said the Wizard, with a sigh. "May we examine some of these articles?" [Illustration: THE CLOUD FAIRIES.] [Illustration: THE BRAIDED MAN.] "Yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. Here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord. "This," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, "contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year. Will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing Dorothy. "My gown isn't silk," she said, smiling. "Never mind. When you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. Then he picked up another box. "In this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. They are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. You, sir," turning to the Wizard, "ought to have this assortment. Once you have tried my goods I am sure you will never be without them." "I have no money with me," said the Wizard, evasively. "I do not want money," returned the braided man, "for I could not spend it in this deserted place if I had it. But I would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. You will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but I have no blue ribbons." "I'll get you one!" cried Dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. It did her good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this treasure. "You have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles. "You may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them." "Why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the Wizard. "I could not help it. It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears I will tell you about it. On earth I was a manufacturer of Imported Holes for American Swiss Cheese, and I will acknowledge that I supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. Also I made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. Finally I invented a new Adjustable Post-hole, which I thought would make my fortune. I manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them I set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. That made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as I leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, I lost my balance and tumbled in. Unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but I managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. Here, then, I made my home; and although it is a lonely place I amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely." When the braided man had completed this strange tale Dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the Wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. So they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey. [Illustration] CHAPTER 11. THEY MEET THE WOODEN GARGOYLES Another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. On peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else. But the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the Wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. To his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical Valley of Voe. "Why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully. "Yes," sighed Eureka; "and I also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets? You'd never miss _one_ of them, I'm sure!" "What a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!" "When I'm not hungry, I love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely; "but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet." "And we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully. "And thought you were respectable!" said another. "It seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, I'm sure." "You see, Eureka," remarked Dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself disliked. There are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but I never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under _any_ cir'stances." "Did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten. "They are no bigger than mice, and I'm sure mice are proper for me to eat." "It isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl. "These are Mr. Wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for Jim to eat you." "And that's just what I shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork alone," said Jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "If you injure any one of them I'll chew you up instantly." The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not. "In that case," she said, "I'll leave them alone. You haven't many teeth left, Jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. So the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as I am concerned." "That is right, Eureka," remarked the Wizard, earnestly. "Let us all be a happy family and love one another." Eureka yawned and stretched herself. "I've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me." "No one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted Dorothy. "If you behave, and don't scare the little pigs, I'm sure they'll grow very fond of you." The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed. "We must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway. "The Country of the Gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked Dorothy. "It isn't very nice down here. I'd like to get home again, I'm sure." No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls. At last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced. "Thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little Wizard. Jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. Then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others. "Let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice. "Nonsense!" snapped the tired Wizard. "What's the matter with you, old man?" "Everything," grumbled the horse. "I've taken a look at this place, and it's no fit country for real creatures to go to. Everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere." "Never mind; we can't turn back," said Dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay there, anyhow." "It's dangerous," growled Jim, in a stubborn tone. "See here, my good steed," broke in the Wizard, "little Dorothy and I have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. We've even been to the marvelous Land of Oz--haven't we, Dorothy?--so we don't much care what the Country of the Gargoyles is like. Go ahead, Jim, and whatever happens we'll make the best of it." "All right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don't blame me." With this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. The others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld. "The Country of the Gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed Zeb; and so it was. The ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. There were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. The tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. The patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. Wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as Gargoyles. These were very numerous, for the palace was thickly inhabited, and a large group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers who had emerged from the long spiral stairway. The Gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in height. Their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms extraordinarily long and stout. Their heads were too big for their bodies and their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. Some had long, curved noses and chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. Others had flat noses, protruding eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. There were many types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in appearance. The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, other designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. They all wore short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them. This noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the Gargoyles. They made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips. Neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere throughout the wooden country. The birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo; yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere. The group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. In turn the Wizard and the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the Gargoyles with the same silent attention. "There's going to be trouble, I'm sure," remarked the horse. "Unhitch those tugs, Zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so I can fight comfortably." "Jim's right," sighed the Wizard. "There's going to be trouble, and my sword isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so I shall have to get out my revolvers." He got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at. "What harm can the Gurgles do?" asked Dorothy. "They have no weapons to hurt us with." "Each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man, "and I'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. Even these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies, and after that we will be at their mercy." "But why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl. "So I may die with a clear conscience," returned the Wizard, gravely. "It's every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and I'm going to do it." "Wish I had an axe," said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse. "If we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things," responded the Wizard. "But we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly." The Gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them. But as soon as the conversation ceased the grinning, ugly creatures arose in a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. The horse had especially attracted their notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen; so it became the center of their first attack. But Jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could. Crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the Gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they scattered like straws in the wind. But the noise and clatter seemed as dreadful to them as Jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew away to a great distance. The others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease. But the Wizard was not so confident. "Those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage Jim has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. That cannot make them look any uglier, I'm sure, and it is my opinion they will soon renew the attack." "What made them fly away?" asked Dorothy. "The noise, of course. Don't you remember how the Champion escaped them by shouting his battle-cry?" "Suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "We have time, just now, and I'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps." "No," returned Dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would never get home. Let's fight it out." "That is what I advise," said the Wizard. "They haven't defeated us yet, and Jim is worth a whole army." But the Gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time. They advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind, and they flew straight over Jim's head to where the others were standing. The Wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place. Some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to a distance. Zeb ran and picked up one of the Gargoyles that lay nearest to him. The top of its head was carved into a crown and the Wizard's bullet had struck it exactly in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. Half of the bullet stuck in the wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt. Before this crowned Gargoyle had recovered himself Zeb had wound a strap several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could not move. Then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. By that time the others had all retired. [Illustration] CHAPTER 12. A WONDERFUL ESCAPE For a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. Then a few of them advanced until another shot from the Wizard's revolver made them retreat. "That's fine," said Zeb. "We've got 'em on the run now, sure enough." "But only for a time," replied the Wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "These revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be helpless." The Gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's revolvers. In this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was sent into the battle. When the Wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so he was no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray. [Illustration: THE WIZARD FIRED INTO THE THRONG.] "What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy, anxiously. "Let's yell--all together," said Zeb. "And fight at the same time," added the Wizard. "We will get near Jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can. I'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. Dorothy must take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. I haven't anything for you, Zeb." "I'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy. The bound Gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists Zeb found the king made a very good club. The boy was strong for one of his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more dangerous to the enemy than the Wizard. When the next company of Gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as if they had gone mad. Even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at the same time Jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. This daunted the enemy for a time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. Perceiving this, as well as the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come from the revolvers, the Gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so that the air was filled with them. Dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered her and proved a great protection. The Wizard's sword-blade snapped into a dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. Zeb pounded away with the Gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. The horse performed some wonderful kicking and even Eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the Gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat. But all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. The wooden things wound their long arms around Zeb and the Wizard and held them fast. Dorothy was captured in the same way, and numbers of the Gargoyles clung to Jim's legs, so weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. Eureka made a desperate dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning Gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far. All of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. The houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-sided. They were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial. To one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors. The Gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a platform, and then flew away and left them. As they had no wings the strangers could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would surely be killed. The creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to overcome such ordinary difficulties. Jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many Gargoyles to carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. When Eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last Gargoyle silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more. "What an awful fight!" said Dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps. "Oh, I don't know," purred Eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us." "Thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners," sighed the little girl. "I wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked Zeb, who had lost his king in the struggle. "They are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the Wizard answered, reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as possible in a short time." "As dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked Dorothy. "Yes, my dear. But we have no need to worry about that just now. Let us examine our prison and see what it is like." The space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city spread out beneath them. Everything visible was made of wood, and the scene seemed stiff and extremely unnatural. From their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the Wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. Several stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a time they came back to the platform again. Had there been any doors or windows in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and stout, escape would have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp smell. In this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some unknown source. Looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them, where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of the wooden Gargoyles moving about in their dwellings. "This seems to be their time of rest," observed the Wizard. "All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze." "I feel sleepy myself," remarked Zeb, yawning. "Why, where's Eureka?" cried Dorothy, suddenly. They all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen. "She's gone out for a walk," said Jim, gruffly. "Where? On the roof?" asked the girl. "No; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this house to the ground." "She couldn't climb _down_, Jim," said Dorothy. "To climb means to go up." "Who said so?" demanded the horse. "My school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, Jim." "To 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech," remarked the Wizard. "Well, this was a figure of a cat," said Jim, "and she _went_ down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept." "Dear me! how careless Eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "The Gurgles will get her, sure!" "Ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'Gurgles,' little maid; they're Gargoyles." "Never mind; they'll get Eureka, whatever they're called." "No they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and Eureka herself crawled over the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor. "Wherever have you been, Eureka?" asked Dorothy, sternly. "Watching the wooden folks. They're too funny for anything, Dorothy. Just now they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again." "What, the hinges?" "No; the wings." "That," said Zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. If any of the Gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to be good." The Wizard had listened intently to what Eureka had said. "I wish we had some of those loose wings," he said. "Could we fly with them?" asked Dorothy. "I think so. If the Gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear them. So, if we had the wings, we could probably fly as well as they do--at least while we are in their country and under the spell of its magic." "But how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl. "Come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building. "Do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he continued, pointing with his finger. "Yes; it's a good way off, but I can see it," she replied. "Well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the Valley of Voe. I'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly." He fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening. "Where does it lead to?" she asked. "That I cannot tell," said the Wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. So, if we had the wings, and could escape the Gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved." "I'll get you the wings," said Zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this. "That is, if the kitten will show me where they are." "But how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly. For answer Zeb began to unfasten Jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach to the ground. [Illustration: THE FIGHT WITH THE GARGOYLES.] "I can climb down that, all right," he said. "No you can't," remarked Jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes. "You may _go_ down, but you can only _climb_ up." "Well, I'll climb up when I get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "Now, Eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings." "You must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise the Gargoyles will wake up. They can hear a pin drop." "I'm not going to drop a pin," said Zeb. He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house. "Be careful," cautioned Dorothy, earnestly. "I will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge. The girl and the Wizard leaned over and watched Zeb work his way carefully downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. Eureka clung with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily. Then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring dwelling. The watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his arms now full of the wooden wings. When he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch to the end of the line, and the Wizard drew them up. Then the line was let down again for Zeb to climb up by. Eureka quickly followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them. The boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement. He put the harness together again and hitched Jim to the buggy. Then, with the Wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old cab-horse. This was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was missing, it being still fastened to the body of the Gargoyle who had used it. However, the Wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire, by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to Jim's harness, two near his head and two near his tail. They were a bit wiggley, but secure enough if only the harness held together. The other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the Wizard as it flew through the air. [Illustration: JIM FLUTTERED AND FLOUNDERED THROUGH THE AIR.] These preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping Gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them would be hunting for their missing wings. So the prisoners resolved to leave their prison at once. They mounted into the buggy, Dorothy holding Eureka safe in her lap. The girl sat in the middle of the seat, with Zeb and the Wizard on each side of her. When all was ready the boy shook the reins and said: "Fly away, Jim!" "Which wings must I flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly. "Flop them all together," suggested the Wizard. "Some of them are crooked," objected the horse. "Never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said Zeb. "Just you light out and make for that rock, Jim; and don't waste any time about it, either." So the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away from the platform. Dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their trip, for the way Jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous. He groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because the Wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. The only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as smooth as the air could make it. The main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed. Some of the Gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when Dorothy happened to look back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky. [Illustration] CHAPTER 13. THE DEN OF THE DRAGONETTES Our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the Gargoyles. All the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when Jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away. "But, I'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said Dorothy, greatly excited. "No; we must stop them," declared the Wizard. "Quick Zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!" They tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the Wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. Then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a match set fire to the pile. The flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden Gargoyles arrived. The creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such a dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land. Inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and Zeb and the Wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames. "That will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. "Perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the Gargoyles never will be missed. But come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven." To their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. A sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. It carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. So Zeb and the Wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. In this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. It was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. But the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before. "Anyhow," said Dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful Gurgles, and that's _one_ comfort!" [Illustration: "WHY IT'S A DRAGON!"] "Probably the Gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned the Wizard. "But even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so I am sure we need fear them no longer." Once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where Jim could scarcely drag the buggy. At such times Dorothy, Zeb and the Wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. But the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor. The cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. These were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down. "What sort of a place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom. "I cannot imagine, I'm sure," answered the Wizard, also peering about. "Woogh!" snarled Eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; "it's a den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! Don't you see their terrible eyes?" "Eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered Dorothy. "Tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her pet. "I simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering. "Their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. But their bodies don't seem very big." "Where are they?" enquired the girl. "They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. Oh, Dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! They're uglier than the Gargoyles." "Tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice near by. "As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and I'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world." Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock. "Why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed. "No," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes." "What's that?" asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes. "Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "The big dragons are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important." "Where is your mother?" asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around. "She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. If she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger." "Oh; are you hungry?" enquired Dorothy, drawing back. "Very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws. "And--and--do you eat people?" "To be sure, when we can get them. But they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone. "How old are you?" enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated. "Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday." "But that isn't young!" cried Dorothy, in amazement. "No?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish." "How old is your mother?" asked the girl. "Mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. She's a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime." "I should think she would be," agreed Dorothy. Then, after a moment's thought, she asked: "Are we friends or enemies? I mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?" "As for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. If you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe." There was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally. Dorothy felt relieved. Presently she asked: "Why did your mother tie your tails?" "Oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. Mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won't do that." "No, indeed!" said the little girl. "We don't wish to be eaten by such awful beasts." "Permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. We consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. And we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that I challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous Green Dragon of Atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. Can you match that pedigree, little girl?" "Well," said Dorothy, "I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that's being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. If it isn't I'll have to stand it, that's all." "Tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons. Being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the Wizard now took time to examine them more closely. The heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. Their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. Dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up. "It occurs to me," said the Wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back." "Don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, I'm sure." "You may be right," replied the Wizard, "but we're a little particular about associating with strangers. Will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top the earth?" "That is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "For, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished." "Then," decided Dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can." They circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. They selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance. [Illustration] Chapter 14. OZMA USES THE MAGIC BELT For a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline, and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager, thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. But at length they came unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from proceeding a single step farther. This rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion, turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. When first they came to it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. This appeared so unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass over. But they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited patiently until the path appeared for the second time. The children and the Wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. Jim the cab-horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the rock turned, and became wedged there. They heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had come. "Never mind," said Zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow." "I'm not so sure of that," returned Dorothy. "The mother dragon may come down and catch us here." "It is possible," agreed the Wizard, "if this proves to be the path she usually takes. But I have been examining this tunnel, and I do not see any signs of so large a beast having passed through it." "Then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way she can't poss'bly get to us now." "Of course not, my dear. But there is another thing to consider. The mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she went the other way then we have come the wrong way," said the Wizard, thoughtfully. "Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "That would be unlucky, wouldn't it?" "Very. Unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth," said Zeb. "For my part, if we manage to get out of here I'll be glad it isn't the way the dragon goes." "So will I," returned Dorothy. "It's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. No one knows what the mother might do." They now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. The lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. But their journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from which there was no further outlet. They did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in the roof of the cave, far overhead. That meant that their world--the real world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which meant home to them. But when the adventurers looked more carefully around them they discovered that they were in a strong prison from which there was no hope of escape. "But we're _almost_ on earth again," cried Dorothy, "for there is the sun--the most _beau'ful_ sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the distant roof. "Almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone. "It wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if I got there." "It appears that the path ends here," announced the Wizard, gloomily. "And there is no way to go back," added Zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity. "I was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse. "Folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell of their adventures--not in real life. And the whole thing has been unnatural because that cat and I are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say." "And so can the nine tiny piglets," added Eureka. "Don't forget them, for I may have to eat them, after all." "I've heard animals talk before," said Dorothy, "and no harm came of it." "Were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously. "No," answered Dorothy. "But don't you lose heart, Jim, for I'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means." The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. So he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased. "My dears," he said to them, "I'm afraid I've got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave." "What's wrong?" asked a piglet. "We've been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened." The Wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers. "Well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?" "I am," replied the little man. "Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence. "I could if I happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "But I'm not, my piggy-wees; I'm a humbug wizard." "Nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together. "You can ask Dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone. "It's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "Our friend Oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. He can do several very wonderful things--if he knows how. But he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the tools and machinery to work with." "Thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the Wizard, gratefully. "To be accused of being a real wizard, when I'm not, is a slander I will not tamely submit to. But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave." "I don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that," remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "But I'm not going to scatter my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too." "We are helpless to escape," sighed the Wizard. "_We_ may be helpless," answered Dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others who can do more than we can. Cheer up, friends. I'm sure Ozma will help us." "Ozma!" exclaimed the Wizard. "Who is Ozma?" "The girl that rules the marvelous Land of Oz," was the reply. "She's a friend of mine, for I met her in the Land of Ev, not long ago, and went to Oz with her." "For the second time?" asked the Wizard, with great interest. "Yes. The first time I went to Oz I found you there, ruling the Emerald City. After you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, I got back to Kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes." "I remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "They once belonged to the Wicked Witch. Have you them here with you?" "No; I lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "But the second time I went to the Land of Oz I owned the Nome King's Magic Belt, which is much more powerful than were the Silver Shoes." "Where is that Magic Belt?" enquired the Wizard, who had listened with great interest. "Ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the United States. Anyone in a fairy country like the Land of Oz can do anything with it; so I left it with my friend the Princess Ozma, who used it to wish me in Australia with Uncle Henry." "And were you?" asked Zeb, astonished at what he heard. "Of course; in just a jiffy. And Ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any time she chooses. All she has to do is to say: 'I wonder what So-and-so is doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend is doing. That's _real_ magic, Mr. Wizard; isn't it? Well, every day at four o'clock Ozma has promised to look at me in that picture, and if I am in need of help I am to make her a certain sign and she will put on the Nome King's Magic Belt and wish me to be with her in Oz." "Do you mean that Princess Ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture, and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded Zeb. "Of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his startled expression. "And when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the Land of Oz?" continued the boy. "That's it, exactly; by means of the Magic Belt." "Then," said the Wizard, "you will be saved, little Dorothy; and I am very glad of it. The rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate." "_I_ won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "There's nothing cheerful about dying that I could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times." "Have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy. "No, and I'm not anxious to begin," said Eureka. "Don't worry, dear," Dorothy exclaimed, "I'll hold you in my arms, and take you with me." "Take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath. "Perhaps I can," answered Dorothy. "I'll try." "Couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse. Dorothy laughed. "I'll do better than that," she promised, "for I can easily save you all, once I am myself in the Land of Oz." "How?" they asked. "By using the Magic Belt. All I need do is to wish you with me, and there you'll be--safe in the royal palace!" "Good!" cried Zeb. "I built that palace, and the Emerald City, too," remarked the Wizard, in a thoughtful tone, "and I'd like to see them again, for I was very happy among the Munchkins and Winkies and Quadlings and Gillikins." "Who are they?" asked the boy. "The four nations that inhabit the Land of Oz," was the reply. "I wonder if they would treat me nicely if I went there again." "Of course they would!" declared Dorothy. "They are still proud of their former Wizard, and often speak of you kindly." "Do you happen to know whatever became of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow?" he enquired. "They live in Oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people." "And the Cowardly Lion?" "Oh, he lives there too, with his friend the Hungry Tiger; and Billina is there, because she liked the place better than Kansas, and wouldn't go with me to Australia." "I'm afraid I don't know the Hungry Tiger and Billina," said the Wizard, shaking his head. "Is Billina a girl?" "No; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. You're sure to like Billina, when you know her," asserted Dorothy. "Your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked Zeb, uneasily. "Couldn't you wish me in some safer place than Oz." "Don't worry," replied the girl. "You'll just love the folks in Oz, when you get acquainted. What time is it, Mr. Wizard?" The little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket. "Half-past three," he said. "Then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long, after that, to carry us all to the Emerald City." They sat silently thinking for a time. Then Jim suddenly asked: "Are there any horses in Oz?" "Only one," replied Dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse." "A what?" "A sawhorse. Princess Ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when she was a boy." "Was Ozma once a boy?" asked Zeb, wonderingly. "Yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. But she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world." "A sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked Jim, with a sniff. "It is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "But this sawhorse can trot as fast as you can, Jim; and he's very wise, too." "Pah! I'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!" cried the cab-horse. Dorothy did not reply to that. She felt that Jim would know more about the Saw-Horse later on. The time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the Wizard announced that four o'clock had arrived, and Dorothy caught up the kitten and began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away, invisible Ozma. "Nothing seems to happen," said Zeb, doubtfully. "Oh, we must give Ozma time to put on the Magic Belt," replied the girl. She had scarcely spoken the words when she suddenly disappeared from the cave, and with her went the kitten. There had been no sound of any kind and no warning. One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison. [Illustration: DOROTHY MADE THE SIGNAL.] "I believe we will soon follow her," announced the Wizard, in a tone of great relief; "for I know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called the Land of Oz. Let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute." He put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and Zeb got into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat. "Will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little. "Not at all," replied the Wizard. "It will all happen as quick as a wink." And that was the way it did happen. The cab-horse gave a nervous start and Zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure he was not asleep. For they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes of many extraordinary designs. Before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the air. Zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers. "Gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word Jim slowly trotted into the courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance of the royal palace. [Illustration] CHAPTER 15. OLD FRIENDS ARE REUNITED Many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new arrivals, and when the Wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green gown cried out in surprise: "Why, it's Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, come back again!" The little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in his and shook them cordially. "On my word," he exclaimed, "it's little Jellia Jamb--as pert and pretty as ever!" "Why not, Mr. Wizard?" asked Jellia, bowing low. "But I'm afraid you cannot rule the Emerald City, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful Princess whom everyone loves dearly." "And the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a Captain-General's uniform. The Wizard turned to look at him. "Did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked. "Yes," said the soldier; "but I shaved them off long ago, and since then I have risen from a private to be the Chief General of the Royal Armies." "That's nice," said the little man. "But I assure you, my good people, that I do not wish to rule the Emerald City," he added, earnestly. "In that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased the Wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before him. His fame had not been forgotten in the Land of Oz, by any means. "Where is Dorothy?" enquired Zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood beside his friend the little Wizard. "She is with the Princess Ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied Jellia Jamb. "But she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to your apartments." The boy looked around him with wondering eyes. Such magnificence and wealth as was displayed in this palace was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter was real and not tinsel. "What's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. He had seen considerable of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was no place for him. It perplexed even Jellia Jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal. The green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature, for horses were unknown in this Land; but those who lived in the Emerald City were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of him. "There are no stables here," said the Wizard, "unless some have been built since I went away." "We have never needed them before," answered Jellia; "for the Sawhorse lives in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance than this great beast you have brought with you." "Do you mean that I'm a freak?" asked Jim, angrily. "Oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place you came from, but in Oz any horse but a Sawhorse is unusual." This mollified Jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many rooms that were seldom in use. So Zeb unharnessed Jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all to himself. Then Jellia said to the Wizard: "Your own room--which was back of the great Throne Room--has been vacant ever since you left us. Would you like it again?" "Yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "It will seem like being at home again, for I lived in that room for many, many years." He knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. Zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. In the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the Princess and Dorothy in an hour's time. Opening from the chamber was a fine bath-room having a marble tub with perfumed water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. There were silk stockings and soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and when he was fully dressed Zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than ever before in his life. He was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the Princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and attractive than it was splendid. Here he found Dorothy seated beside a young girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of admiration. But Dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand, drawing him impulsively toward the lovely Princess, who smiled most graciously upon her guest. Then the Wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's embarrassment. The little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled features made him appear more amusing than impressive. Ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the Emerald City and united the Munchkins, Gillikins, Quadlings and Winkies into one people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the Princess said: "Please tell me, Mr. Wizard, whether you called yourself Oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called Oz after you. It is a matter that I have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange race and my own name is Ozma. No one, I am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you." "That is true," answered the little Wizard; "therefore it will give me pleasure to explain my connection with your country. In the first place, I must tell you that I was born in Omaha, and my father, who was a politician, named me Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, Diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it. Taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons I ever learned was to remember my own name. When I grew up I just called myself O. Z., because the other initials were P-I-N-H-E-A-D; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my intelligence." "Surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said Ozma, sympathetically. "But didn't you cut it almost too short?" "Perhaps so," replied the Wizard. "When a young man I ran away from home and joined a circus. I used to call myself a Wizard, and do tricks of ventriloquism." "What does that mean?" asked the Princess. "Throwing my voice into any object I pleased, to make it appear that the object was speaking instead of me. Also I began to make balloon ascensions. On my balloon and on all the other articles I used in the circus I painted the two initials: 'O. Z.', to show that those things belonged to me. "One day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country. When the people saw me come from the sky they naturally thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. I told them I was a Wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw the initials painted on the balloon they called me Oz." "Now I begin to understand," said the Princess, smiling. "At that time," continued the Wizard, busily eating his soup while talking, "there were four separate countries in this Land, each one of the four being ruled by a Witch. But the people thought my power was greater than that of the Witches; and perhaps the Witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose me. I ordered the Emerald City to be built just where the four countries cornered together, and when it was completed I announced myself the Ruler of the Land of Oz, which included all the four countries of the Munchkins, the Gillikins, the Winkies and the Quadlings. Over this Land I ruled in peace for many years, until I grew old and longed to see my native city once again. So when Dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone I arranged to go away with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back alone. After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away. So, having nothing else to do, I joined a circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me." "That is quite a history," said Ozma; "but there is a little more history about the Land of Oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. Many years before you came here this Land was united under one Ruler, as it is now, and the Ruler's name was always 'Oz', which means in our language 'Great and Good'; or, if the Ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'Ozma.' But once upon a time four Witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of the kingdom themselves; so when the Ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one day, one Wicked Witch named Mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him a close prisoner. Then the Witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until you came here. That was why the people were so glad to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their rightful ruler." "But, at that time," said the Wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two Good Witches and two Wicked Witches ruling in the land." "Yes," replied Ozma, "because a good Witch had conquered Mombi in the North and Glinda the Good had conquered the evil Witch in the South. But Mombi was still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. When I was born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me and know that I was the rightful Princess of the Land of Oz. But I escaped from her and am now the Ruler of my people." "I am very glad of that," said the Wizard, "and hope you will consider me one of your most faithful and devoted subjects." "We owe a great deal to the Wonderful Wizard," continued the Princess, "for it was you who built this splendid Emerald City." "Your people built it," he answered. "I only bossed the job, as we say in Omaha." "But you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the people proud of your magical art. So, as you are now too old to wander abroad and work in a circus, I offer you a home here as long as you live. You shall be the Official Wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and consideration." "I accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious Princess," the little man said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in his keen old eyes. It meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this. "He's only a humbug Wizard, though," said Dorothy, smiling at him. "And that is the safest kind of a Wizard to have," replied Ozma, promptly. "Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced Zeb, who was now feeling more at ease. "He shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the Princess. "I have sent messengers to summon all of Dorothy's old friends to meet her and give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now." Indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the Scarecrow, to hug Dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. The Wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important personage in the Land of Oz. "How are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft, stuffed hands of his old friend. "Working finely," answered the Scarecrow. "I'm very certain, Oz, that you gave me the best brains in the world, for I can think with them day and night, when all other brains are fast asleep." [Illustration: DOROTHY AND OZMA.] "How long did you rule the Emerald City, after I left here?" was the next question. "Quite awhile, until I was conquered by a girl named General Jinjur. But Ozma soon conquered her, with the help of Glinda the Good, and after that I went to live with Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman." Just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in. Dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the same time a glad cry. "Oh, Billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown." "Why shouldn't I?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "I live on the fat of the land--don't I, Ozma?" "You have everything you wish for," said the Princess. Around Billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were bracelets of emeralds. She nestled herself comfortably in Dorothy's lap until the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw fiercely bared to strike Billina a blow. But the little girl gave the angry kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch. "How horrid of you, Eureka!" cried Dorothy. "Is that the way to treat my friends?" "You have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone. "Seems to me the same way," said Billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them." "Look here!" said Dorothy, sternly. "I won't have any quarrelling in the Land of Oz, I can tell you! Everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody else; and unless you two, Billina and Eureka, make up and be friends, I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you both home again, _immejitly_. So, there!" They were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good. But it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that. And now the Tin Woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. The Tin Woodman loved Dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little old Wizard. "Sir," said he to the latter, "I never can thank you enough for the excellent heart you once gave me. It has made me many friends, I assure you, and it beats as kindly and lovingly today as it ever did." "I'm glad to hear that," said the Wizard. "I was afraid it would get moldy in that tin body of yours." "Not at all," returned Nick Chopper. "It keeps finely, being preserved in my air-tight chest." Zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. But he became nervous again when the next visitor was announced. "This," said Princess Ozma, "is my friend Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., who assisted me one time when I was in great distress, and is now the Dean of the Royal College of Athletic Science." "Ah," said the Wizard; "I'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage." "H. M.," said the Woggle-Bug, pompously, "means Highly Magnified; and T. E. means Thoroughly Educated. I am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain." "How well you disguise it," said the Wizard. "But I don't doubt your word in the least." "Nobody doubts it, sir," replied the Woggle-Bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read. Nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived. [Illustration] CHAPTER 16. JIM, THE CAB-HORSE Jim the Cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its appearance that it would have awed anyone else. Jim accepted it as a mere detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. Then they told him dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. First they brought him a steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay. "Take that stuff away!" he commanded. "Do you take me for a salamander?" They obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter, with drawn gravey poured over it. "Fish!" cried Jim, with a sniff. "Do you take me for a tom-cat? Away with it!" The servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast. "Well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "Do you take me for a weasel? How stupid and ignorant you are, in the Land of Oz, and what dreadful things you feed upon! Is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?" The trembling servants sent for the Royal Steward, who came in haste and said: "What would your Highness like for dinner?" "Highness!" repeated Jim, who was unused to such titles. "You are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country," said the Steward. "Well, my Highness would like some oats," declared the horse. "Oats? We have no whole oats," the Steward replied, with much defference. "But there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. Oatmeal is a breakfast dish," added the Steward, humbly. "I'll make it a dinner dish," said Jim. "Fetch it on, but don't cook it, as you value your life." You see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the Land of Oz. But the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. They soon mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and Jim ate it with much relish. Then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept on the softest bed he had ever known in his life. In the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome arch of the doorway, turned the corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with the Sawhorse. Jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. The Sawhorse stopped at the same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were mere knots in the log that formed its body. The legs of the Sawhorse were four sticks driven into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body which projected a little and served as a head. The ends of the wooden legs were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the Princess Ozma, which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the clumsy body. [Illustration: "FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHAT SORT OF A BEING ARE YOU?"] Jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the Sawhorse, and he stared at the creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested against his arched neck. In this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it now beheld for the first time. Then Jim exclaimed: "For goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?" "I'm a Sawhorse," replied the other. "Oh; I believe I've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike anything that I expected to see." "I do not doubt it," the Sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride. "I am considered quite unusual." "You are, indeed. But a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be alive." "I couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen. "Ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and I just had to live. I know I'm not much account; but I'm the only horse in all the Land of Oz, so they treat me with great respect." "You, a horse!" "Oh, not a real one, of course. There are no real horses here at all. But I'm a splendid imitation of one." Jim gave an indignant neigh. "Look at me!" he cried. "Behold a real horse!" The wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently. "Is it possible that you are a Real Horse?" he murmured. "Not only possible, but true," replied Jim, who was gratified by the impression he had created. "It is proved by my fine points. For example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which I can whisk away the flies." "The flies never trouble me," said the Saw-Horse. "And notice my great strong teeth, with which I nibble the grass." "It is not necessary for me to eat," observed the Saw-horse. "Also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths," said Jim, proudly. "I have no need to breathe," returned the other. "No; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. "You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. You may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a mighty poor one." "Oh, I cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the Sawhorse. "But I am glad to meet at last a Real Horse. You are certainly the most beautiful creature I ever beheld." This praise won Jim completely. To be called beautiful was a novelty in his experience. Said he: "Your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that I suppose you cannot help. Real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones." "I can see the bones all right," replied the Sawhorse, "and they are admirable and distinct. Also I can see the flesh. But the blood, I suppose, is tucked away inside." "Exactly," said Jim. "What good is it?" asked the Sawhorse. Jim did not know, but he would not tell the Sawhorse that. "If anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where I am cut. You, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt." "But I am never hurt," said the Sawhorse. "Once in a while I get broken up some, but I am easily repaired and put in good order again. And I never feel a break or a splinter in the least." Jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain; but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances. "How did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked. "Princess Ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing out. We've had a good many adventures together, Ozma and I, and she likes me." The cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of terror and stood trembling like a leaf. For around the corner had come two enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he was aware of their presence. Jim was in the act of plunging down the path to escape when the Sawhorse cried out: "Stop, my brother! Stop, Real Horse! These are friends, and will do you no harm." Jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. One was an enormous Lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush. The other was a great Tiger with purple stripes around his lithe body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like coals of fire. The huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder Jim was afraid to face them. But the Sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying, "This, noble Horse, is my friend the Cowardly Lion, who is the valiant King of the Forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of Princess Ozma. And this is the Hungry Tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. These royal beasts are both warm friends of little Dorothy and have come to the Emerald City this morning to welcome her to our fairyland." Hearing these words Jim resolved to conquer his alarm. He bowed his head with as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in return nodded in a friendly way. "Is not the Real Horse a beautiful animal?" asked the Sawhorse admiringly. "That is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the Lion. "In the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. His joints, I notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years." "And dreadfully tough," added the Hungry Tiger, in a sad voice. "My conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the Real Horse." "I'm glad of that," said Jim; "for I, also, have a conscience, and it tells me not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof." If he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken. The Tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly. "You have a good conscience, friend Horse," it said, "and if you attend to its teachings it will do much to protect you from harm. Some day I will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know more about tigers than you do now." "Any friend of Dorothy," remarked the Cowardly Lion, "must be our friend, as well. So let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more pleasant subjects. Have you breakfasted, Sir Horse?" "Not yet," replied Jim. "But here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you will excuse me I will eat now." "He's a vegetarian," remarked the Tiger, as the horse began to munch the clover. "If I could eat grass I would not need a conscience, for nothing could then tempt me to devour babies and lambs." Just then Dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals, ran out to greet her old friends. She hugged both the Lion and the Tiger with eager delight, but seemed to love the King of Beasts a little better than she did his hungry friend, having known him longer. By the time they had indulged in a good talk and Dorothy had told them all about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. As she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone: "What! are _you_ here again?" "Yes, I am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came from. "What brought you back?" was the next question, and Dorothy's eye rested on an antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips in the act of moving. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were stuffed." "So I am," replied the head. "But once on a time I was part of the Gump, which Ozma sprinkled with the Powder of Life. I was then for a time the Head of the finest Flying Machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful things. Afterward the Gump was taken apart and I was put back on this wall; but I can still talk when I feel in the mood, which is not often." "It's very strange," said the girl. "What were you when you were first alive?" "That I have forgotten," replied the Gump's Head, "and I do not think it is of much importance. But here comes Ozma; so I'd better hush up, for the Princess doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from Tip to Ozma." Just then the girlish Ruler of Oz opened the door and greeted Dorothy with a good-morning kiss. The little Princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good spirits. "Breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and I am hungry. So don't let us keep it waiting a single minute." [Illustration] [Illustration: JIM STOOD TREMBLING LIKE A LEAF.] CHAPTER 17. THE NINE TINY PIGLETS After breakfast Ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed throughout the Emerald City, in honor of her visitors. The people had learned that their old Wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him again, for he had always been a rare favorite. So first there was to be a grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great Throne Room of the palace. In the afternoon there were to be games and races. The procession was very imposing. First came the Imperial Cornet Band of Oz, dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons of immense cut emeralds. They played the National air called "The Oz Spangled Banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the Royal flag. This flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink, a third lavender and a fourth white. In the center was a large emerald-green star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered beautifully in the sunshine. The colors represented the four countries of Oz, and the green star the Emerald City. Just behind the royal standard-bearers came the Princess Ozma in her royal chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in exquisite designs. The chariot was drawn on this occasion by the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. In the chariot rode Ozma and Dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing her royal coronet, while the little Kansas girl wore around her waist the Magic Belt she had once captured from the Nome King. Following the chariot came the Scarecrow mounted on the Sawhorse, and the people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely Ruler. Behind him stalked with regular, jerky steps, the famous machine-man called Tik-tok, who had been wound up by Dorothy for the occasion. Tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. He really belonged to the Kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would be useless in any place but a fairy country Dorothy had left him in charge of Ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for. There followed another band after this, which was called the Royal Court Band, because the members all lived in the palace. They wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played "What is Oz without Ozma" very sweetly. Then came Professor Woggle-Bug, with a group of students from the Royal College of Scientific Athletics. The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition. The brilliantly polished Tin Woodman marched next, at the head of the Royal Army of Oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from Generals down to Captains. There were no privates in the army because all were so courageous and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no privates left. Jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by Zeb while the Wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him. Taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned to the palace the citizens crowded into the great Throne Room to see the Wizard perform his tricks. The first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. This act he repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner. The pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the Wizard could have desired. When he had made them all disappear again Ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. So the Wizard pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the Princess (while really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and Ozma smiled joyously as the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse her. Afterward it was noticed that the Wizard always performed his famous trick with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if there had been nine of them. In his little room back of the Throne Room the Wizard had found a lot of things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had occupied the apartment in his absence. There was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had passed part of the night in getting them ready. So he followed the trick of the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the little man was a humbug Wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing them. They applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged him earnestly not to go away again and leave them. "In that case," said the little man, gravely, "I will cancel all of my engagements before the crowned heads of Europe and America and devote myself to the people of Oz, for I love you all so well that I can deny you nothing." After the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined Princess Ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the Tiger and the Lion were sumptuously fed and Jim the Cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the rim of it. In the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where the games were to be held. There was a beautiful canopy for Ozma and her guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. You may be sure the folks of Oz did their best with such a distinguished company watching them, and finally Zeb offered to wrestle with a little Munchkin who seemed to be the champion. In appearance he was twice as old as Zeb, for he had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. But although the Munchkin was hardly tall enough to come to Zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease. Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the Munchkin, to which the little Ozite readily agreed. But the first time that Zeb managed to give him a sharp box on the ears the Munchkin sat down upon the ground and cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt. This made Zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that Ozma laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him. Just then the Scarecrow proposed a race between the Sawhorse and the Cab-horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the Sawhorse drew back, saying: "Such a race would not be fair." "Of course not," added Jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs of yours are not half as long as my own." "It isn't that," said the Sawhorse, modestly; "but I never tire, and you do." "Bah!" cried Jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast as I?" "I don't know, I'm sure," replied the Sawhorse. "That is what we are trying to find out," remarked the Scarecrow. "The object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think." "Once, when I was young," said Jim, "I was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. I was born in Kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from." "But you're old, now, Jim," suggested Zeb. "Old! Why, I feel like a colt today," replied Jim. "I only wish there was a real horse here for me to race with. I'd show the people a fine sight, I can tell you." "Then why not race with the Sawhorse?" enquired the Scarecrow. "He's afraid," said Jim. "Oh, no," answered the Sawhorse. "I merely said it wasn't fair. But if my friend the Real Horse is willing to undertake the race I am quite ready." So they unharnessed Jim and took the saddle off the Sawhorse, and the two queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start. "When I say 'Go!'" Zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you reach those three trees you see over yonder. Then circle 'round them and come back again. The first one that passes the place where the Princess sits shall be named the winner. Are you ready?" "I suppose I ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me," growled Jim. "Never mind that," said the Sawhorse. "I'll do the best I can." "Go!" cried Zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race was begun. [Illustration: THE WIZARD TOOK A PIGLET FROM OZMA'S HAIR.] Jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his Kentucky breeding. But the Sawhorse was swifter than the wind. Its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster. Before they had reached the trees the Sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden animal returned to the starting place and was being lustily cheered by the Ozites before Jim came panting up to the canopy where the Princess and her friends were seated. [Illustration: THE HUNGRY TIGER TEACHES JIM A LESSON.] I am sorry to record the fact that Jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but for a moment lost control of his temper. As he looked at the comical face of the Sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs and its left ear. An instant later the Tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. The beast struck Jim full on his shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act he had been guilty of. When Jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the Cowardly Lion crouched on one side of him and the Hungry Tiger on the other, and their eyes were glowing like balls of fire. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Jim, meekly. "I was wrong to kick the Sawhorse, and I am sorry I became angry at him. He has won the race, and won it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?" Hearing this apology the Tiger and the Lion stopped lashing their tails and retreated with dignified steps to the side of the Princess. "No one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the Lion; and Zeb ran to Jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the future he would probably be torn to pieces. Then the Tin Woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the Sawhorse; and when they had been securely fastened in place Princess Ozma took the coronet from her own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. Said she: "My friend, I reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you Prince of Horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the Land of Oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real Champion of your race." There was more applause at this, and then Ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the Sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession. "I ought to be a fairy," grumbled Jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. It's no place for us, Zeb." "It's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him. [Illustration] CHAPTER 18. THE TRIAL OF EUREKA THE KITTEN Several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country. Ozma was happy to have Dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom it was proper for the Princess to associate were very few, and often the youthful Ruler of Oz was lonely for lack of companionship. It was the third morning after Dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with Ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the Princess said to her maid: "Please go to my boudoir, Jellia, and get the white piglet I left on the dressing-table. I want to play with it." Jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a troubled face. "The piglet is not there, your Highness," said she. "Not there!" exclaimed Ozma. "Are you sure?" "I have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied. "Was not the door closed?" asked the Princess. "Yes, your Highness; I am sure it was; for when I opened it Dorothy's white kitten crept out and ran up the stairs." Hearing this, Dorothy and the Wizard exchanged startled glances, for they remembered how often Eureka had longed to eat a piglet. The little girl jumped up at once. "Come, Ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the piglet." So the two went to the dressing-room of the Princess and searched carefully in every corner and among the vases and baskets and ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. But not a trace could they find of the tiny creature they sought. Dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while Ozma was angry and indignant. When they returned to the others the Princess said: "There is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished." "I don't b'lieve Eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried Dorothy, much distressed. "Go and get my kitten, please, Jellia, and we'll hear what she has to say about it." The green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said: "The kitten will not come. She threatened to scratch my eyes out if I touched her." "Where is she?" asked Dorothy. "Under the bed in your own room," was the reply. So Dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed. "Come here, Eureka!" she said. "I won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice. "Oh, Eureka! Why are you so bad?" The kitten did not reply. "If you don't come to me, right away," continued Dorothy, getting provoked, "I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you in the Country of the Gurgles." "Why do you want me?" asked Eureka, disturbed by this threat. "You must go to Princess Ozma. She wants to talk to you." "All right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "I'm not afraid of Ozma--or anyone else." Dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and thoughtful silence. "Tell me, Eureka," said the Princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?" "I won't answer such a foolish question," asserted Eureka, with a snarl. "Oh, yes you will, dear," Dorothy declared. "The piglet is gone, and you ran out of the room when Jellia opened the door. So, if you are innocent, Eureka, you must tell the Princess how you came to be in her room, and what has become of the piglet." "Who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly. "No one," answered Ozma. "Your actions alone accuse you. The fact is that I left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you must hove stolen in without my knowing it. When next the door was opened you ran out and hid yourself--and the piglet was gone." "That's none of my business," growled the kitten. "Don't be impudent, Eureka," admonished Dorothy. "It is you who are impudent," said Eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime when you can't prove it except by guessing." Ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. She summoned her Captain-General, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said: "Carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is tried by law for the crime of murder." So the Captain-General took Eureka from the arms of the now weeping Dorothy and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison. "What shall we do now?" asked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had cast a gloom over all the company. "I will summon the Court to meet in the Throne Room at three o'clock," replied Ozma. "I myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial." "What will happen if she is guilty?" asked Dorothy. "She must die," answered the Princess. "Nine times?" enquired the Scarecrow. "As many times as is necessary," was the reply. "I will ask the Tin Woodman to defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart I am sure he will do his best to save her. And the Woggle-Bug shall be the Public Accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him." "Who will be the jury?" asked the Tin Woodman. [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE WIZARD OF OZ.] "There ought to be several animals on the jury," said Ozma, "because animals understand each other better than we people understand them. So the jury shall consist of the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Jim the Cab-horse, the Yellow Hen, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, Tik-tok the Machine Man, the Sawhorse and Zeb of Hugson's Ranch. That makes the nine which the law requires, and all my people shall be admitted to hear the testimony." They now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like Oz. But it must be stated that the people of that Land were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any Ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. The crime of murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed in the Emerald City when the news of Eureka's arrest and trial became known. The Wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. He had no doubt Eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious creature, indeed. The Wizard knew that if Dorothy's pet was found guilty and condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save Eureka's life. Sending for the Tin Woodman the Wizard took him into a corner and whispered: "My friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her, but I fear you will fail because Eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the temptation. Yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but only serve to make Dorothy unhappy. So I intend to prove the kitten's innocence by a trick." He drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued: "This creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that Eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that was lost. All the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word. This deception will save Eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again." "I do not like to deceive my friends," replied the Tin Woodman; "still, my kind heart urges me to save Eureka's life, and I can usually trust my heart to do the right thing. So I will do as you say, friend Wizard." After some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his speech to the jury. CHAPTER 19. THE WIZARD PERFORMS ANOTHER TRICK At three o'clock the Throne Room was crowded with citizens, men, women and children being eager to witness the great trial. Princess Ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. Behind her throne stood the twenty-eight officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. At her right sat the queerly assorted Jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all gravely prepared to listen to what was said. The kitten had been placed in a large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern. And now, at a signal from Ozma, the Woggle-Bug arose and addressed the jury. His tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to appear dignified. "Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed Ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it. In either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment." "Do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked Dorothy. "Don't interrupt, little girl," said the Woggle-Bug. "When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion." "If your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused," remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly. "My thoughts are always----" "Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the Woggle-Bug. "It's a trial of one kitten," replied the Scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all." "Let the Public Accuser continue," called Ozma from her throne, "and I pray you do not interrupt him." "The criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws," resumed the Woggle-Bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet, which was no bigger than a mouse. And finally she made a wicked plan to satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. I can see her, in my mind's eye----" "What's that?" asked the Scarecrow. "I say I can see her in my mind's eye----" "The mind has no eye," declared the Scarecrow. "It's blind." "Your Highness," cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, "have I a mind's eye, or haven't I?" "If you have, it is invisible," said the Princess. "Very true," returned the Woggle-Bug, bowing. "I say I see the criminal, in my mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our Ozma and secreting herself, when no one was looking, until the Princess had gone away and the door was closed. Then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat piglet, and I see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up----" "Are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the Scarecrow. "Of course; how else could I see it? And we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere." [Illustration: EUREKA IN COURT.] "I suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the Scarecrow. "Very likely," acknowledged the Woggle-Bug. "And now, Fellow Citizens and Creatures of the Jury, I assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--the death penalty should be inflicted nine times." There was great applause when the speaker sat down. Then the Princess spoke in a stern voice: "Prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? Are you guilty, or not guilty?" "Why, that's for you to find out," replied Eureka. "If you can prove I'm guilty, I'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof, because the Woggle-Bug has no mind to see with." "Never mind, dear," said Dorothy. Then the Tin Woodman arose and said: "Respected Jury and dearly beloved Ozma, I pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly. I do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. Eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. Look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here Eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here Eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded little hands!" (Here Eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of the cage.) "Would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? No; a thousand times, no!" "Oh, cut it short," said Eureka; "you've talked long enough." "I'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the Tin Woodman. "Then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "Tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because I had sense enough to know it would raise a row if I did. But don't try to make out I'm too innocent to eat a fat piglet if I could do it and not be found out. I imagine it would taste mighty good." "Perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the Tin Woodman. "I myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such matters. But I remember that our great poet once said: "'To eat is sweet When hunger's seat Demands a treat Of savory meat.' "Take this into consideration, friends of the Jury, and you will readily decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty." When the Tin Woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not been very convincing and few believed that he had proved Eureka's innocence. As for the Jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and then they appointed the Hungry Tiger their spokesman. The huge beast slowly arose and said: "Kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them. The jury believes the white kitten known as Eureka is guilty of having eaten the piglet owned by Princess Ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in punishment of the crime." The judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although Dorothy was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet. The Princess was just about to order Eureka's head chopped off with the Tin Woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her. "Your Highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. The kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!" He took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet, which he held aloft that all might see it clearly. Ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly: "Give me my pet, Nick Chopper!" And all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent. As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: "Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend. Where did you find my missing pet, Nick Chopper?" "In a room of the palace," he answered. "Justice," remarked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to meddle with. If you hadn't happened to find the piglet, Eureka would surely have been executed." "But justice prevailed at the last," said Ozma, "for here is my pet, and Eureka is once more free." "I refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice, "unless the Wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. If he can produce but seven, then this it not the piglet that was lost, but another one." "Hush, Eureka!" warned the Wizard. "Don't be foolish," advised the Tin Woodman, "or you may be sorry for it." "The piglet that belonged to the Princess wore an emerald collar," said Eureka, loudly enough for all to hear. "So it did!" exclaimed Ozma. "This cannot be the one the Wizard gave me." "Of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared Eureka; "and I must say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. But now that this foolish trial is ended, I will tell you what really became of your pet piglet." At this everyone in the Throne Room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice: "I will confess that I intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so I crept into the room where it was kept while the Princess was dressing and hid myself under a chair. When Ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet on the table. At once I jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these creatures to be reasonable. Instead of keeping still, so I could eat him comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big vase that was standing on the floor. The vase had a very small neck, and spread out at the top like a bowl. At first the piglet stuck in the neck of the vase and I thought I should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and fell down into the deep bottom part--and I suppose he's there yet." All were astonished at this confession, and Ozma at once sent an officer to her room to fetch the vase. When he returned the Princess looked down the narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as Eureka had said she would. There was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the Tin Woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free. Then the crowd cheered lustily and Dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent. "But why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked. "It would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning. Ozma gave the Wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed Nick Chopper to substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments of the palace where she lived. And now, the trial being over, the good citizens of the Emerald City scattered to their homes, well content with the day's amusement. CHAPTER 20. ZEB RETURNS TO THE RANCH Eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. For the folks of Oz knew the kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented her from doing so; therefore even the Hungry Tiger preferred not to associate with her. Eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to stay in confinement in Dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better. Dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised Eureka they would not stay in the Land of Oz much longer. The next evening after the trial the little girl begged Ozma to allow her to look in the enchanted picture, and the Princess readily consented. She took the child to her room and said: "Make your wish, dear, and the picture will show the scene you desire to behold." Then Dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that Uncle Henry had returned to the farm in Kansas, and she also saw that both he and Aunt Em were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been killed by the earthquake. "Really," said the girl, anxiously, "I must get back as soon as poss'ble to my own folks." Zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone mourning for him, the sight of Hugson's Ranch in the picture made him long to get back there. "This is a fine country, and I like all the people that live in it," he told Dorothy. "But the fact is, Jim and I don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the race. So, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you." "Ozma can do it, easily," replied Dorothy. "Tomorrow morning I'll go to Kansas and you can go to Californy." [Illustration: "I'M MUCH OBLIGED FOR ALL YOUR KINDNESS."] That last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long as he lives. They were all together (except Eureka) in the pretty rooms of the Princess, and the Wizard did some new tricks, and the Scarecrow told stories, and the Tin Woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and everybody laughed and had a good time. Then Dorothy wound up Tik-tok and he danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the Yellow Hen related some of her adventures with the Nome King in the Land of Ev. The Princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of eating, and when Dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after exchanging many friendly sentiments. Next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies. Dorothy held Eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond good-bye. "You must come again, some time," said the little Wizard; and she promised she would if she found it possible to do so. "But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em need me to help them," she added, "so I can't ever be very long away from the farm in Kansas." Ozma wore the Magic Belt; and, when she had kissed Dorothy farewell and had made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling. "Where is she?" asked Zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it. "Greeting her uncle and aunt in Kansas, by this time," returned Ozma, with a smile. Then Zeb brought out Jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat. "I'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to you for saving my life and sending me home again after all the good times I've had. I think this is the loveliest country in the world; but not being fairies Jim and I feel we ought to be where we belong--and that's at the ranch. Good-bye, everybody!" He gave a start and rubbed his eyes. Jim was trotting along the well-known road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. Just ahead of them were the gates of Hugson's Ranch, and Uncle Hugson now came out and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement. "Goodness gracious! It's Zeb--and Jim, too!" he exclaimed. "Where in the world have you been, my lad?" "Why, in the world, Uncle," answered Zeb, with a laugh. The End [Illustration] 
420	----	Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz A Faithful Record of Their Amazing Adventures in an Underground World; and How with the Aid of Their Friends Zeb Hugson, Eureka the Kitten, and Jim the Cab-Horse, They Finally Reached the Wonderful Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum "Royal Historian of Oz" --To My Readers-- 1. The Earthquake 2. The Glass City 3. The Arrival of the Wizard 4. The Vegetable Kingdom 5. Dorothy Picks the Princess 6. The Mangaboos Prove Dangerous 7. Into the Black Pit and Out Again 8. The Valley of Voices 9. They Fight the Invisible Bears 10. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain 11. They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles 12. A Wonderful Escape 13. The Den of the Dragonettes 14. Ozma Uses the Magic Belt 15. Old Friends are Reunited 16. Jim, the Cab-Horse 17. The Nine Tiny Piglets 18. The Trial of Eureka, the Kitten 19. The Wizard Performs Another Trick 20. Zeb Returns to the Ranch To My Readers It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling tales of the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. They cry: "Oz--Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I do but obey their commands? This is Our Book--mine and the children's. For they have flooded me with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and I have honestly tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story. After the wonderful success of "Ozma of Oz" it is evident that Dorothy has become a firm fixture in these Oz stories. The little ones all love Dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "It isn't a real Oz story without her." So here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, I hope, and the heroine of another strange adventure. There were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the Wizard." It seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first Oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." The children had heard how he mounted into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. So what could I do but tell "what happened to the Wizard afterward"? You will find him in these pages, just the same humbug Wizard as before. There was one thing the children demanded which I found it impossible to do in this present book: they bade me introduce Toto, Dorothy's little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. But you will see, when you begin to read the story, that Toto was in Kansas while Dorothy was in California, and so she had to start on her adventure without him. In this book Dorothy had to take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next Oz book, if I am permitted to write one, I intend to tell a good deal about Toto's further history. Princess Ozma, whom I love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of Oz. You will also become acquainted with Jim the Cab-Horse, the Nine Tiny Piglets, and Eureka, the Kitten. I am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. Dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody knows. I believe, my dears, that I am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. Many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while I read the tender, loving, appealing letters that came to me in almost every mail from my little readers. To have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become President of the United States. Indeed, I would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the President. So you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and I am more grateful to you, my dears, than I can express in words. I try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer. But be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books. Besides, I am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and I am sure they would not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance. L. FRANK BAUM Coronado, 1908. 1. The Earthquake The train from 'Frisco was very late. It should have arrived at Hugson's Siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up to the open shed that served for the station-house. As it came to a stop the conductor called out in a loud voice: "Hugson's Siding!" At once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. The conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. The reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his passengers. So he moved the cars slowly and with caution. The little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a curve; then she turned to see where she was. The shed at Hugson's Siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not look very inviting. As she peered through the soft gray light not a house of any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees a short distance away. She walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. It was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. She could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body, and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not fit. His tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. The buggy seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. Getting around in front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the seat, fast asleep. She set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol. Presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly. "Hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you Dorothy Gale?" "Yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes. "Have you come to take me to Hugson's Ranch?" "Of course," he answered. "Train in?" "I couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said. He laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. Jumping out of the buggy he put Dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor in front. "Canary-birds?" he asked. "Oh no; it's just Eureka, my kitten. I thought that was the best way to carry her." The boy nodded. "Eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked. "I named my kitten that because I found it," she explained. "Uncle Henry says 'Eureka' means 'I have found it.'" "All right; hop in." She climbed into the buggy and he followed her. Then the boy picked up the reins, shook them, and said "Gid-dap!" The horse did not stir. Dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all. "Gid-dap!" called the boy, again. The horse stood still. "Perhaps," said Dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go." The boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out. "Guess I'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "But Jim knows his business all right--don't you, Jim?" patting the long nose of the animal. Then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the sandy road which was just visible in the dim light. "Thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "I've waited at that station for five hours." "We had a lot of earthquakes," said Dorothy. "Didn't you feel the ground shake?" "Yes; but we're used to such things in California," he replied. "They don't scare us much." "The conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew." "Did he? Then it must have happened while I was asleep," he said thoughtfully. "How is Uncle Henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse continued to trot with long, regular strides. "He's pretty well. He and Uncle Hugson have been having a fine visit." "Is Mr. Hugson your uncle?" she asked. "Yes. Uncle Bill Hugson married your Uncle Henry's wife's sister; so we must be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone. "I work for Uncle Bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my board." "Isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully. "Why, it's a great deal for Uncle Hugson, but not for me. I'm a splendid worker. I work as well as I sleep," he added, with a laugh. "What is your name?" said Dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the cheery tone of his voice. "Not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "My whole name is Zebediah; but folks just call me 'Zeb.' You've been to Australia, haven't you?" "Yes; with Uncle Henry," she answered. "We got to San Francisco a week ago, and Uncle Henry went right on to Hugson's Ranch for a visit while I stayed a few days in the city with some friends we had met." "How long will you be with us?" he asked. "Only a day. Tomorrow Uncle Henry and I must start back for Kansas. We've been away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again." The boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. Then he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to rise up before them. Next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at her side Dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together again. "Goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "What was that?" "That was an awful big quake," replied Zeb, with a white face. "It almost got us that time, Dorothy." The horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. Zeb shook the reins and urged him to go, but Jim was stubborn. Then the boy cracked his whip and touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest Jim stepped slowly along the road. Neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. There was a breath of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake violently. Jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. He was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf. The sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley. Suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. With a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him. Dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. The sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think. Blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths. The horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises, proved more than Dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl lost consciousness. Zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every moment would be his last. 2. The Glass City When Dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast. The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. The worst thing was their terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. Crash after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side. These they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and Jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck his boney body. They did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured. How long this state of things continued Dorothy could not even guess, she was so greatly bewildered. But bye and bye, as she stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see the form of the horse Jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. Also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself. Dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. She began to realize that death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were those she had before encountered. With this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. Far below her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. The central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. Around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. This splendid group of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and buggy--with Dorothy and Zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow, growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was brilliantly illuminated. Dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of Jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. Then she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous. "Isn't it funny?" she said. The boy was startled and his eyes were big. Dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright. "I--I don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered. Just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse tipping also. But they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. Then they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were right side up again. During this time Jim struggled frantically, all his legs kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said, in a relieved tone of voice: "Well, that's better!" Dorothy and Zeb looked at one another in wonder. "Can your horse talk?" she asked. "Never knew him to, before," replied the boy. "Those were the first words I ever said," called out the horse, who had overheard them, "and I can't explain why I happened to speak then. This is a nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?" "As for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered Dorothy, cheerfully. "But never mind; something will happen pretty soon." "Of course," growled the horse, "and then we shall be sorry it happened." Zeb gave a shiver. All this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid. Swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside them. The light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. There was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again. "We've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked Zeb, with a deep sigh. "We can't keep falling forever, you know." "Of course not," said Dorothy. "We are somewhere in the middle of the earth, and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. But it's a big hollow, isn't it?" "Awful big!" answered the boy. "We're coming to something now," announced the horse. At this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down. Yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. But they were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them. They saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by the variegated lights from the six suns. Here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because they sparkled so brightly. "I'm sure we are in no danger," said Dorothy, in a sober voice. "We are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty." "We'll never get home again, though!" declared Zeb, with a groan. "Oh, I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "But don't let us worry over such things, Zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and I've always been told it's foolish to borrow trouble." The boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them. They seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. These spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury. Jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with fear, while Dorothy and Zeb held their breaths in suspense. But no; they floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last. When Jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so much that he could hardly stand; but Zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over Dorothy's bird-cage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. At once a pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and yawned and blinked its round eyes. "Oh," said Dorothy. "There's Eureka." "First time I ever saw a pink cat," said Zeb. "Eureka isn't pink; she's white. It's this queer light that gives her that color." "Where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into Dorothy's face. "I'm 'most starved to death." "Oh, Eureka! Can you talk?" "Talk! Am I talking? Good gracious, I believe I am. Isn't it funny?" asked the kitten. "It's all wrong," said Zeb, gravely. "Animals ought not to talk. But even old Jim has been saying things since we had our accident." "I can't see that it's wrong," remarked Jim, in his gruff tones. "At least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. What's going to become of us now?" "I don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously. The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as through a window. Dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the corners of these rooms. The roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass were lying scattered in every direction. A nearby steeple had been broken off short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. Other buildings were cracked in places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. The rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see. But not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived, except that of their own voices. They began to wonder if there were no people to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world. Suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view. He was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait. His clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was not wholly influenced by the solar rays. The man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. There was no expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange animal. "Look out!" cried Dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!" But he paid no attention to her warning. He reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground. The girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. Soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings. "How strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "Yes; but it's lots of fun, if it IS strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and Dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof. "Come back, Eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed." "I have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a circle and then came back to the roof; "but I can't lose even one of them by falling in this country, because I really couldn't manage to fall if I wanted to." "Does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl. "Of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and back to the edge of the roof. "It's wonderful!" said Dorothy. "Suppose we let Eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us," suggested Zeb, who had been even more amazed than Dorothy at these strange happenings. "Perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl. Zeb drew back with a shiver. "I wouldn't dare try," he said. "Maybe Jim will go," continued Dorothy, looking at the horse. "And maybe he won't!" answered Jim. "I've tumbled through the air long enough to make me contented on this roof." "But we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached here we were floating very slowly, and I'm almost sure we could float down to the street without getting hurt. Eureka walks on the air all right." "Eureka weights only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful tone, "while I weigh about half a ton." "You don't weigh as much as you ought to, Jim," remarked the girl, shaking her head as she looked at the animal. "You're dreadfully skinny." "Oh, well; I'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and I've had lots of trouble in my day, little one. For a good many years I drew a public cab in Chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny." "He eats enough to get fat, I'm sure," said the boy, gravely. "Do I? Can you remember any breakfast that I've had today?" growled Jim, as if he resented Zeb's speech. "None of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating." "Nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are, they are liable to be glass oats!" "Oh, no!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to the ground." "Why don't you walk down?" asked Eureka. "I'm as hungry as the horse is, and I want my milk." "Will you try it, Zeb?" asked the girl, turning to her companion. Zeb hesitated. He was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. But he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof. Dorothy stretched out a hand to him and Zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. It seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. Dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them. "Come on, Jim!" called the boy. "It's all right." Jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. So, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. His great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred. "Well, well!" said Dorothy, drawing a long breath, "What a strange country this is." People began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. There were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. There was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet Dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. They simply started at the strangers, paying most attention to Jim and Eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves. Pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. He seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. After turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to Zeb, who was a little taller than Dorothy: "Tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the Rain of Stones?" For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. Then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered: "No, sir; we didn't cause anything. It was the earthquake." The man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. Then he asked: "What is an earthquake?" "I don't know," said Zeb, who was still confused. But Dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered: "It's a shaking of the earth. In this quake a big crack opened and we fell through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with us." The man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes. "The Rain of Stones has done much damage to our city," he said; "and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence." "How can we do that?" asked the girl. "That I am not prepared to say. It is your affair, not mine. You must go to the House of the Sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth." "Where is the House of the Sorcerer?" the girl enquired. "I will lead you to it. Come!" He turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation Dorothy caught Eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. The boy took his seat beside her and said: "Gid-dap Jim." As the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. Slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner. 3. The Arrival Of The Wizard The doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so Zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. The people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall. "Come to us, oh, Gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice. Instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before Jim's nose. He was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. But he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. There was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that Dorothy laughed when she saw him. The Sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant. "Why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded Land of the Mangaboos?" he asked, sternly. "'Cause we couldn't help it," said Dorothy. "Why did you wickedly and viciously send the Rain of Stones to crack and break our houses?" he continued. "We didn't," declared the girl. "Prove it!" cried the Sorcerer. "We don't have to prove it," answered Dorothy, indignantly. "If you had any sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake." "We only know that yesterday came a Rain of Stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. Today came another Rain of Stones, and soon after it you appeared among us." "By the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the Sorcerer, "you told us yesterday that there would not be a second Rain of Stones. Yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. What is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?" "My sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man. "I said there would be but one Rain of Stones. This second one was a Rain of People-and-Horse-and-Buggy. And some stones came with them." "Will there be any more Rains?" asked the man with the star. "No, my Prince." "Neither stones nor people?" "No, my Prince." "Are you sure?" "Quite sure, my Prince. My sorcery tells me so." Just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the Prince after making a low bow. "More wonders in the air, my Lord," said he. Immediately the Prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. Dorothy and Zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran after them, but the Sorcerer remained calmly in his throne. Far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. It was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move. The throng stood still and waited. It was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. The earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the Mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the House of the Sorcerer, with Eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy. Gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the Land of the Mangaboos. Dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. A balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their difficulties. In an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement. Then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of Mangaboos around him. He was quite an old little man and his head was long and entirely bald. "Why," cried Dorothy, in amazement, "it's Oz!" The little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. But he smiled and bowed as he answered: "Yes, my dear; I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Eh? And you are little Dorothy, from Kansas. I remember you very well." "Who did you say it was?" whispered Zeb to the girl. "It's the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Haven't you heard of him?" Just then the man with the star came and stood before the Wizard. "Sir," said he, "why are you here, in the Land of the Mangaboos?" "Didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant smile; "and, to be honest, I didn't mean to visit you when I started out. I live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday I went up in a balloon, and when I came down I fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. I had let so much gas out of my balloon that I could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. So I continued to descend until I reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, I'll go with pleasure. Sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn't be helped." The Prince had listened with attention. Said he: "This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?" "It's better," replied Oz, promptly. "One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers." "Ah, you shall prove that," said the Prince. "We Mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?" "Never!" declared the Wizard, boldly. "Oh, Oz!" said Dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous Land of Oz." "Nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face. "Come with me," said the Prince to him. "I wish to meet our Sorcerer." The Wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. So he followed the Prince into the great domed hall, and Dorothy and Zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also. There sat the thorny Sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the Wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles. "What an absurd creature!" he exclaimed. "He may look absurd," said the Prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an excellent Sorcerer. The only fault I find with him is that he is so often wrong." "I am never wrong," answered the Sorcerer. "Only a short time ago you told me there would be no more Rain of Stones or of People," said the Prince. "Well, what then?" "Here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong." "One person cannot be called 'people,'" said the Sorcerer. "If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right." "Very clever," said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. "I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?" "No," said the Sorcerer. "You ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "I belong to Bailum & Barney's Great Consolidated Shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. It's a fine aggregation, I assure you." "What do you do?" asked the Sorcerer. "I go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. But I've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than I intended. But never mind. It isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your Land of the Gabazoos." "Mangaboos," said the Sorcerer, correcting him. "If you are a Wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names." "Oh, I'm a Wizard; you may be sure of that. Just as good a Wizard as you are a Sorcerer." "That remains to be seen," said the other. "If you are able to prove that you are better," said the Prince to the little man, "I will make you the Chief Wizard of this domain. Otherwise--" "What will happen otherwise?" asked the Wizard. "I will stop you from living and forbid you to be planted," returned the Prince. "That does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. "But never mind. I'll beat Old Prickly, all right." "My name is Gwig," said the Sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. "Let me see you equal the sorcery I am about to perform." He waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. Yet, look where she would, Dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall. The Mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. It was one of the things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer. Now was the Wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked: "Will somebody kindly loan me a hat?" No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air. "Ahem!" said the Wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?" But they had no handkerchiefs, either. "Very good," remarked the Wizard. "I'll use my own hat, if you please. Now, good people, observe me carefully. You see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. Also, my hat is quite empty." He took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly. "Let me see it," said the Sorcerer. He took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the Wizard. "Now," said the little man, "I will create something out of nothing." He placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice. The people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant. He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. The Wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way. "Now," said the Wizard of Oz, "having created something from nothing, I will make something nothing again." With this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. Then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. This the Wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. When he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely. The little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the Prince said, in his cold, calm voice: "You are indeed a wonderful Wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my Sorcerer." "He will not be a wonderful Wizard long," remarked Gwig. "Why not?" enquired the Wizard. "Because I am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "I perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive." The little man looked troubled. "How long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked. "About five minutes. I'm going to begin now. Watch me carefully." He began making queer signs and passes toward the Wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. By the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the Sorcerer was beginning to take effect. So the Wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the Sorcerer exactly in two. Dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves of the Sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a sliced turnip or potato. "Why, he's vegetable!" cried the Wizard, astonished. "Of course," said the Prince. "We are all vegetable, in this country. Are you not vegetable, also?" "No," answered the Wizard. "People on top of the earth are all meat. Will your Sorcerer die?" "Certainly, sir. He is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. So we must plant him at once, that other Sorcerers may grow upon his bush," continued the Prince. "What do you mean by that?" asked the little Wizard, greatly puzzled. "If you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the Prince, "I will explain to you much better than I can here the mysteries of our Vegetable Kingdom." 4. The Vegetable Kingdom After the Wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered some of his people to carry the two halves of the Sorcerer to the public gardens. Jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so Zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the Wizard to ride with them. The seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and when Jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat there quite contentedly. So the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the Sorcerer first, the Prince next, then Jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could neither smile nor frown. The glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there; but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain covered with gardens and watered by many pretty brooks that flowed through it. There were paths through these gardens, and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges. Dorothy and Zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the Prince, so that they might see and examine the flowers and plants better. "Who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl. "No one built them," answered the man with the star. "They grow." "That's queer," said she. "Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?" "Of course," he replied. "But it took a good many years for them to grow as large and fine as they are now. That is why we are so angry when a Rain of Stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs." "Can't you mend them?" she enquired. "No; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they do." They first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew nearest the city; but Dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of the six suns. A flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to the ground. When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble. "A nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!" "It's violet," said the Wizard, who was in the buggy. "Now it's blue," complained the horse. "As a matter of fact, I'm eating rainbow grass." "How does it taste?" asked the Wizard. "Not bad at all," said Jim. "If they give me plenty of it I'll not complain about its color." By this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the Prince said to Dorothy: "This is our planting-ground." Several Mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground. Then they put the two halves of the Sorcerer into it and covered him up. After that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth. "He will sprout very soon," said the Prince, "and grow into a large bush, from which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers." "Do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy. "Certainly," was the reply. "Do not all people grow upon bushes where you came from, on the outside of the earth?" "Not that I ever hear of." "How strange! But if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens I will show you the way we grow in the Land of the Mangaboos." It appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. There were no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level surface they generally walked just as we do. The little party of strangers now followed the Prince across a few more of the glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by a high hedge. Jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was engaged in busily eating; so the Wizard got out of the buggy and joined Zeb and Dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels. Inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the ground. In the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed Mangaboo, for the clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their bodies. The growing Mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. On some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life. This sight explained to Dorothy why she had seen no children among the Mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for. "Our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes," said the Prince. "You will notice they are all attached to the plants by the soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. So while they grow they cannot be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good citizens." "How long do you live, after you are picked?" asked Dorothy. "That depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied. "If we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five years. I've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be especially long lived." "Do you eat?" asked the boy. "Eat! No, indeed. We are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to eat, any more than does a potato." "But the potatoes sometimes sprout," said Zeb. "And sometimes we do," answered the Prince; "but that is considered a great misfortune, for then we must be planted at once." "Where did you grow?" asked the Wizard. "I will show you," was the reply. "Step this way, please." He led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush. "This," said he, "is the Royal Bush of the Mangaboos. All of our Princes and Rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial." They stood before it in silent admiration. On the central stalk stood poised the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the expression of her delicate features that Dorothy thought she had never seen so sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. The maiden's gown was soft as satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries trimmed the bodice and sleeves. Her flesh was fine and smooth as polished ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace. "Who is this?" asked the Wizard, curiously. The Prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. Now he answered, with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones: "She is the Ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a Royal Princess. When she becomes fully ripe I must abandon the sovereignty of the Mangaboos to her." "Isn't she ripe now?" asked Dorothy. He hesitated. "Not quite," said he, finally. "It will be several days before she needs to be picked, or at least that is my judgment. I am in no hurry to resign my office and be planted, you may be sure." "Probably not," declared the Wizard, nodding. "This is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives," continued the Prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow and give birth to other people." "I'm sure the Princess is ready to be picked," asserted Dorothy, gazing hard at the beautiful girl on the bush. "She's as perfect as she can be." "Never mind," answered the Prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few days longer, and it is best for me to rule until I can dispose of you strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at once." "What are you going to do with us?" asked Zeb. "That is a matter I have not quite decided upon," was the reply. "I think I shall keep this Wizard until a new Sorcerer is ready to pick, for he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. But the rest of you must be destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because I do not wish horses and cats and meat people growing all over our country." "You needn't worry," said Dorothy. "We wouldn't grow under ground, I'm sure." "But why destroy my friends?" asked the little Wizard. "Why not let them live?" "They do not belong here," returned the Prince. "They have no right to be inside the earth at all." "We didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said Dorothy. "That is no excuse," declared the Prince, coldly. The children looked at each other in perplexity, and the Wizard sighed. Eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice: "He won't need to destroy ME, for if I don't get something to eat pretty soon I shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble." "If he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the Wizard. "Oh, Eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat," said the boy. "Phoo!" snarled the kitten; "I wouldn't touch the nasty things!" "You don't need milk, Eureka," remarked Dorothy; "you are big enough now to eat any kind of food." "If I can get it," added Eureka. "I'm hungry myself," said Zeb. "But I noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place. These people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let us get them." "Never mind your hunger," interrupted the Prince. "I shall order you destroyed in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and berry bushes. Follow me, please, to meet your doom." 5. Dorothy Picks the Princess The words of the cold and moist vegetable Prince were not very comforting, and as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. The children, feeling sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the Wizard touched Dorothy softly on her shoulder. "Wait!" he whispered. "What for?" asked the girl. "Suppose we pick the Royal Princess," said the Wizard. "I'm quite sure she's ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the Ruler, and may treat us better than that heartless Prince intends to." "All right!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly. "Let's pick her while we have the chance, before the man with the star comes back." So together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand of the lovely Princess. "Pull!" cried Dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them and the stems snapped and separated from her feet. She was not at all heavy, so the Wizard and Dorothy managed to lift her gently to the ground. The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice: "I thank you very much." "We salute your Royal Highness!" cried the Wizard, kneeling and kissing her hand. Just then the voice of the Prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people. Instantly the Princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was picked the Prince stood still and began to tremble. "Sir," said the Royal Lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly, and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my rescue. I have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand silent upon my bush." "I did not know that you were ripe," answered the Prince, in a low voice. "Give me the Star of Royalty!" she commanded. Slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of the Princess. Then all the people bowed low to her, and the Prince turned and walked away alone. What became of him afterward our friends never knew. The people of Mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform those ceremonies proper to the occasion. But while the people in the procession walked upon the ground the Princess walked in the air just above their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her subjects. No one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so Dorothy and Zeb and the Wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens. They did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks, but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the other side. This was a very interesting experience to them, and Dorothy said: "I wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air." "Perhaps," answered the Wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. But I've noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries." "Is this a fairy country?" asked the boy. "Of course it is," returned Dorothy promptly. "Only a fairy country could have veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could Eureka and Jim talk as we do." "That's true," said Zeb, thoughtfully. In the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. But the kitten bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the Wizard names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical arts. As they sat upon the grass watching Jim, who was still busily eating, Eureka said: "I don't believe you are a Wizard at all!" "No," answered the little man, "you are quite right. In the strict sense of the word I am not a Wizard, but only a humbug." "The Wizard of Oz has always been a humbug," agreed Dorothy. "I've known him for a long time." "If that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?" "Don't know," said Dorothy, "but it must have been humbug." "Very true," declared the Wizard, nodding at her. "It was necessary to deceive that ugly Sorcerer and the Prince, as well as their stupid people; but I don't mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick." "But I saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed Zeb. "So did I," purred the kitten. "To be sure," answered the Wizard. "You saw them because they were there. They are in my inside pocket now. But the pulling of them apart and pushing them together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick." "Let's see the pigs," said Eureka, eagerly. The little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades. "They're hungry, too," he said. "Oh, what cunning things!" cried Dorothy, catching up one and petting it. "Be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!" "Dear me!" murmured the Wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "They can actually talk!" "May I eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice. "I'm awfully hungry." "Why, Eureka," said Dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! It would be dreadful to eat these dear little things." "I should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; "cats are cruel things." "I'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "I'm just hungry." "You cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little man, in a stern voice. "They are the only things I have to prove I'm a wizard." "How did they happen to be so little?" asked Dorothy. "I never saw such small pigs before." "They are from the Island of Teenty-Weent," said the Wizard, "where everything is small because it's a small island. A sailor brought them to Los Angeles and I gave him nine tickets to the circus for them." "But what am I going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of Dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. "There are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers. And if I can't eat the piglets you may as well plant me at once and raise catsup." "I have an idea," said the Wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. Do you like fish?" "Fish!" cried the kitten. "Do I like fish? Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!" "Then I'll try to catch you some," said he. "But won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten. "I think not. Fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves. There is no reason, that I can see, why they may not exist in the waters of this strange country." Then the Wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his pocket for a fish-line. The only bait he could find was a bright red blossom from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. Having thrown the end of his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement. The fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut jewels set close together; but there was no time to examine it closely, for Eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws, and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared. "Oh, Eureka!" cried Dorothy, "did you eat the bones?" "If it had any bones, I ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal. "But I don't think that fish had any bones, because I didn't feel them scratch my throat." "You were very greedy," said the girl. "I was very hungry," replied the kitten. The little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with frightened eyes. "Cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them. "I'm glad we are not fishes!" said another. "Don't worry," Dorothy murmured, soothingly, "I'll not let the kitten hurt you." Then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them. Eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up in a jiffy. "Now let us go back to the city," suggested the Wizard. "That is, if Jim has had enough of the pink grass." The cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh. "I've tried to eat a lot while I had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to be a long while between meals in this strange country. But I'm ready to go, now, at any time you wish." So, after the Wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and Jim started back to the town. "Where shall we stay?" asked the girl. "I think I shall take possession of the House of the Sorcerer," replied the Wizard; "for the Prince said in the presence of his people that he would keep me until they picked another Sorcerer, and the new Princess won't know but that we belong there." They agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square Jim drew the buggy into the big door of the domed hall. "It doesn't look very homelike," said Dorothy, gazing around at the bare room. "But it's a place to stay, anyhow." "What are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings that appeared near the top of the dome. "They look like doorways," said Dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to them." "You forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the Wizard. "Let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to." With this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and Dorothy and Zeb followed him. It was the same sort of climb one experiences when walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the upper part of the house. Following these halls they discovered many small rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables and chairs. But there were no beds at all. "I wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl. "Why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," Zeb replied. "Those colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if there is no sunset there can be no night." "Very true," agreed the Wizard. "But it is a long time since I have had any sleep, and I'm tired. So I think I shall lie down upon one of these hard glass benches and take a nap." "I will, too," said Dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall. Zeb walked down again to unharness Jim, who, when he found himself free, rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with Eureka nestling comfortably beside his big, boney body. Then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland. 6. The Mangaboos Prove Dangerous When the Wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the Land of the Mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. The little man, having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the glass partition of the room he saw Zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. So the Wizard went in to him. "Zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so I may as well leave it on the square where it fell. But in the basket-car are some things I would like to keep with me. I wish you would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. There is nothing else that I care about." So the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned Dorothy was awake. Then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition. "I don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl. "They're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness." "I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them," remarked the Wizard. "And they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves," declared the boy. "The Princess is lovely to look at," continued Dorothy, thoughtfully; "but I don't care much for her, after all. If there was any other place to go, I'd like to go there." "But IS there any other place?" asked the Wizard. "I don't know," she answered. Just then they heard the big voice of Jim the cab-horse calling to them, and going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the Princess and a throng of her people had entered the House of the Sorcerer. So they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them: "I have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have decided that you do not belong in the Land of the Mangaboos and must not remain here." "How can we go away?" asked Dorothy. "Oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed," was the answer. "In what way?" enquired the Wizard. "We shall throw you three people into the Garden of the Twining Vines," said the Princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make themselves grow bigger. The animals you have with you we will drive to the mountains and put into the Black Pit. Then our country will be rid of all its unwelcome visitors." "But you are in need of a Sorcerer," said the Wizard, "and not one of those growing is yet ripe enough to pick. I am greater than any thorn-covered sorcerer that every grew in your garden. Why destroy me?" "It is true we need a Sorcerer," acknowledged the Princess, "but I am informed that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of Gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. Let us see your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. Then I will decide whether to destroy you with the others or not." At this the Wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. He did it very cleverly, indeed, and the Princess looked at the strange piglets as if she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. But afterward she said: "I have heard of this wonderful magic. But it accomplishes nothing of value. What else can you do?" The Wizard tried to think. Then he jointed together the blades of his sword and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. But even that did not satisfy the Princess. Just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which Zeb had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those commonplace things. "Your Highness," said he, "I will now proceed to prove my magic by creating two suns that you have never seen before; also I will exhibit a Destroyer much more dreadful that your Clinging Vines." So he placed Dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads. "Don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my magic." Then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face, the Wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. The glare they made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. The Mangaboos were much impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come directly from their suns. Next the Wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where it covered quite a broad surface. When he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing. "Now, Princess," exclaimed the Wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to throw us into the Garden of Clinging Vines must step within this circle of light. If they advised you well, and were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. But if any advised you wrongly, the light will wither him." The advisors of the Princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. Some of the Mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once. "Sir," said the Princess to the Wizard, "you are greater than any Sorcerer we have ever known. As it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, I will not cast you three people into the dreadful Garden of the Clinging Vines; but your animals must be driven into the Black Pit in the mountain, for my subjects cannot bear to have them around." The Wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he said nothing against this decree; but when the Princess had gone both Jim and Eureka protested they did not want to go to the Black Pit, and Dorothy promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate. For two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep, there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not disturbed in any way. They were even permitted to occupy the House of the Sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens in search of food. Once they came near to the enclosed Garden of the Clinging Vines, and walking high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. They saw a mass of tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a nest of great snakes. Everything the vines touched they crushed, and our adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them. Whenever the Wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome, walking through the air as easily as Eureka could. They knew the kitten, by this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside Jim and commenced to frisk and play with her. The cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval. "Don't be rough!" he would call out, if Eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly. Suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed Mangaboos. Each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the piglets. "Here--stop this foolishness!" Jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns. The Mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven from the room and out upon the street. Here were more of the vegetable people with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the street. Jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered under his feet grunting and squealing, while Eureka, snarling and biting at the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things from injury. Slowly but steadily the heartless Mangaboos drove them on, until they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains leading to the mountain. "What does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn. "Why, they are driving us toward the Black Pit, into which they threatened to cast us," replied the kitten. "If I were as big as you are, Jim, I'd fight these miserable turnip-roots!" "What would you do?" enquired Jim. "I'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs." "All right," said the horse; "I'll do it." An instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of Mangaboos and kicked out his hind legs as hard as he could. A dozen of them smashed together and tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success Jim kicked again and again, charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending the others scattering to escape his iron heels. Eureka helped him by flying into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the Mangaboos feared her as much as they did the horse. But the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. They tired Jim and Eureka out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and disabled Mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow themselves to be driven to the mountain. 7. Into the Black Pit and Out Again When they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. Half way up the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it. The Mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners could not get out again. "This is dreadful!" groaned Jim. "It will be about the end of our adventures, I guess." "If the Wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so." "We ought to have called him and Dorothy when we were first attacked," added Eureka. "But never mind; be brave, my friends, and I will go and tell our masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue." The mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. The Mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave chase, mounting through the air after her. Eureka, however, was lighter than the Mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. So she ran along over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to the city and the House of the Sorcerer. There she entered in at Dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her sleep. As soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the Wizard and Zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of Jim and the piglets. The Wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and Zeb carried the two lanterns and the oil can. Dorothy's wicker suit-case was still under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from Jim to let the horse lie down and rest. So there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten, which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart was still beating rapidly. Some of the Mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the House of the Sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind them so that they could not go back again. Before long they neared the Black Pit, where a busy swarm of Mangaboos, headed by their Princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance. "Stop, I command you!" cried the Wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began pulling down the rocks to liberate Jim and the piglets. Instead of opposing him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in the barrier, when by order of the Princess they all sprang forward and thrust out their sharp thorns. Dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and Zeb and the Wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her. At once the Mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he said to the children: "My dears, what shall we do? Jump out and fight?" "What's the use?" replied Dorothy. "I'd as soon die here as live much longer among these cruel and heartless people." "That's the way I feel about it," remarked Zeb, rubbing his wounds. "I've had enough of the Mangaboos." "All right," said the Wizard; "I'm with you, whatever you decide. But we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain." Noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket. Zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. The rays of the colored suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled up in the wall that separated their prison from the Land of the Mangaboos. "How big is this hole?" asked Dorothy. "I'll explore it and see," replied the boy. So he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while Dorothy and the Wizard followed at his side. The cavern did not come to an end, as they had expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain, running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the Mangaboo country. "It isn't a bad road," observed the Wizard, "and if we followed it it might lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are now in. I suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so I propose that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to." The others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness Jim to the buggy. When all was in readiness the three took their seats in the buggy and Jim started cautiously along the way, Zeb driving while the Wizard and Dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could see where to go. Sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident. Jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome. "We must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said Dorothy. "I didn't know this mountain was so tall." "We are certainly a good distance away from the Land of the Mangaboos," added Zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started." But they kept steadily moving, and just as Jim was about tired out with his long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and Zeb put out the lanterns to save the oil. To their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. The sides of the tunnel showed before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more level. Jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and found themselves face to face with a new and charming country. 8. The Valley of Voices By journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends. It was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape here and there. There were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all unknown in our world. Alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld. None of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it. As the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. Several minutes were consumed in silent admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this valley. One was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a clear and perfect light. The second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of this splendid place. From their elevated position they could overlook the entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. All appeared mysteriously deserted. The mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to granite. With some difficulty and danger Jim drew the buggy over the loose rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and gardens began. The nearest cottage was still some distance away. "Isn't it fine?" cried Dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the buggy and let Eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass. "Yes, indeed!" answered Zeb. "We were lucky to get away from those dreadful vegetable people." "It wouldn't be so bad," remarked the Wizard, gazing around him, "if we were obliged to live here always. We couldn't find a prettier place, I'm sure." He took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and Jim tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in his new surroundings. "We can't walk in the air here, though," called Eureka, who had tried it and failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the Wizard said they must be nearer the surface of the earth then they had been in the Mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural. "But where are the people?" asked Dorothy. The little man shook his bald head. "Can't imagine, my dear," he replied. They heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature anywhere. Slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the piglets racing and gambolling beside them and Jim pausing at every step for another mouthful of grass. Presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. The fruit was so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious that Dorothy stopped and exclaimed: "What is it, do you s'pose?" The piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and commenced to devour it with great eagerness. "It's good, anyway," said Zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily." "Where are they?" asked Dorothy, in astonishment. They all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared. "Dear me!" cried the Wizard; "they must have run away. But I didn't see them go; did you?" "No!" replied the boy and the girl, together. "Here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously. Several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the Wizard could not discover a single piglet. "Where are you?" he asked. "Why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "Can't you see us?" "No," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone. "We can see you," said another of the piglets. The Wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat body of one of his pets. He picked it up, but could not see what he held. "It is very strange," said he, soberly. "The piglets have become invisible, in some curious way." "I'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten. "It wasn't a peach, Eureka," said Dorothy. "I only hope it wasn't poison." "It was fine, Dorothy," called one of the piglets. "We'll eat all we can find of them," said another. "But WE mus'n't eat them," the Wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other. If we come across another of the strange fruit we must avoid it." Calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present. The travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently reached. It was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad front porch. The door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with four chairs drawn up to it. On the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and fruits. The meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. But not a single person appeared to be in the room. "How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy, who with Zeb and the Wizard now stood in the doorway. A peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the plates with a clatter. One of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that Dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright. "Here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen person. "So I see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly. "What do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent. "Well, well!" said the Wizard; "are there really people in this room?" "Of course," replied the man's voice. "And--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?" "Surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "Are you surprised that you are unable to see the people of Voe?" "Why, yes," stammered the Wizard. "All the people I have ever met before were very plain to see." "Where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone. "We belong upon the face of the earth," explained the Wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the Country of the Mangaboos." "Dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "I've heard of them." "They walled us up in a mountain," continued the Wizard; "but we found there was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here. It is a beautiful place. What do you call it?" "It is the Valley of Voe." "Thank you. We have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house to enquire our way." "Are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice. "I could eat something," said Dorothy. "So could I," added Zeb. "But we do not wish to intrude, I assure you," the Wizard hastened to say. "That's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before. "You are welcome to what we have." As he spoke the voice came so near to Zeb that he jumped back in alarm. Two childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and Dorothy was sure they were in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be seen. "What curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired the man's voice. "That's Jim," said the girl. "He's a horse." "What is he good for?" was the next question. "He draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead of walking," she explained. "Can he fight?" asked the man's voice. "No! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but Jim can't 'zactly fight," she replied. "Then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices. "Bears!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Are these bears here?" "That is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "Many large and fierce bears roam in the Valley of Voe, and when they can catch any of us they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught." "Are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl. "Yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal." "Does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?" asked the Wizard. "Yes," was the reply. "If it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" Dorothy enquired. "For two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "The dama-fruit is the most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears cannot find us to eat us up. But now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like." 9. They Fight the Invisible Bears The strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. In front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible. But Dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did likewise, resisting the temptation. "Why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice. "We don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl. "But if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "We who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears." "And we do not have to be so particular about our dress," remarked the man. "And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully. "But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not." Dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands. "Come here, please--Ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she requested. They came to her willingly, and Dorothy passed her hands over their faces and forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy somewhat smaller. The girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin. When Dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed to be well and delicately formed. "If I could see you I am sure you would be beautiful," she declared. The girl laughed, and her mother said: "We are not vain in the Valley of Voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. Yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky." "How about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked Zeb. "The birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them. Neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit. But the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to eat." "It occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while invisible," remarked the Wizard. "Nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible while we are in your valley." Just then Eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with Jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out: "Now you must feed me, Dorothy, for I'm half starved." The children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal, which reminded them of the bears; but Dorothy reassured them by explaining that Eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. Then, as the others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. To her surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. Eureka was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she was dropped to the floor. "Did you see that, Dorothy?" she gasped. "Yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house, although we cannot see them. And you must have better manners, Eureka, or something worse will happen to you." She placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily. "Give me that nice-smelling fruit I saw on the table," she begged, when she had cleaned the plate. "Those are damas," said Dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, Eureka, or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all." The kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit. "Does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked. "I don't know," Dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose you." "Very well, I won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away from me, for the smell is very tempting." "Can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the Wizard, addressing the air because he did not quite know where the unseen people stood, "if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful Valley, and on top of the Earth again." "Oh, one can leave the Valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country. As for reaching the top of the earth, I have never heard that it is possible to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall off." "Oh, no," said Dorothy, "we've been there, and we know." "The Valley of Voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the Wizard; "but we cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. Even if we should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it." "In that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our Valley and mount the spiral staircase inside the Pyramid Mountain. The top of that mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful Land of Naught, where the Gargoyles live." "What are Gargoyles?" asked Zeb. "I do not know, young sir. Our greatest Champion, Overman-Anu, once climbed the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the Gargoyles before he could escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up." The wanders were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but Dorothy said with a sigh: "If the only way to get home is to meet the Gurgles, then we've got to meet 'em. They can't be worse than the Wicked Witch or the Nome King." "But you must remember you had the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman to help you conquer those enemies," suggested the Wizard. "Just now, my dear, there is not a single warrior in your company." "Oh, I guess Zeb could fight if he had to. Couldn't you, Zeb?" asked the little girl. "Perhaps; if I had to," answered Zeb, doubtfully. "And you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table Sorcerer in two with," the girl said to the little man. "True," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with." "What the Gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice. "Our Champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. But they were in great numbers, and the Champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting." "Very good," said the Wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the Gargoyles." "But tell me," said Dorothy, "how did such a brave Champion happen to let the bears eat him? And if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows that they really ate him up?" "The Champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man; "and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly seen by all eyes. When the Champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and when the bears killed the Champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them." They now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the opposite side of the Valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it, they again started upon their journey. They followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. Fruits and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious damas that the people of Voe were so fond of. About noon they stopped to allow Jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard, and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there a soft voice suddenly said to them: "There are bears near by. Be careful." The Wizard got out his sword at once, and Zeb grabbed the horse-whip. Dorothy climbed into the buggy, although Jim had been unharnessed from it and was grazing some distance away. The owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said: "You cannot escape the bears that way." "How CAN we 'scape?" asked Dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always the hardest to face. "You must take to the river," was the reply. "The bears will not venture upon the water." "But we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl. "Oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones seemed to belong to a young girl. "You are strangers in the Valley of Voe, and do not seem to know our ways; so I will try to save you." The next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew and held suspended in the air before the Wizard. "Sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below the surface. It is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of Voe usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies." "Thank you!" cried the Wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the soles of Dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. The girl took a leaf and rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to Zeb, who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of Jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. He had nearly finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels. "Quick! To the water or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without hesitation the Wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad river, for Dorothy was still seated in it with Eureka in her arms. They did not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the Wizard returned to the bank to assist Zeb and Jim. The horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely. "Run for the river!" shouted the Wizard, and Jim quickly freed himself from his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. As soon as he trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit, and Zeb was already running across the water toward Dorothy. As the little Wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. At once he began stabbing at the air with his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew back the blade it was dripping with blood. The third time that he thrust out the weapon there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger and fiercer. The beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears were near. On the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. Dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. The Wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts Jim had received from the claws of the bears. "I think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said Dorothy. "If our unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time." "That is true," agreed the Wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the Pyramid Mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel." Zeb hitched Jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. The kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but Dorothy let her down and soon Eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. Once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but Dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach. After a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the Valley before they came to the Pyramid Mountain. There were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts. "You'll have to make a dash, Jim," said the Wizard, "and run as fast as you can go." "All right," answered the horse; "I'll do my best. But you must remember I'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone." All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no guidance of any sort. The horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made Dorothy catch her breath. Then Zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and Jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. His boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the Wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled "Whoa!" at the top of his voice. "I--I'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped Dorothy. "I KNOW he is," said Zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait--and the harness or the buggy don't break." Jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the Wizard and Zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over several times before they stopped. Dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. She squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all. 10. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain The mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. Directly facing the place where Jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. The stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. At the foot of the stairs was a sign reading: WARNING. These steps lead to the Land of the Gargoyles. DANGER! KEEP OUT. "I wonder how Jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said Dorothy, gravely. "No trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "Still, I don't care to drag any passengers. You'll all have to walk." "Suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested Zeb, doubtfully. "Then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all," answered Jim. "We'll try it, anyway," said the Wizard. "It's the only way to get out of the Valley of Voe." So they began to ascend the stairs, Dorothy and the Wizard first, Jim next, drawing the buggy, and then Zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness. The light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the Wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. But this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. Looking through this opening they could see the Valley of Voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance. After resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for Jim to draw the buggy easily after him. The old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. At such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one's legs ache. They wound about, always going upward, for some time. The lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing. Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge. The opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the Valley of Voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. Below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. Just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. The blues and greys were very beautiful, and Dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the Cloud Fairies. Mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly. "Are they real?" asked Zeb, in an awed voice. "Of course," replied Dorothy, softly. "They are the Cloud Fairies." "They seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently. "If I should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it." In the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. These birds were of enormous size, and reminded Zeb of the rocs he had read about in the Arabian Nights. They had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern. "Well, I declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little Wizard. "What in the world is this?" They turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. He was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. These were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon. "Where did you come from?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly. "No place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently. Once I lived on top the earth, but for many years I have had my factory in this spot--half way up Pyramid Mountain." "Are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone. "I believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "But as I have never been in either direction, down or up, since I arrived, I cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not." "Have you a factory in this place?" asked the Wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully. "To be sure," said the other. "I am a great inventor, you must know, and I manufacture my products in this lonely spot." "What are your products?" enquired the Wizard. "Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of Rustles for ladies' silk gowns." "I thought so," said the Wizard, with a sigh. "May we examine some of these articles?" "Yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. Here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord. "This," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, "contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year. Will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing Dorothy. "My gown isn't silk," she said, smiling. "Never mind. When you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. Then he picked up another box. "In this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. They are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. You, sir," turning to the Wizard, "ought to have this assortment. Once you have tried my goods I am sure you will never be without them." "I have no money with me," said the Wizard, evasively. "I do not want money," returned the braided man, "for I could not spend it in this deserted place if I had it. But I would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. You will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but I have no blue ribbons." "I'll get you one!" cried Dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. It did her good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this treasure. "You have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles. "You may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them." "Why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the Wizard. "I could not help it. It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears I will tell you about it. On earth I was a manufacturer of Imported Holes for American Swiss Cheese, and I will acknowledge that I supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. Also I made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. Finally I invented a new Adjustable Post-hole, which I thought would make my fortune. I manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them I set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. That made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as I leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, I lost my balance and tumbled in. Unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but I managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. Here, then, I made my home; and although it is a lonely place I amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely." When the braided man had completed this strange tale Dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the Wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. So they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey. 11. They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles Another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. On peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else. But the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the Wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. To his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical Valley of Voe. "Why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully. "Yes," sighed Eureka; "and I also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets? You'd never miss ONE of them, I'm sure!" "What a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!" "When I'm not hungry, I love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely; "but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet." "And we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully. "And thought you were respectable!" said another. "It seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, I'm sure." "You see, Eureka," remarked Dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself disliked. There are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but I never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under ANY cir'stances." "Did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten. "They are no bigger than mice, and I'm sure mice are proper for me to eat." "It isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl. "These are Mr. Wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for Jim to eat you." "And that's just what I shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork alone," said Jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "If you injure any one of them I'll chew you up instantly." The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not. "In that case," she said, "I'll leave them alone. You haven't many teeth left, Jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. So the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as I am concerned." "That is right, Eureka," remarked the Wizard, earnestly. "Let us all be a happy family and love one another." Eureka yawned and stretched herself. "I've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me." "No one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted Dorothy. "If you behave, and don't scare the little pigs, I'm sure they'll grow very fond of you." The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed. "We must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway. "The Country of the Gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked Dorothy. "It isn't very nice down here. I'd like to get home again, I'm sure." No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls. At last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced. "Thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little Wizard. Jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. Then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others. "Let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice. "Nonsense!" snapped the tired Wizard. "What's the matter with you, old man?" "Everything," grumbled the horse. "I've taken a look at this place, and it's no fit country for real creatures to go to. Everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere." "Never mind; we can't turn back," said Dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay there, anyhow." "It's dangerous," growled Jim, in a stubborn tone. "See here, my good steed," broke in the Wizard, "little Dorothy and I have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. We've even been to the marvelous Land of Oz--haven't we, Dorothy?--so we don't much care what the Country of the Gargoyles is like. Go ahead, Jim, and whatever happens we'll make the best of it." "All right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don't blame me." With this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. The others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld. "The Country of the Gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed Zeb; and so it was. The ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. There were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. The tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. The patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. Wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as Gargoyles. These were very numerous, for the place was thickly inhabited, and a large group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers who had emerged from the long spiral stairway. The Gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in height. Their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms extraordinarily long and stout. Their heads were too big for their bodies and their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. Some had long, curved noses and chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. Others had flat noses, protruding eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. There were many types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in appearance. The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. They all wore short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them. This noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the Gargoyles. They made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips. Neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere throughout the wooden country. The birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo; yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere. The group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. In turn the Wizard and the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the Gargoyles with the same silent attention. "There's going to be trouble, I'm sure," remarked the horse. "Unhitch those tugs, Zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so I can fight comfortably." "Jim's right," sighed the Wizard. "There's going to be trouble, and my sword isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so I shall have to get out my revolvers." He got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at. "What harm can the Gurgles do?" asked Dorothy. "They have no weapons to hurt us with." "Each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man, "and I'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. Even these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies, and after that we will be at their mercy." "But why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl. "So I may die with a clear conscience," returned the Wizard, gravely. "It's every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and I'm going to do it." "Wish I had an axe," said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse. "If we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things," responded the Wizard. "But we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly." The Gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them. But as soon as the conversation ceased, the grinning, ugly creatures arose in a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. The horse had especially attracted their notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen; so it became the center of their first attack. But Jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could. Crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the Gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they scattered like straws in the wind. But the noise and clatter seemed as dreadful to them as Jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew away to a great distance. The others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease. But the Wizard was not so confident. "Those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage Jim has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. That cannot make them look any uglier, I'm sure, and it is my opinion they will soon renew the attack." "What made them fly away?" asked Dorothy. "The noise, of course. Don't you remember how the Champion escaped them by shouting his battle-cry?" "Suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "We have time, just now, and I'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps." "No," returned Dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would never get home. Let's fight it out." "That is what I advise," said the Wizard. "They haven't defeated us yet, and Jim is worth a whole army." But the Gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time. They advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind, and they flew straight over Jim's head to where the others were standing. The Wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place. Some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to a distance. Zeb ran and picked up one of the Gargoyles that lay nearest to him. The top of its head was carved into a crown and the Wizard's bullet had struck it exactly in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. Half of the bullet stuck in the wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt. Before this crowned Gargoyle had recovered himself Zeb had wound a strap several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could not move. Then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. By that time the others had all retired. 12. A Wonderful Escape For a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. Then a few of them advanced until another shot from the Wizard's revolver made them retreat. "That's fine," said Zeb. "We've got 'em on the run now, sure enough." "But only for a time," replied the Wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "These revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be helpless." The Gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's revolvers. In this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was sent into the battle. When the Wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so be as no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray. "What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy, anxiously. "Let's yell--all together," said Zeb. "And fight at the same time," added the Wizard. "We will get near Jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can. I'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. Dorothy must take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. I haven't anything for you, Zeb." "I'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy. The bound Gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists Zeb found the king made a very good club. The boy was strong for one of his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more dangerous to the enemy than the Wizard. When the next company of Gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as if they had gone mad. Even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at the same time Jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. This daunted the enemy for a time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. Perceiving this, as well as the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come from the revolvers, the Gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so that the air was filled with them. Dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered her and proved a great protection. The Wizard's sword-blade snapped into a dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. Zeb pounded away with the Gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. The horse performed some wonderful kicking and even Eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the Gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat. But all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. The wooden things wound their long arms around Zeb and the Wizard and held them fast. Dorothy was captured in the same way, and numbers of the Gargoyles clung to Jim's legs, so weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. Eureka made a desperate dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning Gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far. All of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. The houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-sided. They were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial. To one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors. The Gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a platform, and then flew away and left them. As they had no wings the strangers could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would surely be killed. The creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to overcome such ordinary difficulties. Jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many Gargoyles to carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. When Eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last Gargoyle silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more. "What an awful fight!" said Dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps. "Oh, I don't know," purred Eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us." "Thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners," sighed the little girl. "I wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked Zeb, who had lost his king in the struggle. "They are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the Wizard answered, reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as possible in a short time." "As dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked Dorothy. "Yes, my dear. But we have no need to worry about that just now. Let us examine our prison and see what it is like." The space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city spread out beneath them. Everything visible was made of wood, and the scene seemed stiff and extremely unnatural. From their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the Wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. Several stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a time they came back to the platform again. Had there been any doors or windows in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and stout, escape could have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp smell. In this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some unknown source. Looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them, where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of the wooden Gargoyles moving about in their dwellings. "This seems to be their time of rest," observed the Wizard. "All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze." "I feel sleepy myself," remarked Zeb, yawning. "Why, where's Eureka?" cried Dorothy, suddenly. They all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen. "She's gone out for a walk," said Jim, gruffly. "Where? On the roof?" asked the girl. "No; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this house to the ground." "She couldn't climb DOWN, Jim," said Dorothy. "To climb means to go up." "Who said so?" demanded the horse. "My school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, Jim." "To 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech," remarked the Wizard. "Well, this was a figure of a cat," said Jim, "and she WENT down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept." "Dear me! how careless Eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "The Gurgles will get her, sure!" "Ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'Gurgles,' little maid; they're Gargoyles." "Never mind; they'll get Eureka, whatever they're called." "No they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and Eureka herself crawled over the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor. "Wherever have you been, Eureka?" asked Dorothy, sternly. "Watching the wooden folks. They're too funny for anything, Dorothy. Just now they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again." "What, the hinges?" "No; the wings." "That," said Zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. If any of the Gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to be good." The Wizard had listened intently to what Eureka had said. "I wish we had some of those loose wings," he said. "Could we fly with them?" asked Dorothy. "I think so. If the Gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear them. So, if we had the wings, we could probably fly as well as they do--as least while we are in their country and under the spell of its magic." "But how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl. "Come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building. "Do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he continued, pointing with his finger. "Yes; it's a good way off, but I can see it," she replied. "Well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the Valley of Voe. I'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly." He fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening. "Where does it lead to?" she asked. "That I cannot tell," said the Wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. So, if we had the wings, and could escape the Gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved." "I'll get you the wings," said Zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this. "That is, if the kitten will show me where they are." "But how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly. For answer Zeb began to unfasten Jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach to the ground. "I can climb down that, all right," he said. "No you can't," remarked Jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes. "You may GO down, but you can only CLIMB up." "Well, I'll climb up when I get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "Now, Eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings." "You must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise the Gargoyles will wake up. They can hear a pin drop." "I'm not going to drop a pin," said Zeb. He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house. "Be careful," cautioned Dorothy, earnestly. "I will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge. The girl and the Wizard leaned over and watched Zeb work his way carefully downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. Eureka clung with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily. Then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring dwelling. The watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his arms now full of the wooden wings. When he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch to the end of the line, and the Wizard drew them up. Then the line was let down again for Zeb to climb up by. Eureka quickly followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them. The boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement. He put the harness together again and hitched Jim to the buggy. Then, with the Wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old cab-horse. This was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was missing, it being still fastened to the body of the Gargoyle who had used it. However, the Wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire, by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to Jim's harness, two near his head and two near his tail. They were a bit wiggley, but secure enough if only the harness held together. The other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the Wizard as it flew through the air. These preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping Gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them would be hunting for their missing wings. So the prisoners resolved to leave their prison at once. They mounted into the buggy, Dorothy holding Eureka safe in her lap. The girl sat in the middle of the seat, with Zeb and the Wizard on each side of her. When all was ready the boy shook the reins and said: "Fly away, Jim!" "Which wings must I flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly. "Flop them all together," suggested the Wizard. "Some of them are crooked," objected the horse. "Never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said Zeb. "Just you light out and make for that rock, Jim; and don't waste any time about it, either." So the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away from the platform. Dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their trip, for the way Jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous. He groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because the Wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. The only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as smooth as the air could make it. The main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed. Some of the Gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when Dorothy happened to look back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky. 13. The Den of the Dragonettes Our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the Gargoyles. All the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when Jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away. "But, I'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said Dorothy, greatly excited. "No; we must stop them," declared the Wizard. "Quick Zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!" They tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the Wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. Then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a match set fire to the pile. The flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden Gargoyles arrived. The creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such as dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land. Inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and Zeb and the Wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames. "That will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. "Perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the Gargoyles never will be missed. But come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven." To their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. A sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. It carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. So Zeb and the Wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. In this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. It was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. But the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before. "Anyhow," said Dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful Gurgles, and that's ONE comfort!" "Probably the Gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned the Wizard. "But even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so I am sure we need fear them no longer." Once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where Jim could scarcely drag the buggy. At such times Dorothy, Zeb and the Wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. But the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor. The cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. These were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down. "What sort of place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom. "I cannot imagine, I'm sure," answered the Wizard, also peering about. "Woogh!" snarled Eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; "it's den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! Don't you see their terrible eyes?" "Eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered Dorothy. "Tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her pet. "I simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering. "Their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. But their bodies don't seem very big." "Where are they?" enquired the girl. "They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. Oh, Dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! They're uglier than the Gargoyles." "Tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice near by. "As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and I'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world." Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock. "Why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed. "No," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes." "What's that?" asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes. "Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "The big dragons are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important." "Where is your mother?" asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around. "She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. If she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger." "Oh; are you hungry?" enquired Dorothy, drawing back. "Very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws. "And--and--do you eat people?" "To be sure, when we can get them. But they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone. "How old are you?" enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated. "Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday." "But that isn't young!" cried Dorothy, in amazement. "No?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish." "How old is your mother?" asked the girl. "Mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. She's a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime." "I should think she would be," agreed Dorothy. Then, after a moment's thought, she asked: "Are we friends or enemies? I mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?" "As for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. If you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe." There was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally. Dorothy felt relieved. Presently she asked: "Why did your mother tie your tails?" "Oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. Mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won't do that." "No, indeed!" said the little girl. "We don't wish to be eaten by such awful beasts." "Permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. We consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. And we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that I challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous Green Dragon of Atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. Can you match that pedigree, little girl?" "Well," said Dorothy, "I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that's being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. If it isn't I'll have to stand it, that's all." "Tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons. Being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the Wizard now took time to examine them more closely. The heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. Their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. Dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up. "It occurs to me," said the Wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back." "Don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, I'm sure." "You may be right," replied the Wizard, "but we're a little particular about associating with strangers. Will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top the earth?" "That is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "For, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished." "Then," decided Dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can." They circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. They selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance. 14. Ozma Uses the Magic Belt For a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline, and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager, thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. But at length they came unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from proceeding a single step farther. This rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion, turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. When first they came to it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. This appeared so unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass over. But they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited patiently until the path appeared for the second time. The children and the Wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. Jim the cab-horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the rock turned, and became wedged there. They heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had come. "Never mind," said Zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow." "I'm not so sure of that," returned Dorothy. "The mother dragon may come down and catch us here." "It is possible," agreed the Wizard, "if this proves to be the path she usually takes. But I have been examining this tunnel, and I do not see any signs of so large a beast having passed through it." "Then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way she can't poss'bly get to us now." "Of course not, my dear. But there is another thing to consider. The mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she went the other way then we have come the wrong way," said the Wizard, thoughtfully. "Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "That would be unlucky, wouldn't it?" "Very. Unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth," said Zeb. "For my part, if we manage to get out of here I'll be glad it isn't the way the dragon goes." "So will I," returned Dorothy. "It's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. No one knows what the mother might do." They now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. The lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. But their journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from which there was no further outlet. They did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in the roof of the cave, far overhead. That meant that their world--the real world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which meant home to them. But when the adventurers looked more carefully around them they discovered that there were in a strong prison from which there was no hope of escape. "But we're ALMOST on earth again," cried Dorothy, "for there is the sun--the most BEAU'FUL sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the distant roof. "Almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone. "It wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if I got there." "It appears that the path ends here," announced the Wizard, gloomily. "And there is no way to go back," added Zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity. "I was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse. "Folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell of their adventures--not in real life. And the whole thing has been unnatural because that cat and I are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say." "And so can the nine tiny piglets," added Eureka. "Don't forget them, for I may have to eat them, after all." "I've heard animals talk before," said Dorothy, "and no harm came of it." "Were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously. "No," answered Dorothy. "But don't you lose heart, Jim, for I'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means." The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. So he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased. "My dears," he said to them, "I'm afraid I've got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave." "What's wrong?" asked a piglet. "We've been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened." The Wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers. "Well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?" "I am," replied the little man. "Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence. "I could if I happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "But I'm not, my piggy-wees; I'm a humbug wizard." "Nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together. "You can ask Dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone. "It's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "Our friend Oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. He can do several very wonderful things--if he knows how. But he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the tools and machinery to work with." "Thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the Wizard, gratefully. "To be accused of being a real wizard, when I'm not, is a slander I will not tamely submit to. But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave." "I don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that," remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "But I'm not going to scatter my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too." "We are helpless to escape," sighed the Wizard. "WE may be helpless," answered Dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others who can do more than we can. Cheer up, friends. I'm sure Ozma will help us." "Ozma!" exclaimed the Wizard. "Who is Ozma?" "The girl that rules the marvelous Land of Oz," was the reply. "She's a friend of mine, for I met her in the Land of Ev, not long ago, and went to Oz with her." "For the second time?" asked the Wizard, with great interest. "Yes. The first time I went to Oz I found you there, ruling the Emerald City. After you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, I got back to Kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes." "I remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "They once belonged to the Wicked Witch. Have you them here with you?" "No; I lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "But the second time I went to the Land of Oz I owned the Nome King's Magic Belt, which is much more powerful than were the Silver Shoes." "Where is that Magic Belt?" enquired the Wizard, who had listened with great interest. "Ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the United States. Anyone in a fairy country like the Land of Oz can do anything with it; so I left it with my friend the Princess Ozma, who used it to wish me in Australia with Uncle Henry." "And were you?" asked Zeb, astonished at what he heard. "Of course; in just a jiffy. And Ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any time she chooses. All she has to do is to say: 'I wonder what So-and-so is doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend is doing. That's REAL magic, Mr. Wizard; isn't it? Well, every day at four o'clock Ozma has promised to look at me in that picture, and if I am in need of help I am to make her a certain sign and she will put on the Nome King's Magic Belt and wish me to be with her in Oz." "Do you mean that Princess Ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture, and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded Zeb. "Of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his startled expression. "And when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the Land of Oz?" continued the boy. "That's it, exactly; by means of the Magic Belt." "Then," said the Wizard, "you will be saved, little Dorothy; and I am very glad of it. The rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate." "I won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "There's nothing cheerful about dying that I could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times." "Have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy. "No, and I'm not anxious to begin," said Eureka. "Don't worry, dear," Dorothy exclaimed, "I'll hold you in my arms, and take you with me." "Take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath. "Perhaps I can," answered Dorothy. "I'll try." "Couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse. Dorothy laughed. "I'll do better than that," she promised, "for I can easily save you all, once I am myself in the Land of Oz." "How?" they asked. "By using the Magic Belt. All I need do is to wish you with me, and there you'll be--safe in the royal palace!" "Good!" cried Zeb. "I built that palace, and the Emerald City, too," remarked the Wizard, in a thoughtful tone, "and I'd like to see them again, for I was very happy among the Munchkins and Winkies and Quadlings and Gillikins." "Who are they?" asked the boy. "The four nations that inhabit the Land of Oz," was the reply. "I wonder if they would treat me nicely if I went there again." "Of course they would!" declared Dorothy. "They are still proud of their former Wizard, and often speak of you kindly." "Do you happen to know whatever became of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow?" he enquired. "They live in Oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people." "And the Cowardly Lion?" "Oh, he lives there too, with his friend the Hungry Tiger; and Billina is there, because she liked the place better than Kansas, and wouldn't go with me to Australia." "I'm afraid I don't know the Hungry Tiger and Billina," said the Wizard, shaking his head. "Is Billina a girl?" "No; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. You're sure to like Billina, when you know her," asserted Dorothy. "Your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked Zeb, uneasily. "Couldn't you wish me in some safer place than Oz." "Don't worry," replied the girl. "You'll just love the folks in Oz, when you get acquainted. What time is it, Mr. Wizard?" The little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket. "Half-past three," he said. "Then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long, after that, to carry us all to the Emerald City." They sat silently thinking for a time. Then Jim suddenly asked: "Are there any horses in Oz?" "Only one," replied Dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse." "A what?" "A sawhorse. Princess Ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when she was a boy." "Was Ozma once a boy?" asked Zeb, wonderingly. "Yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. But she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world." "A sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked Jim, with a sniff. "It is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "But this sawhorse can trot as fast as you can, Jim; and he's very wise, too." "Pah! I'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!" cried the cab-horse. Dorothy did not reply to that. She felt that Jim would know more about the Saw-Horse later on. The time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the Wizard announced that four o'clock had arrived, and Dorothy caught up the kitten and began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away invisible Ozma. "Nothing seems to happen," said Zeb, doubtfully. "Oh, we must give Ozma time to put on the Magic Belt," replied the girl. She had scarcely spoken the words then she suddenly disappeared from the cave, and with her went the kitten. There had been no sound of any kind and no warning. One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison. "I believe we will soon follow her," announced the Wizard, in a tone of great relief; "for I know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called the Land of Oz. Let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute." He put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and Zeb got into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat. "Will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little. "Not at all," replied the Wizard. "It will all happen as quick as a wink." And that was the way it did happen. The cab-horse gave a nervous start and Zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure he was not asleep. For they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes of many extraordinary designs. Before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the air. Zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers. "Gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word Jim slowly trotted into the courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance of the royal palace. 15. Old Friends are Reunited Many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new arrivals, and when the Wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green gown cried out in surprise: "Why, it's Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, come back again!" The little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in his and shook them cordially. "On my word," he exclaimed, "it's little Jellia Jamb--as pert and pretty as ever!" "Why not, Mr. Wizard?" asked Jellia, bowing low. "But I'm afraid you cannot rule the Emerald City, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful Princess whom everyone loves dearly." "And the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a Captain-General's uniform. The Wizard turned to look at him. "Did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked. "Yes," said the soldier; "but I shaved them off long ago, and since then I have risen from a private to be the Chief General of the Royal Armies." "That's nice," said the little man. "But I assure you, my good people, that I do not wish to rule the Emerald City," he added, earnestly. "In that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased the Wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before him. His fame had not been forgotten in the Land of Oz, by any means. "Where is Dorothy?" enquired Zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood beside his friend the little Wizard. "She is with the Princess Ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied Jellia Jamb. "But she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to your apartments." The boy looked around him with wondering eyes. Such magnificence and wealth as was displayed in this palace was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter was real and not tinsel. "What's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. He had seen considerable of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was no place for him. It perplexed even Jellia Jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal. The green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature, for horses were unknown in this Land; but those who lived in the Emerald City were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of him. "There are no stables here," said the Wizard, "unless some have been built since I went away." "We have never needed them before," answered Jellia; "for the Sawhorse lives in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance than this great beast you have brought with you." "Do you mean that I'm a freak?" asked Jim, angrily. "Oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place you came from, but in Oz any horse but a Sawhorse is unusual." This mollified Jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many rooms that were seldom in use. So Zeb unharnessed Jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all to himself. Then Jellia said to the Wizard: "Your own room--which was back of the great Throne Room--has been vacant ever since you left us. Would you like it again?" "Yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "It will seem like being at home again, for I lived in that room for many, many years." He knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. Zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. In the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the Princess and Dorothy in an hour's time. Opening from the chamber was a fine bathroom having a marble tub with perfumed water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. There were silk stockings and soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and when he was fully dressed Zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than ever before in his life. He was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the Princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and attractive than it was splendid. Here he found Dorothy seated beside a young girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of admiration. But Dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand drawing him impulsively toward the lovely Princess, who smiled most graciously upon her guest. Then the Wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's embarrassment. The little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled features made him appear more amusing than impressive. Ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the Emerald City and united the Munchkins, Gillikins, Quadlings and Winkies into one people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the Princess said: "Please tell me, Mr. Wizard, whether you called yourself Oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called Oz after you. It is a matter that I have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange race and my own name is Ozma. No, one, I am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you." "That is true," answered the little Wizard; "therefore it will give me pleasure to explain my connection with your country. In the first place, I must tell you that I was born in Omaha, and my father, who was a politician, named me Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, Diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it. Taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons I ever learned was to remember my own name. When I grew up I just called myself O. Z., because the other initials were P-I-N-H-E-A-D; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my intelligence." "Surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said Ozma, sympathetically. "But didn't you cut it almost too short?" "Perhaps so," replied the Wizard. "When a young man I ran away from home and joined a circus. I used to call myself a Wizard, and do tricks of ventriloquism." "What does that mean?" asked the Princess. "Throwing my voice into any object I pleased, to make it appear that the object was speaking instead of me. Also I began to make balloon ascensions. On my balloon and on all the other articles I used in the circus I painted the two initials: 'O. Z.', to show that those things belonged to me. "One day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country. When the people saw me come from the sky they naturally thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. I told them I was a Wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw the initials painted on the balloon they called me Oz." "Now I begin to understand," said the Princess, smiling. "At that time," continued the Wizard, busily eating his soup while talking, "there were four separate countries in this Land, each one of the four being ruled by a Witch. But the people thought my power was greater than that of the Witches; and perhaps the Witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose me. I ordered the Emerald City to be built just where the four countries cornered together, and when it was completed I announced myself the Ruler of the Land of Oz, which included all the four countries of the Munchkins, the Gillikins, the Winkies and the Quadlings. Over this Land I ruled in peace for many years, until I grew old and longed to see my native city once again. So when Dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone I arranged to go away with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back alone. After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away. So, having nothing else to do, I joined a circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me." "That is quite a history," said Ozma; "but there is a little more history about the Land of Oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. Many years before you came here this Land was united under one Ruler, as it is now, and the Ruler's name was always 'Oz,' which means in our language 'Great and Good'; or, if the Ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'Ozma.' But once upon a time four Witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of the kingdom themselves; so when the Ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one day, one Wicked Witch named Mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him a close prisoner. Then the Witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until you came here. That was why the people were so glad to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their rightful ruler." "But, at that time," said the Wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two Good Witches and two Wicked Witches ruling in the land." "Yes," replied Ozma, "because a good Witch had conquered Mombi in the North and Glinda the Good had conquered the evil Witch in the South. But Mombi was still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. When I was born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me and know that I was the rightful Princess of the Land of Oz. But I escaped from her and am now the Ruler of my people." "I am very glad of that," said the Wizard, "and hope you will consider me one of your most faithful and devoted subjects." "We owe a great deal to the Wonderful Wizard," continued the Princess, "for it was you who built this splendid Emerald City." "Your people built it," he answered. "I only bossed the job, as we say in Omaha." "But you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the people proud of your magical art. So, as you are now too old to wander abroad and work in a circus, I offer you a home here as long as you live. You shall be the Official Wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and consideration." "I accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious Princess," the little man said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in his keen old eyes. It meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this. "He's only a humbug Wizard, though," said Dorothy, smiling at him. "And that is the safest kind of a Wizard to have," replied Ozma, promptly. "Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced Zeb, who was now feeling more at ease. "He shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the Princess. "I have sent messengers to summon all of Dorothy's old friends to meet her and give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now." Indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the Scarecrow, to hug Dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. The Wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important personage in the Land of Oz. "How are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft, stuffed hands of his old friend. "Working finely," answered the Scarecrow. "I'm very certain, Oz, that you gave me the best brains in the world, for I can think with them day and night, when all other brains are fast asleep." "How long did you rule the Emerald City, after I left here?" was the next question. "Quite awhile, until I was conquered by a girl named General Jinjur. But Ozma soon conquered her, with the help of Glinda the Good, and after that I went to live with Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman." Just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in. Dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the same time a glad cry. "Oh, Billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown." "Why shouldn't I?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "I live on the fat of the land--don't I, Ozma?" "You have everything you wish for," said the Princess. Around Billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were bracelets of emeralds. She nestled herself comfortably in Dorothy's lap until the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw fiercely bared to strike Billina a blow. But the little girl gave the angry kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch. "How horrid of you, Eureka!" cried Dorothy. "Is that the way to treat my friends?" "You have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone. "Seems to me the same way," said Billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them." "Look here!" said Dorothy, sternly. "I won't have any quarrelling in the Land of Oz, I can tell you! Everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody else; and unless you two, Billina and Eureka, make up and be friends, I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you both home again, IMMEJITLY. So, there!" They were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good. But it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that. And now the Tin Woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. The Tin Woodman loved Dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little old Wizard. "Sir," said he to the latter, "I never can thank you enough for the excellent heart you once gave me. It has made me many friends, I assure you, and it beats as kindly and lovingly today as it every did." "I'm glad to hear that," said the Wizard. "I was afraid it would get moldy in that tin body of yours." "Not at all," returned Nick Chopper. "It keeps finely, being preserved in my air-tight chest." Zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. But he became nervous again when the next visitor was announced. "This," said Princess Ozma, "is my friend Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., who assisted me one time when I was in great distress, and is now the Dean of the Royal College of Athletic Science." "Ah," said the Wizard; "I'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage." "H. M.," said the Woggle-Bug, pompously, "means Highly Magnified; and T. E. means Thoroughly Educated. I am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain." "How well you disguise it," said the Wizard. "But I don't doubt your word in the least." "Nobody doubts it, sir," replied the Woggle-Bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read. Nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived. 16. Jim, The Cab-Horse Jim the Cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its appearance that it would have awed anyone else. Jim accepted it as a mere detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. Then they told him dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. First they brought him a steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay. "Take that stuff away!" he commanded. "Do you take me for a salamander?" They obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter, with drawn gravy poured over it. "Fish!" cried Jim, with a sniff. "Do you take me for a tom-cat? Away with it!" The servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast. "Well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "Do you take me for a weasel? How stupid and ignorant you are, in the Land of Oz, and what dreadful things you feed upon! Is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?" The trembling servants sent for the Royal Steward, who came in haste and said: "What would your Highness like for dinner?" "Highness!" repeated Jim, who was unused to such titles. "You are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country," said the Steward. "Well, my Highness would like some oats," declared the horse. "Oats? We have no whole oats," the Steward replied, with much deference. "But there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. Oatmeal is a breakfast dish," added the Steward, humbly. "I'll make it a dinner dish," said Jim. "Fetch it on, but don't cook it, as you value your life." You see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the Land of Oz. But the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. They soon mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and Jim ate it with much relish. Then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept on the softest bed he had ever known in his life. In the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome arch of the doorway, turned the corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with the Sawhorse. Jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. The Sawhorse stopped at the same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were mere knots in the log that formed its body. The legs of the Sawhorse were four sticks driving into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body which projected a little and served as a head. The ends of the wooden legs were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the Princess Ozma, which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the clumsy body. Jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the Sawhorse, and he stared at the creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested against his arched neck. In this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it now beheld for the first time. Then Jim exclaimed: "For goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?" "I'm a Sawhorse," replied the other. "Oh; I believe I've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike anything that I expected to see." "I do not doubt it," the Sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride. "I am considered quite unusual." "You are, indeed. But a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be alive." "I couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen. "Ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and I just had to live. I know I'm not much account; but I'm the only horse in all the Land of Oz, so they treat me with great respect." "You, a horse!" "Oh, not a real one, of course. There are no real horses here at all. But I'm a splendid imitation of one." Jim gave an indignant neigh. "Look at me!" he cried. "Behold a real horse!" The wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently. "Is it possible that you are a Real Horse?" he murmured. "Not only possible, but true," replied Jim, who was gratified by the impression he had created. "It is proved by my fine points. For example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which I can whisk away the flies." "The flies never trouble me," said the Saw-Horse. "And notice my great strong teeth, with which I nibble the grass." "It is not necessary for me to eat," observed the Sawhorse. "Also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths," said Jim, proudly. "I have no need to breathe," returned the other. "No; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. "You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. You may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a mighty poor one." "Oh, I cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the Sawhorse. "But I am glad to meet a last a Real Horse. You are certainly the most beautiful creature I ever beheld." This praise won Jim completely. To be called beautiful was a novelty in his experience. Said he: "Your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that I suppose you cannot help. Real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones." "I can see the bones all right," replied the Sawhorse, "and they are admirable and distinct. Also I can see the flesh. But the blood, I suppose is tucked away inside." "Exactly," said Jim. "What good is it?" asked the Sawhorse. Jim did not know, but he would not tell the Sawhorse that. "If anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where I am cut. You, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt." "But I am never hurt," said the Sawhorse. "Once in a while I get broken up some, but I am easily repaired and put in good order again. And I never feel a break or a splinter in the least." Jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain; but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances. "How did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked. "Princess Ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing out. We've had a good many adventures together, Ozma and I, and she likes me." The cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of terror and stood trembling like a leaf. For around the corner had come two enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he was aware of their presence. Jim was in the act of plunging down the path to escape when the Sawhorse cried out: "Stop, my brother! Stop, Real Horse! These are friends, and will do you no harm." Jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. One was an enormous Lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush. The other was a great Tiger with purple stripes around his lithe body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like coals of fire. The huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder Jim was afraid to face them. But the Sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying: "This, noble Horse, is my friend the Cowardly Lion, who is the valiant King of the Forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of Princess Ozma. And this is the Hungry Tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. These royal beasts are both warm friends of little Dorothy and have come to the Emerald City this morning to welcome her to our fairyland." Hearing these words Jim resolved to conquer his alarm. He bowed his head with as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in return nodded in a friendly way. "Is not the Real Horse a beautiful animal?" asked the Sawhorse admiringly. "That is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the Lion. "In the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. His joints, I notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years." "And dreadfully tough," added the Hungry Tiger, in a sad voice. "My conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the Real Horse." "I'm glad of that," said Jim; "for I, also, have a conscience, and it tells me not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof." If he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken. The Tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly. "You have a good conscience, friend Horse," it said, "and if you attend to its teachings it will do much to protect you from harm. Some day I will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know more about tigers than you do now." "Any friend of Dorothy," remarked the Cowardly Lion, "must be our friend, as well. So let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more pleasant subjects. Have you breakfasted, Sir Horse?" "Not yet," replied Jim. "But here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you will excuse me I will eat now." "He's a vegetarian," remarked the Tiger, as the horse began to munch the clover. "If I could eat grass I would not need a conscience, for nothing could then tempt me to devour babies and lambs." Just then Dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals, ran out to greet her old friends. She hugged both the Lion and the Tiger with eager delight, but seemed to love the King of Beasts a little better than she did his hungry friend, having known him longer. By this time they had indulged in a good talk and Dorothy had told them all about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. As she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone: "What! are YOU here again?" "Yes, I am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came from. "What brought you back?" was the next question, and Dorothy's eye rested on an antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips in the act of moving. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were stuffed." "So I am," replied the head. "But once on a time I was part of the Gump, which Ozma sprinkled with the Powder of Life. I was then for a time the Head of the finest Flying Machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful things. Afterward the Gump was taken apart and I was put back on this wall; but I can still talk when I feel in the mood, which is not often." "It's very strange," said the girl. "What were you when you were first alive?" "That I have forgotten," replied the Gump's Head, "and I do not think it is of much importance. But here comes Ozma; so I'd better hush up, for the Princess doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from Tip to Ozma." Just then the girlish Ruler of Oz opened the door and greeted Dorothy with a good-morning kiss. The little Princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good spirits. "Breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and I am hungry. So don't let us keep it waiting a single minute." 17. The Nine Tiny Piglets After breakfast Ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed throughout the Emerald City, in honor of her visitors. The people had learned that their old Wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him again, for he had always been a rare favorite. So first there was to be a grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great Throne Room of the palace. In the afternoon there were to be games and races. The procession was very imposing. First came the Imperial Cornet Band of Oz, dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons of immense cut emeralds. They played the National air called "The Oz Spangled Banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the Royal flag. This flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink, a third lavender and a fourth white. In the center was a large emerald-green star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered beautifully in the sunshine. The colors represented the four countries of Oz, and the green star the Emerald City. Just behind the royal standard-bearers came the Princess Ozma in her royal chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in exquisite designs. The chariot was drawn on this occasion by the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. In the chariot rode Ozma and Dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing her royal coronet, while the little Kansas girl wore around her waist the Magic Belt she had once captured from the Nome King. Following the chariot came the Scarecrow mounted on the Sawhorse, and the people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely Ruler. Behind him stalked with regular, jerky steps, the famous machine-man called Tik-tok, who had been wound up by Dorothy for the occasion. Tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. He really belonged to the Kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would be useless in any place but a fairy country Dorothy had left him in charge of Ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for. There followed another band after this, which was called the Royal Court Band, because the members all lived in the palace. They wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played "What is Oz without Ozma" very sweetly. Then came Professor Woggle-Bug, with a group of students from the Royal College of Scientific Athletics. The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition. The brilliantly polished Tin Woodman marched next, at the head of the Royal Army of Oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from Generals down to Captains. There were no privates in the army because all were so courageous and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no privates left. Jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by Zeb while the Wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him. Taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned to the palace the citizens crowded into the great Throne Room to see the Wizard perform his tricks. The first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. This act he repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner. The pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the Wizard could have desired. When he had made them all disappear again Ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. So the Wizard pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the Princess (while really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and Ozma smiled joyously as the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse her. Afterward it was noticed that the Wizard always performed his famous trick with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if there had been nine of them. In his little room back of the Throne Room the Wizard had found a lot of things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had occupied the apartment in his absence. There was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had passed part of the night in getting them ready. So he followed the trick of the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the little man was a humbug Wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing them. They applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged him earnestly not to go away again and leave them. "In that case," said the little man, gravely, "I will cancel all of my engagements before the crowned heads of Europe and America and devote myself to the people of Oz, for I love you all so well that I can deny you nothing." After the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined Princess Ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the Tiger and the Lion were sumptuously fed and Jim the Cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the rim of it. In the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where the games were to be held. There was a beautiful canopy for Ozma and her guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. You may be sure the folks of Oz did their best with such a distinguished company watching them, and finally Zeb offered to wrestle with a little Munchkin who seemed to be the champion. In appearance he was twice as old as Zeb, for he had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. But although the Munchkin was hardly tall enough to come to Zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease. Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the Munchkin, to which the little Ozite readily agreed. But the first time that Zeb managed to give him a sharp box on the ears the Munchkin sat down upon the ground and cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt. This made Zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that Ozma laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him. Just then the Scarecrow proposed a race between the Sawhorse and the Cab-horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the Sawhorse drew back, saying: "Such a race would not be fair." "Of course not," added Jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs of yours are not half as long as my own." "It isn't that," said the Sawhorse, modestly; "but I never tire, and you do." "Bah!" cried Jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast as I?" "I don't know, I'm sure," replied the Sawhorse. "That is what we are trying to find out," remarked the Scarecrow. "The object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think." "Once, when I was young," said Jim, "I was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. I was born in Kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from." "But you're old, now, Jim," suggested Zeb. "Old! Why, I feel like a colt today," replied Jim. "I only wish there was a real horse here for me to race with. I'd show the people a fine sight, I can tell you." "Then why not race with the Sawhorse?" enquired the Scarecrow. "He's afraid," said Jim. "Oh, no," answered the Sawhorse. "I merely said it wasn't fair. But if my friend the Real Horse is willing to undertake the race I am quite ready." So they unharnessed Jim and took the saddle off the Sawhorse, and the two queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start. "When I say 'Go!'" Zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you reach those three trees you see over yonder. Then circle 'round them and come back again. The first one that passes the place where the Princess sits shall be named the winner. Are you ready?" "I suppose I ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me," growled Jim. "Never mind that," said the Sawhorse. "I'll do the best I can." "Go!" cried Zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race was begun. Jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his Kentucky breeding. But the Sawhorse was swifter than the wind. Its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster. Before they had reached the trees the Sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden animal returned to the starting place as was being lustily cheered by the Ozites before Jim came panting up to the canopy where the Princess and her friends were seated. I am sorry to record the fact that Jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but for a moment lost control of his temper. As he looked at the comical face of the Sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs and its left ear. An instant later the Tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. The beast struck Jim full on his shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act he had been guilty of. When Jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the Cowardly Lion crouched on one side of him and the Hungry Tiger on the other, and their eyes were glowing like balls of fire. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Jim, meekly. "I was wrong to kick the Sawhorse, and I am sorry I became angry at him. He has won the race, and won it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?" Hearing this apology the Tiger and the Lion stopped lashing their tails and retreated with dignified steps to the side of the Princess. "No one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the Lion; and Zeb ran to Jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the future he would probably be torn to pieces. Then the Tin Woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the Sawhorse; and when they had been securely fastened in place Princess Ozma took the coronet from her own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. Said she: "My friend, I reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you Prince of Horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the Land of Oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real Champion of your race." There was more applause at this, and then Ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the Sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession. "I ought to be a fairy," grumbled Jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. It's no place for us, Zeb." "It's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him. 18. The Trial of Eureka the Kitten Several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country. Ozma was happy to have Dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom it was proper for the Princess to associate were very few, and often the youthful Ruler of Oz was lonely for lack of companionship. It was the third morning after Dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with Ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the Princess said to her maid: "Please go to my boudoir, Jellia, and get the white piglet I left on the dressing-table. I want to play with it." Jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a troubled face. "The piglet is not there, your Highness," said she. "Not there!" exclaimed Ozma. "Are you sure?" "I have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied. "Was not the door closed?" asked the Princess. "Yes, your Highness; I am sure it was; for when I opened it Dorothy's white kitten crept out and ran up the stairs." Hearing this, Dorothy and the Wizard exchanged startled glances, for they remembered how often Eureka had longed to eat a piglet. The little girl jumped up at once. "Come, Ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the piglet." So the two went to the dressing-room of the Princess and searched carefully in every corner and among the vases and baskets and ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. But not a trace could they find of the tiny creature they sought. Dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while Ozma was angry and indignant. When they returned to the others the Princess said: "There is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished." "I don't b'lieve Eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried Dorothy, much distressed. "Go and get my kitten, please, Jellia, and we'll hear what she has to say about it." The green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said: "The kitten will not come. She threatened to scratch my eyes out if I touched her." "Where is she?" asked Dorothy. "Under the bed in your own room," was the reply. So Dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed. "Come here, Eureka!" she said. "I won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice. "Oh, Eureka! Why are you so bad?" The kitten did not reply. "If you don't come to me, right away," continued Dorothy, getting provoked, "I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you in the Country of the Gurgles." "Why do you want me?" asked Eureka, disturbed by this threat. "You must go to Princess Ozma. She wants to talk to you." "All right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "I'm not afraid of Ozma--or anyone else." Dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and thoughtful silence. "Tell me, Eureka," said the Princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?" "I won't answer such a foolish question," asserted Eureka, with a snarl. "Oh, yes you will, dear," Dorothy declared. "The piglet is gone, and you ran out of the room when Jellia opened the door. So, if you are innocent, Eureka, you must tell the Princess how you came to be in her room, and what has become of the piglet." "Who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly. "No one," answered Ozma. "Your actions alone accuse you. The fact is that I left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you must have stolen in without my knowing it. When next the door was opened you ran out and hid yourself--and the piglet was gone." "That's none of my business," growled the kitten. "Don't be impudent, Eureka," admonished Dorothy. "It is you who are impudent," said Eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime when you can't prove it except by guessing." Ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. She summoned her Captain-General, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said: "Carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is tried by law for the crime of murder." So the Captain-General took Eureka from the arms of the now weeping Dorothy and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison. "What shall we do now?" asked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had cast a gloom over all the company. "I will summon the Court to meet in the Throne Room at three o'clock," replied Ozma. "I myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial." "What will happen if she is guilty?" asked Dorothy. "She must die," answered the Princess. "Nine times?" enquired the Scarecrow. "As many times as is necessary," was the reply. "I will ask the Tin Woodman to defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart I am sure he will do his best to save her. And the Woggle-Bug shall be the Public Accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him." "Who will be the jury?" asked the Tin Woodman. "There ought to be several animals on the jury," said Ozma, "because animals understand each other better than we people understand them. So the jury shall consist of the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Jim the Cab-horse, the Yellow Hen, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, Tik-tok the Machine Man, the Sawhorse and Zeb of Hugson's Ranch. That makes the nine which the law requires, and all my people shall be admitted to hear the testimony." They now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like Oz. But is must be stated that the people of that Land were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any Ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. The crime of murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed in the Emerald City when the news of Eureka's arrest and trial became known. The Wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. He had no doubt Eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious creature, indeed. The Wizard knew that if Dorothy's pet was found guilty and condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save Eureka's life. Sending for the Tin Woodman the Wizard took him into a corner and whispered: "My friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her, but I fear you will fail because Eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the temptation. Yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but only serve to make Dorothy unhappy. So I intend to prove the kitten's innocence by a trick." He drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued: "This creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that Eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that was lost. All the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word. This deception will save Eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again." "I do not like to deceive my friends," replied the Tin Woodman; "still, my kind heart urges me to save Eureka's life, and I can usually trust my heart to do the right thing. So I will do as you say, friend Wizard." After some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his speech to the jury. 19. The Wizard Performs Another Trick At three o'clock the Throne Room was crowded with citizens, men, women and children being eager to witness the great trial. Princess Ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. Behind her throne stood the twenty-eight officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. At her right sat the queerly assorted Jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all gravely prepared to listen to what was said. The kitten had been placed in a large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern. And now, at a signal from Ozma, the Woggle-Bug arose and addressed the jury. His tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to appear dignified. "Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed Ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it. In either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment." "Do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked Dorothy. "Don't interrupt, little girl," said the Woggle-Bug. "When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion." "If your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused," remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly. "My thoughts are always--" "Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the Woggle-Bug. "It's a trial of one kitten," replied the Scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all." "Let the Public Accuser continue," called Ozma from her throne, "and I pray you do not interrupt him." "The criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws," resumed the Woggle-Bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet, which was no bigger than a mouse. And finally she made a wicked plan to satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. I can see her, in my mind's eye--" "What's that?" asked the Scarecrow. "I say I can see her in my mind's eye--" "The mind has no eye," declared the Scarecrow. "It's blind." "Your Highness," cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, "have I a mind's eye, or haven't I?" "If you have, it is invisible," said the Princess. "Very true," returned the Woggle-Bug, bowing. "I say I see the criminal, in my mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our Ozma and secreting herself, when no one was looking, until the Princess had gone away and the door was closed. Then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat piglet, and I see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up--" "Are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the Scarecrow. "Of course; how else could I see it? And we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere." "I suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the Scarecrow. "Very likely," acknowledged the Woggle-Bug. "And now, Fellow Citizens and Creatures of the Jury, I assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--the death penalty should be inflicted nine times." There was great applause when the speaker sat down. Then the Princess spoke in a stern voice: "Prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? Are you guilty, or not guilty?" "Why, that's for you to find out," replied Eureka. "If you can prove I'm guilty, I'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof, because the Woggle-Bug has no mind to see with." "Never mind, dear," said Dorothy. Then the Tin Woodman arose and said: "Respected Jury and dearly beloved Ozma, I pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly. I do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. Eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. Look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here Eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here Eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded little hands!" (Here Eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of the cage.) "Would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? No; a thousand times, no!" "Oh, cut it short," said Eureka; "you've talked long enough." "I'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the Tin Woodman. "Then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "Tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because I had sense enough to know it would raise a row if I did. But don't try to make out I'm too innocent to eat a fat piglet if I could do it and not be found out. I imagine it would taste mighty good." "Perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the Tin Woodman. "I myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such matters. But I remember that our great poet once said: 'To eat is sweet When hunger's seat Demands a treat Of savory meat.'" "Take this into consideration, friends of the Jury, and you will readily decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty." When the Tin Woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not been very convincing and few believed that he had proved Eureka's innocence. As for the Jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and then they appointed the Hungry Tiger their spokesman. The huge beast slowly arose and said: "Kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them. The jury believes the white kitten known as Eureka is guilty of having eaten the piglet owned by Princess Ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in punishment of the crime." The judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although Dorothy was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet. The Princess was just about to order Eureka's head chopped off with the Tin Woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her. "Your Highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. The kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!" He took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet, which he held aloft that all might see it clearly. Ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly: "Give me my pet, Nick Chopper!" And all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent. As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: "Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend. Where did you find my missing pet, Nick Chopper?" "In a room of the palace," he answered. "Justice," remarked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to meddle with. If you hadn't happened to find the piglet, Eureka would surely have been executed." "But justice prevailed at the last," said Ozma, "for here is my pet, and Eureka is once more free." "I refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice, "unless the Wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. If he can produce but seven, then this is not the piglet that was lost, but another one." "Hush, Eureka!" warned the Wizard. "Don't be foolish," advised the Tin Woodman, "or you may be sorry for it." "The piglet that belonged to the Princess wore an emerald collar," said Eureka, loudly enough for all to hear. "So it did!" exclaimed Ozma. "This cannot be the one the Wizard gave me." "Of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared Eureka; "and I must say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. But now that this foolish trial is ended, I will tell you what really became of your pet piglet." At this everyone in the Throne Room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice: "I will confess that I intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so I crept into the room where it was kept while the Princess was dressing and hid myself under a chair. When Ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet on the table. At once I jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these creatures to be reasonable. Instead of keeping still, so I could eat him comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big vase that was standing on the floor. The vase had a very small neck, and spread out at the top like a bowl. At first the piglet stuck in the neck of the vase and I thought I should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and fell down into the deep bottom part--and I suppose he's there yet." All were astonished at this confession, and Ozma at once sent an officer to her room to fetch the vase. When he returned the Princess looked down the narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as Eureka had said she would. There was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the Tin Woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free. Then the crowd cheered lustily and Dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent. "But why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked. "It would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning. Ozma gave the Wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed Nick Chopper to substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments of the palace where she lived. And now, the trial being over, the good citizens of the Emerald City scattered to their homes, well content with the day's amusement. 20. Zeb Returns to the Ranch Eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. For the folks of Oz knew the kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented her from doing so; therefore even the Hungry Tiger preferred not to associate with her. Eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to stay in confinement in Dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better. Dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised Eureka they would not stay in the Land of Oz much longer. The next evening after the trial the little girl begged Ozma to allow her to look in the enchanted picture, and the Princess readily consented. She took the child to her room and said: "Make your wish, dear, and the picture will show the scene you desire to behold." Then Dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that Uncle Henry had returned to the farm in Kansas, and she also saw that both he and Aunt Em were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been killed by the earthquake. "Really," said the girl, anxiously, "I must get back as soon as poss'ble to my own folks." Zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone morning for him, the sight of Hugson's Ranch in the picture made him long to get back there. "This is a fine country, and I like all the people that live in it," he told Dorothy. "But the fact is, Jim and I don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the race. So, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you." "Ozma can do it, easily," replied Dorothy. "Tomorrow morning I'll go to Kansas and you can go to Californy." That last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long as he lives. They were all together (except Eureka) in the pretty rooms of the Princess, and the Wizard did some new tricks, and the Scarecrow told stories, and the Tin Woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and everybody laughed and had a good time. Then Dorothy wound up Tik-tok and he danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the Yellow Hen related some of her adventures with the Nome King in the Land of Ev. The Princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of eating, and when Dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after exchanging many friendly sentiments. Next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies. Dorothy held Eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond good-bye. "You must come again, some time," said the little Wizard; and she promised she would if she found it possible to do so. "But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em need me to help them," she added, "so I can't ever be very long away from the farm in Kansas." Ozma wore the Magic Belt; and, when she had kissed Dorothy farewell and had made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling. "Where is she?" asked Zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it. "Greeting her uncle and aunt in Kansas, by this time," returned Ozma, with a smile. Then Zeb brought out Jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat. "I'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to you for saving my life and sending me home again after all the good times I've had. I think this is the loveliest country in the world; but not being fairies Jim and I feel we ought to be where we belong--and that's at the ranch. Good-bye, everybody!" He gave a start and rubbed his eyes. Jim was trotting along the well-known road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. Just ahead of them were the gates of Hugson's Ranch, and Uncle Hugson now came out and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement. "Goodness gracious! It's Zeb--and Jim, too!" he exclaimed. "Where in the world have you been, my lad?" "Why, in the world, Uncle," answered Zeb, with a laugh. 
33386	----	[Illustration: The TREMENDOUS EVENT MAURICE LE BLANC] BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE THE SECRET OF SAREK EYES OF INNOCENCE THE THREE EYES THE EIGHT STROKES OF THE CLOCK [Illustration: "You don't regret anything, Isabel?" he whispered.] THE TREMENDOUS EVENT BY MAURICE LE BLANC TRANSLATED BY ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS NEW YORK THE MACAULAY COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AUTHOR'S NOTE The tremendous event of the 4th. of June, whose consequences affected the relations of the two great Western nations even more profoundly than did the war, has called forth, during the last fifty years, a constant efflorescence of books, memoirs and scientific studies of truthful reports and fabulous narratives. Eye-witnesses have related their impressions; journalists have collected their articles into volumes; scientists have published the results of their researches; novelists have imagined unknown tragedies; and poets have lifted up their voices. There is no detail of that tragic day but has been brought to light; and this is true likewise of the days which went before and of those which came after and of all the reactions, moral or social, economic or political, by which it made itself felt, throughout the twentieth century, in the destinies of the world. There was nothing lacking but Simon Dubosc's own story. And it was strange that we should have known only by reports, usually fantastic, the part played by the man who, first by chance and then by his indomitable courage and later still by his clear-sighted enthusiasm, was thrust into the very heart of the adventure. To-day, when the nations are gathered about the statue over-looking the arena in which the hero fought, does it not seem permissible to add to the legend the embellishment of a reality which will not misrepresent it? And, if it is found that this reality trenches too closely upon the man's private life, need we object? It was in Simon Dubosc that the western spirit first became conscious of itself and it is the whole man that belongs to history. CONTENTS PART THE FIRST CHAPTER PAGE I. THE SUIT 13 II. THE CROSSING 32 III. GOOD-BYE SIMON 54 IV. THE GREAT UPHEAVAL 71 V. VIRGIN SOIL 85 VI. TRIUMPH 98 VII. LYNX-EYE 120 VIII. ON THE WAR-PATH 143 PART THE SECOND I. INSIDE THE WRECK 169 II. ALONG THE CABLE 189 III. SIDE BY SIDE 209 IV. THE BATTLE 223 V. THE CHIEF'S REWARD 242 VI. HELL ON EARTH 265 VII. THE FIGHT FOR THE GOLD 282 VIII. THE HIGH COMMISSIONER FOR THE NEW TERRITORIES 301 PART THE FIRST The Tremendous Event CHAPTER I THE SUIT "Oh, but this is terrible!" cried Simon Dubosc. "Edward, just listen!" And the young Frenchman, drawing his friend away from the tables arranged in little groups on the terraces of the club-house, showed him, in the late edition of the _Argus_, which a motorcyclist had just brought to the New Golf Club, this telegram, printed in heavy type: "BOULOGNE, _20 May_.--The master and crew of a fishing-vessel which has returned to harbour declare that this morning, at a spot mid-way between the French and English coasts, they saw a large steamer lifted up by a gigantic waterspout. After standing on end with her whole length out of the water, she pitched forward and disappeared in the space of a few seconds. "Such violent eddies followed and the sea, until then quite calm, was affected by such abnormal convulsions that the fishermen had to row their hardest to avoid being dragged into the whirlpool. The naval authorities are sending a couple of tugs to the site of the disaster." "Well, Rolleston, what do you think of it?" "Terrible indeed!" replied the Englishman. "Two days ago, the _Ville de Dunkerque_. To-day another ship, and in the same place. There's a coincidence about it. . . ." "That's precisely what a second telegram says," exclaimed Simon, continuing to read: "3. O. P. M.--The steamer sunk between Folkestone and Boulogne is the transatlantic liner _Brabant_, of the Rotterdam-Amerika Co., carrying twelve hundred passengers and a crew of eight hundred. No survivors have been picked up. The bodies of the drowned are beginning to rise to the surface. "There is no doubt that this terrifying calamity, like the loss of the _Ville de Dunkerque_ two days ago, was caused by one of those mysterious phenomena which have been disturbing the Straits of Dover during the past week and in which a number of vessels were nearly lost, before the sinking of the _Brabant_ and the _Ville de Dunkerque_." The two young men were silent. Leaning on the balustrade which runs along the terrace of the club-house, they gazed beyond the cliffs at the vast circle of the sea. It was peaceful and kindly innocent of anger or treachery; its near surface was crossed by fine streaks of green or yellow, while, farther out, it was flawless and blue as the sky and, farther still, beneath the motionless cloud, grey as a great sheet of slate. But, above Brighton, the sun, already dipping towards the downs, shone through the clouds; and a luminous trail of gold-dust appeared upon the sea. "_La perfide!_" murmured Simon Dubosc. He understood English perfectly, but always spoke French with his friend. "The perfidious brute: how beautiful she is, how attractive! Would you ever have thought her capable of these malevolent whims, which are so destructive and murderous? Are you crossing to-night, Rolleston?" "Yes, Newhaven to Dieppe." "You'll be quite safe," said Simon. "The sea has had her two wrecks; she's sated. But why are you in such a hurry to go?" "I have to interview a crew at Dieppe to-morrow morning; I am putting my yacht in commission. Then, in the afternoon, to Paris, I expect; and, in a week's time, a cruise to Norway. And you, Simon?" Simon Dubosc did not reply. He had turned toward the club-house, whose windows, in their borders of Virginia creeper and honeysuckle, were blazing with the sun. The players had left the links and were taking tea beneath great many-coloured sunshades planted on the lawn. The _Argus_ was passing from hand to hand and arousing excited comments. Some of the tables were occupied by young men and women, others by their elders and others by old gentlemen who were recuperating their strength by devouring platefuls of cake and toast. To the left, beyond the geranium-beds, the gentle undulations of the links began, covered with turf that was like green velvet; and right at the end, a long way off, rose the tall figure of a last player, escorted by his two caddies. "Lord Bakefield's daughter and her three friends can't take their eyes off you," said Rolleston. Simon smiled: "Miss Bakefield is looking at me because she knows I love her; and her three friends because they know I love Miss Bakefield. A man in love is always something to look at; a pleasant sight for the one who is loved and an irritating sight for those who are not." This was spoken without a trace of vanity. For that matter, no man could have possessed more natural charm or displayed a more alluring simplicity. The expression of his face, his blue eyes, his smile and something personal, an emanation compounded of strength and suppleness and healthy gaiety, of confidence in himself and in life, all contributed to give this peculiarly favoured young man a power of attraction to whose spell the onlooker readily surrendered. Devoted to out-door games and exercises, he had grown to manhood with those young postwar Frenchmen who made a strong point of physical culture and a rational mode of life. His movements and his attitudes alike revealed that harmony which is developed by a logical training and is still further refined, in those who comply with the rules of a very active intellectual existence, by the study of art and a feeling for beauty in all of its forms. For him, indeed, as for many others, liberation from the lecture-room had not meant the beginning of a new life. If, by reason of a superfluity of energy, he was impelled to give much of his time to games and to attempts at establishing records which took him to all the running-grounds and athletic battle-fields of Europe and America, he never allowed his body to take precedence of his mind. Every day, come what might, he set apart the two or three hours of solitude, of reading and meditation, which the intellect requires for its nourishment, continuing to learn with the enthusiasm of a student who is prolonging the life of the school and university until events compel him to make a choice among the paths which he has opened up for himself. His father, to whom he was bound by ties of the liveliest affection, was puzzled: "After all, Simon, what are you aiming at? What's your object?" "I am training." "For what?" "I don't know. But an hour strikes for each of us when we must be fully prepared, well equipped, with our ideas in good order and our muscles absolutely fit. I shall be ready." And so he reached his thirtieth year. It was at the beginning of that year, at Nice, through Edward Rolleston, that he made Miss Bakefield's acquaintance. "I am sure to see your father at Dieppe," said Rolleston. "He will be surprised that you haven't returned with me, as we arranged last month. What shall I say to him?" "Say that I'm stopping here a little longer . . . or no, don't say anything. . . . I'll write to him . . . to-morrow perhaps . . . or the day after. . . ." He took Rolleston's arm: "Tell me, old chap," he said, "tell me. If I were to ask Lord Bakefield for his daughter's hand, what do you think would happen?" Rolleston appeared to be nonplussed. He hesitated and then replied: "Miss Bakefield's father is a peer, and perhaps you don't know that her mother, the wonderful Lady Constance, who died some six years ago, was the grand-daughter of a son of George III. Therefore she had an eighth part of blood royal running in her veins." Edward Rolleston pronounced these words with such unction that Simon, the irreverent Frenchman, could not help laughing: "The deuce! An eighth! So that Miss Bakefield can still boast a sixteenth part and her children will enjoy a thirty-second! My chances are diminishing! In the matter of blood royal, the most that I can lay claim to is a great-grandfather, a pork-butcher by trade, who voted for the death of Louis XVI.! That doesn't amount to much!" He gave his friend a gentle push: "Do me a service. Miss Bakefield is alone for the moment. Keep her friends engaged so that I can speak to her for a minute or two: I shan't be longer." Edward Rolleston, a friend of Simon's who shared his athletic tastes, was a tall young man, too pale, too thin and so long in the back that he had acquired a stoop. Simon knew that he had many faults, including a love of whisky and the habit of haunting private bars and living by his wits. But he was a devoted friend, in whom Simon was conscious of a genuine and loyal affection. The two men went forward together. Miss Bakefield came to meet Simon, while Rolleston accosted her three friends. Miss Bakefield wore an absolutely simple wash frock, without any of the trimmings that were then the fashion. Her bare throat, her arms, which showed through the muslin of her sleeves, her face and even her forehead under her hat were of that warm tint which the skin of some fair-haired women acquires in the sun and the open air. Her eyes were almost black, flecked with glittering specks of gold. Her hair, which shone with metallic glints, was dressed low on the neck in a heavy coil. But these were trivial details which you noted only at leisure, when you had in some degree recovered from the glorious spectacle of her beauty in all its completeness. Simon had not so recovered. He always paled a little when he met Miss Bakefield's eyes, however tenderly they rested on him. "Isabel," he said, "are you determined?" "Quite as much as yesterday," she said, smiling; "and I shall be still more so to-morrow, when the moment comes for action." "Still. . . . We have known each other hardly four months." "Meaning thereby? . . ." "Meaning that, now that we are about to perform an irreparable action, I invite you to use your judgment. . . ." "Rather than listen to my love? Since I first loved you, Simon, I have not been able to discover the least disagreement between my judgment and my love. That's why I am going with you to-morrow morning." "Isabel!" "Would you rather that I left to-morrow night with my father? On a voyage lasting three or four years? That is what he proposes, what he insists upon. It's for you to choose." While they exchanged these serious words, their faces displayed no trace of the emotion which thrilled the very depths of their beings. It was as though, in being together, they experienced that sense of happiness which gives strength and tranquillity. And, as the girl, like Simon, was tall and bore herself magnificently, they received a vague impression that they were one of those privileged couples whom destiny selects for a life more strenuous, nobler and more passionate than the ordinary. "Very well," said Simon. "But let me at least appeal to your father. He doesn't know. . . ." "There is nothing he doesn't know, Simon. And it is precisely because our love displeases him and displeases my step-mother even more that he wants to get me away from you." "I insist on this, Isabel." "Speak to him, then, Simon, and, if he refuses, don't try to see me to-day. To-morrow, a little before twelve o'clock, I shall be at Newhaven. Wait for me by the gangway of the steamer." He had something more to say: "Have you seen the _Argus_?" "Yes." "You're not frightened of the crossing?" She smiled. He bowed over her hand and kissed it and said no more. Lord Bakefield, a peer of the United Kingdom, had been married first to the aforesaid great-grand-daughter of George III. and secondly to the Duchess of Faulconbridge. He was the owner, in his own right or his wife's, of country-houses, estates and town properties which enabled him to travel from Brighton to Folkestone almost without leaving his own domains. He was the distant player who had lingered on the links; and his figure, now less remote, was appearing and disappearing according to the lay of the ground. Simon decided to profit by the occasion and to go to meet him. He set out resolutely. In spite of the young girl's warning and though he had learnt, from her and from Edward Rolleston, something of Lord Bakefield's true character and of his prejudices, he was influenced by the memory of the cordial welcome which Isabel's father had invariably accorded him hitherto. This time again the grip of his hand was full of geniality. Lord Bakefield's face--a round face, too fat for his thin and lanky body, too florid and a little commonplace, though not lacking in intelligence--lit up with satisfaction. "Well, young man, I suppose you have come to say good-bye? You have heard that we are leaving?" "I have, Lord Bakefield; and that is why I should like a few words with you." "Quite, quite! You have my attention." He bent over the tee, building up, with his two hands, a little mound of sand on whose summit he placed his ball; then, drawing himself up, he accepted the brassy which one of his caddies held out to him and took his stand, perfectly poised, with his left foot a little advanced and his knees very slightly bent. Two or three trial swings, to assure himself of the precise direction; a second's reflection and calculation; and suddenly the club swung upwards, descended and struck the ball. The ball flew through the air and suddenly veered to the left; then, curving to the right after passing a clump of trees which formed an obstacle to be avoided, it fell on the putting-green at a few yards' distance from the hole. "Well done!" cried Simon. "A very pretty screw!" "Not so bad, not so bad," said Lord Bakefield, resuming his round. Simon did not allow himself to be disconcerted by this curious method of beginning an interview and broached his subject, without further preamble: "Lord Bakefield, you know who my father is, a Dieppe ship-owner, with the largest merchant-fleet in France. So I need say no more on that side." "Capital fellow, M. Dubosc," said Lord Bakefield, approvingly. "I had the pleasure of shaking hands with him at Dieppe last month. Capital fellow." Simon continued, delightedly: "Let us consider my own case. I'm an only son. I have an independent fortune from my poor mother. When I was twenty, I crossed the Sahara in an aeroplane without touching ground. At twenty-one, I made the record for the running mile. At twenty-two, I won two events at the Olympic Games: fencing and swimming. At twenty-five, I was the world's champion all-round athlete. And mixed up with all this was the Morocco campaign: four times mentioned in dispatches, promoted lieutenant in the reserve, awarded the military medal and the medal for saving life. That's all. Oh no, I was forgetting: licentiate in letters, laureate of the Academy for my essays on the Grecian ideal of beauty. There you are. I am twenty-nine years of age." Lord Bakefield looked at him with the tail of his eye and murmured: "Not bad, young man, not bad." "As for the future," Simon continued, without waiting, "that won't take long. I don't like making plans. However, I have the offer of a seat in the Chamber of Deputies at the coming elections, in August. Of course, politics don't much interest me. But after all . . . if I must. . . . And then I'm young: I shall always manage to get a place in the sun. Only, there's one thing . . . at least, from your point of view, Lord Bakefield. My name is Simon Dubosc. Dubosc in one word, without the particule . . . without the least semblance of a title. . . . And that, of course. . . ." He expressed himself without embarrassment, in a good-humoured, playful tone. Lord Bakefield, the picture of amiability, was quite imperturbed. Simon broke into a laugh: "I quite grasp the situation; and I would much rather give you a more elaborate pedigree, with a coat-of-arms, motto and title-deeds complete. Unfortunately, that's impossible. However, if it comes to that, we can trace back our ancestry to the fourteenth century. Yes, Lord Bakefield, in 1392, Mathieu Dubosc, a yeoman in the manor of Blancmesnil, near Dieppe, was sentenced to fifty strokes of the rod for theft. And the Duboscs went on valiantly tilling the soil, from father to son. The farm still exists, the farm _du Bosc_, that is _du Bosquet_, of the clump of trees. . . ." "Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Lord Bakefield. "Oh, you know," repeated the younger man, somewhat taken back. He intuitively felt, by the old nobleman's attitude and the very tone of the interruption, the full importance of the words which he was about to hear. And Lord Bakefield continued: "Yes, I happen to know. . . . When I was at Dieppe last month, I made a few inquiries about my family, which sprang from Normandy. Bakefield as you may perhaps not be aware, is the English corruption of Bacqueville. There was a Bacqueville among the companions of William the Conqueror. You know the picturesque little market-town of that name in the middle of the Pays de Caux? Well, there is a fourteenth-century deed in the records at Bacqueville, a deed signed in London, by which the Count of Bacqueville, Baron of Auppegard and Gourel, grants to his vassal, the Lord of Blancmesnil, the right of administering justice on the farm du Bosc . . . the same farm du Bosc on which poor Mathieu received his thrashing. An amusing coincidence, very amusing indeed: what do you think, young man?" This time, Simon was pierced to the quick. It was impossible to imagine a more impertinent answer couched in more frank and courteous terms. Quite baldly, under the pretence of telling a genealogical anecdote, Lord Bakefield made it clear that in his eyes young Dubosc was of scarcely greater importance than was the fourteenth-century yeoman in the eyes of the mighty English Baron Bakefield and feudal lord of Blancmesnil. The titles and exploits of Simon Dubosc, world's champion, victor in the Olympic Games, laureate of the French Academy and all-round athlete, did not weigh an ounce in the scale by which a British peer, conscious of his superiority, judges the merits of those who aspire to his daughter's hand. Now the merits of Simon Dubosc were of the kind which are amply rewarded with the favour of an assumed politeness and a cordial handshake. All this was so evident and the old nobleman's mind, with its pride, its prejudice and its stiff-necked obstinacy, stood so plainly revealed that Simon, who was unwilling to suffer the humiliation of a refusal, replied in a rather impertinent and bantering tone: "Needless to say, Lord Bakefield, I make no pretension to becoming your son-in-law just like that, all in a moment and without having done something to deserve so immense a privilege. My request refers first of all to the conditions which Simon Dubosc, the yeoman's descendant, would have to fulfil to obtain the hand of a Bakefield. I presume that, as the Bakefields have an ancestor who came over with William the Conqueror, Simon Dubosc, to rehabilitate himself in their eyes, would have to conquer something--such as a kingdom--or, following the Bastard's example, to make a triumphant descent upon England? Is that the way of it?" "More or less, young man," replied the old peer, slightly disconcerted by this attack. "Perhaps too," continued Simon, "he ought to perform a few superhuman actions, a few feats of prowess of world-wide importance, affecting the happiness of mankind? William the Conqueror first, Hercules or Don Quixote next? . . . Then, perhaps, one might come to terms?" "One might, young man." "And that would be all?" "Not quite!" And Lord Bakefield, who had recovered his self-possession, continued, in a genial fashion: "I cannot undertake that Isabel would remain free for very long. You would have to succeed within a given space of time. Do you consider, M. Dubosc, that I shall be too exacting if I fix this period at two months?" "You are much too generous, Lord Bakefield," cried Simon. "Three weeks will be ample. Think of it: three weeks to prove myself the equal of William the Conqueror and the rival of Don Quixote! It is longer than I need! I thank you from the bottom of my heart! For the present, Lord Bakefield, good-bye!" And, turning on his heels, fairly well-satisfied with an interview which, after all, released him from any obligation to the old nobleman, Simon Dubosc returned to the club-house. Isabel's name had hardly been mentioned. "Well," asked Rolleston, "have you put forward your suit?" "More or less." "And what was the reply?" "Couldn't be better, Edward, couldn't be better! It is not at all impossible that the decent man whom you see over there, knocking a little ball into a little hole, may become the father-in-law of Simon Dubosc. A mere nothing would do the trick: some tremendous stupendous event which would change the face of the earth. That's all." "Events of that sort are rare, Simon," said Rolleston. "Then, my dear Rolleston, things must happen as Isabel and I have decided." "And that is?" Simon did not reply. He had caught sight of Isabel, who was leaving the club-house. On seeing him, she stopped short. She stood some twenty paces away, grave and smiling. And in the glance which they exchanged there was all the tenderness, devotion, happiness and certainty that two young people, can promise each other on the threshold of life. CHAPTER II THE CROSSING Next day, at Newhaven, Simon Dubosc learnt that, at about six o'clock on the previous evening, a fishing-smack with a crew of eight hands had foundered in sight of Seaford. The cyclone had been seen from the shore. "Well, captain," asked Simon, who happened to know the first officer of the boat which was about to cross that day, having met him in Dieppe, "well captain, what do you make of it? More wrecks! Don't you think things are beginning to get alarming?" "It looks like it, worse luck!" replied the captain. "Fifteen passengers have refused to come on board. They're frightened. Yet, after all, one has to take chances. . . ." "Chances which keep on recurring, captain, and over the whole of the Channel just now. . . ." "M. Dubosc, if you take the whole of the Channel, you will probably find several hundred craft afloat at one time. Each of them runs a risk, but you'll admit the risk is small." "Was the crossing good last night?" asked Simon, thinking of his friend Rolleston. "Very good, both ways, and so will ours be. The _Queen Mary_ is a fast boat; she does the sixty-four miles in just under two hours. We shall leave and we shall arrive; you may be sure of that, M. Dubosc." The captain's confidence, while reassuring Simon, did not completely allay the fears which would not even have entered his mind in ordinary times. He selected two cabins separated by a state-room. Then, as he still had twenty-five minutes to wait, he repaired to the harbour station. There he found people greatly excited. At the booking-office, at the refreshment-bar and in the waiting-room where the latest telegrams were written on a black-board, travellers with anxious faces were hurrying to and fro. Groups collected about persons who were better-informed than the rest and who were talking very loudly and gesticulating. A number of passengers were demanding repayment of the price of their tickets. "Why, there's Old Sandstone!" said Simon to himself, as he recognized one of his former professors at a table in the refreshment-room. And, instead of avoiding him, as he commonly did when the worthy man appeared at the corner of some street in Dieppe, he went up to him and took a seat beside him: "Well, my dear professor, how goes it?" "What, is that you, Dubosc?" Beneath a silk hat of an antiquated shape and rusty with age was a round, fat face like a village priest's, a face with enormous cheeks which overlapped a collar of doubtful cleanliness. Something like a bit of black braid did duty as a necktie. The waist-coat and frock-coat were adorned with stains; and the over-coat, of a faded green, had three of its four buttons missing and acknowledged an age even more venerable than that of the hat. Old Sandstone--he was never known except by this nickname--had taught natural science at Dieppe College for the last twenty-five years. A geologist first and foremost and a geologist of real merit, he owed his by-name to his investigations of the sedimentary formations of the Norman coast, investigations which he had extended even to the bottom of the sea and which, though he was nearly sixty years of age, he was still continuing with unabated enthusiasm. Only last year, in the month of September, Simon had seen him, a big, heavy man, bloated with fat and crippled with rheumatism, struggling into a diver's dress and making, within sight of Saint-Valéry-en-Caux, his forty-eighth descent. The Channel from Le Havre to Dunkirk and from Portsmouth to Dover, no longer had any secrets for him. "Are you going back to Dieppe presently, professor?" "On the contrary, I have just come from Dieppe. I crossed last night, as soon as I heard of the wreck of the English fishing-smack, you know, between Seaford and Cuckmere Haven. I have already begun to make inquiries this morning, of some people who were visiting the Roman camp and saw the thing happen." "Well?" said Simon, eagerly. "Well, they saw, at a mile from the coast, a whirl of waves and foam revolving at a dizzy speed round a hollow centre. Then suddenly a column of water gushed straight up, mixed with sand and stones, and fell back on all sides, like a rain of rockets. It was magnificent!" "And the fishing-smack?" "The fishing-smack?" echoed Old Sandstone, who seemed not to understand, to take no interest in this trivial detail. "Oh, yes, the fishing-smack, of course! Well, she disappeared, that's all!" The young man was silent, but the next moment continued: "Now my dear professor, tell me frankly, do you think there's any danger in crossing?" "Oh, that's absurd! It's as though you were to ask me whether one ought to shut one's self in one's room when there is a thunder-storm. Of course the lightning strikes the earth now and again. But there's plenty of margin all round. . . . Besides, aren't you a good swimmer? Well, at the least sign of danger, dive into the sea without delay: don't stop to think; just dive!" "And what is your opinion, professor? How do you explain all these phenomena?" "How? Oh, very simply! I will remind you, to begin with, that in 1912 the Somme experienced a few shocks which amounted to actual earthquakes. Point number one. Secondly, these shocks coincided with local disturbances in the Channel, which passed almost unnoticed; but they attracted my attention and were the starting point of all my recent investigations. Among others, one of these disturbances in which I am inclined to see the premonitory signs of the present water-spouts, occurred off Saint-Valéry. And that was why you caught me one day, I remember, going down in a diving-suit just at that spot. Now, from all this, it follows. . . ." "What follows?" Old Sandstone interrupted himself, seized the young man's hand and suddenly changed the course of the conversation: "Now tell me, Dubosc," he said, "have you read my pamphlet on _The Cliffs of the Channel_? You haven't, have you? Well, if you had, you would know that one of the chapters, entitled, '_What will occur in the Channel in the year 2000_,' is now being fulfilled. D'you understand? I predicted the whole thing! Not these minor incidents of wrecks and water-spouts, of course, but what they seem to announce. Yes, Dubosc; whether it be in the year 2000, or the year 3000, or next week, I have foretold in all its details the unheard-of, astounding, yet very natural thing which will happen sooner or later." He had now grown animated. Drops of sweat beaded his cheeks and forehead; and, taking from an inner pocket of his frock-coat a long narrow wallet, with a lock to it and so much worn and so often repaired that its appearance harmonized perfectly with his green over-coat and his rusty hat: "You want to know the truth?" he exclaimed. "It's here. All my observations and all my hypotheses are contained in this wallet." And he was inserting the key in the lock when loud voices were raised on the platform. The tables in the refreshment-room were at once deserted. Without paying further heed to Old Sandstone, Simon followed the crowd which was rushing into the waiting-room. Two telegrams had come from France. One, after reporting the wreck of a coasting-vessel, the _Bonne Vierge_, which plied weekly between Calais, Le Havre and Cherbourg, announced that the Channel Tunnel had fallen in, fortunately without the loss of a single life. The other, which the crowd read as it was being written, stated that "the keeper of the Ailly lighthouse, near Dieppe, had at break of day seen five columns of water and sand shooting up almost simultaneously, two miles from the coast, and stirring up the sea between Veules and Pourville." These telegrams elicited cries of dismay. The destruction of the Channel Tunnel, ten years of effort wasted, millions of pounds swallowed up: this was evidently a calamity! But how much more dreadful was the sinister wording of the second telegram! Veules! Pourville! Dieppe! That was the coast which they would have to make for! The steamboat, in two hours' time, would be entering the very region affected by the cataclysm! On sailing, Seaford and Hastings; on nearing port, Veules, Pourville and Dieppe! There was a rush for the booking-office. The station-master's and inspectors' offices were besieged. Two hundred people rushed on board the vessel to recover their trunks and bags; and a crowd of distraught travellers, staggering under the weight of their luggage, took the up-train by assault, as though the sea-walls and the quays and rampart of the cliffs were unable to protect them from the hideous catastrophe. Simon shuddered. He could not but be impressed by the fears displayed by these people. And then what was the meaning of this mysterious sequence of phenomena, which seemed incapable of any natural explanation? What invisible tempest was making the waves boil up from the depths of a motionless sea? Why did these sudden cyclones all occur within so small a radius, affecting only a limited region? All around him the tumult increased, amid repeated painful scenes. One of these he found particularly distressing; for the people concerned were French and he was better able to understand what they were saying. There was a family, consisting of the father and mother, both still young, and their six children, the smallest of whom, only a few months old, was sleeping in its mother's arms. And the mother was imploring her husband in a sort of despair: "Don't let us go, please don't let us go! We're not obliged to!" "But we are, my dear: you saw my partner's letter. And really there's no occasion for all this distress!" "Please, darling! . . . I have a presentiment. . . . You know I'm always right. . . ." "Would you rather I crossed alone?" "Oh no! Not that!" Simon heard no more. But he was never to forget that cry of a loving wife, nor the grief-stricken expression of the mother who, at that moment, was embracing her six children with a glance. He made his escape. The clock pointed to half-past eleven; and Miss Bakefield ought to be on her way. But, when he reached the quay, he saw a motor-car turning the corner of a street; and at the window of the car was Isabel's golden head. In a moment all his gloomy thoughts were banished. He had not expected the girl for another twenty minutes; and, though he was not afraid of suffering, he had made up his mind that those last twenty minutes would be a period of distress and anxiety. Would she keep her promise? Might she not meet with some unforeseen obstacle? . . . And here was Isabel arriving! Yesterday he had determined, as a measure of precaution, not to speak to her until they had taken their places on the boat. However, as soon as Simon saw her step out of the car, he ran to meet her. She was wrapped in a grey cloak and carried a rug rolled in a strap. A sailor followed with her travelling-bag. "Excuse me, Isabel," said Simon, "but something so serious has happened that I am bound to consult you. The telegrams, in fact, mention a whole series of catastrophes which have occurred precisely in the part which we shall have to cross." Isabel did not seem much put out: "You're saying this, Simon, in a very calm tone which does not match your words at all." "It's because I'm so happy!" he murmured. Their eyes met in a long and penetrating glance. Then she continued: "What would you do, Simon, if you were alone?" And, when he hesitated what to answer: "You would go," she said. "And so should I. . . ." She stepped onto the gangway. Half an hour later, the _Queen Mary_ left Newhaven harbour. At that instant, Simon, who was always so completely his own master and who, even in the most feverish moments of enthusiasm, claimed the power of controlling his emotions, felt his legs trembling beneath him, while his eyes grew moist with tears. The test of happiness was too much for him. Simon had never been in love before. Love was an event which he awaited at his leisure; and he did not think it essential to prepare for its coming by seeking it in adventures which might well exhaust his ardour: "Love," he used to say, "should blend with life, should form a part of life and not be added to it. Love is not an aim in itself: it is a principle of action and the noblest in the world." From the first day when he saw her, Isabel's beauty had dazzled him; and he needed very little time to discover that, until the last moment of his life, no other woman would ever mean anything to him. The same irresistible and deliberate impulse drove Isabel towards Simon. Brought up in the south of France, speaking French as her native tongue, she did not feel and did not evoke in Simon the sense of embarrassment that almost invariably arises from a difference of nationality. That which united them was infinitely stronger than that which divided them. It was a curious thing, but during these past four months, while love was blossoming within them like a plant whose flowers were constantly renewed and constantly increasing in beauty, they had had none of those long conversations in which lovers eagerly question each other and in which each seeks to find entrance into the unknown territory of the other's soul. They spoke little and rarely of themselves, as though they had delegated to gentle daily life the task of raising the veils of the mystery one by one. Simon knew only that Isabel was not happy. After losing at the age of fifteen a mother whom she adored, she failed to find in her father the love and the caresses that might have consoled her. Moreover, Lord Bakefield almost immediately fell under the dominion of the Duchess of Faulconbridge, a vain, tyrannical woman, who rarely stirred from her villa at Cannes or her country-seat near Battle, but whose malign influence exerted itself equally close at hand and far away, in speech and by letter, on her husband and on her step-daughter, whom she persecuted with her morbid jealousy. Naturally enough, Isabel and Simon exchanged a mutual promise. And, naturally enough, on coming into collision with Lord Bakefield's implacable will and his wife's hatred, they arrived at the only possible solution, that of running away. This was proposed without heroic phrases and adopted without any painful struggle or reluctance. Each formed a decision in perfect liberty. To themselves their action appeared extremely simple. Loyally determined to prolong their engagement until the moment when all obstacles would be smoothed away, they faced the future like travellers turning to a radiant and hospitable country. In the open Channel a choppy sea was beginning to rise before a steady light breeze. In the west the clouds were mustering in battle array, but they were distant enough to promise a calm passage in glorious sunshine. Indifferent to the assault of the waves, the vessel sped straight for her port, as though no power existed which could have turned her aside from her strict course. Isabel and Simon were seated on one of the benches on the after deck. The girl had taken off her cloak and hat and offered to the wind her arms and shoulders, protected only by a cambric blouse. Nothing more beautiful could be imagined than the play of the sunlight on the gold of her hair. Though grave and dreamy, she was radiant with youth and happiness. Simon gazed at her in an ecstasy of admiration: "You don't regret anything, Isabel?" he whispered. "No!" "You're not frightened?" "Why should I be, with you? There is nothing to threaten us." Simon pointed to the sea: "That will, perhaps." "No!" He told her of his conversation with Lord Bakefield on the previous day and of the three conditions upon which they had agreed. She was amused, and asked him: "May I too lay down a condition?" "What condition, Isabel?" "Fidelity," she replied, gravely. "Absolute fidelity. No lapses! I could never forgive anything of that sort." He kissed her hand and said: "There is no love without fidelity. I love you." There were few people around them, for the panic had affected mainly the first-class passengers. But, apart from the two lovers, all those who had persisted in crossing betrayed by some sign their secret uneasiness or their alarm. On the right were two old, very old clergymen, accompanied by a third, a good deal younger. These three remained unmoved, worthy brothers of the heroes who sang hymns on the sinking _Titanic_. Nevertheless, their hands were folded as though in prayer. On the left was the French couple whose conversation Dubosc had overheard. The young father and mother, leaning closely on each other, searched the horizon with fevered eyes. Four boys, the four older children, all strong and robust, their cheeks ruddy with health, were coming and going, in search of information which they immediately brought back with them. A little girl sat crying at her parents' feet, without saying a word. The mother was nursing the sixth child, which from time to time turned to Isabel and smiled at her. Meanwhile, the breeze was growing colder. Simon leant toward his companion: "You're not feeling chilly, Isabel?" he said. "No, I'm used to it. . . ." "Still, though you left your bag below you brought your rug on deck, very wisely. Why don't you undo it?" The rug was still rolled up in its straps; and Isabel had even passed one of the straps around an iron rod, which fastened the bench to the deck, and buckled it. "My bag contains nothing of value," she said. "Nor the rug, I presume?" "Yes, it does." "Really? What?" "A miniature to which my poor mother was very much attached, because it is a portrait of her grandmother painted for George III." "It has just a sentimental value, therefore?" "Oh dear no! My mother had it set in all her finest pearls, which gives it an inestimable value to-day. Thinking of the future, she left me, in this way, a fortune of my own." Simon laughed: "And that's the safe!" "Yes, that's the safe!" she said, joining in his laughter. "The miniature is pinned to the middle of the rug, between the straps where no one would think of looking for it. You're laughing, but I am superstitious where that miniature is concerned. It's a sort of talisman. . . ." For some time they spoke no further. The coast had disappeared from sight. The swell was increasing and the _Queen Mary_ was rolling a little. At this moment they were passing a beautiful white yacht. "That's the Comte de Bauge's _Castor_," cried one of the four boys. "She's on her way to Dieppe." Two ladies and two gentlemen were lunching under an awning, Isabel bowed her head so as to hide her face. This thoughtless movement displeased her; for, a moment later, she said (and all the words which they exchanged during these few minutes were to remain engraved on their memories): "Simon, you really believe, don't you, that I was entitled to leave home?" "Why," he exclaimed, in surprise, "don't we love each other?" "Yes, we love each other," she murmured. "And then there's the life which I was leading with a woman whose one delight was to insult my mother. . . ." She said no more. Simon had laid his hand on hers and nothing could reassure her more effectually than the fondness of that pressure. The four boys, who had disappeared again, came running back: "You can see the company's mail-boat that left Dieppe at the same time that we left Newhaven. She's called the _Pays de Caux_. We shall pass her in a quarter of an hour. So you see, mama, there's no danger." "Yes, but it's afterwards, when we get closer to Dieppe." "Why?" objected her husband. "The other boat hasn't signalled anything extraordinary. The danger is altering its position, moving farther away. . . ." The mother made no reply. Her face retained the same piteous expression. The little girl at her knee was still silently crying. The captain passed Simon and saluted. And a few more minutes elapsed. Simon was whispering words of love which Isabel did not catch very distinctly. The little girl's constant tears were causing her some distress. Shortly after, a gust of wind made the waves leap higher. Here and there streaks of white, seething foam appeared. There was nothing remarkable in this, as the wind was gaining in force and lashing the crests of the waves. But why did these foaming billows appear only in one part and that precisely the part which they were about to cross? The father and mother had risen to their feet. Other passengers were leaning over the rails. The captain was seen running up the poop-steps. And it came suddenly, in a moment. Before Isabel and Simon, sitting self-absorbed, had the least idea of what was happening, a frightful clamour, made up of a thousand shrieks, rose from all parts of the boat, from port and starboard, from stem to stern, even from below; from every side, as though the minds of all had been obsessed by the possibility of disaster, as though all eyes, from the moment of departure, had been watching for the slightest premonitory sign. A monstrous sight. Three hundred yards ahead, as though in the centre of a target at which the bows of the vessel were aimed, a hideous fountain had burst from the surface of the sea, bombarding the sky with masses of rock, blocks of lava and flying masses of spray, which fell back into a circle of foaming breakers and yawning whirlpools. And a wind of hurricane force gyrated above this chaos, bellowing like a bull. Suddenly silence fell upon the paralysed crowd, the deathly silence that precedes an inevitable catastrophe. Then, yonder, a rattle of thunder that rent the air. Then the voice of the captain at his post, roaring out his orders, trying to shout down the monster's myriad voices. For a moment there seemed some hope of salvation. The vessel put forth so great an effort that she appeared to be gliding along a tangent away from the infernal circle into which she was on the point of being drawn. But it was a vain hope! The circle seemed to be increasing in size. Its outer waves were approaching. A mass of rock crushed one of the funnels. And again there were shrieks, followed by a panic and an insane rush for the life-boats; already some of the passengers were fighting for places. . . . Simon did not hesitate. Isabel was a good swimmer. They must make the attempt. "Come!" he said. The girl, standing beside him, had flung her arms about him. "We can't stay here! Come!" And, when she struggled, instinctively resisting the course which he had proposed, he took a firmer hold of her. She entreated him: "Oh, it's horrible . . . all these children . . . the little girl crying! . . . Couldn't we save them?" "Come!" he repeated, in a masterful tone. She still resisted him. Then he took her head in his two hands and kissed her on the lips: "Come, my darling, come!" The girl fainted. He lifted her in his arms and threw one leg over the rail: "Don't be afraid!" he said. "I will answer for your life!" "I am not afraid," she said. "I am not afraid with you. . . ." They leapt into the water. CHAPTER III GOOD-BYE, SIMON Twenty minutes later, they were picked up by the _Castor_, the yacht which by this time had passed the _Queen Mary_. As for the _Pays de Caux_, the steamer sailing from Dieppe, subsequent enquiries proved that the passengers and the crew had compelled the captain to flee from the scene of the disaster. The sight of the huge waterspout, the spectacle of the ship lifting her stern out of the waves, rearing up bodily and falling back as though into the mouth of a funnel, the upheaval of the sea, which seemed to have given way beneath the assault of maniacal forces and which, within the circumference of the frenzied circle, revolved upon itself in a sort of madness: all this was so terrifying that women fainted and men threatened the captain with their levelled revolvers. The _Castor_ also had begun by fleeing the spot. But the Conte de Bauge, detecting through his field-glasses the handkerchief which Simon was waving, persuaded his sailors, despite the desperate opposition of his friends, to put about, while avoiding contact with the dangerous zone. For that matter, the sea was subsiding. The eruption had lasted less than a minute; and it was as though the monster was now resting, sated, content with its meal, like a beast of prey after its kill. The squall had passed. The whirlpool broke up into warring currents which opposed and annulled one another. There were no more breakers, no more foam. Beneath the great undulating shroud which the little waves, tossing in harmless frolic, spread above the sunken vessel, the tragedy of five hundred death-struggles was consummated. Under these conditions, the rescue was an easy task. Isabel and Simon, who could have held out for hours longer, were taken to the two cabins and supplied with a change of clothing. Isabel had not even lost consciousness. The yacht sailed away immediately. Those on board were eager to escape from the accursed circle. The sudden subsidence of the sea seemed as dangerous as its fury. Nothing occurred before they reached the French coast. The oppressive, menacing lull continued. Simon Dubosc, directly he had changed his clothes, joined the count and his party. A little embarrassed in respect of Miss Bakefield, he spoke of her as a friend whom he had met by chance on the _Queen Mary_ and by whose side he had found himself at the moment of the catastrophe. For the rest, he was not questioned. The company on board the yacht were still profoundly uneasy; the thought of what might happen obsessed them. Further events were preparing. All had the impression that an invisible enemy was prowling stealthily around them. Twice Simon went below to Isabel's cabin. The door was closed and there was no sound from within. But Simon knew that Isabel, though she had recovered from her fatigue and was already forgetting the dangers which had threatened them, nevertheless could not shake off the horror of what she had seen. He himself was still terribly depressed, haunted by the vision so frightful that it seemed the extravagant image of a nightmare rather than the memory of an actual thing. Was it true that they had one and all lost their lives: the three clergymen with their austere faces, the four happy, cheerful boys, their father and mother, the little girl who had cried, the child that had smiled at Isabel, the captain and every single individual of all those who had covered the _Queen Mary's_ decks? About four o'clock, the clouds, unrolling in blacker and denser masses, had conquered the heavens. Already the watchers felt the first breath of the great squalls whose precipitous onset was at hand, whose battalions, let loose across the Atlantic, were about to rush into the narrow straits of the Channel and mingle their devastating efforts with the mysterious forces rising from the depths of the sea. The horizon was blotted out as the clouds released their contents. But the yacht was nearing Dieppe. The Count and Simon Dubosc, each gazing through a pair of binoculars, cried out as with one voice, struck at the same moment by the most unexpected sight. Looking at the row of buildings, which line the long sea-front like a tall rampart of brick and stone, they could plainly see that the roof and upper storey of the two largest hotels, the Imperial and the Astoria, situated in the middle, had collapsed. And the next instant they caught sight of other houses which were tottering, leaning forward, fissured and half-demolished. Suddenly a flame shot up from one of these houses. In a few minutes there was a violent outbreak of fire; and on every side, from one end of the sea-front to the other, a panic-stricken crowd, whose shouts they could hear, came pouring down the streets and running to the beach. "There is no doubt about it," spluttered the Count. "There has been an earthquake, a very violent shock, which must have synchronized with the sort of waterspout in which the _Queen Mary_ disappeared." When nearer, they saw that the sea must have risen, sweeping over the sea-wall, for long streaks of mud marked the lawns, while the beach to right and left was covered with stranded shipping. And they saw too that the end of the jetty and the light-house had disappeared, that the breakwater had been carried away and that boats were drifting about the harbour. The wireless telegram announcing the wreck of the _Queen Mary_ had redoubled the panic. No one dared fly from the peril on land by taking to the open sea. The relatives of the passengers stood massed together, in witless and hopeless waiting, on the landing stage and what remained of the jetty. In the midst of all this turmoil, the yacht's arrival passed almost unperceived. Each was living for himself, without curiosity, heedless of all but his own danger and that of his kinsfolk. A few distraught journalists were darting about feverishly for news; and the port-authorities subjected Simon and the Count to a hasty and perfunctory enquiry. Simon evaded their questions as far as possible. Once free, he escorted Isabel to the nearest hotel, saw her comfortably settled and asked her for permission to go in search of information. He was uneasy, for he believed his father to be in Dieppe. The Duboscs' house stood at the first turning on the great slope which climbs to the top of the cliffs on the left, itself hidden behind a clump of trees and covered with flowers and creepers, it had a series of terraced gardens which overlooked the town and the sea. Simon was at once reassured on learning that his father was in Paris and would not be home until next day. He was also told that they had felt only a slight shake on this side of Dieppe. He therefore went back to Isabel's hotel. She was still in her room, however, needing rest, and sent down word that she would rather be alone until the evening. Somewhat astonished by this reply, the full meaning of which he was not to understand till later, he went on to his friend Rolleston's place, failed to find him in, returned to his own house, dined and went for a stroll through the streets of the town. The damage was not so widespread as he had supposed. What is usually described as the first Dieppe earthquake, to distinguish it from the great upheaval of which it was the forerunner, consisted at most of two preliminary oscillations, which were followed forty seconds later by a violent shock accompanied by a tremendous noise and a series of detonations. As for the tidal wave, improperly called an eagre, which rushed up the sea-front, it had but a very moderate height and a quite restricted force. But the people whom Simon met and those with whom he talked remembered those few seconds with a terror which the hours did not appear to diminish. Some were still running with no idea of where they were going, while others--and these were the greater number--remained in a state of absolute stupefaction, making no reply when questioned or answering only with incoherent sentences. It was of course different in a town like this from elsewhere. In these long-settled regions, where the soil had assumed its irrevocable configuration hundreds and hundreds of years ago and where volcanic manifestations were not even contemplated as possible, any phenomenon of the kind was peculiarly alarming, illogical, abnormal, and in violent contradiction with the laws of nature and with those conditions of security which each of us has the right to regard as unchanging and as definitely fixed by destiny. And Simon, who since the previous day had been wandering to and fro in this atmosphere of distraction, Simon, who remembered Old Sandstone's unfinished predictions and who had seen the gigantic waterspout in which the _Queen Mary_ was swallowed up, Simon asked himself: "What is happening? What is going to happen? In what unforeseen fashion and by what formidable enemy will the coming attack be delivered?" Though he had meant to leave Dieppe on that night or the following morning, he felt that his departure would be tantamount to a desertion just when his father was returning and when so many symptoms announced the imminence of a final catastrophe. "Isabel will advise me," he said to himself. "We will decide together what we have to do." Meantime night had fallen. He returned to the hotel at nine o'clock and asked that Isabel should be told. He was amazed, almost stunned by the news that Miss Bakefield had gone. She had come down from her room an hour earlier, had handed in at the office a letter addressed to Simon Dubosc and had suddenly left the hotel. Disconcerted, Simon asked for explanations. There seemed to be none to give, except that one of the waiters said that the young lady had joined a sailor who seemed to be waiting for her in the street and that they had gone off together. Taking the letter, Simon moved away with the intention of going to a café or entering the hotel, but he had not the courage to wait and it was by the light of a street lamp that he opened the envelope and read: "I am writing to you with absolute confidence, feeling happy in the certainty that everything I say will be understood and that you will feel neither bitterness nor resentment, nor, after the first painful shock, any real distress. "Simon, we have made a mistake. It is right that our love, the great and sincere love which we bear each other, should dominate all our thoughts and form the object of our whole lives, but it is not right that this love should be our only rule of conduct and our only obligation. In leaving England we did what is only permissible to those whose fate has persistently thwarted all their dreams and destroyed all their sources of joy. It was an act of liberation and revolt, which people have a right to perform when there is no other alternative than death. But is this the case with us, Simon? What have we done to deserve happiness? What ordeals have we suffered? What efforts have we made? What tears have we shed? "I have done a great deal of thinking, Simon. I have been thinking of all those poor people who are dead and gone and whose memory will always make me shudder. I have thought of you and myself and my mother. Her too I saw die. You remember: we were speaking of her and of the pearls which she gave me when dying. They are lost; and that distresses me so terribly! "Simon, I don't want to consider this and still less all the horrors of this awful day as warnings intended for us two. But I do want them to help us to look at life in a different way, to help us put up a prouder and pluckier fight against the obstacles in our path. The fact that you and I are alive while so many others are dead forbids us to suffer in ourselves any sort of weakness, untruth or shuffling, anything that cannot face the broad light of day. "Win me, Simon. For my part, I shall deserve you by confidence and steadfastness. If we are worthy of each other, we shall succeed and we shall not need to blush for a happiness for which we should now have to pay--as I have felt many times to-day--too high a price of humiliation and shame. "You will not try to find me, will you, Simon? "Your promised wife, "Isabel." For a few moments Simon stood dumbfounded. As Isabel had foreseen, the first shock was infinitely painful. His mind was full of conflicting ideas which eluded his grasp. He did not attempt to understand nor did he ask himself whether he approved of Isabel's action. He suffered as he had never known that it was possible to suffer. And suddenly, in the disorder of his mind, among the incoherent suppositions which occurred to him, there flashed a horrible thought. It was obvious that Isabel, determined to submit to her father before the scandal of her flight was noised abroad, had conceived the intention of returning to Lord Bakefield. But how would she put her plan into execution? And Simon remembered that Isabel had left the hotel in the most singular fashion, abruptly, on foot and accompanied by a sailor carrying her bag. Now the landing-stage of the Newhaven steamers was close to the hotel; and the night-boat would cast off her moorings in an hour or two. "Can she be thinking of crossing?" he muttered, shuddering as he remembered the upheavals of the sea and the wreck of the _Queen Mary_. He rushed towards the quay. Despite Isabel's expressed wish, he intended to see her; and, if she resisted his love, he would at least implore her to abandon the risk of an immediate crossing. Directly he reached the quay, he perceived the funnels of the Newhaven steamer behind the harbour railway-station. Isabel, without a doubt, was there, in one of the cabins. There were a good many people about the station and a great deal of piled-up luggage. Simon made for the gangway, but was stopped by an official on duty: "I have no ticket," said Simon. "I am looking for a lady who has gone on board and who is crossing to-night." "There are no passengers on board," said the official. "Really? How's that?" "The boat is not crossing. There have been orders from Paris. All navigation is suspended." "Ah!" said Simon Dubosc, with a start of relief. "Navigation is suspended!" "Yes; that is to say, as far as the line's concerned." "What do you mean, the line?" "Why, the company only troubles about its own boats. If others care to put to sea, that is their look-out; we can't prevent them." "But," said Simon, beginning to feel uneasy, "I suppose none has ventured to sail just lately?" "Yes, there was one, about an hour ago." "Oh? Did you see her?" "Yes, she was a yacht, belonging to an Englishman." "Edward Rolleston, perhaps?" cried Simon, more or less at a venture. "Yes, I believe it was, . . . Rolleston. Yes, yes, that's it: an Englishmen who had just put his yacht in commission." Simon suddenly realized the truth. Rolleston, who was staying at Dieppe, happened to hear of Isabel's arrival, called at her hotel and, at her request, gave orders to sail. Of course, he was the only man capable of risking the adventure and of bribing his crew with a lavish distribution of bank-notes. The young Englishman's behaviour gave proof of such courage and devotion that Simon at once recovered his normal composure. Against Rolleston he felt neither anger nor resentment. He mastered his fears and determined to have confidence. The clouds were gliding over the town, so low that their black shapes could be distinguished in the darkness of the night. He crossed the front and leant upon the balustrade which borders the Boulevard Maritime. Thence he could see the white foam of the heavy breakers on the distant sands and hear their vicious assault upon the rocks. Nevertheless, the expected storm was not yet unleashed. More terrible in its continual, nerve-racking menace, it seemed to be waiting for reinforcements and to be delaying its onslaught only to render it more impetuous. "Isabel will have time to reach the other side," said Simon. He was now quite calm, full of faith in the present and the future. In absolute agreement with Isabel, he approved of her departure; it caused him no suffering. "Come," he thought, "it is time to act." He now recognized the purpose in view of which he had been preparing for years and years: it was to win a woman who was dearer to him than anything on earth and whose conquest would force him to claim that place in the world which his merits deserved. He had done with hoarding. His duty was to spend, ay, to squander, like a prodigal scattering gold by the handful, without fear of ever exhausting his treasure. "The time has come," he repeated. "If I am good for anything, I must prove it. If I was right to wait and husband my resources, I must prove it." He began to walk along the boulevard, his head erect, his chest expanded, striking the ground with a ringing step. The wind was rising to a gale. Furious showers swept the air. These were trifles to a Simon Dubosc, whose body, clad at all times of the year in light materials, took no heed of the rough weather and, even at the end of a day marked by so many trials, did not betray the slightest symptom of fatigue. In truth, he felt inaccessible to ordinary weaknesses. His muscles were capable of unlimited endurance. His arms, his legs, his chest, his whole body, patiently exercised, were able to sustain the most violent and persistent efforts. Through his eyes, ears and nostrils he participated acutely in every vibration of the outer world. He was without a flaw. His nerves were perfectly steady. His will responded to every demand. He had the faculty of making up his mind at the first warning. His senses were always on the alert, but were controlled by his reason. He had keen intelligence and a clear, logical mind. _He was ready._ He was ready. Like an athlete at the top of his form, he owed it to himself to enter the lists and accomplish some feat of prowess. Now, by a wonderful coincidence, it seemed that events promised him a field of action in which this feat of prowess might be performed in the most brilliant fashion. How? That he did not know. When? That he could not say. But he felt a profound intuition that new paths were about to open up before him. For an hour he walked to and fro, fired by enthusiasm, quivering with hope. Suddenly a squall leapt at the sea-front, as though torn from the crest of the waves; and the rain fell in disorderly masses, hurtling downwards in all directions. The storm had broken and Isabel was still at sea. He shrugged his shoulders, refusing to admit a return of anxiety. If they had both escaped from the wreck of the _Queen Mary_, it was not in order that one of them should now pay for that unexpected boon. No, come what might, Isabel would reach the other side. Fate was protecting them both. Through the torrents of rain pouring across the parade and by the flooded streets, Simon returned to the Villa Dubosc. An indomitable energy bore him up. And he thought with pride of his beautiful bride, who, disdainful like himself of the day's accumulated ordeals and untiring as he, had gone forth bravely into the terrors of the night. CHAPTER IV THE GREAT UPHEAVAL The next five days were of those whose memory oppresses a nation for countless generations. What with hurricanes, cyclones, floods, swollen rivers and tidal waves, the coasts of the Channel and in particular the parts about Fécamp, Dieppe and Le Tréport suffered the most infuriate assaults conceivable. Although a scientist would not admit the least relation between this series of storms and the tremendous event of the 4th of June, that is to say, of the last of these five days, what a strange coincidence it was! How could the masses ever since help thinking that these several phenomena all formed part of one connected whole? In Dieppe, the undoubted centre of the first seismic disturbances, in Dieppe and the outlying districts hell was let loose. It was as though this particular spot of the earth's surface was the meeting-place of all the powers that attack and devastate and undermine and slay. In the whirlpools, or the water-spouts, or the eddies of overflowing rivers, under the crash of uprooted trees, crumbling cliffs, falling scaffoldings and walls, tottering belfries and factory-chimneys and of all the objects carried by the wind, the deaths increased steadily. Twenty families were thrown into mourning on the first day, forty on the second. As for the number of victims destroyed by the great convulsion which accompanied the tremendous event, it was doubtful whether this was ever accurately estimated. As happens in such periods of constant danger, when the individual thinks only of himself and those akin to him, Simon knew hardly anything of the disaster save through the manifestations that reached him directly. After receiving a wireless telegram from Isabel which assured him of her safety, he spread the newspapers only to make certain that his flight with her was not suspected. With the rest--details of the foundering of the _Queen Mary_, articles in which his presence of mind, his courage and Isabel's pluck were extolled, or in which the writer endeavoured to explain the convulsions in the Channel--with all this he had hardly time to concern himself. He remained with his father. He told him the secret of his love, told him the story of the recent incidents, told him of his plans. Together they wandered through the town or out into the country, both of them drenched and blinded by the showers, staggering under the squalls and bowing their heads beneath the bombardment of slates and tiles. The trees and telegraph-poles along the road were mown down like corn. Trusses of straw, stacks of fodder, faggots of wood, palings, coils of wire were whirled through the air like autumn leaves. Nature seemed to have declared a merciless war upon herself for the sheer pleasure of spoiling and destroying. And the sea was still trundling its gigantic waves, which broke with deafening roar. All navigation between France and England was suspended. Wireless messages signalled the danger to the great liners coming from America or Germany; and none of them dared enter the hell that was the Channel. On the fourth day, the last but one, Tuesday the 3rd of June, there was a slight lull. The final assault was marshalling its forces. M. Dubosc worn out with fatigue, did not get up that afternoon. Simon also threw himself on his bed, fully dressed, and slept until evening. But at nine o'clock a shock awakened them. Simon thought that the window, which suddenly burst open, had given away under the pressure of the wind. A second shock, more plainly defined, brought down the door of his room; and he felt himself spinning on his own axis, with the walls circling round him. He ran downstairs and found his father in the garden with the servants, one and all bewildered and uttering incoherent phrases. After a long pause, during which some tried to escape while others were on their knees, there was a violent downpour of rain, mingled with hail, which drove them indoors. At ten o'clock they sat down to supper. M. Dubosc did not speak a word. The servants were livid and trembling. Simon retained in the depths of his horrified mind an uncanny impression of a shuddering world. At ten minutes to eleven there was another vibration, of no great violence, but prolonged, with beats that followed one another very closely, like a peal of bells. The china plates fell from the walls; the clock stopped. All the inmates of the house went out of doors again and crowded into a little thatched summer-house lashed by slanting rain. Half-an-hour later, the tremors recommenced and from this time onwards, were so to speak, incessant. They were faint and remote at first, but soon grew more and more perceptible, like the shivers of fever which rise from the depths of our flesh and shake us from head to foot. This ended by becoming a torture. Two of the maids were sobbing. M. Dubosc had flung an arm about Simon's neck and was stammering terrified and meaningless words. Simon himself could no longer endure this execrable sensation of earthquake, this vertigo of the human being losing his foothold. He felt that he was living in a disjointed world and that his mind was registering absurd and grotesque impressions. From the town arose an uninterrupted clamour. The road was crowded with people fleeing to the heights. A church-bell filled the air with the doleful sound of the tocsin, while the clocks were striking the twelve hours of midnight. "Let us go away! Let us go away!" cried M. Dubosc. Simon protested: "Come, father, there's no need for that! What have we to fear?" But one and all were seized with panic. Everybody acted at random, making unconscious movements, like a crazy piece of machinery working backwards. The servants went indoors again, looking about them stupidly, as do those who go over a house which they are leaving for the last time. Simon, as in a dream, saw one of them cramming a canvas bag with the gilt candlesticks and silver boxes of which he had charge, while another wrapped himself in a tablecloth and a third filled his pockets with bread and biscuits. He himself, turning by instinct to a small cloak-room on the ground floor, put on a leather jacket and changed his shoes for a pair of heavy shooting-boots. He heard his father saying: "Here, take my pocket-book. There's money in it, bundles of notes: you'd better have it. . . ." Suddenly the electric light went out; and at the same time they heard, in the distance, a strange thunder-clap, curiously different from the usual sound of thunder. It was repeated, with a less strident din, accompanied by a subterranean rattling; and then, growing noisier again, it burst a second time in a series of frightful detonations, louder than the roar of artillery. Then there was a frantic rush for the road. But the fugitives had not left the garden when the frightful catastrophe, announced by so many manifestations, occurred. The earth leapt beneath their feet and instantly fell away and leapt again like an animal in convulsions. Simon and his father were thrown against each other and then violently torn apart and hurled to the ground. All around them was the stupendous uproar of a tottering world in which everything was collapsing into an incredible chaos. The darkness seemed to have grown denser than ever. And then, suddenly, there was a less distant sound, a sound which touched them, so to speak, a sort of cracking noise. And shrieks rose into the air from the very bowels of the earth. "Stop!" cried Simon, catching hold of his father, whom he had succeeded in rejoining. "Stop!" He felt before him, at a distance of a few inches, the utter horror of a gaping abyss; and it was from the bottom of the abyss that the shrieks and howls of their companions rose. And there were three more shocks. . . . Simon realized a moment later that his father, clutching his arm, was dragging him away with fierce energy. Both were clambering up the road at a run, groping their way like blind men through the obstacles with which the earthquake had covered it. M. Dubosc had a goal in view, the Caude-Côte cliff, a bare plateau where they would be in absolute safety. But, on taking a cross-road, they struck against a band of maddened creatures who told them that the cliff had fallen, carrying numerous victims with it. All that these people could think of now was to run to the seashore. With them, M. Dubosc and his son stumbled down the paths which led to the valley of Pourville, whose beach lies in a cove some two miles from Dieppe. The front was obstructed by a crowd of villagers, while others were taking shelter from the rain behind the bathing-huts overturned by the wind. Others again, as the tide was very low, had gone down the sloping shingle and crossed the sands and ventured out to the rocks, as though the danger had ended there and there only. By the uncertain light of a moon which strove to pierce the curtain of the clouds, they could be seen wandering to and fro like ghosts. "Come, Simon!" said M. Dubosc. "Let's go over there. . . ." But Simon held him back: "We are all right here, father. Besides, it seems to be calming down. Take a rest." "Yes, yes, if you like," replied M. Dubosc, who was in a greatly dejected mood. "And then we will go back to Dieppe. I want to make sure that my boats have not been knocked about too much." A squall burst, laden with rain. "Don't move," said Simon. "There's a bathing-hut a few yards off. I'll just go and see. . . ." He hurried away. But there were already three men lying under the hut, which they had lashed to one of the buttresses of the parade. Others came up and tried to share the shelter. Blows were exchanged. Simon intervened. But the earth shook once more; and they could hear the crash of cliffs falling to right and left. "Where are you, father?" cried Simon, running back to the spot where he had left M. Dubosc. Finding no one there, he shouted. But the roar of the gale smothered his voice and he did not know in what direction to seek. Had his father been overcome by fresh fears and gone closer to the sea? Or had he, in his anxiety for his boats, returned to Dieppe as he had hinted? At a venture--but is it right to apply this term to the unconscious decisions which impel us to follow our destined path?--Simon began to run along the sand and shingle. Then, through the maze of slippery rocks, hampered by the snares spread by the wrack and sea-weed, stumbling into pools of water in which the towering breakers from the open sea had died away in swirling eddies or in lapping waves, he joined the ghostly figures which he had seen from a distance. He went from one to another and, failing to see his father, was thinking of returning to the parade, when a small incident occurred to make him change his mind. The full moon appeared in the sky. She was covered again immediately, then reappeared; and several times over, between the ragged clouds, her magnificent radiance flooded the sky. At this juncture, Simon, who had veered towards the right of the beach, discovered that the fallen cliffs had buried the shore under the most stupendous chaos imaginable. The white masses were piled one atop the other like so many mountains of chalk. And it looked to Simon as if one of these masses, carried by its own weight, had rolled right into the sea, whence it now rose some three hundred yards away. On reflection, he could not believe this possible, the distance being far too great; but then what was that enormous shape outstretched yonder like a crouching animal? A hundred times, in his childhood, he had paddled his canoe or come fishing in this part; and he knew for certain that nothing rose above the waters here. What was it? A sand-bank? But its outlines seemed too uneven and its grey colour was that of the rocks, naked rocks, without any covering of wrack or other sea-weed. He went forward, actuated in part by an eager curiosity, but still more by some mysterious and all-powerful force, the spirit of adventure. The adventure appealed to him: he must go up to this new ground whose origin he could not help attributing to the recent earthquake. And he went up to it. Beyond the first belt of sand, beyond the belt of small rocks where he stood, was the final bed of sand over which the waves rolled eternally. But from place to place there rose still more rocks, so that he was able, by a persistent effort, to reach what appeared to be a sort of promontory. The ground underfoot was hard, consisting of sedimentary deposits, as Old Sandstone would have said. And Simon realized that, as a result of the violent shocks and of some physical phenomenon whose action he did not understand, the bed of the sea had been forced upwards until it overtopped the waves by a height which varied in different places, but which certainly exceeded the level of the highest spring tides. The promontory was of no great width, for by the intermittent light of the moon Simon could see the foam of the breakers leaping on either side of this new reef. It was irregular in form, thirty or forty yards wide in one part and a hundred or even two hundred in another; and it ran on like a continuous embankment, following more or less closely the old line of the cliffs. Simon did not hesitate. He set out. The hilly, uneven surface, at first interspersed with pools of water and bristling with rocks which the stubborn labours of the sea had pushed thus far, became gradually flatter; and Simon was able to walk at a fair pace, though hampered by a multitude of objects, often half-buried in the ground, which the waves, not affecting the bottom of the sea, had been unable to sweep away: meat-tins, old buckets, scrap-iron, shapeless utensils of all kinds covered with sea-weed and encrusted with little shells. A few minutes later, he perceived Dieppe lying on his right, a scene of desolation which he divined rather than saw. The light of conflagrations not wholly extinguished reddened the sky; and the town looked to him like an unhappy city in which a horde of barbarians had sat encamped for weeks on end. The earth had merely shuddered and an even more stupendous disaster had ensued. At this moment, a fine tracery of grey clouds spread above the great black banks which were driving before the gale; and the moon disappeared. Simon felt irresolute. Since all the light-houses were demolished, how would he find his way if the darkness increased? He thought of his father, who was perhaps anxious, but he thought also--and more ardently--of his distant bride whom he had to win; and, as the idea of this conquest was blended in his mind--he could not have said why--with visions of dangers accepted and with extraordinary happenings, he felt vaguely that he would be right in going on. To go on meant travelling towards something formidable and unknown. The soil which had risen from the depths might sink again. The waves might reconqueror the lost ground and cut off all retreat. An unfathomable gulf might yawn beneath his footsteps. To go on was madness. And he went on. CHAPTER V VIRGIN SOIL It was hardly later than one o'clock in the morning. The storm was less furious and the squalls had ceased, so that Simon suddenly began to walk as quickly as the trifling obstacles over which he stumbled and the dim light of the sky would permit. For that matter, if he branched off too far in either direction, the nearer sound of the waves would serve as a warning. In this way he passed Dieppe and followed a direction which, while it varied by reason of curves and sudden turns, nevertheless, in his opinion, ran parallel with the Norman coast. During the whole of this first stage of his journey, he was only half-aware of what he was doing and had no thought but of making headway, feeling certain that his explorations would be interrupted from one minute to the next. It did not seem to him that he was penetrating into unlimited regions, but rather that he was really persistently pushing towards a goal which was close at hand, but which receded so soon as he approached it and which was no other than the extreme point of this miraculous peninsula. "There," he said to himself. "There it is. I've got there. The new ground goes as far as that. . . ." But the new ground continued to stretch into the darkness; and a little later he repeated: "It's over there. The line of breakers is closing up. I can see it." But the line opened out, leaving a passage by which Simon pursued his way. Two o'clock. . . . Half-past two. . . . Sometimes the water was up to his knees, sometimes his feet sank into a bed of thicker sand. These were the low-lying parts, the valleys of the peninsula; and there might perhaps be some, thought Simon where these beds would be deep enough to bar his passage. He went on all the more briskly. Ascents rose in front of him, leading him to mounds forty or fifty feet in height, whose farther slopes he descended rapidly. And, lost in the immensity of the sea, imprisoned by it, absorbed by it, he had the illusion that he was running over its surface, along the back of great frozen, motionless waves. He halted. Before him a speck of light had crossed the darkness, a long, a very long way off. Four times he saw the flame reappear at regular intervals. Fifteen seconds later came a fresh series of flashes, followed by a similar interval of darkness. "A light-house!" murmured Simon. "A light-house which the disaster has spared!" Just here the embankment ran in the direction of the light-house; and Simon calculated that it would thus end at Tréport, or perhaps farther north, if the light-house marked the estuary of the Somme, which was highly probable. In that case he would have to walk four or five hours longer, at the same swift pace. But he lost the intermittent gleams as suddenly as he had caught sight of them. He looked and failed to find them and felt overwhelmed, as though, after the death of these little twinkling flames, he could no longer hope ever to escape from the heavy darkness which was stifling him or to discover the tremendous secret in pursuit of which he had darted. What was he doing? Where was he? What did it all mean? What was the use of making such efforts? "Forward!" he cried. "At the double! and we don't do any more thinking. I shall understand presently, when I get there. Until then, it's a matter of going on and on, like a beast of burden." He spoke aloud, to shake off his drowsiness. And, as a protest against a weakness of which he was ashamed, he set off at a run. It was a quarter past three. In the keener air of the morning he was conscious of a sense of well-being. Moreover, he noticed that the obscurity around him was becoming lighter and was gradually lifting like a mist. The first glimmer of dawn appeared. The day broke quickly and at last the new land was visible to Simon's eyes, grey, as he had supposed, and yellower in places, with streaks of sand and hollows filled with water in which all sorts of fish were seen struggling or dying, with a whole galaxy of little islands and irregular shoals, beaches of fine, close-packed gravel, tracts of sea-weed and gentle undulations, like those of a rich plain. And in the midst of it all there was ever a multitude of objects whose real shape could no longer be distinguished, remnants enlarged and swollen by the addition of everything that could be encrusted or fastened on them, or else eaten away, worn out, corroded, or disintegrated by everything that helps to dissolve or to destroy. They were flotsam and jetsam of all kinds. Past counting, glistening with slime, of all types and of all materials, of an age to be reckoned in months or years, it might be in centuries, they bore witness to the unbroken procession of thousands and thousands of wrecks. And, as many as were these remnants of wood and iron, so many were the human lives engulfed in companies of tens and hundreds. Youth, health, wealth, hope: each wreck represented the destruction of all their dreams, of all their realities; and each also recalled the distress of the living, the mourning of mothers and wives. And the field of death stretched away indefinitely, an immense, tragic cemetery, such as the earth had never known, with endless lines of graves, tombstones and funeral monuments. To the right and left there was nothing, nothing but a dense fog rising from the water, hiding the horizon as completely as the veils of night and making it impossible for Simon to see more than a hundred yards in front of him. But from this fog new land-formations continued to emerge; and this seemed to him to fall so strictly within the domain of the fabulous and the incredible that he easily imagined them to be rising from the depths on his approach and assuming form and substance to offer him a passage. A little after four o'clock there was a return of the gale, an offensive of ugly clouds emitting volleys of rain and hail. The wind made a gap in the clouds, which it drove north and south, and then, on Simon's right, parallel with a belt of rosy light which divided the waves from the black sky, the coast-line became visible. It was a vaguely defined line which might have been taken for a fine streak of motionless clouds; but he knew its general appearance so well that he did not hesitate for a moment. It was the cliffs of the Seine-Inférieurs and the Somme, between Le Tréport and Cayeux. He rested for a few minutes; then, to lighten his outfit, he pulled off his boots, which were too heavy, and his leather jacket, which was making him too hot. Then taking his father's wallet out of the jacket, he found in one of the pockets two biscuits and a stick of chocolate which he himself had put there, so to speak, unwittingly. After making a meal of these, he set out again briskly, not with the cautious gait of an explorer who does not know whither he is going and who measures his efforts, but at the pace of an athlete who has fixed his time-table and keeps to it in spite of obstacles and difficulties. A strange light-heartedness uplifted him. He was glad to expend so much of the force which he had been storing for all these years and to expend it on a task of which he knew nothing, but of which he felt the exceptional greatness. His elbows were well tucked in and his head thrown back. His bare feet marked the sand with a faint trail. The wind bathed his face and played in and out of his hair. What joy! He kept up his pace for nearly four hours. Why should he hold himself in? He was always expecting the new formation to change its direction and, bending suddenly to the right, to join the coast of the Somme. And he went forward in all confidence. At certain points, progress became arduous. The sea had got up; and here and there the waves, rushing over those places where the sand, though clear of the water, was unprotected by a barrier of rocks, formed in the narrower portions actual rivers, flowing from one side to the other, which Simon had to wade, almost knee-deep in water. Moreover, he had taken so little food that he began to be racked with hunger. He had to slow down. And another hour went by. The great squalls had blown over. The returning sea-fogs seemed to have deadened the wind and were now closing in on him again. Once more Simon was walking through moving clouds which concealed his path from him. Less sure of himself, attacked by a sudden sense of loneliness and distress, he soon experienced a lassitude to which he was unwilling to surrender. This was a mistake. He recognized the fact: nevertheless, he struggled on as though in fulfillment of the most imperious duty. With an obstinate ring in his voice, he gave himself his orders: "Forward: Ten minutes more! . . . You must! . . . And, once more, ten minutes!" On either side lay things which, in any other circumstances, would have held his attention. An iron chest, three old guns, small-arms, cannon-balls, a submarine. Enormous fish lay stranded on the sand. Sometimes a white sea-gull circled through space. And so he came to a great wreck whose state of preservation betrayed a recent disaster. It was an overturned steamer, with her keel deeply buried in a sandy hollow, while her black stern stood erect, displaying a broad pink stripe on which Simon read: "The _Bonne Vierge_. Calais." And he remembered. The _Bonne Vierge_ was one of the two boats whose loss had been announced in the telegrams posted up at Newhaven. Employed in the coasting-trade between the north and west of France, she had sunk at a spot which lay in a direct line between Calais and Le Havre; and Simon saw in this a positive proof that he was still following the French coast, passing those seamarks whose names he now recalled: the Ridin de Dieppe, the Bassure de Baas, the Vergoyer and so on. It was ten o'clock in the morning. From the average pace which he had maintained, allowing for deviation and for hilly ground, Simon calculated that he had covered a distance of nearly forty miles as the crow flies and that he ought to find himself approximately on a level with Le Touquet. "What am I risking if I push on?" he asked himself. "At most I should have to do another forty miles to pass through the Straits of Dover and come out into the North Sea . . . in which case my position would be none too cheerful. But it will be devilish odd if, between this and that, I don't touch land somewhere. The only trouble is, whether it's forty miles on or forty miles back, those things can't be done on an empty stomach." Fortunately, for he was feeling symptoms of a fatigue to which he was unaccustomed, the problem solved itself without his assistance. After going round the wreck, he managed to crawl under the poop and there discovered a heap of packing-cases which evidently formed part of the cargo. All were more or less split or broken or gaping at the corners. But one of them, whose lid Simon had no difficulty in prying open, contained tins of syrup, bottles of wine and stacks of canned foods: meat, fish, vegetables and fruits. "Splendid!" he said, laughing. "Luncheon is served, sir. On top of that, a little rest; and the sooner I'm off the better!" He made an excellent lunch; and a long siesta, under the vessel, among the packing-cases, restored his strength completely. When he woke and saw that his watch was already pointing to noon, he felt uneasy at the waste of time and suddenly reflected that others must have taken the same path and would now be able to catch him up and outstrip him. And he did not intend this to happen. Accordingly, feeling as fit as at the moment of starting, provided with the indispensable provisions and determined to follow up the adventure to the very end, without a companion to share his glory or to rob him of it, he set off again at a very brisk, unflagging pace. "I shall get there," he thought, "I mean to get there. All this is an unprecedented phenomenon, the creation of a tract of land which will utterly change the conditions of life in this part of the world. I mean to be there first and to see . . . to see what? I don't know, _but I mean to do it_." What rapture to tread a soil on which no one has ever set foot! Men travel in search of this rapture to the utmost ends of the earth, to remote countries, no matter where; and very often the secret is hardly worth discovering. As for Simon, he was having his wonderful adventure in the heart of the oldest regions of old Europe. The Channel! The French coast! To be treading virgin soil here, of all places, where mankind had lived for three or four thousand years! To behold sights that no other eye had ever looked upon! To come after the Gauls, the Romans, the Franks, the Anglo-Saxons and to be the first to pass! To be the first to pass this way, ahead of the millions and millions of men who would follow in his track, on the new path which he would have inaugurated! One o'clock. . . . Half-past one. . . . More ridges of sand, more wrecks. Always that curtain of clouds. And always Simon's lingering impression of a goal which eluded him. The tide, still low, was leaving a greater number of islands uncovered. The waves were breaking far out to sea and rolling across wide sand-banks as though the new land had widened considerably. About two o'clock in the afternoon, he came upon higher undulations followed by a series of sandy flats in which his feet sank to a greater depth than usual. Absorbed by the dreary spectacle of a ship's mast protruding from the sand, with its tattered and coloured flag flopping in the wind, he pressed on all unsuspecting. In a few minutes, the sand was up to his knees, then half-way up his thighs. He laughed, still unheeding. In the end, however, unable to advance, he tried to return: his efforts were useless. He attempted to lift his legs by treading, as though climbing a flight of stairs, but he could not. He brought his hands into play, laying them flat on the sands: they too went under. Then he broke into a flood of perspiration. He suddenly understood the hideous truth: he was caught in a quicksand. It was soon over. He did not sink with the slowness that lends a little hope to the agony of despair. Simon fell, so to speak, into a void. His hips, his waist, his chest disappeared. His outstretched arms checked his descent for a moment. He stiffened his body, he struggled. In vain. The sand rose like water to his shoulders, to his neck. He began to shout. But in the immensity of these solitudes, to whom was his appeal addressed? Nothing could save him from the most horrible of deaths. Then it was that he shut his eyes and with clenched lips sealed his mouth, which was already full of the taste of the sand, and, in a fit of terror, he gave himself up for lost. CHAPTER VI TRIUMPH Afterwards, he never quite understood the chance to which he owed his life. The most that he could remember was that one of his feet touched something solid which served him as a support and that something else enabled him to advance, now a step, now two or three, to lift himself little by little out of his living tomb and to leave it alive. What had happened? Had he come upon a loose plank of the buried vessel whose flag he saw before him? He did not know. But what he never forgot was the horror of that minute, which was followed by such a collapse of all his will and strength that he remained for a long time lying on a piece of wreckage, unable to move a limb and shuddering all over with fever and mental anguish. He set off again mechanically, under the irresistible influence of confused feelings which bade him go forward and reconnoitre. But he had lost his former energy. His eyes remain obstinately fixed upon the ground. For no appreciable reason, he judged certain spots to be dangerous and avoided them by making a circuit, or even leapt back as though at the sight of an abyss. Simon Dubosc was afraid. Moreover, after reading on a piece of wood from a wreck the name of Le Havre, that is to say, the port which lay behind him, he asked himself anxiously whether the new land had not changed its direction; whether, by doubling upon itself, it was not leading him into the widest part of the Channel. The thought of no longer knowing where he was or whither he was going increased his lassitude twofold. He felt overwhelmed, discouraged, terribly alone. He had no hope of rescue, either by sea, on which no boat would dare put out, or from the air, which the sea-fog had made impossible for aeroplanes. What would happen then? Nevertheless he walked on; and the hours went by; and the belt of land unrolled vaguely before his eyes the same monotonous spectacle, the same melancholy sand-hills, the same dreary landscapes on which no sun had ever shone. "I shall get there," he repeated, stubbornly. "I mean to get there; I must and shall." Four o'clock. He often looked at his watch, as though expecting a miraculous intervention at some precise moment, he did not know when. Worn out by excessive and ill-directed efforts, exhausted by the fear of a hideous death, he was gradually yielding beneath the weight of a fatigue which tortured his body and unhinged his brain. He was afraid. He dreaded the trap laid for him by the sands. He dreaded the threatening night, the storm and, above all, hunger, for all his provisions had been lost in the abyss of the quicksand. The agony which he suffered! A score of times he was on the point of stretching himself on the ground and abandoning the struggle. But the thought of Isabel sustained him; and he walked on and on. And then, suddenly, an astonishing sight held him motionless. Was it possible? He hesitated to believe it, so incredible did the reality seem to him. But how could he doubt the evidence of his eyes? He stooped forward. Yes, it was really that: there were footprints! The ground was marked with footprints, the prints of two bare feet, very plainly defined and apparently quite recent. And immediately his stupefaction made way for a great joy, aroused by the sudden and clear conception of a most undeniable fact: the new land was indeed connected, as he had supposed, with some point on the northern coast of France; and from this point, which could not be very remote, in view of the distance which he himself had covered, one of his fellow-creatures had come thus far. Delighted to feel that there was human life near at hand, he recollected the incident where Robinson Crusoe discovers the imprint of a naked foot on the sand of his desert island: "It's Man Friday's footprint!" he said, laughing. "There is a Friday, too, in this land of mine! Let's see if we can find him!" At the point where he had crossed the trail, it branched off to the left and approached the sea. Simon was feeling surprised at not meeting or catching sight of any one, when he discovered that the author of the footprints, after going round a shapeless wreck, had turned and was therefore walking in the same direction as himself. After twenty minutes, the trail, intersected by a gully which ran across it, escaped him for a time. He found it again and followed it, skirting the base of a chain of rather high sand-hills, which ended suddenly in a sort of craggy cliff. On rounding this cliff Simon started back. On the ground, flat on its face, with the arms at right angles to the body, lay the corpse of a man, curiously dressed in a very short, yellow leather waistcoat and a pair of trousers, likewise leather, the ends of which were bell-shaped and slit in the Mexican fashion. In the middle of his back was the hilt of a dagger which had been driven between the shoulder-blades. What astonished Simon when he had turned the body over was that the face was brick-red, with prominent cheek-bones and long, black hair: it was the undoubted face of a Redskin. Blood trickled from the mouth, which was distorted by a hideous grin. The eyes were wide open, and showed only their whites. The contracted fingers had gripped the sand like claws. The body was still warm. "It can't be an hour since he was killed," said Simon, whose hand was trembling. And he added, "What the deuce brought the fellow here? By what unheard-of chance have I come upon a Redskin in this desert?" The dead man's pockets contained no papers to give Simon any information. But, near the body, within the actual space in which the struggle had taken place, another trail of footsteps came to an end, a double trail, made by the patterned rubber soles of a man who had come and gone. And, ten yards away, Simon picked up a gold hundred-franc piece, with the head of Napoleon I. and the date 1807. He followed this double trail, which led him to the edge of the sea. Here a boat had been put aground. It was now easy to reconstruct the tragedy. Two men who had landed on this newly-created shore had set out to explore it, each taking his own direction. One of them, an Indian, had found, in the hulk of some wreck, a certain quantity of gold coins, perhaps locked up in a strong-box. The other, to obtain the treasure for himself, had murdered his companion, and reëmbarked. Thus, on this virgin soil, Simon was confronted--it was the first sign of life--with a crime, with an act of treachery, with armed cupidity committing murder, with the human animal. A man finds gold. One of his fellows attacks and kills him. Simon pushed onwards without further delay, feeling certain that these two men, doubtless bolder than the rest, were only the forerunners of others coming from the mainland. He was eager to see these others, to question them upon the point whence they had started, the distance which they had covered and many further particulars which as yet remained unexplained. The thought of this meeting filled him with such happiness that he resisted his longing for rest. Yet what a torture was this almost uninterrupted effort! He had walked for sixteen hours since leaving Dieppe. It was eighteen hours since the moment when the great upheaval had driven him from his home. In ordinary times the effort would not have been beyond his strength. But under what lamentable conditions had he accomplished it! He walked on and on. Rest? And what if the others, coming behind him from Dieppe, should succeed in catching him up? The scene was always the same. Wrecks marked his path, like so many tomb-stones. The mist still hung above the endless grave-yard. After walking an hour, he was brought to a stop. The sea barred his way. The sea facing him! His disappointment was not unmixed with anger. Was this then the limit of his journey and were all these convulsions of nature to end merely in the creation of a peninsula cut off in this meaningless fashion? But, on scanning from the sloping shore the waves tossing their foam to where he stood, he perceived at some distance a darker mass, which gradually emerged from the mist; and he felt sure that this was a continuation of the newly-created land, beyond a depression covered by the sea: "I must get across," said Simon. He removed his clothes, made them into a bundle, tied it round his neck and entered the water. For him the crossing of this strait, in which, besides, he was for some time able to touch bottom, was mere child's-play. He landed, dried himself and resumed his clothes. A very gentle ascent led him, after some five hundred yards, to a reef, overtopped by actual hills of sand, but of sand so firm that he did not hesitate to set foot on it. He therefore climbed till he reached the highest crest of these hills. And it was here, at this spot--where a granite column was raised subsequently, with an inscription in letters of gold: two names and a date--it was here, on the 4th of June, at ten minutes past six in the evening, above a vast amphitheatre girt about with sand-hills like the benches of a circus, it was here that Simon Dubosc at last saw, climbing to meet him, a man. He did not move at first, so strong was his emotion. The man came on slowly, sauntering, as it were, examining his surroundings and picking his way. When at last he raised his head, he gave a start of surprise at seeing Simon and then waved his cap. Then Simon rushed towards him, with outstretched arms and an immense longing to press him to his breast. At a distance the stranger seemed a young man. He was dressed like a fisherman, in a brown canvas smock and trousers. His feet were bare; he was tall and broad-shouldered. Simon shouted to him: "I've come from Dieppe. You, what town do you come from? Did you take long to get here? Are you alone?" He could see that the fisherman was smiling and that his tanned, clean-shaven face wore a frank and happy expression. They met and clasped hands; and Simon repeated: "I started from Dieppe at one in the morning. And you? What port do you come from?" The man began to laugh and replied in words which Simon could not understand. He did not understand them, though he well enough recognized the language in which they were uttered. It was English, but a dialect spoken by the lower orders. He concluded that this was an English fisherman employed at Calais or Dunkirk. He spoke to him again, dwelling on his syllables and pointing to the horizon: "Calais? Dunkirk?" The other repeated these two names as well as he could, as though trying to grasp their meaning. At last his face lit up and he shook his head. Then, turning round and pointing in the direction from which he had come, he twice said: "Hastings. . . . Hastings. . . ." Simon started. But the amazing truth did not appear to him at once, though he was conscious of its approach and was absolutely dumbfounded. Of course, the fisherman was referring to Hastings as his birthplace or his usual home. But where had he come from at this moment? Simon made a suggestion: "Boulogne? Wimereux?" "No, no!" replied the stranger. "Hastings. . . . England. . . ." And his arm pointed persistently to the same quarter of the horizon, while he as persistently repeated: "England. . . . England. . . ." "What? What's that you're saying?" cried Simon. And he seized the man violently by the shoulders. "What's that you're saying? That's England behind you? You've come from England? No, no! You can't mean that. It's not true!" The sailor struck the ground with his foot: "_England!_" he repeated, thus denoting that the ground which he had stamped upon led to the English mainland. Simon was flabbergasted. He took out his watch and moved his forefinger several times round the dial. "What time did you start? How many hours have you been walking?" "Three," replied the Englishman, opening his fingers. "Three hours!" muttered Simon. "We are three hours from the English coast!" This time the whole stupendous truth forced itself upon him. At the same moment he realized what had caused his mistake. As the French coast ran due north, from the estuary of the Somme, it was inevitable that, in pursuing a direction parallel to the French coast, he should end by reaching the English coast at Folkestone or Dover, or, if his path inclined slightly toward the west, at Hastings. Now he had not taken this into account. Having had proof on three occasions that France was on his right and not behind him, he had walked with his mind dominated by the certainty that France was close at hand and that her coast might loom out of the fog at any moment. And it was the English coast! And the man who had loomed into sight was a man of England! What a miracle! How his every nerve throbbed as he held this man in his arms and gazed into his friendly face! He was exalted by the intuition of the extraordinary things which the tremendous event of the last few hours implied, in the present and the future; and his meeting with this man of England was the very symbol of that event. And the fisherman, too, felt the incomparable grandeur of the moment which had brought them together. His quiet smile was full of solemnity. He nodded his head in silence. And the two men, face to face, looking into each other's eyes, gazed at each other with the peculiar affection of those who have never been parted, who have striven side by side and who receive together the reward of their actions performed in common. The Englishman wrote his name on a piece of paper: William Brown. And Simon, yielding to one of his natural outbursts of enthusiasm, said: "William Brown, we do not speak the same language; you do not understand me and I understand you only imperfectly; and still we are bound together more closely than two loving brothers could be. Our embrace has a significance which we cannot yet imagine. You and I represent the two greatest and noblest countries in the world; and they are mingled together in our two persons." He was weeping. The Englishman still smiled, but his eyes were moist with tears. Excitement, excessive fatigue, the violence of the emotions which he had experienced that day, produced in Simon a sort of intoxication in which he found an unsuspected source of energy. "Come," he said to the fisherman catching hold of his arm. "Come, show me the way." He would not even allow William Brown to help him in difficult places, so determined was he to accomplish this glorious and magnificent undertaking by his unaided efforts. This last stage of his journey lasted three hours. Almost at the start they passed three Englishmen, to whom Brown addressed a few words and who, while continuing on their road, uttered exclamations of surprise. Then came two more, who stopped for a moment while Brown explained the situation. These two turned back with Simon and the fisherman; and all four, on coming closer to the sea, were attracted by a voice appealing for help. Simon ran forward and was the first to reach a woman lying on the sand. The waves were drenching her with their spray. She was bound by cords which fettered her legs, held her arms motionless against her body, pressed the wet silk of her blouse against her breast and bruised the bare flesh of her shoulders. Her black hair, cut rather short and fastened in front by a little gold chain, framed a dazzling face, with lips like the petals of a red flower and a warm, brown skin, burnt by the sun. The face, to an artist like Simon, was of a brilliant beauty and recalled to his mind certain feminine types which he had encountered in Spain or South America. Quickly he cut her bonds; and then, as his companions were approaching before he had time to question her, he slipped off his jacket and covered her beautiful shoulders with it. She gave him a grateful glance, as though this delicate act was the most precious compliment which he could pay her: "Thank you, thank you!" she murmured. "You are French, are you not?" But groups of people came hurrying along, followed by a more numerous company. Brown told the story of Simon's adventure; and Simon found himself separated from the young woman without learning more about her. People crowded about him, asking him questions. At every moment fresh crowds mingled with the procession which bore him along in its midst. All these people seemed to Simon unusually excited and strange in their behaviour. He soon learnt that the earthquake had devastated the English coast. Hastings, having been, like Dieppe, a centre of seismic shocks, was partly destroyed. About eight o'clock they came to the edge of a deep depression quite two-thirds of a mile in width. Filled with water until the middle of the afternoon, this depression, by a stroke of luck for Simon, had delayed the progress of those who were flying from Hastings and who had ventured upon the new land. A few minutes later, the fog being now less dense, Simon was able to distinguish the endless row of houses and hotels which lines the sea-fronts of Hastings and St. Leonards. By this time, his escort consisted of three or four hundred people; and many others, doubtless driven from their houses, were wandering in all directions with dazed expressions on their faces. The throng about him became so thick that soon he was able to see nothing in the heavy gloom of the twilight but their crowded heads and shoulders. He replied as best he could to the thousand questions which were put to him; and his replies, repeated from mouth to mouth, aroused cries of astonishment and admiration. Gradually, lights appeared in the Hastings windows. Simon, exhausted but indomitable, was walking briskly, sustained by a nervous energy which seemed to be renewed as and when he expended it. And suddenly he burst out laughing to think--and certainly no thought could have been more stimulating or better calculated to give a last fillip to his failing strength--to think that he, Simon Dubosc, a man of the good old Norman stock, was setting foot in England at the very spot where William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy, had landed in the eleventh century! Hastings! King Harold and his mistress, Edith of the swan's neck! The great adventure of yore was being reënacted! For the second time the virgin isle was conquered . . . and conquered by a Norman! "I believe destiny is favouring me, my Lord Bakefield," he said to himself. The new land joined the mainland between Hastings and St. Leonards. It was intersected by valleys and fissures, bristling with rocks and fragments of the cliffs, in the midst of which lay, in an indescribable jumble, the wreckage of demolished piers, fallen lighthouses, stranded and shattered ships. But Simon saw nothing of all this. His eyes were too weary to distinguish things save through a mist. They reached the shore. What happened next? He was vaguely conscious that some one was leading him, through streets with broken pavements and between heaps of ruins, to the hall of a casino, a strange, dilapidated building, with tottering walls and a gaping roof, but nevertheless radiant with electric light. The municipal authorities had assembled here to receive him. Champagne was drunk. Hymns of rejoicing were sung with religious fervour. A stirring spectacle and, at the same time, a striking proof of the national self-control, this celebration improvised in the midst of a town in ruins. But every one present had the impression that something of a very great importance had occurred, something so great that it outweighed the horror of the catastrophe and the consequent mourning: France and England were united! France and England were united; and the first man who had walked from the one country to the other by the path which had risen from the very depths of the ancient Channel that used to divide them was there, in their midst. What could they do but honour him? He represented in his magnificent effort the vitality and the inexhaustible ardour of France. He was the hero and the herald of the most mysterious future. A tremendous burst of cheering rose to the platform on which he stood. The crowd thronged about him, the men shook him by the hand, the ladies kissed him. They pressed him to make a speech which all could hear and understand. And Simon, leaning over these people, whose enthusiasm blended with his own exaltation, stammered a few words in praise of the two nations. The frenzy was so violent and unbridled that Simon was jostled, carried off his feet, swept into the crowd and lost among the very people who were looking for him. His only thought was to go into the first hotel that offered and throw himself down on a bed. A hand seized his; and a voice said: "Come with me; I will show you the way." He recognized the young woman whom he had released from her bonds. Her face likewise was transfigured with emotion. "You have done a splendid thing," she said. "I don't believe any other man could have done it. . . . You are above all other men. . . ." An eddy in the crowd tore them apart, although the stranger's hand clutched his. He fell to the floor among the overturned chairs, picked himself up again and was feeling at the end of his tether as he neared one of the exits, when suddenly he stood to attention. Strength returned to his limbs. Lord Bakefield and Isabel were standing before him. Eagerly Isabel held out her hand: "We were there, Simon. We saw you. I'm proud of you, Simon." He was astonished and confused. "Isabel! Is it really you?" She smiled, happy to see him so much moved in her presence. "It really is; and it's quite natural, since we live at Battle, a mile away. The catastrophe has spared the house but we came to Hastings to help the sufferers and in that way heard of your arrival . . . of your triumph, Simon." Lord Bakefield did not budge. He pretended to be looking in another direction. Simon addressed him. "May I take it, Lord Bakefield, that you will regard this day's work as a first step towards the goal for which I am making?" The old nobleman, stiff with pride and resentment, vouchsafed no reply. "Of course," Simon continued, "I haven't conquered England. But all the same there seem to be a series of circumstances in my favour which permit me at least to ask you whether you consider that the first of your conditions has been fulfilled." This time Lord Bakefield seemed to be making up his mind. But, just as he was going to reply--and his features expressed no great amount of good-will--Isabel intervened: "Don't ask my father any questions, Simon . . . He appreciates the wonderful thing that you have done at its true value. But you and I have offended him too seriously for him to be able to forgive you just yet. We must let time wipe out the unpleasant memory." "Time!" echoed Simon, with a laugh. "Time! The trouble is that I have only twelve days left in which to triumph over all the labours put upon me. After conquering England, I have still to win the laurels of Hercules . . . or of Don Quixote." "Well," she said, "in the meantime hurry off and go to bed. That's the best thing you can do for the moment." And she drew Lord Bakefield away with her. CHAPTER VII LYNX-EYE "What do you say to this, my boy? Did I prophesy it all, or did I not? Read my pamphlet on _The Channel in the Year 2000_ and you'll see. And then remember all I told you the other morning, at Newhaven station. Well, there you are: the two countries are joined together as they were once before, in the Eocene epoch." Awakened with a start by Old Sandstone, Simon, with eyes still heavy with slumber, gazed vacantly at the hotel bed-room in which he had been sleeping, at his old professor, walking to and fro, and at another person, who was sitting in the dark and who seemed to be an acquaintance of Old Sandstone's. "Ah!" yawned Simon. "But what's the time?" "Seven o'clock in the evening, my son." "What? Seven o'clock? Have I been sleeping since last night's meeting at the Casino?" "Rather! I was strolling about this morning, when I heard of your adventure. 'Simon Dubosc! I know him.' said I. I ran like mad. I rapped on the door. I came in. Nothing would wake you. I went away, came back again and so on, until I decided to sit down by your bedside and wait." Simon leapt out of bed. New clothes and clean linen had been laid out in the bathroom; and he saw, hanging on the wall, his jacket, the same with which he had covered the bare shoulders of the young woman whom he had released. "Who brought that?" he asked. "That? What?" asked Old Sandstone. Simon turned to him. "Tell me, professor, did any one come to this room while you were here?" "Yes, lots of people. They came in as they liked: admirers, idle sightseers. . . ." "Did a woman come in?" "Upon my word, I didn't notice. . . . Why?" "Why?" replied Simon, explaining. "Because last night, while I was asleep, I several times had the impression that a woman came up to me and bent over me. . . ." Old Sandstone shrugged his shoulders: "You've been dreaming, my boy. When one's badly overtired, one's likely to have those nightmares. . . ." "But it wasn't in the very least a nightmare!" said Simon, laughing. "It's stuff and nonsense, in any case!" cried Old Sandstone. "What does it matter? There's only one thing that matters: this sudden joining up of the two coasts . . . ! It's fairly tremendous, what? What do you think of it? It's more than a bridge thrown from shore to shore. It's more than a tunnel. It's a flesh-and-blood tie, a permanent junction, an isthmus, what? The Sussex Isthmus, the Isthmus of Normandy, they've already christened it." Simon jested: "Oh, an isthmus! . . . A mere causeway, at most!" "You're drivelling!" cried Old Sandstone. "Don't you know what happened last night? Why, of course not, the fellow knows nothing! He was asleep! . . . Then you didn't realize that there was another earthquake? Quite a slight one, but still . . . an earthquake? No? You didn't wake up? In that case, my boy, listen to the incredible truth, which surpasses what any one could have foreseen. It's no longer a question of the strip of earth which you crossed from Dieppe to Hastings. That was the first attempt, just a little trial phenomenon. But since then . . . oh, since then, my boy . . . you're listening, aren't you? Well, there, from Fécamp to Cape Gris-nez in France and from the west of Brighton to Folkestone in England: all that part, my boy, is now one solid mass. Yes, it forms a permanent junction, seventy to ninety miles wide, a bit of exposed ground equivalent at least to two large French departments or two fair-sized English counties. Nature hasn't done badly . . . for a few hours' work! What say you?" Simon listened in amazement: "Is it possible? Are you sure? But then it will be the cause of unspeakable losses. Think: all the coast-towns ruined . . . and trade . . . navigation. . . ." And Simon, thinking of his father and the vessels locked up in Dieppe harbour, repeated: "Are you quite sure?" "Why, of course I am!" said Old Sandstone, to whom all these considerations were utterly devoid of interest. "Of course I'm sure! A hundred telegrams, from all sides, vouch for the fact. What's more, read the evening papers. Oh, I give you my word, it's a blessed revolution! . . . The earthquake? The victims? We hardly mention them! . . . Your Franco-English raid? An old story! No, there's only one thing that matters to-day, on this side of the Channel: England is no longer an Island; she forms part of the European continent; she is riveted on to France!" "This," said Simon, "is one of the greatest facts in history!" "It's _the_ greatest, my son. Since the world has been a world and since men have been gathered into nations, there has been no physical phenomenon of greater importance than this. And to think that I predicted the whole thing, the causes and the effects, the causes which I am the only one to know!" "And what are they?" asked Simon. "How is it that I was able to pass? How is it. . . ." Old Sandstone checked him with a gesture which reminded Simon of the way in which his former lecturer used to begin his explanations at college; and the old codger, taking a pen and a sheet of paper, proceeded: "Do you know what a fault is? Of course not! Or a horst? Ditto! Oh, a geology-lesson at Dieppe college was so many hours wasted! Well, lend me your ears, young Dubosc! I will be brief and to the point. The terrestrial rind--that is, the crust which surrounds the internal fire-ball, of solidified elements and eruptive or sedimentary rocks--consists throughout of layers superposed like the pages of a book. Imagine forces of some kind, acting laterally, to compress those layers. There will be corrugations, sometimes actual fractures, the two sides of which, sliding one against the other, will be either raised or depressed. Faults is the name which we give to the fractures that penetrate the terrestrial shell and separate two masses of rock, one of which slides over the plane of fracture. The fault, therefore, reveals an edge, a lower lip produced by the subsidence of the soil, and an upper lip produced by an elevation. Now it happens that suddenly, after thousands and thousands of years, this upper lip, under the action of irresistible tangential forces, will rise, shoot upwards, and form considerable outthrows, to which we give the name of horsts. This is what has just taken place. . . . There exists in France, marked on the geological charts, a fault known as the Rouen fault, which is an important dislocation of the Paris basin. Parallel to the corrugations of the soil, which have wrinkled the cretaceous and tertiary deposits in this region from north-east to north-west, it runs from Versailles to seventy-five miles beyond Rouen. At Maromme, we lose it. But I, Simon, have found it again in the quarries above Longueville and also not far from Dieppe. And lastly I have found it . . . where do you think? In England, at Eastbourne, between Hastings and Newhaven! Same composition, same disposition. There was no question of a mistake. It ran from France to England! It ran under the Channel. . . . Ah, how I have studied it, my fault, Old Sandstone's fault, as I used to call it! How I have sounded it, deciphered its meanings, questioned it, analysed it! And then, suddenly in 1912, some seismic shocks affected the table-lands of the Seine-Inférieure and the Somme and acted in an abnormal manner as I was able to prove--on the tides! Shocks in Normandy! In the Somme! Right out at sea! Do you grasp the strangeness of such a phenomenon and how, on the other hand, it acquired a significant value from the very fact that it took place along a fault? Might we not suppose that there were stresses along this fault, that captive forces were seeking to escape through the earth's crust and attacking the points of least resistance, which happened to lie precisely along the lines of the faults? . . . You may call it an improbable theory. Perhaps so; but at any rate it seemed worth verifying. And I did verify it. I made diving-experiments within sight of the French coast. At my fourth descent, in the Ridin de Dieppe, where the depth is only thirty feet, I discovered traces of an eruption in the two blocks of a fault all of whose elements tallied with those of the Anglo-Norman fault . . . That was all I wanted to know. There was nothing more to do but wait . . . a century or two . . . or else a few hours. . . . Meanwhile it was patent to me that sooner or later the fragile obstacle opposed to the internal energies would break down and the great upheaval would come to pass. It has come to pass." Simon listened with growing interest. Old Sandstone illustrated his lecture with diagrams drawn with broad strokes of the pen and smeared with blots which his sleeve or fingers generously spread all over the paper. Drops of sweat also played their part, falling from his forehead, for Old Sandstone was always given to perspiring copiously. He repeated: "It has come to pass, with a whole train of precursory or concomitant phenomena: submarine eruptions, whirlpools, boats and ships hurled into the air and drawn under by the most terrible suction; and then seismic tremors, more or less marked, cyclones, waterspouts and the devil's own mischief; and then a cataclysm of an earthquake. And immediately afterwards, indeed at the same moment, the shooting up of one lip of the fault, projecting from one coast to the other, over a width of seventy or eighty miles. And then, on the top of it, you, Simon Dubosc, crossing the Channel at a stride. And this perhaps was not the least remarkable fact, my boy, in the whole story." Simon was silent for some time. Then he said: "So far, so good. You have explained the emergence of the narrow belt of earth which I walked along and whose width I measured with my eyes, I might say, incessantly. But how do you explain the emergence of this immense region which now fills the Straits of Dover and part of the Channel?" "Perhaps the Anglo-Norman fault had ramifications in the affected areas?" "I repeat, I saw only a narrow belt of land." "That is to say, you saw and crossed only the highest crests of the upheaved region, crests forming a ridge. But this region was thrown up altogether; and you must have noticed that the waves, instead of subsiding, were rolling over miles of beach." "That is so. Nevertheless the sea was there and is there no longer." "It is there no longer because it has receded. Phenomena of this extent produce reactions beyond their immediate field of activity and give rise to other phenomena, which in turn react upon the first. And, if this dislocation of the bottom of the Channel has raised one part, it may very well, in some other submarine part, have provoked subsidences and ruptures by which the sea has escaped through the crust. Observe that a reduction of level of six to nine feet was enough to turn those miles of barely covered beach into permanent dry land." "A supposition, my dear professor." "Nothing of the sort!" cried Old Sandstone, striking the table with his fists. "Nothing of the sort! I have positive evidence of this also; and I shall publish all my proofs at a suitable moment, which will not be long delayed." He drew from his pocket the famous locked wallet, whose grease-stained morocco had caught Simon's eye at Newhaven, and declared: "The truth will emerge from this, my lad, from this wallet in which my notes have been accumulating, four hundred and fifteen notes which must needs serve for reference. For, now that the phenomena has come to pass and all its mysterious causes have been wiped out by the upheaval, people will never know anything except what I have observed by personal experiments. They will put forward theories, draw inferences, form conclusions. _But they will not see._ Now I . . . have _seen_." Simon, who was only half listening, interrupted: "In the meantime, my dear professor, I am hungry. Will you have some dinner?" "No, thanks. I must catch the train to Dover and cross to-night. It seems the Calais-Dover boats are running again; and I have no time to lose if I'm to publish an article and take up a definite position." He glanced at his watch. "Phew! It's jolly late! . . . If only I don't lose my train! . . . See you soon, my boy!" . . . He departed. The other person sitting in the dark had not stirred during this conversation and, to Simon's great astonishment, did not stir either after Old Sandstone had taken his leave. Simon, at switching on the light, was amazed to find himself face to face with an individual resembling in every respect the man whose body he had seen near the wreck on the previous evening. There was the same brick-red face, the same prominent cheek-bones, the same long hair, the same buff leather clothing. This man, however, was very much younger, with a noble bearing and a handsome face. "A true Indian chief," thought Simon, "and it seems to me that I have seen him before. . . . Yes, I have certainly seen him somewhere. But where? And when?" The stranger was silent. Simon asked him: "What can I do for you, please?" The other had risen to his feet. He went to the little table on which Simon had emptied his pockets, took up the coin with the head of Napoleon I. which Simon had found the day before and, speaking excellent French, but in a voice whose guttural tone harmonized with his appearance, said: "You picked up this coin yesterday, on your way here, near a dead body, did you not?" His guess was so correct and so unexpected that Simon could but confirm it: "I did . . . near a man who had just been stabbed to death." "Perhaps you were able to trace the murderer's footprints?" "Yes." "They were prints of bathing-shoes or tennis-shoes, with patterned rubber soles?" "Yes, yes!" said Simon, more and more puzzled. "But how do you know that?" "Well, sir," continued the man whom Simon silently called the Indian, without replying to the question, "Well, sir, yesterday one of my friends, Badiarinos by name, and his niece Dolores, wishing to explore the new land after the convulsions of the morning, discovered, in the harbour, amid the ruins, a narrow channel which communicated with the sea and was still free at that moment. A man who was getting into a boat offered to take my friend and his niece along with him. After rowing for some time, they saw several large wrecks and landed. Badiarinos left his niece in the boat and went off in one direction, while their companion took another. An hour later, the latter returned alone, carrying an old broken cash-box with gold escaping from it. Seeing blood on one of his sleeves, Dolores became alarmed and tried to get out of the boat. He flung himself upon her and, in spite of her desperate resistance, succeeded in tying her up. He took the oars again and turned back along the new coast-line. On the way, he decided to get rid of her and threw her overboard. She had the good luck to fall on a sandbank which became uncovered a few minutes later and which was soon joined to the mainland. For all that, she would have been dead if you had not released her." "Yes," murmured Simon, "a Spaniard, isn't she? Very beautiful. . . . I saw her again at the casino." "We spent the whole evening," continued the Indian, in the same impassive tones, "hunting for the murderer, at the meeting in the casino, in the bars of the hotels, in the public-houses, everywhere. This morning we began again . . . and I came here, wishing also to bring you the coat which you had lent to my friend's niece." "It was you, then? . . ." "Now, on entering the corridor upon which your room opens, I heard someone groaning and I saw, a little way ahead of me--the corridor is very dark--I saw a man dragging himself along the floor, wounded, half-dead. A servant and I carried him into one of the rooms which are being used for infirmary purposes; and I could see that he had been stabbed between the shoulders . . . as my friend was! Was I on the track of the murderer? It was difficult to make enquiries in this great hotel, crammed with the mixed crowd of people who have come here for shelter. At last I discovered that, a little before nine o'clock, a lady's maid, coming from outside, with a letter in her hand, had asked the porter for M. Simon Dubosc. The porter replied, 'Second floor, room 44.'" "But I haven't had that letter!" Simon remarked. "The porter, luckily for you, mistook the number. You're in room 43." "And what became of it? Who sent it?" "Here is a piece of the envelope which I picked up," replied the Indian. "You can still make out a seal with Lord Bakefield's arms. So I went to Battle House." "And you saw . . . ?" "Lord Bakefield, his wife and his daughter had left for London this morning, by motor. But I saw the maid, the one who had been to the hotel with a letter for you from her mistress. As she was going upstairs, she was overtaken by a gentleman who said, 'M. Simon Dubosc is asleep and said I was to let no one in. I'll give him the letter.' The maid therefore handed him the letter and accepted a tip of a louis. Here's the louis. It's one with the head of Napoleon I. and the date 1807 and is therefore precisely similar to the coin which you picked up near my friend's body." "And then?" asked Simon, anxiously. "Then this man . . . ?" "The man, having read the letter, went and knocked at room 44, which is the next room to yours. Your neighbour opened the door and was seized by the throat, while the murderer, with his free arm, drove a dagger into his neck, above the shoulders." "Do you mean to say that he was stabbed instead of me? . . ." "Yes, instead of you. But he is not dead. They will pull him through." Simon was stunned. "It's dreadful!" he muttered. "Again, that particular way of striking! . . ." After a short pause, he asked: "Do you know nothing of the contents of the letter?" "From some words exchanged by Lord Bakefield and his daughter the maid gathered that they were discussing the wreck of the _Queen Mary_, the steamer on which Miss Bakefield had been shipwrecked the other day and which must be lying high and dry by now. Miss Bakefield appears to have lost a miniature." "Yes," said Simon, thoughtfully, "yes, I dare say. But it is most distressing that this letter was not placed in my own hands. The maid ought never to have given it up." "Why should she have been suspicious?" "What! Of the first person she met?" "But she knew him." "She knew this man?" "Certainly. She had often seen him at Lord Bakefield's; he is a frequent visitor to the house." "Then she was able to give you his name?" "She told me his name." "Well?" "His name's Rolleston." Simon gave a start. "Rolleston!" he exclaimed. "But that's impossible! . . . Rolleston! What madness! . . . What's the fellow like? Give me a description of him." "The man whom the maid and I saw is very tall, which enables him to bend over his victims and stab them from above between the shoulders. He is thin . . . stoops a little . . . and he's very pale. . . ." "Stop!" ordered Simon, impressed by this description, which was that of Edward. "Stop! . . . The man is a friend of mine and I'll answer for him as I would for myself. Rolleston a murderer! What nonsense!" And Simon broke into a nervous laugh, while the Indian, still impassive, resumed: "Among other matters, the maid told me of a public-house, frequented by rather doubtful people, where Rolleston, a great whiskey-drinker, was a familiar customer. This information was found to be correct. The barman, whom I tipped lavishly, told me that Rolleston had just been there, at about twelve o'clock, that he had enlisted half-a-dozen rascals who were game for anything and that the object of the expedition was the wreck of the _Queen Mary_. I was now fully informed. The whole complicated business was beginning to have a meaning; and I at once made the necessary preparations, though I made a point of coming back here constantly, so that I might be present when you awoke and tell you the news. Moreover, I took care that your friend, Mr. Sandstone, should watch over you; and I locked your pocketbook, which was lying there for anybody to help himself from, in this drawer. I took ten thousand francs out of it to finance our common business." Simon was past being astonished by the doings of this strange individual. He could have taken all the notes with which the pocketbook was crammed; he had taken only ten. He was at least an honest man. "Our business?" said Simon. "What do you mean by that?" "It will not take long to explain, M. Dubosc," replied the Indian, speaking as a man who knows beforehand that he has won his cause. "It's this. Miss Bakefield lost, in the wreck of the _Queen Mary_, a miniature of the greatest value; and her letter was asking you to go and look for it. The letter was intercepted by Rolleston, who was thus informed of the existence of this precious object and at the same time, no doubt, became acquainted with Miss Bakefield's feelings towards you. If we admit that Rolleston, as the maid declares, is in love with Miss Bakefield, this in itself explains his pleasant intention of stabbing you. At any rate, after recruiting half-a-dozen blackguards of the worst kind, he set out for the wreck of the _Queen Mary_. Are you going to leave the road clear for him, M. Dubosc?" Simon did not at once reply. He was thinking. How could he fail to be struck by the logic of the facts that had come to his notice? Nor could he forget Rolleston's habits, his way of living, his love of whisky and his general extravagance. Nevertheless, he once more asserted; "Rolleston is incapable of such a thing." "All right," said the Indian. "But certain men have set out to seize the _Queen Mary_. Are you going to leave the road clear for them? I'm not. I have the death of my friend Badiarinos to avenge. You have Miss Bakefield's letter to bear in mind. We will make a start then. Everything is arranged. Four of my comrades have been notified. I have bought arms, horses and enough provisions to last us. I repeat, everything is ready. What are you going to do?" Simon threw off his dressing-gown and snatched at his clothes: "I shall come with you." "Oh, well," said the Indian smiling, "if you imagine that we can venture on the new land in the middle of the night! What about the water-courses? And the quicksands? And all the rest of it? To say nothing of the devil's own fog! No, no, we shall start to-morrow morning, at four o'clock. In the meantime, eat, M. Dubosc, and sleep." Simon protested: "Sleep! Why, I've done nothing else since yesterday!" "That's not enough. You have undergone the most terrible exertions; and this will be a trying expedition, very trying and very dangerous. You can take Lynx-Eye's word for it." "Lynx-Eye?" "Antonio or Lynx-Eye: those are my names," explained the Indian. "Then to-morrow morning, M. Dubosc!" Simon obeyed like a child. Since they had been living for the past few days in such a topsy-turvy world, could he do better than follow the advice of a man whom he had never seen, who was a Red Indian and who was called Lynx-Eye? When he had had his meal, he glanced through an evening paper. There was an abundance of news, serious and contradictory. It was stated that Southampton and Le Havre were blocked. It was said that the British fleet was immobilized at Portsmouth. The rivers, choked at their mouths, were overflowing their banks. Everywhere all was disorder and confusion; communications were broken, harbours were filled with sand, ships were lying on their sides, trade was interrupted; everywhere devastation reigned and famine and despair; the local authorities were impotent and the governments distraught. It was late when Simon at last fell into a troubled sleep. It seemed to him that after an hour or two some one opened the door of his room; and he remembered that he had not bolted it. Light footsteps crossed the carpet. Then he had the impression that some one bent over him and that this some one was a woman. A cool breath caressed his face and in the darkness he divined a shadow moving quickly away. He tried to switch on the light, but there was no current. The shadow left the room. Was it the young woman whom he had released, who had come? But why should she have come? CHAPTER VIII ON THE WAR-PATH At four o'clock in the morning, the streets were almost empty. A few fruit and vegetable-carts were making their way between the demolished houses and the shattered pavements. But from a neighbouring avenue there emerged a little cavalcade in which Simon immediately recognized, at the head of the party, astride a monstrous big horse, Old Sandstone, wearing his rusty top-hat, with the skirts of his black frock-coat overflowing either side of a saddle with bulging saddle-bags. Next came Antonio, _alias_ Lynx-Eye, likewise mounted; then a third horseman, perched like the others behind heavy saddle-bags; and lastly three persons on foot, one of whom held the bridle of a fourth horse. The three pedestrians had brick-red faces and long hair and were dressed in the same style as Lynx-Eye, in soft leggings with leather fringes, velveteen breeches, flannel girdles, wide-brimmed felt hats, with gaudy ribbons: in short, a heterogeneous, picturesque band, with many-coloured accoutrements, in which the adornments dear to circus cow-boys were displayed side by side with those of one of Fenimore Cooper's Redskins, or one of Gustave Aymard's scouts. They carried rifles slung across their shoulders and revolvers and daggers in their belts. "What the deuce!" exclaimed Simon. "Why, this is a martial progress! Are we going among savages?" "We are going into a country," replied Antonio, gravely, "Where there are no inhabitants, no inns, no victuals, but where there are already visitors as dangerous as beasts of prey, which is why we have to carry two days' provisions and two days' supply of oats and compressed fodder for our mounts. This, then, is our escort. These are the brothers Mazzani, the elder and the younger. This is Forsetta. Here is Mr. Sandstone. Here, on horseback, is one of my personal friends. And here, lastly, for you, is Orlando III. a half-breed by Gracious out of Chiquita." And, at a sign from the Indian, a noble animal was led forward, lean, sinewy and nervous, standing very high on its long legs. Simon mounted, much amused: "And you, my dear professor?" he said to Old Sandstone: "Are you one of the party?" "I lost my train," said the old fellow, "and on returning to the hotel I met Lynx-Eye, who recruited me. I represent science and am entrusted with the geological, geographical, crographical, stratigraphical, palaeontological and other observations. I shall have plenty to do." "Forward, then!" commanded Simon. And, taking the lead with Antonio, he at once said, "Now tell me about your companions. And you, Lynx-Eye, where do _you_ hail from? After all, if there are still a few specimens of Redskins left, they're not out for a good time on the highways of Europe. Confess that you are, all of you, made up and disguised." "They are no more made up than I am," said Antonio. "We come from the other side. For my part, I am the grandson of one of the last remaining Indian chiefs, Long Carbine who ran away with the little daughter of a Canadian trapper. My mother was a Mexican. You see that, though there's a mixture, our origins are beyond dispute." "But afterwards, Lynx-Eye? What has happened afterwards? I'm not aware that the British government provides for the descendants of the Sioux or Mohicans?" "There are other concerns besides the British government," said the Indian. "What do you mean?" "I mean there are concerns which are interested in keeping us going." "Really? What are they?" "The cinema-firms." Simon struck his hand against his forehead: "What an idiot I am! Why didn't I think of that? Then you are. . . ." "Simply film actors from the Far West, the Prairies and the Mexican frontier." "That's it! That's it!" cried Simon. "I have seen you on the screen, haven't I? And I've seen . . . hold on. I remember now, I've seen the fair Dolores also, haven't I? But what are you doing in Europe?" "An English company sent for me and I engaged a few friends over there, who, like myself, are the very mixed descendants of Red Indians, Mexicans and Spaniards. Now, M. Dubosc, one of these friends of mine--the best, for I can't say much for the others, and I advise you, if the occasion should arise, to be very careful with Forsetta and the Mazzani brothers--the best, M. Dubosc, was murdered the day before yesterday by Rolleston. I loved Badiarinos as a son loves his father. I have sworn to avenge him. There you have it." "Lynx-Eye, grandson of Long Carbine," said Simon, "we will avenge your friend, but Rolleston is not guilty of his murder. . . ." For a man like Simon, to whom practical navigation, in the air or on the sea, had given a keen sense of direction and who, moreover, kept on consulting his compass, it was child's play to reach a spot whose latitude and longitude he was able to determine more or less exactly. He galloped due south, after making the calculation that, if nothing forced them to turn aside, they would have to cover a distance of about thirty miles. Almost immediately, the little troop, leaving on their left the line of ridges which Simon had followed a few days before, struck off across a series of rather lower sand-hills, which nevertheless were high enough to overlook immense beds of yellow mud, covered with a network of small, winding streams. This was the slime deposited by the rivers of the coast and carried out to sea by the tides and currents. "Grand alluvial soil," said Old Sandstone. "The water will form channels for itself. The sandy parts will be absorbed." "In five years," said Simon, "we shall see herds of cattle grazing on the very bed of the sea; and five years later there will be railway-lines across it and palatial hotels standing in the middle." "Perhaps; but, for the moment the situation is not promising," observed the old professor. "Look here, look at this newspaper, published yesterday evening. In both France and England the disorder is complete. Social and economic life has been suddenly paralyzed. No more public services. Letters and telegrams may or may not be delivered. Nothing definite is known; and people are saying the most extraordinary things. The cases of insanity and suicide, it seems, are numberless. And the crimes! Isolated crimes, crimes committed by gangs of criminals, riots, shops and churches pillaged wholesale. It's an absolute chaos; we are back in the dark ages." The stratum of mud, formerly swept by the ground-wash, was not very thick; and they were able, time after time, to venture upon it without the least danger. For that matter, it was already indented with footprints, which also marked the still moist sand of the hills. They passed the hulk of a steamboat round which some people had established a sort of camp. Some were poking about the hull. Others were entering by the battered funnel, or demolishing the woodwork with hammers, or breaking open cases of more or less intact provisions. Women of the people, women in rags and tatters, wearing the look of hunted animals, sat on pieces of timber, waiting. Children ran about, playing; and already, marking a first attempt at communal life, a pedlar was moving through the crowd with a keg of beer on his back, while two girls, installed behind a tottering bar, were selling tea and whisky. Farther on, they saw a second camp and, in all directions, men prowling about, solitary individuals, who, like themselves, were reconnoitring. "Capital!" cried Simon. "The prairie lies stretched before us, with all its mysteries and all its lurking dangers. Here we are on the war-path; and the man who leads us is a Red Indian chief." After they had trotted for two hours at a brisk pace, the prairie was represented by undulating plains, in which sand and mud alternated in equal proportions and in which hesitating streams of no great depth were seeking a favourable bed. Over it hung a low, thick, stationary fog, apparently as solid as a ceiling. "What a miracle, my dear Old Sandstone!" cried Simon, while they were following a long ribbon of fine gravel which stretched before them, like a sunken path winding through the greensward of a park. "What a miracle, an adventure of this sort! A horrible adventure, certainly; a disaster causing superhuman suffering, death and mourning; but extraordinary adventure, the finest that a man of my age could dream of. It's all so prodigious!" "Prodigious, indeed!" said Old Sandstone, who, faithful to his mission, was pursuing his scientific investigations. "Prodigious! Thus, the presence of this gravel in this place constitutes one of the unprecedented events of which you are speaking. And then look at that bank of great golden fish lying over there, with their upturned bellies. . . ." "Yes, yes, professor," replied Simon. "It's impossible that such an upheaval should not usher in a new age! If I look at the future as people sometimes look at a landscape, with my eyes half-closed, I can see . . . heavens, what don't I see! . . . What don't I imagine! . . . What a tragedy of folly, passion, hatred, love, violence, and noble efforts! We are entering upon one of those periods in which men are full to overflowing of energy, in which the will goes to the head like a generous wine!" The young man's enthusiasm ended by annoying Old Sandstone, who moved away from his expansive companion, grumbling: "Simon, the memory of Fenimore Cooper is making you lose your head. You're getting too talkative, my son." Simon was not losing his head, but he was possessed by a burning fever and, after the hours which he had experienced two days before, was quivering with impatience to return, so to speak, to the world of abnormal actions. In point of fact, Isabel's image was before him in all his thoughts and in all his dreams. He paid hardly any attention to the precise aim of his expedition or to the campaign which they were undertaking to recover a certain object. The precious miniature was hidden in the rug where he was sure to find it. Rolleston? His gang of ruffians? Men stabbed in the back? A pack of inventions and nightmares! The only reality was Isabel. The only aim before him was to distinguish himself as a knight fighting for the love of his lady. Meanwhile there were no longer any camps around wrecks, nor parties of people searching for valuables, but only individual prowlers and very few of these, as though most of the people were afraid to go too far from the coast. The surface was becoming more broken, consisting, no doubt, as Old Sandstone explained, of former sand banks which the seismic disturbances had shaken down and mixed with the underlying sedimentary strata. They had to go out of their way to avoid not shattered rocks indeed, nor compact cliffs, but raised tracts of ground that had not yet assumed those definite forms in which we perceive the action of time, of time which separates, classifies and discriminates, which organizes chaos and gives it a durable aspect. They crossed a sheet of perfectly clear water, contained within a circle of low hills. The bottom was carpeted with little white pebbles. Then they descended, between two very high banks of mud, a narrow gully through which the water trickled in slender cascades. As they emerged from this gully, the Indian's horse shied. A man was kneeling on the ground, groaning and writhing in pain, his face covered with blood. Another man lay near him, his white face turned to the sky. Antonio and Simon at once sprang from their horses. When the wounded man raised his head, Simon cried: "Why, I know him . . . it's Williams, Lord Bakefield's secretary. And I know the other too: it's Charles, the valet. They have been attacked. What is it, Williams? You know me, Simon Dubosc." The man could hardly speak. He spluttered: "Bakefield . . . Lord Bakefield. . . ." "Come, Williams, tell me what happened?" "Yesterday . . . yesterday. . . ." replied the secretary. "Yes, yesterday you were attacked. By whom?" "Rolleston. . . ." Simon started: "Rolleston! Did he kill Charles?" "Yes. . . . I. . . . I was wounded. . . . I have been calling out all night. And, just now, another man. . . ." Antonio put a question: "You were attacked again, were you not, by some thief who wanted to rob you. . . . And, when he heard us coming, he too stabbed you and took to his heels? Then he is not far away?" "There . . . there," stammered Williams, trying to stretch out his arm. The Indian pointed to footsteps which led to the left, up the slope of the hills: "There's the trail," he said. "I'll follow it up," said Simon, leaping into the saddle. The Indian protested: "What's the use?" "Use? The scoundrel must be punished!" Simon went off at a gallop, followed by one of the Indian's companions, the one who rode the fourth horse and whose name he did not know. Almost immediately, at five hundred yards ahead, on the ridge of the hills, a man rose from the cover of some blocks of stone and made away at the top of his speed. Two minutes later, Simon reached these blocks and exclaimed: "I see him! He's going around the lake which we crossed. Let's make straight for him." He descended the farther slope and forced his horse into the water, which, at this point, covered a layer of mud so deep that the two riders had some difficulty in getting clear of it. When they reached the opposite shore, the fugitive, seeing that there were only two of them, turned round, threw up his rifle and covered them: "Halt," he commanded, "or I fire!" Simon was going too fast and could not pull up. At the moment when the shot rang, he was at most twenty yards from the murderer. But another rider had leapt between them and was holding his horse, reared on its hind legs, like a rampart in front of Simon. The animal was hit in the belly and fell. "Thanks, old chap, you've saved my life!" cried Simon, abandoning the pursuit and dismounting to succour the other, who was in an awkward position, jammed under his horse and in danger of being kicked by the dying brute. Nevertheless, when Simon endeavoured to extricate him, the fallen rider did nothing to assist his efforts; and, after releasing him with some difficulty, he perceived that the man had fainted. "That's odd!" thought Simon. "Those fellows don't usually faint over a fall from a horse!" He knelt down beside the other and, seeing that his breathing was embarrassed, undid the first few buttons of his shirt and uncovered the upper part of his chest. He was stupefied and for the first time looked at his companion, who hitherto, in the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat, had seemed to him like the other Indians of the escort. The hat had fallen off. Quickly, Simon lifted an orange silk kerchief bound round the head and neck of the supposed Red Indian, whose hair escaped from it in thick black curls. "The girl!" he muttered. "Dolores!" Once more he had before his eyes the vision of radiant beauty to which his mind had recurred several times during the past two days, though no emotion mingled with his admiration. He was so far from any thought of concealing this admiration that the young woman, on recovering consciousness, surprised it in his gaze. She smiled: "I'm all right now!" she said. "I was only stunned." "You're not in pain?" "No. I am used to accidents. I've often had to fall from my horse for the films. . . . This one's dead, isn't he? Poor creature!" "You've saved my life," said Simon. "We're quits," she replied. Her expression was grave and harmonized with her slightly austere features. Her's was one of those beautiful faces which are peculiarly disconcerting by reason of the contrasts which they present, being at once passionate and chaste, noble and sensuous, pensive and enticing. Simon asked her, point blank: "Was it you who came to my room yesterday, first in broad daylight and afterwards at night?" She blushed, but admitted: "Yes, it was I." And, at a movement of Simon's, she added: "I felt uneasy. People were being killed, in town and in the hotel. I had to watch over you, who had saved my life." "I thank you," he said once more. "Don't thank me. I have been doing things in spite of myself . . . these last two days. You seem to me so different from other men! . . . But I ought not to speak to you like this. Don't be vexed with me!" Simon held out his hand to her, when suddenly she assumed a listening attitude and then, after a moment's attention, straightened her clothes, hid her hair beneath her kerchief and put on her hat. "It's Antonio," she said, in a different tone. "He must have heard the firing. Don't let him know that you recognized me, will you?" "Why?" asked Simon, in surprise. She replied, in some embarrassment: "It's better. . . . Antonio is very masterful. He forbade me to come. It was only when he was naming the three Indians of the escort that he recognized me; I had taken the fourth Indian's horse. . . . So, you see. . . ." She did not complete her sentence. A horseman had made his appearance on the ridge. When he came up to them, Dolores had unfastened her saddle-bags and was strapping them to the saddle of Simon's horse. Antonio asked no questions. There was no exchange of explanations. With a glance he reconstructed the scene, examined the dead animal and, addressing the young woman by her name, perhaps to show that he was not taken in, said: "Have my horse, Dolores." Was it the mere familiarity of a comrade, or that of a man who wishes, in the presence of another man, to assert his rights or his pretentions to a woman? His tone was not imperious, but Simon surprised the glance that flashed anger on the one side and defiance on the other. However, he paid little attention, being much less anxious to discover the private motives which actuated Dolores and Antonio than to elucidate the problem arising from his meeting with Lord Bakefield's secretary. "Did Williams say anything?" he asked Antonio, who was beside him. "No, he died without speaking." "Oh! He's dead! . . . And you discovered nothing?" "Nothing." "Then what do you think? Were Williams and Charles sent to the _Queen Mary_ by Lord Bakefield and his daughter and were they to find me and help me in my search? Or did they go on their own account?" They soon joined the three pedestrians of the escort, to whom Old Sandstone, with a cluster of shells in his hand, was giving a geological lesson. The three pedestrians were asleep. "I'm going ahead," said Antonio to Simon. "Our horses need a rest. In an hour's time, set out along the track of the white pebbles which I shall drop as I go. You can ride at a trot. My three comrades are good runners." He had already gone some paces, when he returned and, drawing Simon aside, looked him straight in the eyes and said: "Be on your guard with Dolores, M. Dubosc. She is one of these women of whom it is wise to beware. I have seen many a man lose his head over her." Simon smiled and could not refrain from saying: "Perhaps Lynx-Eye is one of them?" The Indian repeated: "Be on your guard, M. Dubosc!" And with these words he went his way. They seemed to sum up all that he thought of Dolores. Simon ate, stretched himself out on the ground and smoked some cigarettes. Sitting on the sand, Dolores unpicked a few seams of the wide trousers which she was wearing and arranged them in such a fashion that they might have been taken for a skirt. An hour later, as Simon was making ready to start, his attention was attracted by a sound of voices. At some little distance, Dolores and one of the three Indians were standing face to face and disputing in a language which Simon did not understand, while the brothers Mazzani were watching them and grinning. Dolores' arms were folded across her breast; she stood motionless and scornful. The man, on the contrary, was gesticulating, with a snarling face and glittering eyes. Suddenly he took both Dolores' arms and, drawing her close to him, sought her lips. Simon leapt to his feet. But there was no need of intervention; the Indian had at once recoiled, pricked at the throat by a dagger which Dolores held before her, the handle pressed against her bosom, the point threatening her adversary. The incident was not followed by any sort of explanation. The Indian made off, grumbling. Old Sandstone, who had seen nothing, tackled Simon on the subject of his geological fault; and Simon merely said to himself, as Dolores tightened her saddle-girth: "What the deuce are all these people up to?" He did not waste time in seeking for an answer to the question. The little band did not overtake Antonio until three hours later, when he was stooping over the ground, examining some footprints. "There you are," he said to Simon, straightening his back. "I have made out thirteen distinct tracks, left by people who certainly were not travelling together. In addition to these thirteen highwaymen--for a man has to be a pretty tough lot to risk the journey--there are two parties ahead of us: first, a party of four horsemen and then, walking behind them--how many hours later I couldn't say--a party of seven on foot, forming Rolleston's gang. Look, here's the print of the patterned rubber soles." "Yes, yes," said Simon, recognizing the footprint which he had seen two days before. "And what do you conclude?" "I conclude that Rolleston, as we knew, is in it and that all these gentry, separate prowlers and parties, are making for the _Queen Mary_, the last large Channel boat sunk and the nearest to this part of the coast. Think, what a scoop for marauders!" "Let's push on!" cried the young man, who was now uneasy at the thought that he might fail in the mission which Isabel had allotted to him. One by one, five other tracks coming from the north--from Eastbourne, the Indian thought--joined the first. In the end they made such an intricate tangle that Antonio had to give up counting them. However, the footprints of the rubber soles and those of the four horses continued to appear in places. They marched on for some time. The landscape showed little variety, revealing sandy plains and hills, stretches of mud, rivers and pools, of water left by the sea and filled with fish which had taken refuge there. It was all monotonous, without beauty or majesty, but strange, as anything that has never been seen before or anything that is shapeless must needs be strange. "We are getting near," said Simon. "Yes," said the Indian, "the tracks are coming in from all directions; and here even are marauders returning northwards, laden with their swag." It was now four in the afternoon. Not a rift was visible in the ceiling of motionless clouds. Rain fell in great, heavy drops. For the first time they heard the overhead roar of an aeroplane flying above the insuperable obstacle. . . . They followed a depression in the ground, succeeded by hills. And suddenly a bulky object rose before them. It was the _Queen Mary_. She was bent in two, almost like a broken toy. And nothing was more lamentable, nothing gave a more dismal impression of ruin and destruction than those two lifeless halves of a once so powerful thing. There was no one near the wreck. Simon experienced an extreme emotion on standing before what was left of the big boat which he had seen wrecked so terribly. He could not approach it without that sort of pious horror which one would feel on entering a mighty tomb haunted by the shades of those whom we once knew. He thought of the three clergymen and the French family and the captain; and he shuddered at remembering the moment when, with all the strength of his will and all the imperious power of his love, he had dragged Isabel towards the abyss. A halt was called. Simon left his horse with the Indians and went forward, accompanied by Antonio. He ran down the steep slope which the stern of the vessel had hollowed in the sand, gripped with both hands a rope which hung beside the rudder and in a few seconds, with the assistance of his feet and knees, reached the stern rail. Although the deck had listed violently to starboard and a sticky mud was oozing through the planking, he ran to the spot where Isabel and he had sat. The bench had been torn away, but the iron supports were still standing and the rug which she had slung to one of them was there, shrunk, heavy with the water dripping from it and packed, as before the shipwreck, in its straps, which were untouched. Simon thrust his hand between the wet folds of the rug, as he had seen Isabel do. Not feeling anything, he tried to unfasten the straps, but the leather had swollen and the ends were jammed in the buckles. Then he took his knife, cut the straps and unrolled the rug. The miniature in its pearl setting was gone. In its place, fixed with a safety-pin, was a sheet of paper. He unfolded it. On it were these hastily-written words, which Isabel evidently intended for him: "I was hoping to see you. Haven't you received my letter? We have spent the night here--in an absolute hell on earth! and we are just leaving. I am uneasy. I feel that some one is prowling around us. Why are not you here?" "Oh!" Simon stammered, "it's incredible!" He showed the note to Antonio, who had joined him, and at once added: "Miss Bakefield! . . . She spent the night here . . . with her father . . . and they have gone! But where? How are we to save them from so many lurking dangers?" The Indian read the letter and said, slowly: "They have not gone back north. I should have seen their tracks." "Then. . . . ?" "Then. . . . I don't know." "But this is awful! See, Antonio, think of all that is threatening them . . . of Rolleston pursuing them! Think of this wild country, swarming with highwaymen and foot-pads! . . . It's horrible, horrible!" PART THE SECOND CHAPTER I INSIDE THE WRECK The expedition so gaily launched, in which Simon saw merely a picturesque adventure, such as one reads of in novels, had suddenly become the most formidable tragedy. It was no longer a matter of cinema Indians and circus cow-boys, nor of droll discoveries in fabled lands, but of real dangers, of ruthless brigands operating in regions where no organized force could thwart their enterprises. What could Isabel and her father do, beset by criminals of the worst type? "Good God!" exclaimed Simon. "How could Lord Bakefield be so rash as to risk this journey? Look here, Antonio, the lady's-maid told you that Lord Bakefield had gone to London by train, with his wife and daughter. . . ." "A misunderstanding," declared the Indian. "He must have seen the duchess to the station and arranged the expedition with Miss Bakefield." "Then they're alone, those two?" "No, they have two men-servants with them. It's the four riders whose tracks we picked up." "What imprudence!" "Imprudence, yes. Miss Bakefield told you of it in the intercepted letter, counting on you to take the necessary measures to protect her. Moreover, Lord Bakefield had given orders to his secretary, Williams, and his valet, Charles, to join them. That is why those two poor fellows were put out of action on the road by Rolleston and his six accomplices." "Those are the men I'm afraid of," said Simon, hoarsely. "Have Lord Bakefield and his daughter escaped them? Did the departure of which Miss Bakefield speaks take place before their arrival? How can we find out? Where are we to look for them?" "Here," said Antonio. "On this deserted wreck?" "There's a whole crowd inside the wreck," the Indian affirmed. "Here, we'll begin by questioning the boy who is watching us over there." Leaning against the stump of a broken mast, stood a lean, pasty-faced gutter-snipe, with his hands in his pockets, smoking a huge cigar. Simon went up to him, muttering: "Very like one of Lord Bakefield's favourite Havanas. . . . Where did you sneak that cigar?" he asked. "I ain't sneaked nuffin, sure as my name's Jim. It was giv' me." "Who gave it you?" "My old man." "Where is he, your old man?" "Listen. . . ." They listened. A noise echoed beneath their feet in the bowels of the wreck. It sounded like the regular blows of a hammer. "That's my old man, smashin' 'er up," said the urchin, grinning. "Tell me," said Simon, "have you seen an elderly gentleman and a young lady who came here on horseback?" "Dunno," said the boy, carelessly. "Ask my old man." Simon drew Antonio to where a companion-ladder led from the deck to the first-class cabins, as a still legible inscription informed them. They were going down the ladder when Simon, leading the way, struck his foot against something and nearly fell. By the light of a pocket-torch he saw the dead body of a woman. Though the face, which was swollen and bloated and half eaten away, was unrecognizable, certain signs, such as the colour and material of clothes, enabled Simon to identify the French lady whom he had seen with her husband and children. On stooping, he saw that the left hand had been severed at the wrist and that two fingers were lacking on the right hand. "Poor woman!" he faltered. "Unable to remove her rings and bracelets, the blackguards mutilated her!" And he added. "To think that Isabel was here, that night, in this hell!" The corridor which they entered as they followed the sound of hammering led them astern. At a sudden turning a man appeared, holding in his hand a lump of iron with which he was striking furiously at the partition-wall of a cabin. Through the ground-glass panes in the ceiling filtered a pale white light which fell full upon the most loathsome face imaginable, a scoundrelly, pallid, cruel face, with a pair of bloodshot eyes and an absolutely bald skull dripping with sweat. "Keep your distance, mates! Everybody do the best he can in his own! There's plenty of stuff to go round!" "The old man ain't much of a talker," said the urchin's shrill voice. The boy had accompanied them and stood, with a bantering air, puffing great whiffs of smoke. The Indian handed him a fifty-franc note: "Jim, you have something to tell us. Out with it." "That's all right," said the boy. "I'm beginnin' to twig this business. Come along 'ere!" Guided by the boy, Antonio and Simon passed along other corridors where they found the same fury of destruction. Everywhere fierce-looking ruffians were forcing locks, tearing, splitting, smashing, looting. Everywhere they were seen creeping into dark corners, crawling on their hands and knees, sniffing out booty and seeking, in default of gold or silver, bits of leather or scrap-metal that might prove marketable. They were beasts of prey, carrion brutes, like those which prowl about a battlefield. Mutilated and stripped corpses bore witness to their ferocity. There were no rings left upon the bodies, no bracelets, watches, or pocket-books; no pins in the men's ties; no brooches at the women's throats. From time to time, here and there, in this workyard of death and hideous theft, the sound of a quarrel arose; two bodies rolling on the ground; shouts, yells of pain, ending in the death-rattle. Two plunderers came to grips; and in a moment one of them was a murderer. Jim halted in front of a roomy cabin, the lower part of whose sloping floor was under water; but on the upper part were several cane-deck chairs which were almost dry. "That's where they spent the night," he said. "Who?" asked Simon. "The three what come on horseback. I was the first on the wreck with my old man. I saw 'em come." "But there were four of them." "There was one what lay down outside to guard the horses. The other three went to get something out of the rug where you didn't find nuffin; and they 'ad their grub and slept in 'ere. This mornin', after they left, my old man come to go through the cabin and found the old gent's cigar-case here. "So they went away again?" The boy was silent. "Answer my question, can't you, boy? They left on horseback, didn't they, before the others got here? And they're out of danger?" The boy held out his hand: "Two notes," he demanded. Simon was on the point of flying at him. But he restrained himself, gave the boy the notes and pulled out his revolver: "Now then!" The boy shrugged his shoulders: "It's the notes is making me talk, not that thing! . . . Well, it's like this: when the old gent wanted to start this mornin', he couldn't find the old chap what was guarding the four horses near the stern of the vessel, what you got up by." "But the horses?" "Gone!" "You mean, stolen?" "'Arf a mo! The old gent, his daughter and the other gent went off to look for him, following the track of the 'osses alongside the wreck. That took them to the other part of the _Queen Mary_, just to the place where the starboard lifeboat was stove in. And then--I was on deck, like I was just now, and I see the whole business as if it was the movies--there was five or six devils got up from behind the lifeboat and rushed at 'em; and a great tall bloke a-leadin' of 'em with a revolver in each fist. I wouldn't say everythink passed off quiet, not on neither side. The old gent, 'e defended himself. There was some shootin'; and I see two of 'em fall in the scrimmage." "And then? And then?" Simon rapped out, breathlessly. "I don't know nuffin about then. A change of pickshers, like at the movies. The old man wanted me for somefink; he took me by the scruff o' the neck and I lost the end o' the film like." It was now Simon's turn to seize the young hooligan by the scruff of the neck. He dragged him up the companion-ladder and, having reached a part of the deck where the whole wreck was visible, he said: "It was over there, the lifeboat?" "Yuss, over there." Simon rushed to the stern of the vessel, slid down the rope and, followed by the Indian and the boy, ran alongside the steamer to the lifeboat which had been torn from the _Queen Mary's_ deck and cast on the sands some twenty yards from the wreck. It was here that the attack had taken place. Traces of it remained. The body of one of those whom the boy had described as "devils" was half-hidden in a hollow. But a cry of pain rose from behind the boat. Simon and the Indian ran round it and saw a man cowering there, with his forehead bound up in a bloodstained handkerchief. "Rolleston!" cried Simon, stopping short in bewilderment. "Edward Rolleston!" Rolleston! The man whom all accused! The man who had planned the whole affair and recruited the Hastings blackguards in order to make a dash for the wreck and steal the miniature! Rolleston, the murderer of Dolores' uncle, the murderer of William and Charles! Rolleston, Isabel's persecutor! Nevertheless Simon hesitated, profoundly troubled by the sight of his friend. Fearing an outburst of anger on the Indian's part, he seized him by the arm: "Wait a moment, Antonio! . . . First, are you really certain?" For some seconds, neither stirred. Simon was thinking that Rolleston's presence on the battle-field was the most convincing proof of his guilt. But Antonio declared: "This is not the man I met in the corridor of the hotel." "Ah!" cried Simon. "I was sure of it! In spite of all appearances, I could not admit. . . ." And he rushed up to his friend, saying: "Wounded, Ted? It's not serious, is it, old man?" The Englishman murmured: "Is that you, Simon? I didn't recognize you. My eyes are all misty." "You're not in pain?" "I should think I was in pain! The bullet must have struck against the skull and then glanced off; and here I've been since this morning, half dead. But I shall get over it." Simon questioned him anxiously: "Isabel? What has become of her?" "I don't know. . . . I don't know," the Englishman said, with an effort. "No . . . no . . . I don't know. . . ." "But where do you come from? How do you come to be here?" "I was with Lord Bakefield and Isabel." "Ah!" said Simon. "Then you were of their party?" "Yes. We spent the night on the _Queen Mary_ . . . and this morning we were set upon here, by the gang. We were retreating, when I dropped. Lord Bakefield and Isabel fell back on the _Queen Mary_, where it would have been easier for them to defend themselves. Rolleston and his men were not firing at them, however." "Rolleston?" echoed Simon. "A cousin of mine . . . Wilfred Rolleston, a damned brute, capable of anything . . . a scoundrel . . . a crook . . . oh, a madman! A real madman . . . a dipsomaniac. . . ." "And he's like you in appearance isn't he?" asked Simon, understanding the mistake that had been made. "I suppose so." "And it was to steal the miniature and the pearls that he attacked you?" "That . . . and something else that he's even more keen on." "What?" "He's in love with Isabel. He asked her to marry him at a time when he hadn't fallen so low. Then Bakefield kicked him out." "Oh, it would be too awful," stammered Simon, "if that man had succeeded in kidnapping Isabel!" He stood up. Rolleston, exhausted, said: "Save her, Simon." "But you, Ted? We can't leave you. . . ." "She comes first. He has sworn to have his revenge; he has sworn that Isabel shall be his wife." "But what are we to do? Where are we to look for her?" cried Simon, in despair. At that moment Jim came up, all out of breath. He was followed by a man whom Simon at once recognized as a groom in Lord Bakefield's service. "The bloke!" cried Jim. "The one what looked after the horses. . . . I found him among the rocks . . . d'you see? Over there? They'd tied him up and the horses were tied up in a sort of cave like. . . ." Simon lost no time: "Miss Bakefield?" "Carried off," replied the man. "Carried off . . . and his lordship as well." "Ah!" cried Simon, overwhelmed. The man continued: "Rolleston is their leader, Wilfred Rolleston. He came up to me this morning at sunrise, as I was seeing to the horses, and asked me if Lord Bakefield was still there. Then, without waiting for an answer, he knocked me flat, with the help of his men, and had me carried here, where they laid an ambush for his lordship. They didn't mind what they said before me; and I learnt that Mr. Williams, the secretary, and Charles, my fellow-servant, who were to have joined us and increased the escort, had been attacked by them and, most likely, killed. I learnt too that Rolleston's idea was to keep Miss Bakefield as a hostage and to send his lordship to his Paris banker's to get the ransom. Later on, they left me alone. Then I heard two shots and, a little after, they returned with his lordship and Miss Bakefield. Both of them had their hands and feet tied." "At what time did all this happen?" asked Simon, quivering with impatience. "Nine o'clock, sir, or thereabouts." "Then they have a day's start of us?" "Oh, no! There were provisions in the saddle-bags. They sat eating and drinking and then went to sleep. It was at least two o'clock in the afternoon when they strapped his lordship and Miss Bakefield to a couple of horses and started." "In what direction?" "That way," said the man-servant, pointing. "Antonio," cried Simon, "we must catch them before night! The ruffian's escort is on foot. Three hours' gallop will be enough. . . ." "Our horses are badly done up," objected the Indian. "They've got to get there, if it kills them." Simon Dubosc gave the servant his instructions: "Get Mr. Rolleston under shelter in the wreck, look after him and don't leave him for a second. Jim, can I count on you?" "Yes." "And on your father?" "All depends." "Fifty pounds for him if the wounded man is in Brighton, safe and sound, in two days' time." "Make it a hundred," said Jim. "Not a penny less." "Very well, a hundred." At six o'clock in the evening, Simon and Antonio returned to the Indians' camp. They quickly bridled and saddled their horses, while Old Sandstone, who was strolling around, ran up to them shouting: "My fault, Simon! I swear we are over my fault, the fault in the Paris basin, which I traced to Maromme and near the Ridin de Dieppe . . . the one whose fracture caused the whole upheaval. Get on your horse, so that I may give you my proofs. There's a regular Eocene and Pliocene mixture over there which is really typical. . . . Heavens, man, listen to me, can't you?" Simon stepped up to him and, with drawn features, shouted: "This is no time to listen to your nonsense!" "What do you mean?" stammered the old fellow, utterly bewildered. "Mean? Why, shut up!" And the young man leapt into the saddle: "Are you coming, Antonio?" "Yes. My mates will follow our trail. I shall leave a mark from spot to spot; and I hope we shall all be united again to-morrow." As they were starting, Dolores, on horseback, brought up her mount alongside theirs. "No!" said Antonio. "You come on with the others. The professor can't walk all the time." She made no reply. "I insist on your keeping with the others," repeated the half-breed, more severely. But she set her horse at a trot and caught up with Simon. For more than an hour they followed a direction which Simon took to be south by south-east, that is to say, the direction of France. The half-breed thought the same: "The main thing," he said, "is to get near the coast, as our beasts have only enough food to last them till to-morrow evening. The water question also might become troublesome." "I don't care what happens to-morrow," Simon rejoined. They made much slower progress than they had hoped to do. Their mounts were poor, spiritless stuff. Moreover, they had to stop at intervals to decipher the tracks which crossed one another in the wet sand or to pick them up on rocky ground. Simon became incensed at each of these halts. All around them the scene was like that which they had observed early in the afternoon; the land rose and fell in scarcely perceptible undulations; it was a dismal, monotonous world, with its graveyards of ships and skeleton steamers. Prowling figures crossed it in all directions. Antonio shouted questions to them as he passed. One of them said that he had met two horsemen and four pedestrians leading a couple of horses on which were bound a man and a woman whose fair hair swept the ground. "How long ago was this?" asked Simon, in a hoarse voice. "Forty minutes, or fifty at the most." He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and set off at a gallop, stooping over the animal's neck in order not to lose the scoundrel's track. Antonio found it difficult to follow him, while Dolores erect in her saddle, with a serious face and eyes fixed on the distant horizon, kept up with him without an effort. Meanwhile the light was failing, and the riders felt as though the darkness were about to swoop down on them from the heavy clouds in which it was gathering. "We shall get there . . . we must," repeated Simon. "I feel certain we shall see them in ten minutes. . . ." He told Dolores in a few words what he had heard of Isabel's abduction. The thought that she was in pain caused unendurable torture. His overwrought mind pictured her a captive among savages torturing her for their amusement, while her blood-bedabbled head was gashed by the stones along the track. He followed in imagination all the stages of her last agony; and he had such a keen impression of speed contending with death, he searched the horizon with so eager a gaze, that he scarcely heeded a strident call from the half-breed, a hundred yards in the rear. Dolores turned and calmly observed: "Antonio's horse has fallen." "Antonio can follow us," said Simon. For a few moments, they had been riding through a rather more uneven tract of land, covered with a sort of downs with precipitous sides, like cliffs. A fairly steep incline led to a long valley, filled with water, on the brink of which the bandits' trail was plainly visible. They entered the water, making for a place on the opposite edge which seemed to them, at a distance, to be trampled in the same way. The water, which barely reached the horses' hocks, flowed in a gentle current from left to right. But, when they had covered a third of the distance, Dolores struck Simon's horse with her long reins: "Hurry!" she commanded. "Look . . . on the left. . . ." On the left the whole width of the valley was blocked by a lofty wave which was gathering at either end into a long, foaming breaker. It was merely a natural phenomenon; as a result of the great upheaval, the waters were seeking their level and invading the lower tracts. Moreover, the flow was so gradual that there was no reason to fear its effects. The horses, however, seemed to be gradually sinking. Dragged by the current, they were forced to sheer off to the right; and at the same time the opposite bank was moving away from them, changing its aspect, shifting back as the new stream rose. And, when they had reached it, they were still obliged, in order to escape the water, which pursued them incessantly, to quicken their pace and trot along the narrow lane enclosed between two little cliffs of dried mud, in which thousands upon thousands of shells were encrusted like the cubes of a mosaic. Only after half an hour's riding were they able to clamber to a table-land where they were out of reach. It was as well, for their horses refused to go any farther. The darkness was increasing. How were they to recover the tracks of Isabel and her kidnappers? And how could their own tracks, buried beneath this enormous sheet of water, be recovered by Antonio and his men? "We are separated from the others," said Simon, "and I don't see how our party can be got together again." "Not before to-morrow, at all events," said Dolores. "Not before. . . ." And so these two were alone in the night, in the depths of this mysterious land. Simon strode to and fro on the plateau, like a man who does not know on what course to decide and who knows, moreover, that there is no course on which he can decide. But Dolores unsaddled the horses, unbuckled the saddle-bags and said: "Our food will hold out, but we have nothing to drink. The spare water-bottles were strapped to Antonio's saddle." And she added, after spreading out the two horse-rugs: "We will sleep here, Simon." CHAPTER II ALONG THE CABLE He fell asleep beside her, after a long spell of waking during which his uneasiness was gradually assuaged by the soft and regular rhythm which marked the young girl's breathing. When he woke, fairly late in the morning, Dolores was stooping and bathing her beautiful arms and her face in the stream that flowed down the hillside. She moved slowly; and all her attitude, as she dried her arms and put back her hair, knotting it low on her neck, were full of a grave harmony. As Simon stood up, she filled a glass and brought it to him: "Drink that," she said. "Contrary to what I thought, it's fresh water. I heard our horses drinking it in the night." "That's easily explained," said Simon. "During the first few days, the rivers of the old coasts filtered in more or less anywhere, until forced, by their increasing flow, to wear themselves a new course. Judging by the direction which this one seems to follow and by its size, it should be a French river, doubtless the Somme, which will join the sea henceforth between Le Havre and Southampton. Unless. . . ." He was not certain of his argument. In reality, under the implacable veil of the clouds, which were still motionless and hanging very low, and without his compass, which he had heedlessly handed to Antonio, he did not know how to take his bearings. He had followed in Isabel's track last evening; and he hesitated to venture in either direction now that this track was lost and that there was no clue to justify his seeking her in one direction rather than in another. A discovery of Dolores put an end to his hesitation. In exploring the immediate surroundings, the girl had noticed a submarine cable which crossed the river. "Capital!" he said. "The cable evidently comes from England, like ourselves. If we follow it, we shall be going towards France. We shall be sure of going the same way as our enemies and we shall very likely pick up some information on the road." "France is a long way off," Dolores remarked, "and our horses perhaps won't last for more than another half day." "That's their lookout," cried Simon. "We shall finish the journey on foot. The great thing is to reach the French coast. Let us make a start." At two hundred yards' distance, in a depression of the soil, the cable rose from the river and ran straight to a sand-bank, after which it appeared once more, like one of those roads which show in sections on uneven plains. "It will lead you to Dieppe," said a wandering Frenchman, whom Simon had stopped. "I've just come from there. You've only to follow it." They followed it in silence. A mute companion, speaking none save indispensable words, Dolores seemed to be always self-absorbed, or to heed only the horses and the details of the expedition. As for Simon, he gave no thought to her. It was a curious fact that he had not yet felt, even casually, that there was something strange and disturbing in the adventure that brought him, a young man, and her, a young woman, together. She remained the unknown; yet this mystery had no particular attraction for him, nor did Antonio's enigmatic words recur to his memory. Though he was perfectly well aware that she was very beautiful, though it gave him pleasure to look at her from time to time and though he often felt her eyes resting on him, she was never the subject of his thoughts and did not for a moment enter into the unbroken reflections aroused by his love for Isabel Bakefield and the dangers which she was incurring. These dangers he now judged to be less terrible than he had supposed. Since Rolleston's plan consisted in sending Lord Bakefield to a Paris banker to obtain money, it might be assumed that Isabel, held as a hostage, would be treated with a certain consideration, at least until Rolleston, after receiving a ransom, made further demands. But, when this happened, would not he, Simon, be there? They were now entering a region of a wholly different character, where there was no longer either sand or mud, but a floor of grey rock streaked with thin sheets of hard, sharp-edged stone, which refused to take the imprint of a trail and which even the iron of the horses' shoes failed to mark. Their only chance of information was from the prowlers whom they might encounter. These were becoming more and more numerous. Two full days had elapsed since the emergence of the new land. It was now the third day; and from all parts, from every point of the sea-side counties or departments, came hastening all who did not fear the risk of the undertaking: vagabonds, tramps, poachers, reckless spirits, daredevils of all kinds. The ruined towns poured forth their contingent of poverty-striken, starving outcasts and escaped prisoners. Armed with rifles and swords, with clubs or scythes, all these brigands wore an air that was both defiant and threatening. They watched one another warily, each of them gauging at a glance his neighbour's strength, ready to spring upon him or ready to act in self-defence. Simon's questions hardly evoked as much as a grumbling reply: "A woman tied up? A party? Horses? Not come my way." And they went on. But, two hours later, Simon was greatly surprised to see the motley dress of three men walking some distance ahead, their shoulders laden with bundles which each of them carried slung on the end of a stick. Weren't those Antonio's Indians? "Yes," murmured Dolores. "It's Forsetta and the Mazzani brothers." But, when Simon proposed to go after them, "No!" she said, without concealing her repugnance. "They're a bad lot. There's nothing to be gained by joining them." But he was not listening; and, as soon as they were within hearing, he shouted: "Is Antonio anywhere about?" The three men set down their bundles, while Simon and Dolores dismounted and Forsetta, who had a revolver in his hand, thrust it into his pocket. He was a great giant of a fellow. "Ah, so it's you, Dolores?" he said, after saluting Simon. "Faith, no, Antonio's nowhere hereabouts. We've not seen him." He smiled with a wry mouth and treacherous eyes. "That means," retorted Simon, pointing to their burdens, "that you and Mazzani thought it simpler to go hunting in this direction?" "May be," he said, with a leer. "But the old professor? Antonio left him in your charge." "We lost sight of him soon after the _Queen Mary_. He was looking for shells. So Mazzani and I came on." Simon was losing patience. Dolores interrupted him: "Forsetta," she said gravely. "Antonio was your chief. We four were fellow-workers; and he asked if you would come with him and me to avenge my uncle's death. You had no right to desert Antonio." The Indians looked at one another and laughed. It was obvious that notions of right and wrong, promises, obligations, duties of friendship, established rules, decent behaviour, all these had suddenly became things which they had ceased to understand. In the stupendous chaos of events, in the heart of this virgin soil, nothing mattered but the satisfaction of the appetites. It was a new situation, which they were unable to analyse, though they hastened to profit by its results without so much as discussing them. The brothers Mazzani lifted their bundles to their shoulders. Forsetta went up to Dolores and stared at her for a moment without speaking, with eyes that glittered between his half-closed lids. His face betrayed at the same time hesitation and a brutal desire, which he made no attempt to conceal, to seize the girl as his prey. But he restrained himself and, picking up his bag, moved off with his companions. Simon had watched the scene in silence. His eyes met Dolores'. She coloured slightly and said, in a low voice: "Forsetta used to know how to keep his distance. . . . The air of the prairie, as you say, has acted on him as it has on the others." Around them, a bed of dried wrack and other sea-weeds, beneath which the cable disappeared for a length of several miles, formed a series of hills and valleys. Dolores decided that they would halt there and led the horses a little way off, so that they should not disturb Simon's rest. As it happened, Simon, having lain down on the ground and fallen asleep, was attacked, knocked helpless, gagged and bound before he was able to offer the least resistance to his assailants. These were the three Indians, who had returned at a run. Forsetta took possession of Simon's pocket-book and watch, tested the firmness of his bonds and then, flat on his stomach, with one of the Mazzanis on either side, crawled under the wrack and seaweed towards the spot where the girl was tending the horses. Simon repeatedly saw their supple bodies wriggling like reptiles. Dolores, who was busied over the saddle-bags, had her back to them. No feeling of uneasiness warned her of her danger. In vain Simon strove against his bonds and uttered shouts which were stifled by his gag. No power could prevent the Indians from attaining their aim. The younger Mazzani was the swifter of the two. He suddenly sprung upon Dolores and threw her down, while his brother leapt upon one of the horses and Forsetta, holding another by the bridle, gave his orders in a hoarse tone of triumph: "Lift her. Take away her rifle. . . . Good! Bring her here. . . . We'll tie her on." Dolores was placed across the saddle. But, just as Forsetta was uncoiling a rope which he carried round his waist, she raised herself upon the horse's neck, towering over young Mazzani and, raising her arm, struck him full in the chest with her dagger. The Indian fell like a stone against Forsetta; and, when the latter had released himself and made as though to continue the struggle on his own account, Dolores was already before him, threatening him point-blank with her rifle, which she had recovered: "Clear out," she said. "You too, Mazzani, clear out." Mazzani obeyed and flew off at a gallop. Forsetta, his features convulsed with rage, withdrew with deliberate steps, leading the second horse. Dolores called to him: "Leave that horse, Forsetta! This moment . . . or I fire!" He dropped the bridle and then, twenty paces farther on, suddenly turned his back and fled as fast as he could run. Simon was impressed not so much by the incident itself--a mere episode in the great tragedy--as by the extraordinary coolness which the girl had displayed. When she came to release him, her hands were cold as ice and her lips quivering: "He's dead," she faltered. "The young Mazzani is dead. . . ." "You had to defend yourself," said Simon. "Yes . . . yes . . . but to take a man's life . . . how horrible! I struck instinctively . . . as though I were acting for the films: you see, we rehearsed this scene a hundred times and more, the four of us, the Mazzanis, Forsetta and I, in the same way, with the words and gestures in the same order. . . . Even to the stab! It was young Mazzani himself who taught me that; and he often used to say: 'Bravo, Dolores! If ever you play the kidnapping-scene in real life, I'm sorry for your adversary!'" "Let's hurry," said Simon. "Mazzani may try to avenge his brother's death; and a man like Forsetta doesn't easily give up. . . ." They continued on their way and once more came upon the cable. Simon went on foot, abreast of Dolores. By turning his head a little, he could see her sad face, with its crown of black hair. She had lost her broad-brimmed hat, as well as her bolero, which was strapped to the saddle of the horse stolen by Mazzani. A silk shirt revealed the modelling of her breasts. Her rifle was slung across her shoulders. Once more the region of streaked stone extended to the horizon, dotted with wrecks as before and crossed by the wandering shapes of looters. Clouds hung overhead. From time to time there was the humming of an aeroplane. At noon Simon calculated that they had still twelve or fifteen miles to cover and that therefore they might be able to reach Dieppe before night. Dolores, who had dismounted and, like him, was walking, declared: "We, yes, we shall get there. But not the horse. He will drop before that." "No matter!" said Simon. "The great thing is for us to get there." The rocky ground was now interspersed with tracts of sand where footprints were once more visible; and among other trails were those of two horses coming in their direction along the line of the cable. "Yet we passed no one on horseback," said Simon. "What do you make of it?" She did not reply: but a little later, as they reached the top of a slope, she showed him a broad river mingling with the horizon and barring their progress. When they were nearer, they saw that it was flowing from their right to their left; and, when they were nearer still, it reminded them of the stream which they had left that morning. The colour, the banks, the windings were the same. Simon, disconcerted, examined the country around to discover something that was different; but the landscape was identical, as a whole and in every detail. "What does this mean?" muttered Simon. "There must be an inexplicable mirage . . . for, after all, it is impossible to admit that we can have made a mistake." But proofs of the blunder committed were becoming more numerous. The track of the two horses having led them away from the cable, they went down to the river-bank and there, on a flat space bearing the traces of an encampment, they were compelled to recognize the spot where they had passed the previous night! Thus, in a disastrous fit of distraction due to the attack by the Indians and the death of the younger Mazzani, both of them, in their excitement, had lost their bearings, and, trusting to the only indication which they had discovered, had gone back to the submarine cable. Then, when they resumed their journey, there had been nothing, no landmark of any kind, to reveal the fact that they were following the cable in the reverse direction, that they were retracing the path already travelled and that they were returning, after an exhausting and fruitless effort, to the spot which they had left some hours ago! Simon yielded to a momentary fit of despondency. That which was only a vexatious delay assumed in his eyes the importance of an irreparable event. The upheaval of the 4th of June had caused this corner of the world to relapse into absolute barbarism; and to struggle against the obstacles which it presented called for qualities which he did not possess. While the marauders and outcasts felt at home from the beginning in this new state of things, he, Simon Dubosc, was vainly seeking for the solution of the problems propounded by the exceptional circumstances. Where was he to go? What was he to do? Against whom was he to defend himself? How was he to rescue Isabel? As completely lost in the new land as he would have been in the immensity of the sea, he ascended the course of the river, following, with a distraught gaze, the trace of the two trails marking the sand, which was wet in places. He recognized the prints left by Dolores' sandals. "It's no use going in that direction," she said. "I explored all the surrounding country this morning." He went on, however, against the girl's wishes and with no other object than that of acting and moving. And, so doing, in some fifteen minutes' time he came upon a spot where the bank was trampled and muddy, like the banks of a river at a ford. He stopped suddenly. Horses had passed that way. The mark of their shoes was plainly visible. "Oh!" he cried, in bewilderment. "Here is Rolleston's trail! . . . This is the distinct pattern of his rubber soles! Can I believe my eyes?" Almost immediately his quest assumed a more definite form. Fifty yards higher were the traces, still plainly marked, of a camp; and Simon declared: "Of course! . . . Of course! . . . It was here that they landed last night! Like us, they must have fled before the sudden rise of the water; and like us, they camped on the further side of a hill. Oh," he continued, despairingly, "we were less than a mile from them! We could have surprised them in their sleep! Isn't it frightful to think that nothing told us of it . . . and that such an opportunity. . . ." He squatted on his heels and, bending over the ground, examined it for some minutes. Then he rose, his eyes met those of Dolores and he said, in a low voice: "There is one extraordinary thing. . . . How do you explain it?" The girl's tanned face turned crimson; and he saw that she guessed what he was about to say: "You came here this morning, Dolores, while I was asleep. Several times your footsteps cover those of our enemies, which proves that you came after they were gone. Why didn't you tell me?" She was silent, with her eyes still fixed upon Simon's and her grave face animated by an expression of mingled defiance and fear. Suddenly Simon seized her hand: "But then . . . but then you knew the truth! Ever since this morning, you have known that they went along the river-bank. . . . Look . . . over there . . . you can see their tracks leading eastward. . . . And you never told me! Worse than that. . . . Why, yes . . . it was you who called my attention to the cable. . . . It was you who set me going in a southerly direction . . . towards France. . . . And it is through you that we have lost nearly a whole day!" Standing close up to her, with his eyes plumbing hers, holding her fingers in his, he resumed: "Why did you do that? It was an unspeakable piece of treachery. . . . Tell me, why? You know that I love Miss Bakefield, that she is in the most terrible danger and that to her one day lost may mean dishonour . . . and death. . . . Then why did you do it?" He said no more. He felt that, in spite of her appearance, which was impassive as usual, the girl was overcome with emotion and that he was dominating her with all the power of his manhood. Dolores' knees were giving way beneath her. There was nothing in her now but submissiveness and gentleness; and, since, in their exceptional position, no reserve could restrain her confession or check her impulsiveness, she whispered: "Forgive me. . . . I wasn't thinking . . . or rather I thought of no one but you . . . you and myself. . . . Yes, from the first moment of our meeting, the other day, I was swept off my feet by a feeling stronger than anything in this world. . . . I don't know why. . . . It was your way of doing things . . . your delicacy, when you threw your coat over my shoulders. . . . I'm not used to being treated like that. . . . You seemed to me different from the others. . . . That night, at the Casino, your triumph intoxicated me. . . . And since then my whole life has been centred on you. . . . I have never felt like this before. . . . Men . . . men are brutal to me . . . violent . . . terrible. . . . They run after me like brutes . . . I loathe them. . . . You . . . you . . . you're different. . . . With you I feel a slave. . . . I want to please you. . . . Your every movement delights me. . . . With you I am happier than I've ever been in my life. . . ." She stood drooping before him, with lowered head. Simon was bewildered at the expression of this spontaneous love, which to him was so completely unforeseen, which was at once so humble and so passionate. It wounded him in his love for Isabel, as though he had committed an offence in listening to the girl's avowal. Yet she spoke so gently; and it was so strange to see this proud and beautiful creature bowing before him with such reverence that he could not but experience a certain emotion. "I love another woman," he repeated, to set up definitely the obstacle of this love, "and nothing can come between us." "Yes," she said. "Nevertheless I hoped . . . I don't know what. . . . I had no object in view. . . . I only wanted us to be alone together, just the two of us, as long as possible. It's over now. I swear it. . . . We shall find Miss Bakefield. . . . Let me take you to her: I think I shall be better able than you. . . ." Was she sincere? How could he reconcile this offer of devotion with the passion to which she had confessed? "What proof have you?" asked Simon. "What proof of my loyalty? The absolute acknowledgement of the wrong which I have done and which I wish to repair. This morning, when I came here alone, I looked all over the ground to see if there was anything that might give us a clue and I ended by discovering on the edge of this rock a scrap of paper with some writing on it. . . ." "Have you it?" cried Simon, sharply. "Has she written? Miss Bakefield, I mean?" "Yes." "It's for me, of course?" continued Simon, with increasing excitement. "It's not addressed. But of course it was written for you just as yesterday's message was. Here it is. . . ." She held out a piece of paper, moist and crumpled, on which he read the following words, hastily scribbled in Isabel's hand: "No longer making for Dieppe. They have heard a rumour of a fountain of gold . . . a real, gushing spring, it seems. We are going in that direction. No immediate cause for anxiety." And Dolores added: "They left before daybreak, going up the river. If this river is really the Somme, we must suppose that they have crossed it somewhere, which will have delayed them. So we shall find them, Simon." CHAPTER III SIDE BY SIDE The jaded horse was incapable of further service. They had to abandon it, after emptying the saddle-bags and removing the rug, which Dolores wrapped about her like a soldier's cloak. They set out again. Henceforth the girl directed the pursuit. Simon, reassured by Isabel's letter, allowed Dolores to lead the way and twenty times over had occasion to remark her perspicacity and the accuracy of her judgment or intuition. Then, less anxious, feeling that she understood, he became more talkative and abandoned himself, as on the previous day, to the burst of enthusiasm which the miracle of this new world awakened in him. The still unsettled coast-line, the irresolute river, the changing hues of the water, the ever-varying forms of the heights and valleys, the contours of the landscape, hardly more definite as yet than those of an infant's face: all of this, for an hour or two, was to him a source of wonder and exaltation. "Look, look!" he cried. "It is as though the landscape were amazed at showing itself in the light of day! Crushed until now beneath the weight of the waters, buried in darkness, it seems embarrassed by the light. Each detail has to learn how to hold itself, to win a place for itself, to adapt itself to new conditions of existence, to obey other laws, to shape itself in accordance with other purposes, in short, to live its life as a thing of earth. It will grow acquainted with the wind, the rain, the frost; with winter and spring; with the sun, the beautiful, glorious sun, which will fertilize it and draw from it all the appearance, colour, service, pleasure and beauty which it is capable of yielding. A world is being created before our eyes." Dolores listened with a charmed expression that spoke of the delight which she felt when Simon spoke for her benefit. And he, all unawares, meanwhile became kindlier and more attentive. The companion with whom chance had associated him was assuming more and more the semblance of a woman. Sometimes he reflected upon the love which she had revealed to him and asked himself whether, in professing her readiness to devote herself, she was not seeking above all to remain by his side and to profit by the circumstances which brought them together. But he was so sure of his own strength and so well protected by Isabel that he took little pains to fathom the secrets of this mysterious soul. Three times they witnessed murderous conflicts among the swarm of vagabonds who were checked by the barrier of the river. Two men and a woman fell, but Simon made no attempt to defend them or to punish the criminals: "It is the law of the strongest," he said. "No police! No judges! No executioners! No guillotine! So why trouble ourselves? All social and moral acquisitions, all the subtleties of civilization, all these melt away in a moment. What remains? The primordial instincts, which are to abuse your strength, to take what isn't yours and, in a moment of anger or greed, to kill your fellows. What does it matter? We are back in the troglodyte age! Let each man look to himself!" The sound of singing reached them from somewhere ahead, as though the river had transmitted its loud echo. They listened: it was a French rustic ditty, sung in a drawling voice to a tuneful air. The sound drew nearer. From the curtain of mist a large open boat came into view, laden with men, women and children, with baskets and articles of furniture, and impelled by the powerful effort of six oars. The men were emigrant sailors, in quest of new shores on which to rebuild their homes. "France?" cried Simon, when they passed. "Cayeux-sur-Mer," replied one of the singers. "Then this river is the Somme?" "It's the Somme." "But it's flowing north!" "Yes, but there's a sharp bend a few miles from here." "You must have passed a party of men carrying off an old man and a girl bound to two horses." "Haven't seen anything of that sort," declared the man. He resumed his singing. Women's voices joined in the chorus; and the boat moved on. "Rolleston must have branched off towards France," Simon concluded. "He can't have done that," objected Dolores, "since his present objective is the fountain of gold which some one mentioned to him." "In that case what has become of them?" The reply to this question was vouchsafed after an hour's difficult walking over a ground composed of millions upon millions of those broken sea-shells which the patient centuries use in kneading and shaping of the tallest cliffs. It all crackled under their feet and sometimes they sank into it above their ankles. Some tracts, hundreds of yards wide, were covered with a layer of dead fish on which they were compelled to trudge and which formed a mass of decomposing flesh with an intolerable stench to it. But a slope of hard, firm ground led them to a more rugged promontory overhanging the river. Here a dozen men, grey before their time, clothed in rags and repulsively filthy, with evil faces and brutal gestures, were cutting up the carcass of a horse and grilling the pieces over a scanty fire fed with sodden planks. They seemed to be a gang of tramps who had joined forces for looting on a larger scale. They had a sheep-dog with them. One of them stated that he had that morning seen a party of armed men crossing the Somme, making use of a big wreck which lay stranded in the middle of the river and which they had reached by a frail, hastily-constructed bridge. "Look," he said, "there she is, at the far end of the cliff. They slid the girl down first and then the old, trussed-up chap." "But," asked Simon, "the horses didn't get across that way, did they?" "The horses? They were done for. So they let them go. Two of my mates took three of them and have gone back to France with them. . . . If they get there, it'll be a bit of luck for them. The fourth, he's on the spit: we're going to have our dinner off him. . . . After all, one must eat!" "And those people, where were they going?" asked Simon. "Going to pick up gold. They were talking of a fountain flowing with gold pieces . . . real gold coins. We're going too, we are. What we're wanting is arms: arms that are some use." The tramps had risen to their feet; and, obeying an unconcerted and spontaneous movement, they gathered round Simon and Dolores. The man who had been speaking laid his hand upon Simon's rifle: "This sort of thing, you know. A gun like that must come in handy just now . . . especially to defend a pocket-book which is probably a fat one. . . . It's true," he added, in a threatening tone, "that my mates and I have got our sticks and knives, for when it comes to talking." "A revolver's better," said Simon, drawing his from his pocket. The circle of tramps opened out. "Stay where you are, will you?" he bade them. "The first of you who moves a step, I shoot him down!" Walking backwards, while keeping the men covered with his revolver, he drew Dolores to the end of the promontory. The tramps had not budged a foot. "Come," whispered Simon. "We have nothing to fear from them." The boat, completely capsized, squat and clumsy as the shell of a tortoise, barred the second half of the river. In foundering she had spilt on the sloping shore a deck cargo of timber, now sodden, but still sound enough to enable Rolleston's gang to build a footbridge twelve yards long across the arm of the river. Dolores and Simon crossed it briskly. It was easy after that to go along the nearly flat bottom of the keel and to slide down the chain of the anchor. But, just as Dolores reached the ground, a violent concussion shook the chain, of which she had not yet let go, and a shot rang out from the other bank. "Ah!" she said. "I was lucky: the bullet has struck one of the links." Simon had faced round. Opposite them, the tramps were venturing on the footbridge one by one. "But who can have fired?" he demanded. "Those beggars haven't a rifle." Dolores gave him a sudden push, so that he was protected by the bulk of the wreck: "Who fired?" she repeated. "Forsetta or Mazzani." "Have you seen them?" "Yes, at the back of the promontory. You can understand, a very few words would enable them to make a deal with the tramps and persuade them to attack us." They both ran round to the other side of the stern. From there they could see the whole of the footbridge and were under cover from the snipers. Simon raised his rifle to his shoulder. "Fire!" cried Dolores, seeing him hesitate. The shot rang out. The foremost of the vagabonds fell. He roared with pain, holding his leg. The others hurried back, dragging him with them, and the promontory was cleared of men. But, though the tramps could not risk going on the footbridge, it was no less dangerous for Dolores and Simon to leave the protected area formed by the wreck. Directly they became visible, they were exposed to Forsetta's or Mazzani's fire. "We must wait till dark," Dolores decided. For hours, rifle in hand, they watched the promontory, on which a head and shoulders or gesticulating arms appeared at frequent intervals and from which on several occasions also the threat of a levelled rifle forced them to hide themselves. Then, as soon as the darkness was dense enough, they set off again, convinced that Rolleston's trail would continue to ascend the Somme. They travelled quickly, never doubting that the two Indians and the vagabonds would pursue them. Indeed, they heard their voices across the water and saw fleeting glimmers of light on the same bank as themselves. "They know," said Dolores, "that Rolleston went in this direction and that we, who are looking for him, are bound to keep to it." After two hours' progress, during which they groped their way, guided from time to time by the vague shimmering of the river, they reached a sort of isolated chaos into which Simon wearily cast the light of his electric torch. It consisted of enormous blocks of hewn stone, sunk in some lighter, marble, as far as he could see, and partly awash. "I think we might stop here," said Simon, "at all events till daybreak." "Yes," Dolores said, "at daybreak you go on again." He was surprised by this reply: "But you too, I suppose, Dolores?" "Of course; but wouldn't it be better for us to separate? Soon Rolleston's trail will leave the river and Forsetta is sure to catch you up, unless I draw him off on another trail." Simon did not quite understand the girl's plan: "Then what will you do, Dolores?" he asked. "I shall go my own way and I shall certainly draw them after me, since it's I they want." "But in that case you'll fall into the hands of Forsetta and Mazzani, who means to avenge his brother's death. . . ." "I shall give them the slip." "And all the brutes swarming in these parts: will you give them the slip too?" "We're not discussing my affairs, but yours: you have to catch Rolleston. I am hampering your efforts. So let us separate." "Not at all!" protested Simon. "We have no right to separate; and you may be sure that I shan't leave you." Dolores' offer aroused Simon's curiosity. What was the girl's motive? Why did she propose to sacrifice herself? In the silence and the darkness, he thought of her for a long while and of their extraordinary adventure. Starting in pursuit of the woman whom he loved, here he was bound by events to another woman, who was herself pursued; and of this other woman, whose safety depended on his and whose fate was closely linked with his own, he knew nothing but the grace of her figure and the beauty of her face. He had saved her life and he scarcely knew her name. He was protecting her and defending her; and her whole soul remained concealed from him. He felt that she was creeping closer to him. Then he heard these words, which she uttered in a low and hesitating voice: "It's to save me from Forsetta, isn't it, that you refuse my offer?" "Of course," he said. "He's terribly dangerous." She replied, in a still lower voice and in the tone of one making a confession: "You must not let the threat of a Forsetta influence your conduct. . . . What happens to me is of no great account. . . . Without knowing much about my life, you can imagine the sort of girl I was: a little cigarette-seller hanging about the streets of Mexico; later, a dancer in the saloons at Los Angeles. . . ." "Hush!" said Simon, placing his hand over her mouth. "There must be no confidences between you and me." She insisted: "Still you know that Miss Bakefield is running the same danger as myself. By remaining with me, you sacrifice her." "Hush!" he repeated, angrily. "I am doing my duty in not leaving you; and Miss Bakefield herself would never forgive me if I did otherwise!" The girl irritated him. He suspected that she regarded herself as having triumphed over Isabel and that she had been trying to confirm her victory by proving to Simon that he ought to have left her. "No, no," he said to himself, "it's not for her sake that I'm staying with her. I'm staying because it's my duty. A man does not leave a woman under such conditions. But is she capable of understanding that?" They had to leave their refuge in the middle of the night, for it was stealthily invaded by the river, and to lie down higher up the beach. No further incident disturbed their sleep. But in the morning, when the darkness was not yet wholly dispersed, they were awakened by quick, hollow barks. A dog came leaping towards them at such a speed that Simon had no time to do more than pull out his revolver. "Don't fire!" cried Dolores, knife in hand. It was too late. The brute turned a somersault, made a few convulsive moments and lay motionless. Dolores stooped over it and said, positively: "I recognize him, he's the tramps' dog. They are on our track. The dog had run ahead of them." "But our track's impossible to follow. There's hardly any light." "Forsetta and Mazzani have their torches, just as you have. Besides, the firing would have told them." "Then let's be off as quickly as possible," Simon proposed. "They will catch us up . . . at least, unless you abandon your search of Rolleston." Simon seized his rifle: "That's true. So the only thing is to wait for them here and kill them one by one." "That's so," she said. "Unfortunately. . . ." "Well?" "Yesterday, after firing at the tramps, you did not reload your rifle." "No, but my cartridge-belt is on the sand, at the place where I slept." "So is mine; and both are covered by the rising water. Therefore there are only the six cartridges of your Browning left." CHAPTER IV THE BATTLE All things considered, their best chance of safety would have been to plunge into the river and escape by the left bank. But this plan, which would have cut them off from Rolleston and which Simon did not wish to adopt except in the last extremity, must have been foreseen by Forsetta, for, as soon as light was clear enough, they saw two tramps going up the Somme on the opposite bank. Under these conditions, how were they to land? Shortly afterwards, they saw that their retreat was discovered and that the enemy was profiting by their hesitation. On the same bank as themselves, some five hundred yards down-stream, appeared the barrel of a rifle. Up-stream an identical menace confronted them. "Forsetta and Mazzani," declared Dolores. "We are cut off right and left." "But there's nobody in front of us." "Yes, the rest of the tramps." "I don't see them." "They are there, believe me, in hiding and well sheltered." "Let's rush at them and get by!" "To do that, we should have to cover a bare patch under the cross-fire of Mazzani and Forsetta. They are good shots. They won't miss us." "Then what?" "Well, let's defend ourselves here." It was good advice. The cargo of marble blocks, piled higgledy-piggledy like a child's building-bricks, formed a thorough citadel. Dolores and Simon climbed it and at the top selected a fort, protected on all sides, from which they could see the slightest movements of their enemies. "They're coming," Dolores declared, after an attentive scrutiny. The river had deposited along the banks trunks of trees and enormous roots, drifting it was impossible to say whence, which Forsetta and Mazzani were using to cover their approach. Moreover, at each rush forward they protected themselves with broad planks which they carried with them. And Dolores called Simon's attention to the fact that more things were moving across the bare plain; more shields improvised of all sorts of stray materials: coils of rope, broken parts of boats, fragments of pontoons and pieces of boilerplate. All these things were creeping imperceptibly, with the sure, heavy pace of tortoises making for the same goal, along the radius that led to the centre. And the centre was the fortress. The tramps were investing it under the orders of Mazzani and Forsetta. From time to time a limb or a head appeared in sight. "Ah!" said Simon, in a voice filled with rage. "If only I had a few bullets, wouldn't I stop this inroad of wood-lice!" Dolores had made a display of the two useless rifles, in the hope that the threatening aspect would intimidate the enemy. But the confidence of the attackers increased with the inactivity of the besieged. It was even possible that the two Indians had scented the ruse, for they scarcely attempted to conceal themselves. To show his skill, one of them--Forsetta, Dolores declared--shot down a sea-gull skimming along the river. Mazzani accepted the challenge. An aeroplane, humming in their direction and flying lower than most, seemed suddenly to drop from the clouds and silently glided across the river, over the blocks of marble. When it came level, Mazzani threw up his rifle, slowly took aim and fired. The pilot was hit, bore downwards, heeled over on either side alternately, until he seemed about to capsize, and passed on, disappearing in a zig-zag flight like that of a wounded bird. And suddenly, Simon having shown his head, two bullets fired by the two Indians ricochetted from the nearest stone surface, detaching a few splinters. "Oh, please don't be so imprudent!" Dolores implored. A drop of blood trickled down his forehead. She staunched it gently with her handkerchief and murmured: "You see, Simon, those men will get the better of us. And you still refuse to leave me? You risk your life, though nothing can affect the issue?" He pushed her away from him: "My life is not at stake. . . . Nor yours either. . . . This handful of wretches will never get at us." He was mistaken. Some of the vagabonds were within eighty yards of them. They could hear them talking together; and the men's hard faces, covered with grey stubble, shot up from behind their bucklers like the head of a Jack-in-the-box. Forsetta was shouting his orders: "Forward! . . . There's no danger! . . . They've no ammunition! . . . Forward, I tell you! The Frenchman's pockets are stuffed with notes!" The seven tramps ran forward as one man. Simon levelled his revolver briskly and fired. They stopped. No one was hit. Forsetta was triumphant: "They're done for! . . . Nothing but short-range Browning bullets! . . . At them!" He himself, protecting his body with a piece of sheet-iron, ran up at full speed. Mazzani and the tramps formed up in a circle at thirty or forty yards. "Ready!" bellowed Forsetta. "Out with your knives!" Dolores remarked to Simon that they must not remain in their observation-post, since most of their enemies would be able to reach the foot of the fortress unseen and slip between the marble blocks. They slid through a gap which formed a chimney from the top to the ground. "There they are! There they are!" said Dolores. "Fire now! . . . Look, here's a chink!" Through this chink Simon saw two big ruffians walking ahead of the rest. Two shots rang out. The two big ruffians fell. The party halted for the second time, hesitating what to do. Dolores and Simon profited by this delay to take refuge at the extreme edge of the river. Three single blocks of marble formed a sort of sentry-box, with an empty space in front of it. "Charge!" shouted Forsetta, joining the men. "They're trapped! Mazzani and I have got them covered. If the Frenchman stirs, we'll shoot him down!" To meet the charge, Simon and Dolores were obliged to stand up and half-expose themselves. Terrified by the Indian's threat, Dolores threw herself before Simon, making a rampart of her body. "Halt!" ordered Forsetta, restraining his men's onrush. "And you, Dolores, you leave your Frenchman! Come! He shall have his life if you leave him. He can go: it's you I'm after!" Simon seized the girl with his left arm and drew her back by main force: "Not a movement!" he said. "I forbid you to leave me! I'll answer for your safety. As long as I live those brutes shan't get you." And, with the girl pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, he stretched out his right arm. "Well done, M. Dubosc!" jeered Forsetta. "Seems that we're sweet on the fair Dolores and that we're sticking to her! Those Frenchmen are all alike! Chivalrous fellows!" With a wave of the hand he gathered up the tramps for the final attack: "Now then, mates! One more effort and all the notes are yours! Mazzani and I bag the pretty lady. Is that right, Mazzani?" All together they came rushing on. All together, at an order from Forsetta, they hurled, like so many projectiles, the pieces of wood and iron with which they had protected themselves. Dolores was not hit, but Simon, struck on the arm, dropped his Browning at the very moment when he had fired at Mazzani and brought him down. One of the tramps leapt upon the pistol, which had rolled away, while Forsetta struggled with Dolores, avoiding the girl's dagger and imprisoning her in his arms. "Oh, Simon! I'm done for!" she screamed, trying to hang on to him. But Simon had the five tramps to deal with. Unarmed, with nothing but his hands and feet to fight with, he was shot at three times by the man who had picked up his pistol and was clumsily firing off the last few cartridges. He staggered for a moment under the weight of the other brutes and was thrown to the ground. Two of them seized his legs. Two others tried to strangle him, while the fifth still kept him covered with his empty pistol. "Simon, save me! . . . Save me!" cried Dolores, whom Forsetta was carrying off, wrapped in a blanket and bound with a rope. He made a desperate effort, escaping his assailants for a few seconds, and, before they had time to come to close quarters again, acting on a sudden impulse he threw his pocket-book to them, shouting: "Hands off, you blackguards! Share that between you! Thirty thousand!" The bundles of notes fell out of the leather wallet and were scattered over the ground. The tramps did not hesitate, but plumped down on their hands and knees, leaving the field to Simon. Fifty yards away, Forsetta was running along the river, with his prey slung over his shoulder. Farther on, the two tramps posted on the other bank were punting themselves across on a raft which they had found. If Forsetta came up with them, it meant his safety. "He won't get there," Simon said to himself, measuring the distance with his eye. With a quick movement, he snatched the knife of one of his aggressors and set off at a run. Forsetta, who believed him to be still struggling with the vagabonds, did not hurry. He had, so to speak, rolled Dolores round his neck, holding her legs, head and arms in front of him and crushing them to his chest with his rifle and his brawny arms. He shouted to the two men on the raft, to stimulate their ardour: "Here's the girl! She's my share. . . . You shall have all her jewels!" The men warned him: "Look out!" He turned, saw Simon at twenty paces' distance and tried to throw Dolores to the ground with a heave of the shoulder, like an irksome burden. The girl fell, but she had so contrived matters, under cover of the suffocating blanket, that at the moment of falling she had a good grip on the barrel of the Indian's rifle; and in her fall she dragged him down with her. The few seconds which Forsetta needed to recover his weapon were his undoing. Simon leapt upon him before he could take aim. He stumbled once more, received a dagger-thrust in the hip and went down on his knees, begging for mercy. Simon released Dolores' bonds; then, addressing the two tramps who, terror-stricken when on the point of touching ground, were now trying to push off again: "See to his wound," he ordered. "And there's the other Indian over there: he's probably alive. Look after him too, you shall have your lives." The tramps were scattering so rapidly in the distance, with Simon's bank-notes, that he gave up all idea of pursuing them. Thus he remained master of the battle-field. Dead, wounded, or in fight, his adversaries were defeated. The extraordinary adventure was continuing as it were in a savage country and against the most unexpected background. He was profoundly conscious of the incredible moments through which he was passing, on the bed of the Channel, between France and England, in a region which was truly a land of death, crime, cunning and violence. And he had triumphed! He could not refrain from smiling and, leaning with both hands on Forsetta's rifle, he said to Dolores: "The prairie! It's Fenimore Cooper's prairie! The Far West! It's all here: the attack by Sioux, the improvised blockhouse, the abduction, the fight, with the chief of the Pale-Faces coming out victorious! . . ." She stood facing him, very erect. Her thin silk blouse had been torn in the struggle and hung in strips around her bosom. Simon added, in a tone of less assurance: "And here's the fair Indian." Was it emotion, or excessive fatigue after her protracted efforts? Dolores staggered and seemed on the verge of fainting. He supported her, holding her in his arms: "You're surely not wounded?" he said. "No. . . . A passing giddiness. . . . I have been badly frightened. . . . And I had no business to be frightened, since you were there and you had promised to save me. Oh, Simon, how grateful I am to you!" "I have done what any one would have done in my place, Dolores. Don't thank me." He tried to free himself, but she held him and, after a moment's silence, said: "She whom the chief calls the fair Indian had a name by which she was known in her own country. Shall I tell you what it was?" "What was it, Dolores?" In a low voice, without taking her eyes from his, she replied: "The Chief's Reward!" He had felt, in his inner consciousness, that this magnificent creature deserved some such name, that she was truly the prey which men seek to ravish, the captive to be saved at any cost, and that she did indeed offer, with her red lips and her brown shoulders, the most wonderful of rewards. She had flung her arms about his neck; he was conscious of their caress; and for a moment they stood like that, motionless, uncertain of what was coming. But Isabel's image flashed across his mind and he remembered the oath which she had required of him: "Not a moment's weakness, Simon. I should never forgive that." He pulled himself together and said: "Get some rest, Dolores. We have still a long way to go." She also recovered herself and went down to the river, where she bathed her face in the cool water. Then, getting to work immediately, she collected all the provisions and ammunition that she could find on the wounded men. "There!" she said, when everything was ready for their departure. "Mazzani and Forsetta won't die, but we have nothing more to fear from them. We will leave them in the charge of the two tramps. The four of them will be able to defend themselves." They exchanged no more words. They went up the river for another hour and reached the wide bend of which the people from Cayeux had told them. At the very beginning of this bend, which brought the waters of the Somme direct from France, they picked up Rolleston's trail on a tract of muddy sand. The trail led straight on, leaving the course of the river and running north. "The fountains of gold lie in this direction evidently," Simon inferred. "Rolleston must be at least a day's journey ahead of us." "Yes," said Dolores, "but his party is a large one, they have no horses left and their two prisoners are delaying their progress." They met several wanderers, all of whom had heard the strange rumour which had spread from one end of the prairie to the other and all of whom were hunting for the fountain of gold. No one could give the least information. But a sort of old crone came hobbling along, leaning on a stick and carrying a carpet-bag with the head of a little dog sticking out of it. The dog was barking like mad. The old crone was humming a tune, in a faint, high-pitched voice. Dolores questioned her. She replied, in short, sing-song sentences, which seemed a continuation of her ditty, that she had been walking for three days, never stopping . . . that she had worn out her shoes . . . and that when she was tired . . . she got her dog to carry her: "Yes, my dog carries me," she repeated. "Don't you, Dick?" "She's mad," Simon muttered. The old woman nodded in assent and addressed them in a confidential tone: "Yes, I'm mad. . . . I used not to be, but it's the gold . . . the rain of gold that has made me mad. . . . It shoots into the air like a fountain . . . and the gold coins and the bright pebbles . . . fall in a shower. . . . So you hold out your hat or your bag and the gold comes pouring into it. . . . My bag is full. . . . Would you like to see?" She laughed quietly and, beckoning to Simon and Dolores, took her dog by the scruff of the neck, dropped him on the ground and half-opened her bag. Then, again in her sing-song voice: "You are honest folk, aren't you? . . . I wouldn't show it to any one else. . . . But you won't hurt me." Dolores and Simon eagerly bent over the bag. With her bony fingers the old woman first lifted a heap of rags kept there for Dick's benefit; she then removed a few shiny red and yellow pebbles. Beneath these lay quite a little hoard of gold coins, of which she seized a generous handful, making them clink in the hollow of her hand. They were old coins of all sizes and bearing all sorts of heads. Simon exclaimed excitedly: "She comes from there! . . . She has been there!" And shaking the mad woman by the shoulders, he asked: "Where is it? How many hours have you been walking? Have you seen a party of men leading two prisoners, an old man and a girl?" But the madwoman picked up her dog and closed her bag. She refused to hear. At the most, as she moved away, she said, or rather sang to the air of a ballad which the dog accompanied with his barking: "Men on horseback. . . . They were galloping. . . . It was yesterday. . . . A girl with fair hair. . . ." Simon shrugged his shoulders: "She's wandering. Rolleston has no horses. . . ." "True," said Dolores, "but, all the same, Miss Bakefield's hair is fair." They were much astonished, a little way on, to find that Rolleston's trail branched off into another trail which came from France and which had been left by the trampling of many horses--a dozen, Dolores estimated--whose marks were less recent than the bandits' footprints. These were evidently the men on horseback whom the madwoman had seen. Dolores and Simon had only to follow the beaten track displayed before their eyes on the carpet of moist sand. The region of shells had come to an end. The plain was strewn with great, absolutely round rocks, formed by pebbles agglomerated in marl, huge balls polished by all the submarine currents and deep-sea tides. In the end they were packed so close together that they constituted an insuperable obstacle, which the horsemen and then Rolleston had wheeled round. When Simon and Dolores had passed it, they came to a wide depression of the ground, the bottom of which was reached by circular terraces. Down here were a few more of the round rocks. Amid these rocks lay a number of corpses. They counted five. They were the bodies of young men, smartly dressed and wearing boots and spurs. Four had been killed by bullets, the fifth by a stab in the back between the shoulders. Simon and Dolores looked at each other and then each continued in independent search. On the sand lay bridles and girth, two nosebags full of oats, half-emptied meat-tins, unrolled blankets and a spirit-stove. The victims' pockets had been ransacked. Nevertheless, Simon found in a waistcoat a sheet of paper bearing a list of ten names--Paul Cormier, Armand Darnaud, etc.--headed by this note: "Foret-d'Eu Hunt." Dolores explored the immediate surroundings. The clues which she thus obtained and the facts discovered by Simon enabled them to reconstruct the tragedy exactly. The horsemen, all members of a Norman hunt, camping on this spot two nights before, had been surprised in the morning by Rolleston's gang and the greater number massacred. With such men as Rolleston and his followers, the attack had inevitably ended in a thorough loot, but its main object had been the theft of the horses. When these had been taken after a fight, the robbers had made off at a gallop. "There are only five bodies," said Dolores, "and there are ten names on the list. Where are the other five riders?" "Scattered," said Simon, "wounded, dying, anything. I daresay we should find them by searching round? But how can we? Have we the right to delay, when the safety of Miss Bakefield and her father is at stake? Think, Dolores: Rolleston has more than thirty hours' start of us and he and his men are mounted on excellent horses, while we. . . . And then where are we to catch them?" He clenched his fists with rage: "Oh, if I only knew where this fountain of gold was! How far from it are we? A day's march? Two days'? It's horrible to know nothing, to go forward at random, in this accursed country!" CHAPTER V THE CHIEF'S REWARD During the next two hours they saw, in the distance, three more corpses. Frequent shots were fired, but whence they did not know. Single prowlers were becoming rare; they encountered rather groups consisting of men of all classes and nationalities, who had joined for purposes of defence. But quarrels broke out within these groups, the moment there was the least booty in dispute, or even the faintest hope of booty. No discipline was accepted save that imposed by force. When one of these wandering bands seemed to be approaching them, Simon carried his rifle ostentatiously as though on the point of taking aim. He entered into conversation only at a distance and with a forbidding and repellent air. Dolores watched him uneasily, avoiding speech with him. Once she had to tell him that he was taking the wrong direction and to prove his mistake to him. But this involved an explanation to which he listened with impatience and which he cut short by grumbling: "And then? What does it matter if we keep to the right or to the left? We know nothing. There is nothing to prove that Rolleston has taken Miss Bakefield with him on his expedition. He may have imprisoned her somewhere, until he is free to return for her . . . so that, in following him, I risk the chance of going farther away from her. . . ." Nevertheless, the need of action drew him on, however uncertain the goal to be achieved. He could never have found heart to apply himself to investigations or to check the impulse which urged him onward. Dolores marched indefatigably by his side, sometimes even in front. She had taken off her shoes and stockings. He watched her bare feet making their light imprint in the sand. Her hips swayed as she walked, as with American girls. She was all grace, strength and suppleness. Less distracted, paying more attention to external things, she probed the horizon with her keen gaze. It was while doing so that she cried, pointing with outstretched hand: "Look over there, the aeroplane!" It was right at the top of a long, long upward slope of the whole plain, at a spot where the mist and the ground were blended till they could not say for certain whether the aeroplane was flying through the mist or running along the soil. It looked like one of those sailing-ships which seem suspended on the confines of the ocean. It was only gradually that the reality became apparent: the machine was motionless, resting on the ground. "There is no doubt," said Simon, "considering the direction, that this is the aeroplane that crossed the river. Damaged by Mazzani's bullet, it flew as far as this, where it managed to land as best it could." Now the figure of the pilot could be distinguished; and he too--a strange phenomenon--was motionless, sitting in his place, his head almost invisible behind his rounded shoulders. One of the wheels was half-destroyed. However, the aeroplane did not appear to have suffered very greatly. But what was this man doing, that he never moved? They shouted. He did not reply, nor did he turn round; and, when they reached him, they saw that his breast was leaning against the steering-wheel, while his arms hung down on either side. Drops of blood were trickling from under the seat. Simon climbed on board and almost immediately declared: "He's dead. Mazzani's bullet caught him sideways behind the head. . . . A slight wound, of which he was not conscious for some time, to judge by the quantity of blood which he lost, probably without knowing. . . . Then he succeeded in touching earth. And then . . . then I don't know . . . a more violent hemorrhage, a clot on the brain. . . ." Dolores joined Simon. Together they lifted the body. No foot-pads had passed that way, for they found the dead man's papers, watch and pocket-book untouched. His papers, on examination, were of no special interest. But the route-map fixed to the steering-wheel representing the Channel and the old coast-lines, was marked with a dot in red pencil and the words: "Rain of gold." "He was going there too," Simon murmured. "They already know of it in France. And here's the exact place . . . twenty-five miles from where we are . . . between Boulogne and Hastings . . . not far from the Banc de Bassurelle. . . ." And, quivering with hope, he added: "If I can get the thing to fly, I'll be there myself in half an hour. . . . And I shall rescue Isabel. . . ." Simon set to work with a zest which nothing could discourage. The aeroplane's injuries were not serious: a wheel was buckled, the steering-rod bent, the feed-pipe twisted. The sole difficulty arose from the fact that Simon found only inadequate tools in the tool-box and no spare parts whatever. But this did not deter him; he contrived some provisional splices and other repairs, not troubling about their strength provided that the machine could fly for the time required: "After all," he said to Dolores, who was doing what she could to help him, "after all, it is only a question of forty minutes' flight, no more. If I can manage to take off, I'm sure to hold out. Bless my soul, I've done more difficult things than that!" His joy once more bubbled over in vivacious talk. He sang, laughed, jeered at Rolleston and pictured the ruffian's face at seeing this implacable archangel descending from the skies. All the same, rapidly though he worked, he realized by six o'clock in the evening that he could scarcely finish before night and that, under these conditions, it would be better to put off the start until next morning. He therefore completed his repairs and carefully tested the machine, while Dolores moved away to prepare their camp. When twilight fell, his task was finished. Happy and smiling, he followed the path on his right which he had seen the girl take. The plain fell away suddenly beyond the ridge on which the aeroplane had stranded; and a deeper gully, between two sand-hills, led Simon to a lower, basin-shaped plain, in the hollow of which shone a sheet of water so limpid that he could see the bed of black rock at the bottom. This was the first landscape in which Simon perceived a certain charm, a touch of terrestrial and almost human poetry; and at the far end of the lake there stood the most incredible thing that could be imagined in this region which only a few days earlier had been buried under the sea: a structure which seemed to have been raised by human hands and which was supported by columns apparently covered with fine carving! Dolores stepped out of it. Tall and shapely, with slow, sedate movements, she walked in to the water, among some stones standing upright in the lake, filled a glass and, bending backwards, drank a few sips. Near by, a trace of steam, rising from a pannikin on a spirit-stove, hovered in the air. Seeing Simon, she smiled and said: "Everything's ready. Here's tea, white bread and butter." "Do you mean it?" he said, laughing. "So there were inhabitants at the bottom of the sea, people who grew wheat?" "No, but there was some food in that poor airman's box." "Very well; but this house, this prehistoric palace?" It was a very primitive palace, a wall of great stones touching one another and surmounted by a great slab like those which top the Druid dolmans. The whole thing was crude and massive, covered with carvings which, when examined closely, were merely thousands of holes bored by molluscs. "Lithophagic molluscs, Old Sandstone would call them. By Jove, how excited he would be to see these remains of a dwelling which dates thousands and thousands of centuries back and which perhaps has others buried in the sand near it . . . a whole village, I dare say! And isn't this positive proof that this land was inhabited before it was invaded by the sea? Doesn't it upset all our accepted ideas, since it throws back the appearance of men to a period which we are not prepared to admit? Oh, you Old Sandstone, if you were only here! What theories you could evolve!" Simon evolved no theories. But, though the scientific explanation of the phenomenon meant little to him, how acutely he felt its strangeness and how deeply stirring this moment seemed to him! Before him, before Dolores, rose another age and in circumstances that made them resemble two creatures of that age, the same desolate, barbarous surroundings, the same dangers, the same pitfalls. And the same peace. From the threshold of their refuge stretched a placid landscape made of sand, mist and water. The faint sound of a little stream that fed the lake barely disturbed the infinite silence. He looked at his companion. No one could be better adapted to the surrounding scene. She had its primitive charm, its wild, rather savage character and all its mysterious poetry. The night stretched its veil across the lake and the hills. "Let us go in," she said, when they had eaten and drunk. "Let us go in," he said. She went before, then, turned to give him her hand and led him into the chamber formed by the circle of stone slabs. Simon's lamp was there, hanging from a projection in the wall. The floor was covered with fine sand. Two blankets lay spread. Simon hesitated. Dolores held him by a firmer pressure of the hand and he remained, despite himself, in a moment of weakness. Besides, she suddenly switched off the lamp and he might have thought himself alone, for he heard nothing more than the infinitely gentle lapping of the lake against the stones upon the beach. It was then and really not until then that he perceived the snare which events had laid for him by drawing him closer to Dolores during the past three days. He had defended her, as any man would have done, but her beauty had not for a moment affected his decision, or stimulated his courage. Had she been old or ugly, she would have found the same protection at his hands. At the present moment--he realized it suddenly--he was thinking of Dolores not as a companion of his adventures and his dangers but as the most beautiful and attractive of creatures. He reflected that she, perturbed like himself, was not sleeping either, and that her eyes were seeking him through the darkness. At her slightest movement, the delicate perfume with which she scented her hair, mingled with the warm emanations that floated on the breeze. She whispered: "Simon. . . . Simon. . . ." He did not reply. His heart was oppressed. Several times she repeated his name; then, no doubt believing him asleep, she rose and her naked feet lightly touched the sand. She went out. What was she going to do? A minute elapsed. There was a sound as of rustling clothes. Then he heard her footsteps on the beach, followed almost immediately by the splash of water and the sound of drops falling in a shower. Dolores was bathing in the darkness. Simon was next hardly able to detect what was scarcely more perceptible than the swan's gliding over the surface of the pond. The silence and peace of the water remained unbroken. Dolores must have swum towards the centre of the lake. When she returned, he once more heard the pattering of drops and the rustle of clothes while she dressed. He rose suddenly, with the intention of going out before she entered. But she was quicker than he anticipated and they met on the threshold. He drew back, while she asked him: "Were you going, Simon?" "Yes," he said, seeking a pretext. "I am anxious about the aeroplane . . . some thief. . . ." "Yes . . . yes," she said, hesitatingly. "But I should like first . . . to thank you. . . ." Their voices betrayed the same embarrassment and the same profound agitation. The darkness hid them from each other's eyes; yet how plainly Simon saw the young woman before him! "I've behaved as I should to you," he declared. "Not as other men have done . . . and it is that which touched me. . . . I was struck by it from the beginning. . . ." Perhaps she felt by intuition that any too submissive words would offend him, for she did not continue her confession. Only, after a moment's pause, she murmured: "This is our last night alone. . . . Afterwards we shall be parted by the whole of life . . . by everything. . . . Then . . . hold me tight to you for a little . . . for a second. . . ." Simon did not move. She was asking for a display of affection of which he dreaded the danger all the more because he longed so eagerly to yield to it and because his will was weakening beneath the onslaught of evil thoughts. Why should he resist? What would have been a sin and a crime against love at ordinary times was so no longer at this period of upheaval, when the play of natural forces and of chance gave rise for a time to abnormal conditions of life. To kiss Dolores' lips at such a moment: was it worse than plucking a flower that offers itself to the hand? They were united by the favouring darkness. They were alone in the world; they were both young; they were free. Dolores' hands were outstretched in despair. Should he not give her his own and obey this delicious dizziness which was overcoming him? "Simon," she said, in a voice of supplication. "Simon. . . . I ask so little of you! . . . Don't refuse me. . . . It's not possible that you should refuse me, is it? When you risked your life for mine, it was because you had a . . . a feeling . . . a something. . . . I am not mistaken, am I?" Simon was silent. He would not speak to her of Isabel, would not bring Isabel's name into the duel which they were fighting. Dolores continued her entreaties: "Simon, I have never loved any one but you. . . . The others . . . the others don't count. . . . You, the look in your eyes gave me happiness from the first moment. . . . It was like the sun shining into my life. . . . And I should be so happy if there were a . . . a memory between us. You would forget it. . . . It would count for nothing with you. . . . But for me . . . it would mean life changed . . . beautified. . . . I should have the strength to be another woman. . . . Please, please, give me your hand. . . . Take me in your arms. . . ." Simon did not move. Something more powerful than the impulse of the temptation restrained him: his plighted word to Isabel and his love for her. Isabel's image blended with Dolores's image; and, in his faltering mind, in his darkened conscience, the conflict continued. . . . Dolores waited. She had fallen to her knees and was whispering indistinct words in a language which he did not understand, words of plaintive passion of whose distress he was fully sensible, and which mounted to his ears like a prayer and an appeal. In the end she fell weeping at his feet. Then he passed by, without touching her. The cold night air caressed his features. He walked away at a rapid pace, pronouncing Isabel's name with the fervour of a believer reciting the words of a litany. He turned towards the plateau. When almost there, he lay down against the slope of the hill and, for a long time before falling asleep, he continued to think of Dolores as of some one whose memory was already growing dim. The girl was becoming once more a stranger. He would never know why she had loved him so spontaneously and so ardently; why a nature in which instinct must needs play so imperious a part had found room for such noble feelings, humility and delicacy and devotion. In the earliest moments of the dawn he gave the aeroplane a final examination. After a few tests which gave him good hopes of success, he went back to the dwelling by the lake. But Dolores was gone. For an hour he searched for her and called to her in vain. She had disappeared without even leaving a footprint in the sand. On rising above the clouds into the immensity of a clear sky all flooded with sunlight, Simon uttered a cry of joy. The mysterious Dolores meant nothing to him now, no more than all the dangers braved with her or all those which might still lie in wait for him. He had surmounted every obstacle, escaped every snare. He had been victorious in every contest; and perhaps his greatest victory was that of resisting Dolores' enchantment. It was ended. Isabel had triumphed. Nothing stood between her and him. He held the steering-wheel well under control. The motor was working to perfection. The map and the compass were before his eyes. At the point indicated, at the exact spot, neither too much to the right nor too much to the left, neither overshooting nor falling short of the mark, he would descend within a radius of a hundred yards. The flight certainly took less than the forty minutes which he had allowed for. In thirty at most he covered the distance, without seeing anything but the moving sea of clouds rolling beneath him in white billows. All he could do now was to fling himself upon it. After stopping his engine, he drew closer and closer, describing great circles. Cries or rather shouts and roars rose from the ground, as though multitudes were gathered together. Then he entered the rolling mist, through which he continued to wheel like a bird of prey. He never doubted Rolleston's presence, nor the imminence of the fight which would ensue between them, nor its favourable outcome, followed by Isabel's release. But he dreaded the landing, the critical rock on which he might split. The sight of the ground showing clear of the mist reassured him. A wide and, as it seemed to him, almost flat space lay spread like an arena, in which he saw nothing but four disks of sand which must represent so many mounds and which could be easily avoided. The crowd kept outside this arena, save for a few people who were running in all directions and gesticulating. At closer quarters, the soil appeared less smooth, consisting of endless sand-coloured pebbles, heaped in places to a certain height. He therefore gave all his attention to avoiding collision with these obstacles and succeeded in landing without the slightest shock and in stopping quite quietly. Groups of people came running about the aeroplane. Simon thought that they wished to help him to alight. His illusion did not last long. A few seconds later, the aeroplane was taken by assault by some twenty men; and Simon felt the barrels of two revolvers pushed against his face and was bound from head to foot, wrapped in a blanket, gagged and deprived of all power of movement, before he could even attempt the least resistance. "Into the hold, with the rest of them!" commanded a hoarse voice. "And, if he gives trouble, blow out his brains!" There was no need for this drastic measure. The manner in which Simon was bound reduced him to absolute helplessness. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he counted that the men carrying him took a hundred and thirty steps and that their course brought him nearer to the roaring crowd. "When you've quite done bawling!" grinned one of the men. "And then make yourselves scarce, see? The machine-gun's getting to work." They climbed a staircase. Simon was dragged up by the cords that bound him. A violent hand ransacked his pockets and relieved him of his arms and his papers. He felt himself again lifted; and then he dropped into a void. It was no great fall and was softened by the dense layer of captives already swarming at the bottom of the hold, who began to swear behind their gags. Using his knees and elbows, Simon made room for himself as best he could on the floor. It must have been about nine o'clock in the morning. From that moment, time no longer counted for him, for he thought of nothing but how to defend the place which he had won against any who might seek to take it from him, whether former occupants or new-comers. Voices muffled by gags uttered furious snarls, or groaned, breathless and exhausted. It was really hell. There were dying men and dead bodies, the death-rattle of Frenchmen mingling with Englishmen, blood, sticky rags and a loathsome stench of carrion. During the course of the afternoon, or it might have been in the evening, a tremendous noise broke out, like the sound of a great sheaf of rockets, and forthwith the numberless crowd roared at the top of its voice, with the frenzied fury of an insurgent mob. Then, suddenly, through it all, came orders shouted in a strident voice, more powerful than the tumult. Then a profound silence. And then a crack of sharp, hurried explosions, followed by the frightful rattle of a machine-gun. This lasted for at least two or three minutes. The uproar had recommenced; and it continued until Simon could no longer hear the fizzing of the fireworks and the din of the shooting. They seemed still to be fighting. They were dispatching the wounded amid curses and shrieks of pain; and a batch of dying men was flung into the hold. The evening and the night wore through. Simon, who had not touched food since his meal with Dolores beside the lake, was also suffering cruelly from the lack of air, the weight of the dead and the living on his chest, the gag which bruised his jaw and the blanket which wrapped his head like a blind, air-tight hood. Were they going to leave him to die of starvation and asphyxia, in this huddle of sticky, decomposing flesh, above which floated the inarticulate plaint of death? His bandaged eyes received a feeling as though the day were breaking. His torpid neighbours were swarming like slimy reptiles in a tub. Then, from above, a voice growled: "No easy job to find him! . . . Queer notions the chief has! As well try and pick a worm out of the mud!" "Take my boat-hook," said another voice. "You can use it to turn the stiffs over like a scavenger sorting a heap of muck. . . . Lower down than that, old man! Since yesterday morning, the bloke must be at the bottom. . . ." And the first voice cried: "That's him! There, look, to the left! That's him! I know my rope around his waist. . . . Patience a moment, while I hook him!" Simon felt something digging into him that must have been the spike of the boat-hook catching in his bonds. He was hooked, dragged along and hoisted from corpse to corpse to the top of the hold. The men unfastened his legs and told him to stand up: "Now then, you! Up with you, my hearty!" His eyes still bandaged, he was seized by the arms and led out of the wreck. They crossed the arena, whose pebbles he felt under foot, and mounted another flight of steps, leading to the deck of another wreck. There the men halted. From here, when his hood and gag were removed, Simon could see that the arena in which he had landed was surrounded by a wall made of barricades added according to the means at hand: ships' boats, packing-cases and bales, rocks, banks of sand. The hulk of a torpedo-boat was continued by some cast-iron piping. A stack of drain-pipes was followed by a submarine. All along this enclosure, sentinels armed with rifles mounted guard. Beyond it, kept at a distance of more than a hundred yards by the menace of the rifles and of a machine-gun levelled a little way to the rear, the swarm of marauders was eddying and bawling. Inside, there was an expanse of yellow pebbles, sulphur-coloured, like those which the madwoman had carried in her bag. Were the gold coins mixed with those pebbles and had a certain number of resolute, well-armed robbers clubbed together to exploit this precious field? Here and there rose mounds resembling the truncated cones of small extinct volcanoes. Meantime, Simon's warders made him face about, in order to bind him to the stump of a broken mast, near a group of prisoners whom other warders were holding, like so many animals, by halters and chains. On this side was the general staff of the gang, sitting for the moment as a court-martial. In the centre of a circle was a platform of moderate height, edged by ten or a dozen corpses and dying men, some of the latter struggling in hideous convulsions. On the platform a man who was drinking sat or rather sprawled in a great throne-like chair. Near him was a stool with bottles of champagne and a knife dripping with blood. Beside him was a group of men with revolvers in their hands. The man in the chair wore a black uniform relieved with decorations and stuck all over with diamonds and precious stones. Emerald necklaces hung round his neck. A diadem of gold and gems encircled his forehead. When he had finished drinking, his face appeared. Simon started. From certain details which recalled the features of his friend Edward Rolleston, he realized that this man was no other than Wilfred Rolleston. Moreover, among the jewels and necklaces, was a miniature set in pearls, the miniature and the pearls of Isabel Bakefield. CHAPTER VI HELL ON EARTH A rascally face was Wilfred Rolleston's, but above all a drunkard's face, in which the noble features of his cousin Edward were debased by the habit of debauch. His eyes, which were small and sunk in their sockets, shone with an extraordinary glitter. A continual grin, which revealed red gums set with enormous, pointed teeth, gave his jaw the look of a gorilla's. He burst out laughing: "M. Simon Dubosc? M. Simon Dubosc will pardon me. Before I deal with him, I have a few poor fellows to dispatch to a better world. I shall attend to you in three minutes, M. Simon Dubosc." And, turning to his henchman: "First gentleman." They pushed forward a poor devil quaking with fear. "How much gold has this one stolen?" he asked. One of the warders replied: "Two sovereigns, my lord, fallen outside the barricades." "Kill him." A revolver-shot; and the poor wretch fell dead. Three more executions followed, performed in as summary a fashion; and at each the executioners and their assistants were seized with a fit of hilarity which found expression in cheers and the cutting of many capers. But when the fourth sufferer's turn came--he had stolen nothing, but was under suspicion of stealing--the executioner's revolver missed fire. Then Rolleston leapt from his throne, uncoiled his great height, towered above his victim's head and buried his knife between his shoulder-blades. It was a moment of delirious delight. The guard of honour yelped and roared, dancing a frantic jig upon the platform. Rolleston resumed his throne. After this, an axe cleft the air twice in succession and two heads leapt into the air. All these monsters gave the impression of the court of some nigger monarch in the heart of Africa. Liberated from all that restrains its impulses and controls its actions, left to itself, with no fear of the police, mankind, represented by this gang of cut-throats, was relapsing into its primitive animal state. Instinct reigned supreme, in all its fierce absurdity. Rolleston, the drink-sodden chieftain of a tribe of savages, was killing for killing's sake, because killing is a pleasure not to be indulged in everyday life and because the sight of blood intoxicated him more effectually than champagne. "It's the Frenchman's turn"; cried the despot, bursting into laughter. "It's M. Dubosc's turn! And I will deal with him myself!" He stepped down from his throne again, holding a red knife in his hand, and planted himself before Simon: "Ah, M. Dubosc," he said, in a husky voice, "you escaped me the first time, in a hotel at Hastings! Yes, it appears I stabbed the wrong man. That was a bit of luck for you! But then, my dear sir, why the deuce, instead of making yourself scarce, do you come running after me . . . and after Miss Bakefield?" At Isabel's name, he suddenly blazed into fury: "Miss Bakefield! My _fiancée_! Don't you know that I love her! Miss Bakefield! Why, I've sworn by all the devils in hell that I would bury my knife in the back of my rival, if ever one dared to come forward. And you're the rival, are you, M. Dubosc? But, my poor fool, you shouldn't have let yourself get caught!" His eyes lit up with a cruel joy. He slowly raised his arm, while gazing into Simon's eyes for the first appearance of mortal anguish. But the moment had not yet come, for he suddenly stayed the movement of his arm and sputtered: "I have an idea! . . . An idea . . . not half a bad one! . . . No, not half! Look here. . . . M. Dubosc must attend the little ceremony! He will be glad to know that the lot of his dear Isabel is assured. Patience, M. Dubosc!" He exchanged a few words with his guards, who gave signs of their hearty approval and were at once rewarded with glasses of champagne. Then the preparations began. Three guards marched away, while the other satellites seated the dead bodies in a circle, so as to form a gallery of spectators round a small table which was placed upon the platform. Simon was one of the gallery. He was again gagged. All these incidents occurred like the scenes of an incoherent play, stage-managed and performed by madmen. It had no more sense than the fantastic visions of a nightmare; and Simon felt hardly more alarmed at knowing that his life was threatened than he would have felt joy at seeing himself saved. He was living in an unreal world of shifting figures. The guard of honour fell in and presented arms. Rolleston took off his diadem, as a man might take off his hat in sign of respect, and spread his diamond-studded tunic on the deck, as people might spread flowers beneath the feet of an advancing queen. The three attendants who had been ordered away returned. Behind them came a woman escorted by two coarse, red-faced viragoes. Simon shuddered with despair; he had recognized Isabel, but so much changed, so pale! She swayed as she walked, as though her limbs refused to support her and as though her poor distressful eyes could not see plainly. Yet she refused the aid of her companions. A male prisoner followed her, held on a leash like the others. He was an old, white-haired parson. Rolleston hurried to meet her whom he called his _fiancée_, offering her his hand and leading her to a chair. He resumed his tunic and took his place beside her. The clergyman remained standing behind the table, under the threat of a revolver. The ceremony, of which the details must have been arranged beforehand, was short. The parson stammered the customary words. Rolleston declared that he took Isabel Bakefield to be his wife. Isabel, when the question was put, bowed her head in assent, Rolleston slipped a wedding-ring upon her finger; then he unfastened from his uniform the miniature set in pearls and pinned it to the girl's bodice: "My wedding-present, darling," he said, cynically. And he kissed her hand. She seemed overcome with dizziness and collapsed for a moment, but recovered herself immediately. "Till this evening, darling," said Rolleston, "when your loving husband will visit you and claim his rights. Till this evening, darling." He made a sign to the two viragoes to lead their prisoner away. A few bottles of champagne were opened, the clergyman received a dagger-thrust as his fee and Rolleston, waving his glass and staggering on his legs, shouted: "Here's the health of my wife! What do you say to that, M. Dubosc? She'll be a lucky girl, eh? To-night makes her King Rolleston's bride! You may die easy, M. Dubosc." He drew near, knife in hand, when suddenly there broke out, from the arena, a succession of crackling noises, followed by a great uproar. The fireworks were beginning again, as on the night before. In a moment the scene was changed. Rolleston appeared to sober down at once. Leaning over the side of the wreck, he issued his commands in a voice of thunder: "To the barricades! Every man to his post! . . . Independent fire! No quarter!" The deck resounded with the feet of his adherents, who rushed to the ladders. Some, the favoured members of the guard of honour, remained with Rolleston. The remaining captives were tied together and more cords were added to the bonds that bound Simon to the foot of the mast. However, he was able to turn his head and to see the whole extent of the arena. It was empty. But from one of the four craters which rose in the centre a vast sheaf of water, steam, sand and pebbles spurted and fell back upon the ground. In the midst of these pebbles rolled coins of the same colour, gold coins. It was an inconceivable spectacle, reminding Simon of the Iceland geyser. The phenomenon was obviously capable of explanation by perfectly natural causes; but some miraculous chance must have heaped together at the exact spot where this volcanic eruption occurred the treasures of several galleons sunk in times gone by. And these treasures, now dropping like rain on the surface of the earth, must have slipped gradually to the bottom of the huge funnel in which the new forces, concentrated and released by the great upheaval, were boiling over now. Simon had an impression that the air was growing warmer and that the temperature of this column of water must be fairly high, which fact, even more than fear of the pebbles, explained why no one dared venture into the central zone. Moreover, Rolleston's troops had taken up their position on the line of the barricades, where the firing had been, furious from the first. The mob of marauders, massed at a hundred yards beyond, had at once given way, though here and there a band of lunatics would break loose from the crowd and rush across the slope. They toppled over, ruthlessly shot down; but others came on, bellowing, maddened by those golden coins which fell like a miraculous rain and some of which rolled to their feet. These men in their turn spun on their heels and dropped. It was a murderous game, an absolute massacre. The more favoured, those who escaped the bullets, were taken prisoners on the line of the barricades and set aside for execution. And suddenly all grew quiet again. Like a fountain when the water is turned off, the precious sheaf wavered, grew smaller and smaller and disappeared from sight. The troops remaining at the barricades completed the rout of the assailants, while the satellites who made up the guard of honour gathered the gold in rush baskets collected at the fore of the wreck on which Rolleston was performing his antics. The harvest did not take long. The baskets were brought up briskly and the sharing began, a revolting and grotesque spectacle. Eyes burned with greed, hands trembled. The sight, the touch, the sound of the gold drove all these men mad. No famishing beasts of prey, disputing a bleeding quarry, could display greater ferocity and spite. Each man hid his booty in his pockets or in a handkerchief knotted at the corners. Rolleston put his into a canvas bag which he held clasped in his arms: "Kill the prisoners, the new ones as well as the others!" he shouted, relapsing into drunkenness. "Have them executed! After that, we'll string them all up, so that they can be seen from everywhere and nobody will dare attack us. Kill them comrades! And M. Dubosc to begin with! Who'll attend to M. Dubosc? I haven't the energy myself." The comrades rushed forward. One of them, more agile than the rest, seized Simon by the throat, jammed his head against the broken mast and, pressing the barrel of his revolver against his temple, fired four times. "Well done!" cried Rolleston! "Well done!" "Well done!" cried the others, stamping with rage around the executioner. The man had covered Simon's head with a strip of cloth already spotted with blood, which he knotted round the mast, so that its ends, brought level with the forehead and turned upwards, looked like a donkey's ear, which provoked an explosion of merriment. Simon did not feel the least surprise on discovering that he was still alive, that he had not even been wounded by those four shots fired point-blank. This was the way of the incredible nightmare, a succession of illogical acts and disconnected events which he could neither foresee nor understand. In the very article of death, he was saved by circumstances as absurd as those which had led him to death's threshold. An unloaded weapon, an impulse of pity in his executioners: no explanation gave a satisfactory reply. In any case, he did not make a movement which might attract attention and he remained like a corpse within the bonds which held him fixed in a perpendicular position and behind the veil which hid his face, the face of a living man. The hideous tribunal resumed its functions and hurried over its verdicts, while washing them down with copious libations. As each victim was condemned, a glass of spirits was served, the tossing off of which was meant to synchronize with a death-struggle. Foul jests, blasphemies, laughter, songs, all mingled in an abominable din which was dominated by Rolleston's piercing voice: "Now have them hanged. Tell them to string up the corpses! Fire away, comrades! I want to see them dancing at the end of their ropes when I come back from my wife. The queen awaits me! Here's her health, comrades!" They touched glasses noisily, singing until they had escorted him to the ladder; then they returned and immediately set to work upon the loathsome business which Rolleston had judged necessary to terrorize the distant crowd of marauders. Their jeers and exclamations enabled Simon to follow the sickening incidents of their labours. The dead were hanged, with head or feet downwards alternately, from everything that projected from the ship's deck or its surroundings; and flagstaffs were stuck between their arms, with a blood-soaked rag floating from each. Simon's turn was approaching. A few dead bodies at most divided him from the executioners, whose hoarse breathing he could hear. This time nothing could save him. Whether he was hanged, or stabbed the moment they saw that he was still alive, the issue was inevitable. He would have made no attempt to escape, if the thought of Isabel and Rolleston's threats had not exasperated him. He reflected that at that moment Rolleston, the drunkard and maniac, was with the girl who for years had been the object of his desire. What could she do against him? Captive and bound, she was a prey vanquished beforehand. Simon growled with rage. He contracted his muscles in the impossible hope of bursting his bonds. The period of waiting suddenly became intolerable; and he preferred to draw upon himself the anger of all those brutes and to risk a fight which might at least give him a chance of safety. And would not his safety mean Isabel's release? Something unexpected, the sensation of a touch that was not brutal but, on the contrary, furtive and cautious, gently persuaded him to silence. A hand behind his back was untying his hands and removing the ropes which held him bound against the mast, while an almost inaudible voice whispered in his ear: "Not a movement! . . . Not a word! . . ." The cloth around his head was slowly withdrawn. The voice continued: "Behave as if you were one of the gang. . . . No one is thinking about you. . . . Do as they do. . . . And, above all, no hesitation!" Simon obeyed without turning round. Two executioners, not far away, were picking up a corpse. Sustained by the thought that nothing must disgust him if he meant to rescue Isabel, he joined them and helped them to carry their burden and hang it from one of the iron davits. But the effort exhausted him: he was tortured by hunger and thirst. He turned giddy and was seeking for a support when some one gently seized his arm and drew him toward Rolleston's platform. It was a sailor, with bare feet and dressed in a blue serge pea-jacket and trousers; he carried a rifle across his back and wore a bandage which hid part of his face. Simon whispered: "Antonio!" "Drink!" said the Indian, taking one of the bottles of champagne; "and look here . . . here's a tin of biscuits. You'll need all your strength. . . ." After the shocks of the frightful nightmare in which he had been living for thirty-six hours, Simon was hardly capable of surprise. That Antonio should have succeeded in slipping among the gang of criminals accorded, after all, with the logic of events, since the Indian's object was just to be revenged on Rolleston. "Did you fire at me with a blank cartridge?" asked Simon, "and saved my life?" "Yes," replied the Indian. "I got here yesterday, when Rolleston was already beginning to drive back the mob of three or four thousand ruffians crowding round the fountains. As he was recruiting all who possessed fire-arms and as I had a rifle, I was enlisted. Since then, I've been prowling right and left, in the trenches which they've dug, in the wrecks, more or less everywhere. I happened to be near his platform when they brought him the papers found on the airman; and I learnt, as he did, that the airman was no other than yourself. Then I watched my opportunity and offered myself as an executioner when it came to a matter of killing you. But I didn't dare warn you in his presence." "He's with Miss Bakefield, isn't he?" asked Simon anxiously. "Yes." "Were you able to communicate with her?" "No, but I know where she is." "Let's hurry," said Simon. Antonio held him back: "One word. What has become of Dolores?" He looked Simon straight in the eyes. "Dolores left me," Simon replied. "Why?" asked Antonio, in a harsh voice. "Yes, why? A woman alone, in this country: it's certain death! And you deserted her?" Simon did not lower his eyes. He replied: "I did my duty by Dolores . . . more than my duty. It was she who left me." Antonio reflected. Then he said: "Very good. I understand." They moved away, unobserved by the rabble of henchmen and executioners. The boat--a Channel packet whose name Simon read on a faded pennant: the _Ville de Dunkerque_; and he remembered that the _Ville de Dunkerque_ had been sunk at the beginning of the upheaval--the boat had not suffered much damage and her hull was barely heeling over to starboard. The deck was empty between the funnels and the poop. They were passing the hatch of a companion-way when Antonio said: "That's Rolleston's lair." "If so, let's go down," said Simon, who was quivering with impatience. "Not yet; there are five or six accomplices in the gangway, besides the two women guarding Lord Bakefield and his daughter. Come on." A little farther, they stopped in front of a large tarpaulin, still soaked with water, which covered one of those frames on which the passengers' bags and trunks are stacked. He lifted the tarpaulin and slipped under it, beckoning to Simon to lie down beside him. "Look," he said. The frame contained a skylight protected by stout bars, through which they saw down into the long gangway skirting the cabins immediately below the deck. In this gangway a man was seated with two women beside him. When Simon's eyes had become accustomed to the semidarkness which showed objects somewhat vaguely, he distinguished the man's features and recognized Lord Bakefield, bound to a chair and guarded by the two viragoes whom Rolleston had placed in charge of Isabel. One of these women held in her heavy hand, which pressed on Lord Bakefield's throat, the two ends of a cord passed round his neck. It was clear that a sudden twist of this hand would be enough to strangle the unfortunate nobleman in the space of a few seconds. CHAPTER VII THE FIGHT FOR THE GOLD "Silence!" whispered Antonio, who divined Simon's feeling of revolt. "Why?" asked Simon. "They can't hear." "They can. Most of the panes are missing." Simon continued, in the same low tone: "But where's Miss Bakefield?" "This morning I saw her, from here, on that other chair, bound like her father." "And now?" "I don't know. But I suppose Rolleston has taken her into his cabin." "Where's that?" "He's occupying three or four, those over there." "Oh," gasped Simon, "it's horrible! And there's no other way out?" "None." "Still, we can't. . . ." "The least sound would be Miss Bakefield's undoing," Antonio declared. "But why?" "I am sure of it. . . . All this is thought out. . . . That threat of death to her father; it's blackmail. Besides. . . ." One of the women moved to a cabin door, listened and returned, sniggering: "The chit's defending herself. The chief will have to employ strong measures. You're resolved to go through with it, are you?" "Of course!" said the other, nodding in the direction of her hand. "Twenty quid extra for each of us: it's worth it! On the word of command, pop! And there you are!" The old man's face remained impassive. His eyes were closed; he appeared to be asleep. Simon was distracted: "Did you hear? Isabel and Rolleston: she's struggling with him. . . ." "Miss Bakefield will hold out. The sentence of death has not been issued," said Antonio. One of the men keeping watch at the entrance to the gangway now came along on his rounds, walking slowly and listening. Antonio recognized him: "He's one of the original accomplices. Rolleston had all his Hastings stalwarts with him." The man shook his head: "Rolleston is wrong. A leader doesn't concern himself like that with trifles." "He's in love with the girl." "A funny way of being in love! . . . He has been persecuting her now for four days." "Why does she refuse him? To begin with she's his wife. She said yes just now." "She said yes because, ever since this morning, some one has been squeezing dear papa's throat." "Well, she'll say yes presently so that it shan't be squeezed a little tighter." The man bent down: "How's the old chap doing?" "Impossible to say!" growled the woman, who held the cord. "He told his daughter not to give in, said that he'd rather die. Since then, you'd think he's sleeping. It's two days since he had anything to eat." "All this sort of thing," retorted the sentry, moving off, "isn't business. Rolleston ought to be on deck. Suppose something happened, suppose we were to be attacked, suppose the enclosure was invaded!" "In that case, I've got orders to finish the old man off." "That wouldn't make us come out on top." A short time elapsed. The two women talked in very low tones. At moments Simon seemed to hear raised voices from the cabin: "Listen," he said. "That's Rolleston, isn't it?" "Yes," said the Indian. "We must do something, we must do something," said Simon. The door of the cabin was flung open violently. Rolleston appeared. He shouted angrily to the women: "Are you ready? Count three minutes. In three minutes strangle him," and, turning round, "You understand, Isabel? Three minutes. Make up your mind, my girl." He slammed the door behind him. Quick as thought, Simon had seized Antonio's rifle, but, hampered by the bars, he was unable to take aim before the villain had closed the door. "You will spoil everything!" said Antonio, crawling from under the tarpaulin and wresting the rifle from him. Simon, in turn, stood up, with distorted features: "Three minutes! Oh, poor girl, poor girl!" Antonio tried to restrain him: "Let's think of something. There must be a porthole in the cabin." "Too late. She will have killed herself by then. We must act at once." He reflected for a moment, then suddenly began to run along the deck and, reaching the hatch of the companion-way, jumped to the bottom. The gangway began with a wider landing where the sentry sat playing cards and drinking. They rose. One of them commanded: "Halt! No passage here!" "All hands on deck! Every man to his post," shouted Simon, repeating Rolleston's words. "At the double! And no quarter! The gold! The rain of gold has started again!" The men leapt to their feet and made off up the companion. Simon darted down the gangway, ran into one of the two women, whom his shouts had attracted, and flung the same words at her: "The gold! The rain of gold! Where's the chief?" "In his cabin," she replied. "Tell him!" And she made off in her turn. The other woman, who held the cord, hesitated. Simon felled her with a blow on the point of the chin. Then, without troubling about Lord Bakefield, he rushed to the cabin. At that moment, Rolleston opened the door, shouting: "What's up? The gold?" Simon laid hold of the door to prevent his closing it and saw Isabel, at the back of the cabin, alive. "Who are you?" asked the villain, uneasily. "Simon Dubosc." There was a pause, a respite before the struggle which Simon believed inevitable. But Rolleston fell back, with haggard eyes: "M. Dubosc? . . . M. Dubosc? . . . The one who was killed just now?" "The same," said a voice in the gangway. "And it was I who killed him, I, Antonio, the friend of Badiarinos whom you murdered." "Ah!" groaned Rolleston, collapsing. "I'm done for!" He was paralysed by his drunkenness, by his state of stupor and even more obviously by his natural cowardice. Without offering the least resistance, he allowed himself to be knocked down and disarmed by Antonio, while Simon and Isabel rushed into each other's arms. "My father?" murmured the girl. "He's alive. Don't be afraid." Together they went to release him. The old lord was at the end of his forces. It was all that he could do to kiss his daughter and press Simon's hand. Isabel too was on the verge of swooning; shaken with a nervous tremor, she fell into Simon's arms, faltering: "Oh, Simon, you were just in time. I should have killed myself! . . . Oh, what degradation! . . . How shall I ever forget?" Great as was her distress, she had nevertheless the strength to check Antonio's hand when he raised it to stab Rolleston: "No, please don't. . . . Simon, you agree, don't you. We haven't the right. . . ." Antonio protested: "You're wrong, Miss. A monster like that has to be got rid of." "Please! . . ." "As you will. But I shall get him again. We have an account to settle, he and I. M. Dubosc, lend me a hand to tie him up!" The Indian lost no time. Knowing the ruse which Simon had employed to remove the guards, he expected them to return at any moment, no doubt escorted by their comrades. He therefore shoved Rolleston to the other end of the corridor and bundled him into a dark cupboard. "Like that," he said, "his accomplices won't find their chief and will look for him outside." He also bound and locked up the big woman, who was beginning to recover from her torpor. Then, despite the exhausted condition of Lord Bakefield and his daughter, he led them to the companion. Simon had to carry Isabel. When he reached the deck of the _Ville de Dunkerque_, he was astounded to hear the rattling sounds and to see the great sheaf of pebbles and water spurting towards the sky. By a lucky coincidence, the phenomenon had occurred just as he announced it and caused an excitement by which he had time to profit. Isabel and Lord Bakefield were laid under the tarpaulin, that part of the wreck being deserted. Then Antonio and Simon went to the companion in quest of news. A band of ruffians came pouring down it, shouting: "The chief! Where's Rolleston?" Several of them questioned Antonio, who pretended to be equally at a loss: "Rolleston? I've been hunting for him everywhere. I expect he's at the barricades." The ruffians streamed back again, scampering up on deck. At the foot of the platform they held a conference, after which some ran towards the enclosing fence, while others, following Rolleston's example, shouted: "Every man to his post! No quarter! Shoot, can't you, down there?" "What's happening?" whispered Simon. "They're wavering," said Antonio, "and giving way. Look beyond the enclosure. The crowd is attacking at several points." "But they're firing on it." "Yes, but in disorder, at random. Rolleston's absence is already making itself felt. He was a leader, he was. You should have seen him organize his two or three hundred recruits in a few hours and place each man where he was best suited! He didn't only rule by terror." The eruption did not last long and Simon had an impression that the rain of gold was less abundant. But it exercised no less attraction upon those whose work it was to collect it and upon others who, no longer encouraged by their leader's voice, were abandoning the barricades. "Look," said Antonio. "The attacks are becoming fiercer. The enemy feels that the besieged are losing hold." The slope was invaded from every side; and small bodies of men pushed forward, more numerous and bolder as the firing became less intense. The machine-gun, whether abandoned or destroyed, was no longer in action. The chief's accomplices, who had stood in front of the platform, finding themselves unable to enforce their authority and restore discipline, leapt into the arena and ran to the trenches. They were the most resolute of the defenders. The assailants hesitated. So, for two hours, fortunes of the fight swayed to and fro. When night fell, the battle was still undecided. Simon and Antonio, seeing the wreck deserted, collected the necessary arms and provisions. They intended to prepare for flight at midnight, if circumstances permitted. Antonio went off to reconnoitre, while Simon watched over the repose of his two patients. Lord Bakefield, although fit to travel, was still badly pulled down and slept, though his sleep was disturbed by nightmares. But Simon's presence restored to Isabel all her energy, all her vitality. Sitting side by side, holding each other's hands, they told the story of those tragic days; and Isabel spoke of all that she had suffered, of Rolleston's cruelty, of his coarse attentions to her, of the constant threat of death which he held over Lord Bakefield if she refused to yield, of the nightly orgies in camp, the bloodshed, the tortures, the cries of the dying and the laughter of Rolleston's companions. . . . She shuddered at certain recollections, nestling against Simon as though she feared to find herself once more alone. All around them was the flash of fire-arms and the rattle of shots which seemed to be coming nearer. A din at once confused and terrific, made up of a hundred separate combats, death-struggles and victories, hovered above the dark plain, over which, however, a pale light appeared to be spreading. Antonio returned in an hour's time and declared that flight was impossible: "Half the trenches," he said, "are in the hands of the assailants, who have even penetrated into the enclosure. And they won't let any one pass, any more than the besieged will." "Why?" "They're afraid of gold being taken away. It seems that there's a sort of discipline among them and that they're obeying leaders whose object is to capture from the besieged the enormous booty which they have accumulated. And, as the assailants are ten or even twenty to one, we must expect a wholesale massacre!" The night was full of tumult. Simon observed that the dense layer of clouds was breaking up in places and that gleams of light were falling from the starry sky. They could see figures darting across the arena. Two men first, then a number of others boarded the _Ville de Dunkerque_ and went down the nearest companion way. "Rolleston's accomplices returning," murmured Antonio. "What for? Are they looking for Rolleston?" "No, they think he's dead. But there are the bags, the bags filled with coin, and they are all going to fill their pockets." "The gold is there, then?" "In the cabins. Rolleston's share on one side; his accomplices on the other." Below deck quarrels were beginning, followed almost immediately by a general affray, which was punctuated by yells and moans. One by one the victors emerged from the companion way. But shadows crept down it all night long; and the newcomers were heard searching and destroying. "They'll find Rolleston in the end," said Simon. "I don't care if they do," said Antonio, with a grin which Simon was to remember thereafter. The Indian was getting together their arms and ammunition. A little before daybreak, he awoke Lord Bakefield and his daughter and gave them rifles and revolvers. The final assault would not be long delayed; and he calculated that the _Ville de Dunkerque_ would be the immediate objective of the assailants and that it would be better not to linger there. The little party therefore set out when the first pale gleams of dawn showed in the sky. They had not set foot on the sand of the arena before the signal for the attack was given by a powerful voice which sounded from the bulk of the submarine; and it so happened that, at the very moment when the final offensive was launched, when the besieged, better armed than the attackers, were taking measures of defense which were also better organized, the roar of the eruption rent the air with its thousand explosions. Then and there, the enemy's onslaught became more furious, and the besieged began to retreat, as Simon and Antonio perceived from the disorderly rush of men falling back like trapped animals, seeking cover behind which to defend themselves or hide. In the middle of the arena, the scorching rain and the showers of falling pebbles created a circular empty space; nevertheless, some of the more desperate assailants were bold enough to venture into it and Simon had a fleeting vision in which he seemed to see--but was it possible?--Old Sandstone running this way and that under a strange umbrella made of a round sheet of metal with the edge turned down. The mob of invaders was growing denser. They collided with groups of men and women, brandishing sticks, old swords, scythes, hill-hooks and axes, who fell upon the fugitives. Simon and Antonio were twice obliged to take part in the fighting. "The position is serious," said Simon, taking Isabel aside. "We must risk all for all and try to find a way through. Kiss me, Isabel, as you did on the day of the shipwreck." She gave him her lips, saying: "I have absolute faith in you, Simon." After many efforts and two brushes with some ruffians who tried to stop them, they reached the line of the barricades and crossed it without hindrance. But in the open space outside they met fresh waves of marauders breaking furiously against the defences, including parties of men who seemed to be running away, rather than pursuing a quarry. It was as though they themselves were threatened by some great danger. Fierce and murderous for all that, they plundered the dead and wildly attacked the living. "Look out!" cried Simon. It was a band of thirty or forty street-boys and hooligans, among whom he recognized two of the tramps who had pursued him. At sight of Simon, they egged on the gang under their command. By some ill chance Antonio slipped and fell. Lord Bakefield was knocked down. Simon and Isabel, caught in an eddy, felt that they were being stifled by a mass of bodies whirling about them. Simon, however, succeeded in seizing hold of her and levelling his revolver. He fired three times in succession. Isabel did likewise. Two men dropped. There was a moment's hesitation; then a new onslaught separated the lovers. "Simon, Simon!" cried the terrified girl. One of the tramps roared: "The girl! Carry her off! She'll fetch her weight in gold!" Simon tried to reach her. Twenty hands opposed his desperate efforts; and, while defending himself, he saw Isabel pushed towards the barricades by the two tramps. She stumbled and fell. They were trying to raise her when suddenly two shots rang out and both fell headlong. "Simon! Antonio!" cried a voice. Through the fray Simon saw Dolores, sitting erect on a horse all covered with foam. Her rifle was levelled and she was firing. Three of the nearest aggressors were struck. Simon contrived to break away, run to Isabel and join Dolores, to whom Antonio at the same time was bringing Lord Bakefield. Thus the four were together again, but each was followed by the rabble of persistent marauders, and these were reinforced by dozens of others, who loomed out of the fog and doubtless imagined that the stake in such a battle, in which the number of their opponents was so small, must be the capture of some treasure. "There are more than a hundred of them," said Antonio. "We are done for." "Saved!" cried Dolores, who now ceased firing. "Why?" "Yes, we must hold out . . . one minute. . . ." Dolores' reply was drowned in the uproar. Their assailants came along with a rush. With their backs against the horse, the little party faced in all directions, firing, wounding, killing. With his left hand Simon discharged his revolver, while with his right hand, which gripped his rifle by the barrel, whirling it to terrible effect, he held the enemy at a distance. But how could they resist the torrent, continually renewed, that rushed upon them. They were submerged. Old Lord Bakefield was struck senseless with a stick; and one of Antonio's arms was paralysed by a blow from a stone. Any further resistance was out of the question. The hideous moment had come when people fall, when their flesh is trampled underfoot and torn asunder by the enemy's claws. "Isabel!" murmured Simon, crushing her passionately in his arms. They dropped to their knees together. The beasts of prey fell upon them, covering them with darkness. A bugle sounded some distance away, scattering its lively notes upon the air. Another call rang out in reply. It was a French bugle sounding the charge. A great silence, heavy with fear, petrified the hoardes of pillagers. Simon, who was losing consciousness, felt that the weight above him was lightened. Some of the beasts of prey were taking flight. He half-raised himself, while supporting Isabel, and the first thing that struck him was Antonio's attitude. The Indian, with drawn face, was gazing at Dolores. Slowly and steadily he took a few steps towards her, like a cat creeping up to its prey, and suddenly, before Simon could intervene, he leapt on the crupper behind her, passed his arms under hers and dug his heels into the horse, which broke into a gallop along the barricades, towards the north. From the opposite direction, through the mist, appeared the sky-blue uniforms of France. CHAPTER VIII THE HIGH COMMISSIONER FOR THE NEW TERRITORIES "My fault! . . . Now aren't you convinced, as I am, that this is a ramification of my fault, ending in a _cul-de-sac_? So that all the eruptive forces immobilized in the direction of this blind alley have found a favourable position . . . so that all these forces . . . you grasp the idea, don't you?" Simon grasped it all the less inasmuch as Old Sandstone was becoming more and more entangled in his theory, while he, Simon, was wholly absorbed in Isabel and had ears for hardly anything but what she was telling him. They were all three a little way outside the barricades, among the groups of tents around which the soldiers, in overalls, and fatigue-caps, were moving to and fro and preparing their meals. Isabel's face was already more peaceful and her eyes less uneasy. Simon gazed at her with infinite tenderness. In the course of the morning the fog had at last dispersed. For the first time since the day when they had travelled together on the deck of the _Queen Mary_, the sun shone in a cloudless sky; and one might almost have thought that nothing had occurred between that day and this to divide them. All evil memories faded away. Isabel's torn dress, her pallor and her bruised wrists were the reminder merely of an adventure already remote, since the glorious future was opening out before them. Inside the barricades, a few soldiers scurried round the arena, stacking the dead bodies, while others, farther back, stationed on the wreck of the _Ville de Dunkerque_, removed the sinister shapes hanging from their gibbets. Near the submarine, in an enclosed space guarded by many sentries, some dozens of prisoners were herded and were joined at every moment by fresh batches of captives. "Of course," resumed Old Sandstone, "there are many other obscure points; but I shall not leave this until I have studied all the causes of the phenomenon." "And I," said Simon, laughing, "should very much like to know how you managed to get here." This was a question which possessed little interest for Old Sandstone, who replied, vaguely: "How do I know! I followed a crowd of good people. . . ." "Good looters and murderers!" "Oh, do you think so? Yes, it may be . . . it seemed to me, sometimes. . . . But I was so absorbed! So many observations to make! Besides, I was not alone . . . at least, on the last day." "Really? Who was with you?" "Dolores. We made the whole of the last stage together; and it was she who brought me here. She left me when we came in sight of the barricades. For that matter, it was impossible to enter this enclosure and examine the phenomena more closely. Directly I went forward, pom-pom went the machine-gun! At last, suddenly, the crowd burst the dike. But what puzzles me now is that these eruptions seem already to be decreasing in violence, so that we can foresee the end of them very shortly. True, on the other hand. . . ." But Simon was not listening. He had caught sight, in the arena, of the captain commanding the detachment, with whom he had not been able to exchange more than a few words that morning, as the officer had at once gone in pursuit of the fugitives. Simon led Isabel to the tent, set aside for her, in which Lord Bakefield was resting, and joined the captain, who cried: "We are straightening things out, M. Dubosc. I've sent a few squads north; and all these bands of cut-throats will fall into my hands or into those of the English troops, who, I'm told, have arrived. But what savages! And how glad I am that I came in time!" Simon thanked him in the name of Lord Bakefield and his daughter. "It's not I whom you should thank," he replied, "but that strange woman, whom I know only by the name of Dolores, and who brought me here." The captain related how he had been operating since three o'clock in the out-posts of Boulogne, where he was garrisoned, when he received from the newly-appointed military governor an order instructing him to move towards Hastings, to take possession of the country as far as mid-way between the two coasts and to put down all excesses ruthlessly. "Well, this morning," he said, "when we were patrolling two or three miles from there, I saw the woman ride up at a gallop. She told me in a few words what was happening inside these barricades, which she had not been able to pass, but behind which Simon Dubosc was in danger. Having succeeded in catching a horse, she had come to beg me to go to your assistance. You can imagine how quickly I marched in the direction she gave me, as soon as I heard the name of Simon Dubosc. And you will understand also why, when I saw that she in her turn was in danger, I rushed in pursuit of the man who was carrying her off." "What then, captain?" "Well, she returned, quite quietly, all alone on her horse. She had thrown the Indian, whom my men picked up in the neighbourhood, rather the worse for his fall. He says he knows you." Simon briefly related the part which Antonio had played in the tragedy. "Good!" cried the officer. "The mystery is clearing up!" "What mystery, captain?" "Oh, something quite in keeping with all the horrors that have been committed!" He drew Simon to the wreck and down, the companion-ladder. The wide gangway was littered with empty bags and baskets. All the gold had disappeared. The doors of the cabins occupied by Rolleston had been demolished. But, outside the last of these cabins and a little before the cupboard into which Antonio had locked Rolleston on the previous evening, Simon, by the light of an electric torch switched on by the officer, saw a man's body hanging from the ceiling. The knees had been bent back and fastened to keep the feet from touching the floor. "There's the wretched Rolleston," said the captain. "Obviously he has got no more than his deserts. But, all the same. . . . Look closely. . . ." He threw the rays of the lamp over the upper part of the victim's body. The face, covered with black clotted blood, was unrecognizable. The drooping head displayed the most hideous wound: the skull was stripped of its skin and hair. "It was Antonio who did that," said Simon, remembering the Indian's smile when he, Simon, had expressed the fear that the ruffians might succeed in finding and releasing their chief. "After the fashion of his ancestors, he has scalped the man whom he wished to punish. I tell you, we're living in the midst of savagery." A few minutes later, on leaving the wreck, they saw Antonio who was talking to Dolores near the spot where the submarine strengthened the former line of defence. Dolores was holding her horse by the bridle. The Indian was making gestures and seemed to be greatly excited. "She's going away," said the officer. "I've signed a safe-conduct for her." Simon crossed the arena and went up to her: "You're going, Dolores?" "Yes." "Where?" "Where my horse chooses to take me . . . and as far as he can carry me." "Won't you wait a few minutes?" "No." "I should have liked to thank you. . . . So would Miss Bakefield. . . ." "Miss Bakefield has my best wishes!" She mounted. Antonio snatched at the bridle, as though determined to detain her, and began to speak to her in a choking voice and in a language which Simon did not understand. She did not move. Her beautiful, austere face did not change. She waited, with her eyes on the horizon, until the Indian, discouraged, released the bridle. Then she rode away. Not once had her eyes met Simon's. She rode away, mysterious and secretive to the last. Simon's refusal, his conduct during the night which they had passed in the prehistoric dwelling must have humiliated her profoundly; and the best proof was this departure without farewell. But, on the other hand, what miracles of dogged heroism she must have wrought to cross this sinister region by herself and to save not only the man who had spurned her but the woman whom that man loved above all things in this world! A hand rested on Simon's shoulder: "You, Isabel!" he said. "Yes. . . . I was over there, a little farther on. . . . I saw Dolores go." The girl seemed to hesitate. At length, she murmured, watching him attentively: "You didn't tell me she was so strikingly beautiful, Simon." He felt slightly embarrassed. Looking her straight in the eyes, he replied: "I had no occasion to tell you, Isabel." At five o'clock that afternoon, the French and British troops being now in touch, it was decided that Lord Bakefield and his daughter should make part of an English convoy which was returning to Hastings and which had a motor-ambulance at its disposal. Simon took leave of them, after asking Lord Bakefield's permission to call on him at an early date. Simon considered that his mission was not yet completed in these days of confusion. Indeed, before the afternoon was over, an aeroplane alighted in sight of the camp and the captain was asked to send immediately reinforcements, as a conflict appeared inevitable between the French and a British detachment, both of which had planted their colours on a ridge overlooking the whole country. Simon did not hesitate for a moment. He took his place between the two airmen. It is needless to describe in all its details the part which he played in this incident, which might have had deplorable results: the way in which he threw himself between the adversaries, his entreaties, his threats and, at last, the order to withdraw which he gave to the French with such authority and such persuasive force. All this is history; and it is enough to recall the words uttered two days later by the British prime minister in the House of Commons: "I have to thank M. Simon Dubosc. But for him, there would have been a stain upon our country's honour; French blood would have been shed by English hands. M. Simon Dubosc, the wonderful man who crossed what was once the Channel at one stride, understood that it would be necessary, at least for a few hours, to exercise a little patience towards a great nation which for so many centuries has been accustomed to feel that it was protected by the seas and which suddenly found itself disarmed, defenceless, deprived of its natural ramparts. Let us not forget that Germany, that very morning, with her customary effrontery, offered France an alliance and proposed the immediate invasion of Great Britain by the whole of the united forces of the two countries. _Britannia delenda est!_ Mr. Speaker, it was Simon Dubosc who gave the reply, by achieving the miracle of a French retreat! All honour to Simon Dubosc!" France at once recognized Simon's action by appointing the young man high commissioner for the new French territories. For four days longer he was ubiquitous, flying over the province which he had conquered, restoring order, enforcing harmony, discipline and security. Pursued and captured, all the bands of pillagers and spoilers were duly brought to trial. Aeroplanes sailed the heavens. Provision-lorries ran in all directions, assuring travellers the means of transport. Chaos was becoming organized. At last one day, Simon called at Lord Bakefield's country-house near Battle. Here too tranquillity had returned. The servants had resumed their duties. Only a few cracks in the walls, a few gaps in the lawns reminded them of the hours of terror. Lord Bakefield, who appeared to be in excellent health, received Simon in the library and gave him the same cordial welcome as on the Brighton golf-links: "Well, young man, where do we stand now?" "On the twentieth day after my request for your daughter's hand," said Simon, smiling, "and as you gave me twenty days in which to perform a certain number of exploits, I come to ask you, on the appointed date, whether I have, in your opinion, fulfilled the conditions settled between us." Lord Bakefield offered him a cigar and handed him a light. He made no further reply. Simon's exploits and his rescue of Lord Bakefield when at the point of death, these obviously were interesting things, deserving the reward of a good cigar, with Isabel's hand perhaps thrown into the bargain. But it was asking too much to expect thanks as well and praise and endless effusions. Lord Bakefield remained Lord Bakefield and Simon Dubosc a nobody. "Well, see you later, young man . . . Oh, by the way! I have had the marriage annulled which that reptile Rolleston forced upon Isabel. . . . The marriage wasn't valid of course; but I've done what was necessary just as though it had been. Isabel will tell you all about it. You'll find her in the park." She was not in the park. She had heard that Simon had called and was waiting for him on the terrace. He told her of his interview with Lord Bakefield. "Yes," she said, "my father accepts the position. He considers that you have satisfied the ordeal." "And you, Isabel?" She smiled: "I have no right to be more difficult than my father. But remember that there were not only his conditions: there was one added by myself." "Which condition was that, Isabel?" "Have you forgotten? . . . On the deck of the _Queen Mary_?" "Then, Isabel, you doubt me?" She took both his hands and said: "Simon, it sometimes makes me rather sad to think that in this great adventure it was not I but another who was your companion in danger, the one whom you defended and who protected you." He shook his head: "No, Isabel, I never had but one companion, you, Isabel, and you alone. You were my only aim and my only thought, my one hope and my one desire." After a moment's reflection, she said: "I talked of her a good deal with Antonio, on the way home. Do you know, Simon, that girl is not only very beautiful, but capable of the noblest, loftiest feelings? I know nothing of her past; according to Antonio, it had its unsettled moments. But since then . . . since then . . . in spite of her present mode of life, in spite of all the admiration which she attracts, she leads an existence apart. You alone have really stirred her feelings. For you, from what I can see for myself and from what Antonio told me--and he, after all, is only a rejected and embittered lover--for you Dolores would have laid down her life and that from the first day. Did you know that, Simon?" He was silent. "You are right," she said. "You can't answer. However, there is one point, Simon, on which I ask you to tell me the absolute truth. I can look you straight in the face, can I not? There is not in the depths of your being a single memory that comes between us? . . . Not a weakness? . . . Not a disloyal thought?" He pressed her to him and, with his lips on hers, said: "There's you, Isabel, and you alone: you in the past and you in the future." "I believe you, Simon," she declared. The wedding took place a month later; and they went to live in the wreck of the _Ville de Dunkerque_, the official residence of the French high commissioner of the new territories. It was here that the draft agreement was signed, in accordance with Simon Dubosc's proposal and his preliminary investigations, for the great canal which was to bisect the Isthmus of Normandy, allotting to each country, right and left, an almost equal portion of land. Here too was signed the solemn covenant by which Great Britain and France declared eternal friendship and laid the foundations of the United States of Europe. And it was here that four children were born to Isabel and Simon. In after years, Simon often went on horseback or by aeroplane, accompanied by his wife, to visit his friend Edward Rolleston. When he had recovered from his wounds, Rolleston set to work and became the manager of a large fishing-industry on the new English coast, in which he employed Antonio. Rolleston married. The Indian lived alone for a long time, waiting for her who never came and of whom no one ever spoke. But one day he received a letter and went away. Some months later, he wrote from Mexico announcing his marriage to Dolores. But Isabel and Simon's favourite walk led them to Old Sandstone's house. He lived in a little bungalow, close to the prehistoric dwelling by the lake, where he pursued his researches into the new land. The showers of gold, now exhausted, no longer interested him; moreover, the problem had been solved. But what an indecipherable riddle was this building, standing on a site of the Eocene period! "There were apes in those days," Old Sandstone declared. "There's no doubt of that. But men! And men capable of building, of ornamenting their dwellings of carving stone! No, I confess this is a phenomenon which unsettles all one's ideas. What do you make of it, Simon?" Simon made no reply. A boat was rocking on the lake. He took his place in it with Isabel and rowed with a care-free mind; nor did Dolores' image ever rise from this limpid water, in which she had bathed on a certain voluptuous evening. Simon was the husband of one alone and this was the woman whom he had won. THE END * * * * * Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. In Part I, the following corrections were made. In Chapter I, "To day another ship" was changed to "To-day another ship", "more so to-morow" was changed to "more so to-morrow", and "Quite badly" was changed to "Quite baldly". In Chapter II, a comma was added after "the Comte de Bauge's _Castor_", and a comma was changed to a period before "It's here". In Chapter IV, "reconqueror the lost ground" was changed to "reconquer the lost ground". In Chapter VIII, a missing period was added after "a sound of voices", "foot-prints of the rubber soles" was changed to "footprints of the rubber soles", and a missing period was added after "I don't know". In Part II, the following corrections were made. In Chapter I, "Eocence and Pliocene" was changed to "Eocene and Pliocene", "precipitious sides" was changed to "precipitous sides", and "out or reach" was changed to "out of reach". In Chapter II, "Le Harve and Southampton" was changed to "Le Havre and Southampton", missing quotation marks were added before "and our horses perhaps won't last" and "I've just come from there", "indispensible words" was changed to "indispensable words", missing periods were added after "flew off at a gallop", "barring their progress", and "propounded by the exceptional circumstances", and "proof of my loyality" was changed to "proof of my loyalty". In Chapter III, "some where ahead" was changed to "somewhere ahead", "split on the sloping shore" was changed to "spilt on the sloping shore", and "the firing, would have told them" was changed to "the firing would have told them". In Chapter IV, "took air and fired" was changed to "took aim and fired", and a quotation mark was removed after "Where is it?". In Chapter VI, "he perferred to draw" was changed to "he preferred to draw", and "passing the hatch of a compion-way" was changed to "passing the hatch of a companion-way". In Chapter VII, "One, of the women moved to a cabin door listened and returned" was changed to "One of the women moved to a cabin door, listened and returned", "you'd thinking he's sleeping" was changed to "you'd think he's sleeping", "The gangay began" was changed to "The gangway began", a period was changed to a comma after "Every man to his post", "The assailants hesistated" was changed to "The assailants hesitated", a quotation mark was removed after "the laughter of Rolleston's companions....", "then enemy's onslaught" was changed to "the enemy's onslaught", and "losing unconsciousness" was changed to "losing consciousness". In Chapter VIII, a missing period was added after "was unrecognizable", "by which Great Britian and France" was changed to "by which Great Britain and France", "fishing-inindustry" was changed to "fishing-industry", and "Eccene period" was changed to "Eocene period". 
26380	----	Transcriber's Note Chapters 27 and 33 both end abruptly in the middle of a sentence. There are no omitted page numbers, so it is likely that this was an error made by the publisher when the book was in preparation. There are some instances where sections of text are repeated, and these are preserved as printed. It may be that this book was published very hurriedly following the earthquake, and that these repetitions were simply missed. Bold text is marked with = signs, =like this=. COMPLETE STORY OF THE San Francisco Horror INTRODUCTION BY RT. REV. SAMUEL FALLOWS, D. D., LL. D. A Comprehensive and Connected Account of the Terrible Tragedy that Befell the People of Our Golden City--The Metropolis of the Golden Gate, and the Death and Ruin Dealt Many Adjacent Cities and Surrounding Country. Destroying Earthquake Comes Without Warning, in the Early Hours of the Morning; Immense Structures Topple and Crumble; Great Leland Stanford University Succumbs; Water Mains Demolished and Fire Completes Devastation; Fighting Fire With Dynamite. SCENES OF DEATH AND TERROR Thousands Killed, Maimed, or Unaccounted For; Tens of Thousands Without Food or Shelter; Martial Law Declared; Millions Donated for Relief; Congress Makes an Appropriation; Sympathetic Citizens Throughout the Land Untie Their Purse-Strings to Aid the Suffering and Destitute; Property Loss Hundreds of Millions; Appalling Stories by Eye Witnesses and Survivors; The Disaster as Viewed by Scientists, etc. Comprising Also a Vivid Portrayal of the Recent Death-Dealing ERUPTION OF MT. VESUVIUS BY RICHARD LINTHICUM of the Editorial Staff of the Chicago Chronicle. Together with twelve descriptive chapters giving a graphic and detailed account of the most interesting and historic disasters of the past from ancient times to the present day. BY TRUMBULL WHITE Historian, Traveler and Geographer. Profusely Illustrated with Photographic Scenes of the Great Disasters and Views of the Devastated Cities and Their People. [Illustration: =THE AWFUL HORROR OF AN EARTHQUAKE.= Lives, homes and property lost in a few seconds.] [Illustration: =A PANORAMA OF THE RUINS.= Photographed from Nob Hill--City Hall at the left.] [Illustration: =BUSINESS DISTRICT IN SAN FRANCISCO.= View from Nob Hill.] COPYRIGHT 1906 BY HUBERT D. RUSSELL PREFACE In presenting this history of the San Francisco Earthquake Horror and Conflagration to the public, the publishers can assure the reader that it is the most complete and authentic history of the great disaster published. The publishers set out with the determination to produce a work that would leave no room for any other history on this subject, a task for which they had the best facilities and the most perfect equipment. The question of cost was not taken into consideration. The publishers wanted the best writers, the best illustrations, the best paper, printing and binding and proceeded immediately to get them. The services of the two best historical writers in the United States were secured within an hour after the first news of the catastrophe was received. The names and historical works of Richard Linthicum and Trumbull White are known in every household in the United States where current history is read. They are the authors of many standard works, including histories of recent wars and books of permanent reference, and rank among the world's greatest descriptive writers. A large staff of photographers have supplied illustrations for this great historical work depicting every phase of the catastrophe from the first shock of earthquake to the final work of relief. These illustrations have special interest and value because they are made from actual photographs taken by trained and skilled photographers. This history of the most recent of the world's great disasters is beyond all comparison the most sumptuously and completely illustrated of any publication on this subject. So numerous are the illustrations and so accurately do they portray every detail of the quake and fire that they constitute in themselves a complete, graphic and comprehensive pictorial history of the great catastrophe. The story as told by the authors, however, is one of absorbing interest that thrills the reader with emotion and depicts the scenes of terror, destruction, misery and suffering as vividly as if the reader were an eye-witness to all the details of the stupendous disaster. The history of the Earthquake and Fire Horror is told consecutively and systematically from beginning to end. "The Doomed City" is a pen picture of San Francisco while its destruction was impending. The four days of the conflagration are described each in separate chapters in such a way that the reader can follow the progress of the fire from the time of the first alarm until it was conquered by the dynamite squad of heroes. A great amount of space has been devoted to "Thrilling Personal Experiences" and "Scenes of Death and Terror," so that the reader has a thousand and one phases of the horror as witnessed by those who passed through the awful experience of the earthquake shock and the ordeal of the conflagration. For purposes of comparison a chapter has been devoted to a magnificent description of San Francisco before the fire, "The City of a Hundred Hills," the Mecca of sight-seers and pleasure loving travelers. The descriptions of the Refuge Camps established in Golden Gate Park, the Presidio and other open spaces depict the sorrow and the suffering of the stricken people in words that appeal to the heart. The magnificent manner in which the whole nation responded with aid and the conduct of the relief work are told in a way that brings a thrill of pride to every American heart. "Fighting the Fire with Dynamite" is a thrilling chapter of personal bravery and heroism, and the work of the "Boys in Blue" who patrolled the city and guarded life and property is adequately narrated. Chinatown in San Francisco was one of the sights of the world and was visited by practically every tourist that passed through the Golden Gate. That odd corner of Cathay which was converted into a roaring furnace and completely consumed is described with breathless interest. The "Ruin and Havoc in Other Coast Cities" describes the destruction of the great Leland Stanford, Jr., University, the scenes of horror and death at the State Asylum which collapsed, and in other ruined cities of the Pacific coast. "The Earthquake as Viewed by Scientists" is a valuable addition to the seismology of the world--a science that is too little known, but which possesses tremendous interest for everyone. The threatened destruction of Naples by the volcano of Vesuvius preceding the San Francisco disaster is fully described. The chapters on Vesuvius are especially valuable and interesting, by reason of the scientific belief that the two disasters are intimately related. Altogether this volume is the best and most complete history of all the great disasters of the world and one that should be in the hands of every intelligent citizen, both as a historical and reference volume. THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS Preface 7 Introduction 21 CHAPTER I. THE DOOMED CITY. Earthquake Begins the Wreck of San Francisco and a Conflagration without Parallel Completes the Work of Destruction--Tremendous Loss of Life in Quake and Fire--Property Loss $200,000,000 33 CHAPTER II. SAN FRANCISCO A ROARING FURNACE. Flames Spread in a Hundred Directions and the Fire Becomes the Greatest Conflagration of Modern Times--Entire Business Section and Fairest Part of Residence District Wiped Off the Map--Palaces of Millionaires Vanish in Flames or are Blown Up by Dynamite--The Worst Day of the Catastrophe 46 CHAPTER III. THIRD DAY ADDS TO HORROR. Fire Spreads North and South Attended by Many Spectacular Features--Heroic Work of Soldiers Under General Funston--Explosions of Gas Add to General Terror 57 CHAPTER IV. TWENTY SQUARE MILES OF WRECK AND RUIN. Fierce Battle to Save the Famous Ferry Station, the Chief Inlet to and Egress from San Francisco--Fire Tugs and Vessels in the Bay Aid in Heroic Fight--Fort Mason, General Funston's Temporary Headquarters, has Narrow Escape--A Survey of the Scene of Desolation 69 CHAPTER V. THE CITY OF A HUNDRED HILLS. A Description of San Francisco, the Metropolis of the Pacific Coast, Before the Fire--One of the Most Beautiful and Picturesque Cities in America--Home of the California Bonanza Kings 78 [Illustration: =JAMES D. PHELAN.= Former Mayor of San Francisco, and who gave $1,000,000 for the relief of the sufferers. Largest sum given by an individual.] [Illustration: =EUGENE E. SCHMITZ.= Mayor of San Francisco and who rendered great assistance in bringing order out of chaos.] [Illustration: =LOOKING EAST ON MARKET STREET.=] [Illustration: =VIEW FROM FIFTH AND MARKET STREETS.=] CHAPTER VI. SCENES OF TERROR, DEATH AND HEROISM. Thrilling Escapes and Deeds of Daring--Sublime Bravery and Self-Sacrifice by Men and Women--How the United States Mint and the Treasuries Were Saved and Protected by Devoted Employes and Soldiers--Pathetic Street Incidents--Soldiers and Police Compel Fashionably Attired to Assist in Cleaning Streets--Italians Drench Homes with Wine 103 CHAPTER VII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. Scenes of Horror and Panic Described by Victims of the Quake Who Escaped--How Helpless People Were Crushed to Death by Falling Buildings and Debris--Some Marvelous Escapes 119 CHAPTER VIII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES--CONTINUED. Hairbreadth Escapes from the Hotels Whose Walls Crumbled--Frantic Mothers Seek Children from Whom They Were Torn by the Quake--Reckless Use of Firearms by Cadet Militia--Tales of Heroism and Suffering 132 CHAPTER IX. THROUGH LANES OF MISERY. A Graphic Pen Picture of San Francisco in Flames and in Ruins--Scenes and Stories of Human Interest where Millionaires and Paupers Mingled in a Common Brotherhood--A Harrowing Trip in an Automobile 141 CHAPTER X. WHOLE NATION RESPONDS WITH AID. Government Appropriates Millions and Chicago Leads All Other Cities with a Round Million of Dollars--People in All Ranks of Life from President Roosevelt to the Humblest Wage Earner Give Promptly and Freely 157 CHAPTER XI. ALL CO-OPERATE IN RELIEF WORK. Citizens' Committee Takes Charge of the Distribution of Supplies, Aided by the Red Cross Society and the Army--Nearly Three-Fourths of the Entire Population Fed and Sheltered in Refuge Camps 162 CHAPTER XII. OUR BOYS IN BLUE PROVE HEROISM. United States Troops at the Presidio and Fort Mason Under Command of General Funston Bring Order Out of Chaos and Save City from Pestilence--San Francisco Said "Thank God for the Boys in Blue"--Stricken City Patrolled by Soldiers 171 CHAPTER XIII. IN THE REFUGE CAMPS. Scenes of Destitution in the Parks Where the Homeless Were Gathered--Rich and Poor Share Food and Bed Alike--All Distinctions of Wealth and Social Position Wiped Out by the Great Calamity 178 CHAPTER XIV. RUINS AND HAVOC IN COAST CITIES. San Jose, the Prettiest Place in the State, Wrecked by Quake--State Insane Asylum Collapsed and Buried Many Patients Beneath the Crumbled Walls--Enormous Damage at Santa Rosa 189 CHAPTER XV. DESTRUCTION OF GREAT STANFORD UNIVERSITY. California's Magnificent Educational Institution, the Pride of the State, Wrecked by Quake--Founded by the Late Senator Leland Stanford as a Memorial to His Son and Namesake--Loss $3,000,000 198 CHAPTER XVI. FIGHTING FIRE WITH DYNAMITE. San Francisco Conflagration Eventually Checked by the Use of Explosives--Lesson of Baltimore Needed in Coast City--Western Remnant of City in Residence Section Saved by Blowing Up Beautiful Homes of the Rich 208 CHAPTER XVII. MISCELLANEOUS FACTS AND INCIDENTS. Many Babies Born in Refuge Camps--Expressions of Sympathy from Foreign Nations--San Francisco's Famous Restaurants--Plight of Newspaper and Telegraph Offices 214 CHAPTER XVIII. DISASTER AS VIEWED BY SCIENTISTS. Scientists are Divided Upon the Theories Concerning the Shock That Wrought Havoc in the Golden Gate City--May Have Originated Miles Under the Ocean--Growth of the Sierra Madre Mountains May Have Been the Cause 230 CHAPTER XIX. CHINATOWN, A PLAGUE SPOT BLOTTED OUT. An Oriental Hell within an American City--Foreign in Its Stores, Gambling Dens and Inhabitants--The Mecca of All San Francisco Sight Seers--Secret Passages, Opium Joints and Slave Trade Its Chief Features 246 CHAPTER XX. THE NEW SAN FRANCISCO. A Modern City of Steel on the Ruins of the City that Was--A Beautiful Vista of Boulevards, Parks and Open Spaces Flanked by the Massive Structures of Commerce and the Palaces of Wealth and Fashion 255 CHAPTER XXI. VESUVIUS THREATENS NAPLES. Beautiful Italian City on the Mediterranean Almost Engulfed in Ashes and Lava from the Terrible Volcano--Worst Eruption Since the Days of Pompeii and Herculaneum--Buildings Crushed and Thousands Rendered Homeless 267 CHAPTER XXII. SCENES IN FRIGHTENED NAPLES. Blistering Showers of Hot Ashes--The People Frantic--Cry Everywhere "When Will It End?"--Atmosphere Charged with Electricity and Poisonous Fumes 279 CHAPTER XXIII. VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES EXPLAINED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. The Theories of Science on Seismic Convulsions--Volcanoes Likened to Boils on the Human Body, Through Which the Fires and Impurities of the Blood Manifest Themselves--Seepage of Ocean Waters Through Crevices in the Rocks Reaches the Internal Fires of the Earth--Steam Is Generated and an Explosion Follows--Geysers and Steam Boilers as Illustrations--Views of the World's Most Eminent Scientists Concerning the Causes of the Eruptions of Mount Pelee and La Soufriere 285 CHAPTER XXIV. TERRIBLE VOLCANIC DISASTERS OF THE PAST. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Destruction of Sodom, Gomorrah and the Other Cities of the Plain--The Bible Account a Graphic Description of the Event--Ancient Writers Tell of Earthquakes and Volcanoes of Antiquity--Discovery of Buried Cities of Which No Records Remain--Formation of the Dead Sea--The Valley of the Jordan and Its Physical Characteristics 303 CHAPTER XXV. VESUVIUS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Most Famous Volcanic Eruption in History--Roman Cities Overwhelmed--Scenes of Horror Described by Pliny, the Great Classic Writer, an Eye-Witness of the Disaster--Buried in Ashes and Lava--The Stricken Towns Preserved for Centuries Excavated in Modern Times as a Wonderful Museum of the Life of 1,800 Years Ago 309 CHAPTER XXVI. MOUNT ÆTNA AND THE SICILIAN HORRORS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. A Volcano with a Record of Twenty-five Centuries--Seventy-eight Recorded Eruptions--Three Hundred Thousand Inhabitants Dwelling on the Slopes of the Mountain and in the Valleys at Its Base--Stories of Earthquake Shocks and Lava Flows--Tales of Destruction--Described by Ancient and Modern Writers and Eye-Witnesses 321 CHAPTER XXVII. LISBON EARTHQUAKE SCOURGED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Sixty Thousand Lives Lost in a Few Moments--An Opulent and Populous Capital Destroyed--Graphic Account by an English Merchant Who Resided in the Stricken City--Tidal Waves Drown Thousands in the City Streets--Ships Engulfed in the Harbor--Criminals Rob and Burn--Terrible Desolation and Suffering 334 CHAPTER XXVIII. JAPAN AND ITS DISASTROUS EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. The Island Empire Subject to Convulsions of Nature--Legends of Ancient Disturbances--Famous Volcano of Fuji-yama Formed in One Night--More Than One Hundred Volcanoes in Japan--Two Hundred and Thirty-two Eruptions Recorded--Devastation of Thriving Towns and Busy Cities--The Capital a Sufferer--Scenes of Desolation after the Most Recent Great Earthquakes 344 CHAPTER XXIX. KRAKATOA, THE GREATEST OF VOLCANIC EXPLOSIONS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. East Indian Catastrophes--The Volcano that Blew Its Own Head Off--The Terrific Crash Heard Three Thousand Miles--Atmospheric Waves Travel Seven Times Around the Earth--A Pillar of Dust Seventeen Miles High--Islands of the Malay Archipelago Blotted Out of Existence--Native Villages Annihilated--Other Disastrous Upheavals in the East Indies 353 CHAPTER XXX. OUR GREAT HAWAIIAN AND ALASKAN VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Greatest Volcanoes in the World Are Under the American Flag--Huge Craters in Our Pacific Islands--Native Worship of the Gods of the Flaming Mountains--Eruptions of the Past--Heroic Defiance of Pele, the Goddess of Volcanoes by a Brave Hawaiian Queen--The Spell of Superstition Broken--Volcanic Peaks in Alaska, Our Northern Territory--Aleutian Islands Report Eruptions 363 CHAPTER XXXI. SOUTH AMERICAN CITIES DESTROYED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Earthquakes Ravage the Coast Cities of Peru and the Neighboring Countries--Spanish Capitals in the New World Frequent Sufferers--Lima, Callao and Caracas Devastated--Tidal Waves Accompany the Earthquakes--Juan Fernandez Island Shaken--Fissures Engulf Men and Animals--Peculiar Effects Observed 373 CHAPTER XXXII. EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES IN CENTRAL AMERICA AND MEXICO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. A Region Frequently Disturbed by Subterranean Forces--Guatemala a Fated City--A Lake Eruption in Honduras Described by a Great Painter--City of San Jose Destroyed--Inhabitants Leave the Vicinity to Wander as Beggars--Disturbances on the Route of the Proposed Nicaragua Canal--San Salvador Is Shaken--Mexican Cities Suffer 382 CHAPTER XXXIII. CHARLESTON, GALVESTON, JOHNSTOWN--OUR AMERICAN DISASTERS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Earthquake Shock in South Carolina--Many Lives Lost in the Riven City--Galveston Smitten by Tidal Wave and Hurricane--Thousands Die in Flood and Shattered Buildings--The Gulf Coast Desolated--Johnstown, Pennsylvania, Swept by Water from a Bursting Reservoir--Scenes of Horror 389 CHAPTER XXXIV. ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE, ANNIHILATED BY A VOLCANO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Fifty Thousand Men, Women and Children Slain in an Instant--Molten Fire and Suffocating Gases Rob Multitudes of Life--Death Reigns in the Streets of the Stricken City--The Governor and Foreign Consuls Die at Their Posts of Duty--No Escape for the Hapless Residents in the Fated Town--Scenes of Suffering Described--Desolation Over All--Few Left to Tell the Tale of the Morning of Disaster 397 ILLUSTRATIONS The Awful Horror of an Earthquake Frontispiece A Panorama of the Ruins Frontispiece Business District of San Francisco Frontispiece Former Mayor James D. Phelan 11 Mayor Eugene E. Schmitz 11 Looking East on Market Street 12 View from Fifth and Market Streets 12 Market Street, Scene of Ruins 31 United States Guards in Charge of Dead 32 Street Torn Up by Earthquake 41 Stockton Street 42 Grant Avenue 42 Mission Street 43 O'Farrell Street 43 Looking North from Sixth and Market Streets 44 The Orpheum Theatre 44 San Francisco on Fire 53 Destroyed Wholesale Houses 54 Cracks in Earth 63 Ruins of Emporium Building 63 Map--Bird's-Eye View of San Francisco 64 Ruins of Hall of Justice 65 Looking Down Market Toward Call Building 66 From California Street Toward Call Building 66 Market Street Before the Disaster 75 The Devouring Flames 76 Mark Hopkins Institute, Nob Hill 85 United States Mint 86 New Postoffice Building 87 Jefferson Square 88 Chronicle Building 97 St. Francis Hotel (Before the Earthquake) 97 Ferry House 98 Free Water 115 Distributing Clothes 115 Wires Destroyed 116 Military Camp 116 Kitchens in the Street 133 Wing of City Hall, Crumbled 133 Cattle Killed 134 St. John's Church, Ruined 134 Camp Kitchen in Ball Park 151 Shacks in Golden Gate Park 151 Governor Pardee 152 Major General Adolphus Greely 152 Refugees on Telegraph Hill 169 General Funston and Wife 170 Vendome Hotel, San Jose 187 Postoffice, San Jose 188 Corner of Baptist Church 205 Kearney Street, San Francisco 205 Ferry Building 206 Military Quarters 206 Randolph Storage 223 Switchboard Destroyed 223 St. Dominici Church, Freak with Steeple 224 St. Dominici Church, Wrecked 224 Chinese Refugees 241 Flat Building, Sunk 242 Seeking Lost Friends 259 All that Was Left of a Fine Residence 259 Soldiers' Encampment 260 Alameda Park 260 Dolores Mission 277 Wreck and Ruin 278 Wreck and Ruin 278 Crack in Earth 295 Ghoulish Thieves Looting the Dead 296 Effect of Earthquake on Modern Steel Building 313 Vesuvius During Recent Eruption 314 Road Leading to Vesuvius Before Eruption 314 [Illustration: =MAP OF SAN FRANCISCO AND VICINITY.= Showing towns and section of country that suffered the most from effects of earthquake.] INTRODUCTION BY THE RT. REV. SAMUEL FALLOWS, D. D., LL. D. A bright, intelligent unbeliever in the Providential government of the world has just said to me in discussing this greatest of calamities which has occurred in our nation's history, "Where is your benevolent God?" I answered "He still lives and guides the affairs of men." Another said, "The preachers would do well not to meddle with the subject." But the reply was made, "It is precisely the subject with which they, more than others, should concern themselves." It is for them, when the hearts of men are failing to confidently proclaim that God has not abdicated his throne, and that man is not the sport of malign and lawless forces. All events are ordered for the best; and the evils which we suffer are parts of a great movement conducted by Almighty power, under the direction of Infinite Wisdom and Goodness. God's creation is a perfect work. The world in which we live is the best possible world on the whole; not the best possible to the individual at any given moment, but the best possible on the whole, all creatures considered and all the ages of man taken into the account. This is the affirmation of a triumphant optimism. John Stuart Mill averred that a better world could have been made and more favorable conditions for man devised. But before this hypothesis can be sustained, the skeptic from the beginning of time must have scanned the history of every individual and studied it in its minutest details. He must have explored every rill and river of influence entering into his character. He must have understood every relation of the individual to every other person through all the ages. He must have mastered all the facts and laws of our earth. And as it sustains a vital connection with the solar system, he must have grasped all the mysteries which are involved in it. As this system is related to the still grander one of which it is a part, he must have known the law and workings of its every star and sun. Still more, he must have gone from system to system with their millions of worlds and become familiar with every part of the vast stupendous whole. He must have learned every secret of all Nature's forces, and have penetrated into the interior recesses of the Divine Being. He must have taken the place of God Himself. A Divine Providence. Amid all our doubts and distresses we must hold fast to the belief that there is a God who maketh the clouds His chariot and walketh upon the wings of the wind--a God who is present in every summer breath and every wintry blast, in every budding leaf, and every opening flower, in the fall of every sparrow and the wheeling of every world. His Providence is in every swinging of the tides, in every circulation of the air, in all attractions and repulsions, in all cohesions and gravitations. These, and the varied phenomena of nature are the direct expressions of the Divine Energy, the modes of operation of the Divine Mind, the manifestations of the Divine Wisdom and the expressions of the Divine Love. The very thunderbolt that rives the oak and by its shock sunders the soul from the body of some unfortunate one purifies the air that millions may breathe the breath of life. The very earthquake which shakes the earth to its center and shatters cities into ruin, prevents by that very concussion the graver catastrophes which bury continents out of sight. The very hurricane which comes sweeping down and on, prostrating forests, hurling mighty tidal waves on the shore and sending down many a gallant ship with all its crew, bears on its destructive wings, "the incense of the sea," to remotest parts, that there may be the blooming of flowers, the upspringing of grass, the waving of all the banners of green, and the carrying away of the vapors of death that spring from decaying mold. Man the Conqueror. Pascal said "man is but a reed, the feeblest thing in nature, but he is a reed that thinks." The elemental forces break loose and for the time being he cannot control them. Amid nature's convulsions he is utterly helpless and insignificant. It is but for a moment, however, that he yields. He knows that he is the central figure in the universe of worlds. "He is not one part of the furniture of this planet, not the highest merely in the scale of its creatures but the lord of all." He is not a parasite but the paragon of the globe. He has faith in the unchangeableness of the laws he is mastering while suffering from them. He confidently declares there is nothing fitful, nothing capricious, nothing irregular in their action. The greater the calamity the more earnest his effort to ascertain its causes and learn the lessons it teaches. Fearlessly man must meet the events of life as they come. Speculations as to future cataclysms and fearful forebodings as to the immediate end of the world must all be given to the winds. There will be at some time an end to our globe. It may be frozen out, or burned out, or scattered into impalpable dust by the terrific explosion of steam generated by an ocean of water precipitated into an ocean of fire. But cycles of millenniums will intervene before such an apocalypse takes place. In the spirit of Campbell's "Last Man" we must live, and act; "Go sun, while mercy holds me up On nature's awful waste To taste the last and bitter cup Of death, that man must taste: Go, say thou saw'st the last of Adam's race On earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening Universe defy, To quench his immortality Or shake his trust in God." Wickedness not the Cause of Destruction. There are among us men who seem to suppose that they have been let into the counsels of the Almighty and have the right to aver that this calamity so colossal in its proportions and awful in its character is a judgment upon our sister city for its great wickedness. I heard similar declarations when Chicago was swept by its tornado of flame. Neither Chicago nor San Francisco could claim to be pre-eminent in righteousness, but, that Divine Providence should visit the vials of His wrath in an especial manner upon them because of their iniquity, is utterly repugnant both to reason and Holy Scripture. Only by a special revelation from the Most High, accompanied with evidence corresponding to that which substantiates the claims of an Old Testament prophet can any warrant be given to any man to declare that a great catastrophe is the consequence of the moral sins of a given community. The Book of Job gives the emphatic denial to the claim that specific human misery and suffering are the sure signs of the retribution for specific guilt or sin. The Great Teacher and Divine Savior of men reaffirmed the truth of the teachings of that ancient poem by asserting that the man born blind was not thus grievously afflicted because he himself or his parents had been guilty of some peculiar iniquity. He declared that the eighteen persons who had been killed by the falling of the Tower of Siloam (probably from an earthquake shock), were not greater sinners than those who were hearing him speak. The Unity of Humanity. This great disaster has given a new emphasis to our National Unity. Congress for the first time has voted to aid directly a city in distress within the bounds of our country. State Legislatures have followed its example, while municipal organizations by the score have poured out their benefactions. From all quarters of the civilized globe expressions of sympathy have come and tenders of help made, without parallel in the annals of time. All this has revealed the essential oneness of Humanity. It has shown that beneath all the artificial distinctions of society man is the equal of his fellow man. All the barriers of nationality, creed, color, social position, riches, poverty have been broken down in the common sufferings of the stricken people on our Western Coast. The chord of brotherhood is vibrating in all our hearts. Its divine melodies are heard above the roar and rush of business in our streets. We have been amassing wealth too often selfishly, and madly. We have been making money our god; and now we see how vain a thing it is in which to put our trust. Now we feel "it is more blessed to give than to receive." Now, kindness and tenderness melt the hardness of our natures. Now, as we stretch the helping hand and witness the joy and gratitude evoked, by our God-like deeds, we feel in every fiber of our being the thrill of the poet's rapt exclamation: "O, if there be an Elysium on earth It is this, it is this." Recovery from Earthquakes. Earthquakes throughout the world have not disturbed the ultimate confidence of man in the stability of this old and often seemingly wayward earth. All Greece was convulsed centuries ago from center to circumference and Constantinople for the second time was overturned with the loss of tens of thousands of lives. Five hundred years afterwards the city was again shaken and a large number of its buildings destroyed with an appalling loss of life. Again and again was the ancient city of Antioch shattered in almost every portion but each time she arose stronger than before. Fifteen hundred years ago one mighty shock cost the lives of 250,000 of its people, but Antioch remains, although its grandeur from other causes has departed. Twice at least has Naples been partly destroyed along with its neighboring towns and more than 100,000 people have perished. But Naples is still on the map of the earth. Lisbon, one hundred and fifty years ago lost 50,000 of its inhabitants and had a part of its territory suddenly submerged under 600 feet of water. For 5,000 miles the earthquake extended and shook Scotland itself, alarming the English people and causing fasting and prayer and special sermons in the Scotch and Anglican churches. Two hundred years ago Tokio was almost entirely destroyed. Every building was practically in ruins and more than 200,000 were numbered among its mangled dead. Again in 1855 it nearly suffered a similar fate with a decreased though very large loss of life. But Tokio has helped Japan play its dramatic part in the recent history of the world. Graphic descriptions have been left us by eye witnesses of the tremendous upheaval in the great Mississippi Valley in 1811, when the flow of the mighty river was stopped, and the land on its banks for vast distances from its current was sunk for a stretch of nearly 300 miles. But the Father of Waters still goes on unvexed to the sea. Charleston was sadly shaken twenty years ago, but her streets are not deserted. Senator Tillman still speaks vigorously as the representative of her wide-awake and increasing population. Some of us have not forgotten when we saw Chicago burning in 1871, the doubts and fears of our own hearts regarding the future of our city. Jeremiads were oracularly and dolefully uttered by many a prophetic pessimist that Chicago would never be rebuilt, that it would be burned again if it should rise from its ashes. Well! it did rise. It was again sadly burned. It again arose. It has been rising and growing ever since. And it is now ready to send its millions of dollars and more if needed to the stricken cities on our Pacific coast. Not in fear then, but in hope, must our homes, our churches, our schools, our manufactories, our marts of trade, our bank buildings, our office buildings and other needed structures be established. San Francisco will be Rebuilt. The prophets of evil may croak as dismally as they may desire and predict that the earth will again shudder and quake and imperil if not destroy any city man may attempt to create on the now dismantled and disfigured site. But San Francisco will as surely be rebuilt as the sun rises in heaven. No earthquake upheaval can shake the determined will of the unconquerable American to recover from disaster. It will simply serve to make him more rock-rooted and firm in his purpose to pluck victory from defeat. No fiery blasts can burn up the asbestos of his unconsumable energy. No disaster, however seemingly overwhelming, can daunt his faith or dim his hope, or prevent his progress. San Francisco occupies the imperial gateway of the Pacific. Her harbor, one of the best in the world, still preserves its contour and extends its protecting arms as when Francis Drake found his way into it nearly four hundred years ago. The finger of Providence still points to it amid wreck and ruin and smoldering ashes as the place where a teeming city with every mark of a splendid civilization shall be the pride of our Western shores. Her wailing Miserere shall be turned into a joyful Te Deum. Not for a moment after the temporary paralysis is past will the work of reconstruction be delayed. We know not when another shock may come or whether it will come again at all. No matter. The city shall rise again. And with it, shall the other cities that have suffered from the earth's commotion rise again into newness of life. California will not cease to be the land of fruits and flowers, of beauty and bounty, of sunshine and splendor from this temporary disturbance. It will continue to maintain its just reputation for all that is admirable in the American character, of pluck and perseverance, of vigor and versatility, and above all of the royal hospitality of its homes and of the welcome it always extends to every new and inspiring thought. Samuel Fallows [Illustration: =MARKET STREET SCENE OF RUINS.= Looking west on Market Street from 5th Street. The man in gutter was probably shot by the soldiers.] [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =U. S. GUARDS IN CHARGE OF DEAD.= A scene in Jefferson Square where the U. S. Guards are caring for the dead. Note the caskets, dead person laid out on mattress, also guard tents, embalming fluids in demijohns, etc. Name or description of the dead being recorded.] CHAPTER I. THE DOOMED CITY. =Earthquake Begins the Wreck of San Francisco and a Conflagration without Parallel Completes the Awful Work of Destruction--Tremendous Loss of life in Quake and Fire--Property Loss $200,000,000.= After four days and three nights that have no parallel outside of Dante's Inferno, the city of San Francisco, the American metropolis by the Golden Gate, was a mass of glowing embers fast resolving into heaps and winrows of grey ashes emblematic of devastation and death. Where on the morning of April 18, 1906, stood a city of magnificent splendor, wealthier and more prosperous than Tyre and Sidon of antiquity, enriched by the mines of Ophir, there lay but a scene of desolation. The proud and beautiful city had been shorn of its manifold glories, its palaces and vast commercial emporiums levelled to the earth and its wide area of homes, where dwelt a happy and a prosperous people, lay prostrate in thin ashes. Here and there in the charred ruins and the streets lately blackened by waves of flame, lay crushed or charred corpses, unheeded by the survivors, some of whom were fighting desperately for their lives and property, while others were panic stricken and paralyzed by fear. Thousands of lives had been sacrificed and millions upon millions of dollars in property utterly destroyed. The beginning of the unparalleled catastrophe was on the morning of April 18, 1906. In the grey dawn, when but few had arisen for the day, a shock of earthquake rocked the foundations of the city and precipitated scenes of panic and terror throughout the business and residence districts. It was 5:15 o'clock in the morning when the terrific earthquake shook San Francisco and the surrounding country. One shock apparently lasted two minutes and there was an almost immediate collapse of flimsy structures all over the former city. The water supply was cut off and when fires broke out in various sections there was nothing to do but to let the buildings burn. Telegraphic and telephone communication was shut off. Electric light and gas plants were rendered useless and the city was left without water, light or power. Street car tracks were twisted out of shape and even the ferry-boats ceased to run. The dreadful earthquake shock came without warning, its motion apparently being from east to west. At first the upheaval of the earth was gradual, but in a few seconds it increased in intensity. Chimneys began to fall and buildings to crack, tottering on their foundations. People became panic stricken and rushed into the streets, most of them in their night attire. They were met by showers of falling buildings, bricks, cornices and walls. Many were instantly crushed to death, while others were dreadfully mangled. Those who remained indoors generally escaped with their lives, though scores were hit by detached plaster, pictures and articles thrown to the floor by the shock. Scarcely had the earth ceased to shake when fires broke out simultaneously in many places. The fire department promptly responded to the first calls for aid, but it was found that the water mains had been rendered useless by the underground movement. Fanned by a light breeze, the flames quickly spread and soon many blocks were seen to be doomed. Then dynamite was resorted to and the sound of frequent explosions added to the terror of the people. All efforts to stay the progress of the fire, however, proved futile. The south side of Market street from Ninth street to the bay was soon ablaze, the fire covering a belt two blocks wide. On this, the main thoroughfare of the city, are located many of the finest edifices in the city, including the Grant, Parrott, Flood, Call, Examiner and Monadnock buildings, the Palace and Grand hotels and numerous wholesale houses. At the same time the commercial establishments and banks north of Market street were burning. The burning district in this section extended from Sansome street to the water front and from Market street to Broadway. Fires also broke out in the mission and the entire city seemed to be in flames. The fire swept down the streets so rapidly that it was practically impossible to save anything in its way. It reached the Grand Opera House on Mission street and in a moment had burned through the roof. The Metropolitan opera company from New York had just opened its season there and all the expensive scenery and costumes were soon reduced to ashes. From the opera house the fire leaped from building to building, leveling them almost to the ground in quick succession. The Call editorial and mechanical departments were totally destroyed in a few minutes and the flames leaped across Stevenson street toward the fine fifteen-story stone and iron Claus Spreckels building, which with its lofty dome is the most notable edifice in San Francisco. Two small wooden buildings furnished fuel to ignite the splendid pile. Thousands of people watched the hungry tongues of flame licking the stone walls. At first no impression was made, but suddenly there was a cracking of glass and an entrance was affected. The interior furnishings of the fourth floor were the first to go. Then as though by magic, smoke issued from the top of the dome. This was followed by a most spectacular illumination. The round windows of the dome shone like so many full moons; they burst and gave vent to long, waving streamers of flame. The crowd watched the spectacle with bated breath. One woman wrung her hands and burst into a torrent of tears. "It is so terrible!" she sobbed. The tall and slender structure which had withstood the forces of the earth appeared doomed to fall a prey to fire. After a while, however, the light grew less intense and the flames, finding nothing more to consume, gradually went, leaving the building standing but completely burned out. The Palace Hotel, the rear of which was constantly threatened, was the scene of much excitement, the guests leaving in haste, many only with the clothing they wore. Finding that the hotel, being surrounded on all sides by streets, was likely to remain immune, many returned and made arrangements for the removal of their belongings, though little could be taken away owing to the utter absence of transportation facilities. The fire broke out anew and the building was soon a mass of ruins. The Parrott building, in which were located the chambers of the state supreme court, the lower floors being devoted to an immense department store, was ruined, though its massive walls were not all destroyed. A little farther down Market street the Academy of Sciences and the Jennie Flood building and the History building kindled and burned like tinder. Sparks carried across the wide street ignited the Phelan building and the army headquarters of the department of California, General Funston commanding, were burned. Still nearing the bay, the waters of which did the firemen good service, along the docks, the fire took the Rialto building, a handsome skyscraper, and converted scores of solid business blocks into smoldering piles of brick. Banks and commercial houses, supposed to be fireproof though not of modern build, burned quickly and the roar of the flames could be heard even on the hills, which were out of the danger zone. Here many thousands of people congregated and witnessed the awful scene. Great sheets of flame rose high in the heavens or rushed down some narrow street, joining midway between the sidewalks and making a horizontal chimney of the former passage ways. The dense smoke that arose from the entire business spread out like an immense funnel and could have been seen for miles out at sea. Occasionally, as some drug house or place stored with chemicals was reached, most fantastic effects were produced by the colored flames and smoke which rolled out against the darker background. When the first shock occurred at 5:15 a. m. most of the population were in bed and many lodging houses collapsed with every occupant. There was no warning of the awful catastrophe. First came a slight shock, followed almost immediately by a second and then the great shock that sent buildings swaying and tumbling. Fire broke out immediately. Every able-bodied man who could be pressed into service was put to work rescuing the victims. Panic seized most of the people and they rushed frantically about. Toward the ferry building there was a rush of those fleeing to cross the bay. Few carried any effects and some were hardly dressed. The streets were filled immediately with panic-stricken people and the frequently occurring shocks sent them into unreasoning panic. Fires lighted up the sky in every direction in the breaking dawn. In the business district devastation met the eye on every hand. The area bounded by Washington, Mission and Montgomery streets and extending to the bay front was quickly devastated. That represented the heart of the handsome business section. The greatest destruction on the first day occurred in that part of the city which was reclaimed from San Francisco Bay. Much of the devastated district was at one time low marshy ground entirely covered by water at high tide. As the city grew it became necessary to fill in many acres of this low ground in order to reach deep water. The Merchants' Exchange building, a fourteen-story steel structure, was situated on the edge of this reclaimed ground. It had just been completed and the executive offices of the Southern Pacific Company occupied the greater part of the building. The damage by the earthquake to the residence portion of the city, the finest part of which was on Nob Hill and Pacific Heights, was slight but the fire completely destroyed that section on the following day. To the westward, on Pacific Heights, were many fine, new residences, but little injury was done to any of them by the quake. The Palace Hotel, a seven-story building about 300 feet square, was built thirty years ago by the late Senator Sharon, whose estate was in the courts for many years. At the time it was erected the Palace was considered the best equipped hotel in the west. The offices of the three morning papers, the Chronicle, the Call and the Examiner, were located within 100 feet of each other. The Chronicle, situated at the corner of Market and Kearney streets, was a ten-story steel frame building and was one of the finest buildings of its character put up in San Francisco. The Spreckels building, in which were located the business office of the Call, was sixteen stories high and very narrow. The editorial rooms, composing room and pressroom were in a small three-story building immediately in the rear of the Spreckels building. Just across Third street was the home of the Examiner, seven stories high, with a frontage of 100 feet on Market street. The postoffice was a fine, grey stone structure and had been completed less than two years. It covered half a block on Mission street between Sixth and Seventh streets. The ground on which the building stood was of a swampy character and some difficulty was experienced in obtaining a solid foundation. The City Hall, which was badly wrecked by the quake and afterwards swept by the fire, was a mile and a half from the water front. It was an imposing structure with a dome 150 feet high. The building covered about three acres and cost more than $7,000,000. The Grand Opera House, where the Metropolitan Opera Company opened a two weeks' engagement the previous Monday night, was one of the oldest theaters in San Francisco. It was located on Mission street between Third and Fourth streets and for a number of years was the leading playhouse of the city. In 1885 when business began to move off of Mission street and to seek modern structures this playhouse was closed for some time and later devoted to vaudeville. Within the past four years, however, numerous fine buildings had been erected on Mission street and the Grand Opera house had been used by many of the leading independent theatrical companies. All efforts to prevent the fire from reaching the Palace and Grand hotels were unsuccessful and both were completely destroyed together with all their contents. All of San Francisco's best playhouses, including the Majestic, Columbia, Orpheum and Grand Opera house were soon a mass of ruins. The earthquake demolished them for all practical purposes and the fire completed the work of demolition. The handsome Rialto and Casserly buildings were burned to the ground, as was everything in that district. The scene at the Mechanics' Pavilion during the early hours of the morning and up until noon, when all the injured and dead were removed because of the threatened destruction of the building by fire, was one of indescribable sadness. Sisters, brothers, wives and sweethearts searched eagerly for some missing dear one. Thousands of persons hurriedly went through the building inspecting the cots on which the sufferers lay in the hope that they would locate some loved one that was missing. The dead were placed in one portion of the building and the remainder was devoted to hospital purposes. The fire forced the nurses and physicians to desert the building; the eager crowds followed them to the Presidio and the Children's hospital, where they renewed their search for missing relatives. The experience of the first day of the fire was a great testimonial to the modern steel building. A score of those structures were in course of erection and not one of them suffered. The completed modern buildings were also immune from harm by earthquake. The buildings that collapsed were all flimsy, wooden and old-fashioned brick structures. On the evening of Wednesday, April 18, the first day of the fire, an area of thickly covered ground of eight square miles had been burned over and it was apparent that the entire city was doomed to destruction. Nearly every famous landmark that had made San Francisco famous over the world had been laid in ruins or burned to the ground in the dire catastrophe. Never was the fate of a city more disastrous. For three miles along the water front buildings had been swept clean and the blackened beams and great skeletons of factories and offices stood silhouetted against a background of flame that was slowly spreading over the entire city. The whole commercial and office section of the city on the north side of Market street from the ferry building to Tenth street had been consumed in the hell of flame, while hardly a building was standing in the district south of Market street. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon, despite the heroic work of the firemen and the troops of dynamiters, who razed building after building and blew up property valued at millions, the flames spread across Market street to the north side and swept up Montgomery street, practically to Washington street. Along Montgomery street were some of the richest banks and commercial houses in San Francisco. [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =STREET TORN UP BY EARTHQUAKE.= A photograph of street in front of new Postoffice. Note how the car tracks are thrown up and twisted.] [Illustration: =STOCKTON STREET FROM UNION SQUARE.=] [Illustration: =GRANT AVENUE FROM MARKET STREET.=] [Illustration: =MISSION STREET, SAN FRANCISCO.= Photographed from Fourth Street.] [Illustration: =O'FARRELL STREET.= A new steel building which was being erected shown at the right.] [Illustration: =LOOKING NORTH FROM SIXTH AND MARKET STREETS.=] [Illustration: =THE ORPHEUM THEATER ON O'FARRELL STREET.=] The famous Mills building and the new Merchants Exchange were still standing, but the Mutual Life Insurance building and scores of bank and office buildings were on fire, while blocks of other houses were in the path of the flames and nothing seemed to be at hand to stay their progress. Nearly every big factory building had been wiped out of existence and a complete enumeration of them would look like a copy of the city directory. Many of the finest buildings in the city had been leveled to dust by the terrific charges of dynamite in hopeless effort to stay the horror of fire. In this work many heroic soldiers, policemen and firemen were maimed or killed outright. At 10 o'clock at night the fire was unabated and thousands of people were fleeing to the hills and clamoring for places on the ferry boats at the ferry landing. From the Cliff House came word that the great pleasure resort and show place of the city, which stood upon a foundation of solid rock, had been swept into the sea. This report proved to be unfounded, but it was not until three days later that any one got close enough to the Cliff House to discover that it was still safe. One of the big losses of the day was the destruction of St. Ignatius' church and college at Van Ness avenue and Hayes street. This was the greatest Jesuitical institution in the west and built at a cost of $2,000,000. By 7 o'clock at night the fire had swept from the south side of the town across Market street into the district called the Western addition and was burning houses at Golden Gate avenue and Octavia. This result was reached after almost the entire southern district from Ninth street to the eastern water front had been converted into a blackened waste. In this section were hundreds of factories, wholesale houses and many business firms, in addition to thousands of homes. CHAPTER II. SAN FRANCISCO A ROARING FURNACE. =Flames Spread in a Hundred Directions and the Fire Becomes the Greatest Conflagration of Modern Times--Entire Business Section and Fairest Part of Residence District Wiped Off the Map--Palaces of Millionaires Vanish in Flames or are Blown Up by Dynamite--The Worst Day of the Catastrophe.= Marius sitting among the ruins of Carthage saw not such a sight as presented itself to the afflicted people of San Francisco in the dim haze of the smoke pall at the end of the second day. Ruins stark naked, yawning at fearful angles and pinnacled into a thousand fearsome shapes, marked the site of what was three-fourths of the total area of the city. Only the outer fringe of the city was left, and the flames which swept unimpeded in a hundred directions were swiftly obliterating what remained. Nothing worthy of the name of building in the business district and not more than half of the residence district had escaped. Of its population of 400,000 nearly 300,000 were homeless. Gutted throughout its entire magnificent financial quarters by the swift work of thirty hours and with a black ruin covering more than seven square miles out into her very heart, the city waited in a stupor the inevitable struggle with privation and hardship. All the hospitals except the free city hospital had been destroyed, and the authorities were dragging the injured, sick and dying from place to place for safety. All day the fire, sweeping in a dozen directions, irresistibly completed the desolation of the city. Nob Hill district, in which were situated the home of Mrs. Stanford, the priceless Hopkins Art Institute, the Fairmount hotel, a marble palace that cost millions of dollars and homes of a hundred millionaires, was destroyed. It was not without a struggle that Mayor Schmitz and his aides let this, the fairest section of the city, suffer obliteration. Before noon when the flames were marching swiftly on Nob Hill, but were still far off, dynamite was dragged up the steep debris laden streets. For a distance of a mile every residence on the east side of Van Ness avenue was swept away in a vain hope to stay the progress of the fire. After sucking dry even the sewers the fire engines were either abandoned or moved to the outlying districts. There was no help. Water was gone, powder was gone, hope even was a fiction. The fair city by the Golden Gate was doomed to be blotted from the sight of man. The stricken people who wandered through the streets in pathetic helplessness and sat upon their scattered belongings in cooling ruins reached the stage of dumb, uncaring despair, the city dissolving before their eyes had no significance longer. There was no business quarter; it was gone. There was no longer a hotel district, a theater route, a place where Night beckoned to Pleasure. Everything was gone. But a portion of the residence domain of the city remained, and the jaws of the disaster were closing down on that with relentless determination. All of the city south of Market street, even down to Islais creek and out as far as Valencia street, was a smouldering ruin. Into the western addition and the Pacific avenue heights three broad fingers of fire were feeling their way with a speed that foretold the destruction of all the palace sites of the city before the night would be over. There was no longer a downtown district. A blot of black spread from East street to Octavia, bounded on the south and north by Broadway and Washington streets and Islais creek respectively. Not a bank stood. There were no longer any exchanges, insurance offices, brokerages, real estate offices, all that once represented the financial heart of the city and its industrial strength. Up Market street from the Ferry building to Valfira street nothing but the black fingers of jagged ruins pointed to the smoke blanket that pressed low overhead. What was once California, Sansome, and Montgomery streets was a labyrinth of grim blackened walls. Chinatown was no more. Union square was a barren waste. The Call building stood proudly erect, lifting its whited head above the ruin like some leprous thing and with all its windows, dead, staring eyes that looked upon nothing but a wilderness. The proud Flood building was a hollow shell. The St. Francis Hotel, one time a place of luxury, was naught but a box of stone and steel. Yet the flames leaped on exultantly. They leapt chasms like a waterfall taking a precipice. Now they are here, now there, always pressing on into the west and through to the end of the city. It was supposed that the fire had eaten itself out in the wholesale district below Sansome street, and that the main body of the flames was confined to the district south of Market street, where the oil works, the furniture factories, and the vast lumber yards had given fodder into the mouth of the fire fiend. Yet, suddenly, as if by perverse devilishness, a fierce wind from the west swept over the crest of Nob Hill and was answered by leaping tongues of flames from out of the heart of the ruins. By 8:30 o'clock Montgomery street had been spanned and the great Merchants' Exchange building on California street flamed out like the beacon torch of a falling star. From the dark fringe of humanity, watching on the crest of the California street hill, there sprang the noise of a sudden catching of the breath--not a sigh, not a groan--just a sharp gasp, betraying a stress of despair near to the insanity point. Nine o'clock and the great Crocker building shot sparks and added tongues of fire to the high heavens. Immediately the fire jumped to Kearney street, licking at the fat provender that shaped itself for consuming. Then began the mournful procession of Japanese and poor whites occupying the rookeries about Dupont street and along Pine. Tugging at heavy ropes, they rasped trunks up the steep pavements of California and Pine streets to places of temporary safety. It was a motley crew. Women laden with bundles and dragging reluctant children by the hands panted up the steep slope with terror stamped on their faces. Men with household furniture heaped camelwise on their shoulders trudged stoically over the rough cobbles, with the flame of the fire bronzing their faces into the outlines of a gargoyle. One patriotic son of Nippon labored painfully up Dupont street with the crayon portrait of the emperor of Japan on his back. While this zone of fire was swiftly gnawing its way through Kearney street and up the hill, another and even more terrible segment of the conflagration was being stubbornly fought at the corner of Golden Gate avenue and Polk street. There exhausted firemen directed the feeble streams from two hoses upon a solid block of streaming flame. The engines pumped the supply from the sewers. Notwithstanding this desperate stand, the flames progressed until they had reached Octavia street. Like a sickle set to a field of grain the fiery crescent spread around the southerly end of the west addition up to Oak and Fell streets, along Octavia. There one puny engine puffed a single stream of water upon the burning mass, but its efforts were like the stabbing of a pigmy at a giant. All the district bounded by Octavia, Golden Gate avenue, and Market street was a blackened ruin. One picked his way through the fallen walls on Van Ness avenue as he would cross an Arizona mesa. It was an absolute ruin, gaunt and flame lighted. From the midst rose the great square wall of St. Ignatius college, standing like another ruined Acropolis in dead Athens. Behind the gaunt specter of what had once been the city hall a blizzard of flame swept back into the gore between Turk and Market streets. Peeled of its heavy stone facing like a young leek that is stripped of its wrappings, the dome of the city hall rose spectral against the nebulous background of sparks. From its summit looked down the goddess of justice, who had kept her pedestal even while the ones of masonry below her feet had been toppled to the earth in huge blocks the size of a freight car. Through the gaunt iron ribs and the dome the red glare suffusing the whole northern sky glinted like the color of blood in a hand held to the sun. At midnight the Hibernian bank was doomed, for from the frame buildings west of it there was being swept a veritable maelstrom of sheet flame that leaped toward it in giant strides. Not a fireman was in sight. Across the street amid the smoke stood the new postoffice, one of the few buildings saved. Turk street was the northern boundary of this V-shaped zone of the flames, but at 2 o'clock this street also was crossed and the triumphant march onward continued. At midnight another fire, which had started in front of Fisher's Music Hall, on O'Farrell street, had gouged its terrible way through to Market street, carrying away what the morning's blaze across the street had left miraculously undestroyed. Into Eddy and Turk streets the flames plunged, and soon the magnificent Flood building was doomed. The firemen made an ineffectual attempt to check the ravages of the advancing phalanx of flames, but their efforts were absolutely without avail. First from across the street shot tongues of flames which cracked the glass in one of the Flood building's upper story windows. Then a shower of sparks was sent driving at a lace curtain which fluttered out in the draft. The flimsy whipping rag caught, a tongue of flame crept up its length and into the window casement. "My God, let me get out of this," said a man below who had watched the massive shape of the huge pile arise defiant before the flames. "I can't stand to see that go, too." Shortly after midnight the streets about Union Square were barred by the red stripes of the fire. First Cordes Furniture Company's store went, then Brennor's. Next a tongue of flames crept stealthily into the rear of the City of Paris store, on the corner of Geary and Stockton streets. Eager spectators watched for the first red streamers to appear from the windows of the great dry goods stores. Smoke eddied from under window sills and through cracks made by the earthquake in the cornices. Then the cloud grew denser. A puff of hot wind came from the west, and as if from the signal there streamed flamboyantly from every window in the top floor of the structure billowing banners, as a poppy colored silk that jumped skyward in curling, snapping breadths, a fearful heraldry of the pomp of destruction. From the copper minarets on the Hebrew synagogue behind Union square tiny green, coppery flames next began to shoot forth. They grew quickly larger, and as the heat increased in intensity there shone from the two great bulbs of metal sheathing an iridescence that blinded like a sight into a blast furnace. With a roar the minarets exploded almost simultaneously, and the sparks shot up to mingle with the dulled stars overhead. The Union League and Pacific Union clubs next shone red with the fire that was glutting them. On three sides ringed with sheets of flame rose the Dewey memorial in the midst of Union square. Victory tiptoeing on the apex of the column glowed red with the flames. It was as if the goddess of battle had suddenly become apostate and a fiend linked in sympathy with the devils of the blaze. On the first day of the catastrophe the St. Francis escaped. On the second it fell. In the space of two hours the flames had blotted it out, and by night only the charred skeleton remained. As a prelude to the destruction of the St. Francis the fire swept the homes of the Bohemian, Pacific, Union, and Family clubs, the best in San Francisco. With them were obliterated the huge retail stores along Post street; St. Luke's Church, the biggest Episcopal church on the Pacific coast, and the priceless Hopkins Art Institute. From Union square to Chinatown it is only a pistol shot. By noon all Chinatown was a blazing furnace, the rickety wooden hives, where the largest Chinese colony in this country lived, was perfect fuel for the fire. Then Nob Hill, the charmed circle of the city, the residential district of its millionaires and of those whose names have made it famous, went with the rest of the city into oblivion. The Fairmount Hotel, marble palace built by Mrs. Oelrichs, crowned this district. Grouped around it were the residences of Mrs. Stanford, and a score of millionaires' homes on Van Ness avenue. One by one they were buried in the onrushing flames, and when the fire was passed they were gone. Here the most desperate effort of the fight to save the city was made. Nothing was spared. There was no discrimination, no sentiment. Rich men aided willingly in the destruction of their own homes that some of the city might be saved. [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =VIEW FROM VALLEY STREET.= This is a view from Valley Street looking down Kearney toward Market.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =DESTROYED WHOLESALE HOUSES.= This photograph shows the wreck and ruin wrought by the earthquake and fire in the wholesale district.] But the sacrifice and the labor went for nothing. No human power could stay the flames. As darkness was falling the fire was eating its way through the heart of this residential district. The mayor was forced to announce that the last hope had been dashed. All the district bounded by Union, Van Ness, Golden Gate, to Octavia, Hayes, and Fillmore to Market was doomed. The fire fighters, troops, citizens, and city officials left the scene, powerless to do more. On the morning of the second day when the fire reached the municipal building on Portsmouth square, the nurses, helped by soldiers, got out fifty bodies in the temporary morgue and a number of patients in the receiving hospital. Just after they reached the street a building was blown up and the flying bricks and splinters hurt a number of the soldiers, who had to be taken to the out of doors Presidio Hospital with the patients. Mechanics' pavilion, which, after housing prize fights, conventions, and great balls, found its last use as an emergency hospital. When it was seen that it could not last every vehicle in sight was impressed by the troops, and the wounded, some of them frightfully mangled, were taken to the Presidio, where they were out of danger and found comfort in tents. The physicians worked without sleep and almost without food. There was food, however, for the injured; the soldiers saw to that. Even the soldiers flagged, and kept guard in relays, while the relieved men slept on the ground where they dropped. The troops shut down with iron hands on the city, for where one man was homeless the first night five were homeless the second night. With the fire running all along the water front, few managed to make their way over to Oakland. The people for the most part were prisoners on the peninsula. The soldiers enforced the rule against moving about except to escape the flames, and absolutely no one could enter the city who once had left. The seat of city government and of military authority shifted with every shift of the flames. Mayor Schmitz and General Funston stuck close together and kept in touch with the firemen and police, the volunteer aids, and the committee of safety through couriers. There were loud reverberations along the fire line at night. Supplies of gun cotton and cordite from the Presidio were commandeered and the troops and the few remaining firemen made another futile effort to check the fiery advance. Along the wharves the fire tugs saved most of the docks. But the Pacific mail dock had been reached and was out of control; and finally China basin, which was filled in for a freight yard at the expense of millions of dollars, had sunk into the bay and the water was over the tracks. This was one of the greatest single losses in the whole disaster. Without sleep and without food, crowds watched all night Wednesday and all day Thursday from the hills, looking off toward that veil of fire and smoke that hid the city which had become a hell. Back of that sheet of fire, and retreating backward every hour, were most of the people of the city, forced toward the Pacific by the advance of the flames. The open space of the Presidio and Golden Gate park was their only haven and so the night of the second day found them. CHAPTER III. THIRD DAY ADDS TO HORROR. =Fire Spreads North and South Attended by Many Spectacular Features--Heroic Work of Soldiers Under General Funston--Explosions of Gas Add to General Terror.= The third day of the fire was attended by many spectacular features, many scenes of disaster and many acts of daring heroism. When night came the fire was raging over fifty acres of the water front lying between Bay street and the end of Meiggs and Fisherman's wharf. To the eastward it extended down to the sea wall, but had not reached the piers, which lay a quarter of a mile toward the east. The cannery and warehouses of the Central California Canneries Company, together with 20,000 cases of canned fruit, was totally destroyed, as also was the Simpson and other lumber companies' yards. The flames reached the tanks of the San Francisco Gas Company, which had previously been pumped out, and had burned the ends of the grain sheds, five in number, which extended further out toward the point. Flame and smoke hid from view the vessels that lay off shore vainly attempting to check the fire. No water was available except from the waterside and it was not until almost dark that the department was able to turn its attention to this point. At dusk the fire had been checked at Van Ness avenue and Filbert street. The buildings on a high slope between Van Ness and Polk, Union and Filbert streets were blazing fiercely, fanned by a high wind, but the blocks were so sparsely settled that the fire had but a slender chance of crossing Van Ness at that point. Mayor Schmitz, who directed operations at that point, conferred with the military authorities and decided that it was not necessary to dynamite the buildings on the west side of Van Ness. As much of the fire department as could be collected was assembled to make a stand at that point. To add to the horrors of the general situation and the general alarm of many people who ascribed the cause of the subterranean trouble to another convulsion of nature, explosions of sewer gas have ribboned and ribbed many streets. A Vesuvius in miniature was created by such an upheaval at Bryant and Eighth streets. Cobblestones were hurled twenty feet upward and dirt vomited out of the ground. This situation added to the calamity, as it was feared the sewer gas would breed disease. Thousands were roaming the streets famishing for food and water and while supplies were coming in by the train loads the system of distribution was not in complete working order. Many thousands had not tasted food or water for two and three days. They were on the verge of starvation. The flames were checked north of Telegraph hill, the western boundary being along Franklin street and California street southeast to Market street. The firemen checked the advance of flames by dynamiting two large residences and then backfiring. Many times before had the firemen made such an effort, but always previously had they met defeat. But success at that hour meant little for San Francisco. The flames still burned fitfully about the city, but the spread of fire had been checked. A three-story lodging house at Fifth and Minna streets collapsed and over seventy-five dead bodies were taken out. There were at least fifty other dead bodies exposed. This building was one of the first to take fire on Fifth street. At least 100 people were lost in the Cosmopolitan on Fourth street. The only building standing between Mission, Howard, East and Stewart streets was the San Pablo hotel. The shot tower at First and Howard streets was gone. This landmark was built forty years ago. The Risdon Iron works were partially destroyed. The Great Western Smelting and Refining works escaped damages, also the Mutual Electric Light works, with slight damage to the American Rubber Company, Vietagas Engine Company, Folger Brothers' coffee and spice house was also uninjured and the firm gave away large quantities of bread and milk. Over 150 people were lost in the Brunswick hotel, Seventh and Mission streets. The soldiers who rendered such heroic aid took the cue from General Funston. He had not slept. He was the real ruler of San Francisco. All the military tents available were set up in the Presidio and the troops were turned out of the barracks to bivouac on the ground. In the shelter tents they placed first the sick, second the more delicate of the women, and third, the nursing mothers, and in the afternoon he ordered all the dead buried at once in a temporary cemetery in the Presidio grounds. The recovered bodies were carted about the city ahead of the flames. Many lay in the city morgue until the fire reached that; then it was Portsmouth square until it grew too hot; afterwards they were taken to the Presidio. There was another stream of bodies which had lain in Mechanics' pavilion at first, and had then been laid out in Columbia square, in the heart of a district devastated first by the earthquake and then by fire. The condition of the bodies was becoming a great danger. Yet the troops had no men to spare to dig graves, and the young and able bodied men were mainly fighting on the fire line or utterly exhausted. It was Funston who ordered that the old men and the weaklings should take this 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 the afternoon this went on. Representatives of the city authorities took the names of as many of the dead as could be identified and the descriptions of the others. Many, of course, will never be identified. So confident were the authorities that they had the situation in control at the end of the third day that Mayor Schmitz issued the following proclamation: "To the Citizens of San Francisco: The fire is now under control and all danger is passed. The only fear is that other fires may start should the people build fires in their stoves and I therefore warn all citizens not to build fires in their homes until the chimneys have been inspected and repaired properly. All citizens are urged to discountenance the building of fires. I congratulate the citizens of San Francisco upon the fortitude they have displayed and I urge upon them the necessity of aiding the authorities in the work of relieving the destitute and suffering. For the relief of those persons who are encamped in the various sections of the city everything possible is being done. In Golden Gate park, where there are approximately 200,000 homeless persons, relief stations have been established. The Spring Valley Water Company has informed me that the Mission district will be supplied with water this afternoon, between 10,000 and 12,000 gallons daily being available. Lake Merced will be taken by the federal troops and that supply protected. "Eugene E. Schmitz, Mayor." Although the third day of San Francisco's desolation dawned with hope, it ended in despair. In the early hours of the day the flames, which had raged for thirty-six hours, seemed to be checked. Then late in the afternoon a fierce gale of wind from the northwest set in and by 7 o'clock the conflagration, with its energy restored, was sweeping over fifty acres of the water front. The darkness and the wind, which at times amounted to a gale, added fresh terrors to the situation. The authorities considered conditions so grave that it was decided to swear in immediately 1,000 special policemen armed with rifles furnished by the federal government. In addition to this force, companies of the national guard arrived from many interior points. In the forenoon, when it was believed the fire had been checked, the full extent of the destitution and suffering of the people was seen for the first time in near perspective. While the whole city was burning there was no thought of food or shelter, death, injury, privation, or loss. The dead were left unburied and the living were left to find food and a place to sleep where they could. On the morning of the third day, however, the indescribable destitution and suffering were borne in upon the authorities with crushing force. Dawn found a line of men, women, and children, numbering thousands, awaiting morsels of food at the street bakeries. The police and military were present in force, and each person was allowed only one loaf. A big bakery was started early in the morning in the outskirts of the city, with the announcement that it would turn out 50,000 loaves of bread before night. The news spread and thousands of hungry persons crowded before its doors before the first deliveries were hot from the oven. Here again police and soldiers kept order and permitted each person to take only one loaf. The loaves were given out without cost. These precautions were necessary, for earlier in the day bread had sold as high as $1 a loaf and two loaves and a can of sardines brought in one instance $3.50. Mayor Schmitz took prompt and drastic steps to stop this extortion. By his order all grocery and provision stores in the outlying districts which had escaped the flames were entered by the police and their goods confiscated. Next to the need for food there was a cry for water, which until Friday morning the authorities could not answer. In spite of all efforts to relieve distress there was indescribable suffering. Women and children who had comfortable, happy homes a few days before slept that night--if sleep came at all--on hay on the wharves, on the sand lots near North beach, some of them under the little tents made of sheeting, which poorly protected them from the chilling ocean winds. The people in the parks were better provided in the matter of shelter, for they left their homes better prepared. Thousands of members of families were separated, ignorant of one another's whereabouts and without means of ascertaining. The police on Friday opened up a bureau of registration to bring relatives together. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =CRACKS CAUSED BY EARTHQUAKE.= Front new Postoffice.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =EMPORIUM BUILDING.= Largest department store west of Chicago.] [Illustration: =BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF SAN FRANCISCO.= A general view of city looking west toward the Pacific Ocean, also showing locations such as Nob Hill, business district, Market Street, Golden Gate and the famous Cliff House.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =HALL OF JUSTICE.= As photographs are true to life, they also convey to the eye correct views of this vast destruction.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =LOOKING DOWN MARKET STREET.= Call Building in the distance.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =VIEW FROM CALIFORNIA STREET.= The Call Building also shown in background.] The work of burying the dead was begun Friday for the first time. Out at the Presidio soldiers pressed into service all men who came near and forced them to labor at burying the dead. 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 the work of burying. Some objected at first, but the troops stood no trifling, and every man who came in reach was forced to work at least one hour. Rich men who had never done such work labored by the side of the workingmen digging trenches in the sand for the sepulcher of those who fell in the awful calamity. At the present writing many still remain unburied and the soldiers are still pressing men into service. The Folsom street dock was turned into a temporary hospital, the harbor hospital being unable to accommodate all the injured who were brought there. About 100 patients were stretched on the 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, and the fire at this point was not permitted to creep farther east than Main street. The work of clearing up the wrecked city has already begun at the water front in the business section of the town. A force of 100 men were employed under the direction of the street department clearing up the debris and putting the streets in proper condition. It was impossible to secure a vehicle except at extortionate prices. One merchant engaged a teamster and horse and wagon, agreeing to pay $50 an hour. Charges of $20 for carrying trunks a few blocks were common. The police and military seized teams wherever they required them, their wishes being enforced at revolver point if the owner proved indisposed to comply with the demands. Up and down the broad avenues of the parks the troops patrolled, keeping order. This was difficult at times, for the second hysterical stage had succeeded the paralysis of the first day and people were doing strange things. A man, running half naked, tearing at his clothes, and crying, "The end of all things has come!" was caught by the soldiers and placed under arrest. Under a tree on the broad lawn of the children's playground a baby was born. By good luck there was a doctor there, and the women helped out, so that the mother appeared to be safe. They carried her later to the children's building in the park and did their best to make her comfortable. All night wagons mounted with barrels and guarded by soldiers drove through the park doling out water. There was always a crush about these wagons and but one drink was allowed to a person. Separate supplies were sent to the sick in the tents. The troops allowed no camp fires, fearing that the trees of the park might catch and drive the people out of this refuge to the open and windswept sands by the ocean. The wind which had saved the heights came cold across the park, driving a damp fog, and for those who had no blankets it was a terrible night, for many of them were exhausted and must sleep, even in the cold. They threw themselves down in the wet grass and fell asleep. When the morning came the people even prepared to make the camp permanent. An ingenious man hung up before his little blanket shelter a sign on a stick giving his name and address before the fire wiped him out. This became a fashion, and it was taken to mean that the space was preempted. 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 there. Women gave up their blankets and sat up or walked about all night to cover exhausted men who had fought fire until there was no more fight in them. CHAPTER IV. TWENTY SQUARE MILES OF WRECK AND RUIN. =Fierce Battle to Save the Famous Ferry Station, the Chief Inlet to and Egress from San Francisco--Fire Tugs and Vessels in the Bay Aid in Heroic Fight--Fort Mason, General Funston's Temporary Headquarters, has Narrow Escape--A Survey of the Scene of Desolation.= When darkness fell over the desolate city at the end of the fourth day of terror, the heroic men who had borne the burden of the fight with the flames breathed their first sigh of relief, for what remained of the proud metropolis of the Pacific coast was safe. This was but a semi-circular fringe, however, for San Francisco was a city desolate with twenty square miles of its best area in ashes. In that blackened territory lay the ruins of sixty thousand buildings, once worth many millions of dollars and containing many millions more. The fourth and last day of the world's greatest conflagration had been one of dire calamity and in some respects was the most spectacular of all. On the evening of the third day (Friday) a gale swept over the city from the west, fanned the glowing embers into fierce flames and again started them upon a path of terrible destruction. The fire which had practically burnt itself out north of Telegraph Hill was revived by the wind and bursting into a blaze crept toward the East, threatening the destruction of the entire water front, including the Union ferry depot, the only means of egress from the devastated city. The weary firemen still at work in other quarters of the city were hastily summoned to combat the new danger. Hundreds of sailors from United States warships and hundreds of soldiers joined in the battle, and from midnight until dawn men fought fire as never fire had been fought before. Fire tugs drew up along the water front and threw immense streams of water on to the flames of burning factories, warehouses and sheds. Blocks of buildings were blown up with powder, guncotton, and dynamite, or torn down by men armed with axes and ropes. All night long the struggle continued. Mayor Schmitz and Chief of Police Dinan, although without sleep for forty-eight hours, remained on the scene all night to assist army and navy officers in directing the fight. At 7 o'clock Saturday morning, April 21, the battle was won. At that hour the fire was burning grain sheds on the water front about half a mile north of the Ferry station, but was confined to a comparatively small area, and with the work of the fireboats on the bay and the firemen on shore, who were using salt water pumped from the bay, prevented the flames from reaching the Ferry building and the docks in that immediate vicinity. On the north beach the fire did not reach that part of the water front lying west of the foot of Powell street. The fire on the water front was the only one burning. The entire western addition to the city lying west of Van Ness avenue, which escaped the sweep of flame on Friday, was absolutely safe. Forty carloads of supplies, which had been run upon the belt line tracks near one of the burned wharves, were destroyed during the night. A survey of the water front Saturday morning showed that everything except four docks had been swept clean from Fisherman's wharf, at the foot of Powell street, to a point around westerly, almost to the Ferry building. This means that nearly a mile of grain sheds, docks and wharves were added to the general destruction. In the section north of Market street the ruined district was practically bounded on the west by Van Ness avenue, although in many blocks the flames destroyed squares to the west of that thoroughfare. The Van Ness avenue burned line runs northerly to Greenwich street, which is a few blocks from the bay. Then the boundary was up over Telegraph Hill and down to that portion of the shore that faces Oakland. Practically everything included between Market, Van Ness avenue, Greenwich, and the bay was in ashes. On the east side of Hyde street hill the fire burned down to Bay street and Montgomery avenue and stopped at that intersection. Fort Mason was saved only by the most strenuous efforts of soldiers and firemen. It stands just north of the edge of the burned district, the flames having been checked only three blocks away at Greenwich street. All south of Market street except in the vicinity of the Pacific Mail dock, was gone. This section is bounded on the north by Market street and runs out to Guerrero street, goes out that street two blocks, turns west to Dolores, runs west six blocks to about Twenty-second, taking in four blocks on the other side of Dolores. The fire then took an irregular course southward, spreading out as far as Twenty-fifth street and went down that way to the southerly bay shore. Maj. C. A. Devol, depot quartermaster and superintendent of the transport service, graphically described the conquering of the fire on the water front, in which he played an important part: "This fire, which ate its way down to the water front early Friday afternoon, was the climax of the whole situation. "We realized at once that were the water front to go, San Francisco would be shut off from the world, thus paralyzing all transportation faculties for bringing in food and water to the thousands of refugees huddled on the hillsides from Fort Mason to Golden Gate Park. It would have been impossible to either come in or go out of the city save by row boats and floats, or by the blocked passage overland southward. "This all-important section of the city first broke into flames in a hollow near Meiggs wharf, about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The tugs of our service were all busy transporting provisions from Oakland, but the gravity of the situation made it necessary for all of them to turn to fire-fighting. "The flames ate down into the extensive lumber district, but had not caught the dock line. Behind the dock, adjacent to the Spreckels sugar warehouse and wharf, were hundreds of freight cars. Had these been allowed to catch fire, the flames would have swept down the entire water front to South San Francisco. "The climax came at Pier No. 9, and it was here that all energies were focused. A large tug from Mare Island, two fire patrol boats, the Spreckels tugs and ten or twelve more, had lines of hose laid into the heart of the roaring furnace and were pumping from the bay to the limit of their capacities. "About 5 o'clock I was told that the tugs were just about holding their own and that more help would be needed. The Slocum and the McDowell were at once ordered to the spot. I was on board the former and at one time the heat of the fire was so great that it was necessary to play minor streams on the cabin and sides of the vessel to keep it from taking fire. We were in a slip surrounded by flames. "Our lines of hose once laid to the dockage, we found willing hands of volunteers waiting to carry the hose forward. I saw pale, hungry men, who probably had not slept for two days, hang on to the nozzle and play the stream until they fell from exhaustion. Others took their places and only with a very few exceptions was it necessary to use force to command the assistance of citizens or onlookers. "All night the flames raged through the lumber district, and the fire reached its worst about 3:30 o'clock Saturday morning. Daylight found it under control." All that was left of the proud Argonaut city was like a Crescent moon set about a black disk of shadow. A Saharan desolation of blackened, ash covered, twisted debris was all that remained of three-fifths of the city that four days ago stood like a sentinel in glittering, jeweled armor, guarding the Golden Gate to the Pacific. Men who had numbered their fortunes in the tens of thousands camped on the ruins of their homes, eating as primitive men ate--gnawing; thinking as primitive men thought. Ashes and the dull pain of despair were their portions. They did not have the volition to help themselves, childlike as the men of the stone age, they awaited quiescent what the next hour might bring them. Fear they had none, because they had known the shape of fear for forty-eight hours and to them it had no more terrors. Men overworked to the breaking point and women unnerved by hysteria dropped down on the cooling ashes and slept where they lay, for had they not seen the tall steel skyscrapers burn like a torch? Had they not beheld the cataracts of flame fleeting unhindered up the broad avenues, and over the solid blocks of the city? Fire had become a commonplace. Fear of fire had been blunted by their terrible suffering, and although the soldiers roused the sleepers and warned them against possible approaching flames, they would only yawn, wrap their blanket about them and stolidly move on to find some other place where they might drop and again slumber like men dead. As the work of clearing away the debris progressed it was found that an overwhelming portion of the fatalities occurred in the cheap rooming house section of the city, where the frail hotels were crowded at the time of the catastrophe. In one of these hotels alone, the five-story Brunswick rooming-house at Sixth and Howard streets, it is believed that 300 people perished. The building had 300 rooms filled with guests. It collapsed to the ground entirely and fire started amidst the ruins scarcely five minutes later. South of Market street, where the loss of life was greatest, was located many cheap and crowded lodging houses. Among others the caving in of the Royal, corner Fourth and Minna streets, added to the horror of the situation by the shrieks of its many scores of victims imbedded in the ruins. The collapsing of the Porter House on Sixth street, between Mission and Market, came about in a similar manner. Fully sixty persons were entombed midst the crash. Many of these were saved before the fire eventually crept to the scene. Part of the large Cosmopolitan House, corner Fifth and Mission streets, collapsed at the very first tremble. Many of the sleepers were buried in the ruins; other escaped in their night clothes. At 775 Mission street the Wilson House, with its four stories and eighty rooms, fell to the ground a mass of ruins. As far as known very few of the inmates were rescued. The Denver House on lower Third street, with its many rooms, shared the same fate and none may ever know how many were killed, the majority of the inmates being strangers. A small two-story frame building occupied by a man and wife at 405 Jessie street collapsed without an instant's warning. Both were killed. To the north of Market street the rooming-house people fared somewhat better. The Luxemburg, corner of Stockton and O'Farrell streets, a three-story affair, suffered severely from the falling of many tons of brick from an adjoining building. The falling mass crashed through the building, killing a man and woman. At the Sutter street Turkish baths a brick chimney toppled over and crashing through the roof killed one of the occupants as he lay on a cot. Another close by, lying on another cot, escaped. [Illustration: =VIEW OF MARKET STREET, THE CENTRAL POINT OF THE DISASTER.= The tall building on the right is the Claus Spreckels building, in which the plant of the San Francisco Call is located; the next building beyond is the Examiner building and the last large building on the right is the Palace Hotel. The tall building on the left is a new sky scraper, erected on the old Baldwin Hotel site.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =LOOKING TOWARD THE FERRY FROM VALLEJO STREET.=] Two hundred bodies were found in the Potrero district, south of Shannon street in the vicinity of the Union Iron works, were cremated at the Six-Mile House, on Sunday by the order of Coroner Walsh. Some of the dead were the victims of falling buildings from the earthquake shock, some were killed in the fire. So many dead were found in this limited area that cremation was deemed absolutely necessary to prevent disease. The names of some of the dead were learned, but in the majority of cases identification was impossible owing to the mutilation of the features. A systematic search for bodies of the victims of the earthquake and fire was made by the coroner and the state board of health inspectors as soon as the ruins cooled sufficiently to permit a search. The body of an infant was found in the center of Union street, near Dupont street. Three bodies were found in the ruins of the house on Harrison street between First and Second streets. They had been burned beyond all possibility of identification. They were buried on the north beach at the foot of Van Ness avenue. The body of a man was found in the middle of Silver street, between Third and Fourth streets. A bit of burned envelope was found in the pocket of the vest bearing the name "A. Houston." The total number of bodies recovered and buried up to Sunday night was 500. No complete record can ever be obtained as many bodies were buried without permits from the coroner and the board of health. Whenever a body was found it was buried immediately without any formality whatever and, as these burials were made at widely separated parts of the city by different bodies of searchers, who did not even make a prompt report to headquarters, considerable confusion resulted in estimating the number of casualties and exaggerated reports resulted. CHAPTER V. THE CITY OF A HUNDRED HILLS. =A Description of San Francisco, the Metropolis of the Pacific Coast Before the Fire--One of the Most Beautiful and Picturesque Cities in America--Home of the California Bonanza Kings.= San Francisco has had many soubriquets. It has been happily called the "City of a Hundred Hills," and its title of the "Metropolis of the Golden Gate" is richly deserved. Its location is particularly attractive, inasmuch as the peninsula it occupies is swept by the Pacific Ocean on the west and the beautiful bay of San Francisco on the north and east. The peninsula itself is thirty miles long and the site of the city is six miles back from the ocean. It rests on the shore of San Francisco Bay, which, with its branches, covers over 600 square miles, and for beauty and convenience for commerce is worthy of its magnificent entrance--the Golden Gate. San Francisco was originally a mission colony. It is reported that "the site of the mission of San Francisco was selected because of its political and commercial advantages. It was to be the nucleus of a seaport town that should serve to guard the dominion of Spain in its vicinity. Most of the other missions were founded in the midst of fertile valleys, inhabited by large numbers of Indians." Both of these features were notably absent in San Francisco. Even the few Indians there in 1776 left upon the arrival of the friars and dragoons. Later on some of them returned and others were added, the number increasing from 215 in 1783, to 1,205 in 1813. This was the largest number ever reported. Soon after the number began to decrease through epidemics and emigration, until there was only 204 in 1832. The commercial life of San Francisco dates from 1835, when William A. Richardson, an Englishman, who had been living in Sausalito since 1822, moved to San Francisco. He erected a tent and began the collection of hides and tallow, by the use of two 30-ton schooners leased from the missions, and which plied between San Jose and San Francisco. At that time Mr. Richardson was also captain of the port. Seventy-five years ago the white adult males, apart from the Mission colony, consisted of sixteen persons. The local census of 1852 showed a population of 36,000, and ten years later 90,000. The last general census of 1900 credits the city with a population of 343,000. The increase in the last six years has been much greater than for the previous five, and it is generally conceded that the population at the time of the fire was about 425,000. California was declared American territory by Commodore Sleat, at Monterey, on the 7th of July, 1846, who on that day caused the American flag to be raised in that town. On the following day, under instructions from the commodore, Captain Montgomery, of the war sloop Portsmouth, performed a similar service in Yerba Buena, by which name the city afterwards christened San Francisco was then known. This ceremony took place on the plot of ground, afterward set apart as Portsmouth Square, on the west line of Kearney street, between Clay and Washington. At that time and for some years afterwards, the waters of the bay at high tide, came within a block of the spot where this service occurred. This was a great event in the history of the United States, and it has grown in importance and in appreciative remembrance from that day to the present, as the accumulative evidence abundantly shows. Referring to the change in name from Yerba Buena to San Francisco, in 1847, a writer says: "A site so desirable for a city, formed by nature for a great destiny on one of the finest bays in the world, looking out upon the greatest, the richest, and the most pacific of oceans--in the very track of empire--in the healthiest of latitudes--such a site could not fail to attract the attention of the expanding Saxon race. Commerce hastened it, the discovery of gold consummated it." Modern San Francisco had its birth following the gold discoveries which led to the construction of the Central Pacific railway, and produced a vast number of very wealthy men known by the general title of California Bonanza Kings. San Francisco became the home and headquarters of these multi-millionaires, and large sums of their immense fortunes were invested in palatial residences and business blocks. The bonanza king residence section was Nob Hill, an eminence near the business part of the city. In the early days of San Francisco's growth and soon after the Central Pacific railroad had been built by Leland Stanford, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins, Collis P. Huntington and the others who devoted the best part of their lives to the project of crossing the mountains by rail this hill was selected as the most desirable spot in the city for the erection of homes for the use of wealthy pioneers. The eminence is situated northwest of the business section of the city and commands a view of the bay and all adjacent territory with the exception of the Pacific Ocean, Russian Hill, Pacific Heights and several other high spots obscuring the view toward the west. Far removed above the din and noise of the city Charles Crocker was the first to erect his residence on the top of this historic hill which afterward became known as Nob Hill. The Crocker home was built of brick and wood originally, but in later years granite staircases, pillars and copings were substituted. In its time it was looked upon as the most imposing edifice in the city and for that reason the business associates of the railroad magnate decided to vie with him in the building of their homes. Directly across from the Crocker residence on California street Leland Stanford caused to be built a residence structure that was intended to be the most ornate in the western metropolis. It was a veritable palace and it was within its walls that the boyhood days of Leland Stanford, Jr., after whom the university is named, were spent in luxurious surroundings. After the death of the younger Stanford a memorial room was set apart and the parents permitted no one to enter this except a trusted man servant who had been in the family for many years. But the Stanford residence was relegated to the background as an object of architectural beauty when Mark Hopkins invaded the sacred precincts of Nob Hill and erected the residence which he occupied for three or four years. At his death the palatial building was deeded to the California Art Institute and as a tribute to the memory of the sturdy pioneer the building was called the Hopkins Institute of Art. Its spacious rooms were laden with the choicest works of art on the Pacific coast and the building and its contents were at all times a source of interest to the thousands of tourists who visited the city. The late Collis P. Huntington was the next of the millionaires of San Francisco to locate upon the crest of Nob Hill. Within a block of the Crocker, Stanford and Hopkins palaces this railroad magnate of the west erected a mansion of granite and marble that caused all the others to be thrown in the shade. Its exterior was severe in its simplicity, but to those who were fortunate to gain entrance to the interior the sight was one never to be forgotten. The palaces of Europe could not excel it and for several years Huntington and his wife were its only occupants aside from the army of servants required to keep the house and grounds in order. Not to be outdone by the railroad magnates of the city the next to acquire property on the crest of the hill was James Flood, the "bonanza king" and partner with William O'Brien, the names of both being closely interwoven with the early history of California and the Comstock lode. After having paid a visit to the east the millionaire mine owner became impressed with the brown stone fronts of New York and outdone his neighbors by erecting the only brown stone structure in San Francisco. It was in this historic hilltop also that James G. Fair laid the foundation of a residence that was intended to surpass anything in the sacred precincts, but before the foundations had been completed domestic troubles resulted in putting a stop to building operations and it is on this site that Mrs. Hermann Oelrichs, daughter of the late millionaire mine owner, erected the palatial Fairmont hotel, which was one of the most imposing edifices in San Francisco. 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. 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. It is as though a pretty, frivolous woman had passed through a great tragedy. She survives, but she is sobered and different. When it rises out of the ashes it will be a modern city, much like other cities and without its old flavor. The city lay on a series of hills and the lowlands between. These hills are really the end of the Coast Range of mountains which lie between the interior valleys and the ocean to the south. To its rear was the ocean; but the greater part of the town fronted on two sides on San Francisco Bay, a body of water always tinged with gold from the great washings of the mountains, usually overhung with a haze, and of magnificent color changes. Across the bay to the north lies Mount Tamalpais, about 5,000 feet high, and so close that ferries from the water front took one in less than half an hour to the little towns of Sausalito and Belvidere, at its foot. It is a wooded mountain, with ample slopes, and from it on the north stretch away ridges of forest land, the outposts of the great Northern woods of Sequoia semperrirens. This mountain and the mountainous country to the south brought the real forest closer to San Francisco than to any other American city. Within the last few years men have killed deer on the slopes of Tamalpais and looked down to see the cable cars crawling up the hills of San Francisco to the north. In the suburbs coyotes still stole and robbed hen roosts by night. The people lived much out of doors. There was no time of the year, except a short part of the rainy season, when the weather kept one from the woods. The slopes of Tamalpais were crowded with little villas dotted through the woods, and those minor estates ran far up into the redwood country. The deep coves of Belvidere, sheltered by the wind from Tamalpais, held a colony of "arks" or houseboats, where people lived in the rather disagreeable summer months, going over to business every day by ferry. Everything invited out of doors. 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 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. For the Gate is a big funnel, drawing in the winds and the mists which cool off the great, hot interior valleys of the 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 thought of making fires in their houses except in the few exceptional days of the winter season, and then they relied 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 wore light tailor-made clothes, and men wore the same fall weight suits all the year around. There is no such thing as a change of clothing for the seasons. And after becoming acclimated these people found the changes from hot to cold in the normal regions of the earth hard to bear. Perhaps once in two or three years there comes a day when there is no fog, no wind and a high temperature in the coast district. Then there is hot weather, perhaps up in the eighties, and Californians grumble, swelter and rustle for summer clothes. These rare hot days were the only times when one saw on the streets of San Francisco women in light dresses. Along in early May the rains cease. At that time everything is green and bright and the great golden poppies, as large as the saucer of an after dinner coffee cup, are blossoming everywhere. Tamalpais is green to its top; everything is washed and bright. By late May a yellow tinge is creeping over the hills. This is followed by a golden June and a brown July and August. The hills are burned and dry. The fog comes in heavily, too; and normally this is the most disagreeable season of the year. September brings a day or two of gentle rain; and then a change, as sweet and mysterious as the breaking of spring in the East, comes over the hills. The green grows through the brown and the flowers begin to come out. As a matter of fact, the unpleasantness of summer is modified by the certainty that one can go anywhere without fear of rain. And in all the coast mountains, especially the seaward slopes, the dews and the shelter of the giant underbrush keep the water so that these areas are green and pleasant all summer. [Illustration: =MARK HOPKINS INSTITUTE, NOB HILL.= This Institute which crowned Nob Hill in San Francisco was originally the residence of Mark Hopkins of Central Pacific fame. Nob Hill was noted for Palatial Homes. They were destroyed by the fire.] [Illustration: =UNITED STATES MINT AND SUB-TREASURY, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.= This building, which had some $39,000,000 stored in it, remained intact.] [Illustration: =NEW POSTOFFICE BUILDING.= This costly and handsome structure was destroyed by fire.] [Illustration: =JEFFERSON SQUARE.= All of the buildings shown in the background were destroyed. Tents were erected in this square to shelter the homeless.] In a normal year the rains begin to fall heavily in November; there will be three or four days of steady downpour and then a clear and green week. December is also likely to be rainy; and in this month people enjoy the sensation of gathering for Christmas the mistletoe which grows profusely on the live oaks, while the poppies are beginning to blossom at their feet. By the end of January the rains come lighter. In the long spaces between rains there is a temperature and a feeling in the air much like that of Indian summer in the East. January is the month when the roses are at their brightest. So much for the strange climate, which invites out of doors and which has played its part in making the character of the people. The externals of the city are--or were, for they are no more--just as curious. One usually entered the city by way of San Francisco Bay. Across its yellow flood, covered with the fleets from the strange seas of the Pacific, San Francisco presented itself in a hill panorama. Probably no other city of the world could be so viewed and inspected at first sight. It rose above the passenger, as he reached dockage, in a succession of hill terraces. At one side was Telegraph Hill, the end of the peninsula, a height so abrupt that it had a 200 foot sheer cliff on its seaward frontage. Further along lay Nob Hill, crowned with the Mark Hopkins mansion, which had the effect of a citadel, and in later years by the great, white Fairmount. Further along was Russian Hill, the highest point. Below was the business district, whose low site caused all the trouble. Except for the modern buildings, the fruit of the last ten years, the town presented at first sight a disreputable appearance. Most of the buildings were low and of wood. In the middle period of the '70s, 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 district. 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. Yet the most characteristic thing after all was the coloring. For the sea fog had a trick of painting every exposed object a sea gray which had a tinge of dull green in it. This, under the leaden sky of a San Francisco morning, had a depressing effect on first sight and afterward became a delight to the eye. For the color was soft, gentle and infinitely attractive in mass. 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. It is unnecessary to say that no teams ever came up this street or any other like it, and grass grew long among the paving stones until the Italians who live thereabouts took advantage of this to pasture a cow or two. At the end of the four blocks, the pavers had given it up and the last stage to the summit was a winding path. On the very top, a colony of artists lived in little villas of houses whose windows got the whole panorama of the bay. Luckily for these people, a cable car climbed the hill on the other side, so that it was not much of a climb to home. 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 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 fanlike 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. 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 were all Neapolitans who brought their customers and their customs and sail with lateen rigs shaped like the ear of a horse when the wind fills them and stained an orange brown. Along the water front the people of these craft met. "The smelting pot of the races," Stevenson called it; and this was always the city of his soul. There are black Gilbert Islanders, almost indistinguishable from Negroes; lighter Kanakas from Hawaii or Samoa; Lascars in turbans; thickset Russian sailors; wild Chinese with unbraided hair; Italian fishermen in tam o' shanters, loud shirts and blue sashes; Greeks, Alaska Indians, little bay Spanish-Americans, together with men of all the European races. These came in and out from among the queer craft, to lose themselves in the disreputable, tumbledown, but always mysterious shanties and small saloons. In the back rooms of these saloons South Sea Island traders and captains, fresh from the lands of romance, whaling masters, people who were trying to get up treasure expeditions, filibusters, Alaskan miners, used to meet and trade adventures. There was another element, less picturesque and equally characteristic, along the water front. For San Francisco was the back eddy of European civilization--one end of the world. The drifters came there and stopped, lingered a while to live by their wits in a country where living after a fashion has always been marvellously cheap. These people haunted the water front or lay on the grass on Portsmouth Square. That square, the old plaza about which the city was built, Spanish fashion, had seen many things. There in the first burst of the early days the vigilance committee used to hold its hangings. There in the time of the sand lot riots Dennis Kearney, who nearly pulled the town down about his ears, used to make his orations which set the unruly to rioting. In these later years Chinatown laid on one side of it and the Latin quarter and the "Barbary Coast" on the other. On this square men used to lie all day long and tell strange yarns. Stevenson lay there with them in his time and learned the things which he wrote into "The Wrecker" and his South Sea stories, and in the center of the square there stood the beautiful Stevenson monument. In later years the authorities put up a municipal building on one side of this square and prevented the loungers, for decency's sake, from lying on the grass. Since then some of the peculiar character of the old plaza had gone. The Barbary Coast was a loud bit of hell. No one knows who coined the name. The place was simply three blocks of solid dance halls, there for the delight of the sailors of the world. On a fine busy night every door blared loud dance music from orchestra, steam pianos and gramophones and the cumulative effect of the sound which reached the street was at least strange. Almost anything might be happening behind the swinging doors. For a fine and picturesque bundle of names characteristic of the place, a police story of three or four years ago is typical. Hell broke out in the Eye Wink Dance Hall. The trouble was started by a sailor known as Kanaka Pete, who lived in the What Cheer House, over a woman known as Iodoform Kate. Kanaka Pete chased the man he had marked to the Little Silver Dollar, where he turned and punctured him. The by-product of his gun made some holes in the front of the Eye Wink, which were proudly kept as souvenirs, and were probably there until it went out in the fire. This was low life, the lowest of the low. Until the last decade almost anything except the commonplace and the expected might happen to a man on the water front. The cheerful industry of shanghaiing was reduced to a science. A stranger taking a drink in one of the saloons which hung out over the water might be dropped through the floor into a boat, or he might drink with a stranger and wake in the forecastle of a whaler bound for the Arctic. Such an incident is the basis of Frank Norris's novel, "Moran of the Lady Letty," and although the novel draws it pretty strong, it is not exaggerated. Ten years ago the police and the foreign consuls, working together, stopped this. Kearney street, a wilder and stranger Bowery, was the main thoroughfare of these people. An exiled Californian, mourning over the city of his heart, said recently: "In a half an hour of Kearney street I could raise a dozen men for any wild adventure, from pulling down a statue to searching for the Cocos Island treasure." This is hardly an exaggeration. These are a few of the elements which made the city strange and gave it the glamour of romance which has so strongly attracted such men as Stevenson, Frank Norris and Kipling. This lay apart from the regular life of the city, which was distinctive in itself. The Californian is the second generation of a picked and mixed stock. The merry, the adventurous, often the desperate, always the brave, deserted the South and New England in 1849 to rush around the Horn or to try the perils of the plains. They found there already grown old in the hands of the Spaniards younger sons of hidalgos and many of them of the proudest blood of Spain. To a great extent the pioneers intermarried with Spanish women; in fact, except for a proud little colony here and there, the old Spanish blood is sunk in that of the conquering race. Then there was an influx of intellectual French people, largely overlooked in the histories of the early days; and this Latin leaven has had its influence. 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; so far from the Easterner in psychology as the extreme Southerner 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 true Californian lingers in the north; for southern California has been built up by "lungers" from the East and middle West and is Eastern in character and feeling. 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 the very best for people who care not how they spend their money could not be had there, but for a dollar, 75 cents, 50 cents, a quarter or even 15 cents the restaurants afforded the best fare on earth at the price. If one should tell exactly what could be had at Coppa's for 50 cents or at the Fashion for, say, 35, no New Yorker who has not been there would believe it. The San Francisco French dinner and the San Francisco free lunch were as the Public Library to Boston or the stock yards to Chicago. A number of causes contributed to this consummation. The country all about produced everything that a cook needed and that in abundance--the bay was an almost untapped fishing 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 on 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. 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 ragouts for gold dust. Each succeeding restaurant of the name has moved further downtown; and the recent Poodle Dog 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. For 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--the Zinka, where, at one time, every one went after the theatre, and Tate's 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 city never went to bed. There was no closing law, so that the saloons kept open nights and Sundays, at their own sweet will. Most of them elected to remain open until 3 o'clock in the morning at least. Yet this restaurant life did not exactly express the careless, pleasure loving character of the people. In great part their pleasures were simple, inexpensive and out of doors. No people were fonder of expeditions into the country, of picnics--which might be brought off at almost any season of the year--and often long tours in the great mountains and forests. And hospitality was nearly a vice. [Illustration: =CHRONICLE BUILDING.= (An old landmark.)] [Illustration: =ST. FRANCIS HOTEL, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.= (Destroyed by fire.)] [Illustration: =FERRY HOUSE, WHERE INJURED ARE LEAVING CITY.= This is the station of the greatest ferry in the world, just outside the fire belt in San Francisco. Hundreds of refugees have been taken from it to Oakland and other points.] As in the early mining days, if they liked the stranger the people took him in. At the first meeting the local man probably had him put up at the club; at the second, he invited him home to dinner. As long as he stayed he was being invited to week end parties at ranches, to little dinners in this or that restaurant and to the houses of his new acquaintances, until his engagements grew beyond hope of fulfillment. There was rather too much of it. At the end of a fortnight a stranger with a pleasant smile and a good story left the place a wreck. This tendency ran through all grades of society--except, perhaps, the sporting people who kept the tracks and the fighting game alive. These also met the stranger--and also took him in. Centers of men of hospitality were the clubs, especially the famous Bohemian and the Family. The latter was an offshoot of the Bohemian, which had been growing fast and vieing with the older organization for the honor of entertaining pleasing and distinguished visitors. The Bohemian Club, whose real founder is said to have been the late Henry George, was formed in the '70s by a number of newspaper writers and men working in the arts or interested in them. It had grown to a membership of 750. It still kept for its nucleus painters, writers, musicians and actors, amateur and professional. They were a gay group of men, and hospitality was their avocation. Yet the thing which set this club off from all others in the world was the midsummer High Jinks. The club owns a fine tract of redwood forest fifty miles north of San Francisco, on the Russian River. There are two varieties of big trees in California: the Sequoia gigantea and the Sequoia sempervirens. The great trees of the Mariposa grove belong to the gigantea species. The sempervirens, however, reaches the diameter of 16 feet, and some of the greatest trees of this species are in the Bohemian Club grove. It lies in a cleft of the mountains; and up one hillside there runs a natural out of door stage of remarkable acoustic properties. In August the whole Bohemian Club, or such as could get away from business, went up to this grove and camp out for two weeks. And on the last night they put on the Jinks proper, a great spectacle with poetic words, music and effects done by the club, in praise of the forest. In late years this had been practically a masque or an opera. It cost about $10,000. It took the spare time of scores of men for weeks; yet these 700 business men, professional men, artists, newspaper workers, struggled for the honor of helping out on the Jinks; and the whole thing was done naturally and with reverence. It would hardly be possible anywhere else in this country; the thing which made it possible is the art spirit which is in the Californian. It runs in the blood. Some one has been collecting statistics which prove this point. "Who's Who in America" is long on the arts and on learning and comparatively weak in business and the professions. Now some one who has taken the trouble has found that more persons mentioned in "Who's Who" by the thousand of the population were born in Massachusetts than in any other State; but that Massachusetts is crowded closely by California, with the rest nowhere. The institutions of learning in Massachusetts account for her pre-eminence; the art spirit does it for California. The really big men nurtured on California influence are few, perhaps; but she has sent out an amazing number of good workers in painting, in authorship, in music and especially in acting. "High Society" in San Francisco had settled down from the rather wild spirit of the middle period; it had come to be there a good deal as it is elsewhere. There was much wealth; and the hills of the western addition were growing up with fine mansions. Outside of the city, at Burlingame, there was a fine country club centering a region of country estates which stretched out to Menlo Park. This club had a good polo team, which played every year with teams of Englishmen from southern California and even with teams from Honolulu. The foreign quarters were worth a chapter in themselves. Chief of these was, of course, Chinatown, of which every one has heard who ever heard of San Francisco. A district six blocks long and two blocks wide, when the quarter was full, housed 30,000 Chinese. The dwellings were old business blocks of the early days; but the Chinese had added to them, rebuilt them, had run out their own balconies and entrances, and had given it that feeling of huddled irregularity which makes all Chinese built dwellings fall naturally into pictures. Not only this, they had 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. There was less of this underground life than formerly, for the Board of Health had a cleanup some time ago; but it was still possible to go from one end of Chinatown to the other through secret underground passages. The Chinese lived there their own life in their own way. The Chinatown of New York is dull beside it. And the tourist, who always included Chinatown in his itinerary, saw little of the real life. The guides gave him a show by actors hired for his benefit. In reality the place had considerable importance in a financial way. There were clothing and cigar factories of importance, and much of the tea and silk importing was in the hands of the merchants, who numbered several millionaires. Mainly, however, it was a Tenderloin for the house servants of the city--for the San Francisco Chinaman was seldom a laundryman; he was too much in demand at fancy prices as a servant. The Chinese lived their own lives in their own way and settled their own quarrels with the revolvers of their highbinders. There were two theaters in the quarter, a number of rich joss houses, three newspapers and a Chinese telephone exchange. There is a race feeling against the Chinese among the working people of San Francisco, and no white man, except the very lowest outcasts, lived in the quarter. On the slopes of Telegraph Hill dwelt the Mexicans and Spanish, in low houses, which they had transformed by balconies into a resemblance of Spain. Above, and streaming over the hill, were the Italians. The tenement quarter of San Francisco shone by contrast with that of New York, for while these people lived in old and humble houses they had room to breathe and a high eminence for light and air. Their shanties clung on the side of the hill or hung on the very edge of the precipice overlooking the bay, on the edge of which a wall kept their babies from falling. The effect was picturesque, and this hill was the delight of painters. It was all more like Italy than anything in the Italian quarter of New York and Chicago--the very climate and surroundings, wine country close at hand, the bay for their lateen boats, helped them. Over by the ocean and surrounded by cemeteries in which there are no more burials, there is an eminence which is topped by two peaks and which the Spanish of the early days named after the breasts of a woman. At its foot was Mission Dolores, the last mission planted by the Spanish padres in their march up the coast, and from these hills the Spanish looked for the first time upon the golden bay. Many years ago some one set up at the summit of this peak a sixty foot cross of timber. Once a high wind blew it down, and the women of the Fair family then had it restored so firmly that it would resist anything. As it is on a hill it must have stood. It has risen for fifty years above the gay, careless, luxuriant and lovable city, in full view from every eminence and from every alley. It must stand now above the desolation of ruins. CHAPTER VI. SCENES OF TERROR, DEATH AND HEROISM. =Thrilling Escapes and Deeds of Daring--Sublime Bravery and Self-Sacrifice by Men and Women--How the United States Mint and the Treasuries Were Saved and Protected by Devoted Employes and Soldiers--Pathetic Street Incidents--Soldiers and Police Compel Fashionably Attired to Assist in Cleaning Streets--Italians Drench Homes with Wine.= The week succeeding the quake was a remarkable one in the history of the country. For a day or two the people had been horror-stricken by the tales of suffering and desolation on the Pacific coast, but as the truth became known they arose equal to the occasion. And not all the large amounts contributed were confined to those ranked as the great and strong of the nation. The laborers, too, banded together and sent large contributions. The members of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of Indianapolis realized their brethren would be in dire need and they sent $10,000. The United Mineworkers sent $1,000, and several other labor organizations were equally generous. During even the most awful moments of the catastrophe men and women with sublimest heroism faced the most threatening terrors and dangers to assist, to rescue and to save. Everywhere throughout the city scenes of daring, self-sacrifice and bravery were witnessed and thrilling escapes from imminent death aroused enthusiasm as well as horror. A landmark of San Francisco which escaped destruction, though every building around it was destroyed, is the United States Mint at the corner of Fifth and Mission streets. Harold French, an employe of the mint, gave a graphic account of how the flames were successfully fought. "Nearly $200,000,000 in coin and bullion," said Mr. French, "is stored in the vaults of the mint and for the preservation of this prize a devoted band of employes, re-enforced by regular soldiers, fought until the baffled flames fled to the conquest of stately blocks of so-called fireproof buildings. "For seven hours a sea of fire surged around this grand old federal edifice, attacking it on all sides with waves of fierce heat. Its little garrison was cut off from retreat for hours at a time, had such a course been thought of by those on guard. "Iron shutters shielded the lower floors, but the windows of the upper story, on which are located the refinery and assay office, were exposed. "When the fire leaped Mint avenue in solid masses of flames the refinery men stuck to their windows as long as the glass remained in the frames. Seventy-five feet of an inch hose played a slender stream upon the blazing window sill, while the floor was awash with diluted sulphuric acid. Ankle deep in this soldiers and employes stuck to the floor until the windows shattered. With a roar, the tongues of fire licked greedily the inner walls. Blinding and suffocating smoke necessitated the abandonment of the hose and the fighters retreated to the floor below. "Then came a lull. There was yet a fighting chance, so back to the upper story the fire-fighters returned, led by Superintendent Leach. At length the mint was pronounced out of danger and a handful of exhausted but exultant employes stumbled out on the hot cobblestone to learn the fate of some of their homes." * * * * * A number of men were killed while attempting to loot the United States Mint, where $39,000,000 was kept, while thirty-four white men were shot and killed by troops in a raid on the ruins of the burned United States Treasury. Several millions of dollars are in the treasury ruins. * * * * * Among the many pathetic incidents of the fire 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 3, the eldest a boy of 10. 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. 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 on the nerves of the soldiers and bade fair to start a panic among the women and children. A 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. A few Chinese made their way into the crowd. They were trembling, pitifully scared, and willing to stop wherever the soldiers placed them. * * * * * The soldiers and the police forced every available man in the downtown district to work, no matter where they were found or under what conditions. One party of four finely dressed men that came downtown in an automobile were stopped by the soldiers and were ordered out of the machine and compelled to assist in clearing the debris from Market street. Then the automobile was loaded with provisions and sent out to relieve the hungry people in the parks. One young man who was pressed into service by the soldiers, came clad in a fashionable summer suit, straw hat and kid gloves. * * * * * An incident of the fire in the Latin quarter on the slope of Telegraph Hill is worthy of note. The only available water supply was found in a well dug in early days. At a critical moment the pump suddenly sucked dry and the water in the well was exhausted. "There is a last chance, boys!" was shouted and Italian residents crashed in their cellar doors with axes and, calling for assistance, began rolling out barrels of red wine. The cellars gave forth barrel after barrel until there was fully 500 gallons ready for use. Then barrel heads were smashed in and the bucket brigade turned from water to wine. Sacks were dipped in the wine and used for beating out the fire. Beds were stripped of their blankets and these were soaked in the wine and hung over the exposed portions of the cottages and men on the roofs drenched the shingles and sides of the house with wine. Past huddled groups of sleepers an unending stream of refugees was seen wending their way to the ferry, dragging trunks over the uneven pavement by ropes tethered to wheelbarrows laden with the household lares and penates. The bowed figures crept about the water and ruins and looked like the ghosts about the ruins of Troy, and unheeding save where instinct prompted them to make a detour about some still burning heap of ruins. At the ferry the sleepers lay in windrows, each man resting his head upon some previous treasures that he had brought from his home. No one was able to fear thieves or to escape pillage, because of absolute physical inertia forced upon him. Mad, wholly stark mad, were some of the unfortunates who had not fled from the ruins. In many instances the soldiers were forced to tear men and women away from the bodies of their dead. Two women were stopped within a distance of a few blocks and forced to give up the dead bodies of their babes, which they were nursing to their bosoms. A newsgatherer passing through Portsmouth square noticed a mother cowering under a bush. She was singing in a quavering voice a lullaby to her baby. The reporter parted the bushes and looked in. Then he saw what she held in her arms was only a mangled and reddened bit of flesh. The baby had been crushed when the shock of earthquake came and its mother did not know that its life had left it thirty hours before. * * * * * When law and order were strained a crew of hell rats crept out of their holes and in the flamelight plundered and reveled in bacchanalian orgies like the infamous inmates of Javert in "Les Miserables." These denizens of the sewer traps and purlieus of "The Barbary Coast" exulted in unhindered joy of doing evil. Sitting crouched among the ruins or sprawling on the still warm pavement they could be seen brutally drunk. A demijohn of wine placed on a convenient corner of some ruin was a shrine at which they worshiped. They toasted chunks of sausage over the dying coals of the cooling ruin even as they drank, and their songs of revelry were echoed from wall to wall down in the burnt Mission district. Some of the bedizened women of the half world erected tents and champagne could be had for the asking, although water had its price. One of these women, dressed in pink silk with high heeled satin slippers on her feet, walked down the length of what had been Natoma street with a bucket of water and a dipper, and she gave the precious fluid freely to those stricken ones huddled there by their household goods and who had not tasted water in twenty-four hours. "Let them drink and be happy," said she, "water tastes better than beer to them now." * * * * * Soon after the earthquake San Francisco was practically placed under martial law with Gen. Fred Funston commanding and later Gen. Greely. The regiment has proven effective in subduing anarchy and preventing the depredations of looters. A detail of troops helped the police to guard the streets and remove people to places of safety. The martial law dispensed was of the sternest. They have no records existing of the number of executions which had been meted out to offenders. It is known that more than one sneaking vandal suffered for disobedience of the injunction given against entering deserted houses. There was a sharp, businesslike precision about the American soldier that stood San Francisco in good stead. The San Francisco water rat thug and "Barbary Coast" pirate might flout a policeman, but he discovered that he could not disobey a man who wears Uncle Sam's uniform without imminent risk of being counted in that abstract mortuary list usually designated as "unknown dead." For instance: When Nob Hill was the crest of a huge wave of flame, soldiers were directing the work of saving the priceless art treasures from the Mark Hopkins institute. Lieut. C. C. McMillan of the revenue cutter Bear impressed volunteers at the point of a pistol to assist in saving the priceless art treasures which the building housed. "Here you," barked Lieutenant McMillan to the great crowd of dazed men, "get in there and carry out those paintings." "What business have you got to order us about?" said a burly citizen with the jowl of a Bill Sykes. The lieutenant gave a significant hitch to his arm and the burly man saw a revolver was hanging from the forefinger of the lieutenant's right hand. "Look here," said the lieutenant. "You see this gun? Well, I think it is aimed at your right eye. Now, come here. I want to have a little talk with you." The tough stared for a moment and then the shade of fear crept over his face, and with an "All right, boss," he started in upon the labor of recovering the art treasures from the institute. "This is martial law," said the determined lieutenant. "I don't like it, you may not like it, but it goes. I think that is understood." * * * * * John H. Ryan and wife of Chicago after spending their honeymoon in Honolulu and Jamaica reached San Francisco just before the earthquake. They were stopping at the St. Francis Hotel, which was destroyed partially by the earthquake and totally by the fire following the shock. They lost many of their personal effects, but are thankful that they escaped with their lives. "When the first shock came," said Mr. Ryan, "I was out of bed in an instant. I immediately was thrown to the floor. Arising, I held on by a chair and by the door knob until I could get around the room to the window to see if I could find out what was the matter. I saw people running and heard them in the corridors of the hotel. I also heard women screaming. I hastily called one of my friends and he and myself threw on our overcoats, stuck our feet into our shoes and ran downstairs. I ran back to tell my wife, when I found her coming down the stairs. "The first shock lasted, according to a professor in the university, sixty seconds. I thought it lasted about as many days. "At the second shock all the guests piled into the streets. We stood in the bitter cold street for fully a quarter of an hour with nothing about us but our spring overcoats. I said 'bitter cold.' So it was. People there said it was the coldest spell that has struck Frisco in years. "After standing in the streets for a while my friend and myself, with my wife, started back into the hotel to get our clothes. The guard was at the foot of the stairs and he told us that we would not be allowed to go to our rooms. I told him we merely wanted to get some clothes on so we would not freeze to death and he told us to go up, but to come right down as soon as possible, for there was no telling what would happen. We rushed into our rooms and hurriedly threw on our clothes, and started out to reconnoiter. We stopped near a small building. Just then a policeman on guard came up and ordered everybody to assist in rescuing the persons within. We did not hesitate, but rushed into the building heedless of the impending falling of the walls. We found there a man lying unconscious on the floor. He revived sufficiently to make us understand that his wife and child were in the building and that he thought they were dead. We looked and finally found them, dead. "We saw ambulances and undertakers' wagons by the score racing down Market street. They were filled with the bodies of the injured and in many cases with dead. The injured were piled into the wagons indiscriminately without respect for any consequences in the future of the patients." * * * * * R. F. Lund of Canal Dover, O., was asleep in apartments when the shock rent the city. "I awoke to find myself on the floor," said Mr. Lund. "The building to me seemed to pitch to the right, then to the left, and finally to straighten itself and sink. I had the sensation of pitching down in an elevator shaft--that sudden, sickening wave that sweeps over you and leaves you breathless. "I got into my clothes and with some difficulty wrenched open the door of my room. Screams of women were piercing the air. Together with a dozen other men, inmates of the apartments, I assembled the women guests and we finally got them into the streets. Few of them tarried long enough to dress. We went back again and then returned with more women. "In one room particularly there was great commotion. It was occupied by two women and they were in a state of hysterical terror because they could not open their door and get out. The sudden settling of the building had twisted the jambs. "Finally I put my two hundred and thirty pounds of weight against the panels and smashed them through. I helped them wrap themselves in quilts and half led, half carried them to the street. "While passing through a narrow street in the rear of the Emporium I came upon a tragedy. A rough fellow, evidently a south of Market street thug, was bending over the unconscious form of a woman. She was clothed in a kimono and lay upon the sidewalk near the curb. His back was toward me. He was trying to wrench a ring from her finger and he held her right wrist in his left hand. A soldier suddenly approached. He held a rifle thrust forward and his eyes were on the wretch. "Involuntarily I stopped and involuntarily my hand went to my hip pocket. I remember only this, that it seemed in that moment a good thing to me to take a life. The soldier's rifle came to his shoulder. There was a sharp report and I saw the smoke spurt from the muzzle. The thug straightened up with a wrench, he shot his right arm above his head and pitched forward across the body of the woman. He died with her wrist in his grasp. It may sound murderous, but the feeling I experienced was one of disappointment. I wanted to kill him myself. "Along in the afternoon in my walking I came upon a great hulking fellow in the act of wresting food from an old woman and a young girl who evidently had joined their fortunes. No soldiers were about and I had the satisfaction of laying him out with the butt of my pistol. He went down in a heap. I did not stay to see whether or not he came to." "Strange is the scene where San Francisco's Chinatown stood," said W. W. Overton, after reaching Los Angeles among the refugees. "No heap of smoking ruins marks the site of the wooden warrens where the slant-eyed men of the orient dwelt in thousands. The place is pitted with deep holes and seared with dark passageways, from whose depths come smoke wreaths. All the wood has gone and the winds are streaking the ashes. "Men, white men, never knew the depth of Chinatown's underground city. They often talked of these subterranean runways. And many of them had gone beneath the street levels, two and three stories. But now that Chinatown has been unmasked, for the destroyed buildings were only a mask, men from the hillside have looked on where its inner secrets lay. In places they can see passages 100 feet deep. "The fire swept this Mongolian section 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, grocery stores and opium dens, gambling hells and theaters--all of them went. The buildings blazed up like tissue paper lanterns used when the guttering candles touched their sides. "From this place I, following the fire, saw hundreds of crazed yellow men flee. In their arms they bore their opium pipes, their money bags, their silks, and their children. Beside them ran the baggy trousered women, and some of them hobbled painfully. "These were the men and women of the surface. Far beneath the street levels in those cellars and passageways were many others. Women who never saw the day from their darkened prisons and their blinking jailors were caught like rats in a huge trap. Their bones were eaten by the flames. "And now there remain only the holes. They pit the hillside like a multitude of ground swallow nests. They go to depths which the police never penetrated. The secrets of those burrows will never be known, for into them the hungry fire first sifted its red coals and then licked eagerly in tongues of creeping flames, finally obliterating everything except the earth itself." "The scenes to be witnessed in San Francisco were beyond description," said Mr. Oliver Posey, Jr. "Not alone did the soldiers execute the law. One afternoon, in front of the Palace Hotel, a crowd of workers in the ruins discovered a miscreant in the act of robbing a corpse of its jewels. Without delay he was seized, a rope was procured, and he was immediately strung up to a beam which was left standing in the ruined entrance of the Palace 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 secure 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." Jack Spencer, well known here, also returned home yesterday, and had much to say of the treatment of those caught in the act of rifling the dead of their jewels. "At the corner of Market and Third streets on Wednesday," said Mr. Spencer of Los Angeles, "I saw a man attempting to cut the fingers from the hand of a dead woman in order to secure the rings. Three soldiers witnessed the deed at the same time and ordered the man to throw up his hands. Instead of obeying he drew a revolver from his pocket and began to fire 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 eleven bullets were found to have entered it." Here is an experience typical of hundreds told by Sam Wolf, a guest at the Grand Hotel: "When I awakened the house was shaken as a terrier would shake a rat. I dressed and made for the street which seemed to move like waves of water. On my way down Market street 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 over blood, with crushed skulls and broken limbs, and bloody faces. "A man cried out to me, 'Look out for that live wire.' I just had time to sidestep certain death. On each side of me the fires were burning fiercely. I finally got into the open space before the ferry. The ground was still shaking and gaping open in places. Women and children knelt on the cold asphalt and prayed God would be merciful to them. At last we got on the boat. Not a woman in that crowd had enough clothing to keep her warm, let alone the money for fare. I took off my hat, put a little money in it, and we got enough money right there to pay all their fares." W. H. Sanders, consulting engineer of the United States geological survey, insisted on paying his hotel bill before he left the St. Francis. He says: "Before leaving my room I made my toilet and packed my grip. The other guests had left the house. As I hurried down the lobby I met the clerk who had rushed in to get something. I told him I wanted to pay my bill. 'I guess not,' he said, 'this is no time for settlement.' "As he ran into the office I cornered him, paid him the money, and got his receipt hurriedly stamped." Dr. Taggart of Los Angeles, a leader of the Los Angeles relief bureau, accidentally shot himself while entering a hospital at the corner of Page and Baker streets, Saturday, April 21. He was mounting the stairs, stumbled and fell. A pistol which he carried in his inside coat pocket was discharged, the bullet entering near the heart. He rose to his feet and cried, "I am dying," and fell into the arms of a physician on the step below. Death was almost instantaneous. Mrs. Lucien Shaw, of Los Angeles, wife of Judge Shaw of the State Supreme Court, disappeared in the war of the elements that raged in San Francisco. At day dawn Thursday morning, April 19, the Shaw apartments, on Pope street, San Francisco, were burned. Mrs. Shaw fled with the refugees to the hills. Judge Lucien Shaw went north on that first special on Wednesday that cleared for the Oakland mole. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =FREE WATER.= The most welcome visitor to the Mission district.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =DISTRIBUTING CLOTHES.= Handing out clothes to all who need them.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =WIRES DOWN.= The earthquake shook down wires and poles.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =MILITARY CAMP.= View in Golden Gate Park. Too much praise cannot be given our soldiers.] Thursday morning at daybreak he reached his apartments on Pope street. Flames were burning fiercely. A friend told him that his wife had fled less than fifteen minutes before. She carried only a few articles in a hand satchel. For two days and nights Judge Shaw wandered over hills and through the parks about San Francisco seeking among the 200,000 refugees for his wife. During that heart-breaking quest, according to his own words, he had "no sleep, little food and less water." At noon Saturday he gave up the search and hurried back to Los Angeles, hoping to find that she had arrived before him. He hastened to his home on West Fourth street. "Where's mother?" was the first greeting from his son, Hartley Shaw. Judge Shaw sank fainting on his own doorstep. The search for the missing woman was continued but proved fruitless. One of the beautiful little features on the human side of the disaster was the devotion of the Chinese servants to the children of the families which they served. And this was not the only thing, for often a Chinaman acted as the only man in families of homeless women and children. Except for the inevitable panic of the first morning, when the Chinese tore into Portsmouth square and fought with the Italians for a place of safety, the Chinese were orderly, easy to manage, and philosophical. They staggered around under loads of household goods which would have broken the back of a horse, and they took hard the order of the troops which commanded all passengers to leave their bundles at the ferry. A letter to a friend in Fond du Lac, Wis., from Mrs. Bragg, wife of General E. S. Bragg, late consul general at Hong Kong, and one-time commander of the Iron Brigade, gave the following account of the escape of the Braggs in the Frisco quake. Mrs. Bragg says under date of April 20: "We reached San Francisco a week ago today, but it seems a month, so much have we been through. We were going over to Oakland the very morning of the earthquake, so, of course, we never went, as it is as bad there as here. "General Bragg had to wait to collect some money on a draft, but the banks were all destroyed. The chimneys fell in and all hotels were burned as well as public buildings. There was no water to put out the fires which raged for blocks in every square and provisions were running low everywhere. Eggs were $5 a dozen, etc.; no telegraph, no nothing. "We went from the Occidental to the Plymouth and from there to the Park Nob hill, where we lay, not slept, all Wednesday night, the day of the earthquake. From there we took refuge on the Pacific with friends who were obliged to get out also and we all came over together to Fort Mason, leaving there last night. We came from there to the flagship Chicago, the admiral having sent a boat for us. "General Bragg is very well and we have both stood it wonderfully. The Chicago fire was bad enough, but this is worse in our old age. May we live till we reach home. So many here have lost everything, homes as well, we consider ourselves quite fortunate. May I never live to see another earthquake. "The General had a very narrow escape from falling plaster; never thought to leave the first hotel alive. Many were killed or burned. God is good to us. Our baggage was rescued by our nephews alone. No one else's was to be got out for love or money. The baggage was sent to the Presidio, not four miles from us." CHAPTER VII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. =Scenes of Horror and Panic Described by Victims of the Quake Who Escaped--How Helpless People Were Crushed to Death by Falling Buildings and Debris--Some Marvelous Escapes.= The stories of hundreds who experienced the earthquake shock but escaped with life and limb constitute a series of thrilling stories unrivalled outside of fiction. Those that contain the most marvellous features are herewith narrated: * * * * * Albert H. Gould, of Chicago, describes the scene in the Palace Hotel following the first quake: "I was asleep on the seventh floor of the Palace Hotel," he said, "at the time of the first quake. I was thrown out of my bed and half way across the room. "Immediately realizing the import of the occurrence, and fearing that the building was about to collapse, I made my way down the six flights of stairs and into the main corridor. "I was the first guest to appear. The clerks and hotel employes were running about as if they were mad. Within two minutes after I had appeared other guests began to flock into the corridor. Few if any of them wore other than their night clothing. Men, women, and children with blanched faces stood as if fixed. Children and women cried, and the men were little less affected. "I returned to my room and got my clothing, then walked to the office of the Western Union in my pajamas and bare feet to telegraph to my wife in Los Angeles. I found the telegraphers there, but all the wires were down. I sat down on the sidewalk, picked the broken glass out of the soles of my feet, and put on my clothes. "All this, I suppose, took little more than twenty minutes. Within that time, below the Palace the buildings for more than three blocks were a mass of flames, which quickly communicated to other buildings. The scene was a terrible one. Billows of fire seemed to roll from the business blocks soon half consumed to other blocks in the vicinity, only to climb and loom again. "The Call building at the corner of Third and Market streets, as I passed, I saw to be more than a foot out of plumb and hanging over the street like the leaning tower of Pisa. "I remained in San Francisco until 8 o'clock and then took a ferry for Oakland, but returned to the burning city an hour and a half later. At that time the city seemed doomed. I remained but for a few minutes; then made my way back to the ferry station. "I hope I may never be called upon to pass through such an experience again. People by the thousands and seemingly devoid of reason were crowded around the ferry station. At the iron gates they clawed with their hands as so many maniacs. They sought to break the bars, and failing in that turned upon each other. Fighting my way to the gate like the others the thought came into my mind of what rats in a trap were. Had I not been a strong man I should certainly have been killed. "When the ferry drew up to the slip, and the gates were thrown open the rush to safety was tremendous. The people flowed through the passageway like a mountain torrent that, meeting rocks in its path, dashes over them. Those who fell saved themselves as best they could. "I left Oakland at about 5 o'clock. At that time San Francisco was hidden in a pall of smoke. The sun shone brightly upon it without any seeming penetration. Flames at times cleft the darkness. This cloud was five miles in height, and at its top changed into a milk white." * * * * * Mrs. Agnes Zink, Hotel Broadway, said: "I was stopping at 35 Fifth street, San Francisco. The rear of that house collapsed and the landlady and about thirty of her roomers were killed. I escaped simply because I had a front room and because I got out on the roof, as the stairway had collapsed in the rear. Out in the street it was impossible to find a clear pathway. I saw another lodging house near ours collapse--I think it must have been 39 Fifth street--and I know all the inmates were killed, for its wreck was complete. In ten minutes the entire block to Mission street was in flames." * * * * * Mr. J. P. Anthony, a business man who escaped from the doomed city in an automobile tells a graphic story: Mr. Anthony says that he was sleeping in his room at the Romona hotel on Ellis street, near Macon, and was suddenly awakened at 5:23 in the morning. The first shock that brought him out of bed, he says, was appalling in its terrible force. The whole earth seemed to heave and fall. The building where he was housed, which is six stories high, was lifted from its foundation and the roof caved in. A score or more of guests, men and women, immediately made their way to the street, which was soon filled with people, and a perfect panic ensued. Debris showered into the street from the buildings on every side. As a result, Mr. Anthony says, he saw a score or more of people killed. Women became hysterical and prayed in the streets, while men sat on the curbing, appearing to be dazed. It was twenty minutes before those in the vicinity seemed to realize the enormity of the catastrophe. The crowds became larger and in the public squares of the city and in empty lots thousands of people gathered. It was 9 o'clock before the police were in control of the situation. When they finally resumed charge, the officers directed their energy toward warning the people in the streets away from danger. Buildings were on the brink of toppling over. Mr. Anthony says he was walking on Market street, near the Emporium, about 9 a. m., when a severe shock was felt. At once the street filled again with excited persons, and thousands were soon gathered in the vicinity, paralyzed with fear. Before the spectators could realize what had happened, the walls of the building swayed a distance of three feet. The thousands of bystanders stood as if paralyzed, expecting every moment that they would be crushed, but another tremor seemed to restore the big building to its natural position. Mr. Anthony said that he momentarily expected that, with thousands of others who were in the neighborhood, he would be crushed to death in a few moments. He made his way down Market street as far as the Call building, from which flames were issuing at every window, with the blaze shooting through the roof. A similar condition prevailed in the Examiner building, across the street. He then started for the depot, at Third and Townsend streets, determined to leave the city. He found a procession of several thousand other persons headed in the same direction. All south of Market street about that time was a crackling mass of flames. Mr. Anthony made his way to Eighth and Market, thence down Eighth to Townsend and to Third street, and the entire section which he traversed was afire, making it impossible for him to reach his destination. He attempted to back track, but found that his retreat had been cut off by the flames. He then went to Twelfth street and reached Market again by the city hall. San Francisco's magnificent municipal building had concaved like an egg shell. The steel dome was still standing, but the rest of the $3,000,000 structure was a mass of charred ruins. It was not yet noon, but the city's hospitals were already filled with dead and injured, and all available storerooms were being pressed into service. Dead bodies were being carried from the streets in garbage wagons. In every direction hysterical women were seen. Men walked through the streets, weeping, and others wore blanched faces. Transfer men were being offered fabulous sums to remove household goods, even for a block distant. Horses had been turned loose and were running at large to prevent their being incinerated in the burning buildings. Women had loaded their personal belongings on carts and were pulling them through the city, the property being huddled in the public squares. "The Grand Hotel tossed like a ship at sea. There was a wavelike motion, accompanied by a severe up and down shake," said J. R. Hand of the Hand Fruit Company of Los Angeles. "The shock was accompanied by a terrific roar that is indescribable. An upright beam came through the floor of my room and the walls bulged in. I thought I should not get out alive. All my baggage was lost, but I still have the key to my room as a souvenir, No. 249. "I was on the third story of the hotel and got the last vacant room. No one in any of the stronger built hotels was killed, to the best of my knowledge. These hotels were destroyed by fire after being severely wrecked. I reached the ferry station by a trip of about six miles around by the Fairmount Hotel and thence to the water front. "The Examiner Building went up like a flash. I was standing in front of the Crocker Building and saw the first smoke. Just then the soldiers ran us out. We went around two blocks and the next view we had the building was a mass of flames. The burning of the Palace was a beautiful sight from the bay." F. O. Popenie, manager of the Pacific Monthly, was asleep in the Terminus hotel, near the Southern Pacific ferry station, when the first tremble came. "The Terminus hotel did not go down at the first shock," he said. "We were sleeping on the third floor when the quake came. The walls of the hotel began falling, but the guests had time to run outside before the building fell in. "I started for San Jose on foot. When I reached the Potrero I looked back and saw the business section a furnace. Fires had started up in many places and were blazing fiercely. Finally a man driving a single rig overtook me. He was headed for San Jose and he took me in. After a distance of fifteen miles we took the train and went on." The Terminus hotel was a six-story structure with stone and brick sides. It collapsed soon after the first shock. Among the refugees who found themselves stranded were John Singleton, a Los Angeles millionaire, his wife and her sister. The Singletons were staying at the Palace hotel when the earthquake shock occurred. Mr. Singleton gives the following account of his experience: "The shock wrecked the rooms in which we were sleeping. We managed to get our clothes on and get out immediately. We had been at the hotel only two days and left probably $3,000 worth of personal effects in the room. "After leaving the Palace we secured an express wagon for $25 to take us to the Casino, near Golden Gate Park, where we stayed Wednesday night. On Thursday morning we managed to get a conveyance at enormous cost and spent the entire day in getting to the Palace. We paid $1 apiece for eggs and $2 for a loaf of bread. On these and a little ham we had to be satisfied." "I was asleep in the Hotel Dangham, Ellis and Mason streets, when the shock came," said Miss Bessie Tannehill of the Tivoli Theatre. "There were at least 100 persons in the building at the time. At the first shock I leaped from the bed and ran to the window. Another upheaval came and I was thrown off my feet. I groped my way out of the room and down the dark stairway. Men, women and children, almost without clothing, crowded the place, crying and praying as they rushed out. "When outside I saw the streets filled with people who rushed about wringing their hands and crying. Proprietor Lisser of the hotel offered a cabman $50 to take himself and his wife to the Presidio heights, but he refused. He wanted more money. We finally secured a carriage by paying $100. Fire was raging at this time and people were panic-stricken. "After getting outside of the danger region I walked back, hoping to aid some of the unfortunates. I have heard about big prices charged for food. I wish to testify that the merchants on upper Market street and in nearby districts threw open their stores and invited the crowds to help themselves. The mobs rushed into every place, carrying out all the goods possible. "I saw many looters and pickpockets at work. On Mason street a gang of thieves was at work. They were pursued by troops, but escaped in an auto." The members of the Metropolitan opera company of New York were all victims of the great disaster, including Mme. Sembrich, Signor Caruso, Campanari, Dippel, Conductor Hertz and Bars. All of the splendid scenery, stage fittings, costumes and musical instruments were lost in the fire which destroyed the Grand Opera House, where their season had just opened. No one of the company was injured, but nearly all of them lost their personal effects. Mme. Sembrich placed the loss by the destruction of her elegant costumes at $20,000. She was fortunate enough to save her valuable jewels. The total loss to the organization was $150,000. On the morning of the earthquake the members of the company were distributed among the different hotels. The sudden shock brought all out of their bedrooms in all kinds of attire. The women were in their night dresses, the men in pajamas, none pausing to dress, all convinced that their last hour had come. Ten minutes later Caruso was seen seated on his valise in the middle of the street. Many of the others had rushed to open squares or other places of supposed safety. Even then it was difficult to avoid the debris falling from the crumbling walls. Several of those stopping at the Oaks were awakened by plaster from the ceilings falling on their bed and had barely time to flee for their lives. One singer was seen standing in the street, barefoot, and clad only in his underwear, but clutching a favorite violin which he carried with him in his flight. Rossi, though almost in tears, was heard trying his voice at a corner near the Palace hotel. * * * * * A. W. Hussey, who went to the Hall of Justice on the morning of the disaster, told how at the direction of a policeman whom he did not know, he had cut the arteries in the wrists of a man pinioned under timbers at St. Katherine hotel. According to the statement made by Hussey the man was begging to be killed and the policeman shot at him, but his aim was defective and the bullet went wide of the mark. The officer then handed Hussey a knife with instructions to cut the veins in the suffering man's wrists, and Hussey obeyed orders to the letter. * * * * * A story was told 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 in 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 it had rested for a day at the Presidio, waiting burial. With many others she wept on the border of the burial area, while the women cared for her. That was truly a tragic and pathetic funeral. In the commission house of C. D. Bunker a rescuer named Baker was killed while trying to get a dead 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. Hundreds of firemen and rescuers were prostrated, the strain of the continued fight in the face of the awful calamity proving more than any man could stand. In the crowds at many points people fainted and in some instances dropped dead as the result of the reaction following the unprecedented shock. At Mechanics' Pavilion scenes of heroism and later of panic were enacted. The great frame building was turned into a hospital for the care of the injured and here a corps of fifty physicians rendered aid. Nurses volunteered their services and also girls from the Red Cross ship that steamed in from the government yards at Mare island and contributed doctors and supplies. While the ambulances and automobiles were unloading their maimed and wounded at the building the march of the conflagration up Market street gave warning that the injured would have to be removed at once. This work was undertaken and every available vehicle was pressed into service to get the stricken into the hospitals and private houses of the western addition. A few minutes after the last of the wounded had been carried through the door, some on cots, others in strong arms and on stretchers, shafts of fire shot from the roof and the structure burst into a whirlwind of flame. One of the most thrilling of all stories related of adventures in stricken San Francisco during the days of horror and nights of terror is that of a party of four, two women and two men, who arrived at Los Angeles April 20, after having spent a night and the greater portion of two days on the hills about Golden Gate Park. This party was composed of Mrs. Francis Winter, Miss Bessie Marley, Dr. Ernest W. Fleming, and Oliver Posey, all of Los Angeles. "I was sleeping in a room on the third floor of the hotel," said Dr. Fleming, "when the first shock occurred. An earthquake in San Francisco was no new sensation to me. I was there in 1868, when a boy ten years old, when the first great earthquake came. But that was a gentle rocking of a cradle to the one of Wednesday. "I awoke to the groaning of timbers, the grinding, creaking sound, then came the roaring street. Plastering and wall decorations fell. The sensation was as if the buildings were stretching and writhing like a snake. The darkness was intense. Shrieks of women, higher, shriller than that of the creaking timbers, cut the air. I tumbled from the bed and crawled, scrambling toward the door. The twisting and writhing appeared to increase. The air was oppressive. I seemed to be saying to myself, will it never, never stop? I wrenched the lock; the door of the room swung back against my shoulder. Just then the building seemed to breathe, stagger and right itself. "But I fled from that building as from a falling wall. I could not believe that it could endure such a shock and still stand. "The next I remember I was standing in the street laughing at the unholy appearance of half a hundred men clad in pajamas--and less. "The women were in their night robes; they made a better appearance than the men. "The street was a rainbow of colors in the early morning light. There was every stripe and hue of raiment never intended to be seen outside the boudoir. "I looked at a man at my side; he was laughing at me. Then for the first time I became aware that I was in pajamas myself. I turned and fled back to my room. "There I dressed, packed my grip, and hastened back to the street. All the big buildings on Market street toward the ferry were standing, but I marked four separate fires. The fronts of the small buildings had fallen out into the streets and at some places the debris had broken through the sidewalk into cellars. "I noticed two women near me. They were apparently without escort. One said to the other, 'What wouldn't I give to be back in Los Angeles again.' "That awakened a kindred feeling and I proffered my assistance. I put my overcoat on the stone steps of a building and told them to sit there. "In less than two minutes those steps appeared to pitch everything forward, to be flying at me. The groaning and writhing started afresh. "But I was just stunned. I stood there in the street with debris falling about me. It seemed the natural thing for the tops of buildings to careen over and for fronts to fall out. I do not even recall that the women screamed. "The street gave a convulsive shudder and the buildings somehow righted themselves again. I thought they had crashed together above my head. "The air was filled with the roar of explosions. They were dynamiting great blocks. Sailors were training guns to rake rows of residences. "All the while we were moving onward with the crowd. Cinders were falling about us. At times our clothing caught fire, just little embers that smoked and went out. The sting burned our faces and we used our handkerchiefs for veils. "Everybody around us was using some kind of cloth to shield their eyes. It looked curious to see expressmen and teamsters wearing those veils. "Quite naturally we seemed to come to Golden Gate Park. It seemed as if we had started for there. By this time the darkness was settling. But it was a weird twilight. The glare from the burning city threw a kind of red flame and shadow about us. It seemed uncanny; the figures about us moved like ghosts. "The wind and fog blew chill from the ocean and we walked about to keep warm. Thousands were walking about, too, but there was no disturbance. "Families trudged along there. There was no hurry. All appeared to have time to spare. The streets, walks, and lawns were wiggling with little parties, one or two families in each. The men had brought bedding and blankets and they made impromptu shelters to keep off the fog. "The cinders still kept falling. They seemed at times to come down right against the wind. They stung my face and made me restless. "All night we moved about the hills. Thousands were moving with us. As the night wore on the crowd grew. "Near daylight the soldiers came to the park. They were still moving in front of the fire. "I had brought a little store of provisions before nightfall and somehow we had kept them. It seemed easy to keep things there. I walked over to the fire made by one squad of soldiers and picked up a tin bucket. They looked at me but made no move. I went to a faucet and turned it on. Water was there. Not much, but a trickling little stream. There was water in the park all night. I boiled some eggs and we ate our breakfast. Then we concluded to try to make our way back to the water front. We did this because the soldiers were driving us from that part of the hills. The flames were still after us. "The dumb horror of it seemed to reach right into one's heart. Walking and resting, we reached the ferry near sunset. We had come back through a burned district some four miles. I do not understand how the people stood it. "Other parties staggered past us. They were reeling, but not from wine. It was here that the pangs of thirst caught us. But the end came at last. We reached the ferry and the boats were running. The soldiers were there, too. They seemed to be everywhere. They were offering milk to the women and children. "We are in Los Angeles now. It hardly seems real. If it were not for the sting of the cinders that still stick to my face and eyes I might think it was all a nightmare." * * * * * Adolphus Busch, the St. Louis brewer, gave this account of his experiences in the earthquake: "The earthquake which shook 'Frisco made all frantic, and was undoubtedly the severest ever experienced in the United States. The St. Francis hotel swayed from south to north like a tall poplar in a storm; furniture, even pianos, was overturned, and people thrown from their beds. "I summoned my family and friends and urged them to escape to Jefferson square, which we did. "An awful sight met our eyes. Every building was either partly or wholly wrecked, roofs and cornices falling from skyscrapers on lower houses, crushing and burying the inmates. "Fires started in all parts of the city, the main water pipes burst and flooded the streets, one earthquake followed another, the people became terrified, but all were wonderfully calm. Over 100,000 persons without shelter were camping on the hills. There was no light, water, nor food. Regular soldiers and the militia maintained order and discipline, otherwise more horrors would have occurred and riots might have prevailed. Then the worst happened. The fire spread over three-fourths of the city and could not be controlled, no water to fight it, no light, and the earth still trembling. "Building after building was dismantled to check the progress of the flames, but all of no avail. We were fortunate to secure conveyances and fled to Nob Hill, from which we witnessed the indescribable drama. Block after block was devastated. The fires blazed like volcanoes, and all business houses, hotels, theaters--in fact, the entire business portion--lay in ruins, and two-thirds of the residences." CHAPTER VIII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES--CONTINUED. =Hairbreadth Escapes from the Hotels Whose Walls Crumbled--Frantic Mothers Seek Children from Whom They Were Torn by the Quake--Reckless Use of Firearms by Cadet Militia--Tales of Heroism and Suffering.= For two weeks or more tragedy, romance and comedy crowded the lives of women and children survivors homeless in the city of ashes and in Oakland, across the bay, the city of refuge. In this latter place thousands separated from their loved ones were tearfully awaiting developments, and every hour in the day members of families were restored to each other who had been lost. On record in the Chamber of Commerce at Oakland, which was the headquarters of the Oakland Relief Committee, some queer stories were told. Not a day passed but there were from two to eight marriages in that office. Homeless young couples met each other, compared notes and finally agreed to marry. At the registry bureau in Oakland scores of women, young and old, worked gratis. One applied for work to relieve her mind. She said she had seen her husband and eldest son killed and had fled with her baby. During the rush of people she lost her baby. One of her first duties was to copy names of the lost and found. In one of the lists she believed she recognized the description of her baby. An investigation was made and the child proved to be hers. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =COOKING IN THE STREET.= A familiar scene in San Francisco after the disaster.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =WING OF CITY HALL.= Two policemen were buried under walls.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =CATTLE KILLED.= A view showing a drove of cattle killed by falling walls.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =ST. JOHN'S CHURCH.= Mission Street looking west.] A grief-stricken mother came in crying for her child, which she had not seen since the day of the disaster. A member of the relief committee was detailed on the case and he found the baby. The same day, while walking on the street, he saw a woman carrying a baby in a pillow slip thrown over her shoulder. Two hours later he again met the woman. The pillow slip had ripped and the baby had fallen out unknown to the mother. When her attention was called to this fact the mother fainted. Again the young man set to work and found the baby two blocks away, but upon returning could not find the mother. One man escaped with his two babes as he saw his wife killed in a falling building. He seized two suit cases and placed a baby in each and started for the ferry. When he reached Oakland he found both smothered. He became violently insane and was put in a strait-jacket. Hermann Oelrichs of New York, ten times a millionaire and husband of the eldest daughter of the late Senator Fair of California, arrived in Chicago on a scrap of paper on which was written a pass over all railroad lines. The scrap of paper was roughly torn, was two inches square, but upon it in lead pencil were written these magic words: "Pass Hermann Oelrichs and servant to Chicago upon all lines. This paper to serve in lieu of tickets.--E. H. Harriman." Mr. Oelrichs described some of his experiences after he was driven from his quarters in the St. Francis Hotel by the earthquake. He said: "It was heaven and hell combined to produce chaos. I have a bad foot, but I forgot it and walked twenty miles that day, helping all I could. Mayor Schmitz had a meeting in the afternoon at the shaking Hall of Justice and appointed a committee of fifty, of which I was one. He gave me a commission as a member of the Committee of Law and Order, which, together with my policeman's star and club, I shall hand down to my son as heirlooms." "I am proud of that," said Mr. Oelrichs. "That is the Mayor's own signature and he has proved himself every inch a man. Lots of people thought the Mayor was just a fiddler, but they think differently now. "The regulars saved San Francisco. The militia got drunk and killed people. The hoodlums south of Market street were all burned out and they swarmed up in the swell quarter. The report was that they meant to fire the houses of the rich which had not been destroyed. Every night a west wind blows from the Pacific, and they meant to start the fire at the west end. That had to be guarded against." Mr. Oelrichs had fitted up apartments in the St. Francis, packed with curios and rarities to the extent of $20,000. These were all burned. 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 the building because of the danger from the dynamite explosions in the immediate vicinity. The men proceeded to Oakland, across the bay, and took possession of the office there. Before the offices of the telegraph companies in hundreds of cities excited crowds of men and women surged back and forth the morning of the catastrophe, all imploring the officials to send a message through for them to the stricken city to bring back some word from dear ones in peril there. It was explained that there was only one wire in operation and that imperative orders had been received that it was to be used solely for company purposes, press dispatches and general news. Mr. Sternberger of New York was on the fourth floor of the St. Francis, with his wife, son and a maid. After hurriedly dressing he and his family rushed into Union square. "We had hardly got seated," said Mr. Sternberger, "when firemen came along asking for volunteers to take bodies from the ruins just above the hotel. There was a ready and willing response. It was a low building on which had toppled a lofty one, and all in the former were buried in the debris. We heard the stifled cries and prayers, 'For God's sake, come this way,' 'O, lift this off my back,' 'My God, I'm dying,' and others, nerving us to greater efforts. "Finally we got to some of them. Bruised, bleeding, blinded by smoke and dust, terrified past reason, the poor fellows who fell in the street fell from utter exhaustion. Those that were penned away below we could not reach, and their seeming far-off cries for mercy and life will ring in my ears till death." Henry Herz, a New York traveling man, after a terrible experience, made his escape and constituted himself a traveling relief committee. At Sacramento he organized a shipment of eggs. At Reno he set the housewives to baking bread, and in Salt Lake City he had raised a potato fund of $400. Mr. Herz crossed the bay in a launch. The boatman asked him how much money he had, and when he replied, with a mental reservation, $46.60, the boatman charged him $46.60 and collected the money in advance. Worn by the exposure, hardships, and terrors of a two days' effort to escape from the stricken city, Mrs. D. M. Johnson of Utica, N. Y., and Miss Martha Stibbals of Erie, Pa., passed through Denver. "The first that we knew of the earthquake was when we were awakened in our room at the Randolph Hotel by a terrific shaking which broke loose fragments of the ceiling," said Miss Stibbals. "There followed a tremendous shock which shook the building sideways and tossed it about with something like a spiral motion. When we reached the street people were running hither and thither. "Fire was breaking out in hundreds of places over the city and the streets were becoming crowded with hurrying refugees. Where they were unable to procure horses, men and women had harnessed themselves to carriages and were drawing their belongings to places of safety. As we passed through the residence district where wealthy people lived we saw automobiles drawn up and loaded down before houses. Their owners remained until the flames came too near, and then, getting into the machines, made for the hills. "We saw one man pay $2,000 for an automobile in which to take his family to a place of safety." "I climbed over bodies, picked my way around flaming debris, and went over almost insurmountable obstacles to get out of San Francisco," said C. C. Kendall, a retired Omaha capitalist, upon his arrival home. "I arrived in San Francisco the night previous to the earthquake. I was awakened about 5:15 in the morning by being thrown out of my bed in the Palace Annex. I rushed to the window and looked out. The houses were reeling and tumbling like playthings. I hurried on clothing and ran into the street. Here I saw many dead and the debris was piled up along Market street. "I went to the office of the Palace Hotel and there men, women, and children were rushing about, crazed and frantic in their night clothes. The first shock lasted only twenty-eight seconds, but it seemed to me two hours. "A few minutes after I reached the Palace Hotel office the second shock came. It was light, compared with the first, but it brought to the ground many of the buildings that the first shock had unsettled. "Fires were breaking out in every direction. Market street had sunk at least four feet. I started for the ferry. It is only a few blocks from the Palace Annex to the ferry, but it took me from 6 a. m. to 10:15 a. m. to cover the space. "Men and women fought about the entrance of the ferry like a band of infuriated animals. "I made my escape--I do not remember how, for I was as desperate as any of them. As the boat pulled over the bay the smoke and flame rose sky high and the roar of falling buildings and the cries of the people rent the air." J. C. Gill, of Philadelphia, told his experiences as follows: "Mrs. Gill and myself were in a room on the third floor of the hotel. We were awakened by the rocking of our beds. Then they seemed to be lifted from their legs, suspended in the air, and as suddenly dropped, while the plaster began cracking and falling. We arose and left our room after putting on a few clothes. We felt that with every step we were treading on glass and that the ten stories above us would fall, not allowing us to escape alive. But once outside the building and with our friends I began to realize what had happened. "I made my way back to the room and carefully packed our suit cases. I came across a valuable necklace and pearls that my wife in her haste had left behind. "With hundreds of others we roamed in the park in front of the hotel several hours. When we saw the fire was hemming in the lower part of the city we walked toward the outskirts. Early next morning we decided to leave the city, and started to the ferry. Policemen would stop us, and it was with difficulty and much trepidation that we walked through the burned district, and arrived at the wharf at 5:15, just fifteen minutes before the boat left. "The scenes we passed through were sickening and indescribable. I fancy that scores of men, wharf rats, who had looted wholesale liquor houses and were maudlin drunk, were burned to death without being the wiser, because of their condition." "I had been stopping at the Metropole in Oakland," said Frederick Lemon of New York, "and Tuesday night went to Frisco, where I stopped at the Terminal hotel, at the foot of Market street. The first shock threw all the loose articles around my room and I attempted to run unclad from the hotel. Just as I walked out the door I was struck by some heavy beams. I was stunned and while I lay there some one from the hotel brought me my clothing. "At that time the streets were like bedlam. Soldiers were in control, and while the regulars were almost perfect in their attempts to maintain order the militia men lost their heads. They shot some men without provocation, and never thought to cry 'halt' or 'who comes there?'" Henry Kohn of Chicago told of a horrible experience he had. "I had a room on the fifth floor of the Randolph Hotel, Mason and O'Farrell streets," he said. "The first quake threw me out of bed. By the time I reached the second floor the building had ceased shaking, and I went back, got my clothes, and went into the street. In the building across the street twelve persons were killed. About 11 o'clock in the morning we were in the public square, with about 1,500 other refugees, when a severe shock was felt. People became panic stricken; some prayed, women fainted, and children shrieked and cried. "The stream of people going up Nob and Telegraph hills all Wednesday was a pitiful sight. Many were barefooted and lightly clad. There was nothing to eat or drink." Sol Allenberg, a New York bookmaker, was with Kohn at the St. Francis Hotel. "I was sick in my room when the shock struck us," he said, "and my friend helped me out to a boarding house on the hill. There I had to pay $7 for a room for the rest of the day. "It was two miles from the fire and I thought I was safe enough when I got into my bed at noon, but about two hours later they awoke me to tell me that the fire was only two blocks away, and we got out only a short time before the house went up in flames. "No exaggeration of the horrible scenes on the street is possible. There was one poor fellow pinned to earth with a great iron girder across his chest. It in turn was weighted down by a mass of wreckage that could not be moved. He could not be saved from the flames that were sweeping toward him, and begged a policeman to shoot him. "The officer fired at him and missed him, and then an old man crawled through the debris and cut the arteries in the man's wrists. The crowd hurried on and left him to die alone." CHAPTER IX. THROUGH LANES OF MISERY. =A Graphic Pen Picture of San Francisco in Flames and in Ruins--Scenes and Stories of Human Interest where Millionaires and Paupers Mingled in a Common Brotherhood--A Harrowing Trip in an Automobile.= Among the most graphic and interesting pen pictures of scenes within and without the stricken city were those of Harry C. Carr, a newspaper photographer and correspondent of Los Angeles. This is his personal narrative: I started from Los Angeles for the stricken city on that pitiful first train whose passengers were nearly all San Francisco men trying frantically to get back to their wives and children, whose fate they could only imagine. All one terrible day I walked about through the lanes of the charred ruins that had once been San Francisco. I was one of the hungry who robbed grocery stores for their food; one of the parched thousands who eagerly drank water out of the gutter leakage of the fire engines. After hours of discouraging failure, of being turned back by the sentries, with the sound of dynamited houses ringing in my ears, I managed at last to join the long caravan of homeless families carrying all the property left to them in the world in sheets. Sometimes I walked with the daughter of a Van Ness avenue millionaire lugging a bundle over her shoulder, and again with a Chinaman moaning piteously over the loss of his laundry. I came out of San Francisco on that broken-hearted first train carrying refugees, whose faces streamed with tears as they took the last look from the Pullman windows at the weirdly beautiful red fringe of fire creeping along the ridges of the distant hills, burning the remnants of San Francisco. An hour after the first word reached Los Angeles on that fateful Wednesday morning our train pulled out of the depot. There was an ominous number of reservations for Santa Barbara on the chair car. Most of the San Francisco men came on board there. Beyond San Luis Obispo, two big freight trains were stalled by a cave-in caused by the earthquake. They crawled out just in time--before every one went mad. At Salinas, about dark, the conductor came back, shaking his head; a freight train ahead at Pajaro had been completely buried by a mountain of earth hurled in the quake. The men said it was likely to be a week before any train went through. Three or four of us hurried into the town looking for an automobile. One of the passengers on the train was Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson, and the news had been kept from her until this delay. Strange to say, there were a number of automobiles in town, but none were to be had. One man was hurrying through from Los Angeles in his own touring car with his three boys to find his wife, their mother, who was somewhere in the burning city. We were getting ready to hire saddle horses when the twin lights of an automobile came glaring down the street. There were two New England spinsters aboard. They had been in the Palace Hotel when the clerk telephoned to their rooms to tell them the city was burning and that the hotel was about to be blown up by dynamite by the soldiers of the Engineer Corps. They hired an auto to San Jose at an outrageous price and paid $75 to be taken from there to Salinas. Had it not been for a bridge which kind Heaven smashed, I guess they would have been going yet. As it was, we persuaded them that the train was the place for them and managed to hire the automobile back to San Jose. The cost was $20 a seat. Men came to us and begged like frightened children to be taken; but we dared not risk a breakdown and had to refuse. But never shall I forget the look that was in their eyes. We started at 10:30 and rode all night. It was bitterly cold and we suffered terribly, not having overcoats. The chauffeur had been using his auto all that morning taking medicines to the demolished insane asylum at Agnews. His story of the scenes there was horrible. Scores of dead were lying stretched on the lawns and others were walking about hideously wounded. Amid this scene an insane woman was wandering, blithely singing little songs of her own improvision about the earthquake and the killing. One giant maniac had broken his shackles and rescued one of the guards from the building. He had just one sane moment; long enough to be a hero. Then he fled howling into the hills. It was just dawn when we got to San Jose. Sentries from the militia and special officers were patrolling the streets. A dead line had been established to keep persons away from wrecked buildings. There were jewelry stores whose fronts had been entirely torn off; these would have been plundered. All through the city we saw people seated on beds on their front lawns, their houses having tumbled. On the front lawn of the Hotel Vendome was a bonfire about which were gathered twenty or thirty people. Every guest of the house had spent the night there with a blanket apiece. We were just in time to catch the first train to go through to San Francisco. All along the route through such towns as Palo Alto and Belmont, we saw shattered buildings, warehouses with whole sides neatly cut off as though with a knife. One big warehouse of brick had completely buried a freight train standing on a siding. During the night we could see the dull red glow that came from the burning city. Now we could see the huge copper-colored clouds that almost hid the sun. As we came nearer the city we could hear the distant explosions of the dynamite with which the soldiers were wrecking the buildings. They came to us in dull but quick thumps. The train got no further than Valencia street. As soon as we got off we saw the first stragglers of the great army of the homeless and ruined. Sentries stopped us before we had gone a block, so a cheerful good-looking young fellow, who had seen first his home and his tailor shop utterly destroyed that morning, offered to be our guide. He took us past the Hotel Valencia, which was the worst sufferer from the earthquake. The big building had been literally poured out into the street in a stream of splintered wood. No one knows how many people perished in it. On the corner next the Valencia was a new set of three-story flats, just completed, and most of the flats not yet occupied. As though some one had struck it on top with a giant hammer, the entire building had sunk one story into the ground; you could walk right in at the second story. Turning down into Steiner street, we were caught in the flood of the strangest tide the world ever saw. There never was anything like this before. These were people warned to leave their homes from some district newly doomed to the Fire God. They were trekking, in a long, motley procession, to find some park not already crowded to overflowing. One of the first that I met was a little family beginning life over again. What they had been able to rescue before the flames came was packed in a little express wagon. The elderly husband was drawing this. Behind him came his wife. With the forethought of a woman, she had either bought or stolen two packages of breakfast food--all that stood between them and starvation. They looked drawn and anxious; and were rather peculiar in this regard. Most of the refugees leaving their homes were cheerful. I saw a pretty "tailor-made girl" meeting her friend on the street. One of them had a little bundle of things tied in a handkerchief. "That's everything I own in this world," she said, grinning--positively grinning. "That's nothing," said the other girl, smiling back, "I haven't a rag to my back or a cent of money, and I've lost track of my family somewhere in this crowd." "Oh, well, what's the use of worrying?" And with that they parted. Another touching little group was led by the father, who carried a sheet tied up with what he could carry. The young mother was dragging a child's express wagon laden mostly with provisions. Behind her trooped two sweet little girls. One was wrapped up in a big shawl (this was just after sunrise.) A kitten, which she held in her arms, was poking its nose protestingly out from the shawl. Bringing up the rear was the other little tot, hugging a doll under each arm. A fine looking young fellow in khaki trousers and a fashionable coat was packing an enormous clothes bundle. His young wife was clinging to his arm. It was everything they had left in the world, probably out of years of hard saving, but they were both almost going along with good spirits. A little further up the street, I saw a refined looking young girl cooking breakfast in the gutter. She wore a handsomely made but badly torn skirt and had a remarkably fine bracelet on one wrist. Her oven was made of two bricks and a toasting grill. A young man was bringing her bits of fire wood and they were consulting together over the frying of bacon. Further on were two other women doing the same thing and having fun out of it between themselves. "Is it so very much farther?" was the only complaint that came from one tired little woman who looked ready to faint. She was staggering under the weight of a huge bundle. She looked unused to work and her lips were white and trembling with exhaustion. She rested just a minute, then staggered on without another word of complaint. Men spoke kindly to her, but none offered to help her, because Woe was the great leveler and all were on the same footing. All the day I spent in San Francisco, I only heard one person speak unkindly to another. I wish I had that young man's name, just as a curiosity. He had been hired by a woman to drag a big Roman chair filled with treasures up the street. "There," he said, insolently, "I have earned all the money I got for that; now take it along yourself." Without a word, the woman took the chair from him and wheeled it on herself. One rather amusing group was wheeling an immense and very handsome dining-room table. The young man who was pulling from the front was protesting vigorously; but the two young girls who shoved from behind, digging their stubby fashionable little oxford ties in the dirt for foothold, urged him peremptorily on. Following them was a half-grown hobbledehoy boy, strong enough to have packed an ox, who was doing his heavy share by carrying a little glass vase. In a doorway half way up the hill, I saw an old Chinaman sitting with his bundle, which was all he had been able to save. He was just saying, "Oh, oh, oh," in a curious, half-sobbing moan that never seemed to cease. The young tailor with me said the Chinaman had lost his laundry and was terror-stricken lest the white people should make him pay for their clothes. While his own tailor shop was burning, the young tailor said that he was out trying to rescue the trapped victims in the burning Hotel Brunswick. He could only get hold of one living man. He seemed to be caught in the wreckage, the smoke being too thick to permit one to see just how. Strong hands caught his feet and pulled desperately. When they dragged him out at last, they found that he had been caught under the chin. In pulling him out they cut his throat almost from ear to ear. As we gained the top of the hill on Steiner street, a San Francisco man who came in with me on the train stopped dead still. "My God; look there!" he said, his voice catching with a sob. Through the rift of the buildings we caught our first glimpse of the dying city. "That was Market street," said the San Francisco man, softly. He pointed across a vast black plain, hundreds of acres in extent, to a row of haggard, gaunt specters that did seem to be in two lines like a street. "There's the City Hall," he said, tremulously, pointing to a large dome surmounting a pile of ruins and surrounded like some hellish island with vast stretches of smouldering ashes and twisted iron girders. The San Francisco man found a tottering, blackened pile of wall that he said was Mechanic's Pavilion, and a sort of thin peak of brick that he said was the new Bell Theater. He would go over the town from the top of the hill and torture himself trying to locate San Francisco's splendid landmarks in these acres of ash heaps. Down in the middle of the city I found two young men in a violent argument over the location of Market street in the ashes. At the pretty little park, Fell and Steiner streets, we came upon one of the strange little cities of refugees. I should pronounce this one of the most select residence districts of San Francisco now. It is the only home of hundreds upon hundreds of once well-to-do San Francisco people now ruined. It was heart-rending to see the women tidying things up and trying to invent new ideas for attractive homes--trying to make their homes look better than their neighbors', just as they did before. Some women made odd little bowers of two blankets and a sheet tent. I passed one tent where a young mother was lying at ease with her little girl, under a parasol. Just as I was going by, the little girl demanded "another." The mother laughed happily and began, "Well, once upon a time----" As though one of the stories of all the ages was not going on down the hill below her! To one of the groups on the lawn came a young man grinning all over and positively swaggering. He was received with shrieks of joy. He had six cans of sardines. He brought them to people who would have been insulted at the idea two days ago. The San Francisco man invited me into his house, where we saw the wreck of his cut glass and library. But he forgot it all over a rare piece of good fortune that had befallen. The maid had managed to get a whole tea kettle of water. It was vile and muddy; but it was water. The young tailor told me that he had gone from daylight until 11:30, parching for a drink. The saloons were closed by order of Gen. Funston, but he managed to get beer from a saloon man. In some parts of the city there is plenty of water. But I saw people rushing eagerly with buckets to catch the water out of gutters where it had leaked from a fire hose. In the first terrible water famine, the firemen broke into sewers and threw sewer water on the fires. The dramatic moments came as one neighborhood after another was told to pack up and move out. It was the sounding of doom. I saw several of these sorrowful dramas. One was in an old-fashioned street where old southern houses with iron dogs planted about the lawns had been pressed in upon by lodging-houses and corner groceries. It seemed mockery to think how the people in the aristocratic old houses must have raged at the intrusion of the corner stores. How futile it seemed now! Came a dapper young cavalry lieutenant into the street. From their porches people watched him with pathetic anxiety. They could see the sentry's heels click together and his carbine snap down to a present. With a few words the officer would hurry on. Making a megaphone of his hands, the sentry would turn and bawl these words up the otherwise silent street: "This street is going to be dynamited; if you want anything in the grocery store, go to it!" The balance of his remarks, if there were any, would be lost in a shout of applause from the crowds that seemed to smell such things. A rush for the grocery store would follow. Men would come out laden to staggering with loot--canned goods, flour, bacon, hams, coffee--as much as they could possibly pack. I saw one little girl not over four. This was the day she always had been dreaming of. Hugged to her heart was an enormous jar of stick candy, big enough to give her stomach-ache for the rest of her life. She could hardly lift it; but she put it down to rest, then went panting on. At the warning of the sentry, the whole family in each house would rush back through the front door to rescue whatever treasure lay nearest their hearts. They only had four or five minutes. Men would come dragging bureaus and lounges. Often a man would be pulling along the family pride, the woman shoving from behind. In one thrilling rescue I had the distinction of participating. An elderly woman grabbed me excitedly by the arms and gasped, "Catch it." She pointed to a dejected canary perched on a window sill. I shinned gallantly up the side of a dead wall; just touched the canary bird with the tips of my fingers. It flew and a lady caught it triumphantly like a baseball as it came down. She went away "mothering" it. Presently, the sentry would shout another warning and the people would scurry away, peeking out from behind safe corners. As if by magic, the streets would be thick with soldiers. The engineers would place the dynamite and they would all hurry out of danger. Bang! And the grocery store would go scattering into the air. It must be confessed that the dynamiting did very little good. It seemed to provide fine splintered timber as kindling for fiercer flames which jumped the gap supposed to check them. The sound of the explosions was to be heard all day long almost like minute guns. Let a word be interjected here about those splendid boys in blue uniform hurried into the city from the forts about San Francisco. They make one proud of the army. No more superbly policed city ever existed than the burning and stricken San Francisco. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere. Almost at every street corner with fixed bayonet and ominous cartridge belt. Infantry, cavalry (some mounted infantry) and engineers, all doing sentry duty. Gen. Funston was in personal command--not from his office, either. He went plowing around the most perilous streets soaked to the skin from the fire engines. San Francisco in this time of panic and distress was more quiet and orderly than ever before. I saw not a single disturbance of the peace. With it all, the soldiers were polite, and seemed to try in every way to show courtesy and consideration. When they had to order people back, they did it in a quiet and gentlemanly way. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =CAMP KITCHEN.= Cooking in Baseball Park.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =SHACKS ERECTED IN A FEW HOURS.= Another view in Golden Gate Park.] [Illustration: =GOVERNOR PARDEE OF CALIFORNIA.= The prompt help in relief work rendered by Gov. Pardee stamps him as one of the greatest humanitarians of the present day.] [Illustration: Copyright, Clinedinst, Washington. =MAJOR GENERAL ADOLPHUS W. GREELY.= Commander of the Pacific Division of the U. S. Army in the earthquake district. General Greely is well known for his Arctic expedition.] I met men who claimed to have seen men shot down by the soldiers for defying orders for unlicensed looting. Also there is a story of a negro being shot dead by a policeman for robbing a dead body. One story I would like to believe--that a poor wretch pinned in among the blazing ruins roasting to death begged to be shot and some cavalry trooper had the moral courage to send a bullet through his brain. Although I walked probably fifteen miles back and forth through the city, I saw very little unlicensed looting. Many grocery stores which did not seem to be in immediate danger, were thrown open; one very oddly. The proprietor nailed up one window with slats about four inches wide. He made the refugees line up, and each was privileged to take all he could reach through the window slats. Some grocers and tradesmen were not so charitable. In other places I saw them demanding from people in danger of starving, 75 cents a loaf for bread. Bread was the scarcest article except water. The last of the tragedy that I witnessed was not only the most dramatic but the most tremendous. It should be called the "Exodus," for it was a Biblical scene. It was the headlong flight of those who were most terror-stricken to get out of the doomed city. All day long a procession of almost countless thousands was to be seen hurrying with all the possessions they could carry. There were people with bundles, packs, laden express wagons, hacks bulging with plunder, brewery wagons pressed into service, automobiles, push carts, even fire hose wagons. I happened along at a crucial moment. One of the lieutenants whose peculiar and melancholy function seemed to be to pronounce the doom of one section after another, had just sent warning to Nob Hill, the center of fashion in San Francisco. For hours I had been working my way toward the Oakland ferries. As a last hope, some one told me I might get there by going over these hills and following the line of the water front. I got there after the warning had been given. It was San Francisco's wealthiest and most exclusive society who had to pack and sling their bundles over their shoulders. And they did it with just as good grace and courage as the others. All were making a frantic attempt to hire expressmen with any kind of vehicle that would move, and most of them were failing. During the first of the fire, some young society women with very poor taste, went autoing around the stricken districts as though it were a circus. They were stopped by a sentry and were made to get out of their car and hand it over to a posse of special officers being hurried to some district in new peril. As I gained the top of Nob Hill and turned to look back, it was clear why the warning had been given. In one direction, hospitals were burning south of Market street. In the center distance the big car barns were on fire and roaring with flames. Ordinarily this would have been a sensation of a week. Now it wasn't even considered worth while to send fire engines and nobody stopped to look as they walked by. The main streets, where the business part of the city had been, were black with an immense throng of people who were walking up and down among the ruins. Looking toward the ferries, I could count nine big skyscrapers, all crowned with fire, outlined in a lurid row against the sky line. The flames were creeping slowly, but with deadly persistence, toward Nob Hill, with several lesser fires blazing in between. It was high time Nob Hill was moving. One old man had chartered an express wagon, and was on top of the wagon frantically interfering with the work of removing the goods from a big, aristocratic-looking house. "The books!" he shrieked, "Why in heaven's sake don't you bring the books?" A swagger young woman came to the door with a handsome mantel clock and walked calmly down the stairs. "Please put this in some especially safe place, please," she said, as composedly as though this were nothing more than any ordinary moving day. Down the street I saw a woman with the bearing of a patrician shoving at the rear of a push cart, loaded with all of the few things she could save; a servant was drawing it. Behind came a young girl, who half turned for a last look at the house, and burst out crying. Her mother left the load for a moment and comforted her. "Never mind, dear," she said. "Don't cry! See, mamma isn't crying." "Mamma" knew that in a few minutes her home and all the property she had in the world would die in the fire just as her husband's business had already done; but mamma wasn't crying. On the corner of Van Ness avenue and Broadway, I saw a girl well dressed, who had evidently been driven out from there. All she had saved was a bed tick filled with something. As it was very hot, and she was very tired, she had spread it on the pavement, and was watching the throng from under her parasol. I saw another girl in a trig outing suit and little patent-leather shoes, toss a bundle, done up in a sheet, over her shoulder and walk away in the procession with the most fascinating nonchalance. One woman I saw going away in an elegantly-fitted private carriage. It was drawn by two horses with tails about two inches long and soaring; so she must have been near the top of the Upper Crust. She, too, joined in the flight. Just as she got to the bottom of the hill she had the driver stop. I saw her turn and take a last wistful look from her carriage window at her doomed home. She was not attempting to take anything with her. Like many others, she had simply locked her door and gone. Many of these people, rich one day, are practically paupers on the morrow. Many of them slept outdoors in the parks under a blanket, afraid to sleep in their own palatial homes. What I call the "Exodus" fled down Van Ness avenue to the water front, thence along the Barbary Coast and tough water front by an enormously long detour to the ferries; it was the only way, the town streets being on fire and closed by the military. The farther you went along the more conglomerate the throng became. The inhabitants of the foreign quarters began pouring out to join the flight. I was so tired with a long day spent walking about the burning city that it seemed an impossibility that I should keep on. Every step was actual physical pain. Twenty passing cabs, returning from the ferries, I stopped and tried to charter. The drivers, after bigger game, would wave me aside and say "Nothin' doin'." One cabby said that he had to hurry out to the other end of the city to rescue his own family who were in danger. Another young autocrat on the cabby's box took a long puff on his cigarette before he replied to my appeal. "Fellow, you couldn't hire this hack for a million dollars," he said. There was one amusing feature in the terrible procession. She was a haughty dame from Van Ness avenue. All that she could save she had stuffed into a big striped bed tick. She was trying to drag this along, and at the same time trying to maintain the dignity of a perfect lady. Candidly, it was not a success. One can stick pretty nearly everything into a striped bed quilt, but not dignity. All along the way were women who had dropped out from exhaustion and were sitting there with their bundles in utter despair. CHAPTER X. WHOLE NATION RESPONDS WITH AID. =Government Appropriates Millions and Chicago Leads All Other Cities with a Round Million of Dollars--People in All Ranks of Life from President Roosevelt to the Humblest Wage Earner Give Promptly and Freely.= The fiery destruction of the beautiful city and the pitiable plight of the survivors who escaped annihilation from quake and fire only to face death in the equally horrible forms of starvation and exposure touched the heartstrings of humanity. The response to the needs of the stricken city and its people was so prompt, so universal and so generous that forever it will appeal to the admiration of mankind. It was a response that did not wait to be asked but in the moment when the need became known voluntarily turned the tide of the abundance of the unstricken to the help of the unfortunate before they had even breath to voice their need. All over our own land, from every state and city and hamlet, from the president and the assembled congress, dropping all else to turn the nation's resources generously to the rescue, through all grades of the people the response broke forth spontaneously, generously, warmly, without stint and with such practical promptness that relief for unexampled distress was already on the way before the close of the first fateful day. From all the seeming sordidness of daily life one turns to this as proof incontestable that humanity is at heart infinitely kinder and better and less selfish than it esteems itself. Even other lands and other peoples when the horror of the calamity became known to them, added to the stream of gold, which had its beginning in the sympathetic hearts of the American people and its ending in the stricken and despairing city. Once more were the lines of the geographer and politician obliterated and there was in the lurid light of the awful hours no north, no south, no east, no west. Once more did those in charge of the coffers of the municipalities raise high the lid and contribute to relieve the woe. And Chicago, as became the Queen City of the Lakes, and which once in an almost equally dire calamity was, herself, the recipient of generous aid, was among the very first which recognized the need of prompt and generous aid. Almost as soon as the news of the direful plight of the city by the Golden Gate had been flashed over the wires, the Merchants' Association of Chicago telegraphed to the authorities of San Francisco that it would be responsible for a relief fund of $1,000,000, and that any portion of that sum could be drawn upon at once. Then Mayor Dunne issued a call for a special relief meeting at which a big committee of the leading men of the city was formed and immediately went to work. Fraternal organizations, the newspapers and the clubs became also active solicitors for aid. For several days the streets of the city presented a peculiar appearance. Upon the street corners stood boxes showing that funds deposited within would reach the homeless of the Pacific coast. Smaller boxes stood in the hotels that the strangers in the city might have an opportunity to contribute. Within the large stores in the business center were other boxes that the shoppers might have an opportunity of displaying their sympathy in something more tangible than words. Upon other corners stood the men and women of the Volunteers of America and the inscriptions above their boxes told that all pennies, nickels and dimes would eventually find their way to the stricken of San Francisco. But while Chicago was the first of distant cities to pledge a big contribution, other cities throughout the country were not far behind. In Faneuil Hall, Boston, a meeting which overcrowded that historic temple of liberty was held, and Bishop Mallalieu of the Methodist church, at the close of an eloquent address, had a motion enthusiastically passed that the state of Massachusetts raise $3,000,000 for the relief of the earthquake and fire victims of the Pacific coast. In the meantime the city of Boston had already pledged $500,000 of that amount. The city of Philadelphia at a formal meeting of its council voted $100,000, while the relief committee of the people there had secured $125,000 for the sufferers of the stricken city. And the congress of the United States, as became it, was prompt in action. In the lower house a bill appropriating $1,000,000 was introduced and passed at once, and a few days later a similar measure of relief was adopted, making the contribution of the government $2,000,000 altogether. This was about one-third as much as was required to care for the thousands who were made homeless by the Chicago disaster of 1871. President Roosevelt also sent a message to congress urging a further contribution of $500,000, and in an address to the public urged that they send contributions to the National Red Cross society as the readiest means by which the afflicted could be reached. Governor Deneen of Illinois also issued a proclamation to the like effect. Secretary of War Taft, in his capacity of President of the American National Red Cross society, issued a proclamation in which he announced that the necessary work of organization to feed and shelter the people was placed in the hands of the Red Cross society, under the direction of General Funston, Commander of the Department of the Pacific. In this way matters were made systematic and authoritative and assurances given that the contributions of the nation would be honestly and economically distributed to those in need. Among other states and cities not already mentioned, whose contributions were generous enough to deserve permanent record, were the following--and the amounts named may be in most cases set down as somewhat below the real final figures: Texas $100,000 Connecticut 30,000 St. Louis, Mo. 100,000 Sacramento 100,000 Seattle, Wash. 90,000 Victoria, B. C. 25,000 Spokane, Wash. 30,000 Milwaukee 30,000 City of Mexico 30,000 Des Moines 10,000 Jacksonville, Fla. 10,000 Los Angeles 200,000 Cincinnati 75,000 Omaha 10,000 Providence, R. I. 20,000 Davenport, Iowa 20,000 Stockton, Cal. 20,000 Portland, Ore. 130,000 Sacramento, Cal. 100,000 Columbus, O. 20,000 Among individuals in this and other countries who promptly sent in their contributions were the following: Russell Sage $ 5,000 London Americans 12,500 Clarence H. Mackay 100,000 Mrs. John W. Mackay 5,000 Robert Lebaudy 10,000 W. W. Astor 100,000 President Roosevelt 1,000 Senator Knox 500 C. J. Burrage, Boston oil dealer 100,000 President Diaz, Mexico 100,000 E. H. Harriman (for his railroads) 200,000 Andrew Carnegie 100,000 Charles Sweeney, New York 10,000 W. K. Vanderbilt 25,000 "Friend of Humanity," New York 25,000 H. C. Frick 10,000 Gordon Blanding 10,000 H. M. Bowers, Boston 10,000 Robert Schandy, France 10,000 Among the corporations and organizations which lost no time in going to the rescue of the afflicted and helpless were the following: Bank of Commerce, Toronto $ 25,000 Columbus Board of Trade 20,000 National Carpenters' union 10,000 United States Steel Corporation 100,000 Kuhn, Loeb & Co., New York 25,000 United Mineworkers of America 1,000 Standard Oil Company 100,000 North German Lloyd Steamship Company 25,000 Wisconsin Masons 5,000 Carnegie Hero Fund 25,000 Heidelback-Ickleheimer, New York 10,000 National Park bank, New York 5,000 New York Stock Exchange 250,000 Citizens' Relief Association, Philadelphia 100,000 Detroit Board of Commerce 10,000 N. K. Fairbank Co. 1,000 National Biscuit Co. 5,000 Hamburg-American Steamship Line 25,000 Canadian Parliament 100,000 CHAPTER XI. ALL CO-OPERATE IN RELIEF WORK. =Citizens' Committee Takes Charge of the Distribution of Supplies, Aided by the Red Cross Society and the Army--Nearly Three-Fourths of the Entire Population Fed and Sheltered in Refuge Camps.= President Roosevelt inaugurated the organized and systematic relief work through the National Red Cross Society. Before the embers of the conflagration had cooled he issued the following statement: Washington, D. C., April 22.--The following statement was issued from the White House this afternoon: "To the public: After full consultation with Secretary Taft, the president of the American National Red Cross Association, who also as secretary of war is controlling the army work and the expenditure of the money, probably two millions and a half, appropriated and to be appropriated by congress for the relief of San Francisco, I wish to make the following suggestion: "Contributions both in money and in kind are being given most generously for the relief of those who have suffered through this appalling calamity. Unless there is a proper organization for handling these contributions they will in large part be wasted and will in large part fail to reach the people to whom it is most to be desired they should reach. "The American National Red Cross Association has sent out to take charge of the relief work Dr. Edward Devine, general secretary of the Charity Organization Society of New York, whose experience has been large in work of this kind. Dr. Devine will work in conjunction with Judge Morrow, United States Circuit judge of the Ninth circuit, and the head of the California Red Cross Association. Gen. Funston already has been directed to co-operate with Dr. Devine, and has advised the secretary of war that he will do so. "Secretary Metcalf, who is on his way to the Pacific slope, will at once put himself in touch with Dr. Devine, as well as with the judge, the governor of California, and the mayor of San Francisco, to see if there is anything else the administration can do, and he will assist in all possible ways the effort to systematize what is being done. "I recommend that all charitable and relief organizations and individuals who desire to contribute do so through the Red Cross Association, and that where provisions and supplies be sent they be consigned to Dr. Devine, Red Cross, San Francisco, and that Dr. Devine be notified by telegraph of the consignments. At the same time Jacob H. Schiff, the treasurer of the New York Red Cross Association, in New York, may be notified that the consignments have been sent to Dr. Devine, or else the notification can be sent to Charles H. Keep, assistant secretary of the treasury, Washington, D. C., and treasurer of the American National Red Cross Association. "I also suggest that all contributions that already have been forwarded be brought to the attention of Dr. Devine by telegraph, which telegram should state the name and address of the consignee and the amount and nature of the consignment. It is better to send all moneys to Mr. Keep or Mr. Schiff; they will then be telegraphed to Dr. Devine as the money is needed. "The White House, April 22, 1906. Theodore Roosevelt." * * * * * At the time the foregoing was issued the President was not aware that the Citizens' Committee of San Francisco headed by ex-Mayor James D. Phelan was completely organized for relief work and was at the time directing the succor of the victims. Upon learning this fact he speedily endorsed the committee and its work, and instructed the Red Cross Society to co-operate with the Citizens' Committee. President Roosevelt aroused criticism in some directions by declining aid from foreign countries. The first tenders of aid from abroad came from foreign steamship companies and later several foreign governments expressed a desire to contribute. The President took the ground that the United States was able to provide all the relief necessary. The justification for his attitude was expressed in an address by General Stewart L. Woodford, former minister to Spain, speaking with the authority of the President. He said: "The President, in the midst of the horrors of San Francisco kindly but firmly declined the assistance offered by the other nations, and especially, through St. George's society, the assistance of England. The President meant simply that, bowed as the American people were under their load, it was his wish that the American people show to the world that under such an adversity the United States would take care of its own; would rise equal to the terrible occasion; would feed their own hungry, would clothe their own naked, and, spurred on by the indomitable courage which this people always have exhibited under stress of distracting calamity, set up their flag and move to the assistance of 'the city that once was,' and build a new city, even though the earth shook beneath its foundations. "In doing this--in refusing your great beneficence, the President still feels that he is greatly honored, as the American people are, in that England and the other great nations not only sent messages of regret, but offers of substantial material aid. He felt that the nation, as a nation, would set an example to other nations." All funds and supplies were dispensed through the Citizens' Committee or general relief committee as it was known, with the co-operation of the army and the Red Cross. Money, food, shelter and clothing poured in from every quarter. On the Monday succeeding the fire the food problem had been solved and its distribution reduced to a system. The people were fed thereafter in a thoroughly businesslike manner. From the water front, where the boatloads of provisions docked, there was an endless procession of carts and drays carrying food to the scores of substations established throughout the city and the parks. At these stations food and drink, comprising bread, prepared meats, and canned goods, milk, and a limited amount of hot coffee, was served to all those who applied. About 1,500 tons of provisions were being moved daily from the water front. The food supply committee had fifty-two food depots in operation. Plain food of every description was plentiful. The troops who dispensed the food played no favorites. Sometimes it took two or three hours to get through the lines, and with three meals a day a man living in the parks passed a good part of his time standing for his food. The Red Cross saw that weak women and children were provided for without waiting in line. Even the people living in houses had to take their chances with the rest of the crowd in the parks near by. Fully 30,000 refugees were fed by the government at the Presidio and North beach. Provisions were bountifully supplied to all who made application, and there was no suffering from hunger. Over 10,000 tents were given and the authorities distributed them as long as the supply lasted. Barracks were erected in Golden Gate Park to accommodate 15,000 persons. The buildings contained thirty rooms, in two room apartments, with kitchen arranged so as to suit a family or be divided for the use of single men. By great luck a lot of lumber yards along the water front escaped. Their stock was appropriated and used for barracks. Two or three lumber schooners arriving from the northern forest country were seized and the stocks used for the same purpose. Further, the Red Cross, with the approval of Funston, went through the standing residence district and made every householder give over his spare room to refugees. Here, generosity was its own reward. Those residents of the western addition who took in burned out friends or chance acquaintances on the first day had a chance to pick their company. Those who were selfish about it had to take whomsoever the Red Cross sent, even Chinese and new arrivals from Hungary. The Red Cross people enjoyed the grim joke of this. They trotted ten refugees up to the door of a Pacific Heights residence. The woman of the house came to the door. The sergeant in charge made brief explanation. "Heavens," she said, looking them over. "You have brought me two of my discharged cooks." "See that the guests are quartered in the parlor," said the sergeant briefly to his high private. What with tents, barracks, the exodus to other parts of California, the plan of concentration in the standing houses of the western addition, there was shelter for everyone. The water supply improved every day. Nearly everywhere the order to boil drinking water was enforced. All vacant houses in the unburned district were seized. Many vacant flats were taken where the homeless are housed and the sick found good accommodations. Churches, and other buildings, including schoolhouses, were turned into living rooms for the homeless. In some of the provisional camps established for refugees near the foot of Van Ness avenue and near Fort Mason it was difficult to distinguish men from women. The supply of women's clothing had been exhausted, and many women could be seen dressed in ordinary soft shirts and overalls. In that garb they walked about their tents unconcernedly. It was no time for false modesty and those who were able to make themselves comfortable in any sort of clothing were indeed fortunate. Within a week conditions had improved so rapidly that there was enough water in the mains to justify the removal of the restrictions on washing. Up to that time the only way to get a bath was to dip into the bay. Lights, only candles, of course, were allowed up to 10 p. m. An idea of the Titanic task of feeding the refugees may be gained from the figures of the number of hungry people fed in one day. Throughout the city rations for 349,440 persons were distributed. At one point provisions were given out to 672 people in an hour for ten hours. Two thousand persons were fed daily at St. Mary's cathedral on Van Ness avenue, a relief station organized by the Rev. Father Hannigan and headed by him as chairman of the committee. This was perhaps the best organized and most systematically conducted private station in the city. The committee has a completed directory of the fifty square blocks in the district, and so perfect was the system that there is no duplicating and wrangling. Nine substations gave out orders, and it was arranged for those stations to give out food also. Fourteen members of the clergy were in charge of the various branches of the work. The emergency hospitals were well organized under direction of army medical officers, and there were plenty of doctors and nurses after the second day. The only complaint that really existed at that time was the lack of bedding. Though the army and navy were called upon for blankets, quilts, and the like, the supply furnished by those departments was not enough to relieve immediate needs. Only 30 patients were quartered in the territory that comprised the park emergency hospital at the end of the first week. Considering that over 500 injured people received attention at the park during that time the record was remarkable. More than 100 physicians and attendants were serving in the park within forty-eight hours after the first shock. Among the many pathetic scenes connected with the work of relief were others that illustrated the saving sense of humor which keeps people from going insane in times of great calamity and mental stress. In the vestibule of a church they were giving away clothes. One shivering woman was being fitted out. "Here, dear," said the woman in charge, "here is a nice, good warm waist." "Oh, I couldn't wear it," she answered. "You know, I'm in mourning." Another girl near by said: "Yes, please, I want a waist. I want pink and white, you know; they're my favorite colors." Quite suddenly the smile died on our lips. A little mother came up. "I want clothes for my baby; it's cold," she said. They took the baby from her, and a man near by said to another: "The child is dead." We went down to Broadway to look for friends. Some people were so dazed they would make no effort to reach the homes of their friends. On the corner was a dapper youth whom we have long known. A helpful feature of the relief work was the establishment by the Southern Pacific company of a chain of information kept by bureaus, which was served by relays of pony riders carrying the latest bulletins and instructions relative to transportation facilities, provided to relieve the congestion in San Francisco. A committee sent by the Japanese consul, representing the Japanese relief society, cared for many of the stricken Japanese who still remain in the city. They rendered assistance to white people wherever required. They wired to every large city on the coast asking for supplies to be sent by the Japanese. It was the desire of President Roosevelt that the work of the Red Cross in alleviating the distress in San Francisco should be done wholly without regard to the person and just as much for the Chinese as for any others. [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =REFUGEES ON TELEGRAPH HILL.= These people sought a safe place and are watching their houses and the city burning. Many of them carried bedding, pictures, relics, etc., with them--all they could carry and get to a safe place with their lives.] [Illustration: =GENERAL FUNSTON AND WIFE.=] CHAPTER XII. OUR BOYS IN BLUE PROVE HEROISM. =United States Troops at the Presidio and Fort Mason Under Command of General Funston Bring Order Out of Chaos and Save City from Pestilence--San Francisco Said "Thank God for the Boys in Blue"--Stricken City Patrolled by Soldiers.= "Thank god for the Boys in Blue!" was the ardent and praiseful exclamation of the people of San Francisco during and after the terrible days that rent by shock and consumed by fire their beautiful city. And as their courage and devotion to save and protect, and their tenderness towards the dying and the dead became known the entire country re-echoed the tribute. For it was the soldiers of Uncle Sam, untiring and unafraid amidst horrors and dangers seen and unseen, that stood between half-crazed refugees from the quake and the fire and downright starvation and anarchy. When the catastrophe occurred Major General A. W. Greely, in command of the military department of the Pacific, was on his way east to attend the marriage of his daughter, and so the command of the troops and of the department devolved on Brigadier General Frederick Funston; and as on previous occasions when pluck and wise decision were required he showed himself equal to the emergency. The first thing that was done was to divide that portion of the city where order and protection were most needed into six districts, four of them being guarded by the military, one by the marine and one by the navy. Other portions of the city were patrolled by the National Guard and by the city's police force. Because of these arrangements there was thereafter but little trouble, and practically no more looting. During the fire General Funston established his headquarters at Fort Mason on the cliffs of Black Point, and at once it became the busiest and most picturesque spot in San Francisco. There was an awe-inspiring dignity about the place, with its many guards, military ensemble and the businesslike movements of officers and men. Few were allowed to enter within its gates, and the missions of those who did find their way within were disposed of with that accuracy and dispatch peculiar to government headquarters. Scores of automobiles rushed in and out of the gate, and each car contained an armed guardsman in the front seat furiously blowing a sentry whistle to clear the roadway. At the sound of that tremolo the crowds scattered as if by magic. San Francisco was virtually under martial law, and order was wrought from chaos. After the quake the President and Secretary Taft were chiefly concerned at first with getting supplies, and that work was performed with extraordinary expedition and thoroughness. At the same time they were rushing troops, marines, and sailors to guard the devastated city. The marvelous work done by the soldiers, from General Funston down to the newest recruit, won the admiration and congratulations of the entire country. The sentiment everywhere was and is that the army has demonstrated its splendid capacity not only to preserve peace in the face of armed resistance, but to take charge of affairs in a stricken city at a time when intelligent discipline was more needed than everything else. Secretary Taft expressed the belief that congress would have to give him absolution for the violence he had done the constitution in those terrible days. He ordered General Funston to take complete command of the city, to put martial law into effect, and to enforce sanitary regulations without regard to the wishes of the people. The war department had been morally responsible for the unhesitating way in which the troops shot down looters and the people who refused to understand that great situations must be controlled without regard to law. It was the soldiers apparently who brought order out of chaos. They headed the unfortunate refugees farther and farther on ahead of the flames, until finally they had located the vast homeless mob in the Presidio, in the Golden Gate Park, and in other wide expanses. General Funston had not exceeded his orders. He was given full discretion to employ his forces as he saw fit. He turned loose the soldiers under him with general instructions to act as their own good sense dictated, and it is to the eternal credit of the noncommissioned officers and the privates that every report sent to the war department and all the descriptions in the press reports indicated that the army had saved the situation in San Francisco. When a sturdy sergeant brought down the butt of his musket on the counter of a bake shop where they were beginning to sell bread at 75 cents a loaf, and announced that bread thereafter in that concern would be sold at 10 cents a loaf or there would be one less baker in the world, he was guilty of an act which in any other time might have landed him in prison. If he is punished for it now, it will only be after the Secretary of War and the President are impeached, because he was only obeying the spirit if not the letter of their instructions to General Funston. Soldiers guarded the water wagons, which were driven about the streets, and this show of force was necessary, so that the scanty supplies might be distributed with even-handed justice. In the same way, when General Funston issued orders as the result of which the soldiers compelled citizens to dig graves for the temporary interment of the dead, he violated the law most flagrantly, but he acted as the emergency demanded, and the incident contributed with other things to make the army organization of the United States a little bit the most popular thing in the country in these days. When the army was reduced at the close of the Philippine insurrection, the machinery was left intact. In this way, although the quartermasters' stores in San Francisco were wiped out of existence, it was possible to hurry supplies to San Francisco. They began arriving there promptly and the danger of famine was averted. It is the purpose of the war department to continue practical martial law in San Francisco. It is believed the greatest work of the soldiers, in which term of course are to be included the marines and sailors as well, was in the prevention of pestilence. Practically all of the house to house sewage system of San Francisco had been destroyed. An army of two or three hundred thousand men encamped in the suburbs of a great city would ordinarily die like flies unless it provided itself with proper facilities for the removal of garbage and the general sanitary cleansing of the immense camp. Even with trained soldiers under strict discipline it was an extremely difficult thing to enforce sanitary regulations. Immense supplies of medical necessities already had been forwarded from the bureau at St. Louis, and General Funston organized at once a series of camps on military lines. The refugees were compelled to live up to sanitary rules whether they liked it or not. Those who refused felt the pick of a bayonet. Furthermore, out of the tens of thousands of homeless people the soldiers forced as many as were needed to go to work for the common good, putting up shelters, erecting tents, devising store-houses, and, above all, creating the necessary sanitary appliances and safeguards to prevent the outbreak of pestilence. It required the utmost vigilance on the part of the army officers and the most constant attention by the medical corps to prevent an outbreak of typhoid, dysentery, and the ordinary train of nearly fatal diseases which are common to large military camps, and which are almost inevitable when dealing with an unorganized and unintelligent mob. Efforts were made to compel every man, woman, and child to obey constantly the strict sanitary regulations which the army provides for its own protection. Every medical officer and every man in the hospital corps within a wide range of San Francisco had been ordered to report at once for duty under General Funston. With the flames practically under control and with millions of army rations on the grounds or actually in sight of the people, the efforts of the War Department became directed to the preservation of health and in a secondary degree to the location and registration of the dead, the wounded, and the saved. Following close upon the heels of the rations and the tents there came tons upon tons of disinfectants unloaded at Oakland and every possible device was being employed by the medical bureau to make as good a record in this regard as the quartermaster and commissary departments had already produced in supplying food and shelter. Meanwhile the ever-ready American private soldier and his splendid executive officer, the American noncom., were really the rulers at San Francisco. They defied the law every minute, but evidently they acted with characteristic good sense. The price of bread was kept down, the mob was being systematized and taught to respect authority, and enough thieves had summarily been shot in San Francisco to render looting a dangerous and an unprofitable avocation. People who went through the great fire at Chicago in 1871 remember that when Gen. Sheridan brought in regular soldiers he established order within a brief period of time, and there was a feeling of relief when men under his command began to blow up houses in the vicinity of Wabash avenue and Congress street. The laws of the United States had been violated every minute. Supplies were purchased in the open market, government property had been handed out without receipts to anybody who seemed to have authority to receive it, and the distribution of supplies had been wholly free from the slightest suspicion of red tape. In spite of these facts, the President and Secretary Taft felt proud of the fact that the army organization had proved itself able to withstand the sudden strain put upon it, while the enlisted man showed his ability to act at a distance from his commissioned officer with an intelligence and an initiative which would be impossible in the European armies. As during the days of disaster and terror stricken San Francisco was absolutely under the control of General Funston, a few facts about his career will be appropriate here. Red-headed, red-blooded; a pygmy in stature, a giant in experience; true son of Romany in peace and of Erin in war--the capture of Aguinaldo in the wilds of North Luzon and his control of affairs in San Francisco fairly top off the adventurous career of Frederick Funston, fighter. General Funston was born in Ohio, but when he was two years old his family moved to Kansas. After passing through the high school he entered the University of Kansas. His father had been a congressman for a number of years. His ambition was to enter West Point, but he failed to pass its examination. He later broke into the newspaper business, but his career in that field was short. In 1900 his father secured him an appointment as botanist in the Department of Agriculture. After a trip to Montana and the Dakotas he was attached to the party which made the first Government survey of Death Valley, the famous California death-trap. Seven months were spent in this work, and Funston is the only man of the party alive and sane today. In 1891-92 the Government sent him to make a botanical survey of certain parts of the Alaskan coast, and in 1893 he returned to the Arctic and made a similar survey of the Yukon. He negotiated Chilkoot Pass, then an untrodden pathway. After trying to start a coffee plantation in Central America and to fill a job with the Santa Fe railroad, the torch of the Cuban revolution became a beacon to his adventurous spirit. He joined a filibustering party which the Dauntless landed at Camaguay in August, 1896. He was assigned by Garcia to the artillery arm of the insurgent service. Twenty-three battles in Cuba was his record with his guns. Once he was captured and sentenced to death, but escaped. Later still a steel-tipped Mauser bullet pierced his lungs. This healed, but the fever struck him down, and compelled his return to the United States. As he was preparing to return to Cuba the Maine was blown up and in his certainty that war with Spain would result he awaited the issue. Governor Leedy, of Kansas, telegraphed for him, and he became Colonel of the Twentieth Kansas. He went with General Miles to Cuba in June, 1898, and sailed with his regiment for Manila in October. Three weeks before he sailed Colonel Funston met Miss Ella Blankhart of Oakland. As impetuous in love as in war he wooed and won her, the marriage taking place the day before the transport sailed. Of his daring risks and feats in the Philippines and of his capture of Aguinaldo the general public is so familiar as not to need recapitulation here. Of his qualities as a fighting man pure and simple, there can be no two opinions. Says General Harrison G. Otis: "Funston is the greatest daredevil in the army, and would rather fight than eat. I never saw a man who enjoyed fighting so much." Another friend of his once said that Funston was a sixteenth-century hero, born four hundred years or so too late, who had ever since been seeking to remedy the chronological error of his birth. CHAPTER XIII. IN THE REFUGE CAMPS. =Scenes of Destitution in the Parks Where the Homeless Were Gathered--Rich and Poor Share Food and Bed Alike--All Distinctions of Wealth and Social Position Wiped Out by the Great Calamity.= Next to viewing the many square miles of ruins that once made San Francisco a city, no better realization of the ruin can be gained than from the refugee camps located in the districts which were untouched by the flames. Golden Gate park was the mecca of the destitute. This immense playground of the municipality was converted into a vast mushroom city that bore striking resemblance to the fleeting towns located on the border of a government reservation about to be opened to public settlement. The common destitution and suffering wiped out all social, financial and racial distinctions. The man who before the fire had been a prosperous merchant occupied 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 of the night before the fire, a butterfly of fashion at the grand opera performance, assisted some factory girl in the preparation of humble daily meals. Money had little value. The family who had foresight to lay in the largest stock of foodstuffs on the first day of the disaster was rated highest in the scale of wealth. A few of the families who could secure willing expressmen possessed cooking stoves, but over 95 per cent of the refugees had to do their cooking on little camp fires made of brick or stone. Kitchen utensils that a week before would have been regarded with contempt were articles of high value. Many of the homeless people were in possession of comfortable clothing and bed covering. The grass was their bed and their daily clothing their only protection against the penetrating fog of the ocean or the chilling dew of the morning. Fresh meat disappeared the first day of the catastrophe and canned foods and breadstuffs were the only victuals in evidence. Not alone were the parks the places of refuge. Every large vacant lot in the safe zone was preempted and even the cemeteries were crowded. A well-known young lady of social position when asked where she had spent the night replied: "On a grave." Throughout the entire western portion of the peninsular county of San Francisco these camps were located. Major McKeever of the United States Army was appointed commandant of the camps and, with his staff of assistants, brought system and order out of the chaotic situation. His first thought was to supply food and water and then to arrange sanitary measures. The throngs of people who crowded elbow to elbow in the open lots and fields without conveniences that are naturally demanded were constantly threatened with an epidemic of disease. Good order and fellowship prevailed in these impromptu settlements and the common ruin and poverty made all of the unfortunates akin. In buildings close to the camps the police stored available foodstuffs and bed clothing for convenient delivery. No distinctions were drawn and but few favors shown in the distribution of supplies. Although efforts of the various relief committees were bent to appease the gnawing hunger of the destitute thousands--efforts that were in a large measure entirely successful--there were many persons without sufficient food or entirely without it. The government officials took charge of every grocery store in that part of the city still standing and gave out foodstuffs to all those who were hungry. Broad lines were established at Fillmore and Turk streets, at Golden Gate park and at the Presidio and every person who stood in line was given a whole loaf. The line at Fillmore and Turk streets was four blocks long all one afternoon and those at the parks were even longer. A large supply of milk was received from Oakland in the morning and this was distributed to women and children whenever they were found in need. A great deal of this milk was used for the exhausted women. The breadlines at the parks furnished striking instances of the absolute patience and fortitude that has marked the behavior of the people throughout their trying experience. There were no disorders when the hungry thousands were told to form a line and receive their bread and canned goods. All were content to wait their turn. Silk-hatted men followed good naturedly behind Chinese and took their loaves from the same hand. Soup kitchens were established in the streets of the unburned section, no fires whatever being allowed indoors, and many hungry persons were fed by these individual efforts. At the ferry station there were some pathetic scenes among the hungry people. When the boat came in from Stockton with tons of supplies a number of small children were the first to spy a large box of sandwiches with cries of delight. They made a rush for the food, seized as much as they could hold and rushed to their mothers with shouts of "Oh, mamma, mamma, look at the sandwiches!" Seated around the ferry buildings sat hundreds of people sucking canned fruits from the tins. Some were drinking condensed cream and some were lucky enough to have sardines or cheese. At several places along Market street scores of men were digging with their hands among the still smoking debris of some large grocery house for canned goods. When they secured it, which they did without molestation from anybody, they broke the tins and drank the contents. At Filbert and Van Ness avenue at 6 o'clock at night a wagon of supplies conveyed by soldiers was besieged by a crowd of hungry people. They appealed to the soldiers for food and their appeals were quickly heeded. Seizing an ax a soldier smashed the boxes and tossed the supplies to the crowd, which took time to cheer lustily. Owing to the energetic efforts of General Funston and the officials of the Spring Water Company the sufferers in all parts of the city were spared at least the horrors of a water famine. As soon as it was learned that some few mercenaries who were fortunate enough to have fresh water stored in tanks in manufacturing districts were selling it at 50 cents per glass the authorities took prompt action and hastened their efforts to repair the mains that had been damaged by the earthquake shocks. The work of relief was started early on the second day of the disaster. A big bakery in the saved district started its fires and 50,000 loaves were baked before night. The police and military were present in force and each person was allowed only one loaf. The destitution and suffering were indescribable. Women and children who had comfortable, happy homes a few days before slept--if sleep came at all--on hay on the wharves, on the sand lots near North beach, some of them under the little tents made of sheeting which poorly protected them from the chilling ocean winds. The people in the parks were better provided in the matter of shelter, for they left their homes better prepared. Instructions were issued by Mayor Schmitz to break open every store containing provisions and to distribute them to the thousands under police supervision. At one time bread sold as high as $1 a loaf and water at fifty cents a glass, but the authorities at once put a stop to the extortion. Among the many pathetic incidents of the fire in San Francisco 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. 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. Among the refugees who found themselves stranded were John Singleton, a Los Angeles millionaire, his wife and her sister. The Singletons were staying at the Palace Hotel when the earthquake shock occurred on Wednesday morning. Mr. Singleton gave the following account of his experience: "The shock wrecked the rooms in which we were sleeping. We managed to get our clothes on and get out immediately. We had been at the hotel only two days and left probably $3,000 worth of personal effects in the room. "After leaving the Palace we secured an express wagon for $25 to take us to the Casino near Golden Gate park, where we stayed the first night. On the following morning we managed to get a conveyance at enormous cost and spent the entire day in getting to the Palace. We paid $1 apiece for eggs and $2 for a loaf of bread. On these and a little ham we had to be satisfied." Mr. Singleton, like thousands of other people, found himself without funds and he had difficulty in securing cash until he met some one who knew him. To allay the fears of the refugees in the various camps Mayor Schmitz issued the following proclamation which citizens were instructed to observe: "Do not be afraid of famine. There will be abundance of food supplied. Do not use any water except for drinking and cooking purposes. Do not light fires in houses, stoves or fireplaces. Do not use any house closets under any circumstances, but dig earth closets in yards or vacant lots, using if possible chloride of lime or some other disinfectant. This is of the greatest importance, as the water supply is only sufficient for drinking and cooking. Do not allow any garbage to remain on the premises; bury it and cover immediately. Pestilence can only be avoided by complying with these regulations. "You are particularly requested not to enter any business house or dwelling except your own, as you may be mistaken for one of the looters and shot on sight, as the orders are not to arrest but shoot down any one caught stealing." The refugees numbered all told about 300,000. At least 75,000 of them made their way to Oakland, Berkeley, Alameda, Benicia and neighboring cities while many more fortunate and prosperous succeeded in reaching Los Angeles. The work of caring for the homeless in the refugee camps was splendidly managed under the direction of the citizens' committee, the military authorities and the Red Cross. The people were fed in a thoroughly businesslike and systematic manner. From the water front, where the boatloads of provisions docked, there was an endless procession of carts and drays carrying food to the scores of substations established throughout the city and the parks. At these stations food and drink, comprising bread, prepared meats and canned goods, milk and a limited amount of hot coffee, were served to all those who applied. About 1,500 tons of provisions were moved daily from the water front. Large supplies of blankets, tentings and other material to provide coverings for those who were scantily supplied theretofore reached the supply stations rapidly. Barracks were erected at several points and in those many people have found comfort and shelter against the inclemencies of the weather. The situation in the congested districts such as Golden Gate Park and the various public squares throughout the city, was considerably relieved by the departure of many people for points on the other side of the bay, as soon as access was had to the ferry building. The exodus continued daily from the time the fire broke out until every one who wished to get away had departed. The greatest hardship experienced by the homeless refugees was on the first Sunday night following the fire. From midnight Sunday until 3 o'clock Monday morning a drenching rain fell at intervals, while a high wind added a melancholy accompaniment, whistling and sighing about the ruins of the buildings in the burned district. Five days before when the fire catastrophe was in its infancy this downpour would have been regarded as a mercy and a godsend. When it came it could be regarded in no other light than as an additional calamity. It meant indescribable suffering to the tens of thousands of people camped upon the naked hills and in the parks and open places of the city. Few of them were provided with water-proof covering. For the most part their only protection from the wet was a thin covering of sheeting tacked upon improvised tent-poles. Through this the water poured as through a sieve, wetting the bedding and soaking the ground upon which they lay. When it is understood that thousands upon thousands of delicately nurtured women and infants in arms and old and feeble people were in this plight nothing need be added to describe the misery of their condition. What could be done was done by the guards in charge of the camps to relieve the distress. Whenever covering could be had for the women and children it was taken advantage of. They were housed in the chill and cheerless churches, garages and barns, and those who had been fortunate enough to save their homes were called upon to take care of these unfortunates. With few exceptions these people responded readily to the new call made upon them and where they did not the butt ends of Krag rifles quickly forced a way through inhospitable doors. Of individual instances of suffering the whole number is legion, but one will tell the story of them all. About 4 o'clock, when the rain had been falling heavily for an hour, a middle-aged man, white-faced in his distress and fatigue, appeared at the headquarters of the general committee. He had walked two miles from his camping place in the park to make an appeal for his suffering wife and little ones. As he told of their distress the tears welled up in his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. They were, he said, without covering other than a sheeting overhead and were lying on the naked ground and their bodies protected only by a quilt and blanket, which of his household bedding were all he had managed to save. These had quickly been soaked, and while unwilling to complain on his own account he had been unable to listen to the wails of his little ones and had tramped all the way from his camping place to the committee headquarters in the forlorn hope that there he might find some means of getting his family under shelter. The condition of the 5,000 people or more camped in Jefferson Square Park was something terrible. Not more than 5 per cent had even an army tent and the makeshifts were constructed of carpets, bed sheets and every imaginable substance. They were totally inadequate to keep out the heavy rain. The 400 soldiers of the Fifth and Sixth California National Guard were requisitioning. Glenn A. Durston of the Spanish War Veteran's relief committee, had charge of the relief work. The spirit and courage shown by the sufferers in the face of their misfortunes was wonderful. An aged, crippled woman lying on the dirt floor of patchwork, bed sheets, carpets and tin roofing made a remark which was a sample. "I am the widow of a union soldier," she said. "The sufferings related by my husband at Vicksburg were as nothing compared to mine. I am very comfortable, thank you." Many temporary emergency hospitals were established in and near the refugee camps. The St. Paul Lutheran church near Jefferson square was one, but the big hospital at the Presidio, the military headquarters of the government, provided for the greater number of cases. A temporary detention hospital was also established in the basement of the Sacred Heart school, conducted by the Dominican Sisters at the corner of Fillmore and Hayes streets, and the first commitment since the earthquake was made on the Sunday following the fire. The sisters of the Sacred Heart kindly turned over a part of the already crowded quarters to the insanity commissioners, and a number of patients made insane by the fire were cared for there. At the general hospital the wards were soon full of patients, but few were suffering from severe types of sickness. There were many cases of tonsilitis, colds and such ills. Within a week after the fire thousands of people left the refugee camps and found homes with friends in nearby places. One week after the disaster the authorities estimated that the number of campers on the grounds had been reduced to less than 8,000, where over 30,000 people had camped. Temporary structures were erected in Golden Gate Park for the housing of 40,000 people, who had been sleeping out of doors for nearly a week and they were moved into comfortable quarters. About the same time a supply of blankets and bedding was received. Within a week from the beginning of the disaster the refuge camps were converted into comfortable places of residence, with adequate sanitation, and the homeless at least had temporary homes. All this was accomplished with a minimum of suffering and illness that speaks volumes for the courage, energy and common sense of the American people. [Illustration: =THE BEAUTIFUL VENDOME HOTEL, SAN JOSE.= This famous hotel was partly wrecked by the earthquake.] [Illustration: =POSTOFFICE, SAN JOSE.= This building faces a beautiful public square and was badly damaged.] CHAPTER XIV. RUINS AND HAVOC IN COAST CITIES. =San Jose, the Prettiest Place in the State, Wrecked by Quake--State Insane Asylum Collapsed and Buried Many Patients Beneath the Crumbled Walls--Enormous Damage at Santa Rosa.= Outside of San Francisco the earthquake did immense damage for fifty miles north and south of the Golden Gate City. San Jose, the prettiest city in California, sustained the severest shock, which killed a score of people and left the business section a pile of ruins. The loss in this one city alone amounted to $5,000,000. The State Insane Asylum at Agnews near San Jose collapsed and buried upwards of 100 patients beneath its walls. Among the buildings wrecked in San Jose are St. Patrick's church, the First Presbyterian church, the Centella Methodist Episcopal church, the Central Christian and South Methodist churches. Every building on the west side of First street from St. James park to San Fernando street either went down, toppling or was badly cracked. The Auzerias building, Elks club, Unique theater and many other buildings on Santa Clara street went down to the ground. On Second street the six-story Dougherty building and several adjoining blocks were destroyed by fire. A new high school in Normal Park was a complete wreck. The Nevada & Porter building on Second street, the Rucker building on Third and Santa Clara streets were also ruined. The annex to the Vendome Hotel was completely wrecked, and one man was killed therein. Sheriff William White, of Los Angeles, who was in San Jose at the time attending a convention, thus describes the scenes following the quake: "San Jose, which was the prettiest city in California, is the worst-looking wreck I ever saw. When I left there nineteen dead bodies had been recovered and there was a possibility that others would be found. I reached Agnews Asylum a few hours later in an automobile and was one of the first on the spot. There I helped to carry out sixty corpses. At noon, when I arrived at San Jose, it was believed that fully 100 bodies were still in the ruins. "The shock came to San Jose exactly at 5:12:45, according to the clock in the St. James Hotel, which was stopped. Supreme Court Clerk Jordan, my young nephew; Walter Jordan and myself occupied apartments on the fourth floor of the St. James Hotel. The shock awoke the three of us, but only seemed to disturb my nephew, who commenced calling out. "There was not a brick or stone building of two stories or over in San Jose that was not leveled to the ground or so badly damaged it will have to be torn down. Some fires started after the quake, but the fire department soon had them under control. "I secured an automobile at 7 o'clock and left for Agnew, where the insane asylum was located, with two or three of the visiting sheriffs. The sight there was awful. The walls were standing, but the floors had all fallen in. "Scores of insane persons were running about in the grounds, unwatched and uncared for. I helped to take out the body of Dr. Kelly, the assistant superintendent of the asylum, who had been instantly killed. A nurse who was also taken out of the ruins by me died a little later. "After getting away from San Jose I saw evidences of the earthquake at Niles and even as far as Livermore in the shape of fallen chimneys and broken glass." The main building of the State Hospital collapsed, pinning many of the patients under fallen walls and debris. The padded cells had to be broken open and more dangerous patients were tied to trees out on the lawn in lieu of a safer place. The doctors and nurses stuck heroically to their posts and 100 students from Santa Clara College went over in a body and assisted in succoring the wounded. State Senator Cornelius Pendleton, who escaped the earthquake shock at San Jose, thus narrated his experiences: "We were all at the Vendome Hotel. The shock of the earthquake was so severe the floors and walls of the building collapsed at once and those of us who escaped made our way as best we could out of the ruins. On the side of the hotel where my room was there was a large tree. The side wall of my room fell against this tree, which also sustained that portion of the roof, preventing it from falling in on us. "My room was on the second floor, but when I picked myself up I was in the basement of the building. I crawled up and out over the debris and escaped through a window on a level with the ground. After getting out I found this was one of the third story windows. Those of us who were uninjured at once set about assisting the less fortunate. I saw one dead woman in the hotel. We carried her out. The remainder of the dead were in various parts of the town. The residence district was not badly damaged. Martial law had been declared in the city when we left. "Among the large buildings that were totally demolished were the Hall of Justice, the First Presbyterian Church, the Catholic Cathedral, the Hale Block, and the Vendome Hotel. Fire broke out following the earthquake in several quarters, but fortunately the water mains were uninjured and the spread of the flames was checked." At Salinas the immense plant of the Spreckels Sugar refinery was completely destroyed, and the loss of property aggregated $2,000,000. The estimated loss of life and damage in California cities outside of San Francisco is as follows: Oakland, $500,000, 5 lives; Alameda, $400,000; San Jose, $5,000,000, 19 lives; Agnew (state hospital for insane), $400,000, 170 lives; Palo Alto (Stanford University), $3,000,000, 2 lives; Napa, $250,000; Salinas, $2,000,000; Hollister, $100,000, 1 life; Vallejo, $40,000; Sacramento, $25,000; Redwood City, $30,000; Suisun, $50,000; Santa Rosa, $800,000, 40 lives; Watsonville, $70,000; Monterey, $25,000, 8 lives; Loma Prieta, 10 lives; Stockton, $40,000; Brawley, $100,000; Santa Cruz, $200,000; Gilroy, $500,000; Healdsburg, $25,000; Cloverdale, $15,000; Geyserville, $12,000; Hopland, $10,000; Ukiah, $50,000; Alviso, $20,000; Niles, $10,000; Hinckley Creek, $10,000, 9 lives; Deer Creek Mill, $10,000, 2 lives; Santa Clara, $500,000; Pacific Grove, $50,000; Wrights, $75,000; Delmonte, $25,000, 2 lives. The beautiful city of Santa Rosa was a terrible sufferer from the quake, both in loss of life and property: The entire business section was left in ruins and practically every residence in the town was more or less damaged, fifteen or twenty being badly wrecked. The damage to residences was caused principally by the sinking of the foundations, which let many structures down on to the ground. The brick and stone business blocks, together with the public buildings, were all thrown flat. The courthouse, Hall of Records, the Occidental and Santa Rosa hotels, the Athenaeum theater, 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. It was almost impossible for an outsider to realize the situation as it actually existed there. No such complete destruction of a city's business interests ever before resulted from an earthquake in America. The very completeness of the devastation was really the redeeming feature, though, for it put all upon exactly the same basis, commercially speaking. Bankers and millionaires went about with only the few dollars they happened to have in their pockets when the crash came, and were little better off than the laborers who were digging through the debris. Money had practically no value, for there was no place to spend it, and this phase of the situation presented its own remedy. Almost every one slept out of doors, being afraid to enter their homes except for a short while at a time until repairs were made. There were plenty of provisions. Some were supplied by other towns and much was brought in from the surrounding country. Two entire blocks of buildings escaped being swept by the flames, which immediately broke out in a dozen places at once as soon as the shock was over and from the tangled ruins of those buildings complete stocks of groceries and clothing were dug out and added to the common store. Then before the fire gained headway several grocery stores were emptied of their contents in anticipation of what might follow. The city was put under martial law, company C of Petaluma having been called to assist the local company in preserving order. Many deputy sheriffs and special police were also sworn in, but no trouble of any kind occurred. The relief committee was active and well managed and all in need of assistance received it promptly. The work that required the principal attention of the authorities was removal of the wreckage in order to search for the bodies of those missing and known to have perished. Forty marines under command of Captain Holcombe arrived from Mare Island and did splendid work in assisting in the search. Forty-two bodies were buried in one day and the total dead and missing numbered upward of 100. Santa Rosa, in proportion to its size, suffered worse than San Francisco. Mr. Griggs, who was in the employ of a large firm at Santa Rosa, tells a story which sufficiently proves the earthquake's fury, so great as to practically reduce the town to ruin. In addition to the death roll a large number of persons were missing and a still greater number were wounded. As in the case of San Francisco, an admirable organization had the situation well in hand. Forty sailors from Mare Island, fully equipped with apparatus, were at work, while volunteer aid was unstinted. Santa Rosa suffered the greatest disaster in her history, but the indomitable spirit of her people was shown all along the line. Even so early as Friday an announcement was made that the public schools and the college would open as usual on Monday morning, the buildings having been inspected and found to be safe. At Agnews the cupola over the administration department went down and all the wards in that part of the building collapsed. Twelve attendants were killed and Dr. Kelly, second assistant physician, was crushed to death. There were 1,100 patients in the hospital. C. L. Seardee, secretary of the state commission in lunacy, who was in Agnews and attending to official business, declared that it was a marvel that many more were not killed. Dr. T. W. Hatch, superintendent of the state hospitals for insane, was in charge of the work of relief. Friday morning 100 patients were transferred to the Stockton asylum. Forty or fifty patients escaped. Dr. Clark, superintendent of the San Francisco County Hospital, was one of the first to give relief to the injured at Agnews. He went there in an automobile, taking four nurses with him, and materially assisted the remaining members of the staff to organize relief measures. Tents were set up in the grounds of the institution, and the injured as well as the uninjured cared for. A temporary building was erected to house the patients. The St. Rose and Grand hotels at Santa Rosa collapsed and buried all the occupants. Thirty-eight bodies were taken from the ruins. There were 10,000 homeless men, women and children huddled together about Santa Rosa. As the last great seismic tremor spent its force in the earth, the whole business portion tumbled into ruins. The main street was piled many feet deep with the fallen buildings. The destruction included all of the county buildings. The four story courthouse, with its dome, is a pile of broken masonry. What was not destroyed by the earthquake was swept by fire. The citizens deserted their homes. Not even their household goods were taken. They made for the fields and hills to watch the destruction of one of the most beautiful cities of the west. C. A. Duffy of Owensboro, Ky., who was in Santa Rosa, was the only one out of several score to escape from the floor in which he was quartered in the St. Rose hotel at Santa Rosa. He went to Oakland on his motor cycle after he was released and told a thrilling story of his rescue and the condition of affairs in general at Santa Rosa. Mr. Duffy said when the shock came he rushed for the stairway, but the building was swaying and shaking so that he could make no headway, and he turned back. He threw himself in front of the dresser in his room, trusting to that object to protect him from the falling timbers. This move saved his life. The dresser held up the beams which tumbled over him, and these in turn protected him from the falling mass of debris. "I was imprisoned five hours," said Mr. Duffy, "before being rescued. Three times I tried to call and the rescuers heard me, but could not locate my position from the sound of my voice, and I could hear them going away after getting close to me. "Finally I got hold of a lath from the ruins around me, poked it through a hole left by the falling of a steam pipe, and by using it and yelling at the same time finally managed to show the people where I was. "There were about 300 people killed in the destruction of the three hotels. "The business section of the place collapsed to the ground almost inside of five minutes. Then the fire started and burned Fourth street from one end to the other, starting at each end and meeting in the middle, thus sweeping over the ruins and burning the imprisoned people. "I saw two arms protruding from one part of the debris and waving frantically. There was so much noise, however, that the screams could not be heard. Just then, as I looked, the flames swept over them and cruelly finished the work begun by the earthquake. The sight sickened me and I turned away." Fort Bragg, one of the principal lumbering towns of Mendocino county, was almost totally destroyed as a result of a fire following the earthquake of April 18. The bank and other brick buildings were leveled as a result of the tremors and within a few hours fire completed the work of devastation. But one person of the 5,000 inhabitants was killed, although scores were injured. Eureka, another large town in the same county, fifty miles from Fort Bragg, was practically undamaged, although the quake was distinctly felt there. Relief expeditions were sent to Fort Bragg from surrounding towns and villages and the people of the ruined area were well cared for. The town of Tomales was converted into a pile of ruins. All of the large stores were thrown flat. The Catholic church, a new stone structure, was also ruined. Many ranch houses and barns went down. Two children, Anita and Peter Couzza, were killed in a falling house about a mile from town. The towns of Healdsburg, Geyserville, Cloverdale, Hopland, and Ukiah were almost totally destroyed. The section in which they were located is the country as far north as Mendocino and Lake counties and as far west as the Pacific ocean. These are frontier counties, and have not as large towns as farther south. In every case the loss of life and property was shocking. At Los Banos heavy damage was done. Several brick buildings were wrecked. The loss was $75,000. Brawley, a small town on the Southern Pacific, 120 miles south of Los Angeles, was practically wiped out by the earthquake. This was the only town in southern California known to have suffered from the shock. Buildings were damaged at Vallejo, Sacramento, and Suisun. At the latter place a mile and a half of railroad track is sunk from three to six feet. A loaded passenger train was almost engulfed. R. H. Tucker, in charge of the Lick observatory, near San Jose, said: "No damage was done to the instruments or the buildings of the observatory by the earthquake." At Santa Cruz the courthouse and twelve buildings were destroyed. Contrary to reports, there must have been a tidal wave of some size, for three buildings were carried away on Santa Cruz beach. The Moreland academy, a Catholic institution at Watsonville, was badly damaged, but no lives lost. In a Delmonte hotel a bridal couple from Benson, Ari.--Mr. and Mrs. Rouser--were killed in bed by chimneys falling. At 12:33 o'clock on the afternoon following the San Francisco quake Los Angeles experienced a distinct earthquake shock of short duration. Absolutely no damage was done, but thousands of people were badly frightened. Men and women occupants of office buildings, especially the tall structures, ran out into the streets, some of them hatless. Many stores were deserted in like manner by customers and clerks. The shock, however, passed off in a few minutes, and most of those who had fled streetwards returned presently. The San Francisco horror has strung the populace here to a high tension, and a spell of sultry weather serves to increase the general nervousness. CHAPTER XV. DESTRUCTION OF GREAT STANFORD UNIVERSITY. =California's Magnificent Educational Institution, the Pride of the State, Wrecked by Quake--Founded by the Late Senator Leland Stanford as a Memorial to His Son and Namesake--Loss $3,000,000.= One of the most deplorable features of the great California calamity was the destruction of the Leland Stanford, Jr., University, situated at Palo Alto. The magnificent buildings, including a beautiful memorial hall erected by Mrs. Stanford to the memory of her husband and son, were practically wrecked. Leland Stanford University was one of the most richly endowed, most architecturally beautiful, and best equipped institutions of learning in the world. Mrs. Jane Stanford, widow of the school's founder, in 1901 gave it outright $30,000,000--$18,000,000 in gilt edged bonds and securities and $12,000,000 in an aggregate of 100,000 acres of land in twenty-six counties in California. This, with what the university had received from Leland Stanford himself, made its endowment the enormous sum of $34,000,000 besides its original capital, and on the death of Mrs. Stanford this was raised to $36,000,000. In a way the real founder of the university was a young boy, Leland Stanford, Jr. On his death bed he was asked by his parents what he would like them to do with the vast fortune which would have been his had he lived. He replied he would like them to found a great university where young men and women without means could get an education, "for," he added, "that is what I intended all along to do before I knew I was going to die." The dying wish was carried out. The foundation stone was laid on the nineteenth anniversary of the boy's birth, and in a few years there sprang into existence at Palo Alto, about thirty-three miles southeast of San Francisco, the "Leland Stanford University for Both Sexes," with the colleges, schools, seminaries of learning, mechanical institutes, museums, galleries of art, and all other things necessary and appropriate to a university of high degree, with the avowed object of "qualifying students for personal success and direct usefulness in life." The architecture was a modification of the Moorish and Romanesque, with yet a strong blending of the picturesque mission type, which has come down from the early days of Spanish settlement in California. Driving up the avenue of palms from the university entrance to the quadrangle, one was faced by the massive, majestic memorial arch. Augustus St. Gaudens, the great sculptor, embodied his noblest conceptions in the magnificent frieze which adorned the arch. However beautiful the other buildings, they were easily surpassed by the marvelous Memorial Church, which was built at a cost of $1,000,000. The organ in this magnificent new edifice was the largest and most expensive in the world. It had nearly 3,000 pipes and forty-six stops. The church was 190 feet in length and 156 feet in width. It cost $840,000. The substantial magnificence of Memorial Church was followed in every line of the university's program. The assembly hall and the library were adjoining buildings of the outer quadrangle. The former had a seating capacity of 1,700, and with its stage and dressing rooms possessed all the conveniences of a modern theater. When Stanford University opened its doors almost fifteen years ago people thought the Pacific coast was too wild and woolly to support Stanford in addition to the big state university at Berkeley, Cal., and, as President David Starr Jordan remarked: "It was the opinion in the east that there was as much room for a new university in California as for an asylum of broken down sea captains in Switzerland." But Stanford grew steadily and rapidly, until last year its attendance was more than 1,600. Its president is David Starr Jordan. The gateway to the university is opposite the town of Palo Alto, which has a population of 4,000. It is surrounded by part of its endowment, the magnificent Palo Alto estate of seventy-three hundred acres. The value of the total endowment is estimated at $35,000,000. The university buildings are the most beautiful group of public buildings in America. They are but parts of one plan, and are constructed of Santa Clara Valley brown sandstone throughout--beautiful and restful in color and in pleasing contrast to the walls of green of the surrounding hills and the great campus in front. The buildings of the university are not piled sky high, but with long corridors rise two stories, for the most part completely enclosing a beautiful quadrangle, in itself about a ninth of a mile long by eighty yards broad. The massive memorial arch in front, and the beautiful Memorial Church, with its cathedral-like interior, great arches and allegorical windows, are the most imposing features of the group. Flanking the main buildings to the right is Encina Hall for the boys and Roble Hall for the girls, while across the campus are the new chemistry building and the museum. The large grounds are most carefully tended, and all the flowers and trees and shrubs that help beautify California find a home here. The walks and drives are delightful. There is no other alliance of buildings and surrounding grounds quite so pleasing as those of Stanford University. Tuition at the University is free, and the equipment is that naturally to be expected in the richest endowed university in the world. The students of the present semester number fifteen hundred. Financial figures mean but little in connection with a university--and yet since the new church is not describable, it may be mentioned that it cost $500,000. The buildings represent an expenditure of several million dollars. To reach Palo Alto and Stanford University one has to travel from San Francisco thirty-three miles southward over the coast line of the Southern Pacific road. The town of Palo Alto is situated in the Santa Clara Valley--a riverless area of bottomland lying between San Francisco bay and the Santa Cruz range. The Santa Clara Valley is one of the various vales found here and there about the continent which proudly lay claim to the title "garden spot of the world." The Memorial Church was Mrs. Stanford's gift to the university from her private fortune, was dedicated "to the glory of God and in loving memory of my husband, Leland Stanford." Its erection and administration were matters entirely apart from the regular university control. In terms of money, it probably cost over $1,000,000. Clinton Day of San Francisco drew the plans, which were complemented in a hundred ways, from the ideas of Mrs. Stanford herself and suggestions obtained by her from a scrutiny of old world cathedrals. The building of the university was decided upon by Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford in March, 1884, after their only son had died in Italy at the age of 16. Construction began, May 14, 1887, the anniversary of the boy's birth, and instruction October 1, 1891. As for the name, here is the joint declaration of the Stanfords: "Since the idea of establishing an institution of this kind came directly and largely from our son and only child, Leland, and in the belief that had he been spared to advise as to the disposition of our estate he would have desired the devotion of a large portion thereof to this purpose, we will that for all time to come the institution hereby founded shall bear his name and shall be known as the Leland Stanford Junior University." The object was declared to be "to qualify students for personal success and direct usefulness in life." On the title page of the first register ever printed and of every one since, appear these words of Senator Stanford's: "A generous education is the birthright of every man and woman in America." This and President Jordan's favorite quotation, "Die Luft der Freiheit weht"--"the winds of freedom are blowing," reveal somewhat the genius of the place. The major study was the key to Stanford's elective system of instruction. The ordinary class divisions were not officially recognized. Even the students until recently made far less of the terms "freshmen," "sophomore," "junior" and "senior," than is made of them at most colleges. Each student elected at the start some major study, by which he steered his course for the four years, unless he changed "majors," which was not unusual or inadvisable during the first two years, for after they had "learned the ropes" students naturally gravitated to the department whose lines they are best fitted to follow. The Stanford departments numbered 23, as follows: Greek, Latin, German, Romantic languages, English, philosophy, psychology, education, history, economics, law, drawing, mathematics, physics, chemistry, botany, physiology, zoology, entomology, geology and mining, civil engineering, mechanical engineering, electrical engineering. The chosen site of the university was part of the great Palo Alto ranch of the Stanfords, devoted to the raising of grain, grapes and the famous trotting horses that were "the Senator's" hobby and California's pride. It resembled the Berkeley situation, in that the bay lies before it and the foothills of the Santa Cruz range behind, but the former is three miles away and the Palo Alto country is so level that only when one climbs the rolling slopes behind the college does he realize that the great inlet is so near. The view from the foothills, by the way, or better still from the crest of the mountain range farther back, where the Pacific ocean roars away to the westward and the valley and bay appear to divide the space between you and the mountains that cut the horizon to the east, is one of California's treasures. The idea that made the Spanish mission the model for the Stanford buildings was translated into plans by Shepley, Rutan and Coolidge. If ever there was an inspiration, says the visitor, this was one. Ever so many millions put into ever so ornate structures of the type prevalent elsewhere could not give these halls their appealing beauty. The main group of buildings formed two quadrangles. The 12 one-story members of the inner quadrangle were ready in 1891, and with the shops of the engineering departments, were for several years "the university." The 12 structures of the inner quad were increased to 13, for the church, provided for in the original scheme, but not begun until 1899, was added. Those inclosed--to quote statistics from the register--a court 586 feet long by 246 feet wide--3¼ acres--relieved from barrenness by big circular plots in which flourished palms, bamboos and a medley of other tropical translations. Penetrate 10 feet into one of these plots, which are always damp from much watering, and it takes little imagining to fancy yourself in an equatorial jungle. Surrounding this quadrangle was another--the "outer quad," of 14 buildings that were bigger and higher and considerably more impressive than the pioneers. The extreme length of the second quadrangle was 894 feet. All the way around it stretched the same colonnades, with their open-arched facades, that flanked the inner court. And in addition the outer and inner quadrangles were connected here and there with these same arched pathways, which subdivide the space between the two into little reproductions in miniature of the main plaza within. The colonnades, the tiled roofs and peculiar yellow sandstone of which all the quadrangles were constructed formed a combination which is not easily nor willingly forgotten. Outside this central group, of which the great church and the memorial arch were badly wrecked by the quake, were enough other buildings used for the university proper to bring the number up to fifty or so. They include chemistry building, museum, library, gymnasium, engineering and two dormitories--one, Roble hall, for women; the other, Encina hall, for men. The ruins wrought among those magnificent buildings by the frightful upheaval of the earth which wrenched some of them apart and threw down huge sections of walls aggregated in money value about $3,000,000. The gymnasium and the library were wholly destroyed, nothing but skeletons of twisted steel remaining. The loss was half a million dollars on each. The Memorial church was left merely a frame, the mosaic work being torn down. The top of the 80-foot high memorial arch was crashed to the ground a heap of ruins. The original quadrangle was but little damaged. Many rare specimens from Egypt were lost in the museum, which was only partly destroyed. The fraternity lodge and Chi Psi Hall were a total loss. The engineering buildings were partly demolished. Encina Hall, where 200 boys stayed, was much shaken, and a large stone chimney crashed through the four floors, burying student Hanna, of Bradford, Pa. He was the only student killed. About twelve others were slightly hurt. Roble Hall, women's dormitory, escaped without a scratch. The damage at Palo Alto City amounts to $200,000. The damage in the neighboring towns was also heavy. San Mateo suffered more than Palo Alto. The Redwood city jail was torn down and all the prisoners escaped. There was severe damage at Menlo Park. Burlingame suffered a loss of fully $100,000. Many houses were torn down there. The only other death in that vicinity was that of Fireman Otto Gordes, who was buried under the chimney of the power house at Palo Alto. All the towns mentioned were left without light or power. President David Starr Jordan of Stanford University announced that the university authorities would begin at once to repair the quadrangle, laboratories and dormitories. The Memorial church was sheltered to prevent further injury and work in all classes was resumed on April 23. [Illustration: =CORNER OF A BAPTIST CHURCH.= A view of a Baptist Church on St. Pablo Avenue, Oakland.] [Illustration: =KEARNEY STREET, SAN FRANCISCO.= Looking north from Market Street.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =FERRY BUILDING.= The clock in tower stopped at 5:15.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =MILITARY QUARTERS.= A view in Golden Gate Park.] President Jordan said that it was unlikely any attempt would be made to restore the Memorial church, the memorial arch, the new library, the gymnasium or the museum of the university. The great rival of the Leland Stanford, Jr., University is the University of California at Berkeley, a suburb of San Francisco. The effect of the earthquake there is tersely told by Professor Alpheus B. Streedain of the zoological department. There were eight severe shocks in succession. "It all lasted about twenty-five seconds," said Professor Streedain, "and talk about being frightened, to be more expressive I thought hell was coming to earth. I rushed down to the street in my pajamas, and people were almost crazy. Chimneys were down all over. I was safe and trusted to God for any coming shocks. It was a mighty serious proposition, and one I shall never forget." By a seeming miracle the big California University buildings that stand on the campus elevations escaped harm in the earthquake shock. Recorder James Sutton of the University said: "I made a personal examination of the buildings on the campus and received reports from deans of the colleges and it appears that not one of the buildings was harmed in the slightest degree. "Professor O'Neill of the chemistry department reported that the damage done to the instruments in the building did not aggregate more than $50. California Hall had not a mark on it to indicate that an earthquake occurred that morning. The other buildings were in the same condition. The Greek theater had not a scratch on its walls." The town of Berkeley was not so fortunate as the university in the matter of damage sustained. No lives were lost, nor were there any notable disasters to buildings, but the aggregate damage in the shape of twisted structures, broken chimneys and falling walls was many thousands of dollars. The destruction of so many magnificent buildings at the Leland Stanford, Jr., University was one of the worst calamities that has ever befallen an American educational institution. CHAPTER XVI. FIGHTING FIRE WITH DYNAMITE. =San Francisco Conflagration Eventually Checked by the Use of Explosives--Lesson of Baltimore Heeded in Coast City--Western Remnant of City in Residence Section Saved by Blowing Up Beautiful Homes of the Rich.= The remnant of San Francisco that escaped destruction in the four days conflagration owes its existence largely to the equally destructive force of dynamite. For four days one agent of destruction was employed against another. The San Francisco conflagration was the second great fire in the United States at which dynamite was the chief agency of the fire fighters. Immediately following the first earthquake crash flames burst forth in numerous places, chiefly in the business section of the city. The fire department responded as promptly as possible under the circumstances for a new difficulty presented itself to the firemen. When the clang of the alarm sounded it was found that many of the engine houses had been damaged by the quake and so twisted that it was only with difficulty that the apparatus could be gotten out of the buildings. Upon arriving at the several scenes of the fire a worse calamity confronted them. The engines were attached to the hydrants and then followed the alarming cry: "No water!" The mains had been bursted, twisted and torn asunder by the violence of the shock, and only in rare instances could water be found wherewith to combat the rapidly spreading flames. Then it was that the new method of checking conflagrations was brought into use, and the order was given to fight the flames with dynamite. Doubtless the officials of the department had freshly in mind the great Baltimore fire in which the city was saved only from total destruction by the use of an immense amount of explosives. Fire chief Denis Sullivan and his wife had both been injured by the earthquake, the former having been fatally hurt, so that in addition to the hopeless situation which confronted the firemen they were without the guidance of their principal leader. There was little dynamite available in the city, but what was on hand was immediately brought into use and soon the terrific explosions added to the terror of the panic stricken people fleeing from the flames. At 9 o'clock on the first day of the fire Mayor Schmitz sent a tug to Pinole for several cans of the explosive. He also sent a telegram to Mayor Mott of Oakland. He received this reply to his Oakland message: "Three engines and hose companies leave here immediately. Will forward dynamite as soon as obtained." All outside nearby places were appealed to for dynamite and as fast as the explosive was received it was directed against large buildings in the path of the fire. The crash of falling walls mingled with the reverberations of the explosions, led many to believe that the earthquake shocks were being repeated. Here and there a fireman went down beneath the ruins as some huge building tumbled to the ground shattered by the destructive explosive. In the downtown districts the efforts of the dynamiters were wholly unavailing. The fire had gained such headway that it swept with a roar over every vacant space made by the explosive and continued its consuming way in every direction. Better success was obtained in the residence district west on the second day of the fire. The widest thoroughfare in the city is Van Ness avenue in the heart of the fashionable residence section. There it was decided that an effort should be made to check the spread of the flames westward and save the many beautiful homes in the district between that avenue and the water line. The co-operation of the artillery was secured and huge cannons were drawn to the avenue by the military horses to aid the dynamiters in blowing up the mansions of the millionaires on the west of Van Ness avenue in order to prevent the flames from leaping across the highway and starting on their unrestraining sweep across the western addition. Every available pound of dynamite was hauled to that point and the sight was one of stupendous and appalling havoc as the cannons were trained on the palaces and the shot tore into the walls and toppled the buildings in crushing ruins. At other points the dynamite was used, and house after house, the dwellings of millionaires, was lifted into the air by the bellowing blast and dropped to the earth a mass of dust and debris. The work was necessarily dangerous and many of the exhausted workers who kept working through a stretch of forty-eight hours without sleep and scarcely any food through force of instinctive heroism alone were killed while making their last desperate stand. Many of the workers in placing the blasts, took chances that spelled injury or death. The fire line at 6 o'clock extended a mile along the east side of Van Ness avenue from Pacific street to Ellis. All behind this excepting the Russian Hill region and a small district lying along the north beach had been swept clean by the flames and the steel hulks of buildings and pipes and shafts and spires were dropped into a molten mass of debris like so much melted wax. The steady booming of the artillery and the roar of the dynamite above the howl and cracking of the flames continued with monotonous regularity. Such noises had been bombarding the ears of the panic-stricken people since the earthquake of forty-eight hours before. They ceased to hear the sound and rush pell-mell, drowning their senses in a bedlam of their own creation. There seemed to be an irresistible power behind the flames that even the desperately heroic measures being taken at Van Ness avenue could not stay. Hundreds of police, regiments of soldiers, and scores of volunteers were sent into the doomed district to inform the people that their homes were about to be blown up, and to warn them to flee. They heroically responded to the demand of law, and went bravely on their way trudging painfully over the pavements with the little they could get together. Every available wagon that could be found was pressed into service to transport the powder from the various arsenals to the scene of the proposed destruction. Then for hours the bursting, rending sounds of explosions filled the air. At 9 o'clock block after block of residences had been leveled to the ground, but the fire was eating closer and closer. Then the explosives gave out. Even the powder in the government arsenals was exhausted long before noon. From that hour the flames raged practically unhindered. Lieut. Charles C. Pulis, commanding the Twenty-fourth company of light artillery, was blown up by a charge of dynamite at Sixth and Jessie streets and fatally injured. He was taken to the military hospital at the Presidio. He suffered a fractured skull and several bones broken and internal injuries. Lieut. Pulis placed a heavy charge of dynamite in a building on Sixth street. The fuse was imperfect and did not ignite the charge as soon as was expected. Pulis went to the building to relight it and the charge exploded while he was in the building. The deceased officer was a graduate of the artillery school at Fortress Monroe, Va. He was 30 years of age. The effectiveness of dynamite was proved on the fourth and last day of the conflagration, when the flames were finally checked by the use of that explosive. Three heroes saved San Francisco--what was left of it. They were the dynamite squad that threw back the fire demon at Van Ness avenue. When the burning city seemed doomed and the flames lit the sky further and further 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 life or property. With them they brought a ton and a half of gun cotton. The terrific power of the explosion 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. The thunderous detonations to which the terrified city listened all that dreadful Friday night meant the salvation of 300,000 lives. 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 over their own charred path. The whole east side of Van Ness avenue, from Golden Gate to Greenwich, was dynamited a block deep, though most of the structures stood untouched by sparks or cinders. Not one charge failed. Not one building stood upon its foundations. Every pound of gun cotton 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 the Claus Spreckels place, on the corner of California street. There the flames were writhing up the walls before the dynamiters could reach it. 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 realized that a stand was hopeless except on Van Ness avenue. They could have forced their explosive further in the burning section, but not a pound of gun cotton could be or was wasted. The ruined block that met 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 Madison from the bay completed the little work that the gun cotton had left, but for three days the haggard-eyed firemen guarded the flickering ruins. The desolate waste straight through the heart of the city is a mute witness to the squad's effective work. Three men did this. They were ordered to save San Francisco. They obeyed orders, and Captain MacBride and his two gunners made history on that dreadful night. CHAPTER XVII. MISCELLANEOUS FACTS AND INCIDENTS. =Many Babies Born in Refuge Camps--Expressions of Sympathy from Foreign Nations--San Francisco's Famous Restaurants--Plight of Newspaper and Telegraph Offices.= In the refugee camps a number of babies were born under the most distressing and pathetic circumstances, the mothers in many cases being unattended by either husbands or relatives. In Golden Gate Park alone fifteen babies were born in one night, it was reported. The excitement and agony of the situation brought the little ones prematurely into the world. And equally remarkable was the fact that when all danger was over all of the mothers and the children of the catastrophe were reported to have withstood the untoward conditions and continued to improve and grow strong as if the conditions which surrounded them had been normal. This, undoubtedly, was in great part due to the care and kindness of the physicians and surgeons in the camps whose efforts were untiring and self-sacrificing for all who had been so suddenly surrendered to their care. In an express wagon bumping over the brick piles and broken streets was a mother who gave birth to triplets in the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park a week later. All the triplets were living and apparently doing well. In this narrow park strip where the triplets were born fifteen other babies came into the world on the same fateful night, and, strange as it seems, every one of the mothers and every one of the infants had been reported as doing well. The following night thirteen more babies were born in the park Panhandle, and these, so far as the reports show, fared as well as those born the first night. In fact, the doctors and nurses reported that there had been no fatality among the earthquake babies or their unfortunate mothers. One trained nurse who accompanied a prominent doctor on his rounds the first night after the shock attended eight cases in which both mothers and children thrived. One baby was born in a wheelbarrow as the mother was being trundled to the park by her husband. * * * * * Expressions of sympathy and condolence on account of the great disaster were sent to the President of the United States from all over the world. Among the messages received within about 24 hours after the catastrophe were the following: From the President of Guatemala--I am deeply grieved by the catastrophe at San Francisco. The president of Guatemala sends to the people of the United States through your eminence his expression of the most sincere grief, with the confidence that in such a lamentable misfortune the indomitable spirit of your people will newly manifest itself--that spirit which, if great in prosperity, is equally great in time of trial. President of Mexico--Will your excellency be so kind as to accept the expression of my profound and deep sympathy with the American people on account of the disaster at San Francisco, which has so affected the American people. President of Brazil--I do myself the honor of sending to you the expression of the profound grief with which the government and people of the United States of Brazil have read the news of the great misfortune which has occurred at San Francisco. Emperor of Japan--With assurances of the deepest and heartiest sympathy for the sufferers by the terrible earthquake. King Leopold of Belgium--I must express to you the deep sympathy which I feel in the mourning which the terrible disaster at San Francisco is causing the whole American people. President of Cuba--In the name of the government and people of Cuba, I assure you of the deep grief and sympathy with which they have heard of the great misfortune which has overtaken San Francisco. Kirkpatrick, acting premier of New Zealand--South Australia deplores the appalling disaster which has befallen the state of California and extends heartfelt sympathy to sufferers. Viceroy of India--My deepest sympathy with you and people of United States in terrible catastrophe at San Francisco. Governor Talbot of Victoria, Australia--On behalf of the people of Victoria, I beg to offer our heartfelt sympathy with the United States on the terrible calamity at San Francisco. President of Switzerland--The federal council is profoundly affected by the terrible catastrophe which has visited San Francisco and other California cities, and I beg you to receive the sincere expressions of its regret and the sympathy of the Swiss people as a whole, who join in the mourning of a sister republic. Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria--I beg to assure you, Mr. President, of my most sincere sympathy with your land in its sorrow because of the terrible earthquake at San Francisco, and I beg to offer you personally, Mr. President, my heartfelt condolences. Prince Henry of Prussia--Remembering American hospitality, which is still so fresh in my memory, I hereby wish to express my deepest sympathy on behalf of the terrible catastrophe which has befallen the thriving city of San Francisco and which has destroyed so many valuable lives therein. Still hope that news is greatly exaggerated. Premier Bent of South Wales--New South Wales and Victoria sympathize with California suffering disaster. Count Witte--The Russian members of the Portsmouth conference, profoundly moved by the sad tidings of the calamity that has befallen the American people, whose hospitality they recently enjoyed, beg your excellency to accept and to transmit to citizens of United States the expression of their profound and heartfelt sympathy. * * * * * The cathedral of San Francisco with the residences attached, together with the residence of the archbishop, were saved. Sacred Heart College and Mercy Hospital, together with the various schools attached, were destroyed. The churches damaged by the earthquake are: St. Patrick's Seminary in Menlo park. St. James' church. St. Bridget's church. St. Dominick's church. Church of the Holy Cross. St. Patrick's church at San Jose. Those destroyed by fire were: Churches of SS. Ignatius, Boniface, Joseph, Patrick, Brendan, Rose, Francis, Mission Dolores, French church, Slavonian church and the old Cathedral of St. Mary's. The Custom House with its records was saved. It was in one of the little islands which the fire passed by. All the city records which were in the vaults of the city hall were saved. The city hall fell, but the ruins did not burn. By this bit of luck the city escapes great confusion in property claims and adjustments. Millet's famous picture, "The Man with the Hoe," was saved with other paintings and tapestries in the collection of William H. Crocker. Mr. Crocker, who was in New York, said about the rescue of the paintings (Head is Mr. Crocker's butler): "I am much gratified at the devotion Head displayed in saving my pictures and tapestries at such a time. Besides the 'Man with the Hoe,' I have pictures by Tenniel, Troyon, Paul Potter, Corot, Monet, Renoir, Puvis de Chavannes, Pissaro, and Constable. The tapestries consisted of six Flemish pieces dating from the sixteenth century, of which the finest is a 'Resurrection.' It is a splendid example of tissue d'or work, and was once the property of the duc d'Albe." On April 20 Bishop Coadjutor Greer of the Protestant Episcopal church of New York announced that this prayer had been authorized to be used in the churches of that diocese for victims of the earthquake: "O Father of Mercy and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need, look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee, behold, visit and relieve thy servants to whom such great and grievous loss and suffering have come through the earthquake and the fire. "In thy wisdom thou hast seen fit to visit them with trouble and to bring distress upon them. Remember, O Lord, in mercy and imbue their souls with patience under this affliction. "Though they be perplexed and troubled on every side, save them from despair and suffer not their faith and trust in thee to fail. "In this our hour of darkness, when thou hast made the earth to tremble and the mountains thereof to shake, be thou, O God, their refuge and their strength and their present help in trouble. "And for as much as thou alone canst bring light out of darkness and good out of evil, let the light of thy loving countenance shine upon them through the cloud; let the angel of thy presence be with them in their sorrow, to comfort and support them, giving strength to the weak, courage to the faint and consolation to the dying. "We ask it in the name of him who in all our afflictions is afflicted with us, thy son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen!" Mrs. A. G. Pritchard, wife of a San Francisco manufacturer, who, with her husband, was on her way home from Europe to San Francisco, became suddenly insane at the Union Station in Pittsburgh Pa., when she alighted to get some fresh air. The Pritchards were hurrying to San Francisco with the expectation of finding their three children dead in the ruins of their home. Landing in New York April 24, the Pritchards learned that their home had been destroyed before any of the occupants had had an opportunity to get out. Mr. Pritchard said that his information was that the governess was dying in a hospital, and from what he has heard, he had no hope of seeing his children alive. At Philadelphia a physician told Mr. Pritchard that his wife was bordering on insanity. At the station Mrs. Pritchard shrieked and moaned until she was put into the car, where a physician passenger volunteered to care for the case. On the afternoon of the fire the police broke open every saloon and corner grocery in the saved district and poured all malt and spirituous liquors into the gutters. San Francisco was famous for the excellence of its restaurants. Many of these were known wherever the traveler discussed good living. Among them were the "Pup" and Marschand's in Stockton street; the "Poodle Dog," one of the most ornate distinctive restaurant buildings in the United States; Zinkand's and the Fiesta, in Market street; the famous Palace grill in the Palace hotel; and scores of bohemian resorts in the old part of San Francisco. They are no more. Down near the railroad tracks at what used to be Townsend street, food was mined from the ruins as a result of a fortuitous discovery made by Ben Campbell, a negro. While in search of possible treasure he located the ruins of a grocery warehouse, which turned out to be a veritable oven of plenty. People gathered to this place and picked up oysters, canned asparagus, beans, and fruit all done to a turn and ready for serving. For a time there was marked indignation in San Francisco caused by the report that the San Franciscans, in their deep-grounded prejudice, had discriminated against the Chinamen in the relief work. This report was groundless. The six Chinese companies, or Tongs, representing enormous wealth, had done such good work that but little had been necessary from the general relief committee, and, besides, the Chinese needed less. No Chinaman was treated as other than a citizen entitled to all rights, which cannot be said under normal conditions on the Pacific coast. Gee Sing, a Chinese member of the Salvation Army, had been particularly efficient in caring for his countrymen. The San Francisco daily newspapers, all of which were burned out, were prompt in getting in shape to serve their subscribers. On Thursday morning, the day after the fire, the best showing the morning journals could make was a small combination sheet bearing the unique heading, "Call-Chronicle-Examiner." It was set up and printed in the office of the Oakland Tribune, gave a brief account of the great disaster, and took an optimistic view of the future of the stricken city. The day after the papers, though still printed in Oakland, appeared under their own headings and with a few illustrations, showing scenes in the streets of San Francisco. S. M. Pencovic, a San Francisco druggist, on arriving in Chicago from Paris, said he had a premonition of disaster, which impelled him to hasten home, several days before the earthquake. He left for San Francisco to search for his father and mother, who are among the missing. "For several days I felt as if something awful was about to happen," said he. "So completely did the feeling take possession of me that I could not sleep at night. At last I could stand it no longer, and I left Paris April 14, four days before the upheaval. "I embarked on La Savoie at Havre. I tried to send a wireless message, but could receive no answer. "The day after the catastrophe the captain of the ship called me to his cabin and told me he had just received a wireless message that San Francisco had been destroyed by an earthquake. I was not surprised." At the Presidio, where probably 50,000 people were camped, affairs were conducted with military precision. Here those who are fortunate enough to be numbered among the campers were able now and then to obtain a little water with which to moisten their parched lips, while rations, owing to the limited supply, were being dealt out in the smallest quantities that all may share a bit. The refugees stood patiently in line and the marvelous thing about it all was that not a murmur was heard. This characteristic is observable all over the city. The people were brave and patient and the wonderful order preserved by them had been of great assistance. Though homeless and starving they were facing the awful calamity with resigned fortitude. In Oakland the day after the quake messages were stacked yards high in all the telegraph offices waiting to be sent throughout the world. Conditions warranted utter despair and panic, but through it all the people were trying to be brave and falter not. Oakland temporarily took the place of San Francisco as the metropolis of the Pacific coast, and there the finance kings, the bankers and merchants of the San Francisco of yesterday were gathering and conferring and getting into shape the first plans for the rebuilding of the burned city and preventing a widespread financial panic that in the first part of the awful catastrophe seemed certain. Resting on a brick pile in Howard street was a young Swedish woman, whose entire family had perished and who had succeeded in saving from the ruins of her home only the picture of her mother. This she clutched tightly as she struggled on to the ferry landing--the gateway to new hope for the refugees. A little farther along sat a man with his wife and child. He had had a good home and business. Wrapped in a newspaper he held six hand-painted dinner plates. They were all he could dig out of the debris of his home, and by accident they had escaped breakage. "This is what I start life over again with," he said, and his wife tried to smile as she took her child's hand to continue the journey. Thousands of these instances are to be found. Owing to the energetic efforts of General Funston and the officials of the Spring Valley Water Company the sufferers in all parts of the city were spared at least the horrors of a water famine. As soon as it was learned that some few mercenaries who were fortunate enough to have fresh water stored in tanks in manufacturing districts were selling it at 50 cents per glass, the authorities took prompt action and hastened their efforts to repair the mains that had been damaged by the earthquake shocks. John Singleton, a Los Angeles millionaire, his wife and her sister, were staying at the Palace Hotel when the earthquake shock occurred. Mr. Singleton gave the following account of his experience: "The shock wrecked the rooms in which we were sleeping. We managed to get our clothes on and get out immediately. We had been at the hotel only two days and left probably $3,000 worth of personal effects in the room. "After leaving the Palace we secured an express wagon for $25 to take us to the Casino near Golden Gate Park, where we stayed Wednesday night. On Thursday morning we managed to get a conveyance at enormous cost and spent the entire day in getting to the Palace. We paid $1 apiece for eggs and $2 for a loaf of bread. On these and a little ham we had to be satisfied." [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =RANDOLPH STORAGE.= Walls shaken down by the earthquake.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =DESTROYED SWITCHBOARD.= The electric lighting company.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =ST. DOMINICI CHURCH.= A part of the steeple shaken out by the earthquake.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =ST. DOMINICI CHURCH.= A view of the wreck which tells its own story.] John A. Floyd, a Pullman conductor on the Northwestern railroad, living in Chicago, gave a lengthy and vivid description of the quake and its effects. "If I live a thousand lifetimes I will never forget that night," he said. "Words are too feeble, entirely too inadequate, to portray the fear that clutched the human breast. The most graphic pen could not faithfully portray the sickening horror of that night. "Plaster falling from the walls in my room in the fourth floor of the Terminal Hotel in Market street aroused me from a sound sleep about 5 o'clock in the morning. I sat up in bed, and got out onto the floor. The building was shaking like a reed in a storm, literally rocking like a hammock. It was impossible for me to stand. Another shock threw me heavily to the floor. I remained there for what seemed hours to me. Then I crawled on hands and knees to the door, and succeeded in unlocking it with much difficulty. I was in my night clothes, and without waiting to even pull on a pair of shoes I made my way down those swaying stairs as rapidly as I could. "When I reached the street it was filled with half mad unclothed men, women, and children, running this way and that, hugging and fighting each other in their frenzy. "The loud detonations under the earth enhanced the horror. The ground kept swaying from side to side, then roaring like the waves of the ocean, then jolting in every conceivable direction. "Buildings were parting on all sides like egg shells, the stone and brick and iron raining down on the undressed hundreds in the streets, killing many of them outright and pinning others down to die slowly of torture or be roasted alive by the flames that sprang up everywhere around us. "When things had quieted somewhat, I went back to the hotel to dress, and discovered that the entire wall of my room had fallen out. "I succeeded in finding most of my clothes, and after donning them hastily went back to the work of rescue. When I got back to the street from the hotel the entire district seemed to be in flames. Fire seemed to break out of the very earth on all sides of Market street, eating up buildings as if they were so many buildings of paper. A big wholesale drug house on Seventh street exploded, throwing sparking and burning embers high into the air. These fiery pieces descended on the half-clad people in the streets, causing them to run madly for places of safety, almost crazy with the pain. "Soon the improvised hearses began to arrive. Out of every building bodies were taken like carcasses out of a slaughter pen. Automobiles, carriages, express wagons, private equipages, and vehicles of all kinds were pressed into service and piled high with the bodies. Everywhere these wagon loads of dead bodies were being dragged through the streets, offering a spectacle to turn the most stout-hearted sick. "With three or four sailors I went up to Seventh street to assist a number of men, women and children who had become entombed under the debris of a flat building. "They were so tightly wedged in that we were unable to offer them any help and had to stand by and hear their cries as they were slowly roasted to death by the ever increasing flames. I can hear the cries of one of those women ringing in my ears yet--I guess I always will. "I guess pretty nearly every bone in her body was broken. As we stood by helplessly she cried over and over again: "'Don't let me die like this. Don't let me roast. I'm cooking, cooking alive. Kill me! Shoot me--anything! For God's sake have mercy!' "Others joined her in the cry and begged piteously to be quickly killed before the flames reached them. "By this time the street level had become so irregular that it was almost impossible to drag the dead wagons over them. "Dynamite was then brought into use and the buildings were blown up like firecrackers. Flying debris was everywhere in the air, and another mad rush for safety was made, the almost naked people falling over each other in their frantic efforts to get out of the danger. "While this excitement was at its height a man dressed only in his underclothing made his appearance among the people in a light gasoline runabout. At top speed he ran into a crowd of women, knocking them down and injuring at least a dozen. Then he turned back and charged them again. He had gone mad as a result of the scenes of death and destruction. "Some one called for a gun, hoping that they might stop the fellow by shooting him. None was to be had, and after a desperate fight with sailors who succeeded in getting into the machine he was overpowered and turned loose. "Everybody in the crowd, I believe, was temporarily crazy. Men and women ran helter-skelter in nothing but their night gowns, and many of them did not have on that much." Mrs. J. B. Conaty, of Los Angeles, was in Oakland at the time of the shock and felt the vibrations. "The suddenness with which it came upon the people," she said, "was the most appalling thing. When I looked across the bay at 'Frisco from the Oakland shore the city seemed peacefully at sleep, like a tired baby beside its mother. With my next glance at the city I was turned almost sick. "The ground was shaking beneath me and I thought that the end of the world was at hand. Buildings were falling to the right and left. The earth was groaning and rocking, and flames were shooting high into the sky. Soon the sound of the dynamiting reached us and buildings began to fly in the air like fireworks. "The sea lashed itself into a fury and beat upon the shores as if it too sought to escape nature's wrath. Over across the bay all was disorder. In the glare of the blood red flames reflected against sky and sea, white robed, half naked men and women could be seen wildly running about. "Some of them ran to the water's edge and threw themselves in and others less frantic had to battle with them to haul them out. "It seemed as if every man, woman and child in 'Frisco was running toward the ferry docks. When the boat arrived on our side of the shore it was packed with men and women, none of whom seemed to be in their right senses. Many of them jumped from the boat as soon as it was made fast and ran at top speed through the streets of Oakland until forced to fall through sheer exhaustion. "One woman in the crowd had nothing on but a night gown. In her arms she carried a 3-year-old girl who was hanging tightly to a rag doll and seemed to be the only one in the vast crowd that was unafraid. Where all these people went to I have no idea. "I stood on the Oakland side watching 'Frisco devoured. In a space of time so short that it all seems to me like a dream now the whole city, slumbering peacefully but a moment before, presented a perdition beside which Dante's inferno seems to pale into insignificance." The looters early began operations in the stricken city. The vandal thinking that law and order had gone in the general crash filled his pockets as he fled. It was the relic hunter who opened the door to the looter. The spirit which sends the tourist tapping about the ruins of the Parthenon, awoke in San Francisco. Idle and curious men swarmed into the city, poking about in the ruins in the hope of finding something worth carrying away as a souvenir of the greatest calamity of modern times. Scores of men and women were seen digging in the ruins of one store. They were disinterring bits of crockery, china and glassware. Strangely enough, a great deal of this sort of ware had been protected by a wall which stood through quake and fire. One woman came toiling out over a pile of brick, covered with ashes and dust, her hair dishevelled and hands grimy, but she was perfectly happy. "See," said she, "I found half a dozen cups and saucers as good as new. They are fine china and they will be worth more than ever now." I asked her if she needed them. "Oh, dear no!" said she, laughing. "I live over in Oakland. I just wanted them to keep as souvenirs!" Some hard-hearted jokers were abroad also. Humor dies hard, and perhaps it is just as well that it does, for the six men who started the bogus bread lines would have needed much of it if the soldiers had caught them. The people of San Francisco had become accustomed to eating out of the hand. They put in long hours every day standing in line waiting for something to be given out. Many of them did not know what was being distributed, but they knew it would be good, so they fell into line and waited. There were thousands of people in San Francisco who fell into a line every time they saw one. They had the bread line habit. This impressed itself on these six men, for they went about the town and every time they found a promising spot they lined up and looked expectant. Men came and fell in behind. Women with baskets joined the brigade and in ten minutes these sidewalk comedians had a string a block long behind them and more coming every minute. Then the six jokers slipped away and left the confiding ones to wait. It was a mean trick. The stranger and the wayfarer was made to feel at home anywhere in Oakland and the luxury of sleeping within four walls was not denied to any one. Only a few hardy men who were willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of the weaklings went without covering. The people stripped the portieres and hangings from their walls, tore up their carpets and brought in every spare piece of cloth which would do for a night's covering. The women and children who preferred to stay indoors and on hard floors were taken care of in the public halls, the school buildings, and the basements of the churches. Beds were improvised of sheets and hay and the weaker refugees, who were beginning to go down under the strain, slept comfortably. Oakland did nobly. People shared their beds with absolute strangers, and while the newcomers in the park camps were dead to the world, those who came the day before cheered up considerably. One camp of young men got out a banjo and sang for the entertainment of the crowd. CHAPTER XVIII. DISASTER AS VIEWED BY SCIENTISTS. =Scientists are Divided Upon the Theories Concerning the Shock That Wrought Havoc in the Golden Gate City--May Have Originated Miles Under the Ocean--Growth of the Sierra Madre Mountains May Have Been the Cause.= The subterranean movement that caused the earthquake at San Francisco was felt in greater or less degree at many distant places on the earth's surface. The scientists in the government bureaus at Washington believe that the subterranean land slide may have taken place in the earthquake belt in the South American region or under the bed of the Pacific Ocean. San Francisco got the result of the wave as it struck the continent, and almost simultaneously the instruments in Washington reported a decided tremor of the earth, and the oscillations of the needle continued until about noon. At the weather bureau the needle was taken from the pivot and had to be replaced before the record could be continued. Other government stations throughout the country also noted the earthquake shock, and they agree in a general way that the disturbance began according to the record of the seismograph at nineteen minutes and twenty seconds after 8 o'clock. This would be the same number of minutes and seconds after 5 o'clock at San Francisco, which accords entirely with the time of the disaster on the Pacific Coast. There seems to be no reason to believe the earthquake shock in San Francisco had any direct connection with the eruption of Vesuvius. That eruption had been recorded from day to day on the delicate instruments established by the weather bureau at the lofty station on Mount Weather, high up in the Virginia hills. This eruption of Vesuvius did not disturb the seismograph even at the period of great activity, but apparently Vesuvius and Mount Weather were like the lofty poles of two wireless telegraph stations, and between them there passed electrical magnetic waves encircling the earth. The records made at Mount Weather were of the most distinct character, but they showed disturbances in the air of a magnetic type and did not indicate any earthquake. In explaining the San Francisco trembling, C. W. Hays, the director of geology in the geological survey, explained that earthquakes are, according to modern scientific theory, caused by subterranean land slides, the result of a readjustment as between the solid and the molten parts of the earth's interior. "The earth," he said, "is in a condition of unstable equilibrium so far as its insides are concerned. The outer crust is solid, but after you get down sixty or seventy miles the rocks are nearly in a fluid condition owing to great pressure upon them. They flow to adjust themselves to changed conditions, but as the crust cools it condenses, hardens, and cracks, and occasionally the tremendous energy inside is manifested on the surface. "When the semi-fluid rocks in the interior change their position there is a readjustment of the surface like the breaking up of ice in a river, and the grinding causes the earthquake shocks which are familiar in various parts of the world. The earthquake at San Francisco was probably local, although the center of the disturbance may have been thousands of miles away from that city." Prof. Willis L. Moore, the chief of the weather bureau, in talking of the records of the earthquake in his department, said: "We have a perfect record of this earthquake, although we are thousands of miles away from the actual tremor itself. There were premonitory tremblings, which began at 8:19 and continued until 8:23 or thereabout. Then there was severe shock which threw the pen off the cylinder. "According to our observations here there was a to and fro motion of the earth in the vicinity of Washington amounting to about four-tenths of an inch at the time of its greatest oscillation. These movements kept up in a constantly decreasing ratio until nearly half an hour after noon. "San Francisco may have been a long way away from the real earthquake and merely have been within the radius of severe action so as to produce disastrous results. It is quite likely, in fact, that the greatest disturbance may have taken place beneath the bed of the Pacific Ocean. "If it resulted in an oscillation of the earth of only a few inches there would be no likelihood of a great tidal wave. If, however, there was produced a radical depression in the bed of the ocean, the sinking of an island, or some other extraordinary disturbance, a tidal wave along the Pacific Coast would almost certainly be one of the events of this great disaster. "There are apparently three distinct weak spots in the United States, which are peculiarly subject to earthquake shocks, and we are likely sooner or later to hear from all of them in connection with the shock at San Francisco. There is one weak area along the southern Atlantic coast in the vicinity of Charleston, another is in Missouri, and the third includes the Pacific Coast from a point north of San Francisco down to and beyond San Diego." In describing the instruments at the weather bureau which make the record of earthquakes, even when the movement is so small that the ordinary person does not recognize it, Prof. Moore said: "The apparatus we have is a pen drawing a continuous line on a cylinder which revolves once every hour and is worked continuously by clockwork in an exact record of time. It moves in a straight line when there is no disturbance, and it jumps from right to left and back again when there are serious oscillations of the earth. The extent of these movements of the pen measures the grade of the oscillation. You may think it is a fantastic statement, but this seismographic pen is adjusted so delicately that it will register your step in its vicinity. "The instrument is mounted on a solid stone foundation and what it registers is the effect of your weight pressing upon the earth. It is easy to see, therefore, that the record we have obtained of this earthquake shows a few preliminary tremblings, which seem to be premonitions, for about four minutes, then a great crash which threw the pen off the cylinder and finally a period of nearly four hours, during which there were slight tremblings of the earth, this latter period marking the readjustment after the actual shock." Most of the scientists were inclined to believe that the boiling process in the interior of the earth, although it goes on continuously, is subject to periods of greater or less activity. This activity may be, however, purely local, according to the scientific theory, for otherwise there would be eruptions in all the active volcanoes of the earth at the same time, and there would be earthquakes in every one of the areas where there is liability to seismic disturbances. One government scientist in discussing the San Francisco earthquake said: "If we could have been right here in the vicinity of Washington a few hundreds of thousands of millions of years ago, we should have seen earthquakes that were earthquakes. The Alleghanies were broken up by great convulsions of the earth, and it is probable that this North American continent of ours was rocked a foot or two at a time, causing a tremendous crash of matter and the reorganization of the world itself. "The crust, while not necessarily thinner, is not so solid. In cooling it has cracked and left fissures or caverns or jumbled strata of softer material between harder rocks, so that it is peculiarly subject to earthquakes." Maj. Clarence E. Dutton, U. S. A., retired, the most famous American expert on seismic disturbances, said it was probably the greatest earthquake that has occurred in this country since 1868. He declared that it undoubtedly would be followed by disturbances of less intensity in the same quarter. He stated most emphatically that the eruption of Vesuvius had no bearing whatsoever on the disturbance on the Pacific Coast. J. Paul Goode, a professor in geology in the University of Chicago, attributes the cause of the Frisco earthquake to the Sierra Madre mountains, but not in a volcanic way, for he also claims that lava had nothing to do with the California shock. The shocks, he showed, can be attributed to mountains without volcanoes in their midst. The Sierra Madres are growing, he said, and for this reason they have shaken the city of San Francisco. He says that the gradual growing of mountains causes the underlying blocks of the earth's crust to slip up and down and shape the top of the earth in their vicinity when they fall any great distance. His ideas upon the subject are: "I figure that the earthquake which caused so much damage in San Francisco came from what we call the focus of disturbance. This focus at San Francisco is seven miles below the surface of the earth. As the Sierra Madre mountains grow, a phenomenon which is constantly going on, the blocks of earth below change positions; as a large block falls a series of shocks travels, up and down much the same way as the rings in the water travel out from the point at which a pebble strikes. When the vibration reaches the surface crust a severe shaking of the country adjacent is the result. "From the actions of the earth in April of 1892, when such a severe shock was felt in San Francisco, I have no doubt but that a second earthquake will follow closely upon the one of yesterday, as the second followed the first in 1892. In that year the first came upon the 19th of April and the second upon the 21st." Of 948 earthquake shocks that have been recorded in California previous to 1887, 417 were most active in San Francisco. The seismographs which record the merest tremors and determine the place of the shock show that 344 have occurred since 1888. Half of the sum total have occurred in the vicinity of the gate city and for this reason it is believed that the severe shock of April 18 was the final fall of a crust of the earth which has been gradually slipping for centuries, causing from time to time the slight shocks. The seismic physics of San Francisco and its immediate neighborhood have engaged the careful study of physical geographers. The commonly accepted opinion is one which was formulated by Prof. John Le Conte, professor of geology in the University of California, and one of the world's geological authorities. His explanation is based upon the mountain contours of the coast of California from the Santa Barbara channel northward to the Golden Gate. In this region are represented two peninsulas, one visible, the other to be discovered through examination of the altitudes upon the map corresponding to existing geological features. This second and greater peninsula comprises the Monte Diablo and Coast ranges, separated from the Sierra elevation by the alluvial soil of the low-lying valley of the San Joaquin. This valley is contoured by the level of 100 feet and lower for a considerable portion of its length, and practically all of it lies below the level of 500 feet. The partition thereby accomplished between the Sierra mountain mass and the coastal mountains is sufficiently pronounced to indicate what was at no remote period an extensive peninsula. This valley of the San Joaquin lies above the line of a geological fault, at a depth which can only be estimated as somewhere about a mile. The artesian well borings which have been abundantly prosecuted in the counties of Merced, Fresno, Kings and Kern afford evidence looking toward such a determination of bedrock depth. On the ocean side the continental shelf is extremely narrow. The great peninsula presents a most precipitous aspect toward the ocean basin. It is interrupted at intervals by deep submarine gorges extending close to the shore. The oceanic basin of the Pacific is throughout a region of volcanic upheaval and seismic disturbance. Conditioned on the one side by the known fault of the San Joaquin Valley and on the other by the volcanic activity of the Pacific basin, the greater peninsula of San Francisco in particular has always been subject, so far as the memory of white settlers can go, to frequent shocks of earthquake. In the last score or more of years seismographic observatories have been maintained at several points about San Francisco bay, and the records have been sufficiently studied to afford data for comprehension of the varied earth waves which have made themselves felt either to the perception of the citizens of the Golden Gate or to the sensitive instruments. Such observations have been conducted by Prof. George Davidson, for many years in charge of the Coast and Geodetic Survey upon the Pacific Coast; by Prof. Charles Burckhalter, of the Chabot Observatory, in Oakland, and by the staff of the Lick Observatory on Mount Hamilton. Careful inspection of these records shows that two systems of earthquake disturbances act upon San Francisco. Those of the lighter series show a wave movement beginning in one of the easterly quadrants and more commonly in the southeastern. This series of light shocks is attributed to the slip along the line of the San Joaquin fault. While they may occur at any season of the year, they are more frequently observed when the San Joaquin river is running bank high under the influence of the melting snows in the foothills of the Sierra. That such a condition has recently existed is made clear by the report within less than a month of floods in the interior valleys of the State. Assuming, as the geologists do, that the fault in the valley lies near the roots of the Monte Diablo range, on the western edge of the alluvial plain, it will be seen that the physical factors involving the slip are very simple. There is a wide, flat plain bounded on the west by a line of weakness in the rock supports. When this plain is carrying an abnormal weight of water the tendency is to break downward at the line of the fault. This tendency will produce a jar in the mountain mass which will be rapidly communicated to its farthest extremity. The earthquakes which have their origin in the disturbances to which the oceanic basin is subject always approach San Francisco from the direction of the southwest quadrant. These have been uniformly more violent than those whose origin is attributed to the San Joaquin fault. While the records of San Francisco earthquakes up to the present have exhibited a mild type, the damage to property having hitherto been slight, it would appear from the extent and violence of the present temblor that both causes had for once united. The possibility of such simultaneous action of the two known seismic factors of the greater peninsula had been foreseen by Prof. Le Conte. He stated that if at any time an earthquake wave of only moderate violence should come in from the oceanic basin in sufficient strength to jar the coastal mountain masses at a period when the San Joaquin Valley was bearing its maximum weight of water the conditions would be ripe for simultaneous shocks from the southwest and from the southeast. In such a condition, while neither of the shocks by itself would be capable of doing any great amount of damage to buildings in San Francisco, the combination of two distinct sets of waves might prove too much for any work of man to withstand. In spite of the declarations of some scientists that there can be no possible connection between the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the earthquake of San Francisco, others are inclined to view certain facts in regard to recent seismic and volcanic activity as, to say the least, suggestive. There is one very 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 last year, is the same as that of the territory affected by yesterday's earthquake in the United States. There is another coincidence, which may be only a coincidence, but which is also suggestive. The last previous great eruption of Vesuvius was in 1872, and the same year saw the last previous earthquake in California which caused loss of life. Camille Flammarion expressed the opinion that the earthquake at San Francisco and the eruption at Vesuvius are directly connected. He also sees a connection between the renewed activity of Popocatepetl, Mexico's well-known volcano, and the disturbance on the Western coast. He says that, though the surface of the earth is apparently calm, "there is no real equilibrium in the strata of the earth," and that the extreme lateral pressure which is still forming mountains and volcanoes along the Western coast brought about an explosion of gases and the movement of superheated steam several miles below San Francisco, resulting in an earthquake. Another theory is that the earth in revolving is flattening at the poles and swelling at the equator, and the strata beneath the surface are shifting and sliding in an effort to accommodate themselves to the new position. Other scientists scout this idea, saying that earthquakes are not caused by the adjustment of the surface of the earth, but by jar and strain as the earth makes an effort to regain its true axis. As regards the possible connection between volcanoes and earthquakes, it is known that a violent earthquake, whose shocks lasted several days, accompanied the eruption of Vesuvius in the year 79, when Pompeii and Herculaneum were destroyed. In 1755 thousands upon thousands of people lost their lives in the memorable earthquake at Lisbon, in Portugal. At the same time the warm springs of Teplitz, Bohemia, disappeared, later spouting forth again. In the same year an Iceland volcano broke forth, followed by an uprising and subsidence of the water of Loch Lomond in Scotland. The eruption of Vesuvius in 1872 was followed soon after by a serious earthquake in California. Coming to the present year, it is noticed that the earthquake in the island of Formosa, in which 1,000 people lost their lives, was followed by the eruption of Vesuvius on April 8. Soon after came the second great shock in Formosa, in which there was an even greater loss of life. Later there were two earthquake shocks in Caucasia. At the same time the news of this appeared there was a report of renewed activity on the part of a volcano in the Canary Isles, which had long been dormant. In the United States two volcanoes which have been regarded as extinct for more than a century--Mount Tacoma and Mount Rainier--began to emit smoke. In regard to Tacoma, Dr. W. J. Holland, head of the Carnegie Institute at Pittsburg, says: "There is no doubt that there has been a breakdown and shifting of strata, perhaps at a very great depth, in the region of San Francisco. There certainly is great connection between this earthquake and recent private reports which have come to me of intense volcanic activity on the part of Mount Tacoma." On the other hand, leading scientists contend that these instances are mere coincidences. "If there is any connection between Vesuvius and the Caucasus and Canary Isles earthquakes other places would have suffered too; New York, for instance, is on the same parallel," says Prof. J. F. Kemp, of Columbia University. Although each of these scientists has the most absolute faith in his theory, he really knows no more about the facts than any boy on the street. No one has ever descended into the interior of the earth and investigated the heart of a volcano but Jules Verne, and he only in his mind. What is needed now is exact information. The San Francisco catastrophe will teach many lessons, and among them the necessity for the close study of both volcanoes and earthquakes. There is no reason why earthquakes and other internal disturbances cannot be observed just as closely as the weather. In fact, it is entirely probable that the time will come when a seismological bureau will exist for the study of earthquakes, just as there is a Weather Bureau for observation of the weather, and it will be the business of its officials to prophesy and warn of approaching internal disturbances of the earth, just as the weather men announce the approach of bad weather. Government observation stations will be established, exact records will be kept, and in the course of time we shall learn exactly what earthquakes are and what are their causes. Among other lessons that the disaster has taught is that the much-maligned skyscraper is about the safest building there is. Its steel-cage structure, with steel rods binding the stone to its wall, has stood the test and has not been found wanting. Of all the mighty buildings in San Francisco those of the most modern structure alone survived. Their safety in the midst of collapsing buildings of mortar and brick argues well for like structures in other cities. [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =CHINESE REFUGEES IN WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK.= It was estimated that as many as 10,000 Chinese were in this park at the time this photograph was taken.] [Illustration: =FLAT BUILDING SUNK INTO EARTH.= A view of the great fissures in earth caused by earthquake. One story of the flat building on corner sunk into the ground. The water main was broken, which cut off the water supply. No water to fight the fire or quench the thirst.] Mr. Otis Ashmore declared that the regions lying along the Pacific coast contain several of the moving strata which cause earthquakes. He said: "While much concerning the origin of earthquakes is still a matter of doubt in the minds of scientific men, it is now generally conceded that the real cause is the sudden slipping and readjustment of the strata of rocks with the crest of the earth. As the earth is slowly cooling a very slow contraction of the earth's crust is constantly going on, and as this crust consists very largely of stratified layers of rock, the enormous forces arising from this contraction are resisted by the solid rock. "Notwithstanding the apparent irresistible nature of these layers of rock, they slowly yield to the enormous lateral pressure of contraction and gradually huge folds are pushed up in long mountain ranges. Usually this process goes on so slowly and gradually that the yielding of the rock masses takes place without noticeable jar, but occasionally a sudden slip occurs under the gigantic forces, and an earthquake is the result. This slip is usually only a few inches, but when two continents fall together for only a few inches enormous energy is developed. "Such slips usually occur along the line of an old fissure previously formed, and the depth below the surface of the earth varies from one to twelve miles. Thus places situated near these old internal fissures are more likely to experience earthquakes than those farther away. It is a well known geological fact that the Pacific coast in California contains several of these fissures and earthquakes are more common there. The entire western part of the United States has been slowly rising for many centuries, and the shifting of soil due to erosion and transportation doubtless contributes to produce these seismic disturbances. "Earthquakes are more common than most persons think. Modern instruments for detecting slight tremors within the earth's crust show that there is scarcely an hour in the day free from these shocks. In mountain regions, and especially in the highest and youngest mountains, erosion is most rapid, and on the sea bottom, along the margin of the continents sedimentation is greatest. In these regions, therefore subterranean temperature and pressure changes are most rapid and earthquakes most frequent. "A study of earthquakes develop these general facts. The origin is seldom more than twelve miles below the surface; the size of the shaken region bears a certain relation to the depth of the origin or focus, the smaller shaken region indicating a relatively shallow origin; the energy of the shock is approximately indicated by the area of the shaken region; the origin is seldom a point, but generally a line many miles in length; the subterranean stress is not relieved by a single movement, but rather by a quick succession of movements causing a series of jars. "The transmission of an earthquake shock through the earth takes place with wonderful rapidity. The elastic wave varies in velocity from 800 to 1,000 feet per second in sand or clay to three miles per second in solid granite. "Sometimes these vibrations are of such a character as to be imparted to the air, and their transmission through the air outstrips the transmission through the earth and the ear detects the low rumbling sounds before the shock is felt. "If the origin of the shock is under the sea near the coast any upheaval of the bottom of the ocean that frequently accompanies an earthquake, gives rise to a great tidal wave that frequently inundates the neighboring coast with much damage. "While the phenomena of earthquakes and volcanoes are usually associated in the same region, one cannot fairly be said to be the cause of the other. Both are rather effects of a common cause, or rather of common causes, the chief of which is the shrinking and readjustment of the rocky strata within the earth. The suggestion that there is some physical connection between the recent eruptions of Vesuvius and the earthquake at San Francisco does not accord with the generally accepted views of geologists concerning these phenomena. "It is probably true that a critical condition of stress between two gigantic and contending forces may be touched off, as it were, by any feeble force originating at a distance. Thus a distant volcanic eruption or earthquake shock may determine the climax of stress in a given portion of the earth, which will produce an earthquake. Observations show that more earthquakes occur near the full and the new moon than at other times. This is probably due to the fact that at these times the gravitation of the sun and moon are combined, and their effect upon the earth is greater. We can see this effect in the higher tides at new and full moon. But these forces, it will be seen, are the occasions, and not the causes of earthquakes. "The probable recurrence of the San Francisco earthquake is a matter of great uncertainty. In general, whenever the internal stress of the forces that give rise to earthquakes is relieved there is usually a long period of quiescence in the strata of the earth, but in the course of time, especially in regions of recent and rapid geological changes, such as is the case on the Pacific coast, there is almost certain to be recurrences of earthquake shocks from time to time. "The geological forces may, however, gradually adjust themselves, and it may be many centuries before such a dynamic crisis will arise as that which has just convulsed a continent." California has had a number of great earthquakes. The records go back to the earthquake at Santa Ana in 1769. Not very much is known of this earthquake, though a church was built there and dedicated as Jesus de los Temblores. Another one occurred at Santa Barbara in 1806, and still another in 1812. The Old Mission, about the only building there at that time, on both occasions practically had to be rebuilt. Hittell's History of California says that "slight shocks of earthquakes are not infrequent, but none of really violent or dangerous character has been known to occur. An old or badly constructed building has occasionally been thrown down, and a few people have been killed by falling roofs or walls. But there has been nothing in the experience of the oldest inhabitants to occasion or justify fear or dread. The first one of which there is any full record occurred on October 11, 1800, and consisted of six consecutive shocks, and it tumbled down the habitations of San Juan Bautista. "The most disastrous shock occurred in December, 1812, when the church of San Juan Capistrano was thrown down and forty Indians killed by its fall. The same shock extended northwestward and damaged the churches of San Gabriel, San Buenaventura, Santa Barbara, Santa Inez and Purisima. In 1818 the church of Santa Clara was damaged, and in 1830 the church of San Luis Obispo." CHAPTER XIX. CHINATOWN, A PLAGUE SPOT BLOTTED OUT. =An Oriental Hell within an American City--Foreign in its Stores, Gambling Dens and Inhabitants--The Mecca of all San Francisco Sight Seers--Secret Passages, Opium Joints and Slave Trade its Chief Features.= To a visitor unacquainted with oriental customs and manners the most picturesque and mysterious spot in the region of the Golden Gate was Chinatown, now blotted out, which laid in the heart of San Francisco, halfway up the hillside from the bay and was two blocks wide by two blocks long. In this circumscribed area an Oriental city within an American city, more than 24,000 Chinese lived, one-half of whom ate and slept below the level of the streets. The buildings they occupied were among the finest that were built in the early days of the gold fever. What was at one time the leading hotel of the city was as full of Chinese as a hive is full of bees, for they crowd in together in much the same way. As the gold fever attracted the Chinese to the Pacific coast, San Francisco was made a headquarters and the Orientals soon established themselves in a building on the side hill. As they continued to swarm over, gradually the American tenants were crowded out until a certain section was set apart for the Chinese residents and Chinatown became as distinct a section of the city as the Bowery in New York used to be, "where they do such things and say such things." The time to see Chinatown was after dark, from ten at night to four in the morning, and a day and a night spent in the district would give you a very fair idea of Chinatown as it was. The streets were narrow and steep, paved with rough cobblestone. The fronts of the buildings had been changed to conform with the Chinese idea of architecture. Wide balconies and gratings and fretwork of iron painted in gaudy colors gave an Oriental touch. The fronts were a riot of color. The fronts of the joss houses and the restaurants were brightened with many colored lanterns, quaint carved gilded woodwork, potted plants and dwarf trees. Up and down these narrow streets every hour in the twenty-four you could hear the gentle tattoo, for he seemed never to sleep, never to be in a hurry and always moving. Stop on any corner five minutes and the sight was like a moving picture show. It was hard to make yourself believe that you were not in China, for as near as is possible Chinatown had been converted into a typical Chinese community. You heard no other language spoken on the streets or in the stores except by tourists, "seeing the sights." Chinese characters adorned the windows and store fronts, the merchants in the stores were reading Chinese newspapers, the children playing on the streets jabbered in an unknown tongue, and every man you met had a pigtail hanging down his back. The streets were full of people, but there were no crowds and neither in the day nor night could you see a drunken Chinaman. The first floor of nearly every building in Chinatown was occupied by a store or market. Most of the goods sold were imported from China. In every store there was but one clerk who could talk fair English but the bookkeeping was done in Chinese and money was counted in Chinese fashion. In the botanic stores dried snakes and toads were sold for use in compounding potions to drive away evil spirits and baskets of ginseng roots were displayed in the windows. The clothing stores handled Chinese goods exclusively and in the shoe stores beautifully embroidered sandals with felt soles an inch thick were sold for a dollar a pair. Occasionally in one of the jewelry stores a workman welded a solid gold bracelet to the arm of a Chinaman, who, afraid of being robbed of his gold, had it made into a bracelet and welded to his wrist. In the markets you found an endless display of fish, poultry and vegetables. The chickens were sold alive. The dried fish came from China. All the vegetables sold in Chinatown were raised in gardens on the outskirts of the city from seed sent over from China and some of the specimens were odd looking enough. The Chinese vegetables thrive better in the soil of California than in China and Chinese vegetables raised in the San Francisco district were sent to all the mining camps in the Rockies and as far away as Denver. Some of the Chinese squashes are four feet long. Everything that can be imported from China at a profit was shipped over and the rule among the Chinese was to trade as little as possible with foreigners. The Chinaman is thrifty and if it were not for gambling and one or two other vices they would all be rich, for they are industrious. The Chinaman does not go much on strong drink and in many ways is a good citizen, but he does love to smoke opium and to gamble. It was easy to gain access to an opium den if you had a guide with you. The guides, many of whom are Chinese, speak English, and the English guides speak Chinese. The guides got a dollar apiece from the party of visitors they piloted about and a percentage from all moneys spent by the party in the stores, saloons, restaurants, theaters and the dives. In return they paid for the opium that was smoked in the dens for the edification of the visitors and dropped a tip here and there as they went from place to place. Most of the opium dens were underground. The majority of the people of Chinatown lived in what were little better than rat holes, dark, poorly ventilated little cells on the side of narrow passages in basements. The rich merchants and importers lived well, but the middle and poorer classes lived in the basements where rent was cheap. Of the 24,000 Chinese population only about 900 were women so Chinatown was a bachelor's town by a large majority, though some of the residents had wives in China to whom they expected to return some day. The rule in the basements was for ten men to sleep in a room six by ten feet and do their cooking over a little charcoal fire in one corner of the room. The beds they slept in were simply bunks. The population of Chinatown had somewhat decreased since the Exclusion act was passed. Few Chinamen came over and many, having saved up a little fortune, had gone back to China to stay. Of the entire population of Chinatown there were about 1,000 who voted; they constituted the native born element. The men and women dress much alike. One of the sights which the inquisitive traveller to the Pacific coast rarely missed was the Chinese theater. Entrance was gained through the rear from an alley by the payment of 50 cents for a ticket. After walking down a narrow passageway, climbing up two flights of stairs and down three ladders one reached the green room in the rear of the stage where one saw the actors in all the glory of Oriental costume. No foreigners, as Americans were regarded, were allowed in any part of the theater except on the stage where half a dozen chairs were reserved on one side for visitors who came in the back way. There was no drop curtain in front of the stage and the orchestra was located in the rear of the stage. The orchestra would attract attention anywhere. The music was a cross between the noise made by a boiler shop during working hours and a horse fiddle at a country serenade. As one walked along the streets of Chinatown he noticed on many doorways a sign which read something like this: "Merchants' Social Club. None But Members Admitted." There would be a little iron wicket on one side of the door through which the password goes and some Chinese characters on the walls. There were dozens of these clubs in Chinatown, all incorporated and protected by law. But they were simply gambling joints into which men of other nationalities were not admitted, and where members could gamble without fear of interruption by the police. Chinamen are born gamblers and will wager their last dollar on the turn of a card. Perhaps if 25,000 Americans or Englishmen or Russians were located in the heart of a Chinese city without any of the restraining influences of home life, they would seek to while away their idle hours at draw poker or as many other forms of gambling as John Chinaman indulges in. The Chinamen have little faith in one another so far as honesty goes. In many of the clubs the funds of the club are kept in a big safe which in addition to having a time lock, has four padlocks, one for each of the principal officers, and the safe can only be opened when all four are present. Often when the police raided a den that was not incorporated they found that the chips and cards had disappeared as if by magic and the players were sitting about as unconcerned as though a poker game had never been thought of. An advance tip had been sent in by a confederate on the private Chinese grapevine telegraph. The troubles that arise between members of a Chinese secret society are settled within the society, but when trouble arises between the members of rival secret societies then it means death to somebody. For instance, a Chinaman caught cheating at cards is killed. The society to which the dead man belongs makes a demand on the society to which the man who killed him belongs for a heavy indemnity in cash. If it is not paid on a certain date, a certain number of members of the society, usually the Highbinder or hoodlum element, is detailed to kill a member of the other society. A price is fixed for the killing and is paid as soon as the job is done. The favorite weapon of the Highbinder is a long knife made of a file, with a brass knob and heavy handle. The other weapon in common use is a 45-calibre Colt's revolver. The first one of the detail that meets the victim selected slips up behind him and shoots or stabs him in the back. It may be in a dark alley at midnight, in an opium den, at the entrance to a theater, or in the victim's bed. If the assassin is arrested the society furnishes witness to prove an alibi and money to retain a lawyer. Another favorite pastime of the Highbinder who is usually a loafer, is to levy blackmail on a wealthy Chinaman. If the sum demanded is not paid the victim's life is not worth 30 cents. One of the famous victims of the Highbinders in recent years in San Francisco was "Little Pete," a Chinaman who was worth $150,000 and owned a gambling palace. He refused to be held by blackmailers and lost his life in consequence. The police of San Francisco took no stock in a Chinaman's oath as administered in American courts. A Chinaman don't believe in the Bible and therefore does not regard an oath as binding. In one instance it is asserted the chief had been approached by a member of one of the strongest secret societies and asked what attorney was to prosecute a certain Highbinder under arrest. Asked why he wished to know, he stated frankly that another man was about to be assassinated and he desired to retain a certain lawyer in advance to defend him if he was not already employed by the commonwealth. It is no easy matter for the police to secure the conviction of a Chinaman charged with any crime, let alone that of murder. There is only one place where a policeman will believe a Chinaman. That is in a cemetery, while a chicken's head is being cut off. If asked any questions at that time, after certain Chinese words have been repeated, a Chinaman will tell the truth, so the police believe. Although all Chinaman are smooth faced and have their heads shaved they do not "look alike" to the policemen, who have no trouble in telling them apart. This, of course, applied only to the policemen detailed to look after Chinatown. If it were not that the Chinamen kill only men of their own race and let alone all other men, the citizens of San Francisco would have sacked and burned Chinatown. Once the Highbinders were rooted out of the city, and before the catastrophe they were going to do so again. Some time ago a Chinese shrimp fisherman incurred the displeasure of the members of another society and he was kidnapped in the night and taken to a lonely, uninhabited island some miles from San Francisco, tied hand and foot and fastened tight to stakes driven in the ground and left to die. Two days later he was found by friends, purely by accident and released, famished and worn out, but he refused to tell who his captors were, and again become a victim of the terrible Highbinders, the curse of the Pacific coast. Incidents of the above characters nearly always ending in murder, were so common that the wealthy and powerful Chinese Six Companies, the big merchants of the race, held years ago meetings with the purpose of bringing the societies to peace and while they often succeeded the truce between them was only temporary. Of all the dark, secretive and lawless Chinese villages that dot the wayward Pacific slope, the one that looks down on the arm of San Francisco Bay, just this side of San Pedro Point, is the most mysterious and lawless. The village hasn't even a name to identify it, but "No Sabe" would be the most characteristic title for the settlement, because that is the only expression chance visitors and the officers of the law can get out of its sullen, stubborn, suspicious inhabitants. They don't deride the laws of this land. They simply ignore them. They are a law unto themselves, have their own tribunals, officers, fines and punishments and woe betide the member who doesn't submit. He might cry out for the white man's law to protect him, but long before his cry could reach the white man's ear it would be lost in that lonely, secretive village and the first officer that reached the place would be greeted by the usual stoical, "No sabe." Police and other investigations showed that for years past the slavery of girls and women in Chinatown was at all times deplorable and something horrible. At an investigation, a few years ago, instituted at the instance of the Methodist Mission, some terrible facts were elicited, the following indicating the nature of nearly all: The first girl examined testified that her parents sold her into slavery while she was only fifteen years of age. The price paid was $1,980, of which she personally saw $300 paid down as a deposit. Before the final payment was made she escaped to the mission. The second, an older girl, lived in a house of ill fame for several years before she made her escape. She testified that she was sold for $2,200 by her stepmother. The transaction occurred in this city. She talked at length of the conditions surrounding the girls, including the infamous rule that they must earn a certain sum each day, and the punishments that follow failure. This girl said she knew from other girls of her acquaintance that many white men were in the habit of visiting the Chinese houses. The third girl who testified said she was sold at a time when slaves were scarcer and higher in price than they are now, and brought $2,800 at the age of fifteen. She, too, was positive that white men visited the Chinese houses of ill fame. One of the women of the mission showed the committee three little girls, mere babies, who had been rescued by the mission. Two of them were sold by their parents while they were still in arms. The first brought $105 when three months old and another was sold at about the same age for $150. All three were taken from the keepers of houses of ill fame and were living regularly in the houses when rescued. But there was also a better side to Chinatown. The joss house was an interesting place. It was but a large room without seats. A profusion of very costly grill work and lanterns adorned the ceilings and walls; instruments of war were distributed around the room, and many fierce looking josses peered out from under silken canopies on the shrines. In one corner was a miniature wooden warrior, frantically riding a fiery steed toward a joss who stood in his doorway awaiting the rider's coming. A teapot of unique design, filled with fresh tea every day, and a very small cup and saucer were always ready for the warrior. This represented a man killed in battle, whose noble steed, missing his master, refused to eat and so pined away and died. A welcome was assured to them in the better land if the work of man can accomplish it. The horse and rider were to them (the Chinese) what the images of saints are to Christians. In another corner was a tiny bowl of water; the gods occasionally come down and wash. At certain times of the year, direct questions were written on slips of paper and put into the hands of one of the greatest josses. These disappear and then the joss either nodded or shook his head in answer. On the altar, or altars, were several brass and copper vessels in which the worshiper left a sandalwood punk burning in such a position that the ashes would fall on the fine sand in the vessel. When one of these became full it was emptied into an immense bronze vase on the balcony, and this, in turn, was emptied into the ocean. The Chinese take good care of their living and never forget their dead. Once a year, the fourteenth day of the seventh month, they have a solemn ceremony by which they send gold and silver and cloth to the great army of the departed. A furnace is a necessity in a joss house. It is lighted on ceremonial days and paper representing cloth, gold and silver is burned, the ashes of the materials being, in their minds, useful in spirit land. Private families send to their relatives and friends whatever they want by throwing the gold, the silver and the cloth paper, also fruits, into a fire built in the street in front of their houses. The days of worship come on the first and fifteenth of each month. Of the deaths in Chinatown by the earthquake and fire no reliable list has been possible but in estimating the victims the construction of the district should be regarded as an inconsiderable factor. CHAPTER XX. THE NEW SAN FRANCISCO. =A Modern City of Steel on the Ruins of the City that Was--A Beautiful Vista of Boulevards, Parks and Open Spaces Flanked by the Massive Structures of Commerce and the Palaces of Wealth and Fashion.= With superb courage and optimism that characterize the American people, San Francisco lifted her head from the ashes, and, as Kipling says, "turned her face home to the instant need of things." Scorched and warped by days and nights of fire, the indomitable spirit of the Golden Gate metropolis rose on pinions of hope, unsubdued and unafraid. Old San Francisco was an ash heap. From out the wreck and ruin there should arise a new San Francisco that would at once be the pride of the Pacific coast and the American nation and a proud monument to the city that was. Temporarily the commerce of the city was transferred to Oakland, with its magnificent harbor across the bay, and at once a spirit of friendly rivalry sprung up in the latter city. Oakland had been the first haven of refuge for the fleeing thousands, but in the face of the overwhelming disaster the sister city saw a grand opportunity to enhance its own commercial importance. But the spirit of San Francisco would brook no successful rivalry and its leading men were united in a determination to rebuild a city beautiful on the ashen site and to regain and re-establish its commercial supremacy on the Pacific coast. With the fire quenched, the hungry fed, some sort of shelter provided, the next step was to prepare for the resumption of business and the reconstruction of the city. Within ten days from the first outbreak of flames the soldiers had begun to impress the passer-by into the service of throwing bricks and other debris out of the street in order to remove the stuff from the path of travel. Some important personages were unceremoniously put to work by the unbiased guards, among them being Secretary of State Charles Curry of Sacramento. The people of San Francisco turned their eyes to a new and greater city. Visitors were overwhelmed with terror of the shaking of the earth, they quailed at the thought of the fire. But the men who crossed the arid plains, who went thirsty and hungry and braved the Indian and faced hardships unflinchingly in their quest for gold over two-thirds of a century ago had left behind them descendants who were not cowards. Smoke was still rising from the debris of one building while the owner was planning the erection of another and still better one. The disaster had made common cause, and the laboring man who before was seeking to gouge from his employer and the employer who was scheming to turn the tables on his employes felt the need of co-operation and cast aside their differences, and worked for the common cause, a new and a greater San Francisco. Fire could not stop them, nor the earthquake daunt. They talked of beautiful boulevards, of lofty and solid steel and concrete buildings and of the sweeping away of the slums. They talked of many things and they were enthusiastic. They said that the old Chinatown would be driven away to Hunter's Point in the southeastern portion of the city near the slaughter-houses. They said the business district should be given a chance to go over there where it belonged, by right of commanding and convenient position. They talked of magnificent palaces to take the place of those that had fallen before the earthquake, fire and dynamite. Courage conquers. We are proud of the American spirit which arises above all difficulties. But there are some things which could not be replaced. There could not be another Chinatown like the old one, with all its quaint nooks and alleys. All this was gone and a new Chinatown must seem like a sham. There were no more quaint buildings in the Latin quarter, with their old world atmosphere. Coppas place, center of real bohemia, where artists for many years congregated and adorned the walls with pictures, still remained. But it was lonesome; all its fellows were gone; it was surrounded by ruins. Not an old place remained with a story or with a sentimental charm. San Francisco went to work with a will to rebuild, ships continued to enter its magnificent harbor, and lived down earthquake and fire to again become a great, prosperous, magnificent city. But the sentiment of its Latin Quarter was gone, for outside of the Coppas place, there was nothing left of the old and loved San Francisco except the gable tiled roof of Mission Dolores, its plain wooden cross surmounting it, and its sweet-toned chimes long stilled. Their voices should ring out anew at intervals to remind all who may hear them that San Francisco has a storied past and a bright future, a future glorious as the brilliant sunsets that come streaming so magnificently through the Golden Gate. It should be borne in mind that San Francisco was not destroyed by the earthquake. While old buildings in that part of the city which stood on "made" ground east of Montgomery street and some of that district lying south of Market it is true suffered from the shock, it was fire that wrought the great devastation and wiped out the entire business section and more than half of the residence section of the city. The great modern steel structures were practically uninjured by the earthquake, except for cracked walls and displaced plaster. All those great structures, of course, subsequently were utterly ruined by the flames as far as the interior construction was concerned, but the walls were in most cases intact. The most notable cases of practical immunity from the shock were the St. Francis Hotel, the Fairmont Hotel, the Flood buildings, the Mills building, the Spreckels buildings, the Chronicle building and scores of other modern steel structures. The branch of the United States mint on Fifth street and the new postoffice at Seventh and Mission streets were striking examples of the superiority of the workmanship put into federal buildings. The old mint building, surrounded by a wide space of pavement, was absolutely unharmed. Not even the few palm trees which stand on either side of its broad entrance were withered by the flames that devoured everything around it. The new postoffice building also was virtually undamaged by fire. The earthquake shock did some damage to the different entrances to the building; the walls were uninjured. Every window pane, of course, was gone, as they were in almost every building in town, but the government was able to resume postal business immediately. The Fairmont Hotel, while seriously damaged in the interior, was left intact as to the walls and the management offered space in the building to the various relief committees who desired to house the homeless or to store supplies in those parts of the building considered safe. One question that confronted the rebuilders was whether the city's level had sunk as a result of the earthquake. Parties sent out by City Engineer Thomas P. Woodward for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not the city, as a whole, had sunk, reported that there was no general depression, though there were many spaces where there were bad depressions. The most notable depressions were on Valencia, from Nineteenth to Twentieth; lower Market, Howard and Seventeenth and Eighteenth; Van Ness, from Vallejo to Green, and on Folsom in the region of Seventeenth street. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =SEEKING LOST FRIENDS.= San Francisco Call Register Bureau. Looking for names on cards.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =VAN NESS AVENUE RESIDENCE.= All that was left of a fine residence.] [Illustration: =TENTING IN THE SQUARE.=] [Illustration: =ALAMEDA PARK.=] The southeast corner of the new postoffice building extended over an old swamp, and here there was a depression of fully four feet. The sinking was confined almost entirely to the lower parts of the city, and particularly to "made" ground. Mr. Woodward gave it as his opinion that there was no general depression of the city whatever. City Engineer Woodward was one of those who devised a general scheme for rebuilding the city, by which the new San Francisco was to be a city of magnificent buildings, terraces, boulevards, green parks and playgrounds and gardens. One prominent feature of Mr. Woodward's comprehensive scheme was the widening of Van Ness avenue into a magnificent boulevard. To this end he proposed the acquisition by the city through condemnation proceedings of all that choice residence property the full length of Van Ness avenue. Under his plan there would be no narrow and clogging streets in those sections of the city laid bare by the fire. Streets in the heart of the business district which were proved entirely inadequate for the rush and confusion of a big metropolis were to be widened by slicing from the private holdings on either side, again through process of the courts. Market street was to be left as it was. So with Third and other streets that were repaired by the city authorities just before the earthquake, but streets in the commission and wholesale sections were to be radically altered, both in width and course. The big construction companies of New York took a great interest in the San Francisco disaster, especially as far as the damages to building was concerned. One of the largest construction companies in the world started an engineer for San Francisco at once. Great satisfaction was expressed by the architects of the San Francisco Chronicle building that the structure had withstood the shocks in good shape and was practically uninjured until assailed on all sides by flames. The Chronicle building was of steel framework, with the outer walls partially anchored to the frame. George Simpson, the chief engineer of the company that built the Chronicle building, was of the opinion that the big modern buildings of Chicago and New York would withstand such earthquake shocks as those felt in San Francisco. "The east, and especially New York city," said Mr. Simpson, "is far ahead of the west in the matter of thorough building construction. In the case of our modern buildings the steel framework sits on a bed of concrete that has been built on top of solid rock foundation. "Now, it will be observed that all of the steel frame buildings in San Francisco withstood the shocks and the only damage done to them outside of fire was the falling out of part of the walls. In these cases the outer walls were merely built on the steel work. With our big buildings the walls are anchored to the steel framework. That is, each big piece of stone has imbedded in it a steel bar from which another arm of the same material runs in at right angles and is riveted or bolted to the framework. "That is what I meant by anchored walls and in the event of an earthquake it would take a terrific shock to loosen these walls. Were it possible to erect an entire steel building resting on a solid foundation there would be no fear from earthquakes. In the Philippines they are now building some churches of steel framework with a sheet iron covering. This is done in anticipation of earthquake shocks." The rebuilding of Baltimore required 30,100 tons of structural steel. To rebuild San Francisco on the same basis the estimate was 60,000 tons amounting with freight to $6,000,000. As compared with the loss of $200,000,000 this was an insignificant amount. Among those who submitted a comprehensive scheme for a new San Francisco was Daniel Hudson Burnham, the noted architect of Chicago, who designed most of the features of Chicago's World's Columbian Exposition and from whose conceptions the Court of Honor at that exhibition was built, and those who visited the White City in 1893 will never forget the picturesque grandeur of that enchanted region. Mr. Burnham believed in a new and ideal San Francisco and would see it take its place as the American Paris in the arrangement of its streets and the American Naples in the beauty of its bay and skies. The plans for the ideal San Francisco were his, and hardly had his report been printed than the columns of the old city went down to ruin and fire swept out of existence the landmarks by the gate of gold. It is now the question, How far will the new San Francisco realize the dreams of those who have had before them for so many years the image of a metropolis of the Pacific with broad boulevards and great parkways and wooded heights--a city of sunken gardens, of airy bridges, of stately gardens and broad expanses? Daniel H. Burnham had back of him a long record of achievements which earned for him his title of city builder. He built the Rookery building and the Masonic Temple in Chicago, and then was called to various cities where he supervised the erection of imposing piles which have become landmarks. It was while studying the relations of these large buildings to their surroundings that he became interested in his still greater work, which had to do with squares and blocks and parkways. Upon the invitation of the Association for the Improvement and Adornment of San Francisco Mr. Burnham went to the Golden Gate, where he devoted months to the plans for a new city. A bungalow was built on the Twins Peaks seven hundred feet above the level of the streets, from which Mr. Burnham and his staff of assistants could command a view of the city and the bay. The material which they sought to make into the perfect city was before them day and night. They saw San Francisco by sunlight, in fog, in storm or in the blaze of a myriad lights. As the work progressed the San Franciscans who were interested in the scheme often climbed to the bungalow to watch the progress of the work. The scheme prepared by Mr. Burnham provided first for a civic centre where all the principal city buildings were to be located and also the new union railroad station. About this was to be a broad circular boulevard, a perimeter of distribution, and beyond this a series of broader boulevards or parkways connecting the hills, which were to be converted into parks themselves. About this was to have been the circling boulevard following the shore line of the peninsula. The scheme included also the extension of the avenue leading to the Golden Gate Park, known as the Panhandle, the building of a Greek amphitheater on the Twin Peaks, with a statue of San Francisco greeting the countries of the Orient. The plan also provided for a new parade ground at the Presidio and the building of numerous parks and playgrounds throughout the city. All this was to have cost millions, but to a man of the largeness of the City Builder this was a detail which was to be reckoned with year by year. Now that buildings which were to have been acquired by the city to make room for the pathways of the ideal San Francisco are in ashes and twisted beams it may be that the vision of Daniel H. Burnham may soon be realized. "It is an unfortunate thing," he said, "that our American cities are not first laid out in accordance with some definite idea. As a matter of fact, however, they simply grow up and later have to be changed in order to give them symmetry. In Europe the whole idea is different. The government has more control over such affairs than it has in this country, and it prescribes just what the height of the buildings shall be. The result is a skyline which is imposing. In this country each man builds for himself." Pending the action of the authorities on the plans for the San Francisco Beautiful Mr. Burnham had little to say about the rebuilding. The boulevards connecting the hills were to have been made by taking out blocks of houses, most of which were in poorer sections of the city. This would give a passageway more than two hundred feet wide. The buildings which would have been condemned have been destroyed, and it then became a question as to whether the authorities of the city would be able to make the change contemplated. Mr. Burnham's plan for the New San Francisco left Chinatown out of the reckoning, as there was talk of private capital arranging for the transfer of the quarter to another part of the city. It was the opinion of Mr. Burnham that Chinatown, as occupying a valuable section of San Francisco, would eventually have to go. "Twin Peaks," runs the report made by Mr. Burnham, "and the property lying around them, should be acquired for park purposes by the city. The idea was to weave park and residence districts into interesting and economic relations, and also to preserve from the encroachments of building the hill bordered valley running to Lake Merced, so that the vista from the parks to the ocean should be unbroken. It is planned to preserve the beautiful canyon or glen to the south of Twin Peaks and also to maintain as far as possible the wooded background formed by the hills looking south from Golden Gate. This park area of the Twin Peaks, which includes the hills which surround the San Miguel Valley and is terminated by Lake Merced, is a link in the chain of parks girdling the city. "To the north of Twin Peaks lies a natural hollow. Here it was proposed to create an amphitheatre or stadium of vast proportions. The gentler slopes of the Twin Peaks were to be used as villa properties. The plans for Twin Peaks also included a collective centre or academy, which is to be arranged for the accommodation of men in various branches of intellectual or artistic pursuits. A little open air theatre, after the Greek model, would form a part of this scheme." Even Telegraph Hill was to have its precipitate sides terraced and was to be transformed into a park, according to the design of Mr. Burnham. To carry out all the plans of the architect would be a large task just now, but the citizens of the new San Francisco expect that the broad general lines will be laid down and then in the course of time the rest will be added. Unexampled as was the loss of property in San Francisco the disaster in that respect alone was converted into a permanent benefit. No other city with the exception of Chicago ever had such a grand opportunity of rebuilding upon a basis of permanency and beauty. Instead of shrinking, real estate values rose rapidly and continued to rise. Fancy figures were quoted on sites suitable for business establishments. Structures that remained comparatively intact not far from the old business section were leased at extremely high rates. Instead of dooming San Francisco the double attack of fire and quake proved a blessing. Unaccountable as it may be to many people in the eastern states, the denizens of that part of the country had no especial fears of a recurrence of the catastrophe. They argued that seismic disturbances of such intensity come once in fifty or one hundred years. "Next time we will be prepared," was the regulation comment. The faith of those people, their courage and their enduring hope obliterated all doubt and crushed timidity. The watchword from the day of the disaster was "rebuild." And generally there was added the injunction, "and make it earthquake proof." CHAPTER XXI. VESUVIUS THREATENS NAPLES. =Beautiful Italian City on the Mediterranean Almost Engulfed in Ashes and Lava from the Terrible Volcano--Worst Eruption Since the Days of Pompeii and Herculaneum--Buildings Crushed and Thousands Rendered Homeless.= The worst eruption of Mt. Vesuvius since the days when it buried under molten lava and ashes Pompeii and Herculaneum occurred on April 6, 1906. Almost without warning the huge crater opened its fiery mouth and poured from its throat and fiery interior and poured down the mountain sides oceans of burning lava, and warned 60,000 or 70,000 inhabitants of villages in the paths of the fiery floods that their only safety was in immediate flight. From the very start the scene was terrible and awe-inspiring. From the summit of the mountain a column of fire fully 1,000 feet leaped upward and lighted by its awful glare the sky and sea for miles around. Occasionally great masses of molten stone, some weighing as much as a ton were, accompanied by a thunderous noise, ejected from the crater and sent crashing down the mountain side, causing the natives, even as far as Naples, to quake with fear, abandon their homes and fall, praying, on their knees. One of the immense streams of lava which flowed from the crater's mouth was more than 200 feet wide and, ever broadening, kept advancing at the rate of 21 feet a minute. The first great modern eruption was that of 1631, eleven years after the pilgrim fathers landed on Plymouth rock. A sudden tidal wave of lava, utterly unexpected, engulfed 18,000 people, many of the coast towns being wholly and the remainder partially wiped out. In 1707 the volcano sent forth a cloud of ashes so dense that at midday in the streets of Naples the blackness of the darkest night reigned supreme. The shrieks of terror stricken women pierced the air and the churches were crowded by the populace. The relics of San Januarius--his skull among them--were carried in procession through the streets. Thirty years later a stream of lava one mile wide and containing 300,000,000 cubic feet burst from the mountain side. The next notable eruption was that of 1760, when new cones formed at the side and gave forth lava, smoke and ashes. Seven years later the king of Naples hastily retreated into the capital from the palace at Portici, threatened by a fresh outburst, and found the Neapolitans again in confusion. An eruption lasting a year and a half commenced in 1793. Lava was emitted for fifteen hours and the sea boiled 100 yards from the coast. That the Vesuvius eruptions are gaining in frequency is attested by the record of the nineteenth century, surpassing as it does that of the eighteenth. The first of note occurred in 1822, when the top of the great cone fell in and a lava stream a mile in width poured out. Twelve years later a river of lava nine miles long wiped out a town of 500 houses. Lava flowed almost to the gates of Naples in 1855 and caused a deplorable loss of property to the cultivated region above. Blocks of stone forty-five feet in circumference were hurled down the mountain by the spectacular outburst of 1872. Two lava floods rushed down the valley on two sides, ashes were shot thousands of feet in the air and the sea rose for miles. More than 20,000,000 cubic feet of lava was ejected in a single day. Since 1879 Vesuvius has been variously active there being two eruptions of note in 1900 and two others in 1903. But that of 1905 was more violent than any since 1872. Red hot stones hurled 1,600 feet above the cone dropped down the flanks of the mountain with deafening sound. One stone thrown out weighed two tons, while 1,844 violent explosions were recorded in a single day by the instruments of the seismic observatory. The cog railroad running nearly to the top has been badly damaged a number of times in recent years and the occupants of the meteorological observatory on or near the summit have had several narrow escapes. This institution is situated about a mile and a half from the cone, near the foot of the rope railway ascending that troubled apex. It is a handsome edifice of white stone and can be seen at a great distance against the black background of lava. It stands on the side toward Naples, on the top of a conspicuous ridge 2,080 feet above the level of the sea. On each side of this ridge flows a river of lava during eruptions, but the building has withstood all, unscathed, as yet. An observer is on duty, night and day, even during the most violent outbursts. During the late one, when a sheet of red-hot lava glowed on either side of the ridge and when fiery projectiles fell all about, the post was not deserted. Inside, mounted upon piers penetrating the ground, are delicate instruments whose indicating hands, resting against record sheets of paper, trace every movement made by the shuddering mountain. One sign by which these great outbursts may almost always be forecast is the falling of water in the wells of the neighboring villages. The Vesuvian volcanic region, like that of Ætna, is partly land and partly sea, including all of the Bay of Naples, sometimes called "the crater," lying at the very foot of Vesuvius, with a circuit of fifty-two miles and the metropolis at the extreme northern corner. The whole base of the mountain is skirted by a series of villages where abide 100,000 souls--birds nesting in the cannon's mouth. Between these settlements and even above, within the jaws of the fiery demon, the tourist sees scattered huts, tent shaped of straw interwoven. A road twenty miles long, commencing at Naples, extends southeastwardly along the shore of the bay and then, winding inland, completely encircles the mountain. This is dotted with villages, all within hearing of the volcanic rumblings and bellowings. Four miles down the bay road from Naples lies Portici, its 12,000 population dwelling upon lava thrown down to the sea by the eruption of 1631. On this black bed stands the royal palace, built by Charles III. in 1738. Resina, one mile further, is the favorite suburban seat of wealthy Neapolitans. Its 14,000 residents dwell partly upon the ruins of Herculaneum and of Retina, to which latter city Pliny the elder set out during the great eruption which destroyed these cities and Pompeii. The colossal brazier of Mount Vesuvius dealt most awfully and destructively with the towns on its declivities and near its base. The inhabitants of those villages naturally became panic-stricken and abandoned their homes for the open, although the atmosphere was dense with volcanic ashes and the sulphur fumes of subterranean fires. The people, so long as they dared remain near their homes, crowded the churches day and night, praying for deliverance from the impending peril, manifestations of which were hourly heard and felt in explosions which resembled a heavy cannonade, and in the tremblings of the earth, which were constantly recurring. The intense heat of the lava destroyed vegetation before the stream reached it. The peasants of Portici, at the west foot of Vesuvius, cleared their grounds of vineyards and trees in the effort to lessen the danger from the fire and resist the progress of the lava to the utmost. The streams of lava became resistless. They snapped like pipe stems the trunks of chestnut trees hundreds of years old and blighted with their torrid breath the blooms on the peach trees before the trees themselves had been reached. The molten streams did not spare the homes of the peasants, and when these have been razed they dash into the wells, as though seeking to slake their thirst, and, having filled them, continue their course down the mountain side. Everywhere in the vicinity of the volcano pitiful scenes were witnessed--women tearing their hair in their grief and old men crying aloud at the loss of their beloved homesteads, while in the distance, in striking contrast, were the sapphire-colored Mediterranean, the violet-hued mountains of the Sorrento peninsula and the island of Capri in the tranquil sea. The town of Bosco Trecase, on the mountain's southern declivity, had been transformed into a gray island of ruin by the ashes from the crater of the volcano. Torrents of liquid fire, resembling in the distance serpents with glittering yellow and black scales, coursed in all directions, amid rumblings, detonations and earth tremblings while a pall of sulphurous smoke that hovered over all made breathing difficult. While the inhabitants, driven before soldiers, were urged to seek safety in flight, fiery lava was invading their homes and the cemetery where their dead was buried. In about 48 hours after the eruptions began not a trace remained of Bosco Trecase, a city of 10,000 population. Several lads who were unharmed when the danger following the eruptions of Mount Vesuvius seemed most imminent subsequently ventured to walk on the cooling lava. They went too far and the crust broke under their weight. They were swallowed up before the helpless onlookers. About the same time the village of Bosco Reale, to the eastward, became threatened, and the women of the village, weeping with fright, carried a statue of St. Anne as near as they could go to the flowing lava, imploring a miracle to stay the advance of the consuming stream. As the fiery tide persisted in advancing the statue had to be frequently moved backward. Ottajano, at the northeast foot of the mountain, and 12 miles from Naples, was in the path of destruction and the scenes there when the first victims were unearthed were most 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 8 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 its pet from the crumbling ruins. The third body, that of a woman, was reduced to an unrecognizable mass. Other bodies which were found later caused such an impression among the already frantic population that the authorities did not deem it advisable to permit any more bodies to be identified for the time being. Five churches and ten houses fell under the weight of ashes and cinders, which lay over four feet deep on the ground. Many were killed and injured. One mile southward from the site of Bosco Trecase, on the shore of the Gulf of Naples, is Torre Annunziata, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, and the streams of lava having almost surrounded it the inhabitants deserted their homes in terror and fled to Naples and other points. This place was destroyed by an eruption in 1631. At the northern boundary of the town is a picturesque cypress-planted cemetery, and there the lava stream was halted and turned aside. It was as if the dead had effectually cried out to arrest the crushing river of flame, as at Catania the veil of St. Agatha is said to have stayed a similar stream from Mount Ætna. The visit of the King and Queen of Italy and the Duke of Aosta to the town caused a rumor to be started by the excited people, and particularly among the panic-stricken women, that their presence had resulted in a miracle, and, singularly enough, shortly after the arrival of the sovereigns, and while the King and Queen were trying to console the people, repeating frequently, "Courage! Be strong!" the wind suddenly changed and the atmosphere, which up to that moment had been impregnated with sulphurous gas and suffocating fumes, cleared away and the sun burst forth. The stream of lava stopped its march, after having destroyed a section of the northeast part of the suburb. The air rang with benedictions for the King from his devoted subjects. Hope at once returned and the King and Queen were preparing to move on, but the people insisted that they remain, begging that they be not abandoned. The King and Queen wished to visit Torre Del Greco, which is only seven miles distant from Naples, and was also in danger of being wiped out, and the people fled from it in dismay, amid a continued fall of sand and ashes, to points of reputed safety. This village had been eight times destroyed and as often rebuilt. A violent storm of sulphurous rain occurred at San Giuseppe, Vesuviana and Saviano. The town of Nola, an old place of 15,000 inhabitants, twenty-two miles from Naples, was almost buried under the shower of ashes coming from the crater, which were carried by the wind as far as the Adriatic sea. The inhabitants of the country in the vicinity of Caserta, a place of about 35,000 people, and termed the Versailles of Naples, were also endangered by cinder ashes and flowing lava. The village of San Gennaro was partially buried in sand and ashes and several houses were crushed. At that place three persons were killed and more than twenty injured. Sarno, Portici, Ciricello, Poggio and Morino became practically uninhabitable because of the ashes and fumes, and the people fled from the town. At Sarno three churches and the municipal buildings collapsed. The sand and cinders were six feet deep there and all the inhabitants sought safety in flight. Sarno is a town of some 10,000 people and is situated about ten miles east of Mount Vesuvius. It contains an old castle, some sulphur baths and manufactories of paper, copper wares, cotton goods and silk fabrics. Almost equal to the devastation wrought by the lava was the damage done by cinders and ashes, which in incredible quantities had been carried great distances. This has caused the practical destruction of San Guiseppe, a place of 6,000 inhabitants. All but 200 of the people had fled from there and of these 200 who had assembled in a church to attend mass about 100 were killed. While the priest was performing his sacred office the roof fell in and all who were not killed were badly injured. These unfortunates were for hours without surgical or medical assistance. The only thing left standing in the church was a statue of St. Anne, the preservation of which the poor, homeless people accepted as a miracle and promise of deliverance from their peril. A runaway train from San Guiseppe for Naples was derailed, owing to showers of stones from the crater. At some points near the mountain it was estimated that the sands and ashes reached a height of nearly 150 feet. San Georgio, Cremona, Somma Vesuviana, Resina and other inland and coast towns not mentioned above, also suffered terrible devastation. The most of the buildings in the villages were of flimsy construction with flat roofs and so were but poorly calculated to bear the weight of ashes and cinders that fell upon them. Inevitably it was found that a considerable number of persons perished by the falling of their homes. National and local authorities from the first evidences of danger attempted the evacuation of the threatened villages and towns, but adequate means to transport the inhabitants were lacking, although thousands of soldiers with artillery carts had been sent to the places where the sufferers were most in need of assistance. At many places the people were suffering from panic and a state of great confusion existed, which was added to by superstition. Some of the parish priests refused to open their churches to people who tried to obtain admittance, fearing that an earthquake would destroy the buildings when full of people and thus increase the list of disasters. Crowds of women thereupon attacked the churches, pulled down the doors and took possession of the pictures and statues of the saints, which they carried about as a protection against death. Many people camped along the roads and in the fields, where they thought they would be safer than in the towns, defying the elements, though nearly blinded by ashes, wet to the skin by rain and terrorized by the gigantic curved flaming mass above, resembling a scimitar ready to fall upon them. The atmosphere during the eruptions was oppressive and yellow with ashes from Vesuvius, causing a feeling of apprehension regarding what the future may hold in store for this city and its vicinity. The volcano was completely hidden in a dense mass of cinder-laden smoke, the only other signs of activity being frequent and very severe detonations and deep rumblings. All the trains from and to Naples were delayed owing to the tracks being covered with cinders and telegraphic communication with all points was badly congested. An excursion steamer attempting to reach Naples from the island of Capri had to return, as the passengers were being suffocated by the ashes. The quantity of ashes and cinders thrown during the eruptions was unprecedented. An analysis showed this discharge to be chiefly composed of iron, sulphur and magnesia. When dry the whole region seemed to be under a gray sheet, but after a fall of rain it appeared to have been transformed into an immense lake of chocolate. During the activity of the mountain several new craters had opened, especially on its north side and from which streams of lava flooded the beautiful, prosperous and happy land lying on the southeast shores of the Gulf of Naples. The whole of Vesuvius district as far as Naples, Caserta and Castellammare became one vast desert. The high cone of the volcano was almost entirely destroyed having been swallowed up, so that the height of the mountain is now several hundred feet less than formerly. Its falling in caused a great discharge of red hot stones, flame and smoke. Professor Di Lorenzo, the scientist and specialist in the study of volcanoes, estimated that the smoke from Vesuvius had reached the height of 25,000 feet. After one of the eruptions ashes from Vesuvius were noticeable in Sicily which is a large island near the extreme end of the peninsula on which Naples is situated and some 200 miles from the crater. [Illustration: =MISSION DOLORES.= This is the oldest building in San Francisco. It was founded October 8, 1776. Noted as a mission church.] [Illustration: =BUILDING CRUMBLED LIKE EGGSHELLS.=] [Illustration: =WRECKED BUILDINGS.=] CHAPTER XXII. SCENES IN FRIGHTENED NAPLES. =Blistering Showers of Hot Ashes--The People Frantic--Cry Everywhere "When Will It End?"--Atmosphere Charged with Electricity and Poisonous Fumes.= From the first outburst and glare of the eruption all Naples became aroused and trembled with anticipations of horror, and when the hot ashes from the crater of Vesuvius began to fall in blistering showers upon it the entire populace was seized with a fear, which for days was constant, that at any moment they might be crushed into eternity by the awful outpourings from the cauldron of the mountain which was in truth as veritable an inferno as that pictured by Dante. The streets for days, even up to the subsidence of the eruption, were packed with surging crowds, all of whom were fatigued from fear and loss of rest, yet there was hardly one in all the thousands who had not strength enough to pray to the Almighty for deliverance. At times the fall of sand and ashes appeared to be diminishing, but in the next instant it came again, apparently in greater force than before. The city became frantic from fear and everywhere was heard: "When will it all end?" The people deserted their shops, the manufactories were nearly all shut down, while the theaters, cafes and places of amusements throughout the city were all closed. The crowds were in a temper for any excess and it would only require a spark to start a conflagration that would have almost equalled that of Vesuvius itself. When the coating of ashes and cinders covered the ground and roofs of buildings the people believed that their loved and beautiful Naples was doomed, and would be known thereafter only to archaeologists like other cities which Vesuvius in its wrath had overwhelmed. All railroad service out of the city was interrupted, the engineers refusing to take out their trains because of the darkness caused by the heavy fall of ashes. Troops were kept constantly clearing the roofs of buildings of the accumulation of sand and ashes which endangered the structures. The large glass-covered galleries throughout the city, were ordered closed lest the weight upon the roofs should cause them to collapse. Warships and soldiers which had been ordered to the city did effective service in succoring the most distressed and in the removal of refugees. Their presence was also potent in keeping up public confidence and maintaining order. No danger was too great for the troops to encounter and no fatigue too severe for them. They earned the gratitude and admiration of the people by their devotion to duty and bravery. Not only were they credited with many acts of heroism but they displayed untiring perseverance in searching for the living and the dead among tottering walls, assisting fugitives to reach places of safety, giving aid to the wounded and in burying the dead, and all this while partly suffocated by the ash and cinder laden wind blowing from the volcano. The employes of a tobacco factory at Naples, thinking the roof was about to fall in fled in panic from the building and communicated their fears to so many people outside that the police were compelled to interfere and restore order. Many persons were injured during the panic. The prisoners in the city jail mutinied owing to fright and succeeded in breaking open some of the doors inside the building, but were finally subdued by the guards. King Victor Emmanuel and his Queen, the Duke and Duchess of Aosta and others of the royal household were active in rendering aid. The king placed the royal palace of Cappodimonti, situated above this city, at the disposal of the wounded refugees. Firemen and ambulance corps were sent from Rome to aid the sufferers. The work of succor was hampered owing to delays to the railway service, which was interrupted by red-hot stones thrown to a height of 3,000 feet falling on the tracks. Not for a century had Naples been so threatened nor its people thrown into such a state of panic. Men, women and children tramped about the streets, raving that their deity had forgotten them and that the end of the world was in sight. Thousands of people flocked from the towns and farms on the slopes of the mountain and the problem of feeding and caring for the horde had grown serious. These people were left homeless by the streams of lava, which lapped up all their property in some cases within a half hour after the owners had fled. Earthquake shocks which shattered windows and cracked the walls of buildings added to the terror and when a shock occurred the entire population rushed to the streets in terror, many persons crying, "The Madonna has forsaken us; the end of the world has come." Vessels lying in the harbor rapidly put to sea with hundreds of the wealthy families, who chartered them outright, while many other ships left because of fear of tidal waves similar to those accompanying the terrific eruption of a century ago, which wrecked scores of vessels and drowned thousands of people here. The atmosphere of the city became heavily charged with electricity, while breathing at times became almost impossible because of the poisonous fumes and smoke. The detonations from the volcano resembled those of terrible explosions and the falling of the hot ashes made life indeed a burden for the Neapolitans. The churches of the city were open during the days and nights and were crowded with panic-stricken people. Members of the clergy did their utmost to calm their fears, but the effects of their arguments went almost for naught when renewed earthquake shocks were experienced. While Mount Vesuvius continued active volumes of cinders and ashes emitted from the volcano fell upon the buildings and streets driving the inhabitants of the city into a condition bordering on frenzy. All night people roamed the streets praying and crying that they might be spared. The collapse of the Mount Oliveto market, in which 200 or more persons were caught, many being crushed beyond recognition and the continuous rain of sand and ashes throughout the city sent terror to the heart of every Neapolitan. This market covered a plot of ground 600 feet square. The scenes in the vicinity of the ruins were agonizing, relatives of the victims clamoring to be allowed to go to their dead or dying. The people seemed demented. They surrounded the market, in many cases tearing their hair, cursing and screaming, "Oh, my husband is there!" or, "Bring out my child!" and endeavoring with their own hands to move heavy beams, from beneath which the groans of the injured were issuing. The cries for help were so heart-rending that even rescuers were heard to sob aloud as they worked with feverish eagerness to save life or extract the bodies of the dead from the ruins. Some of the people about the market were heard to exclaim that a curse rested upon the people of Naples for repudiating their saints Monday, when Mount Vesuvius was in its most violent mood. Even with the sun shining high in the heavens the light was a dim yellow, in the midst of which the few people who remained in the stricken towns, their clothing, hair and beards covered with ashes, moved about in the awful stillness of desolation like gray ghosts. Railway and tramway travel to and from Naples was much hampered by cinders and ash deposits, and telegraphic communication with the towns farthest in the danger zone was also for a time interrupted. The scenic effects varied from hour to hour during the eruptions. At times in the north the sky was chocolate colored, lowering and heavy, under which men and women with their hair and clothing covered with ashes moved above like gray ghosts. Fort San Martino, as it towered above the town, could only just be seen, while Castel Dell'ovo was boldly marked in light, seeming like silver against the brown sky. To the south beyond the smoke zone lay smiling, sunny Posilipo and its peninsula, while far away glistened the sea a deep blue, on which the islands seemed to float in the glow of the setting sun. Adding to the strange picture, one of the French men of war, which arrived in the bay of Naples was so placed as to be half in the glow and half obscured by the belt of falling ashes. From the observatory of Mount Vesuvius, where Director Matteucci continued his work in behalf of science and humanity, the scene was one of great impressiveness. To reach the observatory one had to walk for miles over hardened but hot lava covered with sand until he came to a point whence nothing could be seen but vast, gray reaches, sometimes flat and sometimes gathered into huge mounds which took on semblance of human faces. Above, the heavens were gray like the earth beneath and seemed just as hard and immovable. In all this lonely waste there was no sign of life or vegetation and no sound was heard except the low mutterings of the volcano. One seemed almost impelled to scream aloud to break the horrible stillness of a land seemingly forgotten both by God and man. In many of the towns some of the inhabitants went about hungry and with throats parched with smoke and dust, seemingly unable to tear themselves away from the ruins of what so recently were their homes. The Italian minister of finance suspended the collection of taxes in the disturbed provinces and military authorities distributed rations and placed huts and tents at the disposition of the homeless. The property loss from the volcanic outbreak has been placed at more than $25,000,000, while some have estimated that the number of persons rendered homeless amounted to nearly 150,000. Probably less than one-half of that number would come near the exact figures. As an evidence of the widespread and far-reaching influences set in motion by the eruptions of Vesuvius it should be noted that Father Odenbach of St. Ignatius' college in Cleveland, O., the noted authority on seismic disturbances, reported that his microseismograph, the most delicate instrument known for detecting the presence of earthquakes in any part of the globe, had plainly recorded the disturbances caused by the eruption of Vesuvius. The lines made by the recorder, he said, had shown a wavy motion for several days, indicating a severe agitation in the earth's surface at a remote point. CHAPTER XXIII. VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES EXPLAINED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =The Theories of Science on Seismic Convulsions--Volcanoes Likened to Boils on the Human Body through Which the Fires and Impurities of the Blood Manifest Themselves--Seepage of Ocean Waters through Crevices in the Rock Reach the Internal Fires of the Earth--Steam is Generated and an Explosion Follows--Geysers and Steam Boilers as Illustrations--Views of the World's Most Eminent Scientists Concerning the Causes of Eruption of Mount Pelee and La Soufriere.= The earth, like the human body, is subject to constitutional derangement. The fires and impurities of the blood manifest themselves in the shape of boils and eruptions upon the human body. The internal heat of the earth and the chemical changes which are constantly taking place in the interior of the globe, manifest themselves outwardly in the form of earthquakes and volcanoes. In other words, a volcano is a boil or eruption upon the earth's surface. Scientists have advanced many theories concerning the primary causes of volcanoes, and many explanations relating to the igneous matter discharged from their craters. Like the doctors who disagree in the diagnosis of a human malady, the geologists and volcanists are equally unable to agree in all details concerning this form of the earth's ailment. After all theories relating to the cause of volcanoes have been considered, the one that is most tenable and is sustained by the largest number of scientific men is that which traces volcanic effects back to the old accepted cause of internal fires in the center of the earth. Only in this way can the molten streams of lava emitted by volcanoes be accounted for. The youngest student of familiar science knows that heat generates an upward and outward force, and like all other forces that it follows the path of least resistance. This force is always present in the internal regions of the earth, which for ages upon ages has been gradually cooling from its poles toward its center. When conditions occur by which it can outwardly manifest itself, it follows the natural law and escapes where the crust of the earth is thinnest. But something more than the mere presence of internal fire is necessary to account for volcanic action, although it may in a large degree account for minor seismic convulsions in the form of an earthquake. The elements which enter into the source of volcanic eruption are fire and water. The characteristic phenomenon of a volcanic eruption is the steam which issues from the crater before the appearance of the molten lava, dust, ashes and scoria. This accepted theory is plainly illustrated in the eruption of a geyser, which is merely a small water volcano. The water basin of a geyser is connected by a natural bore with a region of great internal heat, and as fast as the heat turns the water into steam, columns of steam and hot water are thrown up from the crater. One form of volcanic eruption, and its simplest form, is likewise illustrated in a boiler explosion. Observations of the most violent volcanic eruptions show them to be only tremendous boiler explosions at a great depth beneath the earth's surface, where a great quantity of water has been temporarily imprisoned and suddenly converted into steam. In minor eruptions the presence of steam is not noticeable in such quantities, which is simply because the amount of imprisoned water was small and the amount of steam generated was only sufficient to expel the volcanic dust and ashes which formed between the earth's surface and the internal fires of the volcano. The flow of lava which follows violent eruptions is expelled by the outward and upward force of the great internal heat, through the opening made by the steam which precedes it. The two lines of volcanoes, one north and south, the other east and west, which intersect in the neighborhood of the West Indies, follow the courses where the crust of the earth is thinnest and where great bodies of water lie on the shallowest parts of the ocean bed. The terrific heat of the earth's internal fires is sufficient to cause crevices leading from these bodies of water to the central fires of the volcano, and the character of the volcanic eruption is determined largely by the size of the crevices so created and the amount of water which finds its way through them. The temperature of these internal fires can only be guessed at, but some idea may be formed of their intense heat from the streams of lava emitted from the volcano. These will sometimes run ten or twelve miles in the open air before cooling sufficiently to solidify. From this it will be seen that the fires are much hotter than are required merely to reduce the rock to a liquid form. From this fact, too, may be seen the instantaneous action by which the water seeping or flowing into the volcano's heart is converted into steam and a tremendous explosive power generated. The calamity which befell Martinique and St. Vincent will unquestionably lead to a fresh discussion of the causes of volcanic disturbance. Not all of the phenomena involved therein are yet fully understood, and concerning some of them there are perceptible differences of opinion among experts. On at least one point, however, there is general agreement. At a depth of about thirty miles the internal heat of the earth is probably great enough to melt every known substance. Confinement may keep in a rigid condition the material which lies beneath the solid crust, but if an avenue of escape is once opened the stuff would soften and ooze upward. There is a growing tendency, moreover, to recognize the importance of gravitation in producing eruptions. The weight of several miles of rock is almost inconceivable, and it certainly ought to compel "potentially plastic" matter to rise through any crevice that might be newly formed. Russell, Gilbert and some other authorities regard this as the chief mechanical agent in an eruption, at least when there is a considerable outpouring of lava. As to the extent to which water operates there is some lack of harmony among volcanists. Shaler, Milne and others hold that substance largely, if not entirely, responsible for the trouble. They point to the fact that many volcanoes are situated near the coast of continents or on islands, where leakage from the ocean may possibly occur. Russell, on the other hand, regards water not as the initial factor, but as an occasional, though important, reinforcement. He suspects that when the molten rock has risen to a considerable distance it encounters that fluid, perhaps in a succession of pockets, and that steam is then suddenly generated. The explosive effects which ensue are of two kinds. By the expansion of the moisture which some of the lava contains the latter is reduced to a state of powder, and thus originate the enormous clouds of fine dust which are ejected. Shocks of greater or less violence are also produced. The less severe ones no doubt sound like the discharge of artillery and give rise to tremors in the immediate vicinity. In extreme cases enough force is developed to rend the walls of the volcano itself. Russell attributes the blowing up of Krakatoa to steam. The culminating episode of the Pelee eruption, though not resulting so disastrously to the mountain, would seem to be due to the same immediate cause. To this particular explosion, too, it seems safe to assign the upheaval which excited a tidal wave. The precise manner in which the plastic material inside of the terrestrial shell gets access to the surface, is not entirely clear. Nevertheless, it is possible to get some light on the matter. It is now well known that in many places there are deep cracks, or "faults," in the earth's crust. Some of them in the remote past have been wide and deep enough to admit molten material from below. The Palisades of the Hudson are believed to have been formed by such an intrusion, the adjacent rock on the eastern face having since been worn away by the weather or other agents. It has been observed that many volcanoes are distributed along similar faults. The existence of a chain of volcanic islands in the West Indies suggests the probability that it follows a crack of great antiquity, though the issue of lava and ashes for several centuries may have been limited to a few isolated points. Just how these vents have been reopened is one of the most difficult questions still left for investigation. Given a line of weakness in the rocks, though, and a susceptibility to fresh fracture is afforded. Professor McGee suggests that the overloading of the ocean bed by silt from the Mississippi river or other sources may have been the immediately exciting cause of the recent outbreaks. Other geologists have found a similar explanation acceptable in the case of eruptions elsewhere. The theory has much to commend it to favor. The Martinique disaster already has drawn from geologists and volcanists many expressions of opinion, and explanations of volcanic phenomena which set forth in detail the causes and effects of volcanic eruptions, in particular, and seismic convulsions, in general. Dr. A. R. Crook, a professor in Northwestern University, has made a special study of volcanoes. He has made an ascent of the two highest in the world, and has climbed many others for purposes of study. He is an authority upon volcanography. "There are two great circles of volcanoes about the earth," said Professor Crook. "One girdles the earth north and south, extending through Tierra del Fuego (called 'land of fire' because of its volcanoes), Mexico, the Aleutian islands and down through Australia; the other east and west through Hawaii, Mexico, West Indies, Italy (including Mount Vesuvius) and Asia Minor. "These two circles intersect at two points. One of these is the West Indies, which include Martinique, the scene of this terrible disaster; the other is in the islands of Java, Borneo and Sumatra. On the latter islands there are extinct volcanoes. On the former is the terrible Pelee. It is just at these points of intersection of the two volcanic rings that we expect unusual volcanic activity, and it is there that we find it. "There has been more or less theorizing as to volcanic disturbances moving in cycles, but it cannot be proved. One fact is established, and that is that a volcano is an explosion caused by water coming in contact with the molten mass below the surface of the earth. This is proved by the great clouds of steam that accompany the action. "The old theory that the very center of the earth is a molten mass," he says, "is no longer held." He asserts the latest idea is that the center of the earth is more rigid than glass, though less rigid than steel. About this there is more or less molten matter, and over all the surface crust of the earth. This molten matter causes the surface of the earth to give, to sag, and form what is called "wrinkling." When water comes in contact with the heated mass an explosion follows that finds its outlet through the places where there is least resistance, and the result is a volcano. "There is no part of the earth's surface which is exempt from earthquakes," said Professor Crook, "and there is no regularity in their appearance. Volcanic eruptions are almost always preceded by earthquakes somewhere in the circle. Recently there were earthquakes in the City of Mexico in which many lives were lost. As it is impossible to predict when the next will take place, it is also impossible to tell where it will be. It will certainly be somewhere in the line of the two circles. "All this is of interest as showing that the earth is still in process of formation just as much as it was a billion years ago. We see the same thing in Yellowstone Park. There most decided changes have taken place even in the last eight years. Old Faithful, which used to play regularly every sixty minutes, now does so only once in twice the time." With reference to contributions to science, which might be expected from investigations at Martinique, Professor Crook said: "Even new elements might be discovered, and seismic theories either confirmed or disproved. A volcano always throws off a great variety of materials, hydrochloric and sulphuric acids, iron, silica (sand), sulphur, calcium and magnesium. The lava is of two kinds. That which is easily fusible flows more rapidly than a horse can trot. A more viscous kind cools into shapes like ropes. The latter is common in Hawaii. "The danger of living in proximity to a volcano is usually well known, but the iron oxides render the soil extremely fertile. This is seen in Sicily about Ætna and Vesuvius. It is seen also in Martinique, where an area of forty miles square was occupied by 160,000 people. "Owing to the presence of the fumes of chlorine it is probable that many of the victims in St. Pierre were asphyxiated, and so died easily. Others doubtless were buried in ashes, like the Roman soldier in Pompeii, or were caught in some enclosed place which being surrounded by molten lava resulted in slow roasting. It is indeed a horrible disaster and one which we may well pray not to see duplicated. Science, however, has no means of knowing that it may not occur again." Professor Robert T. Hill, of the United States Geological Survey, who visited the French West Indies on a tour of scientific inspection, says: "Across the throat of the Caribbean extends a chain of islands which are really smoldering furnaces, with fires banked up, ever ready to break forth at some unexpected and inopportune moment. This group, commencing with Saba, near Porto Rico, and ending with Grenada, consists of ancient ash heaps, piled up in times past by volcanic action. For nearly one hundred years there has been not the slightest sign of explosion and we had grown to class these volcanoes as extinct. "Volcanism is still one of the most inexplicable and profound problems which defy the power of geologists to explain, and one of its most singular peculiarities is the fact that it sometimes breaks forth simultaneously in widely distant portions of the earth. A sympathetic relation of this kind has long been known between Hecla and Vesuvius, and it is very probable that the Carib volcanoes have some such sympathetic relation with the volcanoes of Central America and southern Mexico. At the time of the explosion of St. Vincent other explosions preceded or followed it in northern South America and Central America. "The outburst of Mount Pelee, in Martinique, is apparently the culmination of a number of recent volcanic disturbances which have been unusually severe. Colima, in Mexico, was in eruption but a few months previous, while Chelpancingo, the capital of the State of Guerrero, was nearly destroyed by earthquakes which followed. "Only a few days before Mount Pelee erupted, the cities of Guatemala were shaken down by tremendous earthquakes." Professor N. S. Shaler, of Harvard University, a world authority on volcanic disturbances, 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 common belief is that water enters the rocks during the crystallization 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. "When the first layer has reached a depth of a few thousand feet the rocks which contain the water of crystallization are subjected to a terrific heat. This heat generates steam, which is held in a state of frightful tension in its rocky prison. "It is at these moments that volcanic eruptions occur. They result from wrinkling in the outer crust of the earth's surface--wrinklings caused by the constant shrinking of the earth itself and by the contraction of the outer surface as it settles on the plastic center 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 and it explodes with tremendous force. "The rocks containing the water are blown into dust, which sometimes is carried so high as to escape the power of the earth's attraction and float by itself through space. After the explosions have occurred lava pours forth. This is merely melted rock which overflows like water from a boiling kettle. But the explosion always precedes the flow, and one will notice that there is always an outpouring of dust before the lava comes." Professor W. J. McGee, of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington, says: "It may be that a violent earthquake tremor came after the volcanic eruption, but it does not necessarily follow that the two travel together. Oftentimes we hear of earth tremors with no apparent accompaniment. This was true of the Charleston earthquake in 1886. Earthquakes are caused by mysterious disturbances in the interior of the earth. The most commonly accepted belief is that massive rock beds away down in the earth, at a depth of twelve miles or more, become disturbed from one cause or another, with the result that the disturbance is felt on the earth's surface, sometimes severely, sometimes faintly. "Probably the most violent earthquake in history occurred about ten years ago at Krakatoa. The explosion could be heard for more than one thousand miles, and the earth's tremors were felt for thousands of miles. The air was filled with particles of earth for months afterward. The air-waves following the explosion are believed to have passed two and one-half times around the globe. The face of the land and sea in the vicinity of the eruption was completely changed." Dr. E. Otis Hovey, professor in the Museum of Natural History, New York, offers the following explanation of the Martinique disaster: "A majority of volcanic eruptions are similar in cause and effect to a boiler explosion. It is now the accepted belief that sudden introduction of cold water on the great molten mass acts as would the pouring of water into a red hot boiler. It causes a great volume of steam, which must have an outlet. You can readily see how water could get into the crater, located as this one was--on an island, and not far from the coast. The volcanic chains crossed at that point. Such crossing would cause a tension of the crust of the earth, which might cause great fissures. If water were to search out those fissures and reach the great molten mass below it is not hard to imagine what the result would be. There are two classes of volcanoes--those which have explosive eruptions, like Vesuvius and Krakatoa, and this latest one, and those of no explosive nature, like Mauna Loa and Kilauea, in Hawaii, which boil up and flow over. It is the explosive eruption which brings widespread destruction, and it is astonishing to learn of the tremendous power one of those eruptions unleashes." Professor John Milne, of London, the highest authority in the world on volcanic explosions, classifies eruptions into two grades: Those that build up very slowly. Those that destroy most rapidly. [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =CRACK IN THE EARTH.= This photograph shows a crack in the earth in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, caused by the earthquake.] [Illustration: =GHOULISH THIEVES LOOTING THE DEAD.= This harrowing scene shows the way the dead and injured are frequently robbed after a disaster.] "The latter are the most dangerous to human life and the physical face of a country. Eruptions that build up mountains are periodical wellings over of molten lava, comparatively harmless. But in this building up, which may cover a period of centuries, natural volcanic vents are closed up and gases and blazing fires accumulate beneath that must eventually find the air. Sooner or later they must burst forth, and then the terrific disasters of the second class take place. It is the same cause that makes a boiler burst." Professor Milne was asked after Krakatoa's performance: "Is it likely that there are volcanoes in the world at present that have been quiet for a long time but will one day or another blow their heads off?" "It is almost certain there are." "Some in Europe?" "Many in Europe." "Some in the United States?" "Undoubtedly." Mount Pelee of Martinique has verified the eminent authority's word. Professor Angelo Heilprin, of Philadelphia, the eminent geologist and authority on volcanology, declares there is danger that all the West Indian reef islands will collapse and sink into the sea from the effects of the volcanic disturbances now in progress. More than that, he says, the Nicaraguan canal route is in danger because it is in the eruption zone. "In my opinion the volcano eruptions are not the only things to be feared," he continued. "It is altogether likely that the volcanic disturbance now going on may result in the collapse of the islands whose peaks spring into activity. The constant eruptions of rock, lava, and ashes, you must know, mean that a hole, as it were, is being made in the bosom of the earth. When this hole reaches a great size, that which is above will be without support, and then subsidence must follow. The volcanoes of Martinique and St. Vincent, and of the neighboring islands of the Caribbean, are situated in a region of extreme weakness of the earth's crust, which has its parallel in the Mediterranean basin on the opposite side of the Atlantic. This American region of weakness extends westward from the Lesser Antilles across the Gulf of Mexico into Mexico proper, where are located some of the loftiest volcanoes of the globe, Popocatepetl and Orizaba, both now in somnolent condition, and including the more westerly volcano of Colima, which has been almost continuously in eruption for ten years. "This same region of weakness includes nearly the whole of Central America. Volcanoes in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Guatemala have been repeatedly active, some almost to the present time, many with destructive effect, and it should be no surprise to have some of them burst out with the same vigor and intensity as Mount Pelee or the Soufriere." The National Geographic Society sent three geographers to make a special study of the eruptions in Martinique and St. Vincent: Professor Robert T. Hill of the United States Geological Survey; Professor Israel C. Russell of Ann Arbor, Mich., and C. E. Borchgrevink, the noted Antarctic explorer. Professor Hovey, after a careful examination of the desolated areas in Martinique and St. Vincent, related important scientific phases of the great eruptions. Speaking first of the work of his companions and himself in St. Vincent, he said: "Collection of data concerning the eruption of La Soufriere was immediately begun. The history of the eruption is practically that of the disturbance of 1851. Earthquakes occurred here about a year ago, and have occurred at intervals at various places in the West Indies and adjacent regions ever since. At least one resident of Kingstown--F. W. Griffiths--several months ago predicted that La Soufriere would soon break out. "Finally, on the day of the great eruption, a vast column of volcanic dust, cinders, blocks of lava and asphyxiating gases rose thousands of feet into the air, spreading in all directions. A large portion of this, having reached the upper current, was carried eastward. This, falling, was again divided, and the cinders and deadly gases were swept by the lower winds back upon the eastward side of the mountain. The wrecked houses show this, the windows on the side toward the crater being unaffected, while those on the farther side were wrecked by the back draught up the mountain. "There was no wind on the morning of the great outburst, a fact which facilitated the devastation of the country. The hot, asphyxiating gases rolled out of the crater, and many were scorched and suffocated. Hot mud falling from the cloud above stuck to the flesh of the unfortunate victims, causing bad wounds. Great blocks of stone were thrown out of the eastern side of the crater, which could be distinctly seen at a distance of four miles." Concerning the eruption of Mount Pelee, Mr. Hovey said: "An increase in the temperature of the lake in the old crater of Pelee was observed by visiting geologists as much as two years ago, while hot springs had long been known to exist near the western base of the mountain and four miles north of St. Pierre. The residents of Martinique, however, all considered the volcano extinct in spite of the eruption fifty-one years ago. The ground around the crater of Pelee was reported in 1901 to consist of hot mud, showing that the increase of temperature observed eighteen months earlier had continued. "Soon after the middle of April, this year, manifestations of renewed activity were more pronounced. Ashes began to fall in St. Pierre and heavy detonations were heard. The houses of the city shook frequently, suffocating gases filled the air at intervals, and the warning phenomena increased until they became very alarming. "The Guerin sugar factory, on Riviere Blanche, was overwhelmed on May 5 by a stream of liquid mud, which rushed down the west slope of the mountain with fearful rapidity. The pretty lake which occupied the crater of 1851, on the southwest slope of the cone, about a mile from the extreme summit and a thousand feet below it, had disappeared, and a new crater had formed on its site, spreading death and destruction on all sides. Three days later the eruption took place and devastated the city of St. Pierre, wiping out the inhabitants and changing a garden spot to a desert. "A vast column of steam and ashes rose to a height of four miles above the sea, as measured by the French artillerymen at Fort de France. After this eruption the mountain quieted somewhat, but burst forth again at 5:15 o'clock on the morning of May 20. This explosion was more violent than that which destroyed St. Pierre. "On this occasion the volume of steam and ashes rose to a height of seven miles, according to measurements made by Lieutenant McCormick. An examination of the stones which fell at Fort de France showed them to be of a variety of lava called hornblende and andesite. They were bits of the old lava forming a part of the cone. There was no pumice shown to me, but the dust and lapilli all seemed to be composed of comminuted old rock. "It is evident that the tornado of suffocating gas which wrecked the buildings asphyxiated the people, then started fire, completing the ruin. This accords with the statement which has been made that asphyxiation of the inhabitants preceded the burning of the city. The gas being sulphureted hydrogen, was ignited by lightning or the fires in the city. The same tornado drove the ships in the roadstead to the bottom of the sea or burned them before they could escape. "Mud was formed in two ways--by the mixture in the atmosphere of dust and condensed steam and by cloudbursts on the upper dust-covered slopes of the cone washing down vast quantities of fine light dust. No flow of lava apparently has attended the eruption as yet, the purely explosive eruptions thus far bringing no molten matter to the surface. The great emission of suffocating gas and the streams of mud are among the new features which Pelee has added to the scientific knowledge of volcanoes." Professor Hill was the first man who set foot in the area of craters, fissures, and fumaroles, and, because of his high position as a scientist, his story was valuable. He reported as follows: "There were three well marked zones: First, a center of annihilation, in which all life, vegetable and animal, was utterly destroyed--the greater northern part of St. Pierre was in this zone; second, a zone of singeing, blistering flame, which also was fatal to all life, killing all men and animals, burning the leaves on the trees, and scorching, but not utterly destroying, the trees themselves; third, a large outer, nondestructive zone of ashes, wherein some vegetation was injured. "The focus of annihilation was the new crater midway between the sea and the peak of Mount Pelee where now exists a new area of active volcanism, with hundreds of fumaroles or miniature volcanoes. The new crater is now vomiting black, hot mud, which is falling into the sea. Both craters, the old and the new, are active. "The destruction of St. Pierre was due to the new crater. The explosion had great superficial force, acting in radial directions, as is evidenced by the dismounting and carrying for yards the guns in the battery on the hill south of St. Pierre and the statue of the Virgin in the same locality, and also by the condition of the ruined houses in St. Pierre. According to the testimony of some persons there was an accompanying flame. Others think the incandescent cinders and the force of their ejection were sufficient to cause the destruction. This must be investigated. I am now following the nature of this." Professor Hill started on Monday, May 26, to visit the vicinity of Mount Pelee, and returned to Fort de France Wednesday morning, nearly exhausted. Professor Hill was near the ruins of St. Pierre on Monday night during the series of explosions from Mount Pelee, and was able to describe the volcanic eruption from close observation. Speaking personally of his expedition he said: "My attempt to examine the crater of Mount Pelee has been futile. I succeeded, however, in getting close to Morne Rouge. At seven o'clock on Monday night I witnessed, from a point near the ruins of St. Pierre, a frightful explosion from Mount Pelee and noted the accompanying phenomena. While these eruptions continue, no sane man should attempt to ascend to the crater of the volcano. Following the salvos of detonations from the mountain, gigantic mushroom-shaped columns of smoke and cinders ascended into the clear, starlit sky, and then spread in a vast black sheet to the south and directly over my head. Through this sheet, which extended a distance of ten miles from the crater, vivid and awful lightning-like bolts flashed with alarming frequency. They followed distinct paths of ignition, but were different from lightning in that the bolts were horizontal and not perpendicular. This is indisputable evidence of the explosive oxidation of the gases after they left the crater. This is a most important observation and explains in part the awful catastrophe. This phenomenon is entirely new in volcanic history. "I took many photographs, but do not hesitate to acknowledge that I was terrified. But I was not the only person so frightened. Two newspaper correspondents, who were close to Morne Rouge some hours before me, became scared, ran three miles down the mountain, and hastened into Fort de France. The people on the north end of the island are terrified and are fleeing with their cattle and effects. I spent Tuesday night in a house at Deux Choux with a crowd of 200 frightened refugees. "Nearly all the phenomena of these volcanic outbreaks are new to science, and many of them have not yet been explained. The volcano is still intensely active, and I cannot make any predictions as to what it will do." CHAPTER XXIV. TERRIBLE VOLCANIC DISASTERS OF THE PAST. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the Other Cities of the Plain--The Bible Account a Graphic Description of the Event--Ancient Writers Tell of Earthquakes and Volcanoes of Antiquity--Discovery of Buried Cities of which no Records Remain--Formation of the Dead Sea--The Valley of the Jordan and Its Physical Characteristics.= 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. This may be partly accounted for by the fact that before the birth of Christ, there was but a small portion of the habitable surface of the globe known to those who were capable of handing down a record of natural events. The vast increase in the number of earthquakes in recent times is, therefore, undoubtedly due to the enlargement of our knowledge of the earth's surface, and to the greater freedom of communication now subsisting among mankind. Earthquakes might have been as frequent throughout the entire globe in ancient times as now; but the writers of the Bible, and the historians of Greece and Rome might have known nothing of their occurrence. Even at the present time, an earthquake might happen in Central Africa, or in Central Asia, of which we would never hear, and the recollection of which might die out among the natives in a few generations. In countries, too, which are thinly inhabited, and where there are no large cities to be overthrown, even great earthquakes might happen almost unheeded. The few inhabitants might be awe-struck at the time; but should they sustain no personal harm, the violence of the commotion and the intensity of their terror would soon fade from their memories. Dr. Daubeny, in his work on volcanoes, cites an example of this complete oblivion, even when the event must have occurred not far from the ancient center of civilization. The town of Lessa, between Rome and Naples, and not far from Gaeta, stands on an eminence composed of volcanic rocks. In digging the foundations for a house at this place some years ago, there were discovered, many feet beneath the present surface, a chamber with antique frescoes and the remains of an amphitheater. Yet there is not only no existing account of the destruction of a town on this site, but not even a tradition of any volcanic eruption in the neighborhood. The earthquake which destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah is not only the oldest on record, but one of the most remarkable. It was accompanied by a volcanic eruption, it upheaved a district of several hundred square leagues, and caused the subsidence of a tract of land not less extensive, altering the whole water system and the levels of the soil. The south of Palestine contained a splendid valley dotted with forests and flourishing cities. This was the valley of Siddim, in which reigned the confederate sovereigns of Sodom, Gomorrah, Adniah, Zeboiim and Zoar. They had joined forces to resist the king of the Elamites, and they had just lost the decisive battle of the campaign when the catastrophe which destroyed the five cities and spread desolation in the flourishing valley took place. As the sun arose, the ground trembled and opened, red-hot stones and burning cinders, which fell like a storm of fire upon the surrounding country, being emitted from the yawning chasm. In a few words, the Bible relates the dread event: "And when the morning arose, the angels hastened Lot, saying, Arise, take thy wife, and thy two daughters, which are here, lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city. "And while he lingered, the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters, the Lord being merciful unto him, and they brought him forth and set him without the city. "And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain lest thou be consumed. "And Lot said unto them, Oh, not so, my Lord, behold now, thy servant hath found grace in thy sight, and thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou hast shewed unto me in saving my life; and I cannot escape to the mountain, lest some evil take me, and I die. Behold now, this city is near to flee unto, and it is a little one: Oh, let me escape thither, (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall live. "And he said unto him, See, I have accepted thee concerning this thing also, that I will not overthrow this city, for which thou hast spoken. Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything until thou be come thither. "Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar. The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar. "Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven. And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground. "But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt. "And Abraham got up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the Lord, and he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and lo, the smoke of the city went up as the smoke of a furnace." Nothing could be more succinct or terse than this description of the catastrophe. This was a sudden volcanic eruption like that which destroyed in one night the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum. At the time of the convulsion in Palestine while clouds of ashes were emitted from the yawning abyss and fell in fiery showers upon the ground, a vast tract of country, comprising the five cities and some land to the south of them, was violently shaken and overturned. Of the valleys watered by the Jordan, that of Siddim was the largest and the most populous. All the southern part of this valley, with its woods, its cultivated fields, and its broad river, was upheaved. While upon the other side the plain subsided, and for a distance of a hundred leagues was transformed into a vast cavern of unknown depth. Upon that day the waters of the Jordan, suddenly arrested by the upheaval of the soil lower down the stream, must have flowed rapidly back toward their source, again to flow not less impetuously along their accustomed incline, and to fall into the abyss created by the subsidence of the valley and the break-up of the bed of the stream. When, after the disaster, the inhabitants of neighboring regions came to visit the scene of it, they found the whole aspect of the district altered. The valley of Siddim had ceased to exist, and an immense sheet of water covered the space which it once occupied. Beyond this vast reservoir, to the south, the Jordan, which formerly fertilized the country as far as the Red Sea, had also disappeared. The whole country was covered with lava, ashes and salt; all the cultivated fields, the hamlets and villages, had been involved in the cataclysm. The record of this great catastrophe is preserved not only by Scripture, but by the living and spoken traditions of the East, all the legends of Syria, as well as ancient historians like Tacitus and Strabo, relating how Lake Asphaltite was formed during the terrible shock and how opulent cities were swallowed up in the abyss or destroyed by fire from out of the earth. But even if popular traditions had been forgotten, and if the writings of ancient authors had been lost, the very aspect of the country would suffice to show that it had suffered from some terrible subterranean convulsion. As it was upon the morrow of the catastrophe itself, so it has remained with its calcined rocks, its blocks of salt, its masses of black lava, its rough ravines, its sulphurous springs, its boiling waters, its bituminous marshes, its riven mountains, and its vast Lake Asphaltite, which is the Dead Sea. This sea, the depth of which has never been sounded, evokes by its origin and its mysterious aspect, the dolorous image of death. Situated about 690 feet below the level of the ocean, in the depression of the soil caused by the earthquake, its waters extend over an area of a hundred square leagues to the foot of the salt mountains and basaltic rocks which encircle it. One can detect no trace of vegetation or animal life; not a sound is heard upon its shores, impregnated with salt and bitumen; the birds avoid flying over its dreary surface from which emanate deadly effluvia, and nothing can exist in its bitter, salt, oily, and heavy waters. Not a breeze ever stirs the surface of this silent sea, nothing moves therein save the thick load of asphalt which now and again rises from the bottom to the surface and floats lazily on to the desolate strand. The Jordan has remained what it was in ancient times, the blessed stream, the vivifying artery of Palestine. Taking their source in the spotless snows and pure springs of Mount Hermon, its waters have retained the azure hues of the sky and the clearness of crystal. Before the catastrophe, the Jordan, after having traversed and fertilized Palestine, found its way into the Gulf of Arabia, but now, as upon the morrow of the shock which broke up its bed, its waters are lost in the somber abyss of the Dead Sea. The Bible mentions an earthquake in Palestine in the reign of Ahab, and one in the reign of Uzziah, which rent the temple. The latter was an event so great that the chroniclers of the time used it in dating occurrences, and Amos speaks of what happened "two years before the earthquake." The same convulsions of nature are mentioned many other times in the Bible, in connection with prophecy, revelation and the crucifixion. Nearly all writings about earthquakes prior to the last century tended to cultivate superstitious notions respecting them. Even Pliny, Herodotus, Livy, and the other classic writers, were quite ignorant of the true causes, and mythology entered into their speculations. In later times the investigation has become a science. The Chinese were pioneers in this direction, having appointed an Imperial Commission in A.D. 136 to inquire into the subject. It is to be doubted, however, if what they reported would be considered as of much scientific value to-day. By this time it is estimated that in the libraries of the world are more than 2,000 works treating of earth-motions. The phenomena are taken quite out of the realm of superstition. By means of delicate instruments of various kinds, called seismometers, the direction of earth-movements can be traced, and their force gauged, while by means of a simple magnet with a metal piece attached to it, an earthquake can be foretold. These instruments tell us that scarcely a day passes without an earthquake in some portion of the globe. The internal causes of these manifestations are ever active, whatever the causes may be. CHAPTER XXV. VESUVIUS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Most Famous Volcanic Eruption in History--Roman Cities Overwhelmed--Scenes of Horror Described by Pliny, the Great Classic Writer, an Eye-Witness of the Disaster--Buried in Ashes and Lava--The Stricken Towns Preserved for Centuries and Excavated in Modern Times as a Wonderful Museum of the Life of 1800 Years Ago.= Mount Vesuvius, the world-famed volcano of southern Italy, seen as it is from every part of the city of Naples and its neighborhood, forms the most prominent feature of that portion of the frightful and romantic Campanian coast. For many centuries it has been an object of the greatest interest, and certainly not the least of the many attractions of one of the most notable cities of Europe. Naples, with its bay constitutes as grand a panorama as any to be seen in the world. The mountain is a link in the historical chain which binds us to the past, which takes us back to the days of the Roman Empire. Before the days of Titus it seems to have been unknown as a volcano, and its summit is supposed to have been crowned by a temple of Jupiter. In the year 25 A.D., Strabo, an eminent historian of the time, wrote: "About these places rises Vesuvius, well cultivated and inhabited all round, except at its top, which is for the most part level, and entirely barren, ashy to the view, displaying cavernous hollows in cineritious rocks, which look as if they had been eaten by fire; so that we may suppose this spot to have been a volcano formerly, with burning craters, now extinguished for want of fuel." Though Strabo was a great historian, it is evident that he was not a prophet. The subsequent history of Vesuvius has shown that at varying periods the mountain has burst forth in great eruptive activity. Herculaneum was a city of great antiquity, its origin being ascribed by Greek tradition to Hercules, the celebrated hero of the mythological age of Greece; but it is not certain that it was actually founded by a Greek colony, though in the time of Sulla, who lived a hundred years before Christ, it was a municipal and fortified town. Situated on an elevated ground between two rivers, its position could not but be considered important, its port Retina being one of the best on the coast of Campania. Many villas of great splendor were owned in the neighborhood by Roman patricians; Servilia, the mother of Brutus, and the favorite mistress of Julius Cæsar, resided here on an estate which he had given to her. Pompeii, too, was a very ancient city, and was probably founded by a Grecian colony; for what is considered its oldest building, a Greek temple, from its similarity to the Praestum temples, fixes the date of construction with some certainty at about 650 B.C. This temple, by common consent, is stated to have been dedicated to Hercules, who, according to Solonus, landed at this spot with a procession of oxen. The situation of Pompeii possessed many local advantages. Upon the verge of the sea, at the mouth of the Sarno, with a fertile plain behind, like many an ancient Italian town, it united the conveniences of commerce with the security of a military station. According to Strabo, Pompeii was first occupied by the Oscans, subsequently by the Tyrrhenians and Pelasgians, and afterwards by the Samnites, in whose hands it continued until it came into the possession of the Romans. The delightful position of the city, the genial climate of the locality, and its many attractions, caused it to become a favorite retreat of the wealthier Romans, who purchased estates in the neighborhood; Cicero, among others, having a villa there. In A.D. 63, during the reign of Nero, an earthquake overthrew a considerable portion of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Scarcely had the inhabitants in some measure recovered from their alarm, and begun to rebuild their shattered edifices, when a still more terrible catastrophe occurred, and the first recorded eruption of Vesuvius, on the 23d of August, A.D. 79, completed the ruin of the two cities. Of this event we fortunately possess a singularly graphic description by one who was not only an eye-witness, but well qualified to observe and record its phenomena--Pliny, the Younger, whose narrative is contained in two letters addressed to the historian Tacitus. These letters run as follows: "Your request," he writes, "that I would send you an account of my uncle's death, in order to transmit a more exact relation of it to posterity, merits my acknowledgements; for should the calamity be celebrated by your pen, its memory, I feel assured, will be rendered imperishable. 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 seemed of unusual shape and dimensions. He had just returned from taking the benefit of the sun, and after a cold water bath and a slight repast, had retired to his study. He immediately arose, and proceeded to a rising ground, from whence he might more distinctly mark this very uncommon appearance. "At that distance it could not be clearly perceived from what mountain the cloud issued, but it was afterward ascertained to proceed from Mount Vesuvius. I cannot better describe its figure than by comparing it to that of a pine tree, for it shot up to a great height like a trunk, and extended itself at the top into a kind of branches; occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden gust of air that impelled if, the force of which decreased as it advanced upward, or by the expansion of the cloud itself, when pressed back again by its own weight. Sometimes it appeared bright, and sometimes dark and spotted, as it became more or less impregnated with earth and cinders. This extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical curiosity to inquire into it more closely. He ordered a light vessel to be got ready for him, and invited me to accompany him if I pleased. I replied that I would rather continue my studies. "As he was leaving the house, a note was brought to him from Rectina, the wife of Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm at the imminent peril which threatened her; for her villa being situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, the only mode of escape was by the sea. She earnestly entreated him, therefore, to hasten to her assistance. He accordingly changed his first design, and what he began out of curiosity, now continued out of heroism. Ordering the galleys to put to sea, he went on board, with an intention of assisting not only Rectina, but several others, for the villas are very numerous along that beautiful shore. Hastening to the very place which other people were abandoning in terror, he steered directly toward the point of danger, and with so much composure of mind that he was able to make and to dictate his observations on the changes and aspects 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 vessel, together with pumice-stones and black pieces of burning rock; and now the sudden ebb of the sea, and vast fragments rolling from the mountain, obstructed their nearer approach to the shore. Pausing to consider whether he should turn back again, to which he was advised by his pilot, he exclaimed, 'Fortune befriends the brave: carry me to Pomponianus.' [Illustration: =EFFECT OF EARTHQUAKE ON MODERN STEEL BUILDING.= The steel framework of many of the modern skyscrapers stood intact after the shock, while the brick and stone walls were shaken out.] [Illustration: =UPPER PICTURE--VESUVIUS DURING RECENT ERUPTION.=] [Illustration: =LOWER PICTURE--ROAD LEADING UP TO VESUVIUS BEFORE ERUPTION.=] "Pomponianus was then at Stabiae, separated by a gulf which the sea, after several windings, forms upon the shore. He had already sent his baggage on board; for though not at that time in actual danger, yet being within prospect of it, he was determined, if it drew nearer, to put to sea as soon as the wind should change. The wind was favorable, however, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he found in the greatest consternation. He embraced him tenderly, encouraging and counselling him to keep up his spirits; and still better to dissipate his alarm, he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths to be got ready. After having bathed, he sat down to supper with great cheerfulness, or, what was equally courageous, with all the semblance of it. "Meanwhile, the eruption from Mount Vesuvius broke forth in several places with great violence, and the darkness of the night contributed to render it still more visible and dreadful. But my uncle, to soothe the anxieties of his friend, declared 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 is certain he was so little discomposed as to fall into a deep sleep; for being somewhat corpulent, and breathing hard, those who attended without actually heard him snore. "The court which led to his apartment being nearly filled with stones and ashes, it would have been impossible for him, had he continued there longer, to have made his way out; it was thought proper, therefore, to awaken him. He got up and joined Pomponianus and the rest of his company who were not unconcerned enough to think of going to bed. They consulted together which course would be the more prudent: to trust to the houses, which now shook from side to side with frequent and violent concussions; or to escape to the open country, where the calcined stones and cinders fell in such quantities, as notwithstanding their lightness, to threaten destruction. In this dilemma they decided on the open country, as offering the greater chance of safety; a resolution which, while the rest of the company hastily adopted it through their fears, my uncle embraced only after cool and deliberate consideration. Then they went forth, having pillows tied upon their heads with napkins; and this was their sole 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 obscurest night, though it was in some degree dissipated by torches and lights of various kinds. They thought proper to go down further upon the shore, to ascertain whether they might safely put out to sea; but found the waves still extremely high and boisterous. There my uncle, having drunk a draught or two of cold water, flung himself down upon a cloth which was spread for him, when immediately the flames and their precursor, a strong stench of sulphur, dispersed the rest of the company, and compelled him to rise. He raised himself with the assistance of two of the servants, but instantly fell down dead; suffocated, I imagine by some gross and noxious vapor. As soon as it was light again, which was not until the third day after this melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and free from any sign of violence, exactly in the same posture that he fell, so that he looked more like one asleep than dead." In a second letter to Tacitus, Pliny in relating his own experiences, says: "Day was rapidly breaking, but the light was exceedingly faint and languid; the buildings all around us tottered; and though we stood upon open ground, yet, as the area was narrow and confined, we could not remain without certain and formidable peril, and we therefore resolved to quit the town. The people followed us in a panic of alarm, 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. "As soon as we had reached a convenient distance from the houses, we stood still, in the midst of a perilous and most dreadful scene. The chariots which we had ordered to be drawn out oscillated so violently, though upon 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 strands by the earth's convulsive throes; it is certain, at least, that the shore was considerably enlarged, and that several marine animals were left upon it. On the other side, a black and terrible cloud, bursting with an igneous serpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, resembling, but much larger than the flashes of lightning. "Soon after the black cloud seemed to descend and enshroud the whole ocean; as, in truth, it entirely concealed the island of Caprea and the headland of Misenum. The ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no considerable quantity. Turning my head, I perceived behind us a dense smoke, which came rolling in our track like a torrent. I proposed, while there was yet some light, to diverge from the highroad, lest my mother should be crushed to death in the dark by the crowd that followed us. Scarcely had we stepped aside when darkness overspread us; not the darkness of a cloudy night, or when there is no moon, but that of a chamber which is close shut, with all the lights extinct. "And then nothing could be heard but the shrieks of women, the cries of children, and the exclamations of men. Some called aloud for their little ones, others for their parents, others for their husbands, being only able to distinguish persons by their voices; this man lamented his own fate, that man the fate of his family; not a few wished to die out of very fear of death; many lifted their hands to the gods; but most imagined the last eternal night was come, which should destroy the world and the gods together. "At length, a glimmer of light appeared, which we imagined to be rather the foretoken of an approaching burst of flames, as in truth it was, than the return of day. The fire, however, having fallen at a distance from us, we were again immersed in dense darkness, and a heavy shower of ashes fell upon us, which we were compelled at times to shake off--otherwise we should have been crushed and buried in the heap. "After a while, this dreadful darkness gradually disappeared like a cloud of smoke; the actual day returned, and with it the sun, 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 with a crust of white ashes, like a deep layer of snow. We returned to Misenum, where we refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and passed an anxious night between hope and fear, though, indeed, with a much larger share of the latter; for the earthquake still continued, while several excited individuals ran up and down, augmenting their own and their friends' calamities by terrible predictions." The graphic accounts of Pliny the Younger have been confirmed in every respect by scientific examination of the buried cities. The eruption was terrible in all its circumstances--the rolling mud, the cloud of darkness, the flashes of electric fire, the shaking earth--but yet more terrible in its novelty of character and the seemingly wide range of its influence. These combined causes would appear to have exercised a fatal effect on the Pompeians, and but for them nearly all might have escaped. Thus, the amphitheatre was crowded when the catastrophe occurred, but only two or three skeletons have been found in it, which probably were those of gladiators already killed or wounded. The bold, the prompt, and the energetic saved themselves by immediate flight; those who lingered through love or avarice, supine indifference, or palsying fear, perished. Many sought refuge in the lower rooms or underground cellars of their houses, but there the steaming mud pursued and overtook them. Had it been otherwise, they must have died of hunger or suffocation, as all avenues of egress were absolutely blocked up. It is impossible to exaggerate the horrors of the last day of the doomed city. The rumbling of the earth beneath; the dense obscurity and murky shadow of the heaven above; the long, heavy roll of the convulsed sea; the strident noise of the vapors and gases escaping from the mountain-crater; the shifting electric lights, crimson, emerald green, lurid yellow, azure, blood red, which at intervals relieved the blackness, only to make it ghastlier than before; the hot, hissing showers which descended like a rain of fire; the clash and clang of meeting rocks and riven stones; the burning houses and flaming vineyards; the hurrying fugitives, with wan faces and straining eyeballs, calling on those they loved to follow them; the ashes, and cinders, and boiling mud, driving through the darkened streets, and pouring into the public places; above all, that fine, impalpable, but choking dust which entered everywhere, penetrating even to the lowest cellar, and against which human skill could devise no effectual protection; all these things must have combined into a whole of such unusual and such awful terror that the imagination cannot adequately realize it. The stoutest heart was appalled; the best-balanced mind lost its composure. The stern Roman soldier stood rigidly at his post, content to die if discipline required it, but even his iron nerves quailed at the death and destruction around him. Many lost their reason, and wandered through the city, gibbering and shrieking lunatics. And none, we may be sure, who survived the peril, ever forgot the sights and scenes they had witnessed on that day of doom. Three days and nights were thus endured with all the anguish of suspense and uncertainty. On the fourth day the darkness, by degrees, began to clear away. The day appeared, the sun shining forth; but all nature seemed changed. Buried beneath the lava lay temple and circus, the tribunal, the shrine, the frescoed wall, the bright mosaic floor; but there was neither life nor motion in either city of the dead, though the sea which once bore their argosies still shimmered in the sunshine, and the mountain which accomplished their destruction still breathed forth smoke and fire. The scene was changed; all was over; smoke and vapor and showers had ceased, and Vesuvius had returned to its normal slumber. Pompeii and Herculaneum were no more. In their place was a desolated plain, with no monuments visible, no house to be seen--nothing but a great surface of white ashes, which hardened and petrified, and finally disintegrated into soil upon which, years after, might be seen the fruitful vine, the waving corn, and wild flowers in all their loveliness and beauty, hiding the hideous tragedy of a bygone age. It was about the middle of the eighteenth century that systematic excavations in the ashes that covered Pompeii began. Since that time the work has been slow, though continuous, and great progress has been made in disinterring the buried city. To-day it is a municipal museum of the Roman Empire as it was 1,800 years ago. The architecture is almost unmarred; the colors of decorated tiles on the walls are still bright; the wheel marks are fresh looking; the picture of domestic life as it was is complete, except for the people who were destroyed or driven from the city. No other place in all the world so completely portrays that period of the past to us as does Pompeii, overwhelmed by Vesuvius, hidden for centuries, and now once more in view to the world to-day. CHAPTER XXVI. MOUNT ÆTNA AND THE SICILIAN HORRORS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =A Volcano with a Record of Twenty-five Centuries--Seventy-eight Recorded Eruptions--Three Hundred Thousand Inhabitants Dwelling on the Slopes of the Mountain and in the Valleys at its Base--Stories of Earthquake Shock and Lava Flows--Tales of Destruction--Described by Ancient and Modern Writers and Eye-Witnesses.= Mount Ætna, one of the most celebrated volcanoes in the world, is situated on the eastern sea-board of Sicily. The ancient poets often alluded to it, and by some it was feigned to be the prison of the giant Euceladus or Typhon, by others the forge of Hephæstus. The flames proceeded from the breath of Euceladus, the thunderous noises of the mountain were his groans, and when he turned upon his side, earthquakes shook the island. Pindar in his first Pythian ode for Hiero of Ætna, winner in the chariot race in 474 B.C., exclaims:--He (Typhon) is fast bound by a pillar of the sky, even by snowy Ætna, nursing the whole year's length her dazzling snow. Whereout pure springs of unapproachable fire are vomited from the inmost depth: in the daytime the lava streams pour forth a lurid rush of smoke, but in the darkness a red rolling flame sweepeth rocks with uproar to the wide, deep sea. Æschylus (525-456 B.C.) speaks also of the "mighty Typhon." Thucydides (471-402 B.C.) alludes in the last lines of his third book to three early eruptions of the mountain. Many other early writers speak of Ætna, among them Theocritus, Virgil, Ovid, Livy, Seneca, Lucan, Strabo, and Lucilius Junior. While the poets on the one hand had invested Ætna with various supernatural attributes, and had made it the prison of a chained giant, and the workshop of a god, Lucretius and others endeavored to show that the eruptions and other phenomena of the mountain could be explained by the ordinary operations of nature. If we pass to more modern times we find mention of Ætna by Dante, Petrarch, Cardinal Bembo, and other middle age writers. In 1541 Fazello wrote a brief history of the mountain, and described an ascent. In 1591 Antonio Filoteo, who was born on Ætna, published a work in Venice, in which he describes an eruption which he witnessed in 1536. He asserts that the mountain was then, as now, divided into three "regions"--the first very arid, rugged, uneven, and full of broken rocks; the second covered with forests; and the third cultivated in the ordinary manner. The great eruption of 1669 was described at length by the naturalist Borelli in the year of its occurrence, and a brief account of it was given by the Earl of Winchelsea, English ambassador at Constantinople, who was returning home by way of the Straits of Messina at the time. As the eruption of 1669 was the most considerable one of modern times, it attracted a great deal of attention, and was described by several eye-witnesses. The height of Ætna has been often determined. The earlier writers had very exaggerated notions on the subject, and a height of three and even four miles has been assigned. It must be borne in mind that the cone of a volcano is liable to variations in height at different periods, and a diminution of more than three hundred feet has occurred during the course of a single eruption of Ætna, owing to the falling of the cone of cinders into the crater. During the last sixty years, however, the height of the mountain has been practically constant at ten thousand eight hundred and seventy-four feet. There are two cities, Catania and Aci Reale, and sixty-three towns or villages on Mount Ætna. It is far more thickly populated than any other part of Sicily or Italy. No less than 300,000 people live on the mountain. A remarkable feature of Ætna is the large number of minor cones which are scattered over its sides. They look small in comparison with the great mass of the mountain, but in reality some of them are of large dimensions. The best period for making the ascent of Ætna is between June and September, after the melting of the winter snows, and before the falling of the autumnal rains. In winter there are frequently nine or ten miles of snow stretching from the summit downward, the paths are obliterated, and the guides sometimes refuse to accompany travelers. Moreover, violent storms often rage in the upper regions of the mountain, and the wind acquires a force which it is difficult to withstand, and is at the same time piercingly cold. A list of the eruptions of Ætna from the earliest times has been given by several writers. The first eruption within the historical period probably happened in the seventh century B.C.; the second occurred in the time of Pythagoras. The third eruption, which was in 477 B.C., is mentioned by Thucydides, and it must have been the same eruption to which Pindar and Æschylus allude. An eruption mentioned by Thucydides happened in the year 426 B.C. An outburst of lava took place from Monte di Moja, the most northerly of the minor cones of Ætna, in 396 B.C., and following the course of the river Acesines, now the Alcantara, entered the sea near the site of the Greek colony of Naxos (now Capo di Schiso). We have no record of any further eruption for 256 years, till the year 140 B.C. Six years later an eruption occurred, and the same authorities mention an eruption in the year 126 B.C. Four years later Katana was nearly destroyed by a new eruption. Another, of which we possess no details, occurred during the civil war between Cæsar and Pompey, 49 B.C. Livy speaks of an earthquake which took place in 43 B.C., shortly before the death of Cæsar, which it was believed to portend. In 38 B.C. and 32 B.C. eruptions took place. The next eruption of which we hear is that mentioned by Suetonius in his life of Caligula. This was in 40 A.D. An eruption occurred in 72 A.D., after which Ætna was quiescent for nearly two centuries, but in the year 253, in the reign of the Emperor Decius, a violent eruption lasting nine days is recorded. According to Carrera and Photius, an eruption occurred in the year 420. We now find no further record for nearly four hundred years. Geoffrey of Viterbo states that there was an eruption in 812, when Charlemagne was in Messina. After another long interval, in this case of more than three centuries and a half, the mountain again showed activity. In February, 1169, one of the most disastrous eruptions on record took place. A violent earthquake, which was felt as far as Reggio, destroyed Catania in the course of a few minutes, burying fifteen thousand people beneath the ruins. It was the vigil of the feast of St. Agatha, and the cathedral of Catania was crowded with people, who were all buried beneath the ruins, together with the bishops and forty-four Benedictine monks. The side of the cone of the great crater toward Taormina fell into the crater. There was a great eruption from the eastern side of the mountain in 1181. Lava descended in the same vicinity in 1285. In 1329 Speziale was in Catania, and witnessed a very violent eruption, of which he has left us an account. On the evening of June 28th, about the hour of vespers, Ætna was strongly convulsed, terrible noises were emitted, and flames issued from the south side of the mountain. A new crater, Monte Lepre, opened above the rock of Musarra, and emitted large quantities of dense black smoke. Soon after a torrent of lava poured from the crater, and red-hot masses of rock were projected into the air. Four years after the last eruption it is recorded by Silvaggio that a fresh outburst took place. A manuscript preserved in the archives of the cathedral of Catania mentions an eruption which took place on August 6, 1371, which caused the destruction of numerous olive groves near the city. An eruption which lasted for twelve days commenced in November, 1408. A violent earthquake in 1444 caused the cone of the mountain to fall into the great crater. An eruption of short duration, of which we have no details, occurred in 1447; and after this Ætna was quiescent for eighty-nine years. Cardinal Bembo and Fazello mention an eruption which took place toward the close of the fifteenth century. In March, 1536, a quantity of lava issued from the great crater, and several new apertures opened near the summit of the mountain and emitted lava. A year later, in May, 1537, a fresh outburst occurred. A number of new mouths were opened on the south slope near La Fontanelle, and a quantity of lava burst forth which flowed in the direction of Catania, destroying a part of Nicolosi, and St. Antonio. In four days the lava ran fifteen miles. The cone of the great crater suddenly fell in, so as to become level with the Piano del Lago. The height of the mountain was thus diminished by 320 feet. Three new craters opened in November, 1566, on the northeast slope of the mountain. In 1579, 1603, 1607, 1610, 1614, and 1619, unimportant eruptions occurred. In February, 1633, Nicolosi was partly destroyed by a violent earthquake, and in the following December, earthquakes became frequent around the mountain. In 1646 a new mouth opened on the northeast side, and five years later several new mouths opened on the west side of the mountain and poured out vast volumes of lava which threatened to overwhelm Bronte. We have a more detailed account of the eruption of 1669 than any previous one. It was observed by many men of different nations, and there are a number of narratives regarding it. The eruption was in every respect one of the most terrible on record. On March 8th, the sun was obscured and a whirlwind blew over the face of the mountain; at the same time earthquakes were felt, and they continued to increase in violence for three days, at the end of which Nicolosi was converted into a heap of ruins. On the morning of the 11th a fissure nearly twelve miles in length opened in the side of the mountain, and extended from the Piano di St. Leo to Monte Frumento, a mile from the summit. The fissure was only six feet wide, but it seemed to be of unknown depth, and a bright light proceeded from it. Six mouths opened in a line with the principal fissure, and discharged vast volumes of smoke, accompanied by low bellowing, which could be heard forty miles off. Toward the close of the day a crater opened about a mile below the others, and 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 toward 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. The torrent of lava had continued to flow, and it destroyed the town of Mascalucia on March 23d. On the same day the crater cast up great quantities of sand, ashes, and scoriae, and formed above itself the great double coned hill called Monti Rossi, from the red color of the ashes of which it is mainly composed. On the 25th very violent earthquakes occurred, and the cone of the great central crater was shaken down into the crater for the fifth time since the beginning of the first century A.D. The original current of lava had 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 afterward swept out of existence, and the lava made its way toward Catania. At Albanello, two miles from the city, it undermined a hill covered with corn fields, and carried it forward a considerable distance; a vineyard was also seen 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, sixty 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 carried death and destruction in its course. On April 23d the lava reached the sea, which it entered as a stream 1800 feet broad and forty feet deep. On reaching the sea the water, of course, began to boil violently, and clouds of steam arose, carrying with them particles of scoriae. The volume of lava emitted during this eruption amounted to many millions of cubic feet. Fewara 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. For a few years after this terrible eruption Ætna was quiescent, but in 1682 a new mouth opened on the east side of the mountain, and lava issued from it and rushed down the precipices of the Val del Bue. Early in January, 1693, clouds of black smoke poured from the great crater, and loud noises resembling the discharge of artillery, were heard. A violent earthquake followed, and Catania was shaken to the ground, burying 18,000 of its inhabitants. It is said that in all fifty cities and towns were destroyed in Sicily, together with approximately 100,000 inhabitants. The following year witnessed another eruption, but no serious disaster resulted. In March, 1702, three mouths opened in the Contrada del Trifaglietto, near the head of the Val del Bue. In 1723, 1732, 1735, 1744, and 1747, slight eruptions occurred. Early in the year 1775 Ætna began to show signs of disturbance; a great column of black smoke issued from the crater, from which forked lightning was frequently emitted. Loud detonations were heard and two streams of lava issued from the crater. A new mouth opened near Rocca di Musarra in the Val del Bue, four miles from the summit, and a quantity of lava was ejected from it. An extraordinary flood of water descended from Val del Bue, carrying all before it, and strewing its path with large blocks. Recupero estimated the volume of water at 16,000,000 cubic feet, probably a greater amount than could be furnished by the sudden melting of all the winter's snow on the mountain. It formed a channel two miles broad, and in some places thirty-four feet deep, and it flowed at the rate of a mile in a minute and a half during the first twelve miles of its course. The flood was probably produced by the melting not only of the winter's snow, but also of older layers of ice, which were suddenly liquified by the permeation of hot steam and lava, and which had been previously preserved from melting by a deposit of sand and ashes, as in the case of the ancient glacier found near the summit of the mountain in 1828. In November, 1758, a smart shock of earthquake caused the cone of the great crater to fall in, but no eruption followed. In 1759, 1763, 1766, and 1780, eruptions were noted, and on May 18, 1780, a fissure opened on the southwest side of the mountain and extended from the base of the great crater for seven miles, terminating in a new mouth from which a stream of lava emanated. This encountered the cone of Palmintelli in its course, and separated into two branches, each of which was about 4,000 feet wide. Other mouths opened later in the year, and emitted larger quantities of lava, while in 1781 and 1787 there were slight eruptions. Five years later a fresh outbreak occurred; earthquakes were prevalent, and vast volumes of smoke were carried out to sea, seeming to form a gigantic bridge between Sicily and Africa. A torrent of lava flowed toward Aderno, and a second flowed into the Val del Bue as far as Zuccolaro. A pit called La Cisterna, forty feet in diameter, opened in the Piano del Lago near the great cone, and ejected smoke and masses of old lava saturated with water. Several mouths opened below the crater, and the country round about Zaffarana was desolated. In 1797, 1798, 1799, 1800, 1802, 1805, and 1808 slight eruptions occurred. In March, 1809, no less than twenty-one mouths of fire opened between the summit of the mountain and Castiglione, and two years afterward more than thirty mouths opened in a line running eastward from the summit for five miles. They ejected jets of fire, accompanied by much smoke. In 1819 five new mouths of fire opened near the scene of the eruption of 1811; three of these united into one large crater, and poured forth a quantity of lava into the Val del Bue. The lava flowed until it reached a nearly perpendicular precipice at the head of the valley of Calanna, over which it fell in a cascade, and being hardened by its descent, it was forced against the sides of the tufaceous rock at the bottom, so as to produce an extraordinary amount of abrasion, accompanied by clouds of dust worn off by the friction. Mr. Scrope observed that the lava flowed at the rate of about three feet an hour nine months after its emission. Eruptions occurred in 1831, 1832, 1838, and 1842. Near the end of the following year, fifteen mouths of fire opened near the crater of 1832, at a height of 7,000 feet above the sea. They began by discharging scoriae and sand, and afterward lava, which divided into three streams, the two outer of which soon came to a standstill, while the central stream continued to flow at the rapid rate of 180 feet a minute, the descent being an angle of 25°. The heat at a distance of 120 feet from the current was 90° F. A new crater opened just above Bronte, and discharged lava which threatened the town, but it fortunately encountered Monte Vittoria, and was diverted into another course. While a number of the inhabitants of Bronte were watching the progress of the lava, the front of the stream was suddenly blown out as by an explosion of gunpowder. In an instant red-hot masses were hurled in every direction, and a cloud of vapor enveloped everything. Thirty-six persons were killed on the spot, and twenty survived but a few hours. A very violent eruption, which lasted more than nine months, commenced on the 26th of August, 1852. It was first witnessed by a party of six English tourists, who were ascending the mountain from Nicolosi in order to witness the sun rise 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 the riders, and forced them toward the precipices of Val del Bue. They sheltered themselves beneath some masses of lava, when suddenly an earthquake shook the mountain, and the mules fled in terror. They returned on foot toward daylight to Nicolosi, fortunately without having sustained injury. In the course of the night many rifts opened in that part of Val del Bue called the Balzo di Trifaglietto, and a great fissure opened at the base of Giannicola Grande, and a crater was thrown up, from which for seventeen days showers of sand and scoriae were ejected. During the next day a quantity of lava flowed down into the Val del Bue, branching off so that one stream flowed to the foot of Mount Finocchio, while the other flowed to Mount Calanna. The eruption continued with abated violence during the early months of 1853, and did not fully cease until May 27th. The entire mass of lava ejected is estimated to be equal to an area six miles long by two miles broad, with an average depth of about twelve feet. In October, 1864, frequent shocks of earthquake were felt by the dwellers on Ætna. In January, 1865, clouds of smoke were emitted by the great crater, and roaring sounds were heard. On the night of the 30th a violent shock was felt on the northeast side of the mountain, and a mouth opened below Monte Frumento, from which lava was ejected. It flowed at the rate of about a mile a day, and ultimately divided into two streams. By March 10th the new mouths of fire had increased to seven in number, and they were all situated along a line stretching down from the summit. The three upper craters gave forth loud detonations three or four times a minute. Since 1865, there have been occasional eruptions, but none of great duration, nor has there been any loss of life in consequence. It will be seen from the foregoing account that there is a great similarity in the general character of the eruptions of Ætna. Earthquakes presage the outburst; loud explosions are heard; rifts 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 out and accumulate around the crater in a conical form; ultimately lava rises through the new cone, frequently breaking down one side of it where there is least resistance, and flowing over the surrounding country. Out of the seventy-eight eruptions mentioned above, a comparatively small number have been of extreme violence, while many of them have been of a slight and harmless character. Italy does not contain a more beautiful or fertile province than Calabria, the celebrated region which the ancients called Magna Grecia, where once flourished Crotona, Tarentum, Sybaris, and so many other prosperous cities. Situated between the volcanoes of Vesuvius and Ætna, Calabria has always been much exposed to the destructive influence of earthquakes, but the most terrible shock ever felt in the province was that of February 5, 1783. The ground was agitated in all directions, swelling like the waves of the ocean. Nothing could withstand such shocks, and not a building upon the surface remained erect. The beautiful city of Messina, the commercial metropolis of Sicily, was reduced to a heap of ruins. Upon March 4, a fresh shock, almost as violent as the first, completed the work of destruction. The number of persons who perished in Calabria and Sicily during these two earthquakes is estimated at 80,000 and 320 of the 365 towns and villages which Calabria contained were destroyed. The greater number of those who lost their lives were buried amid the ruins of the houses, but many perished in 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 Terranova 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 Spadara. 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 her house, which was still standing, she snatched her babe from his cradle. Rushing with him in her arms toward the staircase, she found the stair had fallen, barring all further progress in that direction. She fled from room to room, chased 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 her mansion had caught fire, and ere long the balcony, with the devoted lady still grasping her darling, was hurled into the devouring flames. A few cases are recorded of devotion similar to that of this heroic woman, but happily attended by more fortunate results. In the great majority of instances, however, the instinct of self-preservation triumphed over every other feeling, rendering the wretched people callous to the dangers and sufferings of others. Still worse was the conduct of the half savage peasantry. They hastened into the towns like vultures to their prey. Instead of helping the sufferers, they ransacked the smoking ruins for plunder, robbed the persons of the dead, and of those entangled alive among the rubbish. They robbed the very injured who would have paid them handsomely for rescuing them. At Polistena, a gentleman had been buried head downward beneath the ruins of his house, and when his servant saw what had happened he actually stole the silver buckles off his shoes, while his legs were in the air, and made off with them. The unfortunate gentleman, however, managed to rescue himself from his perilous position. Several cases occurred of persons being rescued alive from the ruins after a lapse of three, four, and even five days, and one on the seventh day after interment. Those who were thus rescued all declared that their direst sufferings were from thirst. CHAPTER XXVII. LISBON EARTHQUAKE SCOURGED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Sixty Thousand Lives Lost in a Few Moments--An Opulent and Populous Capital Destroyed--Graphic Account by an English Merchant Who Resided in the Stricken City--Tidal Waves Drown Thousands in the City Streets--Ships Engulfed in the Harbor--Criminals Rob and Burn--Terrible Desolation and Suffering.= More than once in its history has Lisbon, the beautiful capital of Portugal, on the Tagus river, been devastated by earthquakes and tidal waves. Greatest of all these was the appalling disaster of 1755, when in a few minutes thousands upon thousands of the inhabitants were killed or drowned. An English merchant, Mr. Davy, who resided in the ill-fated city at that time, and was an eye-witness of the whole catastrophe, survived the event and wrote to a London friend the following account of it. The narrative reproduced herewith brings the details before the reader with a force and simplicity which leaves no doubt of the exact truth. Mr. Davy wrote as follows: "On the morning of November 1st I was seated in my apartment, just finishing a letter, when the papers and the table I was writing on began to tremble with a gentle motion, which rather surprised me, as I could not perceive a breath of wind stirring. Whilst I was reflecting with myself what this could be owing to, but without having the least apprehension of the real cause, the whole house began to shake from the very foundation, and a frightful noise came from underground, resembling the hollow, distant rumbling of thunder. "Upon this I threw down my pen, and started upon my feet, remaining a moment in suspense, whether I should stay in the apartment or run into the street, as the danger in both places seemed equal. In a moment I was stunned with a most horrid crash, as if every edifice in the city had tumbled down at once. The house I was in shook with such violence that the upper stories immediately fell, and though my apartment, which was on the first floor, did not then share the same fate, yet everything was thrown out of its place in such a manner that it was with no small difficulty I kept my feet, and expected nothing less than to be soon crushed to death, as the walls continued rocking to and fro, opening in several places; large stones falling down on every side from the cracks, and the ends of most of the rafters starting out from the roofs. "To add to this terrifying scene, the sky in a moment became so gloomy that I could now distinguish no particular object; it was an Egyptian darkness indeed, such as might be felt. "As soon as the gloom began to disperse and the violence of the shock seemed pretty much abated, the first object I perceived in the room was a woman sitting on the floor with an infant in her arms, all covered with dust, pale and trembling. I asked her how she got hither, but her consternation was so great that she could give me no account of her escape. I suppose that when the tremor first began, she ran out of her own house, and finding herself in such imminent danger from the falling stones, retired into the door of mine, which was almost contiguous to hers, for shelter, and when the shock increased, which filled the door with dust and rubbish, she ran upstairs into my apartment. The poor creature asked me, in the utmost agony, if I did not think the world was at an end; at the same time she complained of being choked, and begged me to procure her some water. Upon this I went to a closet where I kept a large jar of water, but found it broken to pieces. I told her she must not now think of quenching her thirst, but saving her life, as the house was just falling on our heads, and if a second shock came, would certainly bury us both. "I hurried down stairs, the woman with me, holding by my arm, and made directly to that end of the street which opens to the Tagus. Finding the passage this way entirely blocked up with the fallen houses to the height of their second stories, I turned back to the other end which led to the main street, and there helped the woman over a vast heap of ruins, with no small hazard to my own life; just as we were going into this street, as there was one part that I could not well climb over without the assistance of my hands as well as feet, I desired her to let go her hold, which she did, remaining two or three feet behind me, at which instant there fell a vast stone from a tottering wall, and crushed both her and the child in pieces. So dismal a spectacle at any other time would have affected me in the highest degree, but the dread I was in of sharing the same fate myself, and the many instances of the same kind which presented themselves all around, were too shocking to make me dwell a moment on this single object. "I now had a long, narrow street to pass, with the houses on each side four or five stories high, all very old, the greater part already thrown down, or continually falling, and threatening the passengers with inevitable death at every step, numbers of whom lay killed before me, or what I thought far more deplorable, so bruised and wounded that they could not stir to help themselves. For my own part, as destruction appeared to me unavoidable, I only wished I might be made an end of at once, and not have my limbs broken, in which case I could expect nothing else but to be left upon the spot, lingering in misery, like those poor unhappy wretches, without receiving the least succor from any person. "As self-preservation, however, is the first law of nature, these sad thoughts did not so far prevail as to make me totally despair. I proceeded on as fast as I conveniently could, though with the utmost caution, and having at length got clear of this horrid passage, I found myself safe and unhurt in the large open space before St. Paul's church, which had been thrown down a few minutes before, and buried a great part of the congregation. Here I stood for some time, considering what I should do, and not thinking myself safe in this situation, I came to the resolution of climbing over the ruins of the west end of the church, in order to get to the river's side, that I might be removed as far as possible from the tottering houses, in case of a second shock. "This, with some difficulty, I accomplished, and here I found a prodigious concourse of people of both sexes, and of all ranks and conditions. There were several priests who had run from the altars in their sacerdotal vestments; ladies half dressed, and some without shoes; all these, whom their mutual dangers had here assembled as to a place of safety, were on their knees at prayer, with the terrors of death in their countenances. "In the midst of these devotions the second great shock came on, little less violent than the first, and completed the ruin of those buildings which had been already much shattered. The consternation now became so universal, that the shrieks and cries of the frightened people could be distinctly heard from the top of St. Catherine's hill, a considerable distance off, whither a vast number of the populace had likewise retreated. At the same time we could hear the fall of the parish church there, whereby many persons were killed on the spot, and others mortally wounded. On a sudden I heard a general outcry, 'The sea is coming in, we are lost!' Turning my eyes toward the river, which at this place is nearly four miles broad, I could perceive it heaving and swelling in a most unaccountable manner, as no wind was stirring. In an instant there appeared, at some small distance, a large body of water, rising as it were like a mountain. It came on foaming and roaring, and rushed toward the shore with such impetuosity, that we all immediately ran for our lives, as fast as possible; many were actually swept away, and the rest were above their waists in water, at a good distance from the bank. "For my own part, I had the narrowest escape, and should certainly have been lost, had I not grasped a large beam that lay on the ground, till the water returned to its channel, which it did with equal rapidity. As there now appeared at least as much danger from the sea as the land, and I scarce knew whither to retire for shelter, I took a sudden resolution of returning, with my clothes all dripping, to the area of St. Paul's. Here I stood some time, and observed the ships tumbling and tossing about as in a violent storm. Some had broken their cables and were carried to the other side of the Tagus; others were whirled around with incredible swiftness; several large boats were turned keel upward; and all this without any wind, which seemed the more astonishing. "It was at the time of which I am now writing, that the fine new quay, built entirely of rough marble, at an immense expense, was entirely swallowed up, with all the people on it, who had fled thither for safety, and had reason to think themselves out of danger in such a place. At the same time a great number of boats and small vessels, anchored near it, all likewise full of people, who had retired thither for the same purpose, were all swallowed up, as in a whirlpool, and never more appeared. "This last dreadful incident I did not see with my own eyes, as it passed three or four stone-throws from the spot where I then was, but I had the account as here given from several masters of ships, who were anchored within two or three hundred yards of the quay, and saw the whole catastrophe. One of them in particular informed me that when the second shock came on, he could perceive the whole city waving backwards and forwards, like the sea when the wind first begins to rise; that the agitation of the earth was so great, even under the river, that it threw up his large anchor from the mooring, which swam, as he termed it, on the surface of the water; that immediately upon this extraordinary concussion, the river rose at once nearly twenty feet, and in a moment subsided; at which instant he saw the quay, with the whole concourse of people upon it, sink down, and at the same time everyone of the boats and vessels that were near it were drawn into the cavity, which he supposes instantly closed upon them, inasmuch as not the least sign of a wreck was ever seen afterwards. "I had not been long in the area of St. Paul's, when I felt the third shock, which though somewhat less violent than the two former, the sea rushed in again and retired with the same rapidity, and I remained up to my knees in water, though I had gotten upon a small eminence at some distance from the river, with the ruins of several intervening houses to break its force. At this time I took notice the waters retired so impetuously, that some vessels were left quite dry, which rode in seven-fathom water. The river thus continued alternately rushing on and retiring several times, in such sort that it was justly dreaded Lisbon would now meet the same fate which a few years ago had befallen the city of Lima. The master of a vessel which arrived here just after the first of November assured me that he felt the shock above forty leagues at sea so sensibly that he really concluded that he had struck upon a rock, till he threw out the lead and could find no bottom; nor could he possibly guess at the cause till the melancholy sight of this desolate city left him no room to doubt it. "I was now in such a situation that I knew not which way to turn; I was faint from the constant fatigue I had undergone, and I had not yet broken my fast. Yet this had not so much effect on me as the anxiety I was under for a particular friend, who lodged at the top of a very high house in the heart of the city, and being a stranger to the language, could not but be in the utmost danger. I determined to go and learn, if possible, what had become of him. I proceeded, with some hazard, to the large space before the convent of Corpo Santo, which had been thrown down, and buried a great number of people. Passing through the new square of the palace, I found it full of coaches, chariots, chaises, horses and mules, deserted by their drivers and attendants, and left to starve. "From this square the way led to my friend's lodgings through a long, steep and narrow street. The new scenes of horror I met with here exceed all description; nothing could be heard but sighs and groans. I did not meet with a soul in the passage who was not bewailing the loss of his nearest relations and dearest friends. I could hardly take a single step without treading on the dead or dying. In some places lay coaches, with their masters, horses and riders almost crushed in pieces; here, mothers with infants in their arms; there, ladies richly dressed, priests, friars, gentlemen, mechanics, either in the same condition or just expiring; some had their backs broken, others great stones on their breasts; some lay almost buried in the rubbish, and crying out in vain for succor, were left to perish with the rest. "At length I arrived at the spot opposite to the house where my friend, for whom I was so anxious, resided; and finding this as well as the other contiguous buildings thrown down, I gave him up for lost, and thought only of saving my own life. "In less than an hour I reached a public house, kept by a Mr. Morley, near the English burying-ground, about a half a mile from the city, where I found a great number of my countrymen in the same wretched circumstances as myself. "Perhaps you may think the present doleful subject here concluded; but the horrors of the day are sufficient to fill a volume. As soon as it grew dark, another scene presented itself, little less shocking than those already described. The whole city appeared in a blaze, which was so bright that I could easily see to read by it. It may be said without exaggeration that it was on fire in at least a hundred different places at once, and thus continued burning for six days together, without intermission, or without the least attempt being made to stop its progress. "It went on consuming everything the earthquake had spared, and the people were so dejected and terrified that few or none had courage enough to venture down to save any part of their substance. I could never learn that this terrible fire was owing to any subterraneous eruption, as some reported, but to three causes, which all concurring at the same time, will naturally account for the prodigious havoc it made. The first of November being All Saint's Day, a high festival among the Portuguese, every altar in every church and chapel, some of which have more than twenty, was illuminated with a number of wax tapers and lamps, as customary; these setting fire to the curtains and timber work that fell with the shock, the conflagration soon spread to the neighboring houses, and being there joined with the fires in the kitchen chimneys, increased to such a degree, that it might easily have destroyed the whole city, though no other cause had concurred, especially as it met with no interruption. "But what would appear almost incredible to you, were the fact less notorious and public, is, that a gang of hardened villains, who had escaped from prison when the wall fell, were busily employed in setting fire to those buildings, which stood some chance of escaping the general destruction. I cannot conceive what could have induced them to this hellish work, except to add to the horror and confusion, that they might, by this means, have the better opportunity of plundering with security. But there was no necessity for taking this trouble, as they might certainly have done their business without it, since the whole city was so deserted before night, that I believe not a soul remained in it, except those execrable villains, and others of the same stamp. It is possible some of them might have had other motives besides robbing, as one in particular being apprehended--they say he was a Moor, condemned to the galleys--confessed at the gallows that he had set fire to the King's palace with his own hand; at the same time glorying in the action, and declaring with his last breath, that he hoped to have burnt all the royal family. "The whole number of persons that perished, including those who were burnt or afterwards crushed to death whilst digging in the ruins, is supposed, on the lowest calculation, to amount to more than sixty thousand; and though the damage in other respects cannot be computed, yet you may form some idea of it, when I assure you that this extensive and opulent city is now nothing but a vast heap of ruins; that the rich and poor are at present upon a level; some thousands of families which but the day before had been in easy circumstances, being now scattered about in the fields, wanting every convenience of life, and finding none able to relieve them. "In order that you may partly realize the prodigious havoc that has been made, I will mention one more instance among the many that have come under my notice. There was a high arched passage, like one of our old city gates, fronting the west door of the ancient cathedral; on the left hand was the famous church of St. Antonio, and on the right, some private houses several stories high. The whole area surrounded by all these buildings did not much exceed one of our small courts in London. At the first shock, numbers of people who were then passing under the arch, fled into the middle of this area for shelter; those in the two churches, as many as could possibly get out, did the same. At this instant, the arched gateway, with the fronts of the two churches and contiguous buildings, all inclined one toward another with the sudden violence of the shock, fell down and buried every soul as they were standing here crowded together." 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, a great fissure opened in the earth, and the entire village, with all its inhabitants, upward of 8,000 in number, were precipitated into the gulf, which immediately closed over its prey. The earthquake was also felt as far to the westward as the West Indian islands of Antigua, Barbados, and Martinique, where the tide, which usually rises about two feet, was suddenly elevated above twenty feet, the water being at the same time as black as ink. Toward the northwest the shock was perceptible as far as Canada, whose great lakes were all disturbed. Toward the east it extended to the Alps, to Thuringia, and to Töplitz, where the hot springs were first dried up, and soon after overflowed with ochreous water. In Scotland the waters both of Loch Lomond and Loch Ness rose and fell repeatedly. Toward the northeast, the shock was sensibly felt throughout the flat country of northern Germany, in Sweden, and along the shores of the Baltic. At sea, 140 miles to the southward of Lisbon, the ship Denia was strained as if she had struck on a rock; the seams of the deck opened, and the compass was upset. On board another ship, 120 miles to the westward of Cape St. Vincent, the shock was so violent as to toss the men up perpendicularly from the deck. The great sea wave rose along the whole southern and western coasts of Portugal and Spain; and at Cadiz it is said to have risen to a height of sixty feet. At Tangier, on the northern coast of Africa, the tide rose and fell eighteen times in rapid succession. At Funchal in Madeira, where the usual ebb and flow of the tide is seven feet, it being half tide at the time, the great wave rolled in, and at once raised the level of the water fifteen feet above high water mark. This immense tide, rushing into the city, caused great damage, and several other parts of the island were similarly flooded. The tide was also suddenly raised on the southern coast of Ireland; the CHAPTER XXVIII. JAPAN AND ITS DISASTROUS EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =The Island Empire Subject to Convulsions of Nature--Legends of Ancient Disturbances--Famous Volcano of Fuji-yama Formed in One Night--More Than One Hundred Volcanoes in Japan--Two Hundred and Thirty-two Eruptions Recorded--Devastation of Thriving Towns and Busy Cities--The Capital a Sufferer--Scenes of Desolation after the Most Recent Great Earthquakes.= Japan may be considered the home of the volcano and the earthquake. Few months pass there without one or more earth shocks of considerable force, besides numerous lighter ones of too slight a nature to be worthy of remark. Japanese histories furnish many records of these phenomena. There is an ancient legend of a great earthquake in 286 B.C., when Mount Fuji rose from the bottom of the sea in a single night. This is the highest and most famous mountain of the country. It rises more than 12,000 feet above the water level, and is in shape like a cone; the crater is 500 feet deep. It is regarded by the natives as a sacred mountain, and large numbers of pilgrims make the ascent to the summit at the commencement of the summer. The apex is shaped somewhat like an eight-petaled lotus flower, and offers from three to five peaks to view from different directions. Though now apparently extinct, it was in former times an active volcano, and the histories of the country mention several very disastrous eruptions. Japanese poets never weary in celebrating the praises of Fuji-san, or Fuji-yama, as it is variously called, and its conical form is one of the most familiar in Japanese painting and decorative art. As Japan has not yet been scientifically explored throughout, and, moreover, as there is considerable difficulty in defining the kind of mountain to be regarded as a volcano, it is impossible to give an absolute statement as to the number of volcanoes in the country. If under the term volcano be included all mountains which have been in a state of eruption within the historical period, those which have a true volcanic form, together with those that still exhibit on their flanks matter ejected from a crater, we may conclude that there are at least 100 such mountains in the Japanese empire. Of this number about forty-eight are still active. Altogether about 232 eruptions have been recorded, and of these the greater number took place in the southern districts. This may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that Japanese civilization advanced from the south. In consequence of this, records were made of various phenomena in the south when the northern regions were still unknown and unexplored. The most famous of the active volcanoes is Asama-yama in Shinano. The earliest eruption of this mountain of which record now exists seems to have been in 1650. After that it was only feebly active for 133 years, when there occurred a very severe eruption in 1783. Even as late as 1870 there was a considerable emission of volcanic matter, at which time also violent shocks of earthquake were felt at Yokohama. The crater is very deep, with irregular rocky walls of a sulphur character, from apertures in which fumes are constantly sent forth. Probably the earliest authentic instance of an earthquake in Japan is that which is said to have occurred in 416 A.D., when the imperial palace at Kioto was thrown to the ground. Again, in 599, the buildings throughout the province of Yamato were all destroyed, and special prayers were ordered to be offered up to the deity of earthquakes. In 679 a tremendous shock caused many fissures to open in the provinces of Chikuzen and Chikugo, in Kiushiu; the largest of these chasms was over four miles in length and about twenty feet in width. In 829 the northern province of Dewa was visited in a similar manner; the castle of Akita was overthrown, deep rifts were formed in the ground in every direction, and the Akita river was dried up. To descend to more recent instances, in 1702 the lofty walls of the outside and inside moats of the castle of Yeddo were destroyed, tidal waves broke along the coast in the vicinity, and the road leading through the famous pass of Hakone, in the hills to the east of Fuji-yama was closed up by the alteration in the surface of the earth. A period of unusual activity was between the years 1780 and 1800, a time when there was great activity elsewhere on the globe. It was during this period that Mount Unsen was blown up, and from 27,000 to 53,000 persons (according to different accounts) perished; that many islands were formed in the Satsuma sea; that Sakura-jima threw out so much pumice material that it was possible to walk a distance of twenty-three miles upon the floating debris in the sea; and that Asama ejected so many blocks of stone--one of which is said to have been forty-two feet in diameter--and a lava-stream sixty-eight kilometres in length. In 1854 an earthquake destroyed the town of Shimoda, in the province of Idzu, and a Russian frigate, lying in the harbor at the time, was so severely damaged by the waves caused by the shock that she had to be abandoned. In 1855 came a great earthquake which was felt most severely at Yedo, though its destructive power extended for some distance to the west along the line of the Tokaido. It is stated that on this occasion there were in all 14,241 dwelling houses and 1,649 fire proof store houses overturned in the city, and a destructive fire which raged at the same time further increased the loss of life and property. What was possibly the gravest disaster of its class in this land of volcanoes, since the terrible eruptions which came in the twenty years ending in 1800, occurred in the Bandai-san region in northern Japan, on July 15, 1888. At about eight o'clock in the morning of that day, almost in the twinkling of an eye, Little Bandai-san was blown into the air, and wiped out of the map of Japan. A few moments later its debris had buried or devastated the surrounding country for miles, and a dozen or more of upland hamlets had been overwhelmed in the earthen deluge, or wrecked by other phenomena attending the outburst. Several hundreds of people had met with sudden and terrible death; scores of others had been injured; and the long roll of disaster included the destruction of horses and cattle, damming up of rivers, and laying waste of large tracts of rice-land and mulberry groves. A small party was organized in Tokio to visit the scene. As the travelers approached the mountain, they were told that twenty miles in a straight line from Bandai-san no noise or earthquake was experienced on the 15th, but mist and gloom prevailed for about seven hours, the result of a shower of impalpable blue-gray ash, which fell to a depth of half an inch, and greatly puzzled the inhabitants. An ascent of about 3,000 feet was made to the back of the newly formed crater, so as to obtain a clear view of it and of the country which had been overwhelmed. Only on nearing the end of the ascent was the party again brought face to face with signs of the explosion. Here, besides the rain of fine, gray, ashen mud which had fallen on and still covered the ground and all vegetation, they came upon a number of freshly opened pits, evidently in some way the work of the volcano. Ascending the last steep rise to the ridge behind Little Bandai-san, signs of the great disaster grew in number and intensity. The London Times correspondent, who was one of the party, wrote: "Fetid vapors swept over us, emanating from evil looking pools. Great trees, torn up by their roots, lay all around; and the whole face of the mountain wore the look of having been withered by some fierce and baleful blast. A few minutes further and we had gained the crest of the narrow ridge, and now, for the first time, looked forth upon the sight we had come to see. I hardly know which to pronounce the more astonishing, the prospect that now opened before our eyes or the suddenness with which it burst upon us. To the former no more fitting phrase, perhaps, can be applied than that of absolute, unredeemed desolation--so intense, so sad, and so bewildering that I despair of describing it adequately in detail. "On our right, a little above us, rose the in-curved rear wall of what, eight days before, had been Sho-Bandai-san, a ragged, almost sheer cliff, falling, with scarce a break, to a depth of fully 600 feet. In front of the cliff everything had been blown away and scattered over the face of the country before it, in a roughly fan-shaped deposit of for the most part unknown depth--deep enough, however, to erase every landmark, and conceal every feature of the deluged area. At the foot of the cliff, clouds of suffocating steam rose ceaselessly and angrily, and with loud roaring, from two great fissures in the crater bed, and now and then assailed us with their hellish odor. To our eyes, the base, denuded by the explosion, seemed to cover a space of between three and four square miles. This, however, can only be rough conjecture. Equally vague must be all present attempts to determine the volume of the disrupted matter. Yet, if we assume, as a very moderate calculation, that the mean depth of the debris covering a buried area of thirty square miles is not less than fifteen feet, we find that the work achieved by this great mine of Nature's firing was the upheaval and wide distribution of no fewer than 700,000,000 tons of earth, rocks, and other ponderous material. The real figure is probably very much greater." The desolation beyond the crater, and the mighty mass thrown out by the volcano which covered the earth, were almost incredible. "Down the slopes of Bandai-san, across the valley of the Nagase-gawa, choking up the river, and stretching beyond it to the foothills, five or six miles away, swept a vast, billowy sheet of ash-covered earth or mud, obliterating every foot of the erstwhile smiling landscape. Here and there the eyes rested on huge, disordered heaps of rocky debris, in the distance resembling nothing so much as the giant, concrete, black substructure of some modern breakwater. It was curious to see on the farther side the sharp line of demarkation between the brown sea of mud and the green forests on which it had encroached; or, again, the lakes formed in every tributary glen of the Nagase-gawa by the massive dams so suddenly raised against the passage of their stream waters. One lake was conspicuous among the rest. It was there that the Nagase-gawa itself had been arrested at its issue from a narrow pass by a monster barrier of disrupted matter thrown right across its course. Neither living thing nor any sign of life could be discerned over the whole expanse. All was dismally silent and solitary. Beneath it, however, lay half a score of hamlets, and hundreds of corpses of men, women and children, who had been overtaken by swift and painful deaths." Although the little village of Nagasaka was comparatively uninjured, nearly all its able-bodied inhabitants lost their lives in a manner which shows the extraordinary speed with which the mud-stream flowed. When Little Bandai-san blew up, and hot ashes and sand began to fall, the young and strong fled panic-stricken across the fields, making for the opposite hills by paths well known to all. A minute later came a thick darkness, as of midnight. Blinded by this, and dazed by the falling debris and other horrors of the scene, their steps, probably also their senses, failed them. And before the light returned every soul was caught by a swift bore of soft mud, which, rushing down the valley bed, overwhelmed them in a fate more horrible and not less sudden than that of Pharaoh and his host. None escaped save those who stayed at home--mostly the old and very young. A terrible earthquake convulsed central Japan on the morning of October 25, 1891. The waves of disturbance traversed thirty-one provinces, over which the earth's crust was violently shaken for ten minutes together, while slighter shocks were felt for a distance of 400 miles to the north, and traveled under the sea a like distance, making themselves felt in a neighboring island. In Tokio itself, though 170 miles from the center of disturbance, it produced an earthquake greater than any felt for nearly forty years, lasting twelve minutes. Owing, however, to the character of the movement, which was a comparatively slow oscillation, the damage was confined to the wrecking of some roofs and chimneys. Very different were its results in the central zone of agitation, concerning which a correspondent wrote as follows: "There was a noise as of underground artillery, a shake, a second shake, and in less than thirty seconds the Nagoya-Gifu plain, covering an area of 1,200 square miles, became a sea of waves, more than 40,000 houses fell, and thousands of people lost their lives. The sequence of events was approximately as follows: To commence at Tokio, the capital, which is some 200 miles from the scene of the disaster, on October 25th, very early in the morning, the inhabitants were alarmed by a long, easy swaying of the ground, and many sought refuge outside their doors. There were no shocks, but the ground moved back and forth, swung round, and rose and fell with the easy, gentle motion of a raft upon an ocean swell. Many became dizzy, and some were seized with nausea." These indications, together with the movements of the seismographs, denoted a disturbance at a considerable distance, but the first surmise that it was located under the Pacific Ocean, was unfortunately incorrect. The scene of the catastrophe was indicated only by tidings from its outskirts, as all direct news was cut off by the interruption of railway and telegraphic communication. An exploratory and relief party started on the second day from Tokio, not knowing how far they would be able to proceed by train, and the correspondent who accompanied them thus described his experiences: "Leaving Tokio by a night train, early next morning we were at Hamamatsu, 137 miles distant from Tokio, on the outside edge of the destructive area. Here, although the motion had been sufficiently severe to destroy some small warehouses, to displace the posts supporting the heavy roof of a temple, and to ruffle a few tiles along the eaves of the houses, nothing serious had occurred. At one point, owing to the lateral spreading of an embankment, there had been a slight sinkage of the line, and we had to proceed with caution. Crossing the entrance to the beautiful lake of Hamana Ko, which tradition says was joined to the sea by the breaking of a sand-spit by the sea waves accompanying an earthquake in 1498, we rose from the rice fields and passed over a country of hill and rock. Further along the line signs of violent movement became more numerous. Huge stone lanterns at the entrances of temples had been rotated or overturned, roofs had lost their tiles, especially along the ridge, sinkages in the line became numerous, and although there was yet another rock barrier between us and the plain of great destruction, it was evident that we were in an area where earth movements had been violent." The theatre of maximum destruction was a plain, dotted with villages and homesteads, supporting, under the garden-like culture of Japan, 500 and 800 inhabitants to the square mile, and containing two cities, Nagoya and Gifu, with populations respectively of 162,000 and 30,000, giving probably a round total of half a million human beings. Within about twelve miles of Gifu, a subsidence on a vast scale took place, engulfing a whole range of hills, while over lesser areas the soil in many places slipped down, carrying with it dwellings and their inmates. Gifu was a total wreck, devastated by ruin and conflagration, causing the destruction of half its houses. Ogaki, nine miles to the west, fared even worse, for here only 113 out of 4,434 houses remained standing, and one-tenth of the population were killed or wounded. In one temple, where service was being held, only two out of the entire congregation escaped. Nagoya, too, suffered heavily, and thousands of houses collapsed. The damage at this place was produced by three violent shocks in quick succession, preceded by a deep, booming sound. During the succeeding 206 hours, 6,600 earth spasms of greater or less intensity were felt at increasing intervals, occurring in the beginning probably at the rate of one a minute. The inhabitants were driven to bivouac in rude shelters in the streets, and there was great suffering among the injured, to whom it was impossible to give proper care for many days after the disaster. Some estimates placed the figure of the killed and wounded as high as 24,000, whilst not less than 300,000 were rendered homeless. Owing to the frequency of earthquake shocks in Japan, the study of their causes and effects has had a great deal of attention there since the introduction of modern science into the island empire. The Japanese have proved as energetic in this direction as they are in purely material progress on the lines of western civilization, and already they are recognized as the most advanced of all people in their study of seismology and its accompanying phenomena. CHAPTER XXIX. KRAKATOA, THE GREATEST OF VOLCANIC EXPLOSIONS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =The Volcano That Blew Its Own Head Off--The Terrific Crash Heard Three Thousand Miles--Atmospheric Waves Travel Seven Times Around the Earth--A Pillar of Dust Seventeen Miles High--Islands of the Malay Archipelago Blotted Out of Existence--Native Villages Annihilated--Other Disastrous Upheavals in the East Indies.= One of the fairest regions of the world is the Malay Archipelago of the East Indies. Here nature is prodigal with her gifts to man, and the cocoa-palm, cinnamon and other trees flourish, and rice, cotton, the sugar cane and tobacco yield their increase under cultivation. But beneath these scenes of loveliness, there are terrific energies, for this region is a focus of intense volcanic action. In the Sunda strait, between Sumatra and Java, there lies a group of small volcanic islands, the largest of which is Krakatoa. It forms part of the "basal wreck" of a large submarine volcano, whose visible edges are also represented by Velaten and Lang islands. For two hundred years the igneous forces beneath Krakatoa remained dormant; but in September, 1880, premonitory shocks of earthquake were heard in the neighborhood. At length the inhabitants of Batavia and Bintenzorg were startled on May 20, 1883, by booming sounds which came from Krakatoa, one hundred miles distant. A mail steamer passing through the strait, had her compass violently agitated. Next day a sprinkling of ashes was noticed at some places on each side of the strait, and toward evening a steam-column rising from Krakatoa revealed the locality of the disturbance. The commander of the German war ship Elisabeth, while passing, estimated the dust-column to be about thirty-six thousand feet, or seven miles high. Volcanic phenomena being common to that region, no fears were entertained by the inhabitants in the vicinity; and an excursion party even started from Batavia to visit the scene of action. They reached the island on May 27th, and saw that the cone of Perborwatan was active, and that a column of vapor arose from it to a height of not less than ten thousand feet, while lumps of pumice were shot up to about six hundred feet. Explosions occurred at intervals of from five to ten minutes, each of these outbursts uncovering the liquid lava in the vent, the glow of which lighted up the overhanging steam-cloud for a few seconds. Shortly after this visit the activity diminished. But on June 19th it was noticed at Anjer that the height of the dust and vapor-column, and likewise the explosions were again increasing. On the 24th a second column was seen rising. At length, Captain Ferzenaar, chief of the Topographical Survey of Bantam, visited Krakatoa island on August 11th. He found its forests destroyed, and the mantle of dust near the shores was twenty inches thick. Three large vapor-columns were noted, one marking the position of the crater of Perborwatan, while the other two were in the center of the island, and of the latter, one was probably Danan. There were also no less than eleven other eruptive foci, from which issued smaller steam-columns and dust. This was the last report prior to the great paroxysm. During the next two or three weeks there was a decline in the energy of the volcano, but on the afternoon of Sunday, August 26th, and all through the following night, it was evident that the period of moderate eruptive action had passed, and that Krakatoa had now entered upon the paroxysmal stage. From sunset on Sunday till midnight the tremendous detonations followed each other so quickly that a continuous roar may be said to have issued from the island. The full terrors of the eruption were now approaching. The distance of ninety-six miles from Krakatoa was not sufficient to permit sleep to the inhabitants of Batavia. All night volcanic thunders sounded like the discharges of artillery at their very doors. On the next morning there were four mighty explosions. The third was of appalling violence, and it gave rise to the most far-reaching effects. The entire series of grand phenomena at that spot extended over a little more than thirty-six hours. Captain Thompson, of the Media, then seventy-six miles northeast of Krakatoa, saw a black mass like smoke rising into the clouds to an altitude estimated at not less than seventeen miles. The eruption was also viewed by Captain Wooldridge at a distance of forty miles. He speaks of the vapory mass looking like "an immense wall, with bursts of forked lightning, at times like large serpents rushing through the air." After sunset this dark wall resembled "a blood-red curtain with the edges of all shades of yellow, the whole of a murky tinge, with fierce flashes of lightning." Two other masters of vessels, at about the same distance from the volcano, report seeing the mastheads and yardarms of their ships aglow with electric fire. Such effects seem to be easily explicable. When we consider how enormous must be the friction going on in the hot air, through the clash against each other of myriads of particles of volcanic dust, during ejection and in their descent, it is evident that such friction is adequate to produce a widespread electrical disturbance in the surrounding atmosphere. The rush of steam through craters or other fissures would also contribute to these disturbances. From these causes the compasses of passing ships were much disturbed. And yet the fall of magnetic oxide of iron (magnetite), a constituent of volcanic ash, possibly had some share in creating these perturbations. On the telephone line from Ishore, which included a submarine cable about a mile long, reports like pistol shots were heard. At Singapore, five hundred miles from Krakatoa, it was noted at the Oriental Telephone Company's station that, on putting the receiver to the ear, a roar like that of a waterfall was heard. So great was the mass of vapor and dust in the air, that profound darkness, which lasted many hours, extended even to one hundred and fifty miles from the focus of the eruption. There is the record, among others, that it was "pitch dark" at Anjer at two o'clock in the afternoon of the 26th. So great, too, was the ejective force that the fine volcanic dust was blown up to a height of fifty thousand feet, or over nine miles, into space. Another estimate gives the enormous altitude of seventeen miles to which the dust had been blown. The volcanic ash, which fell upon the neighboring islands within a circle of nine and one half miles radius, was from sixty-five to one hundred and thirty feet thick. At the back of the island the thickness of the ash beds was from one hundred and ninety-five to two hundred and sixty feet. Masses of floating pumice encumbered the strait. The coarser particles of this ash fell over a known area equal to 285,170 square miles, a space equal to the whole of the New England States, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. It is calculated that the matter so ejected must have been considerably over a cubic mile in volume. Another distinguishing feature of this display of nature's powers was the magnitude and range of the explosive sounds. Lloyd's agent at Batavia, ninety-four miles distant from Krakatoa, reported that on the morning of the 27th the reports and concussions were simply deafening. At Carimon, Java, which is three hundred and fifty-five miles distant, the natives heard reports which led them to suppose that a distant ship was in distress; boats put off for what proved to be a futile search. The explosions were heard not only all over the province of Macassar, nine hundred and sixty-nine miles from the scene of the eruption, but over a yet wider area. At a spot one thousand one hundred and sixteen miles distant--St. Lucia bay, Borneo--some natives heard the awful sound. It stirred their consciences, for, being guilty of murder, they fled, fearing that such sounds signified the approach of an avenging force. Again, in the island of Timor, one thousand three hundred and fifty-one miles away, the people were so alarmed that the government sent off a steamer to seek the cause of the disturbance. At that time, also, the shepherds on the Victoria plains, West Australia, thought they heard the firing of heavy artillery, at a spot one thousand seven hundred miles distant. At midnight, August 26th, the people of Daly Waters, South Australia, were aroused by what they thought was the blasting of a rock, a sound which lasted a few minutes. "The time and other circumstances show that here again was Krakatoa heard, this time at the enormous distance of two thousand and twenty-three miles." And yet there is trustworthy evidence that the sounds were heard over even greater distances. Thundering noises were heard at Diego Garcia, in the Chagos islands, two thousand two hundred and sixty-seven miles from Krakatoa. It was imagined that some vessel must be in distress, and search was accordingly made. But most remarkable of all, Mr. James Wallis, chief of police in Rodriguez, across the Indian ocean, and nearly three thousand miles away from Krakatoa, made a statement in which he said that "several times during the night of August 26th-27th reports were heard coming from the eastward like the distant roar of heavy guns. These reports continued at intervals of between three and four hours." Obviously, some time was needed for the sounds to make such a journey. On the basis of the known rate of velocity, they must have been heard at Rodriguez four hours after they started from their source. And yet, great as was the range of such vibrations, they could not be compared with that of the air-wave caused by the mighty outburst. This atmospheric wave started from Krakatoa at two minutes past ten on that eventful Monday morning, moving onward in an ever-widening circle, like that produced when a stone is thrown into smooth water. This ring-like wave traveled on at the rate of from six hundred and seventy-four to seven hundred and twenty-six miles an hour, and went around the world four, if not even seven times, as evidenced by the following facts: Batavia is nearly a hundred miles from the eruptive focus under review. There was connected with its gas-holder the usual pressure recorder. About thirteen minutes after the great outburst, this gauge showed a barometric disturbance equal to about four-tenths of an inch of mercury, that is, an extra air pressure of about a fifth of a pound on every square inch. The effects on the air of minor paroxysmal outbreaks are also recorded by this instrument; but barometers in the most distant places record the same disturbance. The great wave passed and repassed over the globe and no inhabitant was conscious of the fact. Barometers in the principal cities of the world automatically recorded this effect of the first great wave from Krakatoa to its antipodes in Central America, and also the return wave. The first four oscillations left their mark on upward of forty barograms, the fifth and sixth on several, and at Kew, England, the existence of a seventh was certainly established. At the same time that this immense aerial undulation started on its tour around the world, another wave but of awful destructiveness, a seismic sea-wave, started on a similar journey. There can hardly be a doubt that this so-called "tidal-wave" was synchronous with the greatest of the explosions. A wave from fifty to seventy-two feet high arose and swept with resistless fury upon the shores each side of the straits. The destruction to life and property will probably never be fully known. At least thirty-six thousand lives were lost; a great part of the district of North Bantam was destroyed; and the towns of Anjer, Merak, Tyringin, and neighboring villages were overwhelmed. A man-of-war, the Berouw, was cast upon the shore of Sumatra nearly two miles inland, and masses of coral from twenty to fifty tons in weight were torn from the bed of the sea and swept upon the shore. The formerly fertile and densely populated islands of Sibuku and Sibesi were entirely covered by a deposit of dry mud several yards thick, and furrowed by deep crevasses. Of the inhabitants all perished to a man. Three islands, Steers, Calmeyer, and the islet east of Verlaten, completely disappeared and were covered by twelve or fourteen feet of water. Verlaten, formerly one mass of verdure, was uniformly covered with a layer of ashes about one hundred feet thick. A few days after this eruption some remarkable sky effects were observed in different parts of the world. Many of these effects were of extraordinary beauty. Accordingly scientific inquiry was made, and in due time there was collected and tabulated a list of places from whence these effects were seen, together with the dates of such occurrences. Eventually it was concluded that such optical phenomena had a common cause, and that it must be the dust of ultra-microscopic fineness at an enormous altitude. All the facts indicated that such a cloud started from the Sunda straits, and that the prodigious force of the Krakatoa eruption could at that time alone account for the presence of impalpable matter at such a height in the atmosphere. This cloud traveled at about double the speed of an express train, by way of the tropics of Cancer and of Capricorn. Carried by westerly-going winds, in three days it had crossed the Indian Ocean and was rapidly moving over Central Africa; two days later it was flying over the Atlantic; then, for two more days over Brazil, and then across the Pacific toward its birth-place. But the wind still carried this haze of fine particles onward, and again it went around the world within a fortnight. In November, the dust area had expanded so as to include North America and Europe. Here are a few facts culled from the report of the Royal Society of London. On the 28th, at Seychelles, the sun was seen as through a fog at sunset, and there was a lurid glare all over the sky. At the island of Rodriguez, on that day, "a strange, red, threatening sky was seen at sunset." At Mauritius (28th), there is the record "Crimson dawn, sun red after rising, gorgeous sunset, first of the afterglows; sky and clouds yellow and red up to the zenith." 28th and 29th, Natal--"most vivid sunsets, also August 31st and September 5th, sky vivid red, fading into green and purple." On the last days of August and September 1st, the sun, as seen from South America, appeared blue, while at Panama on the 2nd and 3d of that month, the sun appeared green. "On the 2nd of September, Trinidad, Port of Spain--Sun looked like a blue ball, and after sunset the sky became so red that there was supposed to be a big fire." "On the 5th of September, Honolulu--Sun set green. Remarkable afterglow first seen. Secondary glow lasted till 7:45 P. M., gold, green and crimson colors. Corona constantly seen from September 5th to December 15th. Misty rippled surface of haze." It remains to be said that when this now famous island of Krakatoa was visited shortly after the great eruption, wonderful changes were noted. The whole northern and lower portion of the island had vanished, except an isolated pitchstone rock, ten yards square, and projecting out of the ocean with deep water all around it. What a tremendous work of evisceration this must have been is attested by the fact that where Krakatoa island, girt with luxuriant forests, once towered from three hundred to fourteen hundred feet above the sunlit waters, it is now, in some places, more than a thousand feet below them. There is no region more frequently visited by earthquakes than the beautiful lands in the Indian ocean, and nowhere has greater damage been done than on the beautiful island of Java. In former ages Sumatra and Java formed one single island, but in the year 1115, after a terrific earthquake, the isthmus which connected them, disappeared in the waves with all its forests and fertile fields. These two islands have more than 200 volcanoes, half of which have never been explored, but it is known that whenever there has been an eruption of any one of them, one or the other of the two islands has been visited by an earthquake. Moreover, earthquakes are so frequent in the whole archipelago that the principal ones serve as dates to mark time or to refer to, just as in our own country is the case with any great historic event. A month rarely passes without the soil being shaken, and the disappearance of a village is of frequent occurrence. In 1822 the earthquake which accompanied the eruption of the Javanese volcano of Yalung-Yung, utterly destroyed 144 towns and villages. In 1772, when the Papand-Yung was in a state of furious eruption, the island of Java was violently agitated, and a tract of nearly twenty-five square leagues, which but the day before had been covered with flourishing villages and farms, was reduced to a heap of ruins. In 1815 an earthquake, accompanied by an eruption of the volcano of Timboro, in the island of Sumatra, destroyed more than 20,000 lives. It is rare even in this archipelago that there occurs a cataclysm so terrible as that of 1883. When the first eruption of Krakatoa occurred on August 25, it seemed that it was a signal to the other volcanoes of Java and Sumatra. By midday Maha-Meru, the greatest, if not the most active of the Javanese volcanoes, was belching forth flame continuously. The eruption soon extended to the Gunung-Guntus and other volcanoes, until a third of the forty-five craters in Java were either in full blast, or beginning to show signs of eruption. While these eruptions were going on, the sea was in a state of tremendous agitation. The clouds floating above the water were charged with electricity, and at one moment there were fifteen large water-spouts to be seen at the same time. Men, women and children fled in terror from their crumbling habitations, and filled the air with their cries of distress. Hundreds of them who had not time to escape were buried beneath the ruins. On Sunday evening the violence of the shocks and of the volcanic eruptions increased, and the island of Java seemed likely to be entirely submerged. Enormous waves dashed against the shore, and in some cases forced their way inland, while enormous crevices opened in the ground, threatening to engulf at one fell swoop all the inhabitants and their houses. Toward midnight there was a scene of horror passing the powers of imagination. A luminous cloud gathered above the chain of the Kandangs, which run along the southeastern coast of Java. This cloud increased in size each minute, until at last it came to form a sort of dome of a gray and blood-red color, which hung over the earth for a considerable distance. In proportion as this cloud grew, the eruptions gained fresh force, and the floods of lava poured down the mountain sides without ceasing, and spread into the valleys, where they swept all before them. On Monday morning, about two o'clock, the heavy cloud suddenly broke up, and finally disappeared, but when the sun rose it was found that a tract of country extending from Point Capucine to the south as far as Negery Passoerang, to the north and west, and covering an area of about fifty square miles, had entirely disappeared. There stood the previous day the villages of Negery, and Negery Babawang. Not one of the inhabitants had escaped. They and their villages had been swallowed up by the sea. CHAPTER XXX. OUR GREAT HAWAIIAN AND ALASKAN VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Greatest Volcanoes in the World Are Under the American Flag--Huge Craters in Our Pacific Islands--Native Worship of the Gods of the Flaming Mountains--Eruptions of the Past--Heroic Defiance of Pele, the Goddess of Volcanoes, by a Brave Hawaiian Queen--The Spell of Superstition Broken--Volcanic Peaks in Alaska, Our Northern Territory--Aleutian Islands Report Eruptions.= Under the American flag we are ourselves the possessors of some of the greatest active volcanoes in the world, and the greatest of all craters, the latter extinct indeed, for many years, but with a latent power that no one could conceive should it once more begin activity. Hawaii, Paradise of the Pacific, raised by the fires of the very Inferno out of the depths of the ocean centuries ago, to become in recent years a smiling land of tropic beauty and an American island possession! Hawaii is the land of great volcanoes, sometimes slumbering and again pouring forth floods of molten fire to overwhelm the peaceful villages and arouse the superstitious fears of the natives. Alaska, too, is a region of great volcanic ranges and eruptive activity, the Aleutian islands being raised from the bed of the Pacific by the same natural forces. The Hawaiian islands occupy a central position in the North Pacific ocean, about 2,000 miles west of the California coast. The group includes eight inhabited islands, all of volcanic origin, and they are, substantially, naught but solid aggregations of fused, basaltic rock shot up from the earth's center, during outbursts of bye-gone ages, and cooled into mountains of stone here in the midst of the greatest body of water on the globe. In many localities, however, the accretions of centuries have so covered them with vegetable growths that their general appearance is not greatly different from that of other sections of the earth's surface. The largest of the group is Hawaii, and it includes nearly two-thirds of the total area. Here stand the highest mountains found on any island in the known world. Only a few peaks of the Alps are as high as Mauna Loa (Long mountain), which towers 13,675 feet above the level of the sea, and Mauna Kea (White mountain), the height of which is 13,805 feet. In east Maui stands Haleakala, with an elevation about equal to that of Mount Ætna. This extinct volcano enjoys the distinction of having the largest crater in the world, a monstrous pit, thirty miles in circumference and 2,000 feet deep. The vast, irregular floor contains more than a dozen subsidiary craters or great cones, some of them 750 feet high. At the Kaupo and Koolau gaps the lava is supposed to have burst through and made its way down the mountain sides. The cones are distinctly marked as one looks down upon them; and it is remarkable that from the summit the eye takes in the whole crater, and notes all its contents, diminished, of course, by their great distance. Not a tree, shrub, nor even a tuft of grass obstructs the view. The natives have no traditions of Haleakala in activity. There are signs of several lava flows, and one in particular is clearly much more recent than the others. The greatest point of interest in the islands is the great crater of Kilauea. It is nine miles in circumference and perhaps a thousand feet deep. Nowhere else within the knowledge of mankind is there a living crater to be compared with it. Moreover, there is no crater which can be entered and explored with ease and comparative safety save Kilauea alone. There have been a few narrow escapes, but no accidents, and it is needless to add that no description can give anyone an adequate idea of the incomparable splendor of the scene. It is, indeed, a "bottomless pit," bounded on all sides by precipitous rocks. The entrance is effected by a series of steps, and below these by a scramble over lava and rock debris. The greater part of the crater is a mass of dead, though not cold, lava; and over this the journey is made to the farthest extremity of the pit, where it is necessary to ascend a tolerably steep hill of lava, which is the bank of the fiery lake. A step or two brings one close to the awful margin, and he looks down over smoking, frightful walls, three hundred feet or more, into a great boiling, bubbling, sizzling sea of fire. The tendency of the current, if it may be so called, is centripetal, though at times it varies, flowing to one side; while along the borders of the pit, waves of slumbering lava, apparently as unmovable as those over which the traveler has just crossed, lie in wrinkled folds and masses, heaped against the shore. If one watches those waves closely, however, he will presently observe what appears like a fiery, red serpent coming up out of the lake and creeping through and under them, like a chain of brilliant flame, its form lengthening as it goes, until it has circumscribed a large share of the entire basin. Then it begins to spread and flatten, as though the body had burst asunder and was dissolving back again, along its whole trail, into the fierce flood of turbulent fury whence it came. Soon the broad, thick mass of lava, thus surrounded, which seemed fixed and immovable, slowly drifts off from the shore to the center of the lake; reminding one of detached cakes of broken ice, such as are often seen in winter when the thaws come, or during spring freshets when the streams burst their encrusted chains. The force of this comparison is strengthened when those cakes reach the center, for there they go to pieces exactly after the manner of large pieces of ice, and turning upon their edges, disappear in the ravenous vortex below, which is forever swallowing up all that approaches it, giving nothing back in return. Two kinds of lava form on the face of the lake. One is stony, hard, and brittle; the other flexible and tough, similar to India-rubber. The flexible kind forms exclusively on one side of the basin and spreads over it like an immense, sombre blanket; and, as it floats down in slow procession to the central abyss, occasionally rises and falls with a flapping motion, by force of the generated gases underneath, like a sheet shaken in the wind. Occasionally, the fire forces its way through this covering and launches huge, sputtering fountains of red-hot liquid lava high into the air, with a noise that resembles distant bombs exploding; and again, multitudes of smaller founts burst into blossom all over the lake, presenting a spectacle of wild beauty across its entire surface. In Hawaiian mythology, Pele was the goddess of volcanoes, and she and her numerous family formed a class of deities by themselves. She with her six sisters, Hiiaka, her brother Kamohoalii, and others, were said to have emigrated from Kahiki (Samoa) in ancient times. They were said to have first lived at Moanalua in Oahu, then to have moved their residence to Kalaupapa, Molokai, then to Haleakala, and finally to have settled on Hawaii. Their headquarters were in the Halemaumau, in the crater of Kilauea, but they also caused the eruptions of Mauna Loa and Hualalai. In southern Hawaii Pele was feared more than any other deity, and no one dared to approach her abode without making her an offering of the ohelo-berries that grow in the neighborhood. Whenever an eruption took place, great quantities of hogs and other articles of property were thrown into the lava stream in order to appease her anger. In 1824, Kapiolani, the daughter of a great chief of Hilo, having been converted to Christianity by the missionaries, determined to break the spell of the native belief in Pele. In spite of the strenuous opposition of her friends and even of her husband, she made a journey of about 150 miles, mostly on foot, from Kealakekua to Hilo, visiting the great crater of Kilauea on her way, in order to defy the wrath of Pele, and to prove that no such being existed. On approaching the volcano, she met the priestess of Pele, who warned her not to go near the crater and predicted her death if she violated the tabus of the goddess. "Who are you?" demanded Kapiolani. "One in whom the goddess dwells," she replied. In answer to a pretended letter of Pele, Kapiolani quoted passages from the Bible until the priestess was silenced. Kapiolani then went forward to the crater, where Mr. Goodrich, one of the missionaries, met her. A hut was built for her on the eastern brink of the crater, and here she passed the night. The next morning she and her company of about eighty persons descended over 500 feet to the "Black Ledge." There, in full view of the grand and terrific action of the inner crater, she ate the berries consecrated to Pele, and threw stones into the burning lake, saying: "Jehovah is my God. He kindled these fires. I fear not Pele. If I perish by her anger, then you may fear Pele; but if I trust in Jehovah, and he preserve me when breaking her tabus, then you must fear and serve him alone...." It is needless to say that she was not harmed, and this act did much to destroy the superstitious dread in which the heathen goddess was held by the ignorant and credulous natives. The history of Hawaiian volcanic eruptions tells no such tales of horror as regards the loss of life and property as may be read in the accounts of other great volcanoes of the globe. This, however, is simply because the region is less populated, and their tremendous manifestations of power have lacked material to destroy. There have been fatal catastrophes, and ruin has been wrought which seems slight only in comparison with the greater disasters of a similar nature. In 1855 an eruption of Mauna Loa occurred. The lava flowed toward Hilo, and for several months, spreading through the dense forests which belt the mountain, crept slowly shorewards, threatening this beautiful portion of Hawaii with the fate of the Cities of the Plain. For five months the inhabitants watched the inundation, which came a little nearer every day. Should they flee or not? Would their beautiful homes become a waste of jagged lava and black sand, like the neighboring district of Puna, once as fair as Hilo? Such questions suggested themselves as they nightly watched the nearing glare, till the fiery waves met with obstacles which piled them up in hillocks eight miles from Hilo, and the suspense was over. Only gigantic causes can account for the gigantic phenomena of this lava-flow. The eruption traveled forty miles in a straight line, or sixty including sinuosities. It was from one to three miles broad, and from five to 200 feet deep, according to the contours of the mountain slopes over which it flowed. It lasted for thirteen months, pouring out a torrent of lava which covered nearly 300 square miles of land, and its volume was estimated at 38,000,000,000 cubic feet! In 1859 lava fountains 400 feet in height, and with a nearly equal diameter, played on the summit of Mauna Loa. This eruption ran fifty miles to the sea in eight days, but the flow lasted much longer, and added a new promontory to Hawaii. On March 27, 1868, a series of earthquakes began and became more startling from day to day, until their succession became so rapid that the island quivered like the lid of a boiling pot nearly all the time between the heavier shocks. The trembling was like that of a ship struck by a heavy wave. Late in the afternoon of April 2, the climax came. The crust of the earth rose and sank like the sea in a storm. Rocks were rent, mountains fell, buildings and their contents were shattered, trees swayed like reeds, animals ran about demented; men thought the judgment had come. The earth opened in thousands of places, the roads in Hilo cracked open; horses and their riders, and people afoot, were thrown violently to the ground. At Kilauea the shocks were as frequent as the ticking of a watch. In Kau, south of Hilo, 300 shocks were counted during the day. An avalanche of red earth, supposed to be lava, burst from the mountain side, throwing rocks high into the air, swallowing up houses, trees, men and animals, and traveling three miles in as many minutes, burying a hamlet with thirty-one inhabitants, and 500 head of cattle. The people of the valleys fled to the mountains, which themselves were splitting in all directions, and collecting on an elevated spot, with the earth reeling under them, they spent a night of terror. Looking toward the shore, they saw it sink, and at the same moment a wave, whose height was estimated at from forty to sixty feet, hurled itself upon the coast and receded five times, destroying whole villages and engulfing forever forty-six people who had lingered too near the shore. Still the earthquakes continued, and still the volcanoes gave no sign. People put their ears to the quivering ground and heard, or thought they heard, the surgings of the imprisoned lava sea rending its way among the ribs of the earth. Five days after the destructive earthquake of April 2, the ground south of Hilo burst open with a crash and a roar, which at once answered all questions concerning the volcano. The molten river, after traveling underground for twenty miles, emerged through a fissure two miles in length with a tremendous force and volume. Four huge fountains boiled up with terrific fury, throwing crimson lava and rocks weighing many tons from 500 to 1,000 feet. Mr. Whitney, of Honolulu, who was near the spot, says: "From these great fountains to the sea flowed a rapid stream of red lava, rolling, rushing, and tumbling like a swollen river, bearing along in its current large rocks that made the lava foam as it dashed down the precipice and through the valley into the sea, surging and roaring throughout its length like a cataract, with a power and fury perfectly indescribable. It was nothing else than a river of fire from 200 to 800 feet wide and twenty deep, with a speed varying from ten to twenty-five miles an hour. From the scene of these fire fountains, whose united length was about one mile, the river in its rush to the sea divided itself into four streams, between which it shut up men and beasts. Where it entered the sea it extended the coast-line half a mile, but this worthless accession to Hawaiian acreage was dearly purchased by the loss, for ages at least, of 4,000 acres of valuable agricultural land, and a much larger quantity of magnificent forest." The entire southeast shore of Hawaii sank from four to six feet, which involved the destruction of several hamlets and the beautiful fringe of cocoanut trees. Though the region was very thinly peopled, 100 lives were sacrificed in this week of horrors; and from the reeling mountains, the uplifted ocean, and the fiery inundation, the terrified survivors fled into Hilo, each with a tale of woe and loss. The number of shocks of earthquake counted was 2,000 in two weeks, an average of 140 a day; but on the other side of the island the number was incalculable. Since that time there have been several eruptions of these great Hawaiian volcanoes, but none so destructive to life and property. Only two years ago the crater of Mauna Loa was in eruption for some weeks, and travelers journeyed to the vicinity from all over the world to see the grand display of Nature's power in the fountains of lava and the blazing rivers flowing down the mountain side. The spectacle could be viewed perfectly at night from ships at sea, and from places of safety on shore. Across the North Pacific, from Kamschatka to Alaska, is a continuous chain of craters in the Aleutian islands, forming almost a bridge over the ocean, and from Alaska down the western coasts of the two Americas is a string of the mightiest volcanoes in existence. Iceland is a seething caldron under its eternal snows, and in a hundred places where some great, jagged cone of a volcano rises, seemingly dead and lifeless, only a fire-brand in the hand of nature may be needed to awaken it to a fury like that of which its vast lava beds, pinnacles, and craters are so eloquent. The world's record for the extent of an eruption probably belongs to the great volcano Skaptan Jokul, in Iceland. This eruption began on June 11, 1783, having been preceded by violent earthquakes. A torrent of lava welled up into the crater, overflowed it, and ran down the sides of the cone into the channel of the Skapta river, completely drying it up. The river had occupied a rocky gorge, from 400 to 600 feet deep, and averaging 200 feet wide. This gorge was filled, a deep lake was filled, and the rock, still at white heat, flowed on into subterranean caverns. Tremendous explosions followed, throwing boulders to enormous heights. A week after the first eruption another stream of lava followed the first, debouched over a precipice into the channel of another river, and finally, at the end of two years, the lava had spread over the plains below in great lakes twelve to fifteen miles wide and a hundred feet deep. Twenty villages were destroyed by fire, and out of 50,000 inhabitants nearly 9,000 perished, either from fire or from noxious vapors. The Skapta river branch of this lava stream was fifty miles long and in places twelve to fifteen miles wide; the other stream was forty miles long, seven miles broad, and the range of depth in each stream was from 100 to 600 feet. Professor Bischoff has called this, in quantity, the greatest eruption of the world, the lava, piled, having been estimated as of greater volume than is Mont Blanc. Regarding the volcanoes of the United States, Mount Shasta is one of the most interesting of them. It has an altitude of 14,350 feet, towering more than a mile above its nearest neighbor. Four thousand feet of its peak are above timber line, covered with glaciers, while the mountain's base is seventeen miles in diameter. Shasta is almost continually showing slight evidences of its internal fires. Another of the famous cones is that of Mount Hood, standing 11,225 feet, snow-capped, and regarded as an extinct volcano. As to the volcanic records of the great West, they may be read in the chains of mountains that stretch from Alaska 10,000 miles to Tierra del Fuego. In the giant geysers and hot springs of the Yellowstone Park are evidences of existing fires in the United States; while as to the extent of seismic disturbances of the past, the famous lava beds of Dakota, in which Captain Jack, the Modoc chief, held out against government troops till starved into submission, are volcanic areas full of mute testimony regarding nature's convulsions. How soon, if ever, some of these volcanic areas of the United States may burst forth into fresh activity, no one can predict. If the slumbering giants should arouse themselves and shake off the rock fetters which bind their strength, the results might be terrible to contemplate. Those who dwell in the shadow of such peaks as are believed to be extinct, become indifferent to such a possible threat after many years of immunity, but such a disaster as that of St. Pierre arouses thought and directs scrutiny once more upon the ancient volcanic peaks of the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevadas. CHAPTER XXXI. SOUTH AMERICAN CITIES DESTROYED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Earthquakes Ravage the Coast Cities of Peru and the Neighboring Countries--Spanish Capitals in the New World Frequent Sufferers--Lima, Callao and Caracas Devastated--Tidal Waves Accompany the Earthquakes--Juan Fernandez Island Shaken--Fissures Engulf Men and Animals--Peculiar Effects Observed.= The discovery of America, in 1492, brought a great accession to the number of recorded earthquakes, as South and Central America and the islands near them have furnished almost innumerable instances of the phenomena. The first of the known earthquakes in the western hemisphere occurred in 1530, and the Gulf of Paria, with the adjacent coast of Cumana, in Venezuela, was the scene of the catastrophe. It was accompanied by a great sea-wave, the tide suddenly rising twenty-four feet, and then retiring. There were also opened in the earth several large fissures, which discharged black, fetid salt water and petroleum. A mountain near the neighboring Gulf of Caracas was split in twain, and has since remained in its cloven condition. The coast of Peru was visited by an earthquake in the year 1586, and again in 1687. On the first occasion the shock was accompanied by a great sea-wave eighty-four feet high, which inundated the country for two leagues inland. There was still another dreadful convulsion on this coast in 1746, when the sea twice retreated and dashed in again with a tremendous wave about eighty feet high, overwhelming Lima and four other seaports. A portion of the coast sank down, producing a new bay at Callao; and in several mountains in the neighborhood there were formed large fissures whence water and mud gushed forth. On May 24, 1751, the city of Concepcion, in Chili, was entirely swallowed up during an earthquake, and the sea rolled over its site. The ancient port was destroyed, and a new town was afterwards erected ten miles inland. The great sea-wave, which accompanied this earthquake, rolled in upon the shores of the island of Juan Fernandez, and overwhelmed a colony which had been recently established there. The coast near the ancient port of Concepcion was considerably raised on this occasion, and the high water mark now stands twenty-four feet below its former level. The coast of Caracas and the adjacent island of Trinidad were violently convulsed in 1776, and the whole city of Cumana was reduced to ruins. The shocks were continued for upwards of a year, and were at first repeated almost hourly. There were frequent eruptions of sulphurous water from fissures in the ground, and an island in the Orinoco disappeared. Rihamba must have stood, it would appear, almost immediately over the focus of the dreadful earthquake of February 4, 1797. This unfortunate city was situated in the district of Quito, not far from the base of the great volcano of Tunguragua. That mountain was probably the center of disturbance, and the shock was experienced with disastrous effects over a district of country extending about 120 miles from north to south and about sixty miles from east to west. Every town and village comprehended within this district was reduced to ruins. The shocks, however, were felt, though in a milder form, over a much larger area, extending upwards of 500 miles from north to south and more than 400 miles from east to west. At Riobamba the shocks, which began at about eight o'clock in the morning, are said to have been vertical. Some faint idea may be formed of the extreme violence of this motion from the fact mentioned by Humboldt that the dead bodies of some of the inhabitants who perished were tossed over a small river to the height of several hundred feet, and landed on an adjacent hill. Vertical movements, so powerful and so long continued, could not fail to produce an enormous displacement of the ground, and to be very destructive to all buildings which it sustained. The soil was rent, and, as it were, torn asunder and twisted in an extraordinary manner. Several of the fissures opened and closed again; many persons were engulfed in them; but a few saved themselves by simply stretching out their arms, so that, when the fissure closed, the upper parts of their bodies were left above the ground, thus admitting of their being easily extricated. In some instances whole cavalcades of horsemen and troops of laden mules disappeared in those chasms; while some few escaped by throwing themselves back from the edge of the cleft. The amount of simultaneous elevation and depression of the ground was in some cases as much as twelve feet; and several persons who were in the choir of one of the churches escaped by simply stepping on the pavement of the street, which was brought up to a level with the spot where they stood. Instances occurred of whole houses sinking bodily into the earth, till their roofs were fairly underground; but so little were the buildings thus engulfed injured, that their inhabitants were able still to live in them, and by the light of flambeaux to pass from room to room, the doors opening and shutting as easily as before. The people remained in them, subsisting on the provisions they had in store, for the space of two days, until they were extricated safe and sound. With the majority of the inhabitants, however, it fared otherwise. The loss of life in the city, and throughout the district most convulsed, was enormous, 40,000 persons altogether having perished. Of Riobamba itself the ruin was complete. When Humboldt took a plan of the place after the catastrophe, he could find nothing but heaps of stones eight or ten feet high; although the city had contained churches and convents, with many private houses several stories in height. The town of Quero was likewise entirely overthrown. At Tacunga the ruin was nearly as thorough, not a building having been left standing save an arch in the great square, and part of a neighboring house. The churches of St. Augustin, St. Domingo, and La Merced were at the moment thronged with people hearing mass. Not one escaped alive. All were buried, along with the objects of their worship, under the ruins of their consecrated buildings. In several parts of the town and its neighborhood there were opened larger fissures in the ground, whence quantities of water poured forth. The village of St. Philip, near Tacunga, containing a school in which upwards of forty children were assembled at the time, disappeared bodily in a chasm. A great many other villages with their inhabitants were destroyed, by being either overthrown or engulfed. Even at Quito, although so distant from the centre of the disturbance, a great deal of damage was done to the churches and other public buildings by the shock, several being wholly ruined. The private houses and other buildings of moderate height, however, were spared. The superstitious inhabitants of this fair city, having been greatly alarmed by an unwonted display of luminous meteors, had devoted the previous day to carrying in procession through their streets the graven images and relics of their saints, in the vain hope of appeasing divine wrath. They were doomed to learn by experience that these idols were powerless to protect even the consecrated edifices dedicated to their honor, and in which they were enshrined. The Bay of Caracas was the scene of a dreadful earthquake in 1812. The city of Caracas was totally destroyed, and ten thousand of its inhabitants were buried beneath its ruins. The shock was most severe in the northern part of the town, nearest to the mountain of La Silla, which rises like a vast dome, with steep cliffs in the direction of the sea. The churches of the Trinity and Alta Gracia, the latter of which was more than one hundred and fifty feet high, and the nave of which was supported by pillars twelve or fifteen feet thick, were reduced to a mass of ruins not more than five or six feet high. The subsidence of the ruins was such that scarcely a vestige of pillar or column could be found. The barracks of San Carlos disappeared altogether, and a regiment of infantry, under arms to take part in a procession, was swallowed up with the exception of a few men. Nine-tenths of the town was annihilated. The houses which had not collapsed were cracked to such an extent that their occupants did not dare to re-enter them. To the estimate of 10,000 victims caused by the earthquake, must be added the many who succumbed, weeks and months afterward, for want of food and relief. The night of Holy Thursday to Good Friday presented the most lamentable spectacle of desolation and woe which can well be conceived. The thick layer of dust, which, ascending from the ruins, obscured the air like mist, had again settled on the ground; the earthquake shocks had ceased, and the night was calm and clear. A nearly full moon lighted up the scene, and the aspect of the sky was in striking contrast with that of a land strewn with corpses and ruins. Mothers might be seen running about with their children whom they were vainly trying to recall to life. Distracted families were searching for a brother, a husband, or some other relative, whose fate was unknown to them, but who, they hoped, might be discovered in the crowd. The injured lying half buried beneath the ruins were making piteous appeals for help, and over 2,000 were extricated. Never did human kindness reveal itself in a more touching and ingenious fashion than in the efforts made to relieve the sufferers whose cries were so heart-breaking to hear. There were no tools to clear away the rubbish, and the work of relief had to be performed with the bare hands. The injured and the sick who had escaped from the hospitals were carried to the banks of the river Guayra, where their only shelter was the foliage of the trees. The beds, the lint for binding up wounds, the surgical instruments, the medicines and all the objects of immediate necessity were buried beneath the ruins, and for the first few days there was a scarcity of everything, even of food. Water was also very scarce inside the town, as the shock had broken up the conduits of the fountains and the upheaval had blocked the springs that fed them. In order to get water it was necessary to descend to the river Guayra, which had risen to a great height, and there were very few vessels left to get it in. It was necessary, also, to dispose of the dead with all dispatch, and in the impossibility of giving decent burial to so many thousand corpses, detachments of men were told off to burn them. Funeral pyres were erected between the heaps of ruins, and the ceremony lasted several days. The fierce shocks which had in less than a minute occasioned such great disasters could not be expected to have confined their destructive effects to one narrow zone of the continent, and these extended to a great part of Venezuela, all along the coast and specially among the mountains inland. The towns of La Guayra, Mayquetia, Antimano, Baruta, La Vega, San Felipe, and Merida were entirely destroyed, the number of deaths exceeding 5,000 at La Guayra and San Felipe. In November, 1822, the coast of Chile began to be violently convulsed by a succession of shocks, the first of which was of great severity. The heavings of the earth were quite perceptible to the eye. The sea rose and fell to a great extent in the harbor of Valparaiso, and the ships appeared as if they were first rapidly forced through the water, and then struck on the ground. The town of Valparaiso and several others were completely overthrown. Sounds like those produced by the escape of steam accompanied this earthquake, and it was felt throughout a distance of 1,200 miles along the coast, a portion of which--extending to about 100 miles--was permanently raised to a height varying from two to four feet. At Quintero the elevation was four feet, and at Valparaiso three feet; but about a mile inland from the latter place the elevation was as much as six or seven feet; while the whole surface raised is estimated at nearly 100,000 square miles. The year 1868 proved very disastrous in South America. On the 13th of August of that year a series of shocks commenced which were felt over a large extent of country, stretching from Ibarra on the northwestern border of Ecuador to Cabija on the coast of Bolivia, a distance of about 1,400 miles. The effects were most severe about the southern portion of the Peruvian coast, where the towns of Iquique, Arica, Tacna, Port Ilay, Arequipa, Pisco, and several others were destroyed, and in the northern parts of Ecuador, where the town of Ibarra was overthrown, burying nearly the whole of the inhabitants under its ruins. A small town in the same quarter, named Cotocachi, was engulfed, and its site is now occupied by a lake. The total loss of lives is estimated at upward of 20,000. On May 15, 1875, earthquake shocks of a serious character were experienced over large areas of Chile. At Valparaiso the shock lasted for forty-two seconds, with a vertical motion, so that the ground danced under foot. Two churches and many buildings were damaged. Another earthquake occurred at Valparaiso, July 8, when there were six shocks in succession. The inhabitants took refuge in the streets, several people were killed, and much damage was done to property. About the middle of May, 1875, a most disastrous earthquake visited New Granada, the region of its influence extending over an area 500 miles in width. It was first felt perceptibly at Bogota; thence it traveled north, gaining intensity as it went, until it reached the southeast boundary line of Magdalena, where its work of destruction began. It traveled along the line of the Andes, destroying, in whole or in part, the cities of Cucuta, San Antonio, and Santiago, and causing the death of about 16,000 persons. On the evening of May 17, a strange rumbling sound was heard beneath the ground, but no shock was felt. This premonitory symptom was followed on the morning of the 18th by a terrific shock. "It suddenly shook down the walls of houses, tumbled down churches, and the principal buildings, burying the citizens in the ruins." Another shock completed the work of destruction, and shocks at intervals occurred for two days. "To add to the horrors of the calamity, the Lobotera volcano, in front of Santiago, suddenly began to shoot out lava in immense quantities in the form of incandescent balls of fire, which poured into the city and set fire to many buildings." On the evening of April 12, 1878, a severe earthquake occurred in Venezuela which destroyed a considerable portion of the town of Cua. Immediately preceding the shock the sky was clear and the moon in perfect brightness. It lasted only two seconds, but in that time the center of the town, which was built on a slight elevation, was laid in ruins. The soil burst at several places, giving issue to water strongly impregnated with poisonous substances. The Isthmus of Panama was the scene of a succession of earthquakes in September, 1882, which, although the loss of life was small, were exceedingly destructive to property. On the morning of September 7, the inhabitants of Panama were roused from their beds by the occurrence of one of the longest and most severe shocks ever experienced in that earthquake-vexed region. Preceded by a hollow rumbling noise, the first shock lasted nearly thirty seconds, during which it did great damage to buildings. It was severely felt on board ship, passengers declaring that the vessel seemed as if it were lifted bodily from the sea and then allowed to fall back. Its effects on the Panama railway were very marked. The stone abutments of several of the bridges were cracked, and the earthworks sank in half a dozen places. In other places the rails were curved as if they had been intentionally bent. Other shocks less severe followed the first, until at 11:30, another sharp shock alarmed the whole city, and drove the inhabitants at once from their houses into the squares. This earthquake was also severely felt at Colon, where it lasted for fully a minute, moving many buildings from their foundations, and creating intense alarm. A deep fissure, 400 yards in length, was opened in the earth. To what extent this tendency to earthquake shocks threatens the proposed Panama Canal, it is difficult to say. Beyond question a great earthquake would do immense damage to such a channel and its lock gates, but the advocates of the Panama route argue with apparent truth that even so it has a great advantage over the Nicaragua route. In the latter, volcanoes are numerous, and eruptions not infrequent. Lake Nicaragua itself, through which the canal route passes, has in it several islands which are but volcanic peaks raised above the water, and the whole region is subject to disturbances from the interior of the earth. CHAPTER XXXII. EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES IN CENTRAL AMERICA AND MEXICO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =A Region Frequently Disturbed by Subterranean Forces--Guatemala a Fated City--A Lake Eruption in Honduras Described by a Great Painter--City of San Jose Destroyed--Inhabitants Leave the Vicinity to Wander as Beggars--Disturbances on the Route of the Proposed Nicaraguan Canal--San Salvador is Shaken--Mexican Cities Suffer.= Central America is continually being disturbed by subterranean forces. Around the deep bays of this vast and splendid region, upon the shores laved by the waters of the Pacific, and also about the large inland lakes, rise, like an army of giants, a number of lofty volcanoes. Whilst most of them are wrapped in slumber which has lasted for centuries, others occasionally roar and groan as if in order to keep themselves awake, and to watch well over their sleeping companions. The fire which consumes their entrails extends far beneath the soil, and often causes it to tremble. Three times within thirty years the town of Guatemala has been destroyed by earthquakes, and there is not in all Guatemala, Honduras, or any other state of Central America a single coast which has not been visited by one or more violent subterranean shocks. When the earthquakes occur in remote regions, far from the habitations of men, in the midst of virgin forests, or in the vicinity of large lakes, they give rise to very singular phenomena. In 1856, a painter, entrusted with an official mission in Honduras, witnessed an event of this kind, and though he sought to conceal his identity, he was generally believed to be Herr Heine, the well-known painter and explorer of Central America. Upon the day in question he was sailing across a large lagoon named Criba, some twenty miles broad, the weather being calm, and the sun shining brilliantly. After having secured his boat to the shore, he had landed at the entrance to a beautiful little village commanding a view of the plain dotted with houses and with stately trees. Upon the opposite shore extended the forest, with the sea in the far distance. The chief inhabitant of the village having invited Herr Heine and his companions to come in and rest, the whole party were seated beneath the veranda of the house, engaged in pleasant conversation. Suddenly, a loud noise was heard in the forest. The birds flew off in terror; the cocoanut palms bent and writhed as if in panic, and large branches of them snapped off; shrubs were torn up from the ground and carried across the lake. All this was the effect of a whirlwind traveling through space from south to north. The whole affair lasted only a few seconds, and calm was re-established in Nature as suddenly as it had been disturbed. Conversation, of course, then turned upon the phenomenon just witnessed, and the natives maintained that atmospheric disturbances of this kind are the forerunners of severe earthquakes or violent volcanic eruptions; some of them declaring that a disaster of this character had doubtless just occurred somewhere. The host, an elderly man much esteemed in the district for his knowledge, went on to describe many such catastrophes which he himself had witnessed. He spoke more particularly of the eruption of the volcano of Coseguina, in Nicaragua, which had been preceded by a fierce whirlwind, which had been so strong that it carried pieces of rock and ashes to a distance of nearly a mile. The captain of a large sailing vessel had told him that upon the following day, when more than 100 miles from the coast, he had found the sea covered with pumice-stone, and had experienced great difficulty in threading a way for his vessel through these blocks of volcanic stone which were floating upon the surface like icebergs. Everyone, including the European, had his story to tell, and while the party were still in conversation, a terrible noise like thunder was heard, and the earth began to quake. At first the shocks were felt to be rising upward, but after a few seconds they became transformed into undulations traveling northward, just as the sudden whirlwind had done. The soil undulated like the surface of a stormy sea, and the trees were rocked to and fro so violently that the topmost branches of the palms came in contact with the ground and snapped off. The traveler and his friends, believing themselves to be out of danger, were able to follow with ever-increasing interest the rapid phases of the disturbance, when a strange and alarming phenomenon attracted their notice. "Our attention was called," relates Herr Heine, "to a terrible commotion in the direction of the lagoon, but I cannot express what I then saw, I did not know if I was awake or a prey to a nightmare; whether I was in the world of reality or in the world of spirits." The water of the lagoon disappeared as if it were engulfed in a sort of a subterranean cavern, or rather, it turned over upon itself, so that from the shore to the center of the lake the bed was quite empty. But in a few moments the water reappeared, and mounting toward the center of the enormous basin, it formed an immense column, which, roaring and flecked with foam, reached so high that it intercepted the sunlight. Suddenly, the column of water collapsed with a noise as of thunder, and the foaming waves dashed toward the shore. Herr Heine and his companions would have perished if they had not been standing upon elevated ground, and, as it was, they could not restrain an exclamation of horror as they saw this mass of water, like solid rock, rolling along the plain, carrying trees, large stones, and whole fields before it. "I saw all that without at first thinking of our own fate," recites Herr Heine, "and I think that the greatness of the peril which threatened the whole country made me indifferent as to the fate of myself and my companions. In any case, when I saw my familiar companion, Carib, nearly carried off, I remained indifferent, and it was only after two others of my followers, Manuel and Michel, had had very narrow escapes, that I succeeded in shaking off my apathy, and going to their assistance." When the travelers, whose boat had disappeared, started for the town of San Jose, whence they had come in the morning, they were able to judge for themselves as to the extent of the disaster. All the country which they had passed through had been laid waste. Large masses of rock had been detached from the mountains, and obstructed the course of streams which had overflown their banks or changed their course. Whole villages had been destroyed, and in all directions arose the lamentations of the unfortunate inhabitants. The region over which the waters of the lagoon had been carried was no longer to be identified as the same, covered as it was with debris of every kind, and with a thick layer of sand and rock. When they started in the morning, the travelers had left San Jose prosperous and full of cheerful stir, but when they returned at night they found it in ruins and almost deserted. The earthquake had overthrown all the houses with the exception of about twenty, and these were very badly damaged. All the buildings in solid masonry, including the massive church, were heaps of ruins; and most of the inhabitants had perished. The Indians who were prowling in the outskirts of the town took advantage of the catastrophe to carry off all they could from the houses which were still standing and from the ruins of the others. The agility with which these Indians move about among the ruins and escape the falling walls is something wonderful, and they never hesitate to risk their lives for a very trifle. In Central America disasters of this kind invariably cause many of the inhabitants to emigrate. Men, women, and children form themselves into groups, and travel through the country. They set the drama in which they have taken part to music, and they journey from one village to another, singing the rude verses they have composed, and then sending the hat around. After they have visited the whole of their own country, they cross into the neighboring state, where they are also assured of a profitable tour. Thus for more than a year Honduras and Nicaragua were visited by bands of homeless victims, chanting in monotone the eruption of Lake Criba and the terrible catastrophe of San Jose. The western half of Nicaragua, including the basin in which lie Lakes Managua and Nicaragua, is a volcanic center, including some of the largest of the twenty-five active cones and craters of Central America. Stretching from northwest to southeast, the string of craters beginning with Coseguina and Viejo reaches well into the lake basin. At the northern end of Lake Managua stands Momotombo, while from the lake itself rises Momotombito. On the northwestern shore of Lake Nicaragua lies the volcano Mombocho, while between the two lakes is the volcano Masaya. Near the center of Lake Nicaragua are the two volcanoes of Madera and Omotepe. Since 1835 there have been six eruptions in Nicaragua, one of them, in 1883, being an outbreak in the crater of Omotepe in Lake Nicaragua, the route of the proposed Nicaraguan canal. The Coseguina eruption, the uproar of which was heard more than 1,000 miles away, threw the headland upon which it stands 787 feet out into the sea, and rained ashes and pumice-stone over an area estimated at 1,200,000 square miles. Like all Spanish towns in America, San Salvador, capital of the republic of that name, covers a large area in proportion to its population. The houses are low, none of them having more than one story, while the walls are very thick in order to be capable of resisting earthquakes. Inside each house of the better class is a courtyard, planted with trees, generally having a fountain in the center. It was to these spacious courtyards that, in 1854, many of the inhabitants of San Salvador owed their lives, as they found in them a refuge from their falling houses. On the night of April 16, the city was reduced to a heap of ruins, only a single public building and very few private ones having been left standing. Nearly 5,000 of the inhabitants were buried in the ruins. There was a premonitory shock before the great one, and many took heed of its warning and escaped to places of safety, otherwise the loss of life would have been even more terrible. Guatemala was visited with a series of almost daily tremors from the middle of April to the middle of June, 1870. The most severe shock was on the 12th of June and was sufficiently powerful to overthrow many buildings. The republic of San Salvador was again visited by a great earthquake in October, 1878. Many towns, such as Incuapa, Guadeloupe, and Santiago de Marie, were almost totally destroyed, and many lives were lost. The shock causing the most damage had at first a kind of oscillatory movement lasting over forty seconds and ending in a general upheaval of the earth; the result being that solid walls, arches, and strongly braced roofs, were broken and severed like pipe-stems. In the vicinity of Incuapa a number of villages disappeared entirely. The mountainous region of Mexico is highly volcanic, and earthquakes are of frequent occurrence. Very few of them, however, in the historic period, have occasioned great loss of either life or property. One of the most disastrous occurred in January, 1835, when the town of Acapulco was totally destroyed. In April, ten years later, the City of Mexico was much shaken. Considerable damage was done to buildings, especially to churches and other edifices of large size, several of which were reduced to ruins. The loss of life was limited to less than twenty. Probably the most serious convulsion the country has experienced was in 1858, when shocks were felt over almost all the republic, causing many deaths, and destroying much property. Over 100 people lost their lives on May 11 and 12, 1870, when the city of Oaxaca was visited by a succession of severe shocks, which tore down many buildings. Since this time Mexico has been free from convulsions of any great magnitude, although slight earth tremors are of frequent occurrence in different parts of the country. Mexican volcanoes, likewise, are famous for their size, though of late years no great eruptions have occurred. There are many isolated peaks, all of volcanic origin, of which Orizaba, with a height of 18,314 feet, and Popocatepetl, 17,300 feet, the most renowned, are both active. The latter has one crater 5,000 feet in diameter. From the summit the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico are both visible. This crater has not erupted for many years, but in former times it threw its ashes a distance of sixty miles. One can descend into its depths fully 1,000 feet, and view its sulphur walls, hung with stalactites of ice, or see its columns of vapor spouting here and there through crevices that extend down into the interior of the earth. In the ancient Aztec and Toltec mythology of Mexico, this was the Hell of Masaya. Nowadays great sulphur mines on the peak bring profit to the owners, and ice is quarried from the same vicinity to supply the neighboring city of Puebla. CHAPTER XXXIII. CHARLESTON, GALVESTON, JOHNSTOWN--OUR AMERICAN DISASTERS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Earthquake Shock in South Carolina--Many Lives Lost in the Riven City--Flames Follow the Convulsion--Galveston Smitten by Tidal Wave and Hurricane--Thousands Die in Flood and Shattered Buildings--The Gulf Coast Desolated--Johnstown, Pennsylvania, Swept by Water from a Bursting Reservoir--Scenes of Horror--Earthquakes on the California Coast.= Our own land has experienced very few great convulsions of nature. True, there have been frequent earthshocks in California, and all along the Western coast, and occasionally slight tremors have been felt in other sections, but the damage done to life and property has been in almost every instance comparatively light. The only really great disaster of this class that has been recorded in the United States since the white man first set his foot upon the soil, occurred in 1886, when the partial destruction of Charleston, South Carolina, was accomplished by earthquake and fire. On the morning of August 28, a slight shock was felt throughout North and South Carolina, and in portions of Georgia. It was evidently a warning of the calamity to follow, but naturally was not so recognized, and no particular attention was paid to it. But on the night of August 31, at about ten o'clock, the city was rent asunder by a great shock which swept over it, carrying death and destruction in its path. During the night there were ten distinct shocks, but they were only the subsiding of the earth-waves. The disaster was wrought by the first. Its force may be inferred from the fact that the whole area of the country between the Atlantic coast and the Mississippi river, and as far to the north as Milwaukee, felt its power to a greater or lesser degree. Charleston, however, was the special victim of this elemental destruction. The city was in ruins, two-thirds of its houses were uninhabitable. Railroads and telegraph lines were torn up and destroyed. Fires burst forth in different sections of the city, adding to the horror of the panic-stricken people. Forty lives were lost, over 100 seriously wounded were reported, and property valued at nearly $5,000,000 was destroyed. A writer in the Charleston News and Courier gave a vivid account of the catastrophe. Extracts from his story follow: "It is not given to many men to look in the face of the destroyer and yet live; but it is little to say that the group of strong men who shared the experiences of that awful night will carry with them the recollection of it to their dying day. None expected to escape. A sudden rush was simultaneously made for the open air, but before the door was reached all reeled together to the tottering wall and stopped, feeling that hope was vain; that it was only a question of death within the building or without, to be buried by the sinking roof or crushed by the toppling walls. Then the uproar slowly died away in seeming distance. "The earth was still, and O, the blessed relief of that stillness! But how rudely the silence was broken! As we dashed down the stairway and out into the street, already on every side arose the shrieks, the cries of pain and fear, the prayers and wailings of terrified women and children, commingling with the hoarse shouts of excited men. Out in the street the air was filled with a whitish cloud of dry, stifling dust, through which the gaslights flickered dimly. On every side were hurrying forms of men and women, bareheaded, partly dressed, many of whom were crazed with fear and excitement. Here a woman is supported, half fainting, in the arms of her husband, who vainly tries to soothe her while he carries her to the open space at the street corner, where present safety seems assured; there a woman lies on the pavement with upturned face and outstretched limbs, and the crowd passes her by, not pausing to see whether she be alive or dead. "A sudden light flares through a window overlooking the street, it becomes momentarily brighter, and the cry of fire resounds from the multitude. A rush is made toward the spot. A man is seen through the flames trying to escape. But at this moment, somewhere--out at sea, overhead, deep in the ground--is heard again the low, ominous roll which is already too well known to be mistaken. It grows louder and nearer, like the growl of a wild beast swiftly approaching his prey. All is forgotten in the frenzied rush for the open space, where alone there is hope of security, faint though it be. "The tall buildings on either hand blot out the skies and stars and seem to overhang every foot of ground between them; their shattered cornices and coping, the tops of their frowning walls, appear piled from both sides to the center of the street. It seems that a touch would now send the shattered masses left standing, down upon the people below, who look up to them and shrink together as the tremor of the earthquake again passes under them, and the mysterious reverberations swell and roll along, like some infernal drumbeat summoning them to die. It passes away, and again is experienced the blessed feeling of deliverance from impending calamity, which it may well be believed evokes a mute but earnest offering of mingled prayer and thanksgiving from every heart in the throng." One of the most awful tragedies of modern times visited Galveston, Texas, on Saturday, September 8, 1900. A tempest, so terrible that no words can adequately describe its intensity, and a flood which swept over the city like a raging sea, left death and ruin behind it. Sixty-seven blocks in a thickly populated section of the city were devastated, and not a house withstood the storm. The few that might have held together if dependent upon their own construction and foundations, were buried beneath the stream of buildings and wreckage that rushed west from the Gulf of Mexico, demolishing hundreds of homes and carrying the unfortunate inmates to their death. A terrific wind, which attained a velocity of from 100 to 120 miles an hour, blew the debris inland and piled it in a hill ranging from ten to twenty feet high. Beneath this long ridge many hundred men, women, and children were buried, and cattle, horses and dogs, and other animals, were piled together in one confused mass. The principal work of destruction was completed in six short hours, beginning at three o'clock in the afternoon and ending at nine o'clock the same night. In that brief time the accumulations of many a life time were swept away, thousands of lives went out, and the dismal Sunday morning following the catastrophe found a stricken population paralyzed and helpless. Every hour the situation changed for the worse, and the mind became dazed midst the gruesome scenes. The bodies of human beings, the carcasses of animals, were strewn on every hand. The bay was filled with them. Like jelly-fish, the corpses were swept with the changing tide. Here a face protruded above the water; there the foot of a child; here the long, silken tresses of a young girl; there a tiny hand, and just beneath the glassy surface of the water full outlines of bodies might be seen. Such scenes drove men and women to desperation and insanity. A number sought freedom in the death which they fought so stoutly. A young girl, who survived to find mother, father and sisters dead, crept far out on the wreckage and threw herself into the bay. During the storm and afterward a great deal of looting was done. Many stores had been closed, their owners leaving to look after their families. The wind forced in the windows, and left the goods prey for the marauders. Ghouls stripped the dead bodies of jewelry and articles of value. Captain Rafferty, commanding the United States troops in the city, was asked for aid, and he sent seventy men, the remnant of a battery of artillery, to do police duty. Three regiments were sent from Houston and the city was placed under martial law. Hundreds of desperate men roamed the streets, crazed with liquor, which many had drunk because nothing else could be obtained with which to quench their thirst. Numberless bottles and boxes of intoxicating beverages were scattered about and easy to obtain. Robbery and rioting continued during the night, and as the town was in darkness, the effort of the authorities to control the lawless element was not entirely successful. Big bonfires were built at various places from heaps of rubbish to enable troops the better to see where watchfulness was needed. Reports said that more than 100 looters and vandals were slain in the city and along the island beach. The most rigid enforcement of martial law was not able to suppress robbery entirely. Thirty-three negroes, with effects taken from dead bodies, were tried by court-martial. They were convicted and ordered to be shot. One negro had twenty-three human fingers with rings on them in his pocket. An eye-witness of the awful horror said: "I was going to take the train at midnight, and was at the station when the worst of the storm came up. There were 150 people in the depot, and we all remained there for nine hours. The back part of the building blew in Sunday morning and I returned to the Tremont house. The streets were literally filled with dead and dying people. The Sisters' Orphan Hospital was a terrible scene. I saw there over ninety dead children and eleven dead Sisters. We took the steamer Allen Charlotte across the bay, up Buffalo bay, over to Houston in the morning, and I saw fully fifty dead bodies floating in the water. I saw one dray with sixty-four dead bodies being drawn by four horses to the wharves, where the bodies were unloaded on a tug and taken out in the gulf for burial." Mr. Wortham, ex-secretary of state, after an inspection of the scene, made this statement: "The situation at Galveston beggars description. Fully seventy-five per cent. of the business portion of the town is wrecked, and the same percentage of damage is to be found in the residence district. Along the wharf front great ocean steamers have bodily dumped themselves on the big piers, and lie there, great masses of iron and wood that even fire cannot totally destroy. The great warehouses along the water front are smashed in on one side, unroofed and gutted throughout their length; their contents either piled in heaps or along the streets. Small tugs and sailboats have jammed themselves into buildings, where they were landed by the incoming waves and left by the receding waters. "Houses are packed and jammed in great confusing masses in all the streets. Great piles of human bodies, dead animals, rotting vegetation, household furniture, and fragments of the houses themselves, are piled in confused heaps right in the main streets of the city. Along the Gulf front human bodies are floating around like cordwood." As time passed on the terrible truth was pressed home on the minds of the people that the mortality by the storm had possibly reached 8,000, or nearly one-fourth of the entire population. The exact number will never be known, and no list of the dead could be accurately made out, for the terrible waters carried to sea and washed on distant and lonely shores many of the bodies. The unknown dead of the Galveston horror will forever far surpass the number of those who are known to have perished in that awful night, when the tempest raged and the storm was on the sea, piling the waters to unprecedented heights on Galveston island. One of the great catastrophes of the century in the United States was the flood that devastated the Conemaugh valley in Pennsylvania, on May 31, 1889. Though the amount of property destroyed was over $10,000,000 worth, this was the slightest element of loss. That which makes the Johnstown flood so exceptional is the terrible fact that it swept away half as many lives as did the battle of Gettysburg, one of the bloodiest of the Civil War, and transformed a rich and prosperous valley for more than twenty miles into a vast charnel-house. Johnstown is located on the Pennsylvania Railroad, seventy-eight miles southeast of Pittsburg, and was at the time mentioned a city of about 28,000 inhabitants. It was the most important of the chain of boroughs annihilated; and as such has given the popular title by which the disaster is known. The Conemaugh valley has long been famous for the beauty of its scenery. Lying on the lower western slope of the Alleghany mountains, the valley, enclosed between lofty hills, resembles in a general way an open curved hook, running from South Fork, where the inundation first made itself felt, in a southwesterly direction to Johnstown, and thence sixteen miles northwest to New Florence, where the more terrible effects of the flood ended, though its devastation did not entirely cease at that point. A lateral valley extends about six miles from South Fork in a southeasterly direction, at the head of which was located the Conemaugh Lake reservoir, owned and used as a summer resort by the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club of Pittsburg. In altitude this lake was about 275 feet above the Johnstown level, and it was about two and one-half miles long and one and one-half miles in its greatest width. In many places it was 100 feet deep, and it held a larger volume of water than any other reservoir in the United States. The dam that restrained the waters was nearly 1,000 feet in length, 110 feet in height, ninety feet thick at the base, and twenty-five feet wide at the top, which was used as a driveway. For ten years or more this dam was believed to be a standing menace to the Conemaugh valley in times of freshet, though fully equal to all ordinary emergencies. With a dam which was admitted to be structurally weak and with insufficient means of discharging a surplus volume, it was feared that it was only a matter of time before such a reservoir, situated in a region notorious for its freshets, would yield to the enormous pressure and send down its resistless waters like an avalanche to devastate the valley. This is precisely what it did do. A break came at three o'clock in the afternoon of May 31, caused by protracted rains, which raised the level of the lake. Men were at once put to work to open a sluice-way to ease the pressure, but all attempts were in vain. Two hours before the break came, the threatened danger had been reported in Johnstown, but little attention was paid to it, on the ground that similar alarms had previously proved ill-founded. There is no question that ample warning was given and that all the people in the valley could have escaped had they acted promptly. When the center of the dam yielded at three o'clock, it did so in a break of 300 feet wide. Trees and rocks were hurled high in the air, and the vast, boiling flood rushed down the ravine like an arrow from a bow. It took one hour to empty the reservoir. In less than five minutes the flood reached South Fork, and thence, changing the direction of its rush, swept through the valley of the Conemaugh. With the procession of the deluge, trees, logs, debris of buildings, rocks, railroad iron, and the indescribable mass of drift were more and more compacted for battering power; and what the advance bore of the flood spared, the mass in the rear, made up of countless battering rams, destroyed. The distance from Conemaugh lake to Johnstown, something over, eighteen miles, was traversed in about seven minutes; and here the loss of life and the damage to property was simply appalling. Survivors who passed through the experience safely declare its horrors to have been far beyond the power of words to narrate. After the most thorough possible CHAPTER XXXIV. ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE, ANNIHILATED BY A VOLCANO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Fifty Thousand Men, Women and Children Slain in an Instant--The Island Capital Obliterated--Molten Fire and Suffocating Gases Rob Multitudes of Life--Death Reigns in the Streets of the Stricken City--The Governor and Foreign Consuls Die at their Posts of Duty--Burst of Flame from Mount Pelee Completes the Ruin--No Escape for the Hapless Residents in the Fated Town--Scenes of Suffering Described--St. Pierre the Pompeii of Today--Desolation over All--Few Left to Tell the Tale of the Morning of Disaster.= Behold a peaceful city in the Caribbean sea, beautiful with the luxuriant vegetation of a tropic isle, happy as the carefree dwellers in such a spot may well be, at ease with the comforts of climate and the natural products which make severe labor unnecessary in these sea-girt colonies. Rising from the water front to the hillsides that lead back toward the slopes of Mount Pelee, St. Pierre, metropolis of the French island of Martinique, sits in picturesque languor, the blue waves of the Caribbean murmuring on the beaches, the verdure-clad ridges of the mountain range forming a background of greenery for the charming picture. Palms shade the narrow, clean, white, paved streets; trade goes on at the wharves; the people visit in social gaiety, dressed in white or bright-colored garments, as is the fashion in these islands, where somberness seldom rules; all the forms of life are cheerful, light-hearted, even thoughtless. Suddenly a thrall of black despair is cast over the happy island. The city of pleasure becomes one great tomb. Of its 30,000 men, women and children, all but a few are slain. The Angel of Death has spread his pall over them, a fiery breath has smitten them, and they have fallen as dry stubble before the sweep of flame. A city is dead. An island is desolate. A world is grief-stricken. And what was the awful power of evil that robbed of life 50,000 in city and neighboring villages almost in a moment? It was this verdure-clad Mount Pelee, their familiar sentinel, in the shade of whose sheltering palms they had built their summer resorts or found their innocent pleasures. It was this shadowing summit, now suddenly become a fiery vent through which earth's artilleries blazed forth their terrible volleys of molten projectiles, lava masses, huge drifts of ashes, and clouds of flaming, noxious, gaseous emanations to suffocate every living thing. Nothing could withstand such a bombardment from the exhaustless magazines within the vast chambers of the planet, no longer kindly Mother Earth, benign in the beauty of May-time, but cruel, relentless, merciless alike to all. St. Pierre and the island of Martinique are no strangers to destructive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. In August, 1767, an earthquake killed 1,600 persons in St. Pierre. In 1851 Mount Pelee threatened the city with destruction. St. Pierre was practically destroyed once before, in August, 1891, by the great hurricane which swept over the islands. The harbor of St. Pierre has been a famous one for centuries. It was off this harbor on April 12, 1782, that Admiral Rodney's fleet defeated the French squadron under the Comte de Grasse and wrested the West Indies from France. St. Pierre was the largest town and the commercial center of the island. It was the largest town in the French West Indies, and was well built and prosperous. It had a population of about 30,000. It was divided into two parts, known as the upper and lower towns. The lower town was compact with narrow streets, and unhealthy. The upper town was cleaner, healthier, and handsomely laid out. There was in the upper town a botanical garden and an old Catholic college, as well as a fine hospital. Mount Pelee, the largest of the group of volcanic mountains, is about 4,400 feet high. It had long been inactive as a volcano, although in August, 1851, it had a violent eruption. It is in the northwestern end of the island, and near the foot of its western slope, fronting the bay, St. Pierre was built. The Consuls resident at St. Pierre were: For the United States, T. T. Prentis; Great Britain, J. Japp; Denmark, M. E. S. Meyer; Italy, P. Plissonneau; Mexico, E. Dupie; Sweden and Norway, Gustave Borde. There were four banks in the city--the Banque de la Martinique, Banque Transatlantique, Colonial Bank of London, and the Credit Foncier Colonial. There were sixteen commission merchants, twelve dry-goods stores, twenty-two provision dealers, twenty-six rum manufacturers, eleven colonial produce merchants, four brokers, and two hardware dealers. The whole area of the island, near 400 square miles, is mountainous. Besides Mount Pelee, there are, further south and about midway of the oval, the three crests of Courbet, and all along the great ridge are the black and ragged cones of old volcanoes. In the section south of the deep bay there are two less elevated and more irregular ridges, one running southeast and terminating in the Piton Vauclin, and the other extending westward and presenting to view on the coast Mounts Caraibe and Constant. The mountainous interior is torn and gashed with ancient earthquake upheavals, and there are perpendicular cliffs, deep clefts and gorges, black holes filled with water, and swift torrents dashing over precipices and falling into caverns--in a word, all the fantastic savagery of volcanic scenery, but the whole covered with the rich verdure of the tropics. The total population of the island was reckoned at 175,000, of whom 10,000 were whites, 15,000 of Asiatic origin, and 150,000 blacks of all shades from ebony to light octoroon. Martinique has two interesting claims to distinction in that the Empress Josephine was born there and that Mme. de Maintenon passed her girlhood on the island as Francoise d'Aubigne. At Fort de France there is a marble statue of the Empress Josephine. It was just before eight o'clock on the morning of Thursday, May 8, 1902, that the lava and gases of the crater of Mount Pelee burst their bounds and bore destruction to the fated city. Within thirty seconds perhaps 50,000 persons were killed, and the streets of St. Pierre were heaped with dead bodies, soon to be incinerated or buried in the ashes that fell from the fountain of flame. Within ten minutes the city itself had disappeared in a whirling flame vomited from the mountain, though for some hours the inflammable portions of the buildings continued to burn, until all was consumed that could be. The volcano whose ancient crater for more than fifty years had been occupied by a quiet lake in which picnic parties bathed, discharged a torrent of fiery mud, which rolled toward the sea, engulfing everything before it. The city was no more. St. Pierre was destroyed, not by lava streams and not by showers of red-hot rocks, but by one all-consuming blast of suffocating, poisonous, burning gases. Death came to the inhabitants instantly. It was not a matter of hours or minutes. It was a matter of seconds. They did not burn to death. They died by breathing flame and their bodies were burned afterward. It is not merely true that no person inside the limits of the town escaped, but it is probably a literal fact that no person lived long enough to take two steps toward escape. These facts will go on record as the most astounding in the history of human catastrophes. The manner of the annihilation of St. Pierre is unique in the history of the world. Pompeii was not a parallel, for Pompeii was eaten up by demoniac rivers of lava, and lava became its tomb. But where St. Pierre once stood there is not even a lava bed now. The city is gone from the earth. The half-dead victims who escaped on the Roddam or were brought away by the Suchet, talked of a "hurricane of flame" that had come upon them. That phrase was no figure of speech, but a literal statement of what happened. When the first rescue parties reached the scene they found bodies lying in the streets of the city--or rather on the ground where streets once were, for in many places it was impossible to trace the line between streets and building sites--to which death came so suddenly that the smiles on the faces did not have time to change to the lines of agony. That does not mean death by burning, though the bodies had been charred and half-consumed, nor does it mean suffocation, for suffocation is slow. It can mean only that the bath of burning fumes into which the city was plunged affected the victims like a terribly virulent poison when the first whiff of the gases entered their lungs. There were many of the victims who died with their hands to their mouths. That one motion of the arm was probably the only one that they made before they became unconscious. Others fell to their faces and died with their lips pressed into the earth. There was no time to run, perhaps no time even to cry out, no time to breathe a prayer. It was as if St. Pierre had been just dipped into an immense white-hot furnace and then set out to cool. Mount Pelee went sputtering on, but that made no longer any difference. In the city all life was destroyed. Every combustible thing was burned. Animal bodies, full of moisture, glowed awhile and then remained charred wrecks. Wood and other easily combustible things burned to ashes. On the ground lay the bodies, amidst heaps of hot mud, heaps of gleaming ashes and piles of volcanic stones. That was all. That St. Pierre and the strip of coast to the north and south of it were burned in an instant was probably due to the first break in the mountain coming on its western side and immediately above them, though the direction of the wind may have had a little to do with it. In this way one can understand how the mountain resort of Morne Rouge, where about 600 people were staying, escaped annihilation. Rocks and dust and boiling mud fell upon it, no doubt harming it, but they did not destroy it, for it was out of the pathway of the first awful blast. For days after this most awful of blasts, beginning indeed immediately after the first explosion, Mount Pelee continued sending down lava streams in many directions. They filled the ravines and followed river courses and made their way to the sea. They did great destruction, but most of the inhabitants in their course had some chance at least to escape. From Le Precheur around the northern end of the island, to Grande Riviere, Macouba, and Grande Anse, directly across the island from St. Pierre, the lava was flowing. Great crevasses opened from time to time in the hills. The earth undulated like waves. Rivers were thrown out of their courses by the change in land levels. In some places they submerged the land and formed lakes. In other places they were licked up by the lava that flowed on them and turned them to steam. Constant rumblings, thunder and lightning storms made the surroundings so terrible that many persons actually died of fright. The West Indian newspapers printed just before the day of the great eruption, and received in foreign countries after the catastrophe, serve to give a graphic picture of the situation in St. Pierre as it was before the outer world knew of the threat of danger. To them, and the letters written and mailed to foreign correspondents before the fatal day, we owe the clear idea of what was going on. The Voice of St. Lucia, printed at Castries, had this story on May 8 of the days preceding the destruction of St. Pierre: "Mount Pelee began to show signs of uneasiness in the last days of April. On the 3d inst. it began to throw out dense volumes of smoke, and at midnight belched out flames, accompanied by rumbling noises. Flames were again visible at half-past five o'clock the next morning, and similar noises were audible. At the foot of Mount Pelee are the villages of Precheurs and Ste. Philomene. The inhabitants were thrown into great consternation by the sights and sounds, and especially by the darkening of the day by volumes of thick smoke and clouds of ashes, which were falling. There was an exodus from all over the district. "St. Pierre was on the morning of May 3 covered with a layer of ashes about a quarter of an inch thick, and appeared as if enveloped in a fog. The mountain was wrapped in the smoke which issued from it. The greatest anxiety prevailed, and all business was suspended. "A very anxious morning was passed on the island May 4. Thanks, however, to a sea breeze, the situation appeared better at eleven o'clock, but as the breeze died away at sunset, ashes again began to fall, and the mountain and its environs presented a most dismal spectacle, causing much alarm as to what the night would bring forth. Nothing happened, however, and on Monday morning May 5, although everything was not quite serene, the aspect was decidedly encouraging. Less excitement was visible. "At about nine o'clock on the morning of the 6th a private telegram came from Martinique, stating that the Plissonneau family had chartered the steamer Topaze, one of the boats of the Compagnie Girard, and had started for St. Lucia. At about eleven o'clock the Topaze arrived with Mrs. Plissonneau, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Plissonneau and three children, Mrs. Pierre Plissonneau and child, and others. "They report that at noon on Monday a stream of burning lava suddenly rushed down the southwestern slope of the mountain, and, following the course of the Riviere Blanche, the bed of which is dry at this season of the year, overwhelmed everything which obstructed its rush to the sea. Estates and buildings were covered up by the fiery wave, which appeared to rise to a height of some twenty feet over an area of nearly a quarter of a mile. When the torrent had poured itself into the sea, it was found that the Guerin sugar factory, on the beach, five miles from the mountain and two from St. Pierre, was imbedded in lava. The burning mass of liquid had taken only three minutes from the time it was first perceived to reach the sea, five miles away. "Then a remarkable phenomenon occurred. The sea receded all along the western coast for about a hundred yards and returned with gentle strength, covering the whole of the sea front of St. Pierre and reaching the first houses on the Place Bertin. This created a general panic, and the people made for the hills. Though the sea retired again, without great damage being done ashore or afloat, the panic continued, intensified by terrible detonations, which broke from the mountain at short intervals, accompanied with dense emissions of smoke and lurid flashes of flame. "This was awful in daylight, but, when darkness fell, it was more terrible still, and, at each manifestation of the volcano's anger, people, in their nightclothes, carrying children, and lighted by any sort of lamp or candle they had caught up in their haste, ran out into the dark streets, wailing and screaming, and running aimlessly about the town. "The mental strain becoming unendurable, the Topaze was got ready, and the refugees hurriedly went on board and started for St. Lucia. In the afternoon the gentlemen of the party, having placed their families in safety, returned by the Topaze to Martinique. "In the meantime, telegrams were being sent from Martinique, imploring that a steamer be chartered to bring away terrified people from St. Pierre. But the superintendent of the Royal Mail company, at Barbados, would not allow one of the coasting boats, the only steamer available, to go to Martinique. At a little before five o'clock in the afternoon cable communication was interrupted and remains so." Martinique mails, forwarded just prior to the disaster, arrived in Paris on May 18. The newspapers printed a number of private letters from St. Pierre, giving many details of events immediately preceding the catastrophe. The most interesting of these was a letter from a young lady, who was among the victims, dated May 3. After describing the aspect of St. Pierre before dawn, the town being lit up with flames from the volcano, everything covered with ashes, and the people excited, yet not panic-stricken, she said: "My calmness astonished me. I am awaiting the event tranquilly. My only suffering is from the dust which penetrates everywhere, even through closed windows and doors. We are all calm. Mama is not a bit anxious. Edith alone is frightened. If death awaits us there will be a numerous company to leave the world. Will it be by fire or asphyxia? It will be what God wills. You will have our last thought. Tell brother Robert that we are still alive. This will, perhaps, be no longer true when this letter reaches you." The Edith mentioned was a lady visitor who was among the rescued. This and other letters inclosed samples of the ashes which fell over the doomed town. The ashes were a bluish-gray, impalpable powder, resembling newly ground flour and slightly smelling of sulphur. Another letter, written during the afternoon of May 3, says: "The population of the neighborhood of the mountain is flocking to the city. Business is suspended, the inhabitants are panic-stricken and the firemen are sprinkling the streets and roofs, to settle the ashes, which are filling the air." The letters indicate that evidences of the impending disaster were numerous five days before it occurred. Still another letter says: "St. Pierre presents an aspect unknown to the natives. It is a city sprinkled with gray snow, a winter scene without cold. The inhabitants of the neighborhood are abandoning their houses, villas and cottages, and are flocking to the city. It is a curious pell-mell of women, children and barefooted peasants, big, black fellows loaded with household goods. The air is oppressing; your nose burns. Are we going to die asphyxiated? What has to-morrow in store for us? A flow of lava, rain or stones or a cataclysm from the sea? Who can tell? Will give you my last thought if I must die." A St. Pierre paper of May 3 announces that an excursion arranged for the next day to Mount Pelee had been postponed, as the crater was inaccessible, adding that notice would be issued when the excursion would take place. An inhabitant of Morne Rouge, a town of 600 inhabitants, seven kilometers from St. Pierre, who was watching the volcano at the moment of the catastrophe, said that there were seven luminous points on the volcano's side just before it burst. He said that all about him when the explosion came, there was a terrible suction of air which seemed to be dragging him irresistibly toward the mountain in spite of all his resistance. The volcano then emitted a sheet of flame which swept down toward St. Pierre. There was no sharp, distinct roar of explosion as when a great cannon is fired, but only awful jarring rumblings. He thought that the entire outburst that did all the work of havoc did not last more than thirty seconds. Then there was complete darkness for ten minutes, caused by the dense volumes of sulphurous smoke and clouds of dust and shattered rocks. The entire country all about St. Pierre was turned into a chaotic waste. All the trees were either torn up by the roots or snapped off, to lie level with the ground. The outlines of the town but imperfectly remained. The tangle of debris was such that after the rescuers came, it was with difficulty that the course of streets could be followed. In spite of the horrible surroundings, and the universal wave of human sympathy which had been evoked, looting began almost as soon as relief. As soon as it was possible to land, ghouls began to rob the bodies of the victims. The monsters plied their nefarious trade in small boats. Skimming along the shore they would watch for an opening when troops and rescue parties were elsewhere, then land, grab what they could, and sail away again. The United States government tug Potomac, while on her way to Fort de France with supplies from San Juan, Porto Rico, overhauled a small boat containing five negroes and a white man. Something in the appearance of the men excited the suspicions of the commander of the Potomac, Lieutenant McCormick, and he ordered them to come on board. When they were searched, their pockets were found to be filled with coin and jewelry. Rings in their possession had evidently been stripped from the fingers of the dead. Lieutenant McCormick placed them all under arrest, and later turned them over to the commander of the French cruiser Suchet for punishment. Thus it was that no detail of grewsome horror was lacking to make the shocking tale of the destruction of St. Pierre complete. The hour of the disaster is placed at about eight o'clock. A clerk in Fort de France called up another by telephone in St. Pierre and was talking with him at 7:55 by Fort de France time, when he heard a sudden, awful shriek, and then could hear no more. "The little that actually happened then can be briefly, very briefly told," says W. S. Merriwether, the New York Herald correspondent. "It is known that at one minute there lay a city smiling in the summer morning; that in another it was a mass of swirling flames, with every soul of its 30,000 writhing in the throes of death. One moment and church bells were ringing joyful chimes in the ears of St. Pierre's 30,000 people--the next the flame-clogged bells were sobbing a requiem for 30,000 dead. One waft of morning breeze flowed over cathedral spires and domes, over facades and arches and roofs and angles of a populous and light-hearted city--the next swept a lone mass of white hot ruins. The sun glistened one moment on sparkling fountains, green parks and fronded palms--its next ray shone on fusing metal, blistered, flame-wrecked squares and charred stumps of trees. One day and the city was all light and color, all gayety and grace--the next its ruins looked as though they had been crusted over with twenty centuries of solitude and silence." St. Pierre was a vast charnel-house. Skirting for nearly a league the blue waters of the Caribbean, its smoking ruins became the funeral pyre of 30,000, not one of whom lived long enough to tell adequately a story that will stand grim, awful, unforgotten as that of Herculaneum, when the world is older by a thousand years. St. Pierre was as dead as Pompeii. Most of her people lay fathoms deep in a tomb made in the twinkling of an eye by the collapse of their homes, and sealed forever under tons of boiling mud, avalanches of scoria and a hurricane of volcanic dust. Over the entombed city the volcano from a dozen vents yet poured its steaming vapors in long, curling wreaths, that mounted thousands of feet aloft, like smoking incense from a gigantic censer above the bier of some mighty dead. Such was the disaster which burst upon the hapless people of the island of Martinique, while almost at the same moment a sister isle, St. Vincent, was suffering a kindred fate. Similar in natural conditions, these two little colonies of the West Indies, one French and one English by affiliation, underwent the shock of nature's assault and sank in grief before a horror-stricken world. Transcriber's Note There are some inconsistencies in the chapter subheadings between the Table of Contents and chapters themselves; these have been left as printed. There is some variation in factual information--for example, the amount held in the Mint. These occurrences have all been preserved as printed. There is some variable spelling; this has been repaired where there was an obvious prevalence of one form over the other, but is otherwise left as printed. There is a reference on page 112 to "gambling hells", which seems to be a genuine term, although it could be a typo for "gambling halls". Since there is no way to be certain, it has been preserved as printed. Archaic spelling has been preserved as printed. Typographic errors in punctuation and spelling (omitted or transposed letters, etc.) have been repaired. Hyphenation has been made consistent where there was a prevalence of one form over the other. The following errors have also been repaired: Page 18--John amended to James--"Former Mayor James D. Phelan" Page 47--aids amended to aides--"It was not without a struggle that Mayor Schmitz and his aides let this, ..." Page 93--omitted word 'he' added, for sense--"Kanaka Pete chased the man he had marked ..." Page 160--omitted 0 added to tabular entry for Connecticut. Page 317--damage to the bottom of the page has left one word partially obscured. From the visible letters and available space, the word is most likely 'gradually', which has been used in this e-text. Page 372--Callas amended to Callao--"... producing a new bay at Callao; and in several mountains ..." Page 373--XXXII amended to XXXI--"CHAPTER XXXI." Page 382--XXXI amended to XXXII--"CHAPTER XXXII." Page 401--omitted word 'if' added following 'as'--"It was as if St. Pierre had been just dipped ..." The frontispiece illustrations have been moved to follow the title page. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. 
43320	----	THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES [Illustration: MOUNT VESUVIUS IN ERUPTION] THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES BY Professor EDWIN J. HOUSTON, Ph.D. NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY Publishers Copyright, 1907, by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY _All rights reserved_ _October, 1907_ ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We take this opportunity of acknowledging the courtesy of the following publishers, who have helped us in connection with the illustrations of this book:-- Henry Holt and Company ("Physiography," by Rollin D. Salisbury). D. Appleton and Company (Figs. 13, 35, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45 and 46, "Volcanoes: What They Are and What They Teach," by J. W. Judd; Fig. 15, "Principles of Geology," by Sir C. Lyell). The American Book Company ("Manual of Geology," by James Dwight Dana). G. P. Putnam's Sons ("Earthquakes in the Light of the New Seismology," by C. E. Dutton). The Clarendon Press ("Geology: Chemical, Physical, and Stratigraphical," by Joseph Prestwich). THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE VOLCANIC ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA IN 1883 1 II. SOME EFFECTS OF THE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA 12 III. THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF HAWAII 26 IV. THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF ICELAND 46 V. VESUVIUS 58 VI. OTHER VOLCANOES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN 73 VII. ORIZABA, POPOCATEPETL, IXTACCIHUATL, AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF MEXICO 85 VIII. COSEGUINA AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF CENTRAL AMERICA 91 IX. THE VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS OF SOUTH AMERICA 97 X. VOLCANOES OF THE UNITED STATES 105 XI. THE CATASTROPHE OF MARTINIQUE AND THE VOLCANIC ISLANDS OF THE LESSER ANTILLES 117 XII. SOME OTHER NOTED VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS 125 XIII. JORULLO, A YOUNG VOLCANIC MOUNTAIN 130 XIV. MID-OCEAN VOLCANIC ISLANDS 137 XV. SUBMARINE VOLCANOES 141 XVI. DISTRIBUTION OF THE EARTH'S VOLCANOES 148 XVII. VOLCANOES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST 153 XVIII. LAPLACE'S NEBULAR HYPOTHESIS 157 XIX. THE EARTH'S HEATED INTERIOR, THE CAUSE OF VOLCANOES 165 XX. SOME FORMS OF LAVA 178 XXI. MUD VOLCANOES AND HOT SPRINGS 193 XXII. THE VOLCANOES OF THE MOON 207 XXIII. EARTHQUAKES 219 XXIV. SOME OF THE PHENOMENA OF EARTHQUAKES 231 XXV. THE EARTHQUAKE OF CALABRIA IN 1783 245 XXVI. THE GREAT LISBON EARTHQUAKE OF 1755 252 XXVII. THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH, INDIA, IN 1819 257 XXVIII. THE SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE OF APRIL 18, 1906 262 XXIX. SOME OTHER NOTABLE EARTHQUAKES 269 XXX. SODOM AND GOMORRAH AND THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN 281 XXXI. INSTRUMENTS FOR RECORDING AND MEASURING EARTHQUAKE SHOCKS 290 XXXII. SEAQUAKES 296 XXXIII. THE DISTRIBUTION OF EARTHQUAKES 303 XXXIV. THE CAUSES OF EARTHQUAKES 308 XXXV. EARTHQUAKES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST--CATACLYSMS 319 XXXVI. THE KIMBERLY DIAMOND FIELDS AND THEIR VOLCANIC ORIGIN 326 XXXVII. THE FABLED CONTINENT OF ATLANTIS 335 XXXVIII. PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF ATLANTIS 344 XXXIX. NATURE'S WARNING OF COMING EARTHQUAKES 364 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE MT. VESUVIUS IN ERUPTION Frontispiece STONES AND LAVA THROWN UPWARDS--ERUPTION OF MOKUAWEOWEO, HAWAII, JULY 4-21, 1899 fac. 36 COTOPAXI 102 THE LAVA FLOW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS 184 A SAN FRANCISCO PAVEMENT TORN BY THE EARTHQUAKE 266 ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT FIG. PAGE 1. THE SUNDA ISLANDS 3 2. KRAKATOA BEFORE THE ERUPTION 4 3. KRAKATOA AFTER THE ERUPTION 4 4. VOLCANIC DUST AS IT APPEARS UNDER THE MICROSCOPE 19 5. THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS 27 6. HAWAII 29 7. PANORAMA OF MOKUAWEOWEO 35 8. VIEW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA FROM THE VOLCANO HOUSE 35 9. CRATER OF KILAUEA 40 10. SECTIONS OF KILAUEA AT DIFFERENT PERIODS 42 11. ICELAND 47 12. THE MEDITERRANEAN 59 13. THE VOLCANIC DISTRICT AROUND VESUVIUS 60 14. MT. ETNA 77 15. STROMBOLI, VIEWED FROM THE NORTHWEST, APRIL, 1874 79 16. MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA 86 17. SOUTH AMERICA 98 18. THE UNITED STATES 106 19. PANORAMA FROM THE MESA AT THE EDGE OF MT. TAYLOR 110 20. VOLCANIC NECKS, EDGE OF MESA AT MT. TAYLOR 111 21. THE LESSER ANTILLES 118 22. GRAHAM'S ISLAND--A RECENT VOLCANIC ISLAND 143 23. ALEUTIAN ISLANDS 146 24. MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING LOCATION OF ACTIVE AND RECENTLY EXTINCT VOLCANOES 150 25. VOLCANIC VESICLES 183 26. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA 185 27. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA 185 28. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS 187 29. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS 187 30. BASALTIC COLUMNS, ISLE OF CYCLOPS, ITALY 188 31. COLUMNAR AND NON-COLUMNAR BASALT 189 32, 33. DRIBLET CONES 190 34. LAVA STALACTITES 191 35. CRATER OF THE GREAT GEYSER OF ICELAND 202 36. GIANT GEYSER 203 37. BEE HIVE 203 38. BEE HIVE GEYSER OF ICELAND 205 39. HEAVY STONE OBELISKS TWISTED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783 229 40. CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE 239 41. SECTION OF CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE 239 42. MAP OF THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783 246 43. FISSURES CAUSED BY THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE 249 44. MAP SHOWING DISTRICT VISITED BY THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH OF 1819 258 45. SINDREE BEFORE THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819 259 46. SINDREE AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819 260 47. MAP OF WESTERN COAST OF CALIFORNIA SHOWING POSITION OF SAN FRANCISCO 263 48. NEW ZEALAND 274 49. MAP SHOWING REGION AFFECTED BY THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE OF 1886 277 50. SYRIA 282 51. COMPLEX RECORD OF SEISMOGRAPH 293 52. LONG DISTANCE SEISMOGRAM 293 53. VICENTINI VERTICAL PENDULUM 294 54. VICENTINI PENDULUM AND RECORDER 295 55. DAVISON'S EARTHQUAKE MAP OF JAPAN 306 THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES CHAPTER I THE VOLCANIC ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA IN 1883 Krakatoa is a little island in the Straits of Sunda, about thirty miles west of the island of Java, and nearly the same distance east of the island of Sumatra. It is uninhabited and very small, measuring about five miles in length and less than three miles in width. Its total area is only thirteen square miles. This little piece of land made itself famous by what took place on it during the month of August, 1883. Krakatoa is one of the many islands that form the large island chain known as the Sunda Islands. The most important islands of this chain are Sumatra, Java, Sumbawa, Flores, and Ceram. Between Sumatra and Java, the largest two of these islands, there is a channel called the Straits of Sunda that connects the waters of the Indian Ocean with those of the Pacific Ocean. The Straits of Sunda is an important piece of water that forms one of the great highways to the East. Shipping is, therefore, always to be found in its waters. As can be seen by the map, Krakatoa is not far from the Equator, being situated in lat. 6° 7' S. and long. 105° 26' E. from Greenwich. Since there are about sixty-nine miles in every degree of latitude, Krakatoa is about 420 miles south of the Equator, and is about twenty-five miles from Java. Java is part of the Dutch East Indies, which includes Java, Celebes, the Spice Islands, and parts of Borneo and Sumatra. Batavia, the principal seaport of Java, near the northwest coast, is a great shipping centre, visited by vessels from nearly all parts of the world. It has, however, no harbor, but is approached from the ocean by means of a canal two miles in length, the sides of which are provided with massive brick walls. Besides Batavia, which is situated about one hundred English miles east of Krakatoa, there are many smaller towns or villages, the most important of which is Anjer, a thriving seaport town, where sailing vessels obtain their supplies of food and fresh water. Before the eruption of Krakatoa, Anjer was provided with a strong, stone lighthouse. Java is especially noted for its production of coffee, in which it is second only to Brazil. Its area is about the same as that of the State of New York. Java is one of the most densely populated parts of the world, containing nearly four times as many people as the whole State of New York. These facts about the situation and surroundings of Krakatoa are necessary to an understanding of the wonderful thing that happened on it during the month of August, 1883. In that month Krakatoa suffered a most tremendous explosive volcanic eruption, for it is a volcano. [Illustration: FIG. 1. THE SUNDA ISLANDS] A volcano is a mountain or hill, generally conical in shape, having at the top a nearly central opening, called a _crater_, from which at times melted rock and lava, vapor and gases escape. The lava either flows down the side of the mountain in a liquid condition, or is thrown upwards into the air. If the distance the lava is thrown upwards is sufficiently great the melted matter solidifies before it falls to the earth. In such cases the largest fragments form what are called _volcanic cinders_, the smaller pieces, _volcanic ashes_, and the extremely small particles, _volcanic dust_. If, however, the lava is thrown to a comparatively small height, it is still melted when it falls, and is then known as _volcanic drops_ or _driblets_. [Illustration: FIG. 2. KRAKATOA BEFORE THE ERUPTION] It is not surprising that Krakatoa is a volcanic island, since it lies in one of the most active belts of volcanic islands in the world, and near the coasts of the most active of these islands; i. e., Java. This belt, as shown in the map, includes, besides the Sunda Island chain, parts of Gilolo, Celebes, Mindanao and the Philippine Islands. These islands lie between Asia on the northwest and Australia on the southeast. [Illustration: FIG. 3. KRAKATOA AFTER THE ERUPTION] There is no other part of the world with, perhaps, the single exception of Japan, where so many active volcanoes are crowded in so small a space. The island of Java, small as it is, has nearly fifty volcanoes, of which at least twenty-eight are active. They are situated in a lofty range running from east to west, some of the peaks of which are more than 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. Volcanic eruptions are so frequent that the island is seldom free from them. As will be seen from the map shown in Fig. 2, Krakatoa consists of three groups of volcanic mountains, the southern group giving the name of Krakatoa to the island. Strictly speaking, this mountain was called _Rakata_, but as it is now generally known as Krakatoa, it would be unwise to attempt to call it by any other name. The central mountain or group of mountains is known as Danan, and consists largely of part of an old crater. The group of mountains which lies near the northern end of the island was known as Perboawatan. From the centre of this latter group of mountains are several old lava streams consisting of a variety of lava resembling a dark-colored glass, known to mineralogists as _obsidian_, or _volcanic glass_. Although Krakatoa was always a volcano, yet between the years 1680 and 1883, it was in the condition of a sleeping or extinct volcano. There had been a severe explosive eruption in the year 1680, that caused great loss of life and property, but ever since that time all activity had ceased and it seemed that the volcano would never again burst out. In other words, it was generally regarded as a trustworthy, sedate, quiet, inoffensive and perfectly safe volcano, that had become extinct. The long continued quiet of Krakatoa was broken on the 20th of May, 1883, when the inhabitants of Batavia on the island of Java were terrified by noises like the firing of great guns, that were first heard between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning. These noises were accompanied by the shaking of the ground and buildings. The sleeping volcano of Krakatoa was evidently growing restless, but no great damage was done and soon all was again quiet. The disturbances were merely the forerunner of the terrible eruption soon to follow, and confidence was soon restored. But suddenly, on Sunday, August 26th, 1883, almost without any further warnings, Krakatoa burst into terrible activity and began an explosive eruption that has never been equalled in severity in the memory of man. That memorable Sunday of August 26th, 1883, came during a season of the year known as the _dry monsoon_, a name given the season of the periodical winds from the Indian Ocean. Batavia, and the surrounding country, greatly needed rain, for in this part of the world it seldom rains from April to October, although the air is very moist and damp. For this reason the beginning of the wet season is always welcomed. When, therefore, the rumbling sounds of the approaching catastrophe of Krakatoa were heard in Batavia, the people, believing that the noises were due to peals of thunder, rejoiced, for all thought they heralded an earlier setting in of the wet monsoon. But when the rumbling sounds increased and reports were heard like heavy artillery, it was clear that the sounds were the beginning of a volcanic eruption, a phenomenon with which they were only too well acquainted, but, as volcanic eruptions were far from being uncommon in Java, no one was very greatly frightened. But this time the noises increased to such an extent that the people became alarmed. Throughout the night the appalling sounds continued and were accompanied by shakings of the earth sufficiently strong to shake the houses violently. Sleep was out of the question. Many of the people left their houses and remained all night in the open air, fearing the shocks would bring the houses down over their heads. The morning instead of heralding the dawn of a beautiful tropical day, with its bright, cheerful sunlight, brought with it skies covered with gray clouds that completely hid the sun. The rumbling sounds, however, had decreased, and the people were beginning to congratulate themselves that the dangers were over, when suddenly, the sky grew darker, and there began a shower of ashes that soon covered the streets and houses of the city. About seven o'clock on the morning of August 27th, a most tremendous crash was heard. The sky rapidly became so dark that it was soon necessary to light the lamps in the houses of Batavia, and some of the neighboring towns in the western part of Java. In addition to this the air was filled with vapor, while every now and then earthquake shocks were again felt. These shocks were accompanied by terrific noises like those produced by the explosion of heavy artillery. The noises rapidly increased in number and intensity until they produced a nearly continuous roar, the nature of which it is almost impossible to describe since it is probable that such sounds had never been heard before by man. It is a curious fact, which, I believe, has never been satisfactorily explained, that in most cases the people in the immediate neighborhood of the volcano, as, for example, those on board vessels in the Straits of Sunda, did not hear the terrific noises at all. Possibly they were too loud and simply gave a single inward impetus to the drum of the ear and then held it in position. Probably some of my readers may remember that witty description given by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes of an alleged effort made by all the people of the world to find out whether or not there is a man in the moon. This wonderful plan was as follows: Careful calculations were made to ascertain when it would be the same time over all the earth so that all the people of the earth could simultaneously shout at the top of their voices. In this way it was hoped that the man in the moon, if there were such a person, would notice the noise. The story goes on to tell how when the time approached for the great experiment, and all were ready to shout as loud as they could, that each person reasoning to himself or herself, that amid so great a noise no one could notice whether his or her voice was omitted, determined to remain silent, so as to be able to hear the noise and the better to observe what the man in the moon would do when the sound reached him. The result was that every person on the earth remained silent and simply listened, so that the earth was never so quiet before. Had Oliver Wendell Holmes, or any other person conceiving the witty idea, lived during the time of the great explosive eruption of Krakatoa, on that memorable August 27th, 1883, he might have taken the opportunity of observing the man in the moon, had he not been frightened by what was occurring, for certainly never before were such tremendous or terrifying sounds produced, for these sounds, as we shall see shortly, were actually heard for distances of more than 3,000 miles from the volcano. There were two different kinds of waves produced in the air by the tremendous forces at work in the eruption of Krakatoa; namely, atmospheric waves and sound waves. The atmospheric waves showed their presence in the air by means of changes produced in the atmospheric pressure. Now, while these changes cannot readily be felt by man, yet their presence can be easily shown by the use of instruments called _barometers_. There are in different parts of the world, buildings called _meteorological observatories_, that are provided, among other instruments, with recording barometers. These instruments caught the great atmospheric waves that were produced by the eruption of Krakatoa. In this manner, the astounding fact was learned that the waves starting from the volcano travelled no less than seven times around the world. When we say astounding, it must not be understood that the formation of such waves was at all contrary to the known laws of physics. On the contrary, provided the force of the eruption was sufficiently great, such waves must have been produced in the great ærial ocean. The astonishing, or wonderful thing, was that the force setting up these waves was so great that it caused them to move seven times around the globe. The atmospheric waves were so powerful that it will be worth our while to describe them in detail. Starting from the volcano of Krakatoa, as a centre, these waves moved outwards in all directions, becoming gradually larger and larger until they reached a point halfway round the globe, or 180° from Krakatoa. The waves did not, however, stop here, but continued moving onward, now growing smaller and smaller until they reached a point in North America, immediately opposite Krakatoa. Such a point on a globe is called an _antipodal point_.[1] The waves did not stop at this point, but again advanced moving toward Krakatoa, growing larger and larger until they again reached a point halfway around the globe, or 180° from Krakatoa, when they again continued moving but now continually growing smaller and smaller, until they reached Krakatoa. Here they again began moving completely around the globe, and this was continued for as many as seven times. It must not be supposed that the waves ceased on the seventh time around. On the contrary, they, probably, kept on moving for many additional times, but they were then so feeble that even the sensitive recording barometers were unable to detect their presence. There was another kind of waves in the atmosphere that did not require barometers for their detection. These were the sound waves, and can readily be detected by the human ear. Now, in the case of the great eruption of Krakatoa, the intensity of the sounds was so great that the sounds could be heard distinctly at distances of several thousand miles from Krakatoa. The sound waves so closely resembled the explosion of artillery that at Acheen, a port on the northern coast of Sumatra, 1,073 miles from Krakatoa, the authorities, believing that an attack was being made on the port, placed all their troops under arms to repel the invaders. The sounds were also distinctly heard at Bangkok, in Siam, a distance of 1,413 miles from the volcano. They were also heard at the Chagos Islands, a group of islands situated in the Indian Ocean about 2,267 miles from Krakatoa. Two steamers at Singapore, 522 miles distant, were despatched to find the vessel that was believed to be firing guns as distress signals. The sounds were distinctly heard in parts of South Australia, 2,100 miles distant, and in Western Australia, at 1,700 miles distance. But it will be unnecessary to give any further details of the great distances at which these sounds were actually heard. It will suffice to say that they were heard as far off as about 3,000 miles. It is difficult to picture to one's self such great distances. Assuming the greatest distances to be in the neighborhood of 3,000 miles, it would be as if a sound produced, say, in Boston, New York, or Philadelphia, was so loud that it could be heard in Amsterdam, London, or Paris. Some idea of the intensity of these sounds can be had from the fact that in Batavia, when, in accordance with usage, a gun was fired from one of the forts at eight o'clock in the morning, two hours before the greatest intensity of the sounds had been reached, the sound of the gun could scarcely be heard above the continuous roar. While, of course, the principal reason the sound waves were carried so far was the great force causing the eruption, yet these distances were increased by the fact that the explosion occurred in a region almost entirely surrounded by great bodies of water. The waves could, therefore, be readily carried along the surface of the sea. Had there been a high mountain wall, like the Andes of South America, on one side of the volcano they would probably have been shut off in this direction a short distance from where they were produced. CHAPTER II SOME EFFECTS OF THE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA Besides the sound waves in the air, there were waves in the waters of the ocean. Suddenly, without any warning, the people of Batavia were surprised by a huge wave that, crossing the Straits of Sunda, entered the ship canal before referred to as connecting the city with the ocean, and, rising above the brick wall, poured over the surrounding country. Although Batavia was 100 English miles from Krakatoa, yet after travelling this distance the wave was sufficiently strong to enter the city and flood its streets with water to a depth of several feet. Fortunately, the loss of life was small in the city of Batavia, but very great in the surrounding towns and villages. The ocean waves varied in height at different times of the eruption. The greatest were from fifty to eighty feet high. Just imagine the effect of a wave twice the height of an ordinary house. The waves caused great damage to the shipping in the neighborhood. In one instance, a vessel was carried one and a half miles inland and left on dry land thirty feet above the level of the sea. The total loss of life by the waves has been estimated at 35,000 people; besides this, of course, there was a great amount of property destroyed. The greatest loss was in the immediate neighborhood of Krakatoa. Gigantic waves swept over the lowlands lying near the shores of Sumatra and Java, where over areas several miles in width nearly everything was destroyed, the houses, trees, and people being swept away and the surface of the land greatly changed. The towns of Karang and Anjer, as well as numerous smaller villages, were almost completely destroyed. The seaport town of Anjer, by far the most important of the above towns, was almost completely swept away. The heavy stone lighthouse was so completely obliterated that no traces of its heavy stone foundations could afterwards be found. The Rev. Phillip Neale, formerly a British chaplain at Batavia, from whose account of the eruption of Krakatoa some of the above facts have been taken, tells of the brave action of the keeper of the lighthouse at Anjer. Besides his work as lighthouse keeper, to see that the light was constantly burning during the night, he was charged with telegraphing to Batavia the names of all passing vessels. On the fateful morning of the great catastrophe, observing that the sun did not rise, he kept the light of the lighthouse burning, and, notwithstanding the danger to which he was exposed, continued at his post in order to send word to Batavia of the passing of an English steamer. While doing this the lighthouse was swept away and the brave man perished. The following verbal account of the destruction of the port of Anjer was given by a Dutch pilot stationed at Anjer. This description is quoted by the Rev. Mr. Neale from an article prepared by him for publication in "The Leisure Hour." "I have lived in Anjer all my life, and little thought the old town would have been destroyed in the way it has. I am getting on in years, and quite expected to have laid my bones in the little cemetery near the shore, but not even that has escaped and some of the bodies have actually been washed out of their graves and carried out to sea. The whole town has been swept away, and I have lost everything except my life. The wonder is that I escaped at all. I can never be too thankful for such a miraculous escape as I had. "The eruption began on the Sunday afternoon. We did not take much notice at first, until the reports grew very loud. Then we noticed that Krakatoa was completely enveloped in smoke. Afterwards came on the thick darkness, so black and intense that I could not see my hand before my eyes. It was about this time that a message came from Batavia inquiring as to explosive shocks, and the last telegram sent off from us was telling you about the darkness and smoke. Towards night everything became worse. The reports became deafening, the natives cowered down panic-stricken, and a red, fiery glare was visible in the sky above the burning mountain. Although Krakatoa was twenty-five miles away, the concussion and vibration from the constantly repeated shocks were most terrifying. Many of the houses shook so much that we feared every minute would bring them down. There was little sleep for any of us that dreadful night. Before daybreak on Monday, on going out of doors, I found the shower of ashes had commenced, and this gradually increased in force until at length large pieces of pumice stone kept falling around. About six A. M. I was walking along the beach. There was no sign of the sun, as usual, and the sky had a dull, depressing look. Some of the darkness of the previous day had cleared off, but it was not very light even then. Looking out to sea I noticed a dark, black object through the gloom, travelling towards the shore. "At first sight it seemed like a low range of hills rising out of the water, but I knew there was nothing of the kind in that part of the Sunda Strait. A second glance--and a very hurried one it was--convinced me that it was a lofty ridge of water many feet high, and worse still, that it would soon break upon the coast near the town. There was no time to give any warning, and so I turned and ran for my life. My running days have long gone by, but you may be sure that I did my best. In a few minutes I heard the water with a loud roar break upon the shore. Everything was engulfed. Another glance around showed the houses being swept away and the trees thrown down on every side. Breathless and exhausted I still pressed on. As I heard the rushing waters behind me, I knew that it was a race for life. Struggling on, a few yards more brought me to some rising ground, and here the torrent of water overtook me. I gave up all for lost, as I saw with dismay how high the wave still was. I was soon taken off my feet and borne inland by the force of the resistless mass. I remember nothing more until a violent blow aroused me. Some hard, firm substance seemed within my reach, and clutching it, I found I had gained a place of safety. The waters swept past, and I found myself clinging to a cocoanut palm-tree. Most of the trees near the town were uprooted and thrown down for miles, but this one fortunately had escaped and myself with it. "The huge wave rolled on, gradually decreasing in height and strength until the mountain slopes at the back of Anjer were reached, and then, its fury spent, the water gradually receded and flowed back into the sea. The sight of those receding waters haunts me still. As I clung to the palm-tree, wet and exhausted, there floated past the dead bodies of many a friend and neighbor. Only a mere handful of the population escaped. Houses and streets were completely destroyed, and scarcely a trace remains of where the once busy, thriving town originally stood. Unless you go yourself to see the ruin you will never believe how completely the place has been swept away. Dead bodies, fallen trees, wrecked houses, an immense muddy morass and great pools of water, are all that is left of the town where my life has been spent. My home and all my belongings of course perished--even the clothes I am wearing are borrowed--but I am thankful enough to have escaped with my life and to be none the worse for all that I have passed through." As is common in cases of earthquake waves a great depression in the level of the sea occurred at places great distances from Krakatoa. For example, at the harbor of Ceylon, the water receded so far that for about three minutes the boats were left high and dry, and then a huge wave carried them with it as it rushed over the land. Perhaps one of the best evidences of the immense power of ocean waves is to be seen in the massive blocks of white coral rock that were washed up by the waves, on parts of the coast of Java for distances of from two to three miles from the ocean. Many of these blocks weighed from twenty to thirty tons. Indeed, some of them reached the weight of from forty to fifty tons. It is probable that the island of Krakatoa and its neighboring smaller islands formed portions of a huge cone about eight miles in diameter, that has been broken up at some very remote but unknown time by, perhaps, a greater catastrophe than that of August, 1883. In the Straits of Sunda the water was raised fifty feet to eighty feet above the ordinary level, and produced tremendous destruction especially on the coasts of Java and Sumatra, sweeping away many villages and drowning many thousands of people. The wave had a velocity of progression of nearly 400 miles per hour, or eight times faster than an ordinary express train. When it is said that the _velocity of progression of the wave_ was nearly 400 miles per hour, it is not meant that a body floating on the ocean, such, for example, as a ship, would have been carried forward at this high velocity, but would merely rise and fall in a to-and-fro swing to about the height of the wave; that is, fifty to eighty feet according to what may have been the height. As in the case of the sound waves these motions of water covered or passed over nearly all the waters of the earth. The waves progressing toward the west, crossed the Indian Ocean reaching to the coast of Hindostan, and Madagascar, and sweeping around the southern part of Africa, finally reached the coasts of France and England, as well as the eastern part of North and South America. Sweeping towards the east, they reached the coasts of Australia, New Zealand, and crossing the vast Pacific Ocean were felt at Alaska and the western coasts of North and South America. But besides the enormous waves caused by the eruption, there were marked changes in the level of the land. Large portions of the coast of Sumatra and Java were almost annihilated, much of the original surface near the coast being submerged, and places that were formerly dry land are now covered with water to a depth of from 600 to 900 feet. The enormous amount of material thrown into the air by the forces of the eruption is especially characteristic of this phenomenon. Such quantities of pumice stone and ashes fell from the clouds that, sinking in the water and collecting on the bed of the channel, they changed the depth of the water, so as to render navigation dangerous. Indeed, the Sebesi Channel, lying on the north of the island of Krakatoa was completely blocked by a huge bank of volcanic material, portions of which projected above the water, forming two smaller islands. These, however, have since been washed away by the waves. We will not attempt to give at present any explanations as to the causes of this great volcanic eruption, since the different theories as to the cause of volcanoes will be better understood when other volcanic eruptions have been described. It is sufficient here to say that if a large quantity of water should have suddenly reached a great mass of molten rock, frightful explosive eruptions would have occurred, and if the island was resting on a submerged crater its sudden disappearance may be explained. Another great wonder connected with the explosive eruption of Krakatoa was the enormous heights to which the fine dust was thrown up into the air. It has been asserted that during the most intense of these eruptions the particles reached elevations of perhaps more than twenty-five miles above the level of the sea. Carried by the winds, the fine particles remained suspended in the air for many months, and gave rise to magnificent sunlight effects, such as early dawn, lengthened twilights, lurid skies, and gorgeous sunsets of a reddish tint. There were also caused curious haloes, as well as green and blue moons. The fine dust particles consisted of minute crystals of feldspar and other minerals, and when examined under the microscope presented the appearance shown in Fig. 4. These mineral substances permitted a portion of the light to pass through them, thus producing wonderful optical effects in the atmosphere either because they acted like minute prisms and so produced rainbow colors, or because they turned the rays of light out of their course as to produce what is called interference by color effects of a nature similar to the colors seen in mother-of-pearl, rainbow coal, or in the wing cases of many beetles. The explanations of these phenomena are too difficult for a book of this character. An explosive volcanic eruption is a very terrifying and wonderful phenomenon. Frightful roaring sounds are suddenly heard, the earth shakes for many miles around, when suddenly a vast quantity of molten rock, and sometimes huge stones, are thrown out of the crater high up into the air. So great is the force that throws these materials out of the opening that heavy masses of rocks often are ejected very much faster than the projectiles from the largest guns that are used in any of the navies of the world. [Illustration: FIG. 4. VOLCANIC DUST AS IT APPEARS UNDER THE MICROSCOPE] As the molten lava cools and falls in the form of prodigious clouds of ashes, cinders and dust, for many miles around the volcano, even the light of the sun is obscured, and one cannot see the hand before the face. Some of the materials in these clouds are so light that they remain suspended in the air for many hours, often indeed for many days, and sometimes even for years. The heavier particles, however, soon begin to fall, and before long the earth's surface both around the volcano, and often at considerable distances from it, is covered with a thick layer of ashes. The sounds accompanying a volcanic eruption are often terrifying. Amid shakings and tremblings of the earth's crust, known as earthquakes, there are occasionally heard noises like the explosion of huge guns. Sometimes these sounds follow one another so rapidly that they produce an almost continuous roar. Through the roar of the explosion a curious crackling noise can be heard, due to the fragments of stone hurled out of the crater striking against one another, especially as the stones which are thrown out of the crater and have commenced to fall back again to the earth, are struck by others that are still rising. Immense quantities of ashes, stones, vapor and gases are thrown upwards for great distances into the air, while, at the same time, a lava stream pours over the lowest side of the crater. As the column of ashes and cinders reaches its greatest height in the air, it begins to spread outward on all sides, rapidly growing like a huge dark mushroom. This soon shuts out the light of the sun, and from it showers of red hot ashes and cinders fall to the earth. It would be extremely dangerous to be on the side of the volcanic mountain during an explosive eruption; for, even should you escape falling into an opening in the side of the mountain, you might be killed by the huge stones that are constantly falling on all sides around the opening, or might be buried under the vast showers of red hot ashes that are poured down from the dense clouds overhanging the mountain, or suffocated by clouds of sulphur vapor that rush down its sides. When at a safe distance the sight is certainly magnificent. There is no light from the sun. All would be in pitch darkness but for the reddish glare thrown upwards by the red hot lava, by the glowing showers of ashes that are being rained down on the sides of the mountain, or by terrific lightning flashes, due to the discharge of the immense quantities of electricity produced by the forces of the eruption. Naturally a great volcanic eruption can cause a considerable loss of life and property. When a large lava stream begins to flow down the sides of the mountain, it cannot be stopped, and should it flow toward a village or town it is likely to destroy the town completely. Besides this, the vegetation of the country for many miles around is destroyed by the showers of red hot ashes that fall from the sky. The houses of neighboring cities are similarly ruined by the great conflagrations thus set up. Further destruction is also caused by large streams of mud that rush down the slopes of the mountain, or by huge waves set up in the ocean. If the volcano is situated, as most volcanoes are, near the coast, the showers of ashes and falling stones may set fire to vessels in the neighborhood, or the progress of such vessels may be seriously retarded by layers of ashes or pumice stone that float on the surface. Sometimes these layers are so thick as actually to bring ships to a complete standstill. It must not be supposed that volcanoes are in a constant state of eruption. On the contrary, nearly all volcanoes, after an eruption, become _quiet_ or _inactive_. The air soon clears by the ashes settling, and the sunlight again appears. A crust forms over the surface of the lava, which rapidly becomes hard enough to permit one to walk over it safely. The vegetation, which has been destroyed by the hot ashes, again springs up, and, if the volcano happens to be situated within the tropics, where there is an abundance of moisture, the land soon again becomes covered by a luxuriant vegetation. Most of the people, who have escaped sudden death during the eruption, return to the ruins of their houses; for it is a curious fact that no matter how great has been a volcanic eruption, or how far-reaching the ruin, the survivors, as a rule, do not appear to hesitate to return to their old neighborhood. In a few years the fields are re-cultivated, the villages are rebuilt, and the people apparently forget they are living over a slumbering volcano, which may at any time again burst forth in a dangerous eruption. A volcano that throws out molten rock, vapor and gases is known as an _active volcano_. An active volcano, however, is only correctly said to be in a state of eruption when the quantity of the molten rock, lava or vapor it throws out is greatly in excess of the ordinary amount. Sometimes the volcanic activity so greatly decreases that the molten rock or lava no longer rises in the crater, but, on the contrary, begins to sink, so that the top of the lava in the crater is often at a considerable distance below its edges. The lava then begins to harden on the surface, and, if the time is sufficient, the hardened part extends for a considerable distance downward. In this way the opening connecting the crater with the molten lava below becomes gradually closed, the volcano being thus shut up, or corked, just as a bottle is tightly closed by means of a cork driven into the opening at its top so as to prevent the escape of the liquid it contains. It may sound queer to say that a volcano has its crater so corked up as to prevent the escape of the lava, but the idea is nevertheless correct and helpful. To realize the size of these huge volcanic corks one must remember that the craters of some volcanoes are several miles across. A volcano thus choked or corked up is said to be _extinct_. When we speak of an extinct volcano we do not mean that the volcano will never again become active. A volcano does not cease to erupt because there are no more molten materials in the earth to escape, but simply because its cork or crust of hardened lava has been driven in so tightly that the chances of its ever being loosened again seem to be very small. But small as the chances may seem we must not forget that the volcano may at any time become active, or go into its old business of throwing out materials through its crater. A volcano in an extinct condition is not unlike a steam boiler, the safety valve of which has been firmly fixed in place. If the steam continues to be generated in the boiler, it is only a matter of time when the boiler will blow up, and the explosion will be all the greater because the safety valve did not allow the steam to escape earlier. Sometimes an intermediate class of volcanoes called _dormant_ is introduced between active volcanoes on the one hand and extinct volcanoes on the other. The name dormant volcano, or, as the word means, _sleeping volcano_, is objectionable, since it might lead one to think that an extinct volcano is not sleeping but dead, and this is wrong. Since the plug of hardened lava in the volcanic crater is generally at a much lower level than the top of the crater, the crater will soon become filled to a greater or less depth with water, produced either by the rain, or by the melting of the snow that falls on the top of the mountain. Crater lakes, often of very great depths, are common in extinct volcanoes. Of course, when an extinct volcano again becomes active, two things must happen if the eruption is explosive. In the first place, the force of the explosion must be sufficiently great to loosen the stopper or plug of hardened lava which stops it. In doing this the mass is broken into a number of fragments that are thrown forcibly upwards into the air. After rising often for great heights they soon fall again on the sides of the mountain. But besides the breaking up of the stopper, the lake in the crater of the volcano is thrown out along with the cinders or ashes, producing very destructive flows of what are called aqueous lava or mud streams. These streams flow down the sides of the mountain, carrying with them immense quantities of both the ashes thrown out during the eruption, or those that have collected around the sides of the crater during previous eruptions. Very frequently, these streams of aqueous lava produce greater destruction than the molten lava. If you have ever watched common ants at work clearing out or enlarging their underground homes, in a piece of smooth gravel walk in your garden, you can form some idea why the mountain immediately around a volcanic crater is conical in shape. If the colony of ants happens to be fairly large, you can see an almost unbroken stream of these industrious little animals, each bearing in its mandibles a small grain of sand or gravel brought up from some place below the surface. Carrying it a short distance from the opening, it throws it on the ground, rapidly returning for another load. In this way there is heaped up around all sides of the opening a pile of sand or gravel, the outward slopes of which gives the pile a conical form. You have, probably, noticed that the steepness of the slopes depends on the size of the grains; for the larger these grains the sharper or steeper the slopes, the very fine grains producing flat mounds or cones. It is the same with a volcanic cone. The materials that are thrown upwards into the air, falling again on the mountain, collect around the crater on all sides, thus giving it the characteristic cone-like shape of the volcanic mountain. Where nothing occurs to disturb the formation of the cone its height above the level of the sea will gradually increase. Very frequently, however, during explosive eruptions, a large part of this cone will be blown away by the force of the eruption only to be again built up during some later eruption. Indeed, in the case of volcanic islands, the force of a great volcanic eruption is sometimes so great that not only is a large volcanic mountain blown entirely away, but a hole is left, where it had been standing, that extends further downwards below the level of the sea than the top of the mountain extended previously above it. The above are some, but by no means all, the wonders attending volcanic eruptions. We shall refer to others in subsequent chapters in describing particular eruptions. CHAPTER III THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF HAWAII The volcanic island of Hawaii, the largest of the Sandwich Island chain, is situated in the mid Pacific, south of the Tropic of Cancer. As shown in Fig. 5, this island chain consists of Hawaii, Maui, Molokai, Oahu, Kauai, Nihau, and about eight large islands, together with numerous small islands, extending in a general northwest direction from Hawaii to Nihau, a distance of about 400 miles. Like most volcanic islands they lie in more or less straight lines, probably along fissures, in this case in two nearly parallel lines. The island of Nihau, however, is an exception, the direction of the greatest length being almost straight across the two parallel lines. The Sandwich Islands lie 2,000 miles from San Francisco in deep water, between 2,000 and 3,000 fathoms, or between 12,000 and 18,000 feet in depth. This island chain consists of great volcanic mountains, that had, at one time, fifteen active volcanoes of the first class. These are now all extinct but three, and all of these are on the island of Hawaii. In his report to the United States Geological Survey for 1882-83, Dutton states that the summit of Mt. Haleakala on East Maui is 10,350 feet above the sea level. Oahu has peaks on its eastern side 2,900 feet high, and peaks on the western side 3,850 feet high. The summit of Kauai is probably 6,200 feet above the sea. [Illustration: FIG. 5. THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS _From U. S. Geological Survey_] It can be shown by deep-sea soundings that all these volcanic piles are the summits of a gigantic mountain mass that rises abruptly from the bed of the Pacific. There are reasons for believing that this submarine chain continues for many hundreds of miles in the same direction beyond Kauai. The extinct volcano, Haleakala, on East Maui appears to have been in eruption at a much later day than Mt. Kea, which is also an extinct volcano. But the natives have no traditions of any eruptions. The volcanoes on the other islands have been extinct for a very long time judging from the extent of their erosion. Dutton is of the opinion that the western islands of the chain have been extinct for much longer times than the remaining islands. The Sandwich Islands, also known as the Hawaiian Islands, are one of the colonial possessions of the United States. The island of Hawaii is about 2,000 miles from San Francisco. Honolulu, on the island of Oahu, the principal seaport of the chain, has a pleasant climate, and is an important coaling station for warships, commercial vessels, whalers, and trading ships generally. The principal product of the island is sugar cane. The island of Hawaii, as shown in map, Fig. 6, consists of five volcanic mountains and some small coral reefs. These mountains are: Mt. Kea, on the north, 13,805 feet in height; Mt. Haulalai, in the west central part of the island, 8,273 feet in height; Mt. Loa, in the south central part of the island, 13,675 feet in height; Mt. Kilauea, twenty miles east of the crater of Loa, 4,040 feet high at the Volcano House, and 4,158 feet on the highest point on the west, and Kohala, 5,505 feet in height, running through the northwestern part of the island, and the Kohala mountains in the northwestern part. [Illustration: FIG. 6. HAWAII _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Of these mountains, Mt. Loa and Kilauea are the only active volcanoes, and are in frequent eruption. Mt. Haulalai was in eruption during 1804. Mt. Kea has not been active during historical times, while Mt. Kohala has been inactive for so long a time that its slopes are deeply gullied wherever the rivers flow down them. As you can see from the map, Hawaii is very large. It has a length of ninety-three miles from north to south, and a breadth of eighty miles from east to west, its area is about 6,500 square miles. With the exception of small patches of coral reefs, Hawaii is formed entirely of lava, and is the largest pile of lava in the world with the single exception of Iceland. Where the islands of the Hawaiian chain have coral reefs extending off their coasts, excellent harbors are found in the deep waters between the islands and the reefs. Hawaii, however, has no extended reefs of this character, and, consequently, no first-class harbors. Hilo, on the eastern coast, is the best harbor, and is, therefore, the principal settlement. A very brief examination of the map of Hawaii will show you that there are no rivers on the island, except on the sides exposed to the wind, that is, on the northern and northeastern slopes. Since the yearly rainfall on Hawaii is large, being in the neighborhood of a hundred inches, you will understand that considerable rain water falls on the island. In those parts of the island where it does not run off the surface it must drain downward through the loose piles of broken rocks or cinders. A rainfall of one hundred inches a year means that if all the rain which falls on each square foot of surface was collected in a flat vessel one foot square with vertical sides it would fill the vessel to the depth of one hundred inches, or over eight feet. The drainage of the rainwater downwards through these parts of the island, must, therefore, be large. Another curious fact you can notice on the map, is that the lava streams of the past fifty years from Mt. Loa indicated by heavy dotted lines, in no cases begin at the crater, but start at fairly considerable distances from it. Later on in this chapter we shall explain the reason for this curious fact. Since practically the whole of Hawaii has been formed from the streams of lava that have flowed at one time or another, you can understand how great these flows must have been. But to do this fully you must not only take into consideration the portions of the island that lie above the ocean and reach into the air at its greatest height to 13,805 feet above its surface, you must also remember that this mountain rises from a deep ocean, so that if all the water were removed, you would see Hawaii towering up above the former level of the sea to the height of about 31,000 feet, or higher than Mt. Everest, the highest point on the earth above the present sea level. This would be, approximately, five and eight-tenths miles. You can understand, therefore, how great the flow of lava must have been. We shall begin the description of Hawaii with the active volcano of Mt. Loa, or, as it is sometimes called in Hawaii, "The White Mountain." You will remember that the eruption of Krakatoa was of the explosive type. Practically no melted rock or lava escaped from the crater. Indeed, if it had escaped it would not have been seen; for, not only the cone near the crater, but also much of the mountain itself was blown completely out of sight and covered by the waters of the ocean. The eruptions of Mt. Loa are of an entirely different type. In Loa there are no explosions, the eruptions being what are called the non-explosive or quiet volcanic eruption type. It will be necessary to explain some of the peculiarities of this kind of eruptions. There is a great difference in the liquidity or the ease with which different kinds of lava flow. Some lava is very thick or viscid, or is sticky like thick molasses or tar, and therefore flows very sluggishly. Other lava is thin or mobile, more closely resembling water in the ease with which it flows. Now, in the case of a volcanic mountain of fairly considerable height, where the lava possesses marked liquidity, the lava as it rises from great depths in the tube of the volcano seldom flows over the top or rim of the crater. This is not because the force that brings the lava up is unable to carry it a few thousand feet higher, so that it can run over the brim of the crater, but because the walls of the volcanic mountains are unable to stand the great pressure which the mass of liquid lava exerts against their sides. It can be shown that a column of liquid lava 500 feet high, will exert a pressure on the walls of the crater of about 625 pounds to the square inch. Therefore, in very high volcanic mountains, long before the lava can reach the edge of the crater and overflow, the pressure becomes so great, that cracks or fissures are made in the sides of the mountain, through which the lava is quietly discharged; when, of course, the level of the lava in the crater falls considerably. In volcanoes of the explosive type, no matter what may be the condition of lava, should a large quantity of water suddenly find an entrance to a large body of molten lava at some distance below the surface, the lava would be suddenly thrown explosively into the air, where being chilled, it would afterwards descend in showers of ashes, cinders, or volcanic dust. In some volcanic mountains such as Mt. Loa, the crater, instead of being situated at the top of a conical pass of ashes or other material, consists of a pit-like depression, generally occupying a level tract or plain at the top of the mountain. This pit is known as a _caldera_, or _caldron_, or what you might, perhaps, call a huge kettle or boiler. The pit has more or less vertical sides that extend downwards for unknown depths to the place from which the lava comes. The vertical walls of the caldera are not, however, smooth, but exhibit numerous horizontal ledges, that mark places where portions of the floor of the caldera were situated at different times. At the bottom of the large pit or caldera on the summit of Mt. Loa can be seen the level floor formed of hardened lava. This floor is surrounded by vertical walls on which can be seen the broken edges of the old lake bed. Captain Dutton, in a paper on Hawaiian volcanoes, prepared for the United States Geological Survey, and published in its Fourth Annual Report for 1882-83, thus describes the appearance at the great crater as it was in 1882. "The summit of Mauna Loa (Mt. Loa), is a broad and large platform about five miles in length and four miles in width, within which is sunken the great caldera called Mokuaweoweo. The distance from the point where we first reach the summit to the brink of the pit is about a mile and a half. The surface of the platform is much more rugged than the slopes just ascended. It is riven with cracks, and small faults,[2] and piles of shattered rock are seen on every hand. Nowhere is there to be seen the semblance of a cinder cone. Doubtless many eruptions have broken forth from the various fissures on this summit, but only here and there can insignificant traces of such catastrophes be definitely distinguished. The absence of fragmental ejecta (broken rock that are thrown out) is extraordinary. The shattered blocks, slabs, and spalls (chips) which everywhere cumber the surface appear to have resulted from the spontaneous shivering and shattering of the lava sheets by their own internal tensions as they cooled. Fig. 7, taken from Dutton's report, gives the general shape of this great caldera. Dutton's description of the same is as follows: "The length of the main caldera is a little less than three miles and its width about a mile and three-quarters. Its floor, viewed from above, appears to be composed of a series of flat surfaces occupying two distinct levels, the higher upon the surface of the black ledge, the lower lying within the ledge. Upon the western side is a small cinder cone standing close upon the border of the black ledge. It is the only one visible, either within the caldera or upon the surrounding summit. Its height is about 125 or 130 feet. It was seen in operation, throwing up steam, clots of lava, and lapilli (some of the larger pieces of fragmentary lava) in the year 1878. The only other diversifications of the floor are many cracks which traverse it, the larger of which are distinctly visible from above. Some of them are considerably faulted. There is no difficulty in recognizing the fact that the whole floor has been produced by the sinkage of the lava beds which once continued over the entire extent of the depression, their undersides having been melted off most probably by the fires beneath. The lava beds in the immediate vicinity of the brink upon the summit platform wear the aspect of some antiquity. They have become brown and carious by weathering, and, although no soil is generated, little drifts of gravel are seen here and there mixed with pumice. Since the caldera was formed there is no indication that the lavas have anywhere overflowed its rim. And yet it is a very strange fact that within a half mile, and again within a mile to a mile and a half, lavas have been repeatedly erupted within the last forty years from the summit platform, and have outflowed at points situated from 700 to 900 feet above the level of the lava lake within. Traces may also be seen, at varying distances back of the rim, of very many eruptions in which the rocks betoken great recency, although no dates can be assigned to their occurrence." [Illustration: FIG. 7. PANORAMA OF MOKUAWEOWEO _From U. S. Geological Survey_] [Illustration: FIG. 8. VIEW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA FROM THE VOLCANO HOUSE _From U. S. Geological Survey_] During his visit to this great pit, Captain Dutton succeeded in climbing down the almost vertical walls on the side of the crater, and, reaching the surface of the hardened lake, walked over it. It must have required no little courage to thus venture on the thin floor of a lake which he knew was filled to great depths with red hot boiling lava, for he was walking over the surface of a slumbering volcano, that might at almost any moment awaken, and opening, swallow him and his companions. Through enormous cracks in the floor, he could feel the heat from the molten mass, while, through the same openings came suggestive whiffs of sulphur vapor. During the eruption of this mountain, on January 23d, 1859, the light from the glowing lava streams was bright enough to read fine print at Hilo, a distance of thirty-five miles. During the eruption of 1852, a stream of white-hot lava was thrown up into the air from one of the fissures to a height of from 300 to 400 feet. [Illustration: STONES AND LAVA THROWN UPWARDS--ERUPTION OF MOKUAWEOWEO, HAWAII, JULY 4-21, 1899 _From a Stereograph, Copyright, by Underwood & Underwood_] When an eruption takes place in Mt. Loa the column of lava slowly rises in the crater, threatening to overflow its lowest edges, but before this can take place the pressure becomes so great that some portion of the mountain below the crater is fractured and the lava quietly escapes. During some conditions of the mountain every fifteen or twenty minutes a column of highly glowing lava is shot upwards like a fountain to a height of 500 feet and over, falling back into the lake in fiery spray. Unusual heights of these streams are generally followed by an eruption. These curious jets of molten rock certainly cannot be due to the pressure of higher columns of lava, since the crater itself is near the top of a high plain. They are believed to be due to steam formed by the penetration of the rain water that falls on this part of the mountain. You can now understand why the lava streams escaping from Mt. Loa as shown on the map, in Fig. 6, do not begin at the level of the crater; for the discharge of the lava does not take place over the rim of the crater, but through the cracks or fissures formed further down the sides of the mountains. It must not be supposed, however, that the fissures are limited to the sides of the mountain where they can be seen. They probably occur in many places below the surface of the water on some part of the bed of the ocean. The crevices that are formed in this manner in the sides of the mountain vary greatly in size, some being so narrow that the lava scarcely flows through them at all but simply fills up the crevice, hardens on cooling, and mends the cracks in the mountains, in the way that a crack is mended in a piece of china by the use of glue or in a wall of masonry by mortar. Through the largest crevices or cracks, however, large lava streams may continue to flow often for several weeks, or even longer. Sometimes, especially towards the close of the eruptive flow, the lava may escape disruptively, so that small cones are formed along the lines of the fissures. Cones of this character are called lateral cones, and in the case of a volcanic island, where the lava flows out below the level of the water, the lateral cones sometimes project above the water and form volcanic islands or dangerous shoals that impede navigation. When the lava pours out of a crevice in the side of the mountain, a river of molten rock rushes down the slopes, at first like a torrent, but on reaching the more nearly level ground, it spreads out in great lava lakes or fields, the surface of which takes on the characteristic black appearance of basalt, a certain kind of glass, for the lavas of Mt. Loa are generally basaltic. After an eruption the hardened floor of lava in the caldera, being no longer supported by the liquid mass formerly below it, falls in, leaving a large cavity with only the edges of the old floor clinging to the sides of the pit. It will be interesting to give a short account of some of the great lava streams that have been poured out at different times from Mt. Loa. In the great eruption of August 11th, 1855, the lava escaped through fissures from two to thirty inches in width. Then, flowing in a continuous stream, it did not stop until it was within five miles of Hilo. In the eruption of January 23d, 1859, the lava stream flowed towards the northwest on the east side of Haulalai, reaching the sea in eight days. The eruption of March 27th, 1868, was characterized by severe earthquake shocks, one of which, occurring on the second of April, destroyed many houses and produced huge fissures in the earth. These shocks produced great earthquake waves that reached distant coasts. Mt. Kilauea, lies at a lower level towards the east. This crater is situated at 4,040 feet above the level of the sea, and is nearly 6,000 feet below the caldera on the top of Mt. Loa. Fig. 8, taken from the United States Geological Survey, Fourth Annual Report, for 1882-83, shows a view of Kilauea from the Volcano House. Dutton gives the following description of the appearance of Halemaumau, the pit crater or caldera of Kilauea. "In front of us and right beneath our feet, over the crest of a nearly vertical wall, more than 700 feet below, is outspread the broad floor of the far-famed Kilauea. It is a pit about three and a half miles in length, and two and a half miles in width, nearly elliptical in plan and surrounded with cliffs, for the most part inaccessible to human foot, and varying in altitude from a little more than 300 feet to a little more than 700 feet. The altitude of the point on which we stand is about 4,200 feet above the sea.... "The object upon which the attention is instantly fixed is a large chaotic pile of rocks, situated in the centre of the amphitheatre, rising to a height which by an eye estimate appears to be about 350 to 400 feet. From innumerable places in its mass volumes of steam are poured forth and borne away to the leeward by the trade wind. The color of the pile is intensely black.... "Around it spreads out the slightly undulated floor of the amphitheatre, as black as midnight. To the left of the steaming pile is an opening in the floor of the crater, within which we behold the ruddy gleams of boiling lava. From numerous points in the surrounding floor clouds of steam issue forth and melt away in the steady flow of the wind. The vapors issue most copiously from an area situated to the right of the central pile, and in the southern portion of the amphitheatre. Desolation and horror reign supreme. The engirdling walls everywhere hedge it in. But upon their summits, and upon the receiving platform beyond, are all the wealth and luxuriance of tropical vegetation heightening the contrast of the desolation below...." [Illustration: FIG. 9. CRATER OF KILAUEA _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Fig. 9 represents the pit-like crater of Kilauea as it appeared after the eruption of 1886. Here, as will be seen, there are several lakes of lava, the largest of which is known as Halemaumau. The eruption of 1886, like all the eruptions of Kilauea, consisted of the escape of the lava from an opening on the side of the mountain below the crater, and a sinking in of the hardened floor of the crater. The figure also shows the position of the New Lake that lies east of Halemaumau. The extent and appearance of each of these lakes are constantly changing, both as to height and area. Dutton gives the following description of the appearance of the lake of lava, and some curious phenomena that occur on its surface. He is describing the general appearance of the pool of molten lava covered as it is with a hardened black crust: "The surface of the lake is covered over with a black solidified crust showing a rim of fire all around its edge. At numerous points at the edge of the crust jets of fire are seen spouting upwards, throwing up a spray of glowing lava drops, and emitting a dull, simmering sound. The heat for the time being is not intense. Now and then a fountain breaks out in the middle of the lake and boils freely for a few minutes. It then becomes quiet, but only to renew the operation at some other point. Gradually the spurting and fretting at the edges augment. A belch of lava is thrown up here and there to the height of five or six feet, and falls back upon the crust. Presently, near the edge, a cake of the crust cracks off, and one edge of it bending downwards descends beneath the lava, and the whole cake disappears, disclosing a naked surface of liquid fire. Again it coats over and turns black. This operation is repeated edgewise at some other part of the lake. Suddenly a network of cracks shoots through the entire crust. Piece after piece of it turns its edge downwards and sinks with a grand commotion, leaving the whole pool a single expanse of liquid lava. The lake surges feebly for awhile, but soon comes to rest. The heat is now insupportable, and for a time it is necessary to withdraw from the immediate brink." It is very curious to think of cakes of hardened lava floating on the surface of molten lava, but, of course, this is just as natural as cakes of ice floating on the surface of water; for a cake of hardened lava is, as you will understand, only a cake of frozen lava, and, being lighter than the molten lava, must, of course, float on its surface. The disappearance of these cakes of frozen lava and their remelting is still more curious, and can be explained as follows: The frozen or solidified mass of black basalt is a trifle lighter than the lava on which it is floating only while its temperature is high, and therefore expanded by heat. As soon as it cools, its density increases, and when it becomes a little greater than that of the liquid lava, it begins to sink and soon disappears. [Illustration: FIG. 10. SECTIONS OF KILAUEA AT DIFFERENT PERIODS _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Professor Dana, who has made a careful study of the phenomena of Kilauea, shows in Fig. 10, a cross section of Kilauea at different times. Before the eruption of 1823, the depth of the crater was from 800 to 1,000 feet. At the eruption the bottom 600 to 800 feet, making the depth of Kilauea over this deeper central part about 1,500 feet. The varying depths at different dates are clearly marked on the drawing. The eruptions of Kilauea generally occur as follows: First there is a slow rising of the lava in the crater. This rising continues until the pressure is so great that the mountain is ruptured at some lower place. Next a discharge of the lava and a sinking to a level in the conduit that will depend on the position of the crevice. Then a gradual falling in of the hardened floor of the lake, a portion of the horizontal walls remaining on the sides of the caldera. The eruption of Kilauea, however, has not always been of the quiet type. There was an eruption in the year 1789 that would appear to have been of the explosive variety. The following account is given by Dana as taken from a history of the Sandwich Islands by the Rev. I. Dibble, published in 1843: "The army of Keoua, a Hawaiian chief, being pursued by Kamehamoha, were at the time near Kilauea. For two preceding nights there had been eruptions, with ejections of stones and cinders. The army of Keoua set out on their way in three different companies. The company in advance had not proceeded far before the ground began to shake and rock beneath their feet, and it became quite impossible to stand. Soon a dense cloud of darkness was seen to rise out of the crater, and, almost at the same instant, the thunder began to roar in the heavens and the lightning to flash. It continued to ascend and spread around until the whole region was enveloped, and the light of day was entirely excluded. The darkness was the more terrific, being made visible by an awful glare from streams of red and blue light, variously combined through the action of the fires of the pit and the flashes of lightning above. Soon followed an immense volume of sand and cinders, which were thrown to a great height, and came down in a destructive shower for many miles around. A few of the forward company were burned to death by the sand, and all of them experienced a suffocating sensation. The rear company, which was nearest the volcano at the time, suffered little injury, and after the earthquake and shower of sand had passed over, hastened on to greet their comrades ahead on their escape from so imminent a peril. But what was their surprise and consternation to find the centre company a collection of corpses! Some were lying down, and others were sitting upright, clasping with dying grasp their wives and children, and joining noses (the mode of expressing affection) as in the act of taking leave. So much like life they looked that at first they supposed them merely at rest, and it was not until they had come up to them and handled them that they could detect their mistake." Mr. Dibble adds: "A blast of sulphurous gas, a shower of heated embers, or a volume of heated steam would sufficiently account for this sudden death. Some of the narrators who saw the corpses, affirm that though in no place deeply burnt, yet they were thoroughly scorched." As you will see in Chapter XI, this sudden and awful death due to highly heated air and dust particles, caused even a greater loss of life in the catastrophic eruption of Pelée, in Martinique on May 8, 1902. By reason of its situation at a lower level on the slopes of Mt. Loa, Kilauea was at one time thought to be one of the craters lower down on the slopes of Loa. This was the opinion of Professor Dana when he examined the district in 1840. Since this time the region has been more carefully studied, and Mt. Loa and Kilauea, are now generally regarded as separate and independent volcanoes, neither of which acts as a safety valve for the other. We shall not attempt in this chapter to say anything concerning the sources or places from where these great supplies of lava have been drawn. This will be left to some subsequent chapter, after we have described still other volcanoes. The outlines of mountains like Mt. Loa or Kilauea differ greatly from mountains like Vesuvius; their slopes, like the slopes of all other Hawaii volcanoes, have an inclination which does not exceed 10°. The lava streams, therefore, as they flow down the mountains, move more slowly than they would were the slopes more precipitous, as in mountains like Vesuvius. There have been many eruptions of Kilauea. That which occurred in the year 1840, was of great magnitude (see map, Fig. 6), and began in a fissure southwest of the crater. The principal eruption, however, broke out about twelve miles from the sea coast, and about twenty-five miles east of Kilauea. Here an enormous mass of lava forming a stream nearly three miles wide reached the ocean at Nanawale. When an eruption takes place on Mt. Loa through a fissure at the height of 10,000 to 13,000 feet the length of the lava streams is frequently as great as twenty-five to thirty miles. Often the lava though hardening at the surface will continue to flow underneath through huge tunnels, of which the top and sides are composed of solidified parts of the same lava stream. After the flow has ceased long hollow tunnels often remain. If the lower end of such a tunnel containing molten lava is momentarily closed, the pressure of the lava above may not only burst through the obstruction, but may even throw the lava upwards in jets 300 to 700 feet high. Probably most of you have seen illumined fountains where jets of water are beautifully lighted up by different colored electric lights placed below them. Such fountains, however, can but poorly compare either in beauty or grandeur with these wonderful lava fountains, common on the slopes of Mt. Loa during an eruption. CHAPTER IV THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF ICELAND The island of Iceland consists of a number of volcanic mountains some of which are still active. As can be seen from the map, shown in Fig. 11, Iceland lies in the North Atlantic Ocean, immediately below the Arctic Circle, about 250 miles east of Greenland, and 600 miles west of Norway. Its length from east to west is about 300 miles, and its breadth about 200 miles, its total area, including the adjacent islands, being more than 40,000 square miles. Were all the water removed from the North Atlantic Ocean, it would be seen that Iceland rests on the bed of the Atlantic, on a submarine plateau or highland; for, in this part of the ocean the water is only from 1,500 to 3,000 feet deep. This submarine plateau extends as far as Norway on the east, Greenland on the north, and the island of Jan Mayen on the northeast. Immediately north of the plateau the ocean suddenly drops to a depth of 12,000 to 15,000 feet. [Illustration: FIG. 11. ICELAND] Toward the south the plateau extends with but few interruptions through the middle of the ocean to a shoal known as the _Dolphin Shoal_, as far as lat. 25° N. This part of the ocean, which can only relatively be called a shoal, is not generally deeper than 9,600 feet, although in some places the water is more than 12,000 feet deep. On each side of the Dolphin Shoal the water is much deeper, being in places 15,000 feet on the east, while on the west there are depths as great as from 17,000 to 21,000 feet. This sunken plateau, possibly including the shallower plateau on the north, is believed by some to be the remains of the fabled continent of _Atlantis_, to which we shall refer in another part of this book. The coast line of Iceland is unbroken on the southeast, but the remainder of the coast is deeply indented with bays or fiords in which are many excellent harbors. Iceland is liable to frequent earthquake shocks and volcanic eruptions. From careful records that have been preserved in the history of the island, we learn that since the beginning of the twelfth century there have practically never been intervals longer than forty years, and more generally not longer than twenty years, in which there has not been a great earthquake or a great volcanic eruption. These volcanic eruptions are often very protracted. For example, one eruption of the volcano Hecla continued for six years without ceasing. Sir Charles Lyell, the great English geologist, writes as follows about Iceland: "Earthquakes have often shaken the whole island at once, causing great changes in the interior, such as the sinking down of hills, the rending of mountains, the desertion of rivers by their channels, and the appearance of new lakes. New islands have often been thrown up near the coast, some of which still exist, while others have disappeared, either by subsidences or the action of the waves. "In the interval between eruptions innumerable hot springs afford vent to the subterranean heat, and solfataras discharge copious streams of inflammable matter. The volcanoes in different parts of the island are observed, like those of the Phlegræan Fields, Italy, to be in activity by turns, one vent often serving for a time as a safety valve for the rest. Many cones are often thrown up in one eruption and in this case they take a linear direction, running generally from southeast to northwest." The volcanic eruptions of Iceland belong for the greater part to the fissure type. During a volcanic eruption in Iceland the ground is split in fissures or cracks, generally parallel to each other, and varying in width from a few inches to several yards. These fissures extend for great distances across the country. The lava quietly wells out along the fissures not unlike the way quiet spring waters flow from their reservoirs. According to Dr. Th. Thoroddsen, the Icelandic geologist, there are two systems of fissures extending through Iceland, from southwest to northeast in the southern part of the island, and from north to south in the northern part. Where two lines of fissures cross each other the points of intersection may be especially active. Dr. Th. Thoroddsen arranges the volcanoes of Iceland under three heads, i. e., _cone-shaped volcanoes_; _lava cones_; and _chains of craters_, the last being the commonest. Out of 107 volcanoes examined by him in Iceland, eight were of the Vesuvian type, or were built up of layers of lava and volcanic ashes; sixteen were of the lava-cone type, similar to Mt. Loa, of the Hawaiian Islands, and the remaining eighty-three were of the type of crater chains. The volcano of Snaefell Jökul, 4,710 feet above the level of the ocean, is built up of alternate layers of lava and hardened volcanic mud. It is not, however, a true cone-shaped mountain. The largest volcano in Iceland, the Dyngjufköll, with its immense crater of Askja, has an area of some twenty-five square miles. In its form it resembles Snaefell. Volcanoes of the lava-cone type have been built up entirely of lava and have a slight angle of inclination. These volcanoes range in size from small hillocks to the largest mountains on the island. Their cones generally stand on a base of wide circumference and frequently rise to great heights, the top being occupied by a caldera, or pit crater like that on Mt. Loa or Kilauea. Volcanoes of the type of chain-craters follow the natural fissures in the crust. These craters are generally low, seldom being more than 350 feet high. There are also seen in Iceland caldron-shaped depressions that have been formed by explosive eruptions. One of the best instances of such craters is Viti, on the side of Mt. Krafla. This crater was formed by the sudden eruption of May 17th, 1724. The lava sometimes quietly runs out of the entire length of the fissure without forming any cone. This was the case of a great fissure known as the Eldgja Chasm. Here three lava streams covered an area of 270 square miles. As the lava comes out of the fissures, it generally produces long ramparts of slags, and blocks of lava that are piled up on either side of the fissure. Sometimes a line of low cones is built up. These cones consist of heaps of slag, cinders, and blocks of lava. Their craters are not rounded as in the case of volcanoes of the Vesuvian type, but are oblong, or have their greatest diameter extending in a direction of the fissure. Icelandic lava as it escapes from the fissures is peculiar in that it is very viscid or plastic and can be readily drawn out into long threads that can be spun into ropes. When such lava runs down the sides of a steep slope, it often splits on cooling into separate blocks. Where it runs over flat, level ground, however, it spreads uniformly on all sides, producing vast level lava deserts that are as flat as the surface of a well built floor. There are many rivers in the north and the west of Iceland. Now, as the lava streams flow out of the fissures they enter the channels of the rivers so that the streams of water must find new paths to the sea, and this operation may be repeated again and again. Often the time between eruptions is long enough to give the rivers opportunity to cut deep channels or gorges in their new channels; but on the next escape of the lava these gorges and valleys are again filled with the molten rock, and the rivers must begin their channel cutting all over. You will note the frequent use of the word Jökul, as Snaefell Jökul, Skaptar Jökul, Orefa Jökul, etc. The name Jökul means a large mass of ice, or a mountain that is continually covered with snow, for example, Snaefell Jökul, is a beautifully shaped, snow-covered mountain situated on a point of land on the western coast of the island, extending out nearly fifty miles into the sea, between the Faxa Fiord and the Briela Fiord. It is a very conspicuous object, being visible to passing ships at considerable distances from the island. Orefa Jökul is the highest mountain in Iceland. Skaptar Jökul is one of the active volcanoes of Iceland. There can be no doubt that Iceland has been formed entirely by lava thrown up from the bottom of a submarine plateau, until it extended above the surface of the waters. To make an island entirely of lava with an area of 40,000 square miles, must, of course, have required many cones or craters that continued to pour forth lava for periods of time much longer than those during which man has lived on the earth. The surface of Iceland is far from attractive. The interior is practically a vast lava desert, covered with snow-clad mountains or Jökuls. There is no plant life except in marshy lands near the coasts, and even here scarcely enough grass is raised to feed the few cattle and horses owned by the inhabitants. There is no agriculture, owing to the very short summers, so that all grain is brought from Europe. Every now and then the grass crop is destroyed by accumulation of Polar ice on the northern and western coasts. Such failures are always attended by great famines, when many of the people die. Should you ever visit Iceland you would probably be surprised to hear the people speaking about their forests. You might go over all the coasts of the island without seeing anything larger than a birch bush, not much higher than six feet. These are what the Icelanders like to speak of as their forest trees, and I suppose there is no harm done, if one only understands just what they mean by "trees." While, however, Iceland has practically no trees, yet it has no difficulty in obtaining a plentiful supply of timber, since in the deep fiords or bays on the western and southern coasts there can always be found much drift timber brought there by the ocean currents from the forests of America. The principal town or settlement in Iceland is Reykjavik, the capital of the island, on the southwestern coast; this is the chief trading place on the island. Thingvalla is also an important town. The lavas that form the entire mass of Iceland were thrown out both before and since the glacial age. It is the opinion of Geikie that these outflows have continued uninterruptedly since that age to the present time. It is known that the lavas of Iceland were thrown out both before and after the glacial age, because during the glacial age, deep cuttings or groovings were made on the surface of the earth by the glaciers as they slowly moved over it. Now lava beds containing the glacial scratches have been found and resting on them are other lava streams. The scratched lavas must, therefore, have been thrown out before the glacial age, and the second lavas after that age. Let us now examine some of the more active volcanoes of Iceland and their eruptions. We will begin with the well-known volcano of Skaptar Jökul. The following description of this volcano has been taken from a book on Iceland by E. Henderson, published in Boston, 1831. Skaptar Jökul lies in the south central part of Iceland about forty odd miles from the coast. It takes its name from the Skaptar River, down whose channel the lava flowed its entire distance of forty miles from the ocean. Skaptar Jökul consists of about twenty conical hills lying along one of the fissures that extends from northeast to southwest. It appears from Henderson's account that people living in the neighborhood of Skaptar Jökul were greatly alarmed by repeated earthquakes that were felt at different times from the first to the eighth of June, 1783. These earthquake shocks increased in number and violence, so that the people left their homes and awaited in terror the coming catastrophe. On the morning of the eighth a prodigious cloud of dense smoke darkened the air, and the surrounding land soon became covered with ashes, pumice, and brimstone. As is common with eruptions in Iceland, that have been preceded by long periods of rest, the heat produced by the escaping lava and the sulphurous gases, melted such quantities of ice that great floods were produced in the rivers. On the 10th of June vast torrents of lava that had been escaping from the craters entered the valley of the Skaptar River, and commenced flowing through its channel. Immense quantities of steam were produced, and, in less than twenty-four hours, the river was completely dried up, for the lava had collected in the channel, which in many places flows between high rocks from 400 to 600 feet in height and nearly 200 feet in breadth, and had not only filled the river to its brink, but had overflowed the adjacent fields to a considerable extent, and flowing along the cultivated banks of the river destroyed all the farms in its path. On gaining the outlet, where the channel of the Skaptar emerged into the plain, it might have been supposed that the burning flood would have at once spread over the low fields, which lay immediately before it, but, contrary to all expectations, this flow was for a time stopped by an immense unfathomed abyss in the river's bed, into which it emptied itself with great noise. When this chasm was at last filled, the lava increased by fresh flows, rose to a prodigious height, and breaking over the cooled mass, proceeded south towards the plain. In the meantime the thunder and lightning, together with subterranean roars, continued with little or no intermission. On the 18th of June, 1783, another dreadful eruption of red hot lava came from the volcano. This flowed with great velocity and force over the surface of the cooling stream that had been thrown out principally on the tenth of the month. Floating islands consisting of masses of flaming rock were seen on the surface of the lava stream, and the water that had been banked up on both sides of the stream was thrown into violent boiling. In the meantime people living along the Hverfisfloit, the next largest river to the east of the Skaptar, had not yet been visited by the lava streams. It is true that their vegetation had been destroyed by showers of red hot stone and ashes, and that both atmosphere and water were filled with poisonous substances. The land had also been plunged in utter darkness, so that it was scarcely possible at noonday to distinguish a sheet of white paper held up at the window from the blackness of the wall on either side. But the molten lava streams had not yet reached the people of this valley and they hoped that the eruption would soon be over, and that the lava flow would continue to follow the Skaptar. On the 3d of August, however, they were alarmed by seeing steam escaping from the River Hverfisfloit, and soon all its water was dried up, and a fresh lava flow poured down upon them. As in the case of the Skaptar, the melted rock completely filled the empty channel to the brink, and then overflowing, covered the low grounds on both sides, so that by the ninth of August it had reached the open and level country near its mouth and in the course of a few hours spread itself for a distance of nearly six miles across the plain. This flow continued after the end of August, and, indeed, even as late as the month of February, 1784, when a new eruption took place in this part of the country. Hecla, another well-known volcano in Iceland, situated about thirty miles from the southern coast, consists of three peaks, the central of which is the highest. Its craters form vast hollows on the sides of these peaks, and at the time of the eruption in 1766 were covered with snow. Hecla is believed to have been an active volcano long before Iceland was inhabited. No less than twenty-three eruptions have been recorded between A. D. 1004 and the great eruption of 1766-68. Volcanic history frequently repeats itself. There had been no great eruption of Hecla for a period of about twelve years, and the people living in the neighborhood were congratulating themselves on the belief that the mountain was becoming actually extinct, and that therefore they need not trouble themselves about eruptions. Others, however, more farseeing, pointed out the fact that the lakes and rivers in the vicinity did not freeze, and that the amount of water they contained was greatly decreased. The following description of the great eruption of Hecla that was remarkable both for its violence, as well as for the time during which it continued, is taken from Symington's "Sketches of Faroe Islands and Iceland": "On the 4th of April, 1766, there were some slight shocks of an earthquake, and early next morning a pillar of sand, mingled with fire and red hot stones, burst with a loud thundering noise from its summit. Masses of pumice, six feet in circumference, were thrown to the distance of ten or fifteen miles, together with heavy magnetic stones, one of which, eight pounds weight, fell fourteen miles off, and sank into ground still hardened by the frost. The sand was carried towards the northwest, covering the land, 150 miles round, four inches deep, impeding the fishing boats along the coast, and darkening the air, so that at Thingore, 140 miles distant, it was impossible to know whether a sheet of paper was white or black. At Holum, 155 miles to the north, some persons thought they saw the stars shining through the sand-cloud. About mid-day, the wind veering round to the southeast, conveyed the dust into the central desert, and prevented it from totally destroying the pastures. On the 9th of April, the lava first appeared, spreading about five miles towards the southwest, and on the 23d of May, a column of water was seen shooting up in the midst of the sand. The last violent eruption was on the 5th of July, the mountains, in the interval, often ceasing to eject any matter; and the large stones thrown into the air were compared to a swarm of bees clustering around the mountain-top; the noise was heard like loud thunder forty miles distant, and the accompanying earthquakes were more severe at Krisuvik, eighty miles westward, than at half the distance on the opposite side. The eruptions are said to be in general more violent during a north or west wind than when it blows from the south or east, and on this occasion more matter was thrown out in mild than in stormy weather. Where the ashes were not too thick, it was observed that they increased the fertility of the grass fields, and some of them were carried even to the Orkney Islands, the inhabitants of which were at first terrified by what they considered showers of black snow." The largest volcano in Iceland is Dyngjufjoll. This has on its summit the gigantic crater of Askja, some twenty-five square miles in area. This crater is of the intermediate form; the most general form of volcanoes on the island consisting of a number of craters that closely follow fissures. Professor Johnstrup, in a report to the Danish Government, on this volcano, states that the valley of Askja has been gradually filled by repeated flows of lava from enormous craters on the edge of the mountain. In many places the surface of the earth is covered with bright red pumice stone that was thrown out during an eruption March 29th, 1875. Some of these craters are filled with steam that escapes with an almost deafening roar. The surprising feature of this eruption was the immense quantity of pumice stone that escaped. The volcanoes in the Nyvatus Oraefi are entirely different. This barren plain is thirty-five miles in length and thirteen miles in breadth. Suddenly on the 18th of February, 1875, a volcano appeared in the centre, and four other craters were formed at subsequent dates. The mass of lava that was thrown out of these openings has been estimated at 10,000,000,000,000 cubic feet, or eighteen times the estimated mass of lava that has been emitted from Vesuvius between 1794 and 1855. This lava is basalt. CHAPTER V VESUVIUS The old Greeks and Romans had but little knowledge of volcanoes. They only knew the volcanic mountains in the Mediterranean Sea. Here there are three volcanic regions:--one in the neighborhood of Naples; one including Sicily and the neighboring islands, and the other that of the Grecian Archipelago. Some idea can be had of these three regions from a map of the Mediterranean shown in Fig. 12. The principal volcanoes are Vesuvius, Etna, Stromboli, and Vulcano, a mountain, by the way, that gave its name to all volcanic mountains. In this chapter we will describe the volcano of Vesuvius, the most active, though by no means the largest of the volcanoes of the Mediterranean. But, before doing this, it will be well first to describe briefly the volcanic districts surrounding Vesuvius. As shown in Fig. 13, this district includes Vesuvius, Procida, and Ischia. [Illustration: FIG. 12. THE MEDITERRANEAN] Ischia is a small island measuring about five miles from east to west, and three miles from north to south. There were such terrific volcanic eruptions on this island long before the Christian Era, that several Greek colonies were forced to abandon it. A colony established long afterwards, about 380 B. C., by the king of Syracuse also had to depart. Strabo, the Grecian geographer (born about 63 B. C.), states that, according to tradition, terrific earthquakes occurred on the island a little before his time, and its principal mountain threw out large quantities of molten rock, which flowed into the sea. At the time of this eruption there were earthquake waves in the sea, the waters of which slowly receded, leaving large portions of the bottom uncovered, and rushing, afterwards, violently over the land, caused great destruction. It was during this disturbance, so Strabo asserts, that the island of Procida was formed by being violently torn from Ischia. [Illustration: FIG. 13. THE VOLCANIC DISTRICT AROUND VESUVIUS] The Phlegræan Fields was a name given by the ancients to some of the lowlands in the neighborhood of Naples; they were believed to be under the special protection of the Roman gods. When the frequent earthquake shocks shook these fields, the Roman people believed that conflicts were taking place between their gods and slumbering giants confined in the regions below the surface. It is more than probable that Mt. Vesuvius has always been the centre of these volcanic disturbances. Long before the Christian Era, however, Vesuvius, or Somma, the name given to the old crater that then occupied the summit of the mountain, had been an extinct crater. Indeed, it had been so quiet that the people who lived on its slopes did not appear to know they were living on the slopes of a slumbering volcano. Their knowledge of volcanic mountains must have been very limited, for this mountain with the huge pit at its summit had all the appearance of a volcanic crater. When they climbed to the top of the mountain, which, of course, they frequently did to look after the vineyards they were cultivating on the slopes, and looked down into the deep pit from the rocks on its edge, they could see at the bottom of a great central pit three miles in diameter, a lake, with room here and there to enable one to walk along its borders. The walls of the precipice were covered with luxuriant vines. When we say that none of the people even suspected that Vesuvius had ever been in a state of eruption, we must except some of their learned men. For both Diodorus Siculus, a native of Sicily, who lived about 10 B. C., and wrote an Universal History, containing some forty volumes, of which only about one-third remain, and Strabo, the Geographer, pointed out in a general manner, that Vesuvius, and much of the surrounding country, looked as if it had been eaten by fire. Then, too, a Roman philosopher who lived between A. D. 1 and A. D. 64, spoke of Vesuvius being "a channel for the eternal fire!" Let us now endeavor to obtain some idea of the appearance of this region a short time before A. D. 79, when Vesuvius burst forth in a terrific eruption. The slopes of the mountain were covered with the rich vegetation that characterizes this part of Italy. When most volcanic ashes and lava have been exposed for some time to the atmosphere they make a very fertile soil. Now, this soil on the slopes of Vesuvius made the vineyards that covered the mountain slopes and the fields for miles around its base, bear very plentifully, so that the people lived very comfortably. Here and there on the slopes of the mountain large towns like Herculaneum and Pompeii had long been established, while, in the distance, was the large city of Naples. Besides these there were numerous populous towns and villages scattered here and there over the plain or on the lower mountain slope. You have all probably read of the Roman gladiator, Spartacus. Spartacus was a Thracian by birth, and while a shepherd had been taken prisoner by the Romans and sold to a trainer of gladiators at Capua. Chaffing under the tyranny of the Romans, who forced him to fight in the arena with men and beasts, he revolted against his masters, and with a band of some seventy followers, fled to a mountain fastness in the crater of Vesuvius. Proud Rome sent a few men to recapture him, with scourges for his punishment, but they were beaten by Spartacus. Every day dissatisfied men like himself escaped from the Romans and joined his ranks. Rome sent a larger body of men against Spartacus, but they also were beaten. At last, recognizing the gravity of the position, the Roman Prætor, Clodius, was sent against Spartacus with an army of some three thousand men. Clodius caught Spartacus in the crater and guarded the only space by which it seemed possible for Spartacus to escape. Using the vines that covered the precipitous walls of the crater, Spartacus did escape, and falling unexpectedly on the armies of Clodius, routed them. After this victory, Spartacus with an army of over 100,000 men overran southern Italy, and sacked many of the cities of the Roman Campania. During this time Spartacus defeated one Roman army after another, until finally, in the year 71 B. C., Crassus was sent against him and vainly endeavored to conquer him. Being unsuccessful, Crassus urged the Roman Senate to recall Lucullis from Asia and Pompey from Spain, and finally poor Spartacus was cut down in a fight he made against Crassus and Lucullis. But let us come to the great eruption of Vesuvius in A. D. 79. The people living on the slopes of Vesuvius were not without plenty of warnings of the dreadful catastrophe that was coming. As early as A. D. 63 there was a great earthquake that shook the country far beyond Naples. In Pompeii, then a flourishing city, the Temple of Isis was so much damaged that it had to be rebuilt. Even if the earthquake shocks had not foretold the coming eruption, there were other signs. The height of water in the wells decreased. Springs that had never before been known to fail, dried up completely. These changes, as we well know, were due to the red hot lava being slowly forced up from great depths into the tube connected with the crater. The earthquake shocks continued at irregular intervals for sixteen years, until, on the 25th of August, A. D. 79, about one o'clock in the afternoon, Vesuvius burst forth in the terrible eruption that destroyed the towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Pompeii was a seaport town situated near the mouth of the River Sarno, about fifteen miles southeast of Naples. It was a beautiful place, containing many splendid temples. Its people for the greater part lived luxuriously, for Pompeii was the summer resort of the richer people of Naples, some of whom lived there during the hottest months of the year. Herculaneum, the other town, was nearer Naples, only five miles from the city. It was also, like Pompeii, a beautiful town, and contained many splendid buildings. In each town there were magnificent baths and a large theatre. The inhabitants spent so much of their time in the open air, or in the baths, that it was not necessary for them to build very large houses. The houses, however, were well built, and though generally consisting of practically a single story, were provided with all the luxuries that great wealth could command. On August 25th, A. D. 79, severe earthquake shocks again visited this part of the world and Vesuvius suddenly threw up from its crater an immense column of black smoke, which, rising high in the air, spread out in the form of a huge mushroom, or, perhaps, more like the umbrella pine tree of the neighborhood. Rapidly spreading on all sides, the smoke soon completely shut out the light of the sun, and wrapped the earth in an inky darkness, except for a red glare from columns of molten rock that rushed out of the crater. From the dark cloud immense quantities of red hot stones, pumice, and volcanic ashes descended on the earth. At the same time there fell a deluge of rain, caused by the sudden condensation of the enormous amount of water vapor that was thrown out from the crater during the eruption. Fortunately, very few of the people were killed in either of the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, although some bodies were found in the ruins. Most of the people escaped through the darkness and gloom, continuing to flee from the city for at least three days. Both cities were covered so deep with ashes or mud that the tops of the tallest buildings were no longer visible. Pompeii was buried by showers of ashes or volcanic cinders, and Herculaneum mainly by vast floods of aqueous lava. So completely were these cities covered that their very existence was at last forgotten. It is true that Titus, who was then Emperor of Rome, endeavored to clear away the ashes and rebuild Pompeii, but the task was so great that he finally abandoned it. During the year 1592, the architect Fontana, while superintending the building of an aqueduct, came across some ancient buildings. At a much later date, in 1713, some workmen, while digging a well in the village of Portici, uncovered three marvellously beautiful marble statues. In the year 1738, the same well was dug deeper, when traces of the old theatre of Herculaneum were discovered. Some effort was then made to excavate the city and many of the public buildings and private houses were uncovered, and statues, mosaics, wall paintings, and charred manuscripts of papyrus were found. A few of these have been unrolled and deciphered, but owing to the difficulty of doing this, without destroying them, the greatest number still remain unread. In 1860, the Italian Government began a systematic excavation of the buried cities, and now both Pompeii and Herculaneum are thrown open to the sunlight so that one can walk through the old streets, and look into the houses, in which, before A. D. 79, the people lived so happily. Many interesting stories are told about the discoveries that were made during the government excavations. The skeleton of one of the inhabitants was found grasping a money bag. He might have escaped, but had gone back to get his money. He got it, but remained with it. In another place, the skeletons of a number of people were found in an underground room or cellar of a house, where were also found some mouldy bread and empty water flasks. Instead of leaving the city, which they might have done, they had retreated to the underground room for safety, but the fine volcanic dust drifted in and suffocated them. The younger Pliny, the historian, has given an excellent account of some features of this great eruption. It appears that his uncle was stationed with the Roman fleet, in the Bay of Naples, at the time of the eruption. He describes the dark cloud of ashes that was formed over Vesuvius. He refers to the rapidity with which it spread, and to the showers of ashes, cinders, and stones that it rained down on the earth. His uncle, the elder Pliny, landed on the coast, and was afterwards killed by a cloud of sulphurous vapor that swept down the side of the mountain. The following letter from the younger Pliny, describing his flight with his mother from Misenum, is quoted from Dana's "Characteristics of Volcanoes." "It was now seven o'clock [on the morning of August 25th], but the light was still faint and doubtful. The surrounding buildings had been badly shaken, and although we were in an open spot [a little yard between his uncle's house and the sea], the space was so small that the danger of a catastrophe from falling walls was great and certain. Not till then did we make up our minds to go from the town.... When we were free from the buildings we stopped. There we saw many wonders and endured many terrors. The vehicles we had ordered to be brought out kept running backward and forward, though on level ground; and even when blocked with stones they would not keep still. Besides this, we saw the sea sucked down and, as it were, driven back by the earthquake. There can be no doubt that the shore had advanced on the sea, and many marine animals were left high and dry. On the other side was a dark and dreadful cloud, which was broken by zigzag and rapidly vibrating flashes of fire, and yawning showed long shapes of flame. These were like lightning, only of greater extent.... "Pretty soon the cloud began to descend over the earth and cover the sea. It enfolded Capreæ and hid also the promontory of Misenum." ... The flight was continued. "Ashes now fell, yet still in small amount. I looked back. A thick mist was close at our heels, which followed us, spreading out over the country, like an inundation." ... Turning from the roar in order to avoid the fleeing, terror-stricken throng, they rested. "Hardly had we sat down when night was over us--not such a night as when there is no moon and clouds cover the sky, but such darkness as one finds in close-shut rooms. One heard the screams of women, the fretting cries of babes, and shouts of men.... "Little by little it grew light again. We did not think it the light of day, but a proof that the fire was coming nearer. It was indeed fire, but it stopped afar off; and then there was darkness again, and again a rain of ashes, abundant and heavy, and again we rose and shook them off, else we had been covered and even crushed by the weight.... At last the murky vapor rolled away, in disappearing smoke or fog. Soon the real daylight appeared; the sun shone out, of a lurid hue, to be sure, as in an eclipse. The whole world which met our frightened eyes was transformed. It was covered with ashes white as snow." Young Pliny and his mother returned to Misenum, and survived the perils to which they were exposed. It was during this eruption that a large part of the old crater was blown off the mountain by the tremendous force at work. There have been many eruptions of Vesuvius since the great eruption of A. D. 79. One of these occurred during the reign of Severus, A. D. 203. It was during this eruption that an additional part of the old crater of Somma was blown away. Another great eruption occurred A. D. 472. Then great quantities of volcanic dust were thrown up into the air, and falling, covered practically all parts of Europe, producing darkening of the sun and great fear as far as the city of Constantinople. But what was perhaps a still greater eruption occurred during December of 1631. This eruption spread great quantities of ashes over the country for hundreds of miles around, and great streams of mud rushed down the slopes of the mountain. Buccini gives the following account of this eruption: "The crater was five miles in circumference, and about 1,000 paces deep. Its sides were covered with brushwood, and at the bottom there was a plain on which cattle grazed. In the woody parts wild boars frequently harbored. In one part of the plain, covered with ashes, were three small pools, one filled with hot but bitter water; another with water saltier than the sea, and a third with water that was hot but tasteless. But at length these forests and grassy plains were consumed, being suddenly blown into the air and their ashes scattered to the winds. In December, 1631, seven streams of lava poured at once from the crater and overflowed several villages, on its flanks, and at the foot of the mountain. Reisna, partly built over the ancient city of Herculaneum, was consumed by the fiery torrent. Great floods of mud were as destructive as lava. This is no unusual occurrence during these catastrophes for such is the violence of the rains produced by the evolution of aqueous vapors that torrents of water descend the cone and become charged with impalpable volcanic dust, and rolling among ashes, acquire sufficient consistency to deserve the ordinary appellation of aqueous lava." Of course, you will understand that we have given only a few of the most notable of the eruptions of Mt. Vesuvius. Since the yea A. D. 1500 there have been no less than fifty-six recorded eruptions, that of the year 1857 being especially violent. Omitting these eruptions we at last come to the great recent eruption of 1872. Fortunately, the eruption of 1872, as well as still more recent eruptions that have occurred, have been more accurately described than have most volcanic eruptions, for the Italian Government, recognizing the value to the natives of Italy of a knowledge of what was going on at the crater of Vesuvius, has maintained for the past thirty years an observatory on the western part of the mountain. This observatory has been placed in charge of Prof. Luigi Palmieri, a well-known student of volcanoes and earthquakes. At this place records are kept of the behavior of the volcano, of all earthquake disturbances, as well as other phenomena. At the same time, by the use of photography, excellent pictures have been obtained showing the appearance of the sky during an eruption. Vesuvius had been in a quiet state from November, 1848, to the year 1871, when small quantities of lava flowed continuously for several months. Again, early in 1872, other quiet eruptions of lava continued for weeks at a time. Finally, on April 26th, of that year, a violent explosive eruption occurred. The following account has been taken from Palmieri's report, entitled, "The Eruption of Vesuvius in 1872." On April 23d the recording earthquake instruments, the seismographs, were greatly affected. On the evening of the 24th lava streams flowed down the cone in various directions. These streams were continued on the 25th and the 26th, so that on the night of the 26th the observatory lay between two streams of molten lava that threw out so much heat that the glass windows in the observatory were cracked, and a scorching smell was quite perceptible in the rooms. The cone of the mountain was deeply fissured, lava escaping freely from all the fissures, so that the molten rock appeared to ooze from over its entire surface, or as Palmieri expressed it, "Vesuvius sweated fire." This great cracking or fissuring of the cone was accompanied by the opening of two large craters at the summit, that discharged, with a great noise, immense clouds of steam, dust, lapilli, and volcanic bombs. These latter are very curious and consist of masses of soft lava that are thrown high into the air by the outrushing columns of steam. Being rotated or spun, as they rise in the air, they assume a spherical shape. Some of these volcanic bombs were thrown to a height estimated by Palmieri to have been nearly 4,000 feet above the top of the mountain. When the height of a projectile is known, the velocity with which it left the opening from which it was projected or thrown can be estimated, so that the volcanic bombs must have left the crater at a velocity of about 600 feet per second. On the 27th, in the evening, the lava streams ceased flowing, but the dust and lapilli continued to fall during the 28th and the 29th. On the 30th the detonations decreased and by the 1st of May the eruption was entirely over. Palmieri calculated that the quantity of molten rock thrown out during this eruption was sufficient to cover an area of about 1.8 square miles to an average depth of about thirteen feet. As we can see from the above descriptions, the volcanic activity of Vesuvius is characterized by long periods of rest followed by periods of activity. The periods of rest are measured by years, and often by centuries; the periods of activity by days or hours. But Vesuvius was not to have a long period of rest after its eruption of 1872. On the contrary, shortly after the great disaster of Martinique in 1906, it again became active, and on the 5th of April, 1906, began throwing large blocks of lava out of its central cone, and on the next day began to throw out large streams of lava, which, on April 7th, destroyed a village in the neighborhood. At the same time rumbling sounds were heard, and violent earthquake shocks shattered the windows of the houses. Professor Matteucci, the present director of the Vesuvius Observatory, made the following report on April the 8th. "The eruption of Vesuvius has assumed extraordinary proportions. Yesterday and last night the activity of the crater was terrific, and is increasing. The neighborhood of the observatory is completely covered with lava. Incandescent rocks are being thrown up by the thousands, to a height of 2,400 feet or even 3,000 feet, and falling back form a large cone. Another stream of lava has appeared.... The noise of the explosion and of the rocks striking together is deafening. The ground is shaken by strong and continuous seismic movements, and the seismic instruments [instruments employed to record the time, direction, and intensity of earthquake movements] threaten to break. It will probably be necessary to abandon the observatory, which is very much exposed to the shocks. The telegraph is interrupted, and it is believed the Funicular railroad has been destroyed." On April 9th Matteucci made the following report: "The explosive activity of Vesuvius, which was so great yesterday, and was accompanied by very powerful electric discharges, diminished yesterday afternoon. During the night the expulsion of rocks ceased, but the emission of sand increased, completely enveloping me and forming a red mass from six to ten centimeters deep, which carried desolation into these elevated regions. Masses of sand gliding along the earth, created complete darkness until seven o'clock. Several blocks of stone broke windows in the observatory. Last night the earthquake shocks were stronger and more frequent than yesterday, and displaced the seismic apparatus. Yesterday afternoon and this morning, torrents of sand fell." On April 10th Matteucci sent the following report: "Last night was calm, except for a few explosions of considerable force from time to time. At four o'clock this morning the explosions became more violent. The seismic instruments recorded strong disturbances." The eruption of Vesuvius of 1906 was especially noted for the great quantities of sand and ashes thrown out of the crater. The amount of sand that fell on the roof of the market house at Monti Olivetto was so great that the roof fell in. In this eruption there were some six lava streams that poured down the mountain. The most formidable of these was that which descended towards Torre Annunziata. Here it stopped just short of the wall of the cemetery outside of the town. During this eruption of Vesuvius, as in previous eruptions, clouds of volcanic dust collected in the air, shutting off the light of the sun. Naples was in a state of semi-darkness. The roofs of the houses were covered to a depth of several inches with an exceedingly fine reddish dust. In some places this dust had drifted into heaps fully a yard in depth. CHAPTER VI OTHER VOLCANOES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN The relative positions of the other volcanic mountains of the Mediterranean Sea; i. e., Etna, Stromboli, and the volcanoes of the Santorin group of the Grecian Archipelago, are shown in the map, Fig. 12. We will begin with the volcanic mountain of Etna, under which, according to mythology, the angry gods had buried the rebellious Typhoon. Etna is situated on the island of Sicily, immediately southwest of Italy. It is a much larger mountain than Vesuvius, rising, as it does, from a circular base about eighty-seven miles around, to a height of 10,840 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. It forms a conspicuous object when seen either from the Mediterranean, or from distant parts of Italy. The height of Etna is so great that its slopes can be divided into three distinct climatic zones or belts. The lowest of these lies between the sea and a height of 2,500 feet. In this zone the mountain slopes are covered with cultivated fields, olive groves, orchards, and vineyards. The middle zone lies between 2,500 feet and 6,270 feet. This zone is covered with forests of chestnuts, oaks, beeches, and cork trees. The third and highest zone includes the rest of the mountain, and may be called the desert zone, since it is a sterile region, covered with huge blocks of lava and scoriæ, and terminating, in the higher portions, in a snow-covered plain, from which the central cone rises. Etna is continually sending up columns of steam and sulphur vapor. Every now and then it starts in eruption, throwing out large quantities of lava either from the crater on its summit, or from some of the 200 smaller cones or craters that occupy portions of its slopes. On account, probably, of its height the eruptions are most frequently on the sides. Etna affords a magnificent example of a huge volcanic pile of the Vesuvian type, which has been slowly built up by the gradual accumulation of materials that have escaped from its craters. One of the most interesting features of the higher regions of Etna is an immense chasm rent in a side of the cone near the summit, and known as the Val del Bove. This chasm forms a vast amphitheater. The great force that removed such an immense mass of matter from the cone could not have been the eroding power of water, since the materials of the cone are too porous to permit streams of any size to rush down the slopes. The force is most probably to be found in some explosive eruption of the mountain, when a portion of the crater was suddenly blown off, just as was done in Vesuvius when a large part of the old crater of Somma was blown away. What is especially interesting about the Val del Bove is the opportunity it affords for studying the interior structure of the mountain, for it practically enables one to enter to almost the heart of this great volcano. The Val del Bove has the shape of a great pit five miles in diameter. It has almost vertical walls, the height of which varies with their position. Those which reach highest up the mountain vary from 3,000 to 4,000 feet in height. Like Vesuvius, Etna has been split or fissured into great crevices that have been filled with lava during the many eruptions of its central crater. On hardening, these lava streams form what are known as dikes. As the sides of the mountain are worn away by erosion, the dikes, being harder than the rest of the cone, project from its sides like huge walls. An excellent opportunity for seeing them is afforded in the walls of the Val del Bove. Sir Charles Lyell, the English geologist, who has carefully studied Mt. Etna, asserts that this mountain began to be formed during a geological period known as the Tertiary Age, through a crater that opened on the floor of the Mediterranean Sea. The material thus thrown out, collected around the crater and produced a mountainous pile that gradually emerged above the level of the sea, and on fresh materials continuing to be thrown out, at length reached its present height. It would appear that at some former time in its history, there were two vents near the top of the mountain, the second crater being formed immediately under the Val del Bove. Soon, however, the second and lower crater was closed, the upper one alone remaining active. The mountain, therefore, continued to be slowly raised in the air by the materials brought out through this opening. Then came the great explosive eruption during which the side of the mountain was blown off to form the great chasm of the Val del Bove. Because of its almost constant activity, Mt. Etna must have been well known to the ancients, who described some of its most violent eruptions. The following brief notes concerning these eruptions have been taken from Lyell. According to Diodorus Siculus, an eruption that occurred before the Trojan war, caused the people living in districts near the mountain to seek new homes. Thucididies, the Greek historian, states that in the sixth year of the Peloponnesian war, which would be about the spring of 425 B. C., a lava stream caused great destruction in the neighborhood of Campania, this being the third eruption that had occurred in Sicily since it had been settled by the Greeks. Seneca, during the first century of the Christian Era, calls the attention of Lucullus to the fact that during his time Mt. Etna had lost so much of its height that it could no longer be seen by boatmen from points at which it had before been readily visible. But passing by these very early eruptions of Etna we come to the great eruption of 1669. This eruption was preceded by an earthquake that destroyed many houses in a town situated in the lower part of the forest zone, about twenty-five miles below the summit of the mountain, and ten miles from the sea at Catania. During this eruption two deep fissures were opened near Catania. From these such quantities of sand and scoriæ were thrown out, that, in the course of three or four months, a double cone was formed 450 feet high, which is now known as Monte Rosso. But what was most curious was the sudden opening, with a loud crash, of a fissure six feet broad reaching down to unknown depths that extended in a somewhat crooked course to within a mile of the summit of Etna. This great fissure was twelve miles in length and emitted a most vivid light. Five other parallel fissures of considerable length opened, one after another, throwing out vapor, and emitting bellowing sounds which were heard at a distance of forty miles. These fissures were afterwards filled with molten rock, and in this manner were formed the long dikes of porphyry and other rocks that are seen to be passing through some of the older lavas of Mt. Etna. [Illustration: FIG. 14. MT. ETNA _From Map of State and Government_] The great lava streams which flowed down the side of the mountain during this eruption, destroyed fourteen towns and villages, and at length reached Catania. A great wall had been raised around this city to prevent the lava from entering it. The molten rock, however, accumulated, until it rose to the top of the wall, which was sixty feet high, and then pouring over it in a fiery cascade, overwhelmed part of the city. It is said that during the first part of its journey, the lava streams moved over thirteen miles in twenty days, or at the rate of 162 feet an hour. Beyond this, after the lava had thickened by cooling, it had a velocity of only twenty-two feet per hour. Fig. 14 represents a plan of Mt. Etna reduced from a map by the Italian Government. During the eruption of 1865, a rent was made in the mountain extending from Mount Frumento (B in the preceding map) for one and one-half miles, and six cones from 300 to 350 feet in height were formed along the fissure. During the eruption of 1874, great fissures three miles in length were formed in the mountain. There exists on the slopes of Mt. Etna vast subterranean grottoes formed by the sudden conversion into steam of great quantities of water that were overwhelmed by the molten mass. These immense volumes of steam produced enormous bubbles in the molten lava. When the lava hardened irregular grottoes were left. Lyell describes one of these as follows: "Near Nicolosi, not far from Monte Rosso, one of these great openings may be seen, called the _Fossa della Palomba_, 625 feet in circumference at its mouth and seventy-eight deep. After reaching the bottom of this, we enter another dark cavity, and then others in succession, sometimes descending precipices by means of ladders. At length, the vaults terminate in a great gallery ninety feet long, and from fifteen to fifty broad, beyond which there is still a passage, never yet explored, so that the extent of these caverns remains unknown. The walls and roofs of these great vaults are composed of rough bristling scoriæ of the most fantastic forms." Besides the eruptions mentioned there have been many others, such as those of 1811, 1819, and 1852. The last of these was greater than any eruption except that of 1669. It began in August, 1852, and continued until May, 1853, and was remarkable for the immense quantity of lava thrown out. [Illustration: FIG. 15. STROMBOLI, VIEWED FROM THE NORTHWEST, APRIL, 1874] We come now to the volcano of Stromboli. Stromboli, one of the Lipari islands, is situated about sixteen miles west of the Straits of Messina. Its general appearance is shown in Fig. 15. The form of the mountain is that of an irregular four-sided pyramid, which rises about 3,090 feet above the level of the Mediterranean, and stands on the bottom of the sea in water about 3,000 feet deep. If you carefully examine the appearance of Stromboli, as shown in the preceding figure, you will notice that the flat cloud which hangs over the island is made up of a number of globular masses of vapor, formed during the peculiar action of the volcano. When examined by night Stromboli presents a still more curious appearance. Since the mountain stands alone, its height permits it to be seen readily at sea for distances of at least a hundred miles. At night a curious glow of red light may be seen on the lower surfaces of the cloud. This light is not continuous, but increases in intensity from a faint glow to a fairly bright red light, then gradually decreases, and finally dies away completely. After awhile the light again appears, again gradually decreases, and disappears, and this continues until the rising sun prevents the red glow from being any longer visible. Stromboli, therefore, acts not unlike the flashing lighthouses so common on the sea coasts of all parts of the world. Indeed, it is actually used by sailors in the Mediterranean for the purpose of showing them their direction. For this reason Stromboli is commonly called "The Lighthouse of the Mediterranean." As Judd remarks, from whom much of the information concerning some of the volcanic districts of the Mediterranean has been obtained, the flashing light of Stromboli differs from that of the ordinary flashing light in two important respects; viz., in the intervals that elapse between the successive flashes, and in the intensity of the light emitted. As you know, it is necessary that the different lighthouses placed near one another on a coast must have their lights of such a nature that they can be readily distinguished. In order to do this, the flashing light has been devised. In flashing lighthouses, the lights only appear at intervals, one lighthouse being distinguished from another in its neighborhood by the intervals between successive flashes, or, sometimes, indeed, by the color of some of the flashes. Now, in the case of Stromboli, the intervals between the successive glowings of the red lights are very irregular, varying between one and twenty flashes per second. Moreover, the intensity of the light also varies greatly from time to time. You naturally inquire as to the cause of these flashes of light that are emitted by Stromboli. If, as Judd suggests, you should climb to the summit of the mountain, during the daytime, and look down the inside of the crater, you could see its black slag bottom crossed by many cracks and fissures. From most of the smaller fissures the vapor of water is quietly escaping. This vapor rises in the air in which it soon disappears. There are, however, larger cracks on the bottom of the crater from which, at more or less regular intervals, masses of steam are emitted with loud snorting puffs not unlike those produced by a locomotive. From some of the openings molten matter is seen slowly oozing out, collecting in parts of the crater and moving up and down in a heaving motion. Every now and then a bubble is formed on the surface of this liquid. The bubble swells to a gigantic size, and suddenly bursts. The steam it contained escapes, carrying fragments of scum which are thrown high into the air. The masses of steam, formed below the surface of the sticky, boiling, lava, in endeavoring to escape, force their way through the mass, blow huge bubbles, which, on bursting, produce the roaring sounds that are heard, and throwing great columns of vapor in the air, produce the rounded masses of clouds you can see floating high up in the air over the mountain. At the same time the scum is partially removed from the red hot surface, its light illumines the lower surface of the overhanging cloud, which flings it back again to the earth. With the bursting of each bubble, and the clearing of the scum from the surface of the red hot mass, the light begins, increases in intensity, and then as the scum again begins to collect on the surface, decreases, and finally disappears, and not until the bursting of the next bubble is it again visible. But let us make a study of some of the peculiarities of Vulcano, another of the Lipari islands, which lies north of Sicily. Vulcano affords a curious example of a volcano that has been harnessed by man, or made to do work for him. All volcanoes bring from inside of the earth different kinds of chemical substances, in the form of vapors, gases, or molten materials. Now, these materials acting on one another, produce chemical substances some of which, such as sal ammoniac, sulphur, and boracic acid, possess commercial value. This is especially true in the case of Vulcano, and since the eruptions are not generally violent, a chemical works has actually been erected by a Scotch firm on the side of the mountain, where the materials are collected from the crevices. This effort to harness a volcano was for a time so successful that the same people contemplated the building of great leaden chambers over the principal fissure at the bottom of the crater, so that the large volumes of ejected vapors might be condensed and collected. But Vulcano, like all other volcanoes, could not be relied on continually to keep the peace. One day it suddenly burst forth more fiercely than usual, so that the workmen were compelled to abandon the factory and fly down the mountain for their lives, but not, however, before some of them were severely injured by the explosions. Vulcano is an instance of a volcano in an almost exhausted or dormant condition. It has had, however, many eruptions during the past few centuries, some of which have been very violent, for example, that of 1783, and that of 1786. There still remains to be considered the volcanic region of the Santorin group of the Grecian Archipelago. The island of Santorin or Thera, is the southernmost of the Cyclades. It is an exceedingly curious island, being a submerged volcano, with most of the top of the crater remaining above the waters, so that the entire island has the shape of an irregular circle or crescent broken at several points. Its formation is, probably, due to the gradual sinking of a volcanic mountain until its crater has been almost completely submerged, only the higher parts of the edges of the crater being left above the surface of the waters. Suppose, for example, a mountain like Vesuvius at the time the crater Somma existed, was sunk below the level of the Mediterranean until only the highest parts of the crater remained above the waters. If, now, one or more volcanic eruptions occurred, producing craters or volcanic islands inside the submerged rim, you would have a condition of affairs seen in the island of Santorin. CHAPTER VII ORIZABA, POPOCATEPETL, IXTACCIHUATL, AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF MEXICO While some of the volcanoes of Mexico are still in an active condition, most of them are either only slightly active or are dormant or extinct. Humboldt, the celebrated traveller and geographer, states that there are only four active volcanic mountains in Mexico; namely, Popocatepetl, Tuxtula, Colima, and Jorullo. But there are many others, among which may be mentioned Orizaba, Ixtaccihuatl, Xinantecatl, Tuxtula, Cofre de Perote, and Colima. Of course, you can understand that, since extinct volcanoes may at any time become active, in parts of the world where communication with the interior is not good, many volcanic mountains that have been regarded as extinct may have broken out temporarily, during historical times, without their eruptions having been recorded. It was at one time thought that Popocatepetl was the highest mountain in North America. More recent measurements, however, have shown that there are at least three other mountains in this part of the world, that are much higher. One of these is the active volcano of Orizaba that we will now briefly describe. [Illustration: FIG. 16. MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA] Orizaba is situated in the north central part of Mexico, about seventy-five miles west of Vera Cruz. Its ancient Aztec name was Cittaltepetl, or _Star Mountain_. The height of the mountain is 18,200 feet. Like all high tropical mountains whose summits are snow-clad, one would pass through the same changes in climate, in going from its base to its summit, as in going along the earth's surface from the equator to the poles. Near the base of the mountain will be found a tropical climate, above that a temperate climate, while in still higher regions, the climate of the Arctic region. According to Russell, from whose work on the volcanoes of North America much of the information concerning the volcanoes of Mexico and Central America has been condensed, Orizaba has three craters on its summit. The last recorded eruption took place about the middle of the Eighteenth Century. The mountain is now in a dormant or extinct condition, as may be seen from the fact that its three craters are for the greater part filled with snow. Orizaba, like Etna, and many other volcanoes, has deep fissures extending through its sides. Through these, lava streams have flowed during times when it was active. There are also found on the slopes of this mountain many cones of a type known as _parasitic cones_. These cones are not caused by materials that have been brought to the surface during an eruption, but have been formed by the steam passing through lava streams that have come out of the crater during other eruptions. Popocatepetl, or, as the word means, _The Smoking Mountain_, is the second highest mountain in Mexico. According to recent measurements made by the Mexican Government, its height is 17,876 feet. Popocatepetl is situated on the edge of the great plateau of Mexico, forty miles southeast of the City of Mexico. It is a conical mountain, and is a magnificent object when seen from the City of Mexico, rising, as it does, fully 10,000 feet from the elevation of the city, while on the east it towers for nearly 18,000 feet above the level of the sea. This splendid mountain is poetically described by Russell: "Seen from the basal plains, it sweeps up in one grand curve to nearly its full height,--a collossus of three and a quarter miles in elevation, white with everlasting frost on its summit, and bathed in the green of palms, bananas, oranges, and mangoes, at its base. Evergreen oaks and pines encircle its middle height, and above them, before the ice itself is reached, occur broad areas of loose sand into which the lavas have been changed by weathering. Soft wreaths of sulphurous vapor may at times be seen curling over the crest of the summit crater,--gentle reminders that the days of volcanic activity are not yet necessarily over." Popocatepetl takes its name, _The Smoking Mountain_ from the fact that gases and vapor are continually being emitted from its summit crater. It has a conical peak with a depression or crater on its summit. The bottom of the crater is crossed by fissures from which small quantities of steam escape, not, however, sufficient to melt all the snow which covers the slopes of the mountain to a depth of from eight to ten feet. A small lake of hot water has collected in the crater from the water derived from the melting snow. This water, sinking through the porous materials in the cone, is the source of a great number of large hot springs that occur around the base of the mountain. Reclus states that the first to climb to the top of Popocatepetl was one of Cortez' officers, 1519. Another snow-capped volcano, which rising from the plain of Mexico is in clear view of the city, is Ixtaccihuatl (Ets-tak'-se-wat-el), or as the word means in the ancient Aztec, _The White Woman_. This mountain, as measured by Heilprin, is 16,960 feet in height. Ixtaccihuatl is now in so dormant a condition that many who have climbed to the top assert that it is not a volcano at all, since they find no crater on its summit. Nor are there any signs of volcanic heat, the summit being snow clad during summer. The conical form of the mountain, however, and the fact that the entire mountain is formed of volcanic rocks, show beyond doubt that it is an extinct volcano, whose crater has most probably been completely filled in by the washing away of its sides. Xinantecatl is another extinct volcanic mountain situated about forty miles southwest of the City of Mexico. It is about 16,500 feet high. Its name means in the ancient Aztec language, _The Naked Lord_. It is also sometimes known as the Nevado de Toluca, or _The Snow of Toluca_. On the top of the peak are two craters filled with lakes of fresh water. Russell states that the larger of these lakes is about thirty feet in depth and contain a peculiar species of fish. Tuxtula is another volcano of Mexico, situated on the western coast of the Gulf of Mexico, about eighty miles southeast of Vera Cruz. It was an active volcano in 1664, when it threw out molten lava. It then became dormant until March, 1793, when its long rest was broken by one of the grandest explosive eruptions of modern times. This eruption rivalled in energy the great explosive eruption which blew off the summit of Coseguina, in Central America, in 1835. As is common in the case of explosive eruptions, volcanic dust and scoriæ were blown high into the air, and, being carried by the winds, fell on the roofs of houses and on the land at a distance of 150 miles. There have been a number of less violent eruptions of Tuxtula since 1835. Tuxtula is a comparatively low mountain, being only 4,960 feet high, because much of the mountain was blown away by the eruption of 1793. As Russell points out, it is not safe to infer that because an eroded mountain is not lofty it cannot be young or energetic, since the very energy of some of its eruptions may, as in the case of Tuxtula, blow away a large part of the mountain. A low mountain, with an unusually large crater, generally means a mountain that has been visited by a great explosive eruption. Another extinct volcano known as the Cofre de Perote is situated on the eastern coast of Mexico, east of Ixtaccihuatl, about thirty miles north of Orizaba. It takes its name Cofre de Perote which means the Coffin of Perote, from its peculiar box-like shape. It was called in the Aztec language "Nauhcampatepetl," or the _Four-Ridged Mountain_. Cofre de Perote is in a dormant or extinct condition. We will conclude this brief description of the volcanoes of Mexico with the volcano of Colima, a mountain about 5,500 feet high situated on the western coast of Mexico. Colima has been active of recent years, eruptions having occurred in 1869, 1872, 1873, and 1885. During these eruptions lava escaped from lateral openings in the sides of the mountain, these openings being termed by the natives the _Sons of Colima_. CHAPTER VIII COSEGUINA AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF CENTRAL AMERICA Central America has a great number of volcanoes extending along nearly all its western coast, or on the Pacific side of the country. Central America consists of a high plain or table-land sloping gently towards the northeast, but terminating abruptly on the southwest. In the opinion of geologists this table-land consists of the surface of a huge tilted block of the earth's crust, or, perhaps, more probably, of a series of such blocks, that are limited on the southwest by a narrow belt of intersecting fractures. It is in these fractures that scores of volcanoes are situated, together with active craters, solfataras, and hot springs. The volcanoes are mainly of the Vesuvian type. There are so many volcanoes in this part of the world that it will be possible to describe but a few of them. We will begin with the volcano of Coseguina, situated on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua. Its appearance is that of a conical mountain with the top cut off, and suggests that it is most probably an explosive volcano which has had the top blown away during some of its great eruptions. Coseguina is celebrated by reason of its tremendous eruption of 1835. Before the still more tremendous explosive eruption of Krakatoa in 1883, described in the first two chapters of this book, Coseguina shared with Sombawa, on the island of Sumatra, as being the foremost of explosive volcanoes. It had been estimated that before its eruption of 1835, Coseguina had a height of perhaps 10,000 feet, but so much of it was blown away by this eruption that it now is a little less than 4,000 feet. The following description of the great eruption of Coseguina in 1835 has been condensed from an account prepared by Squier, published in 1850. You will note in reading this brief account how closely many of the phenomena resemble those that occurred during the eruption of Krakatoa in 1833. The eruption of Coseguina was heralded on the morning of January 20th, 1835, by several loud explosions that were heard for a distance of some 300 miles around the crater of the volcano. Then followed an ink black cloud formed directly over the mountain, which gradually spread on all sides shutting off the light of the sun, except for a sickly yellowish light. Fine sand was thrown from this cloud, which made it both difficult and painful to breathe. For two whole days the cloud continued to grow denser, the explosions louder and more frequent, and the rain of sand thicker. On the third day the explosions were strongest and the darkness greatest. The amount of sand that fell from the cloud was so great that people left their houses, fearing the roofs would be crushed in by the great weight. This sand fell in large quantities over an area more than 1,500 miles in diameter, or, quoting the language of Squier: "The noise of the explosions was heard nearly as far" (1,500 miles). "And the Superintendent of Belize, eight hundred miles distant, mustered his troops, under the impression that there was a naval action off the harbor. All nature seemed overawed; the birds deserted the air, and the wild beasts their fastnesses, crouching, terror-stricken and harmless, in the dwellings of men. The people for a hundred leagues grouped, dumb with terror, amidst the thick darkness, bearing crosses on their shoulders and stones on their heads in penitential abasement and dismay. Many believed that the day of doom had come, and crowded in the tottering churches, where, in the pauses of the explosions, the voices of the priests were heard in solemn invocation to Heaven. The brightest lights were invisible at the distance of a few feet; and to heighten the terror of the scene, occasional lightnings traversed the darkness, shedding a lurid glare over the earth. This continued for forty-three hours, and then gradually passed away." It appears that the eruption of Coseguina was followed by violent earthquake shocks and other evidences of volcanic energy over extended regions. For example, there were fearful earthquakes along the Andes, the worst of which occurred on February 20th, and continued at the rate of three or four a day up to March 6th, and, less frequently, to March 17th. It was during one of these earthquakes that the city of Concepcion, Chile, was so completely destroyed, that but a single house remained. The same brilliant sunsets and sunrises occurred in different parts of the world after the eruption of Coseguina, due to the presence of large quantities of volcanic dust that followed the great eruption of Krakatoa. The cause of this great explosive eruption of Coseguina was most probably the same as that which is believed to have caused the eruption of Krakatoa, namely, a large volume of water suddenly gaining access to a mass of liquid lava. Volcán del Fuego is another of the many volcanoes of Central America. It is situated as one of a group of volcanoes on the highest summit of the Isthmus. This volcanic mountain has a regular cone with regular slopes on all sides, except on the north, where a table-like projection, about 1,000 feet below the summit, is all that remains of a vast cone, the summit of which was blown away, according to Russell, in prehistoric times, just as was the crater of Somma on Vesuvius. There have been in Central America, since the time of the Spanish conquest, some fifty volcanic eruptions sufficiently great to have been recorded. Some idea of the activity of Fuego during this time may be had from the fact that of all these eruptions some twenty were those of Fuego. At the present time, however, the volcano is dormant and apparently almost extinct. The recorded eruptions of Fuego are nearly all of the explosive type. Among the most violent were those that occurred during 1526, 1541, and 1581. During 1582, 1585, and 1586, there were eruptions nearly every month, the most terrible being near Christmas day in 1586. Other memorable eruptions occurred in 1614, 1623, 1686, and 1705, and at other dates down to August 17th, 1860, from which date to the present time the volcano has been quiet. We will conclude this brief description of the volcanoes of Central America with that of Volcán de Agua, or, as the word means, _The Water Volcano_. It is situated in Guatemala near the coast, and is one of the mountains that occupies the plateau on which Fuego is situated. The Volcán de Agua is one of the most remarkable volcanoes in Central America, standing, as it does, nearly alone, and rising to an elevation of 3,350 metres (10,988 ft.), above the level of the sea. It has been extinct for a long time. It has been supposed by some, from its name, that this is a volcano that throws out water. Others believe that the name comes from the water produced by the melting of the snow that is collected on the sides of the mountain. Now there almost always escapes from the craters of volcanoes during violent eruptions immense quantities of water vapor, which, condensing, fall as vast showers of rain that often deluge the surrounding country. In snow-clad mountains, the escape of lava is often attended by floods caused by the rapid melting of the snow. The water volcano did not, however, take its name from either of these facts, but rather because at the time of the Spanish invasion, the crater of the mountain was occupied by a large lake, and that during an earthquake in 1541 the wall of the crater was broken, when the lake was poured as an immense stream of water down the side of the mountain, overwhelming a village which was situated on this slope. That this was the correct origin of the same may be seen from the fact that the crater at the present time still shows the remains of its former lake basin, and that on the sides of the broken rim an immense ravine can be seen through which the water poured down on the village below. Daubeny describes this volcano as follows: "The Volcán de Agua (Water-Volcano) is of enormous height, being covered with eternal snow, in the latitude of 14°. Captain Basil Hall estimates it at more than 14,000 feet, but a recent traveller states it at 12,600. It has the form of a blunted cone clothed with perpetual verdure to its summit. The crater is from forty to sixty yards in depth, and about 150 in diameter,--the sides and bottom strewed with masses of rock, apparently showing the effects of boiling water or of fire. "By a deluge of water from this volcano in 1527, the original city of Guatemala was overwhelmed; and the next built, called the Old City, _La Antiqua_, was ruined by an earthquake in 1773. The present capital is situated at a distance of eight leagues from the mountain." Another volcano in this part of the country is described by Daubeny as follows: "Massaya, near the lake of that name, was one of the most active vents at the time of the first discovery of the country. Its flames were visible twenty-five miles off. Its crater was only twenty or thirty paces in diameter; but the melted lava 'seethed and rolled in waves as high as towers.' A story is told of a Dominican who imagined the fluid lava was melted gold, and descended into the crater with an iron ladle to carry some away; but the ladle, it is said, melted, and the monk escaped with difficulty." CHAPTER IX THE VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS OF SOUTH AMERICA The volcanoes of South America are limited to the Andes Mountain System that stretches like a huge wall along the entire western side of the continent. The names of the more important of these volcanoes are marked on the map of South America, shown in Fig. 17. As will be seen, this huge mountain wall reaches from Patagonia on the south to the Isthmus of Panama on the north. The arrangement of the volcanoes in South America is of the linear type. The craters follow one another in more or less straight lines, or are situated along the lines of great fissures that lie near the ocean. You must not, however, suppose that there is a continuous chain of active volcanic mountains from the Isthmus of Panama to the southern part of the continent. According to Lyell, from lat. 2° N., or from the north of Quito, to lat. 43° S. or south of Chile, a total distance including 45° of latitude, there is a succession of districts with active and extinct volcanoes, or at least with volcanoes that have been quiet during the last three centuries. [Illustration: FIG. 17. SOUTH AMERICA] Lyell traces the volcanoes of South America as follows: "The principal line of active vents which have been seen in eruption in the Andes extends from lat. 43° 28' S., ... to lat. 30° S.; to these thirteen degrees of latitude succeed more than eight degrees, in which no recent volcanic eruptions have been observed. We then come to the volcanoes of Bolivia and Peru, extending six degrees from S. to N., or from lat. 21° S. to lat. 15° S. Between the Peruvian volcanoes and those of Quito another space intervenes of no less than fourteen degrees of latitude, in which there is said to be but few active volcanoes as far as is yet known. The volcanoes of Quito then succeed, beginning about 100 geographical miles south of the equator, and continuing for about 150 miles north of it, when there occurs another undisturbed region of more than six degrees of latitude, after which we arrive at the volcanoes of Guatemala, or Central America, north of the Isthmus of Panama." Of course, you must not understand that there are no extinct volcanoes in these gaps. On the contrary, according to Daubeny, we find, beginning on the north in the United States of Colombia, the lofty volcano of Tolima. According to Daubeny's book published in 1848, Tolima was then constantly emitting steam and sulphur gases from its summit. Tolima is situated in the easternmost of the three mountain ranges that extend through this section of the country. It is, therefore, at a comparatively great distance from the ocean. Tolima was in eruption in 1595. It again burst out in 1826. Coming now to Ecuador we find that this, the smallest of the South American Republics, contains numerous great volcanic mountains. Some of the principal volcanic mountains are Chimborazo, 20,498 feet above the sea; Antisana, 18,880 feet; Cotopaxi, 19,660 feet; Pichincha (17,644 feet in 1848, Daubeny), El Altar, 16,383 feet. These all lie in South America on the plateau of Quito. As Baron Alexander von Humboldt has pointed out, the volcanic mountains of Quito are arranged in two parallel chains that extend side by side for a distance of over 500 miles north into the State of Colombia, including between them the high plateaus of Quito and Lacumbia. According to Whymper, however, who has recently studied this part of South America, there is a succession of basins between the mountains, but there is no such thing as a single valley in the interior of Ecuador. The extinct volcanoes of Cayamba, Antisana, and Chimborazo are the most important. On all three mountains there are old lava streams on their sides. Although no craters can be seen on their summits, yet it is almost certain they once had craters. There is plenty of room on the summit of Antisana for a cone as great as that of Cotopaxi. Whymper is of the opinion that the snow domes that form the summit of Chimborazo were at one time two of the highest points of the rim of the old crater. Nearly due south of Quito is the great volcanic cone of El Altar. Like all the peaks of this high plateau, El Altar rises to a great height above the sea, being at the present time 16,383 feet above the sea. This mountain has an enormous crater that appears to be dormant or extinct, and is covered with snow. According to the traditions of Indians, El Altar, or, as they call it, _Capac Urcu_ or _The Chief_, was the highest mountain near the equator, being much higher than Chimborazo. But during a prodigious eruption that occurred before the discovery of America, and continued uninterruptedly for eight years, the height of the mountain was considerably reduced. According to Boussingault, the fragments of the cone of this celebrated mountain are now spread for great distances around the mountain on the surrounding lowlands. Pichincha in Ecuador, an extinct volcano, is situated almost immediately on the equator. It has a height as measured by Whymper by the barometer, of 15,918 feet above the Pacific. The summit is covered by blocks of pumice. Several species of lichens are found at this elevation. According to Daubeny, Pichincha was extinct prior to 1539, when it became active. There were also eruptions in 1577, 1587, and 1668. It was also in activity during 1831. Cayamba, another volcanic mountain of Ecuador, lies to the east of Pichincha, a short distance north of the equator. Its height is 19,186 feet. It is nearly extinct. Cotopaxi, 19,680 feet, is another volcanic mountain of the high plateau of Quito. Cotopaxi is still active. Its slopes are covered with snow down to a height of about 14,800 feet. Between the lower edge of this snow line and the lower slopes of the mountain, there lies a zone of naked rock. According to Whymper, the eruption of Cotopaxi, in 1877, was preceded by an unusual degree of activity in the earlier parts of the year. This, however, did not cause any alarm until June 25th, 1877, when, shortly after midday, an eruption, attended by tremendous subterranean roars, began, and an immense black column shot up into the air for about twice the height of the cone. This eruption was clearly visible at Quito, for the wind blew the ashes towards the Pacific. At this time the summit had not changed its appearance, but towards 6:30 A. M., on the next day, another enormous column of ashes rose from the crater. The ashes and cinders were first carried due north by the winds, and then, spreading out in all directions, were subsequently distributed through the air all over the country. At Quito, as early as 8 A. M., the sky assumed the appearance it generally has at twilight, and the darkness increased until midday, when it became as dark as at midnight. Indeed, it was so dark that one could not see his hand before his face. During this eruption, as is very common in the eruptions of the snow-clad mountains of South America, a flood of water, due to the rapid melting of the snow and ice on the summit, rushed down the mountain slopes at 10 o'clock A. M., on the 26th of the month, almost immediately after the appearance of a stream of lava that began to flow down the mountain. In a few moments the mountain was completely shut off from view by immense columns of steam and smoke. At first, a low, moaning sound was heard, which rapidly increased to a roar, when a deluge of mud, mingled with huge blocks of ice and stones, swept down the mountain, leaving a desert in its path. It is estimated that at some places this stream moved with a velocity of fifty miles per hour. The general appearance of Cotopaxi is shown in the accompanying reproduction from the painting by Frederick E. Church in the Lenox Library, New York. According to Whymper, who made an ascent of Cotopaxi in 1880, the crater on the summit has the form of an immense amphitheatre, 2,300 feet across from north to south, and 1,650 feet from east to west. Its crest is irregular and notched. The crater is surrounded by perpendicular cliffs. The western side of the volcano is irregular. Barometric measurements gave the height of this volcano at 19,498 feet. Its height as taken by La Condamine, during the early parts of the last century, was 19,605 feet, so that, according to Whymper, assuming as would seem probable, that this difference in height has not all been due to errors in measurements, the volcano has grown or increased in height during the last century and a half. Chimborazo, 20,498 feet, is another lofty mountain on the plateau of Quito. This volcano is situated in lat. 1° 30' S., and is not at the present time in an active condition. It is, however, formed entirely of volcanic material. Its upper portions are covered with a layer of snow to a level of some 2,600 feet below the summit. [Illustration: COTOPAXI _From a Painting by Frederick E. Church in the Lenox Collection of the New York Public Library. By Permission_] Chimborazo has an enormous volcanic summit, which, when seen from the Pacific, when the air is especially clear after the long rains of winter, is a most splendid sight. Whymper, who ascended the mountain, says: "When the transparency of the air is increased and its enormous circular summit is seen projected upon the deep azure of blue of the Equatorial sky, it represents a magnificent sight. The great rarity of the air through which the top of the Andes is seen adds much to the splendor." Whymper says, that as far as records are concerned, there have been no eruptions of Chimborazo, which has apparently been an extinct volcano for many years. Its crater has been completely buried by a thick cap of ice on its summit, while what lava streams exist on the mountain are either covered by large glaciers, or have been removed by erosion, or hidden by vegetation. Chimborazo possesses less of the conical outline than Cotopaxi. There are steep cliffs towards the summit that have been named by Whymper "the northern and southern walls." They seem to him to have been formed by the violent upheavals of the explosive eruptions that have blown away portions of the cone. There are other volcanoes in this district, but the above are all we have space for describing. According to Lyell, the volcano of Rancagua, in Chile, lat. 34° 15' S., is continually throwing up ashes and vapors like Stromboli. Indeed, a year seldom passes in Chile without some earthquake shocks. Of these shocks those which came from the side nearest the sea are most violent. The town of Copiapo was laid waste by these shocks during the years 1773, 1796, and 1819, in both instances after intervals of twenty-three years. Since the volcanic mountains of South America are snow-covered the occurrences of volcanic eruptions are apt to be attended by great floods caused by the rapid melting of the snow, as well as sometimes by the breaking of huge subterranean cavities that are filled with water. According to Lyell, the volcanoes of Peru rise from a plateau from 17,000 to 20,000 feet above the sea. One of the principal volcanoes of Peru is Arequipa, whose summit is 18,877 feet above the level of the sea. The mountain takes its name from the city of Arequipa, which is situated not far from its base. It is an active volcano. Another volcano, Viejo, is found in lat. 16° 55' S. According to Lyell, there are active vents extending through Chile to the island of Chiloe to lat. 30° N. Aconcagua, west of Valparaiso, in lat. 32° 39' S., 23,000 feet in height, the highest mountain in South America, is still in an active condition. According to Scrope, when the city of Mendoza was destroyed by an earthquake, that killed 10,000 people, in March, 1861, it is probable that Aconcagua was in eruption. There are many other active volcanoes in Chile, extending as far south as the volcanoes of Patagonia, north of the Straits of Magellan as well as others of Tierra del Fuego. CHAPTER X VOLCANOES OF THE UNITED STATES For some readers this may be a surprising chapter heading, for it is a general impression that there are no volcanoes in the United States. It is true that practically all of the volcanoes of this country are dormant or extinct. They have, however, at one time been exceedingly active, and, if reports are correct, some of them were active during comparatively recent times. Nearly all of the volcanoes of the United States lie west of the meridian of Denver. These volcanoes belong to two distinct types, either the Vesuvian type with built up cones, or the plateau or fissure type already referred to. The following brief description of the volcanoes of the United States has been collated, for the greater part, from Wallace's excellent book on the volcanoes of North America. Crossing the United States on the Southern Pacific Railroad one's attention is caught, in Arizona, by a magnificent group of mountains known as the San Francisco Mountains. The highest peak of these mountains reaches 12,562 feet above the level of the sea, and 5,700 feet above the surface of the plateau on which the mountains stand. [Illustration: FIG. 18. THE UNITED STATES] According to G. K. Gilbert, the San Francisco Mountain group is formed of a variety of lava known as trachyte, that is of comparatively recent ejection, possibly of a geological age called the Tertiary. The lava forming the mountains escaped through a number of crater cones, some of which can still be seen in the neighborhood. Some of these craters are now in almost as perfect a condition as the day they were formed. Indeed, to one looking at them from a neighboring elevation, they appear so fresh, and so little affected by the climate, that one might almost believe that the lava had just flowed out of the craters, and has not yet hardened. Nevertheless, geologists are sure they have been formed long before man appeared on the earth. In one of these craters a lake of fresh water has collected. Another extinct volcano of the United States is Mt. Taylor in New Mexico, nearly east of the San Francisco Mountains. This mountain rises from the surface of a high table-land, or, as it is called in this part of the world, a _mesa_. The surface of the plateau is covered with a thick lava stream from which Mt. Taylor rises to a height of 11,390 feet above the level of the ocean. This mesa, or table-land, is forty-seven miles in length from northwest to southeast, and about twenty-three miles in breadth. Its general elevation is about 8,200 feet. The plateau rises about 2,000 feet above the surface of the level land that surrounds it. All these 2,000 feet have been removed by erosion. The table-land from which Mt. Taylor rises has not been eroded by the action of the rain, rivers, and other weathering agencies like the surface of the country surrounding it, because of a covering of lava that has been spread over its surface to a depth of about 300 feet. Mt. Taylor is formed almost entirely of lava that has escaped through a single opening and has built up a high cone around it. The volcano is now quite extinct, so that the original form of the mountain has been greatly changed by erosion. You will remember, when we were discussing the general subject of volcanoes, in the beginning of this book, that we spoke of volcanic mountains being bottled up after an eruption, by the hardening of the lava which remained in the crater and the tube that connects the crater with the place from which the lava had been derived. We then spoke of this hardened mass being known as a _volcanic plug_, or stopper, explaining how the volcano could never again erupt through its old crater unless it could develop sufficient force to blow out or remove this stopper. Now besides the crater at the top of Mt. Taylor there were several others in the eroded region surrounding the mesa, or high table-land, from which Mt. Taylor rises. When, therefore, the erosion which removed the 2,000 feet of rocks on all portions of the old mesa that were not protected by the coating of lava, these old mountain plugs were too hard to be worn away or eroded, and were, therefore, left projecting into the air like vast pyramids. If you should ever visit Mt. Taylor and should go to the eastern border of this mesa, and look over the eroded plain, you would see in the lowlands a part of the places from which the 2,000 feet of matter have been slowly eroded. Dutton describes the beautiful panorama that is to be seen as follows: "The edge of the mesa suddenly descends by a succession of ledges and slopes, nearly 2,000 feet into the rugged and highly diversified valley-plain below. The country beneath is a medley of low cliffs and bluffs, showing the browns and pale yellows of the Cretaceous sandstones and shales. Out of this confused patchwork of bright colors rise several objects of remarkable aspect. They are apparently inaccessible eyries of black rock, and at a rough guess, by comparison with the known altitudes of surrounding objects, their heights above the mean level of the adjoining plain may range from 800 to 1,500 feet. The blackness of their shade may be exaggerated by contrast with the brilliant colors of the rocks and soil out of which they rise, but their forms are even more striking." These black piles are the _necks_ or lava plugs of extinct volcanoes. They rise above the level of the plain because, being harder than the surrounding rocks, they have resisted erosion. In some cases these necks or plugs have been converted by shrinkage, on cooling, into beautiful columns, somewhat of the type of the basaltic columns of the Giant's Causeway. It would be difficult to count the number of volcanic necks that can be seen near the edge of the mesa. One's attention is at once attracted to some dozen of these piles, which are especially striking on account of their great size, and ominous black color, but the number is by no means limited to this dozen. There are hundreds of them. Fig. 19 gives some idea of a part of the view from the edge of the mesa, and Fig. 20 the appearance of two of these volcanic necks. But besides high volcanic mountains such as the San Francisco Mountains and Mt. Taylor, there are, in different parts of the United States, to be found fragments of huge craters from which, in the geological past, immense quantities of lava have escaped. In some instances these craters are but fragments of huge craters, that, like the crater of Mt. Somma, in Vesuvius, have been nearly completely blown away by some unrecorded explosion during the far past. [Illustration: FIG. 19. PANORAMA FROM THE MESA AT THE EDGE OF MT. TAYLOR _From U. S. Geological Survey_] A crater of this type, known as Ice Springs Crater, is situated in the desert valley west of the Wahsatch Mountains, some 125 miles south of Salt Lake City, Utah. This crater is especially interesting from the fact that it occupies a position on a plain that was formed by the deposition of sediment in an immense lake that covered this part of the United States very long before man lived on the earth. We are alluding to Lake Bonneville, a lake that existed in a geological time known as the Glacial Epoch. This lake occupied the territory now filled by the Great Salt Lake of Utah, but towards the close of the Glacial Epoch it was immensely larger than it is now. This can be shown not only by the presence of shore lines, that are clearly marked on the sides of the surrounding mountains, but also by the ancient lake beaches, and deltas, that are common in the district, so that instead of there being the comparatively limited area of Great Salt Lake as marked on the maps of to-day there was a lake that had an area of 19,750 square miles, that covered an area on which at least 200,000 people dwell. [Illustration: FIG. 20. VOLCANIC NECKS, EDGE OF MESA AT MT. TAYLOR _From U. S. Geological Survey_] A similar lake, known as Lake Lehontan, existed at the same time, covering large areas in the western parts of Nevada. Coming now to Ice Springs Craters in Utah, we find here three small craters formed of scoriæ and lapilli (volcanic ashes consisting of small angular stony fragments). Near them lies a fragment of a much larger crater known as the Crescent. In some respects this crater was not unlike the crater of Somma that surrounded Mt. Vesuvius. It was not, however, as large, having a diameter of only 2,200 feet. From these craters streams of basalt flowed until they covered considerable areas. A still more recent crater known as Tabernacle Crater is situated four miles south of the Ice Springs Crater. Tabernacle Crater takes its name from the building known in Salt Lake City as the Tabernacle. According to Gilbert, this crater was formed at a time when Lake Bonneville stood at a comparatively low level, or when the water was only from fifty to seventy-five feet above the bottom of the valley on which the crater now stands. At that time an explosive volcanic eruption occurred on the bottom of the lake, and the rim of the crater, built up by this explosion, was gradually pushed above the surface of the lake, so as to shut out its waters. Extinct volcanic craters, not unlike those of Utah, occur also near Ragtown, in Nevada, in a district known as the Carson Valley Desert, in one of the broadest areas of what was once Lake Lahontan. Ragtown is twenty-two miles southwest of Wadsworth on the Central Pacific Railroad. At the present time there are two circular depressions or volcanic craters filled with pools of strongly alkaline water known as the Ragtown Pond, or Soda Lake. The large lake covers an area of 268-1/2 acres. Its greatest diameter is over 4,000 feet. Without going into a detailed description it will suffice to say that the larger crater probably was destroyed by an explosive volcanic eruption. Another intensely alkaline lake that fills an extinct volcanic crater is the Mono Lake, situated in Mono Valley in California at the eastern base of the Sierra Nevadas. It has an area of about 200 square miles. The centre of the lake has two small islands named Pacha and Negit. Immediately south of Mono Lake are a number of craters that occupy portions of what was once apparently a fissure extending in a general north and south direction. The highest of these craters are in the neighborhood of 2,500 feet. But leaving these inconspicuous craters, let us briefly examine some of the higher mountain peaks of the United States that are of volcanic origin. One of the most conspicuous of these is Mt. Shasta. This mountain is situated in California, at the northern end of the Sierra Nevadas. It has a height of 14,350 feet. It is a snow-clad mountain of a conical form, and is a conspicuous object in the landscape, because it stands alone. Mt. Shasta is a double-coned mountain. Besides the cone on its summit there is a well-developed cone known as Shastina on the western side of the mountain, 2,000 feet lower than the main summit. There are well-defined lava streams on the slopes of Mt. Shasta. One of these, which issued from the southern side of the mountain at an elevation of 5,500 feet, divided into two streams. One of these streams is twelve miles in length. The other entered the canyon of the Sacramento River, thus displacing the water. Coming now to the Cascade Mountains, in Oregon and Washington, we will find in them a number of giant peaks of volcanic origin. The most important of these are in regular order from south to north, as follows: Mt. Pitt, 9,760 feet; Mt. Mazana, 8,223; Mt. Union, 7,881; Mt. Scott, 7,123; Three Sisters, Mt. Jefferson, 10,200, and Mt. Hood, 11,225, in Oregon; Mt. Adams, 9,570; Mt. St. Helen's, 9,750; Mt. Rainier, 14,525, and Mt. Baker in Washington, 10,877. Nearly all these mountains have craters either on their summits or on their sides. They are extinct volcanic mountains, that were, for the most part, thrown up during the Tertiary Geological Period, so that they have all been greatly affected by erosion. One of the most remarkable of the above volcanic mountains is Mt. Mazana, in Oregon. This mountain has on its summit an approximately circular cavity from five to six miles in diameter, that is occupied by a lake of water known as Crater Lake. This lake is 6,239 feet above the level of the sea, and has a depth of 1,975 feet. It is surrounded by nearly vertical walls ranging from 900 to 2,200 feet deep, so that the vast caldera of which this great depression consists has a depth of at least 4,000 feet. Mt. Pitt, situated about sixty miles north of Mt. Shasta, in southern Oregon, has a regularly shaped volcanic cone, and the remnant of a crater at its summit. The Three Sisters and Mt. Jefferson lie to the north of Mt. Pitt. Like the others they are ancient volcanic mountains. But little is accurately known concerning them. Mt. Hood, 11,225 feet high, rises from the crest of the Cascade range in Northwest Oregon, about twenty-five miles south of the Columbia River. Mt. Hood is an exceedingly majestic mountain. At its summit there are only portions of the walls of the original crater. When ascended in 1888, streams of sulphur vapor were escaping from fumaroles on its northeastern slopes, at an elevation of 8,500 feet above the sea. Mt. Adams and Mt. St. Helen's lie to the north of Mt. Hood. Mt. Adams about sixty miles to the north, and beyond this, Mt. St. Helen's. Accurate information concerning the summit of Mt. Adams is still lacking. Mt. St. Helen's in Washington has more of a conical summit. Russell states that according to frontiersmen, St. Helen's has been in a state of activity within the past fifty years. A French-Canadian asserts that the mountain was in actual eruption during the winter of 1841-43, that at this date the light from the volcano was sufficiently bright to enable one to see and pick up a pin in the grass at midnight near his cabin some twenty miles distant. Mt. St. Helen's was ascended in 1889, when fumaroles were found on the northeast side. Mt. Rainier in Washington is plainly visible from Puget Sound. It is a most magnificent mountain. The summit has a bowl-shaped crater, of an almost perfectly circular form. The inside of the crater, when last ascended, was filled to within thirty or thirty-five feet of its rim with ice and snow. There was, however, evidences of heat, since numerous jets of steam were seen issuing from its interior rim. Mt. Baker, Washington, is the northernmost of the volcanoes of the Cascade Mountains, south of the boundary line between the United States and Canada. But little is known of this mountain. The summit appears as a conical peak from Puget Sound, so that its form would seem to show that it is of volcanic origin. According to Gibbs, officers of the Hudson Bay Company, as well as the Indians, declared that Mt. Baker was in eruption in 1843, when it broke out at the same time as Mt. St. Helen's, covering the country with ashes. There are but few volcanoes in the Rocky Mountains which extend from north to south through the United States at a considerable distance to the east of the Sierra Nevadas and Cascade Ranges. The Spanish Peaks, situated in the southeastern part of Colorado about sixty miles south of Pueblo, are the remains of ancient volcanoes. Two of the most prominent of these peaks rise from 12,720 to 13,620 feet above the sea. We shall make no effort to attempt to describe the volcanic mountains that may exist in those portions of the Rocky Mountain Ranges or the Cascade Range lying in Canada. Comparatively little is known of them, but inasmuch as volcanic activity has been manifested in Alaska, it would seem highly improbable, as Russell remarks, that volcanoes should suddenly cease at the northern boundaries of the United States and then begin again at the most southern part of Alaska. It will be sufficient to say that Mt. Edgecome, situated on an island in the neighborhood of Sitka, is of volcanic origin, and that the Aleutian Islands, beginning at Alaska on the east at the head of Cook's Inlet, extend westward through the Peninsula of Alaska to the Peninsula of Kamtschatka for a distance of nearly 1,600 miles. This belt, which is called by Russell "the Aleutian Volcanic Belt," contains numerous volcanoes that are known to have been active in historical times. Mt. Wrangell, on the Copper River, 200 miles northeast of the head of Cook's Inlet, is a lofty volcanic mountain that is said to have been in eruption in 1819, and at the time of last report was still throwing out columns of steam. While much remains to be ascertained about the volcanoes of the Aleutian Islands, it would appear that there are active volcanoes on twenty-five of these islands, on which some forty-eight craters have been found. Eruptions are common in the district. CHAPTER XI THE CATASTROPHE OF MARTINIQUE AND THE VOLCANIC ISLANDS OF THE LESSER ANTILLES The West Indies Island chain consists of two groups of islands; i. e., the Greater Antilles, including Cuba, Jamaica, Hayti, and Porto Rico, on the west, and the chain of the Lesser Antilles on the east. The Lesser Antilles consists of two parallel chains, the westernmost of which is for the greater part mountainous with peaks several thousand feet in height. All these islands are volcanic. The chain on the east consists of low, calcareous rocks, or rocks consisting largely of lime. In the western chain the islands beginning on the south are, Grenada, St. Vincent, St. Lucia, Martinique, Dominica, Guadeloupe, Montserrat, Nevis, and St. Eustace, while in the calcareous chain are found the Tobago, Barbadoes, and others. Prior to 1902, the greatest volcanic eruption in this part of the world occurred on the island of St. Vincent, with the volcano of Soufrière. Although the forces displayed were exceedingly great, yet they become insignificant when compared with the appalling eruption that took place in Martinique only a short time ago; namely, May the 8th, 1902, when the volcano of Mt. Pelée, situated on the northwestern part of the island, burst into an eruption so terrible that in destruction of life it far exceeded the eruption of Krakatoa, although the amount of energy causing the eruption was much smaller. [Illustration: FIG. 21. THE LESSER ANTILLES] Heilprin, in a book called "Mt. Pelée and the Tragedy of Martinique," from whom most of the information of this chapter has been obtained, calls attention to the fact that before the eruption of Pelée there were plenty of warnings for those intelligent enough to note them. For two or three weeks prior to May 8th, 1902, the volcanic activity of Pelée had been rapidly increasing, the mountain throwing out clouds of ashes and sulphurous vapors from its crater. By April 25th the sulphurous vapors had so increased in quantity as to make breathing difficult in St. Pierre. The ashes fell on the surrounding country and by the 2d of May had so covered the streets of St. Pierre as to stop traffic. Three days later, May 6th, shortly before noon, an avalanche of mud poured down the slopes of the mountain with the rapidity of an express train. These torrents of mud and water deluged the towns and villages in the neighborhood. The activity of Mt. Pelée increased until the morning of May 8th, 1902, when, almost at exactly 8 A. M., an eruption occurred, so terrible in its effects that in two minutes the city of St. Pierre was almost completely destroyed. St. Pierre, the principal town of Martinique, is situated on the island of Martinique, on the northwestern coast, about ten miles southwest of Mt. Pelée. St. Pierre was settled as far back as 1635. It is situated on an open roadstead without any harbor. That there were many points of resemblance between the position of St. Pierre and the destroyed city of Pompeii will be recognized as the description of the catastrophe is given. St. Pierre was a beautiful city, and formed the natural outlet to one of the richest districts in Martinique for the production of sugar cane and cocoa. It contained many fine houses, the homes of planters, wealthy bankers, merchants, and shippers, who, besides their regular houses in the city, had constructed handsome villas on heights on the outskirts of the city. The houses were to a great extent one or two stories in height, and were in many cases surrounded by fine gardens. The city extended along the coast for about two miles. The streets were well lighted. The eruption of Mt. Pelée on May 8th, 1902, was of a very unusual character, containing a feature that--with the exception of a volcanic eruption of Soufrière, a volcanic mountain on the neighboring island of St. Vincent, and an eruption of Kilauea in Hawaii--so far as I am aware, never before occurred. This was a blast of highly heated air, mingled with white hot or incandescent dust, that swept down the side of the mountain with a velocity of one or two miles per minute, or possibly more. Nearly all of the people in St. Pierre were killed. From the appearance of the bodies it seemed that death was practically instantaneous, and was due either to scorching or burning, or asphyxiation by the breathing of highly heated air. The number of people so killed, including almost the entire population of St. Pierre, as well as a number of adjoining settlements, was not less than 30,000. The zone of absolute destruction was limited to an area the extent of which did not greatly exceed eight or nine square miles. On the outskirts of this zone the destruction, though considerable, was less complete. There was almost an entire absence of great earthquake shocks during the eruption. Following the terrible eruption of May 8th were a number of less violent eruptions on May 20th, 26th, June 6th, July 9th, and August 31st. According to Heilprin these eruptions were of the same character as that of May 8th. There has been considerable discussion as to the exact causes of the tornadic incandescent blast that caused the awful destruction of life. Without entering this discussion it is sufficient to say that it is now generally considered that the blast consisted of highly heated air, and super-heated steam loaded with great quantities of finely divided red hot or even white hot dust particles. While, perhaps, the force producing the awful eruption of Mt. Pelée was greatly excelled in the case of many other volcanic eruptions; such as Papandayang, in 1772; Asamayama, in 1783; Skaptar Jökul, in 1783; Tomboro, in 1815; Coseguina, in 1835; and Krakatoa, in 1883; yet, in the words of Heilprin, "in intensity and swiftness of its death-dealing blast ... the eruption of May 8th, and of later dates, stands unique in records of volcanic manifestations." While the amount of ashes that accompanied the blast of white hot steam and air was comparatively small, yet during the time between this and the subsequent eruptions, the amount of ashes that were thrown from the surface of Mt. Pelée was exceedingly great. According to Russell, in a paper on the volcanic eruptions of Martinique and St. Vincent, in 1902, the amount of ashes and solid matter generally thrown out from the crater of Mt. Pelée would be equal to 40,000,000 cubic feet every minute, or one and a half times the sediments discharged by the Mississippi in the course of a whole year. According to Heilprin, however, the actual amount of dust thrown from the crater of Mt. Pelée was, probably, 500 times greater than the amount discharged by the Mississippi River in the course of a year, and, consequently, considerably greater than that of all the rivers of the world combined, or, as he says: "Mont Pelée has now been in a condition of forceful activity for upwards of two hundred days; can we assume that during this time it may have thrown out a mass of material whose cubical contents are hardly less than a quarter of the area of Martinique as it now appears above the waters? One is, indeed, almost appalled by the magnitude of this work, and yet the work may even be very much greater than is here stated. We ask ourselves the questions, what becomes of the void that is being formed in the interior? What form of new catastrophe does it invite? There can be no answer to a question of this kind--except in the future happening that may be associated with this special condition. But geologists must take count of the force as being one of greatest potential energy, whose relation to the modelling and the shaping of the destinies of the globe is of far greater significance than has generally been conceived." A curious circumstance connected with the eruption of Mt. Pelée was the most pronounced electric and magnetic disturbances. Moreover, as in the case of the eruption of Krakatoa, there were the same after glows or red sunsets and sunrises due to the presence of fine volcanic dust in the higher regions of the air. These phenomena were observed over widely separated areas. It appears that this great eruption in Martinique was preceded by severe earthquakes in the northern part of South America, especially in Colombia and Venezuela. The most marked was the great earthquake which on April 18th destroyed the city of Guatamaula; this was, perhaps, the most destructive earthquake that has occurred in the Western Hemisphere since the great earthquake of 1812, that destroyed the city of Caracas. Indeed, Professor Milne suggests that it was this earthquake that brought about the eruption of Mt. Pelée. Soufrière, on the island of St. Vincent, had a great eruption on May 7th, 1902, one day before the awful eruption of Mt. Pelée. No lava flowed during this eruption. There were, however, great discharges of mud, due to a lake that before the eruption filled the top of a depression known as the old crater which lay southwest of a new crater, or the crater that was formed during the eruption of 1812. The old crater was nine-tenths of a mile across from east to west, and eight-tenths of a mile from north to south. The depth to the crater floor was from 1,000 to 2,400 feet. The surface of the new and shallow boiling lake which occupied the deepest part of the floor during the latter part of May, and from June to August, was estimated to be only 1,200 feet above the level of the sea. The sheet of water that occupied it before the eruption being several hundred feet higher. Soufrière did not fail to give warnings of its coming eruption. Rumblings were heard two days before the explosion. On May 5th, 1902, fishermen who crossed the lake noticed that the water was disturbed and agitated. On the Tuesday following, May 6th, great clouds were thrown out during the afternoon, and the volcano was illumined by a reddish glare of fire. The first explosion was heard shortly before two o'clock on the following day and the volcano burst into activity. The explosions, together with great discharges of pumice, ashes, and boulders, followed one another rapidly. A column of steam was shot up into the air for a height of 30,000 feet. The severest paroxysm came shortly after ten A. M., and was succeeded by others nearly as violent during the next few hours. By this time a reddish curtain of clouds nearly shut out the island from view, and rapidly advanced over the land and descended on the sea. This eruption caused a loss of life of about 1,350. This eruption of Mt. Soufrière was accompanied by the same tornadic blast of glowing air. There was not, however, any single blast quite as severe as that which attended the eruption of Pelée on May 8th, 1902. CHAPTER XII SOME OTHER NOTED VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS Since the limits of our book will prevent any further description of volcanic districts or regions, we must content ourselves with descriptions of some of the noted of the remaining volcanoes, although many we will thus omit contain great wonders. As we have already seen from the description of Krakatoa, the island of Java near which Krakatoa is situated is especially noted not only for the great number of its volcanic mountains, but also for the frequency and severity of their eruptions. Perhaps the most destructive eruption of any of the volcanic mountains of Java was of a volcanic mountain called Papandayang. This volcano, situated on the southern coast of the island, is 7,034 feet in height, and was in eruption in 1772. According to Scrope, from whom the details of this eruption have been obtained, two others of the many volcanoes on Java, situated at 184 and 352 geographical miles respectively from Papandayang, broke out at the same time into active eruption, although several intervening cones were undisturbed. The eruption of Papandayang was of the explosive type, a large part of the mountain being broken off by the great force of the eruption, and its materials scattered far and wide over the surrounding country. During this eruption forty villages with their inhabitants were buried by great showers of ashes. An area of fifteen by six miles was left in the shape of a huge pit by the great eruption. It was at first believed by some that this pit was due to the actual sinking in of the ground, but a more careful study has shown that it was in reality caused by the great force of the eruption, being, in point of fact, a vast explosive crater that was formed by the expulsion of the materials that formerly filled it. Some idea of the great extent of this eruption of Papandayang may be had by the size of this huge crater that was six by fifteen miles in diameter. Another great volcanic mountain in Java that had a terrific eruption was Galungoon, or Galung Gung. According to Lyell, from whom the facts of this eruption have been obtained, prior to this eruption the slopes of the mountain were highly cultivated and densely populated. There was a circular pit or crater on the summit of the mountain, but there had been no traditions of any eruptions prior to 1822. In July, 1822, the waters of the Kunir River, one of the small rivers that flow down the slopes of the mountain, were observed to become hot and turbid. On the 8th of October, 1822, a terrific explosion was suddenly heard, accompanied by great earthquake shocks, when immense columns of hot water and boiling mud, mixed with burning brimstone, ashes, and lapilli, were thrown violently like a great waterspout from the opening in the mountain, with such enormous violence that great quantities fell across the River Tandoi, forty miles distant, while the valleys in the neighborhood were filled with a burning torrent. The rivers overflowed their banks and produced great destruction by floods of burning and boiling materials that washed away all the villages and cultivated fields in their path. During this eruption an extended area was covered with boiling mud in which were completely buried the bodies of many of those who perished. So great was the violence with which the boiling mud, cinders, etc., were thrown out of the mountain that they entirely failed to fall on many of the villages in the immediate neighborhood, while the more remote villages were completely destroyed and buried out of sight under the mud. The first eruption continued for nearly five hours. During several days following the eruption, torrents of rain fell, which produced floods in the rivers that covered the country far and wide with thick layers of mud. Four days after the great eruption, that is, on the 12th of October, 1822, a second and still more violent eruption occurred, when immense quantities of hot mud were again thrown out of the crater. Great blocks of hardened lava called basalt were thrown a distance of seven miles from the volcano. This eruption was accompanied by a violent earthquake. It was during this eruption that a huge piece of the side of the cone was blown out, not unlike the case of the Val del Bove on Mt. Etna. The surrounding country was covered with mud. The immense quantity of materials thus thrown out of the side of the mountain produced changes in the courses of several rivers, thus causing great floods which in the single night of October 12th drowned 2,000 people. During these eruptions there were 114 villages destroyed, with a total loss of life of about 4,000. There is a volcanic mountain on the island of Sumbawa that is noted for the very destructive eruption that occurred on it in April, 1815. If you examine the map of the Sunda Islands chain, you will see that the island of Sumbawa lies immediately east of a little island called Lombock, about 200 miles east of Java. This eruption of Sumbawa was of the most frightful violence, and, indeed, with the exception of Krakatoa and Pelée, was one of the greatest eruptions in historic times. Like all great eruptions, that of Sumbawa gave plenty of signs of its coming. During April, 1814, the volcano manifested considerable increase in its activity, and ashes fell on the decks of vessels sailing past the island. The eruption began on April 5th, 1815, but reached its greatest violence on the 11th and 12th of April. According to Lyell, the sound of the explosion was heard at the island of Sumatra at a distance of 970 geographical miles towards the west, and in the opposite direction it was heard for a distance of 720 miles. The destruction of life was terrible. Out of a population of 12,000 in the province of Tomboro, only twenty-six people escaped with their lives. Like many other great eruptions the shooting upwards of the great column of matter from the crater produced a violent whirlwind that carried people, horses, cattle, and almost every movable object high into the air, and tore up huge trees by their roots. Immense quantities of ashes fell over the surrounding country, or were carried towards Java to the west a distance of 300 miles, while on the north they were carried towards Celebes for a distance of 217 miles. Cinders covered the ocean towards the west two feet thick and several miles in length, so that ships could hardly make their way through them. The darkness in Java produced by the dense ash cloud was greater than had ever before been experienced with the single exception of the great eruption of Krakatoa. A considerable quantity of this volcanic dust was carried to the islands of Amboyna and Banda, the last named island being at a distance of 800 miles east of the volcano. This eruption of Sumbawa was attended by great lava streams that covered vast areas of the land and afterwards poured into the sea. As in the case of the explosive eruption of Krakatoa great waves were produced in the ocean all along the coasts of Sumbawa, and surrounding islands. The sea suddenly rose from two to twelve feet. A great wave rushed up the mouths of the rivers, and at the town of Tomboro, on the west side of Sumbawa, an area of land was sunk in the waters and remained permanently covered by eighteen feet of water. The most important of the still active volcanoes of Japan is Assamayna. This mountain was in terrible eruption during the autumn of 1783, when dense showers of ashes thrown out of the crater darkened the sky, turning the day into night, and, falling on the cultivated fields around the mountain, changed them into deserts. During the eruption some forty-eight villages were destroyed by showers of ashes and red hot stones and thousands of the inhabitants were either killed directly by the stones and ashes, or died from starvation, since their fields were covered with ashes for miles around to a depth of from two and a half to five feet. Another terrible eruption in Japan was in the volcanic mountain of Wunzen, or Onzen-Gatake. This occurred during 1791-93. During the last eruption of this volcano, 53,000 people lost their lives, either by reason of the eruption of the volcano, or by huge waves set up in the ocean by an earthquake. CHAPTER XIII JORULLO, A YOUNG VOLCANIC MOUNTAIN You must not suppose that when we speak of Jorullo as a young volcanic mountain that we mean young in the sense that you or I might be called young, but young as regards mountains; for Jorullo, now a great mountain range, had no existence before the year 1759, and that would make the mountain a little less than 150 years old, which so far as mountains are concerned may properly be regarded as quite young. The story of Jorullo is very interesting, and affords an excellent example of the great scale on which modern volcanic eruptions take place during historical times. If you examine the map of Mexico on page 86 you will see that Jorullo lies 170 miles southwest of the city of Mexico, and 108 miles from the Pacific Ocean, which is the nearest large body of water. This mountain is of especial interest because, if old traditions are to be believed, it was thrown up during practically a single night. This wonderful event took place on an elevated plain or plateau, called the Plain of Malpais, that lies between 2,000 and 3,000 feet above the level of the ocean. The plain was situated in a part of Mexico that was celebrated for the growth of the finest cotton and indigo in the world. It formed the large estate of a wealthy planter, Señor Pedro de Jorullo, who lived at his ease as a wealthy planter is apt to do in tropical countries like Mexico. Jorullo's plantation was covered by an especially fertile soil, since it was formed by the deposits of volcanic ashes, dust, tufa, etc., produced, most probably, by neighboring volcanoes long before man appeared on the earth, for the plain of Malpais was bounded by hills that were composed of volcanic materials. There had, however, been no signs of volcanic activity in the neighborhood. It had indeed been quiet, so far as volcanic eruptions were concerned, since the time of the discovery of America by Columbus, until the middle of the last century. The fertile fields of the Jorullo plantation were watered by two rivers, or as we would probably call them, brooks, the Cuitamba and the San Pedro. Signs were not wanting of the coming calamity. During June, 1759, subterranean sounds were heard of a low rumbling character, which every now and then increased until they resembled in intensity the sounds produced by the firing of large guns. These sounds were accompanied by earthquake shocks that greatly terrified the people and caused them to flee from their homes. Nothing, however, occurred, so, becoming accustomed to the noises, the people returned to their houses. The noises and tremblings ceased for over two months, until, on the 29th of September, 1759, they were again heard, and a terrible eruption began. A long fissure opened in the earth, extending generally from northeast to southwest. From this fissure flames burst out, fragments of burning rock and stone, together with large quantities of ashes were thrown to great heights in the air, and were followed by streams of molten rock. Six volcanic cones were formed along the fissure. The highest of these cones is what now constitutes the volcanic mountain of Jorullo, which then reached a height of at least 1,600 feet above the level of the plain. From its cone were thrown out great quantities of lava of the same type as that which escaped from the craters of many volcanic islands such as Hawaii and Iceland, namely, basaltic lavas. This eruption, which began on the 29th of September, 1759, continued until the month of February, 1760. The account as above given was obtained by Humboldt, who visited the country some fifty-six years after the eruption. This story was told him by the Indians, but was also recorded in verse by a Jesuit priest, Raphael Landiva, a native of Guatemala. According to the account given Humboldt by the Indians, it appears that when a long time after the eruptions had quieted down, they had returned to their old homes with the hope of cultivating part of the grounds, they found the plains still too hot to permit their living on them. According to Lyell, there was around the base of the cone, spreading from them as a centre over an area of some four square miles, a convex mass, about 550 feet in height, most of the surface of which was covered with thousands of small flattish conical mounds from six to nine feet in height. These, together with numerous large fissures that crossed the plain in different directions, served as points for the escape of sulphur vapors, as well as for the vapors of hot water. During the escape of lava from the craters in 1759, the molten rock, spreading over the plain, ran into the channels of the river or brooks before named, driving out the water. This water reappeared at the base of the mountain in numerous hot springs. Humboldt thought that the conical mountains had been lifted or raised by the formation of huge bubbles formed under the lava, thus causing it to assume a shape not unlike that of a huge bladder. This opinion, however, has not been accepted by geologists at the present time. Scrope points out that this was probably the origin of the little conical mounds that covered the surface of the principal conical mounds but was not, in all probability, the cause of the mound itself. He says: "With regard to the disputed question as to the origin of the raised plain of the Malpais, M. de Saussure, the last and most trustworthy visitor, entirely confirms the opinion which I ventured to proclaim in 1825, that Humboldt was mistaken in supposing it to have been 'blown up from beneath like a bladder,' and that it is merely an ordinary current of lava, which, owing to its very imperfect liquidity at the time of its issue from the volcanic vent, as well as to the overflow of one sheet or stream upon another, had acquired great thickness about its source, gradually thinning off towards the outer limit of the elliptical area it covered." If you have been able to follow the above you will see that Mr. Scrope means that in his opinion the cone of Jorullo is a lava cone like that we have already studied on Mt. Loa or Mt. Kilauea, or, in other words, that the lava as it came out from the opening on the top of Jorullo, flowed in all directions around the opening, thus building up a mountain in the form of a flat lava cone. Perhaps one of the reasons Humboldt had for believing the entire elevation of Jorullo to be due to the formation of a huge bladder was the fact that the plain on which the cone is situated, when struck, gave out a sound as though there was a vast hollow space below it. This was especially the case when the hoofs of the horses driven over its surface produced sounds as though they were moving over the summit of a hollow dome-like space below. But, as Lyell points out, this was probably only due to the fact that the materials forming the cone were very light and porous. According to Burkhardt, a German mining engineer who visited Jorullo in 1827, there appears to have been no other eruptions of the volcano since the time of Humboldt's visit. Mr. Burkhardt descended to the bottom of the crater and observed that small quantities of sulphurous vapors were still escaping. The small cones or _hornitos_, however, on the slopes had entirely ceased emitting steam. It appeared, too, that the twenty-four years that had passed since the time of Humboldt's visit, the rich soil of the surrounding country had permitted the successful cultivation of some crops of sugar cane and indigo. Russell appears to doubt the reliability of the information obtained by Humboldt concerning Jorullo. He suggests that a poetical account by the Jesuit missionary from whom Humboldt obtained much of his information was not apt to possess marked scientific accuracy. While, however, this may be true, yet to a certain extent it seems entirely probable that the principal facts were as above given. The following account as given by Humboldt, is taken from a translation made in the early part of 1800: "The affrighted inhabitants fled to the mountains of Aguasarco. A tract of ground from three to four square miles in extent, which goes by the name of Malpays, rose up in the shape of a bladder. The bounds of this convulsion are still distinguishable in the fractural strata. The Malpays, near its edge, is only twelve metres above the old level of the plain called the Playas de Jorullo; but the convexity of the ground thus thrown up increases progressively towards the centre, to an elevation of 160 metres (524.8 ft.). "Those who witnessed this catastrophe from the top of Aguasarco assert that flames were seen to issue forth for an extent of more than half a square league, that fragments of burning rocks were thrown up to prodigious heights, and that through a thick cloud of ashes, illuminated by the volcanic fire, the softened surface of the earth was seen to swell up like an agitated sea. The rivers of Cuitamba and San Pedro precipitated themselves into the burning chasms. The decomposition of the water contributed to invigorate the flames, which were distinguishable at the city of Pascuaro, though situated on very extensive table-land 1,400 metres (4,592 ft.) elevated above the plains of Las Playas de Jorullo. Eruptions of mud, and especially of strata of clay enveloping balls of decomposed basalt in concentrical layers, appeared to indicate that subterranean water had no small share in producing this extraordinary revolution. Thousands of small cones, from two to three metres in height, called by the indigenes ovens, issued forth from the Malpays.... "In the midst of the ovens, six large masses, elevated from 400 to 500 metres each above the old level of the plain, sprung up from a chasm, of which the direction is from N. N. E. to the S. S. E. This is the phenomenon of the Montenovo of Naples, several times repeated in a range of volcanic hills. The most elevated of these enormous masses, which bears some resemblance to the puys de l'Auvergne, is the great Volcan de Jorullo. It is continually burning, and has thrown up from the north side an immense quantity of scorified and basaltic lavas containing fragments of primitive rocks. These great eruptions of the central volcano continued till the month of February, 1760. In the following years they became gradually less frequent.... The roofs of the houses of Queretaro were then covered with ashes at a distance of more than forty-eight leagues in a straight line from the scene of the explosion. Although the subterranean fire now appears far from violent, and the Malpays and the great volcano begin to be covered with vegetation, we nevertheless found the ambient air heated to such a degree by the action of the small ovens, that the thermometer at a great distance from the surface and in the shade rose as high as 43° C." (109° 4' F.). CHAPTER XIV MID-OCEAN VOLCANIC ISLANDS Besides the volcanoes we have already described, there are many others situated in mid-ocean far from any continent. A brief description will be given of a few of these. All the three great central oceans, the Pacific, the Atlantic, and the Indian, contain numerous volcanic islands, some of which rise many thousands of feet above the general level. We will begin with a description of some of the more important volcanic islands of the Pacific. It was first pointed out by Kotzebue, and afterwards by Darwin, that all the islands of the Pacific Ocean can be divided into two great classes, the _high islands_ and the _low islands_. All the high islands are of volcanic origin, while the low islands are of coral formation. It is the opinion of Dana, who has made a careful study of coral formations, especially in the Pacific, that in all probability even the low islands of the Pacific were originally volcanic, and that the deposits of coral had been made along their shores after their volcanoes had become extinct. The islands of the Pacific, like the shores of the continents and most of their mountain ranges, extend in two great lines of trend, or general direction, which intersect each other nearly at right angles. These lines extend from the southeast to the northwest, and from the northeast to the southwest respectively, those extending in a general direction from southeast to northwest being the most common in the Pacific. Now, perhaps, the greatest number of the earth's volcanoes are arranged along fissures, or cracks in the earth's crust. The craters are situated along the cracks, the openings being kept clear at the crater, and gradually closing elsewhere, probably by pressure. In other words, most of the volcanoes follow one another along more or less straight lines. For example, in the western part of South America they follow the Andes Mountains. A similar arrangement exists in the volcanoes of Central America, Mexico, and the United States. Now, this is especially true of mid-ocean volcanoes of the Pacific which lie along lines extending from southeast to northwest, or from northeast to southwest, though mainly along the former. Some of the volcanic islands of the Pacific have already been described or referred to, as, for example, the Aleutian Islands, which stretch in a curved line from the southwestern extremity of the peninsula of Alaska to Kamtschatka on the coast of Asia. We have already described the island of Hawaii, the great volcanoes of the Sandwich Islands chain, and besides these there are in the North Pacific the Ladrone Islands, lying east of the Philippines. Some of the principal remaining islands are: the Fejee Islands, which are volcanic, with numerous hot springs and craters. The Friendly Islands, with the peak of Tafua, 2,138 feet high, an active volcano with a large crater always burning, and two other volcanoes, Apia, and Upala. Tahiti, to the east, is at present extinct. One of its mountains, Orobena, said to be 10,000 feet high, has a crater on its summit. The Marquesas, still further to the east, are also volcanic. All of these islands lie generally in the lines of the northeast trend. The Tongan or New Zealand Island chain extends in the direction of the northeast trend. This, as you will see, is the direction in which the two islands of New Zealand extend. The Tongan Island chain is continued to the south through Auckland and the Macquaire Islands to 58° S. Towards the north, in almost the same line, are the Kermadec Islands near 30° S. There are several active volcanoes in New Zealand. An explosive eruption of Tarawera, in New Zealand, in 1883, continued for several days, and was followed, three days afterwards, by an outburst in an active volcano in the Bay of Plenty, and two months afterwards, by a violent outburst in a volcano on the island of Ninafou in the Tongan Islands. Coming now to the Atlantic Ocean we find a number of volcanic mountains in the deep waters near mid-ocean. The principal of these, besides Iceland, are the Azores, the Canaries, Cape Verde Islands, Ascension Island, St. Helena Island, and Tristan d'Acunha. The Peak of Pico, in the Azores, rises to a height of 7,016 feet. The Peak of Teneriffe, in the Canaries, reaches the height of 12,225 feet. Teneriffe is a snow-capped mountain. It has a cone on its summit with precipitous walls like Vesuvius. Sulphurous vapors are continually formed at its summit, but no flames can be seen. In the Cape Verde Islands is to be found the active volcanic mountain of Fuego, rising 7,000 feet above the sea. It has a central cone that has been broken down on one side like that of Somma on Vesuvius. Fuego was in eruption in 1785, and also in 1799. Ascension Island, south of the equator, is formed entirely of volcanic materials. This island rises from an apparently granite floor on the bed of the ocean, in water 12,000 feet deep. St. Helena lies further to the south. It is an extinct volcano, and has the remains of a crater on its summit with lava dikes in various parts of the island. Tristan d'Acunha is an isolated mountain that lies in the South Atlantic, south of St. Helena, 1,500 miles from Africa, the nearest land. It is an extinct volcano that rises from a depth of 12,150 feet to a height of 7,000 feet above the sea. It has a truncated cone on its summit and a lake of pure water in its old crater. There are only a few volcanic islands in the Indian Ocean. Kerguelen Island lies in the southern waters. St. Paul and Amsterdam to the north, lying near 40° S. lat., as well as the Crozet Islands, are extinct volcanoes. In the Arctic Ocean is the volcanic island of Jan Mayen. In the Antarctic Ocean, as far as is known, there are only two volcanoes, Mt. Erebus and Mt. Terror. Mt. Erebus, 12,400 feet high, is an active volcano. Mt. Terror, 10,990 feet high, is an extinct volcano. CHAPTER XV SUBMARINE VOLCANOES A submarine volcano is a volcano that erupts on the bed of the ocean with its crater covered by the waters. Many of the great volcanic mountains of the world began as submarine volcanoes. A crater first opened on the floor of the ocean, and lava escaping, was heaped up around the opening, until it emerged above the surface as an island. As we have seen, the island of Iceland is believed to have begun in this way. Such, too, in all probability, was the origin of Hawaii, Vesuvius, Etna, and Santorin. But besides the volcanic mountains that were thrown up during the geological past, there are others that have been called into existence while man has been living on the earth. We will now describe a few islands that have been formed in this manner by submarine volcanic eruptions. That volcanic eruptions, or at least something that greatly resembles eruptions, occur on the bed of the ocean too far below the surface to permit them to be directly seen from above, has been shown in a number of cases where the captains of vessels have reported that in certain parts of the ocean, jets of water, or steam, and pillars of flame have been seen rising to great heights from the surface of the water, and that in certain regions sulphurous smoke has also been seen. During such occurrences, the water is agitated, as if it were being violently boiled. Moreover, these parts of the ocean are shaken by severe earthquake shocks. Another evidence of submarine volcanic eruptions is to be found in great quantities of ashes, scoriæ, or pumice stone, that are seen spread out over the surface of the ocean after the commotions referred to in the preceding paragraph. Still another proof is that parts of the ocean whose waters were previously very deep are found to have suddenly shoaled. Of course, the best proof is the appearance of rocky reefs or small islands thrown up above the surface of the water, especially where volcanic cones appear. While in many cases the new islands thus thrown up are subsequently washed away by the waves, yet some have continued above the water. One of the most noted instances of the formation of an island by a submarine volcano was Sabrina, which was thrown up in 1811, in the Atlantic Ocean, off the shores of St. Michael in the Azores Islands. Sabrina had a cone that was 300 feet in height. It did not long remain above the waters, however, being soon washed away by the waves. It is interesting to note that in the same part of the ocean where Sabrina appeared, other islands have appeared and disappeared, at times long before 1811; that is, during the year 1691, as well as during 1720. Another instance of a submarine island is Graham's Island, that was thrown up in 1831, in the Mediterranean Sea, between the west coast of Sicily and the nearest part of Africa, on which ancient Carthage was situated. The part of the sea where the island was thrown up had previously a depth of 600 feet. The general appearance of Graham's Island is represented in Fig. 22. Graham's Island was formed by accumulations of loose scoria and cinders, together with blocks of lava and fragments of limestone. It reached a height of 200 feet above the water, but only remained above the surface for a few months, when it was washed away, leaving a submarine bank some twelve miles in width, that was covered by water of about 150 feet, but which, however, increased rapidly in depth towards the edge until depths of from 1,200 to 2,000 feet were reached. [Illustration: FIG. 22. GRAHAM'S ISLAND--A RECENT VOLCANIC ISLAND] According to Lyell, on the 28th of June, 1831, before Graham's Island appeared, a ship passing over this portion of the sea felt severe earthquake shocks. On July 10th of the same year, the captain of a vessel from Sicily reported that as he passed near this part of the Mediterranean, a column of water, 800 yards in circumference, was seen to rise from the sea to a height of sixty feet, and that afterwards a column of steam rising to a height of 1,800 feet was seen in the same place. On again passing the same region on July 18th, this captain found a small island about twelve feet in height, with a crater in its centre, that was throwing out volcanic materials, together with immense masses of vapor. The island thus formed grew rapidly, both in size and height. When visited at the end of July, it had attained a height of from fifty to ninety feet, and was three-quarters of a mile in circumference. By August 4th, it had reached a height of 200 feet, and was then some three miles in circumference. From this time, however, the island began to decrease in size, as the waves began to wash it away. By August 25th, it was only two miles in circumference. On September 3d, it had decreased to three-fifths of a mile in circumference, and continued to decrease until it entirely disappeared, so that in the year 1832, there were, according to measurements, some 150 feet of water over its former site. The Mediterranean Sea between Sicily and Greece is also especially liable to submarine activity. New islands appear and disappear so frequently that in this region they are almost regarded as common phenomena. There are many other parts of the ocean where submarine volcanic eruptions are common. This is especially the case in the narrowest part of the Atlantic Ocean between Africa and South America. Here there is a region situated partly above the equator, though for the greater part south of the equator, frequently visited by submarine eruptions, that are accompanied by earthquakes, by the agitation of the water, by the appearance of floating masses of ashes and scoriæ, as well as by columns of steam or smoke. Floating masses of ashes and scoriæ sometimes occur so thick as to retard the progress of vessels. But what forms, perhaps, one of the best instances of a large island formed by submarine eruptions during historical times, is Bogosloff Island in Behring Sea, some forty miles west of Unalaska Island. This island, the position of which is seen on the accompanying map, is known to the Russians as Ioanna Bogoslova, or St. John the Theologian. It is situated in lat. 53° 58' N., long. 168° west. It is said that during the year 1795, some of the natives of Unalaska Island saw what they thought was a fog in the neighborhood of a small rock, which they had known for a long time to project above the sea in these waters. This rock was marked on some Russian chart dated 1768-69. It was seen by Captain Cooke, in 1778, and was named by him Ship Rock. But it was not a fog that the Unalaskans had seen in the neighborhood of Ship Rock; for, to their great surprise, the fog continued in sight although everywhere else the air was quite clear. Of course, this was a great mystery to the people. During the spring of 1796, one of them, who possessed either greater curiosity than the rest, or greater courage, or both, visited the rock. He returned, telling the strange story that all the ocean around the rock was boiling, and that the mist or fog was caused by the rising steam. What was taking place was a submarine eruption. During May, 1796, sufficient matter had been brought up from below to increase greatly the area of the small rock. [Illustration: FIG. 23. ALEUTIAN ISLANDS] During later years several attempts have been made to visit Bogosloff Island. For example, the island was visited during 1872 and 1873, when it was found to have increased in height to 850 feet. But no appearance of any volcanic crater was to be seen. During October, 1883, a great volcanic eruption occurred there. Considerable changes were produced in its shape, as well as in the depth of the surrounding water. During this eruption, clouds of steam completely hid the island. Great quantities of ashes obscured the light of the sun. After the eruption, a new island was thrown up near the old one, in a place where the water had previously been deep enough for the ready passage of ships. The new island was about half a mile from the old one. It was conical in form, from 500 to 800 feet in height, and about three-quarters of a mile in diameter. The new island was visited in 1884 by the U. S. Revenue Marine Steamer _Corwin_. Lieutenant Cartwell, who visited the island at this time, described it as follows: "The sides of New Bogosloff rise with a gentle slope to the crater. The ascent at first appears easy, but a thin layer of ashes, formed into a crust by the action of rain and moisture, is not strong enough to sustain a man's weight. At every step my feet crushed through the outer covering and I sank at first ankle-deep and later on knee-deep into a soft, almost impalpable dust which arose in clouds and nearly suffocated me. As the summit was reached, the heat of the ashes become almost unbearable, and I was forced to continue the ascent by picking my way over rocks whose surfaces being exposed to the air, were somewhat cooled and afforded a more secure foothold. "On all sides of the cone there are openings through which steam escaped with more or less energy. I observed from some vents the steam was emitted at regular intervals, while from others it issued with no perceptible intermission. Around each vent there was a thick deposit of sulphur, which gave off suffocating vapors." CHAPTER XVI DISTRIBUTION OF THE EARTH'S VOLCANOES Having now considered at some length the principal volcanoes of the earth, and endeavored to obtain some idea of the many wonders they exhibit, especially as regards the vast quantities of material they bring from the inside of the earth, as well as the great force with which they sometimes throw these materials out of their craters, it will be well to point out where such volcanoes are to be found. It may have seemed to you, when you have carefully followed what has been said about the earth's volcanoes, that they are to be found pretty nearly everywhere, at least so far as latitude is concerned; and in this supposition you are correct; for there are volcanoes in the Arctic Ocean, as in the volcanic island of Jan Mayen between Iceland and Spitzbergen, there are Mt. Erebus and Mt. Terror in the Antarctic Ocean, besides very numerous volcanoes in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans, and their shores in both the temperate and the torrid zones. There is, however, one thing that you have probably especially noticed and that is that volcanoes are seldom found at very great distances from the ocean, except on some of its arms or seas, such as the Mediterranean Sea. I do not mean by this that all the earth's volcanoes are either situated directly on the coast of the continents or on islands, since, in such a large body as the earth, a distance of a few hundred miles from the ocean is hardly to be regarded as being very far from it. But it is true that all the earth's volcanoes are either situated on the coasts of the continents, or on islands, and, moreover, they are situated to a greater or less extent along lines, which, as we have already pointed out, are believed to mark weak portions of the earth's crust that have been fissured or fractured. In order that you may have some idea of this distribution, I think it will be well to give you a number of interesting facts that have been pointed out by Dana. According to this authority, there are something in the neighborhood of 300 active volcanoes on the earth. Of these, no less than five-sixths, or 250, lie either on the borders of the Pacific Ocean, or on some of its many islands. Thirty-nine either lie within or on the borders of the Atlantic, of which thirteen are in Iceland, or near the Arctic Circle, three in the Canaries, seven in the Mediterranean Sea, six in the Lesser Antilles, and ten in the Atlantic Oceanic Islands. The Indian Ocean contains only a few active volcanoes. There are, however, a much greater number of extinct volcanoes, which may at any time again become active. The following is the distribution of the earth's volcanoes as given by Dana. As you will see, from an inspection of Fig. 24, all of the regions of volcanoes lie either on the borders of the continents, or on islands in the oceans. The districts are as follows: 1. _Scattered Over the Pacific Ocean._--This district includes the following active volcanoes; i. e., the Hawaiian Islands, nearly in mid-ocean, almost directly below the Tropic of Cancer; in the west central parts of the South Pacific; in the New Hebrides; in the Friendly Islands, the Tongan or New Zealand Islands, in the Santa Cruz Islands, and in the Ladrones. [Illustration: FIG. 24. MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING LOCATION OF ACTIVE AND RECENTLY EXTINCT VOLCANOES] 2. _On the Borders of the Pacific._--This district includes the volcanoes that extend from the southern part of South America at intervals along the Andes Mountain range. Of these there are thirty-two in Chile, seven or eight in Bolivia and Southern Peru; about twenty in the neighborhood of Quito. Further north there are thirty-nine in Central America, and seven in Mexico. Proceeding northwards through the United States, there are a number of volcanic mountains, generally extinct, in portions of the Sierra Nevadas and Cascade Ranges. Probably a number of volcanic mountains exist in portions of Canada lying between the northern boundaries of the United States and Alaska, and a number in Alaska; some twenty-one volcanic mountains in the Aleutian Islands; some fifteen or twenty in Kamtschatka; thirteen in the Kuriles; some twenty-five or thirty in Japan and the neighboring islands; some fifteen or twenty in the Philippines; several along the northern coasts of New Guinea; a number in New Zealand and south of Cape Horn; the volcanoes of the Deception Island with its hot springs, and also in the South Shetlands 62° 30' S. 3. _In the Indian Ocean._--On the western border of the Indian Ocean there are a few volcanoes in Madagascar; in the Island of Bourbon; Mauritius; the Comoro Islands; and in Kerguelen Land on the south. There are also volcanoes on the western border of the Indian Ocean where the lofty peak of Kilima Ndjro, 18,000 feet, is volcanic. 4. _Over the Seas that Separate the Northern and the Southern Continents and in their Vicinity._--This is an especially active region of volcanoes. For the sake of convenience the continents of the world are sometimes divided into three pairs or double continents; namely, North and South America, connected by the Isthmus of Panama; Europe and Africa, connected by the Isthmus of Suez; and Australia and Asia, completely separated by a sunken isthmus, the summits of which form the Sunda Island chain. In the first of these regions we have the very active group of the West Indies, where there are ten volcanic islands. In the second pair of double continents we have the volcanoes of the Mediterranean and Red Seas, and their borders, such as Sicily, Vesuvius, and other parts of Italy, Spain, Germany, the Grecian Archipelago, Asia Minor, and extending eastward through the Caspian, Mt. Ararat, Demavend, on the south shores of the Caspian, Mt. Ararat, and some few others along the borders of the Red Sea. In the East Indies we find the most intense centre of volcanic activity in the world. Here there are some 200 volcanoes of which there are nearly fifty in Java alone, more than half of which are still active. There are nearly as many volcanoes in Sumatra, and many in the small islands near Borneo, the Philippines, etc. 5. _On the Borders of the Atlantic and Elsewhere._--It is an interesting fact that there are no volcanoes on the eastern borders of the Atlantic north of the West Indies Island chain. In the South Atlantic the only volcano on the borders is one of the Cameroons Mountains. In the Atlantic Ocean we have Iceland, the Azores, the Canaries, Cape Verde, Ascension, St. Helena, and Tristan d'Acunha. This curious distribution of the volcanoes of the world near the oceanic waters appears to be dependent rather on the very early shapes of the continents and the ocean beds than on their present shapes. CHAPTER XVII VOLCANOES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST The question is often asked whether the volcanic eruptions of the geological past were not much more violent and destructive than the volcanoes of the present time. Now, while this is a matter that properly belongs to the subject of geology, and will be treated at greater length in the Wonder Book on Geology, yet a short mention should be made of it here. It is the opinion of Dana that while there have been volcanoes during the different geological ages, yet volcanic activity has increased through the geological past until the age that immediately preceded the appearance of man on the earth. He thinks there is no reason for believing that there were any very great volcanic eruptions during the earliest geological time known as the Archæic. Dana speaks as follows concerning this: "In this connection it is an instructive fact that in eastern North America, at epochs when there was the greatest amount of friction and crushing ... those of the making of the Green Mountains and the Appalachians ... no volcanoes were made, and little took place in the way of eruptions through fissures." On the other hand, Prestwich seems inclined to think that the absence of well-marked cones of volcanic material in the rock of the older geological ages is not to be regarded as proof that no eruptions then took place, since the very great amount of erosion that occurred between that time and the Tertiary Age before the appearance of man, would, probably, have completely obliterated any cones, and even the volcanic materials would have undergone such changes as completely to alter their general character. He agrees, however, with Dana that, probably, the most violent and explosive volcanoes of the geological ages have been those of the Tertiary Age. Without, however, attempting anything more than a brief reference to the volcanoes of the geological past, it may be said that many of the more important of the active volcanoes of the earth's present time were begun in the Tertiary Age. Mt. Etna, Vesuvius, and Mt. Hecla are believed to have commenced at this time. There is an interesting region of geological volcanoes in the neighborhood of Auvergne in Central France. Here they occur in three separate groups that extend over a high granite platform from north to south for a distance of about 100 miles, and from twenty to eighty miles from east to west. The eruptions began in the earlier portions of the Tertiary Age, and continued down to the latter periods of prehistoric times. Some of these volcanic craters remain to-day almost as unaffected by erosion as if they had been formed but recently. Other regions of geological volcanoes are to be found in parts of Spain near the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains, in parts of Italy and Germany, as well as in regions in the Caucasus Mountains. In Asia Minor there exists a group of almost thirty extinct volcanoes in the neighborhood of the Gulf of Smyrna. Both Little and Great Ararat contain volcanic cones: that in the latter mountain was active during historical times. There are also extensive volcanic districts in the Taurus Mountains. In addition to these there are groups of extinct volcanoes in portions of Central Asia. Aden, on the Red Sea, is the centre of an extensive volcanic district. Indeed, on both shores of the Red Sea there are a few volcanoes that are still active, while in Sinai, and in the districts of the south, there are several extinct craters. But it is in the New World, especially on the Pacific coast of North America, that volcanic activity was especially great during the geological past. There is a district containing volcanic rocks that extends through various parts of western North America, from New Mexico and North California, to Oregon and British Columbia. This district has a width of from eighty to 200 miles, and a length of not quite 800 miles. This great area of nearly 150,000 square miles is covered with great sheets of volcanic rocks except where mountain ranges rise from them, or where the rivers have cut deep valleys through them. In portions of California and New Mexico these plateaus rise to heights of from 8,000 to 10,000 feet, while in parts of Colorado, where they form huge dome-like mountains, they reach a thickness of 14,000 feet. In Oregon the sheet of lava is 2,000 feet thick, and, indeed, in some places, is estimated to have a depth of 7,000 feet. In the opinion of nearly all American geologists these great lava flows in western North America were not of the type known as crater eruptions, but were what are called fissure eruptions. Some of them are believed to have occurred during geological times as early as the Eocene. Prestwich, however, is of the opinion that the eruptions of the past in these portions of the world were not confined to fissure eruptions, but that crater eruptions also occurred; and that it was towards the close of the Tertiary Age that crater eruptions occurred with great lava flows. Indeed, as we have seen, in portions of Utah and the neighborhood the remains of true craters can be found. Besides the above there are evidences of geological volcanoes of still older times. In portions of Deccan, in southern Hindostan, there is an immense plateau formed of trap rock, that extends from east to west for a distance of 400 miles, and from north to south through from 700 to 800 miles. This district, with an area of almost 200,000 square miles, is covered with a vast lava sheet. It was, in the opinion of Prestwich, from whom many of the facts of the geological volcanic eruptions have been obtained, probably still more extensive. The plateau of Deccan rises gradually from the east to the west, where, in some parts of the Ghauts Mountains, it reaches a height of from 4,000 to 5,000 feet. One of the greatest of these prehistoric volcanoes of Scotland was a volcano in the Isle of Mull in the Hebrides. This volcano was probably nearly thirty miles across at its base, and was from 10,000 to 12,000 feet high. It is now only 3,172 feet in height. According to Judd the Island of Skye in Inverness-shire is the remains of a volcano that was active in Tertiary times, probably many millions of years ago. This volcano was very large, probably about thirty miles across at its base, with a height of perhaps as great as 12,000 or 15,000 feet. Now there are only left some granite and other similar rocks that form the Red Mountains and Coolim Hills of Skye that reach about 3,000 feet above the sea level. There are many other parts of the world containing volcanoes that were active during the geological past. The above, however, is as far as we can describe such volcanoes in this book. CHAPTER XVIII LAPLACE'S NEBULAR HYPOTHESIS LaPlace's nebular hypothesis is the name given to an ingenious hypothesis proposed by LaPlace, a celebrated French astronomer, in an endeavor to explain how the solar system has been evolved. You will notice that this is called a hypothesis and not a theory. The word hypothesis is properly applied to a more or less intelligent guess or assumption, that has been made for the purpose of trying to find out in the cause of any natural phenomenon. A theory is an expression of a physical truth based on natural laws and principles that have been independently established. A theory, therefore, is much more complete than a hypothesis. A hypothesis, as Silliman remarks, bears the same relation to a theory or law, that a scaffolding does to a completed building, since it forms a convenient means for erecting the building. LaPlace's work is properly called a hypothesis, because it is not to be considered as any more than a means for enabling one intelligently to inquire into the probable manner in which the solar system has reached its present condition, by gradual steps or stages during the almost inconceivable length of time since its creation. Before describing LaPlace's hypothesis it will be necessary to give you some ideas concerning what is known by astronomers as the solar system. The solar system consists of the sun, and the eight large bodies called planets that revolve around the sun. It also includes a number of moons or satellites revolving around the planets, a number of small bodies, called planetoids or asteroids, together with numerous comets and meteorites. Besides these there is probably a system of meteoric bodies that are believed to revolve around the sun, and to produce, by the reflection of the light from their surfaces, what is known as the _zodiacal light_. The principal bodies of the solar system are the planets. These constitute eight large bodies named in their order from the sun, beginning with the nearest: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. The last four planets, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune are much larger than the others, and are therefore known as the _major planets_ in order to distinguish them from Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars, which are called the _minor planets_. You can remember the order in which the last three planets come by their initial letter, S-aturn, U-ranus, and N-eptune, spelling the word SUN, around which they all revolve. It may be interesting to state here that the ancients knew of seven only of these planets. Since, as they asserted, there were only seven days in the week, and seven openings into the head; i. e., two for the eyes, two for the nostrils, two for the ears, and one for the mouth, it was natural that there should be but seven planets. During later years, however, an eighth planet was discovered and named Neptune. It would be interesting to explain to you how the position of this planet was reasoned out by mathematical calculations, that is, in other words, how, as a result of such calculations, an astronomer was told that if he would point his telescope to a certain part of the heavens he would discover a new planet. He did this and located the planet Neptune. However interesting this story may be it belongs properly to astronomy, and will be described in full in the Wonder Book of Astronomy. In the opinion of some astronomers it is quite probable that a ninth planet will be found far beyond the orbit of Neptune. There may also be some additional planets discovered between Mercury and the Sun. Besides the eight known planets there exist, somewhere between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, many smaller planets called _asteroids_, or _minor planets_. A long time ago it was pointed out by Bode that a curious relation exists between the distances of the planets from the sun. This relation or law is generally known, after the name of the astronomer who first called attention to it, as _Bode's Law_. No reason has been discovered for this arrangement of the planets, so that Bode's Law may be regarded as empirical. It may, however, be mentioned here that the distances of all the planets from the sun agrees with the law very closely, with the single exception of Neptune, which is quite at variance with the law. It was noticed at an early date, that a gap existed between Mars and Jupiter, so that astronomers began to believe that there was probably a missing planet in that space, and this belief was greatly strengthened when Neptune was discovered in 1781. Without going any further into this story in this book, it may be said that it is the general opinion of astronomers that the planetoids or asteroids were formed possibly from the fragments of the missing planet, or, more probably, from the breaking up of some of the outer rings on the planet Mars. The distances of the planets from the central sun vary from the nearest planet, Mercury, which is about 36,000,000 miles from the sun, to the furthest, or Neptune, which is 2,766,000,000 miles from the sun. All the major planets have a single moon, or more, revolving around them. For example, Jupiter has four moons; Uranus, six; Saturn, eight; Neptune, one. As to the minor planets, Mars has two moons; and, as far as is known, neither Mercury or Venus has a moon. Our earth has one moon, but, as we shall afterwards see, this is not to be regarded as a moon or satellite of the earth, but rather as a twin planet to the earth. LaPlace's nebular hypothesis was proposed by LaPlace during the year 1796. While there are many objections that can be brought against it, since it fails to account for all of the phenomena of the solar system, yet it is a significant fact now, in the year 1907, nearly a century and a quarter after the hypothesis was first announced, that although modified in many respects, there has not been any hypothesis proposed to entirely replace it. While the nebular hypothesis of LaPlace is necessarily a matter that belongs to astronomy, yet it will be advisable to consider it here, since it explains the source of the original heat of both the earth and the moon, which we believe is the true cause of volcanoes. In his nebular hypothesis, LaPlace assumes that all the materials of which the solar system is formed, were originally scattered throughout space in the shape of an exceedingly rare form of matter known as nebulous matter. He points out that if it be granted that this medium began to accumulate around a common centre, so as to form a huge globe or sphere, and if a motion of rotation on its axis from west to east were given to this sphere that, on strictly mechanical principles, a system of heavenly bodies corresponding to the solar system might have been evolved. Let us, therefore, try to understand how this might have been brought about. The nebulous matter that LaPlace assumed originally constituted all the matter in the solar system, was highly heated gaseous matter. In other words, it consisted of ordinary matter raised to a very high temperature; LaPlace thought at a temperature very much hotter than that of the sun. As this great mass of matter commenced to cool, it began to collect around a centre and slowly rotate. Its contraction or shrinkage, while cooling, must have caused an increase in the speed with which it spun around or rotated on its axis. At first it spun but sluggishly, but as it cooled and began to shrink this rate of rotation began slowly to increase. Now you must bear in mind that the huge rotating mass, as imagined by LaPlace, was very many times larger than the size of our present sun. Indeed, instead of having a diameter of only 866,500 miles, its temperature was so high that the nebulous matter of which it was composed had expanded it so much that it extended far beyond the orbit of Neptune, or had a diameter twice as great as 2,766,000,000 miles. As the huge mass continued to shrink or contract, its rotation began to gradually increase until at last its centrifugal force was sufficiently great to cause it to bulge out at the equator, so as at last to separate a ring of gaseous matter. This ring was left behind by the sun, as it continued cooling, and formed the first planet that was born into the solar system. The ring might have continued to revolve around the sun for a time, and would, of course, revolve in the same direction as that in which the sun was rotating, that is, from west to east. Eventually, however, it broke up into smaller fragments, that afterwards collected in a single body, and, assuming a globe-like shape of the planet, formed the planet Neptune. Necessarily, too, the planet so formed not only would revolve in its orbit from west to east in the same direction in which the sun was revolving on its axis, but would also rotate or spin on its axis in the same direction. After, in this way, throwing off the first planet, the central sun continued to cool and grow smaller, until the increase in the rate of its rotation was again such as to permit its centrifugal force to form a second ring around its equator, which being left as the sun continued to contract, gave rise to another planet, or to Uranus, and so on until the four major planets and the four minor planets were born. According to this hypothesis, the planet that was first born was the planet that is farthest from the sun, that is, Neptune, and the planet last born must have been the nearest planet, Mercury. But while all this planet forming was going on, the separate planets also continued to shrink, and, therefore, began to rotate more rapidly on their axes. Under the influence of the centrifugal force, ring-like masses began to form around their equators, and these masses left by the planet constituted their moons or satellites. As you can see, according to this hypothesis, just as the planets would all revolve in their orbits from west to east, and rotate on their axes in the same direction as the sun, so, too, the moons or satellites of the planets would also rotate on their axes, from east to west, and revolve in their orbits in the same direction. In order to show the extent to which LaPlace's nebular hypothesis explains the peculiarities of the solar system, we must inquire what are the most important of these peculiarities. We will take these from Young's general book on Astronomy, from which most of the facts in this chapter have been condensed. They are as follows: The orbits of nearly all the planets and their satellites are nearly circular; they are all in the same plane; and all revolve in the same direction. They are, moreover, with the single exception of Neptune, arranged at distances from the sun in accordance with Bode's Law. All the planets increase in both directions, towards and from the sun, in density from Saturn, the least dense. All the planets, with the exception probably of Uranus, rotate in a plane that is nearly the same as the plane of the orbit in which they revolve. Moreover, with the exception of probably both Uranus and Neptune, all the planets rotate in the same direction as that in which they revolve. The satellites revolve in orbits whose planes nearly coincide with the plane of the planets' rotation, while the direction of the revolution of the satellites is the same as that in which their planets revolve. Finally, the largest planets rotate most swiftly. Now, LaPlace's nebular hypothesis explains nearly all of the above facts. The following modifications of the hypothesis, however, are necessary. Let us briefly examine some of these modifications. In the first place it can be shown that the original nebulous mass instead of being at a higher temperature than that of the sun was probably at a much lower temperature, since the condensation of the gaseous matter must have increased the temperature. Instead, therefore, of the original nebulous mass being purely gaseous it was, as Young expressed it: "Rather a cloud of ice cold meteoric dust than an incandescent gas or a fire mist." Or in other words, the original nebulous mass from which the solar system was evolved, consisted of finely divided particles of solid or liquid matter surrounded by an envelope of permanent gaseous matter. A doubt, too, has been raised as regards the manner in which the planets were liberated from the central sun. Instead of separating in the form of a regular ring, it has been thought that probably in most cases this separation assumed the shape of a lump. It might, however, have occurred at times in the ring-like form as may be seen in the case of the planet Saturn. Again, instead of the outer rings being separated first, and the others in regular order, so that the outer planets are much the older, it would seem possible, or, as Young states, even probable, that several of the planets may be of the same or nearly the same age, as they would be if more than one ring had been separated at one time, or, indeed, several planets may have been formed from different zones of a single ring. As you will see, LaPlace's nebular hypothesis assumes that both sun and moon were in a highly heated condition when they were separated from the nebulous sun, so that we can understand that the former molten condition of their interiors was due to the heat they originally possessed. CHAPTER XIX THE EARTH'S HEATED INTERIOR, THE CAUSE OF VOLCANOES As we have already seen, the nebular hypothesis of LaPlace would seem to make it more than probable that the earth was originally in a highly heated condition, and only reached its present state after long cooling. While this cooling has gone on for probably millions upon millions of years both before and during the geological past, yet in the opinion of perhaps the best geologists the interior of the earth is still very hot, only the outer portions or crust having hardened by loss of heat. That there is a very hot region somewhere inside the earth is evident, since from some place or places below the surface there come out the immense streams of lava that, continuing to flow at irregular intervals, have at last built up such great masses of land as the island of Hawaii, the still greater island of Iceland, the even greater lava fields of the western United States, and the great plateau of the Deccan in southern Hindustan. It certainly must have required a great quantity of lava to build up an island like Hawaii with its area of fully 40,000 square miles, for the highest point on the summit of Mt. Kea reaches 13,805 feet above the level of the sea, and, moreover, stands on the bed of the Pacific Ocean in water fully 12,000 feet deep. But Iceland is only one of many similar cases. Volcanoes are to be found in practically all parts of the earth, not only in the equatorial regions, where they are especially numerous, but also in the frigid and temperate zones. We must also remember the immense lava streams that are known to have come from the interior during the great fissure eruptions of the geological past. When all these facts are taken into consideration, it would certainly seem that there is only one source sufficiently great to supply this wonderful demand, and that is the entire inside of the earth. But entirely apart from volcanic phenomena there are other proofs that the entire interior of the earth is in a highly heated condition. The differences of temperature caused by the sun during day and night do not affect the earth much below a depth of three feet, while the differences of temperature between summer and winter do not extend much further below the surface than forty feet. Below these depths, in all parts of the earth, the temperature of the crust rises at a rate, which, although not uniform, yet is not far from an increase of one degree of the Fahrenheit thermometer scale for every fifty or sixty feet of descent. If the above rate of increase continues uniform the temperature of the crust would be sufficiently hot to boil water at a distance of about 8,000 feet below the surface, while at a depth of about thirty miles the temperature would be sufficiently high to melt all known substances at ordinary conditions of atmospheric pressure; that is, to melt all known substances if they were subjected to such a temperature at the level of the sea. In considering the above we must not lose sight of the fact that this increase in temperature with descent below the surface of the earth's crust occurs, not only in places where there are volcanoes, but over all parts of the earth, thus seeming to point out that there is something hot below the surface which fills the entire inside of the earth. It is true the greatest distance to which man has actually gone down through the earth's crust is but a few miles. We do not, therefore, know by actual experience that the interior is anywhere in a fused condition, yet the escape of lava or molten rocks in all latitudes, and in the enormous quantities referred to above, seems to show that the entire inside of the earth is at a temperature sufficiently high to melt all known substances under ordinary conditions. It may be interesting in this connection to examine some of the proofs of this increase in temperature with descent below the surface. The following figures are given by Dana: Borings to great depths have been made in various parts of the earth, both for artesian wells as well as for the shafts of mines. After passing the line of invariable temperature, the rate of increase for a total distance of 4,000 feet below the surface is in the neighborhood of from one degree for fifty-five to sixty feet, or an average of fifty-seven and a half feet for each degree of heat. In the case of the deep artesian well bored at Grenelle, Paris, where a temperature of eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit was reached at a distance of 2,000 feet, the rate of increase was somewhat more rapid, being one degree Fahrenheit for every sixty feet. In a deep well bored in a salt mine at Neusalzwerk, Prussia, a depth of 2,200 feet showed a temperature of ninety-one degrees Fahrenheit at the bottom. This was at the rate of one degree for every fifty feet of descent. At Schladenbach, in Prussia, a well has been dug to the depth of 5,735 feet with a temperature of 134° F. A boring at Wheeling, in West Virginia, reached a depth of 4,500 feet, 3,700 feet below the level of the sea. Here the rate of increase of temperature in the upper half was one degree Fahrenheit for every eighty feet, and in the lower half of one degree for every sixty feet. It must not be supposed because the rate of increase of temperature is not uniform that the argument of a highly heated interior is weakened. On the contrary, it would be very surprising if the rate continued uniform; for it is evident that the conducting power of different materials in the earth's crust for heat must necessarily make a great difference in the rate at which heat should increase, as we go farther down into the earth. This is so important a matter that I will explain it at somewhat greater length. Let us suppose that instead of the highly heated interior of the earth, we consider the simple case of a hot stove, the doors or other openings into which are closed so that it is impossible to see the red hot coals inside. Now, suppose holes were bored in the sides of this stove not deep enough to reach the red hot mass within, and that tightly fitting rods or plugs all of the same length and thickness, but of different kinds of materials such as wood, earthenware, glass, iron, copper, silver, and gold, etc., were so placed in the holes as to tightly fit them. Now, under these circumstances the end of all the plugs would be at the same distance from the heated inside. They would not, however, by any means show the same temperatures, the metallic rods would be too hot to touch, while the end of the piece of wood would hardly be hot enough to burn the hand when held against it. The piece of glass and earthenware though less cool would be much less hot than the different rods of metals. Their temperatures would be necessarily affected by their conducting power for heat. The wood, the glass, and the earthenware being poorer conductors than the metals would show much lower temperatures. Now, the same thing is true with the different materials that constitute the rocks of the earth's crust. Some of these are much better conductors of heat than others, so that the rate of increase of temperature with descent below the surface must necessarily vary with the kind of materials that form the crust of different parts of the earth. You may, therefore, safely conclude that the entire interior of the earth is in a highly heated condition, and that the source of this heat is to be traced to the heat the earth originally possessed when, in accordance to the nebular hypothesis of LaPlace, it was separated from the sun which gave birth to it, that the present crust of the earth has been formed on the outside by the loss of a portion of this heat. The rapidity with which a body cools, depends, among other things, on the difference between its temperature and that of the medium in which it is placed. The greater this difference of temperature the greater the rapidity of cooling. Careful measurements made by Tait, the English physicist, show that our earth loses every year from each square foot of surface, an amount of heat that would be able to raise the temperature of one pound of water from the melting point of ice to the boiling point of water, or from 32° F. to 212° F. The rate of loss of heat, must, therefore, have been much greater when the earth was more highly heated than it is now, and will be much smaller than now many years from the present. Now, let us suppose, what nearly everyone acknowledges to be true, that the earth was originally so hot as to be a molten globe, and that while in this molten condition, it began to revolve or move around the sun. Since the empty space through which the earth moves is very cold, something in the neighborhood of 45° below the zero of the Fahrenheit thermometer scale, the loss of heat would take place very rapidly and a thin crust of hardened materials would be formed on the outside. Now all the time the earth is cooling, it is shrinking or growing smaller. A very little thought will convince you that this cooling or shrinkage could not go on uninterruptedly; for, while the earth was cooling it was contracting, or growing smaller, and in this way a great pressure, or as it is generally called in science, a great stress was being produced. Every now and then this stress became so great that the crust of the earth was fractured or broken. At first these fractures would not require a very great amount of stress or force, since the crust of lava was then very thin. After great periods of time, however, the crust grew thicker and thicker, and the amount of force required to break it continually increased, so that the fractures of the crust produced a greater disturbance. Whenever the earth's crust was fractured in this way the earth was shaken by what are called earthquakes, while a part of the molten interior would run out or escape, making volcanoes. In the very early times neither the earthquakes or the volcanoes were as energetic as they were at later periods when the thickness of the earth's crust increased. Now, having as we believe correctly come to the conclusion that the entire interior of the earth is in a highly heated condition, the next question that arises is as to the present condition of this interior. A long time ago it was believed that the interior of the earth is still melted, and that a cooled portion or crust surrounds a great molten mass that fills all the inside; that it is this mass which supplies the immense quantities of molten rock or lava that escape through the craters of volcanoes or through the fissures in the crust. Without going into this question thoroughly, since it is a very difficult question to understand, it will be sufficient to say that there are many reasons why it is impossible to believe that the interior is still melted. You will understand that if the interior of the earth were melted like a huge central sea of fire that each volcano would necessarily affect all the others. Now, as we have seen, this is never the case, so that this is one reason we cannot believe in the existence of a melted interior. Another reason we cannot believe in a molten interior is an astronomical consideration. It can be shown that under the attraction of the sun and moon the earth could not possibly behave as it does if it were still liquid in the interior. That, on the contrary, the behavior of the earth to the attraction of the sun and moon is such as to make it necessary for us to believe that it is as rigid throughout as would be a globe of steel of the same size. I can easily understand that you find it very difficult to see how it can be believed that the interior of the earth is solid and yet at the same time be sufficiently hot to melt. I can imagine hearing you ask if it is hot enough in the inside to melt any known materials, why it is not melted. The reason, however, is very simple when you come to think it over. For a solid to fuse or become melted, it is not only necessary for it to be heated to a temperature which is different for different substances, but that at the same time it is heated it shall have plenty of room in which to expand or grow bigger. In other words, the temperature required to fuse any substance increases very rapidly with the pressure to which that substance is exposed. Now, try to think of the pressure to which the materials that fill the inside of the earth are subjected at great distances below the surface. This pressure is enormous, not only by reason of the weight of the many miles of rocks that are pressing down, but also by reason of the enormous stress or pressure caused by contraction or shrinkage. When we say that the interior of the earth is hot enough to melt all known substances we mean hot enough to melt them if they could be brought from great depths to the level of the sea, but not hot enough to melt them when subjected to the great pressure that exists in regions far below the surface of the earth. Briefly, the condition of things is believed to be as follows: The entire interior is filled with rock hot enough to melt at the level of the sea, but under too great pressure to melt. If this be granted, as it is by perhaps the greatest number of men who are competent to judge, the phenomena of earthquakes can be readily explained, as can, indeed, the phenomena of those great movements whereby great changes of level take place in different parts of the earth. Now let us see how volcanoes can be explained on the assumption that the interior of the earth is hot enough to melt, but remains solid only because there is no room for the heated mass to expand in. Such a heated interior as we have imagined, must be constantly losing its heat and, therefore, shrinking. Every now and then this shrinkage must produce great fissures or cracks in the solid crust of the earth. Now should such cracks or fissures extend downwards to the heated interior, there must result a decrease in the pressure. The rocks would, therefore, begin to expand and would be forced by the great pressure to rise slowly in such cracks or fissures. The further they rise the greater the relief of pressure, until they at last assume a molten condition in which they are forced out through the craters of volcanoes as molten rocks or lava. But it is not only volcanoes that seem to indicate a highly heated plastic condition as existing in the earth's interior. As geologists well know, there are to be found in the various strata of the earth places where great fissures have been made at various times during the geological past. These fissures vary in width from a few inches to many hundreds of feet, and are frequently scores of miles in length. Lava either flows out of them, and covers adjoining sections of the country, or simply rises in them and, afterwards cooling, forms dikes. In many instances, however, the lava is forced in between more or less horizontal layers and in some cases has caused these layers to assume the shape of what geologists know as _subtruderant mountains_. Some of the eastern ranges of the Rocky Mountains have been formed in this manner. We can, therefore, picture to ourselves the following as the manner of formation of an ordinary volcano. A fissure is first formed in the solid crust of the earth, extending downwards to the regions of great heat. There is thus produced a relief of pressure, so that at this point the highly heated rocks begin to be slowly forced up through the fissure. As they rise higher and higher they become less solid and finally expand into fused masses that can flow out of the crater or opening in the earth's surface. In this way a volcano is started. But for this volcano to continue in eruption, it is necessary that the conditions shall continue that force the molten rock upwards from great depths. It is not enough for the lava to fill the crevice that exists upwards to the surface, it must continue to be forced upwards until it escapes. If it is permitted to remain in the fissure for any time, it hardens, and only great dikes are formed. It would seem, therefore, that some other force must be called into action to keep the fissure open or, in other words, to prevent the chilling of the lava. Now, this force is generally believed to be the expansive force of steam or the vapor of water. As Dana points out, by far the greater part of the vapor which escapes from the craters of volcanoes consists of steam or the vapor of water. Indeed, it can be shown that for every hundred parts of different vapors, at least ninety-nine of such parts consist of water vapor. It is for the greater part, to the pressure of steam or water vapor that the escape of lava from the tube near the top of the crater is due. Of course, the question arises as to where the water comes from that produces this steam. There are three possible sources. From the rains; from leakage at the bed of the ocean; and from vapors existing at great depths below the surface. It is not probable that either rain water, or water from the ocean, penetrates through the earth's crust for distances much greater than a few thousand feet. It is, however, very well known that in all parts of the earth, except in desert regions, whether they are near or far from the ocean, the rocks are always found fully charged with water. When, therefore, the slowly rising lava passes through the moist rocks that everywhere form the crust of the earth, there must be formed in them great quantities of steam under very high pressure. Moreover, many substances, especially those forming lava, possess the power of absorbing large quantities of steam and other gases. Therefore, as the molten material reaches the moist rocks in the earth's crust, it becomes highly charged with steam, and as the lava rises towards the surface this steam expands. Where the lava is in a very fluid condition the steam quietly escapes, as does the steam from the surface of boiling water. But where the lava is viscous, like tar or pitch, great bubbles are formed, which, on their explosion, throw the lava upwards for great distances into the air. We can, therefore, account in this manner for both the non-explosive as well as the explosive type of volcanoes. It must not be supposed, however, that it is the explosive power of steam which is the principal cause of the lava rising upwards from great depths. This is caused by the great pressure or stress set up by the contraction of a cooling crust. The pressure of this steam is added to this pressure which keeps the lava flowing upwards from great depths below. The objection has sometimes been urged that it is impossible to believe the lava comes from a highly heated interior, because, as is well known, lavas are of different types even when coming from the same volcano at different times of eruption. While such an objection would have weight were it believed that the interior of the earth is still in a molten condition, it loses its weight when one believes that the interior is solid. It must, however, be acknowledged that the largest part of the interior of the earth would probably have the same chemical composition if it had ever been in a completely melted condition throughout. I do not doubt you have already concluded that the reason the earth's volcanoes are practically limited to the borders of continents, or to the shores of islands, is the leakage of the ocean waters into the crust at these parts. This was at one time believed by most geologists. That sea water has much to do with such volcanoes as Vesuvius there is no doubt, but it is now generally recognized that it is not so much the present outlines of the earth, or the present arrangement of its land and water areas, that determines the distribution of the world's volcanoes. It is rather believed that the location of the lines of fractures along which the earth's volcanoes are found were determined by conditions that occurred long before the earth assumed its present outlines. But there is another explanation that has been suggested as regards the condition of the interior of the earth. Judd refers to this explanation as follows: "Some physicists have asserted that a globe of liquid matter radiating its heat into space, would tend to solidify both at the surface and the centre at the same time. The consequence of this action would be the production of a sphere with a solid external shell and a solid central nucleus, but with an interposed layer in a fluid or semi-fluid condition. It has been pointed out that if we suppose the solidification to have gone so far as to have caused the partial union of the interior nucleus and the external shell, we may conceive a condition of things in which the stability and rigidity is sufficient to satisfy both geologists and astronomers, but that in still unsolidified pockets or reservoirs, filled with liquefied rock, between the nucleus and the shell, we should have a competent cause for the production of the volcanic phenomena of the globe. In this hypothesis, however, it is assumed that the cooling at the centre and the surface of the globe would go on at such rate that the reservoirs of liquid material would be left at a moderate depth from the surface, so that easy communication could be opened between them and volcanic vents." I must caution you, however, not to think that the above theory of volcanoes is accepted by all scientific men. On the contrary, there are many who believe that the earth is solid throughout because it has completely lost its original heat; that it is only comparatively small areas that are to be found filled with molten or at least highly heated material. But these opinions are held largely by those who have given their attention almost entirely to the phenomena of earthquakes, or who base their reasonings on mathematical grounds only and have not sufficiently considered the phenomena of volcanoes. Since, however, they can be better understood after we have explained the phenomena of earthquakes, we will defer their discussion to the last chapters of this book. CHAPTER XX SOME FORMS OF LAVA In describing the wonders of volcanoes, we must not fail to say something of the many remarkable forms that lava is capable of assuming. All volcanic lavas contain large quantities of an acid substance known as _silica_, or what is known better as _quartz sand_. This material exists in lava combined chemically with various substances called bases, the principal of which are alumina, magnesia, lime, iron, potash, and soda. Although there are many kinds of lava, yet all lavas can be arranged under three great classes according to the quantity of silica they contain. _Acid lavas_ are those in which the quantity of silica is greatest. In these lavas the silica, which varies from 66 to 80%, is combined with small quantities of lime or magnesia, and comparatively large quantities of potash or soda. Some of the most important varieties of acid lavas are known as _trachytes_, _andesites_, _rhyolites_, and _obsidians_. _Basic lavas_ are those containing from 45 to 55% of silica. They are rich in lime and magnesia, but poor in soda or potash. Some of the most important of basic lavas are the _dolerites_ and _basalts_. Generally speaking, basic lavas are of a darker color than acid lavas, and fuse at much lower temperatures. _Intermediate lavas_ are those containing silica in the proportion of from 55 to 66%. While the temperature of liquid lava has not been very accurately determined, yet, since we know that molten lava is able to melt silver or copper, its temperature must be somewhere between 2,500° F. and 3,000° F., the melting point varying with the chemical composition. According to Dana lavas can be divided into the following classes according to their fusibility; i. e., _lavas of easy fusibility_, such as _basalts_; these lavas fuse at about 2,250° F.; _lavas of medium fusibility_, including andesites; these lavas fuse at about 2,520° F.; _lavas of difficult fusibility_, such as trachytes; these lavas fuse at about 2,700° F. But what is, perhaps, most curious about lavas is that when the surface of a freshly broken piece of cold lava is carefully examined, it is found to contain a number of small crystals of such mineral substances as quartz, feldspar, hornblende, mica, magnetite, etc. The best way to study the different forms of lava crystals is to prepare a thin transparent slice of hardened lava and then examine it with a good magnifying glass. It will be found that the slice consists of a mass of a glass-like material through which the crystals are irregularly distributed, not unlike the raisins and currants in a slice of not over rich plumcake. When examined by a more powerful glass, such as a microscope, cloudy patches can be seen distributed irregularly through the glass-like mass. When these patches are examined by a higher power of the microscope they are seen to consist of small solid particles of definite forms known as _microliths_ and _crystallites_. It has been shown by a careful study of these minute objects that they form the exceedingly small particles of which crystals are built up. If we fuse a small quantity of lava and then let it slowly cool, the glassy mass will be found to contain numerous crystallites. On the other hand, when fused lava is permitted to cool quickly, it takes on the form of a black, glass-like mass known as _obsidian_ or _volcanic_ glass, a very common form of lava in some parts of the world. In some lavas there are found larger crystals that appear to have been separated from the glassy mass, under the great pressure that exists in the subterranean reservoirs at great depths below the volcanic crater, and then floated to the surface surrounded by the glass-like material. Now when we examine these crystals with a higher power of the microscope, we frequently find in them minute cavities containing a small quantity of liquid and a bubble of gas, thus causing them to resemble small spirit levels. The liquid in such cavities has been examined chemically and in most cases has been found to consist of water containing several salts in solution. Sometimes, however, the liquid consists of liquefied carbonic acid gas. These wonderful things will be discussed at greater length in the Wonder Book of Light. When the mass of molten rock or lava that comes out of the crater of a volcano is thrown upwards in the air the condition it assumes by the time it falls back again to the earth depends on the height it reaches. If this height is great the lava chills or hardens before reaching the earth, and assumes various forms according to the size of the fragments. The largest of these fragments are called _cinders_; the finer particles _volcanic dust_; while most of those of intermediate particles are known among other things as _volcanic ashes_. We have already seen that when an explosive volcanic eruption occurs there is suddenly thrown out of the crater of the volcano a huge column of various substances that rises sometimes as high as 30,000 feet or even more. The smaller fragments of lava are quickly cooled and form volcanic ashes, sand, cinders, or dust. These are rapidly spread out by the wind in the form of a black cloud, that not only covers the mountain but reaches out over the surrounding country, completely shutting off the light of the sun. From this cloud particles of red hot ashes, cinders, sand, etc., begin to fall, the largest particles near the crater of the volcano, and the smaller particles at much greater distances. In very powerful explosive volcanic eruptions such as Krakatoa, the finer dust may be carried to practically all parts of the world. Volcanic ashes consist of a fine, light, gray powder. These particles take the name ashes from their resemblance to the ashes left after the burning of pieces of wood or coal in an open fire. The name, however, as Geicke points out, is unfortunate, since it is apt to lead one to suppose that volcanic ashes consist of some burned material. Such an idea is erroneous, however, since ashes do not consist of anything that is left after burning, but merely of fine particles of molten rock that have hardened by cooling. When in the shape of what is known as volcanic dust these particles are so exceedingly small that they can readily make their way through the smallest openings in a closed room just as does the finest dust in the rooms of our houses when they are shut up. There are cases on record where people have been suffocated by the entrance of volcanic dust in closed rooms to which they have fled for safety during volcanic eruptions. _Volcanic sand_ consists of the coarser particles of chilled lava that are partly round and partly angular. They are of various sizes up to that of an ordinary pea. Volcanic sand is formed by the breaking up of the lava by the explosion of the vapors as they escape from the lava on relief from pressure. Volcanic dust when examined by the microscope is found to consist of very small particles that are more or less crystalline. But besides the above there are larger fragments known as _lapilli_, consisting of rounded or angular bits of lava varying in size from that of a pea to an ordinary black walnut. These sometimes consist of solid fragments, but are usually porous, sometimes so much so that they readily float on water. A curious form sometimes assumed by lava consists of what are called _volcanic bombs_. These are formed during explosive eruptions, when masses of liquid lava are hurled high up into the air. During their flight they take on a rotary motion, which tends to make them globular, so that cooling, while still revolving, they assume the form of a more or less spherical mass. At times, however, they are still sufficiently soft when they strike the earth to be flattened out in the form of flat cakes. When of a spherical form these are very properly called volcanic bombs. That volcanic bombs have actually been subjected to a spinning motion while in the air can sometimes be shown by the fact that masses of scoriæ are frequently found in the interior with air cells largest at the centre of the bomb. Volcanic bombs are sometimes thrown from the crater to great distances. During one of its recent eruptions, Cotopaxi threw out bombs that fell at a distance of nine miles from the crater. According to Dana another form of lava bombs is sometimes found on the slopes of the active volcanoes of Hawaii, where masses of lava acquire a ball-like shape while rolling down an inclination. What are sometimes called volcanic bombs, but which are more properly _volcanic vesicles_, are produced by small fragments of lava which are thrown up in the air for only a moderate height and, on cooling, assume pear-like forms. Fig. 25 represents the appearance of volcanic vesicles. The direction in which these vesicles moved through the air while in a molten state is indicated by their shape, the blunt end being the end towards which the particles were projected. [Illustration: FIG. 25. VOLCANIC VESICLES _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] But by far the greater portion of the hardened lava; i. e., the coarser, heavier particles, fall back on the mountain, and collecting around the crater build up volcanic cones, as already described in the case of mountains of the Vesuvian type. There are two different ways in which the melted lava is broken up into fine particles when it is thrown upwards from the crater of the volcano. Nearly all lava contains large quantities of steam that are shut up, or occluded in the mass, being prevented from escaping by reason of the pressure to which the lava is subjected. The lava is released from this pressure as it is thrown out of the crater. The steam or gases escape explosively and thus break the lava into fine liquid spray, which rapidly hardens. There is another way in which small particles of lava are formed. Sometimes large pieces of hardened lava are shot upwards into the air with a velocity as great as that with which a heavy projectile leaves the muzzle of a large gun. These heavy particles striking against one another, either while rising or falling, are broken into smaller fragments. Sometimes, indeed, these fragments fall back again into the crater from which they are again violently thrown out, and are again broken into smaller fragments either while rising or falling. You will, probably, remember several instances of volcanic eruptions where masses of rock were thrown violently up into the air out of the crater. These larger masses are known as _volcanic blocks_. They probably consist of masses of hardened lava that have collected in the tube of the volcano during some of its periods of inactivity. Sometimes, however, they consist of fragments of rocks that are not of volcanic origin. Cases are on record where volcanic blocks have been thrown out of the craters in so great quantities as to cover the surface of many square miles of land with fragments hundreds of feet deep. There is sometimes formed on the surface of a pool of lava as it collects in the craters of such volcanoes as Mt. Loa or Kilauea, when the volcanoes are not in eruption, a material resembling froth or scum. The same thing sometimes occurs on the surface of some kinds of lava as it runs down the side of the mountain. In this way a very light variety of highly cellular lava known as _pumice stone_ is produced. The action which thus takes place is not unlike that which occurs during the raising of a lot of the dough from which bread is made, where the carbonic acid gas which is formed during the raising of the dough expands, and produces the well-known open cellular structure of well-raised bread. In the case of pumice stone, however, this raising goes on to such an extent that the mass consists often of less than 2% of solid matter, the remainder being a tangled mass of air. [Illustration: THE LAVA FLOW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS _From a Stereograph, Copyright, by Underwood & Underwood_] Fragments of lava that possess a cellular structure form what are known as _scoriæ_. The lightest of all kinds of scoriæ is what is known as _thread-lace scoriæ_. Here the thin walls consist of mere threads. Figs. 26 and 27 represent the appearance of thread-lace scoriæ from Kilauea. The separate threads are very fine, being only from one-thirtieth to one-fortieth of an inch in thickness. As can be seen, this form of scoriæ have six-sided or hexagonal shapes. You can form some idea of the great lightness of such scoriæ when you learn that they contain only 1.7% of rocky material. Indeed, they contain so little solid material that a layer of volcanic glass only one inch thick, if blown out into scoriæ, would be able to produce a layer sixty inches thick. [Illustration: FIG. 26. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Another curious form sometimes assumed by lava, especially in the case of Kilauea, is where the lava is spun out in the form of long silk-like hairs. This is called by the natives _Pele's hair_, after the name of their goddess. Inasmuch as the origin of this form of lava was at one time generally attributed to the action of the wind in drawing out thread-like pieces from the jets of lava thrown upwards from the pool, it will be interesting if its true cause is explained. [Illustration: FIG. 27. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Dutton, in his report on the Hawaiian volcanoes, refers to the formation of Pele's hair as follows: "The phenomenon of Pele's hair is often spoken of in the school books, and receives its name from this locality. It has generally been explained as the result of the action of the wind upon minute threads of lava drawn out by the spurting up of boiling lava. Nothing of the sort was seen here, and yet Pele's hair was seen forming in great abundance. Whenever the surface of the liquid lava was exposed during the break-up the air above the lake was filled with these cobwebs, but there was no spurting or apparent boiling on the exposed surface. The explanation of the phenomenon which I would offer is as follows: Liquid lava coming up from the depths always contains more or less water, which it gives off slowly and by degrees, in much the same way as champagne gives off carbonic acid when the bottle is uncorked. Water-vapor is held in the liquid lava by some affinity similar to chemical affinity, and though it escapes ultimately, yet it is surrendered by the lava with reluctance so long as the lava remains liquid. But when the lava solidifies the water is expelled much more energetically, and the water-vapor separates in the form of minute vesicles. Since the congelation of all siliceous compounds is a passage free from a liquid condition through an intermediate state of viscosity to final solidity, the walls of these vesicles are capable of being drawn out as in the case of glass. The commotion set up by the descending crust produces eddies and numberless currents in the surface of the lava. These vesicles are drawn out on the surface of the current with exceeding tenuity, producing myriads of minute filaments, and the air, agitated by the intense heat at the surface of the pool, readily lifts them and wafts them away. It forms almost wholly at the time of the break-up. The air is then full of it. Yet I saw no spouting or sputtering, but only the eddying of the lava like water in the wake of a ship. The country to the leeward of Kilauea shows an abundance of Pele's hair, and it may be gathered by the barrelful. A bunch of it is much like finely shredded asbestos." You have probably often seen the beautiful frost pictures that collect on the panes of glass in a room where the ventilation has been neglected. These pictures consist of groupings of ice crystals that collect on the surface of the windows, when the moist vapor-laden air in the room is chilled by contact with their cold surfaces. Now the crystals formed in cooling lavas are sometimes grouped in forms closely resembling frost pictures. A few of such forms are represented in Figs. 28 and 29 in lava from Mt. Loa and Mt. Kea. [Illustration: FIG. 28. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] [Illustration: FIG. 29. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Certain varieties of lava, especially that which is found in dikes, form cool, beautiful columns called basaltic columns. They are due to the contraction that occurs on the cooling of the material. Instances of basaltic columns are seen in the Giant's Causeway, on the northern coast of Ireland, as well as in the Isle of Cyclops on the coast of Italy. The general appearance of the latter is represented in Fig. 30. [Illustration: FIG. 30. BASALTIC COLUMNS, ISLE OF CYCLOPS, ITALY] It is a curious fact that the entire mass of basalt does not generally take the columnous form but only certain layers which terminate suddenly above and below at structureless masses of basalt, as shown in Fig. 31. These columns, however, are always found at right angles to the cooling surfaces as seen in the figures. They may, therefore, be inclined at all angles to the horizon. [Illustration: FIG. 31. COLUMNAR AND NON-COLUMNAR BASALT] When molten lava is only thrown up a short distance into the air from a crater it is still partially molten when on falling it again reaches the earth, and therefore clings to any surface on which it falls. There are thus built up curious cones known as _driblet cones_, in which the separate drops covering the sides of the cone can be distinctly traced. Driblet cones are represented in Figs. 32 and 33. Here, as can be seen, the separate drops can be readily traced as they run down a short distance before cooling. [Illustration: FIGS. 32, 33. DRIBLET CONES _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] We have already referred briefly to the _lava caves_ or _grottoes_, that are formed in some of the lava streams issuing from Vesuvius, Etna, or Hawaii. These caves consist either of a number of communicating huge bubbles, or of the tunnels that are formed in the lava by the hardening of the outside of the lava streams as they flow down the sides of the mountain, and towards the close of the eruption are afterwards emptied by the molten lava within continuing to flow to a lower level before solidifying. Now, in the interior of these caves, there are often found on the walls, as well as on the portions of the floors of the caves, immediately below them, curious pendants, like icicles, or, more correctly, like the _stalactites of limestone_ that are seen hanging to the walls of caves in limestone districts, where they are formed as follows: as the rain water sinks through limestone strata it dissolves some of the lime, when, slowly falling, drop after drop, from the roofs of the caverns, small particles of lime are deposited on the roof, and in this manner a pendant of limestone is formed. The water that falls to the floor of the causeway immediately below, also builds up a dome-like hillock called a stalagmite. In due time the pillar reaches downwards, and the opposite hillock upwards until the two meet, thus forming great natural pillars that appear to hold up the roof of the vast cave in which they have been slowly formed. A number of _lava stalactites_ are represented in Fig. 34. [Illustration: FIG. 34. LAVA STALACTITES _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Now, in a similar manner these lava stalactites, formed in the lava caves or grottoes, are caused by the stream as it escapes from the walls of the caves depositing on them stalactites of various lava minerals it has dissolved as it slowly passed through them. But the most important of all volcanic products is _volcanic dust_. This, as we have seen, is so light that it remains longest in the air, and is often carried by the winds to great distances from the volcano from which it escaped. It may interest you to know that some of the most fruitful of the great wheat fields of the western parts of the United States owe their extraordinary fertility to immense deposits of volcanic dust that have been thrown out from some of the great volcanoes of the geological past, now found in an extinct condition in these parts of the United States. According to Russell, immense deposits of volcanic dust are spread over vast areas in Montana, Southern Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas, as well as over parts of Oregon, and Washington, and, indeed, over large areas of southwestern Canada and Alaska. It is practically certain that many of the eruptions producing this dust occurred within historic times. There must, therefore, have been many times in these parts of our country when the dense ash clouds hiding the sun turned the day into night and destroyed the forests and other vegetation by showers of red hot ashes. There were produced, too, the same great dread, and possibly loss of life as common during historical eruptions. It is pleasing, however, to think that while these great catastrophes brought suffering and dread to the people who then lived on the earth, they were, nevertheless, but the forerunners of those fruitful fields that at a much later age were to bless the people who afterwards lived on them. CHAPTER XXI MUD VOLCANOES AND HOT SPRINGS Mud volcanoes are the more or less conical hillocks from which, under certain conditions, mud is thrown out through the crust of the earth. Geikie defines mud volcanoes as follows: "Conical hills formed by the accumulation of fine and usually saline (salty) mud, which, with various gases, is continuously or intermittently given out from the orifice or crater in the centre. They occur in groups, each hillock being sometimes less than a yard in height, but ranging up to elevations of 100 feet or more. Like true volcanoes, they have their periods of repose, when either no discharge takes place at all, or mud oozes out tranquilly from the crater, and their periods of activity, when large volumes of gas, and sometimes columns of flame, rush out with considerable violence and explosion, and throw up mud and stones to a height of several hundred feet." There are two kinds of mud volcanoes: those in which the mud is thrown out by the action of different kinds of gases, and those in which the mud is thrown out by the action of steam. Mud volcanoes may or not be volcanic phenomena. Those which occur in the neighborhood of volcanoes whether active, dormant, or extinct, are probably of volcanic origin. There are others, however, which occur in regions far removed from volcanoes. These are probably due not to volcanoes, but to chemical action and the eruptions are caused by the action of gases. The gases producing these eruptions are either carbonic acid gas (the gas that is given off from soda water); carburetted hydrogen (the gas that is sometimes seen escaping from the bottom of marshy ground); sulphuretted hydrogen (a gas that is given off from rotten or decomposing eggs, and possessing the characteristic odor of decayed eggs) and nitrogen gas derived from the atmosphere. In mud volcanoes of the gaseous type the mud is generally cold, and the water salty. In this latter case the mud volcanoes are also called _salses_. Daubeny has pointed out that the mud volcanoes of this class that occur in the neighborhood of Sicily are due to the slow burning or oxidation of beds of sulphur. Mud volcanoes which eject hot mud by the force of eruption of steam, which occur in volcanic districts, are of volcanic origin. They are caused by the passage of hot water and steam through beds of volcanic rock such as tufa, or hardened volcanic mud and other volcanic products. The hot water or steam raises the temperature of the mud through which it passes to the boiling point. As Dana remarks, the mud varies in consistency from very liquid muddy water to a thick mass like boiling soap, or in some cases like masses of mud or paint, and, in still other cases, to material like soft mortar, the consistency of the mud varying with the dryness of the season. There are three regions where mud volcanoes are especially common. One of the best known is in the Yellowstone National Park, four miles north of Yellowstone Lake, and six miles from Crater Hill. Some of these mud volcanoes have circular craters about ten feet in depth around which they have built mounds, the rims of which are several feet above the general level. There are well-known regions of mud volcanoes in different parts of Iceland. Here, according to Lyell, they occur in many of the valleys where sulphur vapor and steam bursts from fissures in the ground with a loud hissing noise. In these regions there are pools of boiling water filled with a bluish black clay-like paste, that is kept violently boiling. Huge bubbles, fifteen feet or more in diameter, rise from the surface of the boiling mass. The volcanoes pile up the mud around the sides of their craters or basins. Another part of the world where mud volcanoes are especially numerous is on the western shores of the Caspian Sea at a place called Baku. These are of the gaseous type and are attended by flames that blaze up to great heights often for several hours. These flames are due to the presence of natural gas and petroleum vapor that pass out through the water. Large quantities of mud are thrown out from the craters of these mud volcanoes. There are also many mud volcanoes in a district in India about 120 miles northwest of Cutch near the mouth of the Indus. In this region the cone built up around the crater is sometimes as high as 400 feet. The following description of mud volcanoes on Java is quoted from Daubeny's book on volcanoes. "It would appear likewise from Dr. Horsfield's description, that Java exhibits phenomena of a similar kind to those noticed in Sicily and at the foot of the Apennines, and there known under the name of 'Salses.' In the calcareous district (which I suspect to belong to the same class of formations as the blue clay and tertiary limestone of Sicily) occur a number of hot springs, containing in solution a large quantity of calcareous earth, which incrusts the surface of the ground near it. Of these, some are much mixed with petroleum, and others highly saline. "The latter are dispersed through a district of country consisting of limestone, several miles in circumference. They are of considerable number, and force themselves upwards through apertures in the rocks with some violence and ebullition. The waters are strongly impregnated with muriate of soda, and yield upon evaporation very good salt for culinary purposes (not less than 200 tons in the year). "About the centre of this limestone district is found an extraordinary volcanic phenomenon. On approaching the spot 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 arising from a violent surf, whilst a dull 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 it were, pushed up by a force beneath, which suddenly exploded with a dull 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 or earth rose and exploded again. "In the same manner this volcanic ebullition goes on without interruption, throwing up a globular mass of mud, and dispersing it with violence through the neighboring places. The spot where the ebullition occurs is nearly circular and perfectly level; it is covered with only the earthy particles impregnated with salt water, which are thrown up from below; its 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 it to the borders, where it is collected in holes dug in the ground for the purpose of evaporation. "A strong, pungent, sulphurous smell, somewhat resembling that of earth-oil (naphtha), is perceived on standing near the site of the explosion, and the mud recently thrown up possesses a degree of heat greater than that of the surrounding atmosphere. During the rainy season these explosions are more violent, the mud is thrown up much higher, and the noise is heard at a greater distance. "This volcanic phenomenon is situated near the centre of the large plain, which interrupts the great series of volcanoes, and owes its origin to the same general cause as that of the numerous eruptions met with in this island." There are, in many parts of the world, springs, whose waters issue from their reservoirs at temperatures either at or near the boiling point of water. These are called _hot_ or _thermal springs_. Hot springs are found both in volcanic regions, as well as in regions where there are no volcanoes, but where there are lines of deep fissures or faults. According to Dana, in both of these classes, the cause is to be traced to heat of volcanic or deep subterranean origin. Hot springs are also found in regions where there are no volcanoes. In these cases the heat is due to the gradual oxidation of various sulphide ores, or to some other chemical action. The waters of hot or thermal springs almost always contain various mineral substances in solution. All spring water contains some little dissolved mineral matter, but in hot springs the quantity of this matter is greater than in cold springs, because hot water can dissolve mineral substances much better than can cold water. It might surprise you to hear that one of the commonest substances that is found in solution in the waters of many hot springs is silica; for silica is practically sand, and sand does not easily dissolve in water as does sugar. The very hot water, however, which comes from the hot spring, whose temperature below the earth's surface is very much higher than it is when it comes out of the spring, possesses the power of readily dissolving silica from the rocks over which it flows. When the waters of such springs reach the surface the silica is deposited in a solid condition around the outlets of the springs. In this way there are built up craters or mounds, or, more correctly, crater-shaped basins. Sometimes the hot water contains calcareous substances dissolved in it, the solution being caused not only by reason of the hot water, but also by means of the carbonic gas it contains. When this water flows from the springs, it builds up the same crater-shaped mounds, only in this case the mounds are of lime instead of silica. There are peculiar kinds of hot springs called _geysers_, that possess the power of throwing huge streams of water up into the air at more or less regular intervals. The word geyser is an Icelandic word meaning to rage, or snort, or gush, the name being given by reason of the manner in which the waters rush violently out during an eruption. As Dana points out, when the water in a basin of a hot spring merely boils, whether this boiling is nearly continuous, or the water is alternately boiling and quiet, the spring is called a hot or thermal spring, but where the water is thrown violently out at more or less regular intervals, it is called a geyser. The cause of the eruption of a geyser was discovered by Professor Bunsen, the celebrated German chemist, after a careful study of the geyser regions in Iceland. The waters of geysers contain large quantities of either silica or lime in solution. Bunsen traced the cause of these curious eruptions to be the manner in which the hot springs pile up cones of silica or limestone around their mouths. The water of a geyser generally issues from the top of a more or less conical hillock, reaching the surface through a funnel-shaped tube. Both the tube and the basin are covered with a smooth coating of silica or limestone. In the case of the Great Geyser in Iceland, the basin is over fifty feet high and seventy-five feet deep. Both the tube and the basin have been slowly deposited by the hot water of the geyser. It is only when the tube of a geyser has reached a certain depth that the geyser is able to erupt. Moreover, as soon as this tube passes a certain depth the geyser can no longer erupt and forever afterwards becomes an ordinary hot spring. There are, therefore, to be found in most geyser regions, a number of what might be called young geysers or merely hot springs, that are not yet deep enough to erupt; others that have just commenced eruption, others that have reached their prime, while others that, old and decrepit, have again merely become hot springs. Let us now try to understand the cause of the eruption of a geyser. Bunsen's explanation, which is now generally accepted, is as follows: The heat of the volcanic strata through which the tube of the geyser extends, gradually raises the temperature of the water that fills the geyser tube. Since the boiling point of a liquid increases with the pressure to which it is subjected, far down in the tube of a geyser, the pressure arising from the weight of the water above it is sufficiently great to prevent the water from beginning to boil until it reaches a temperature far higher than that at which it would boil in the upper parts of the tube. Suppose now, when the water in the funnel-shaped tube is nearly filled to the top, the water at last grows hot enough to begin boiling at some point near the middle of the tube. The pressure of the steam driven off from this portion of the water raises the column of water above it in the tube and begins to empty it out of the top of the geyser. All the water below this point being thus suddenly relieved of its pressure, and being now much hotter than is necessary to boil the water at that decreased pressure, suddenly flashes into steam, and violently shoots out all the water above it to a height that in some cases may be as great as 100 to 200 feet. The steam causes this eruption, then rushes out with a roar, and the geyser eruption is over. Professor Tyndall in his charming book entitled "Heat as a Mode of Motion" speaks as follows concerning Professor Bunsen's discovery: "Previous to an eruption, both the tube and basin are filled with hot water; detonations which shake the ground, are heard at intervals, and each is succeeded by a violent agitation of the water in the basin. The water in the pipe is lifted up so as to form an eminence in the middle of the basin, and an overflow is the consequence. These detonations are evidently due to the production of steam in the ducts which feed the geyser tube, which steam escaping into the cooler water of the tube is there suddenly condensed, and produces the explosions. Professor Bunsen succeeded in determining the temperature of the geyser tube, from top to bottom, a few minutes before a great eruption; and these observations revealed the extraordinary fact that at no part of the tube did the water reach its boiling point. In the sketch [not reproduced] I have given on one side the temperatures actually observed, and on the other side the temperatures at which water would boil, taking into account both the pressure of the atmosphere and the pressure of the superincumbent column of water. The nearest approach to the boiling point is at A, a height of 30 feet from the bottom; but even here the water is 2° C., or more than 3-1/2° F., below the temperature at which it could boil. How then is it possible that an eruption could occur under such circumstances? "Fix your attention upon the water at the point A, where the temperature is within 2° C. of the boiling point. Call to mind the lifting of the column when the detonations are heard. Let us suppose that by the entrance of steam from the ducts near the bottom of the tube, the geyser column is elevated six feet, a height quite within the limits of actual observation; the water at A is thereby transferred to B. Its boiling point at A is 123.8°, and its actual temperature 121.8°; but at B its boiling point is only 120.8°, hence, when transferred from A to B the heat which it possesses is in excess of that necessary to make it boil. This excess of heat is instantly applied to the generation of steam: the column is thus lifted higher, and the water below is further relieved. More steam is generated; from the middle downwards the mass suddenly bursts into ebullition, the water above, mixed with steam clouds, is projected into the atmosphere, and we have the geyser eruption in all its grandeur. "By its contact with the air the water is cooled, falls back into the basin, partially refills the tube, in which it gradually rises, and finally fills the basin as before. Detonations are heard at intervals, and risings of the water in the basin. These are so many futile attempts at an eruption, for not until the water in the tube comes sufficiently near its boiling temperature, to make the lifting of the column effective, can we have a true eruption." The principal geyser regions of the world are in Iceland, in New Zealand, and in the Yellowstone National Park in the United States. There are several geyser regions in Iceland. The best known lies in the neighborhood of Mt. Hecla. Here is a great geyser that shoots up a column of water to a height of about 100 feet every thirty hours. Fig. 35 represents the appearance of the crater of the great geyser in Iceland. [Illustration: FIG. 35. CRATER OF THE GREAT GEYSER OF ICELAND] It is a well-known fact that in geyser regions generally, the throwing of stones or other materials into the tube will frequently hasten an eruption. This is probably due to the fact that the throwing in of these things results in the raising of the water in the tube, thus hastening the eruption. The New Zealand region is in the neighborhood of Lake Rotomahama in the northern island. The geyser region in the Yellowstone Park is by far the most interesting of all geyser regions. This region is situated principally around Fire-Hole Fork of the Madison, and near Shoshone Lake at the head of Lake Fork of the Snake River. There are many geysers in this region, as well as simple hot springs. The temperature of their waters varies from between 160° and 200° F. to the boiling point of water at this elevation. As you are probably aware, water boils at the temperature of 212° F. only under the condition of the ordinary atmospheric pressure that exists at the level of the sea. At higher elevations, such as on the slopes of mountains, or on high plateaus, water boils at a lower temperature. The height of the country in which the Yellowstone Park is situated is so great that the water boils at temperatures of from 198° to 199° F. The conical hillock of geyser cones from which the waters flow assume various shapes, two of which are shown in Figs. 36 and 37. [Illustration: FIG. 36. GIANT GEYSER _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] [Illustration: FIG. 37. BEE HIVE _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] That shown in Fig. 36 represents the shape of the cone of the giant geyser in the upper geyser basin of the Fire-Hole, Yellowstone National Park. This cone is about ten feet in height, and twenty-four feet in diameter. As shown in the figure it is broken on one of its sides. It throws out, at long intervals, a column of water the height of which varies from ninety to 200 feet. Fig. 38 represents the crater of a cone known as the Bee Hive in eruption. Besides the above named geyser regions there is another region on the shores of Celebes, and a small region on San Miguel, in the Azores Islands, in the Atlantic Ocean. Besides hot springs and mud volcanoes there are two other phenomena connected with volcanic action that we will now briefly describe. When eruptions take place and the lava begins to flow down the side of a mountain, the different vapors and gases with which the lava is charged begin to escape or pass out from the boiling or fused mass. When these substances are of such a character that they produce fumes, or the vapors of various chemical substances, that become solid on cooling, they form what are called _fumaroles_, a word derived from a Latin word meaning "to smoke." For the greater part, fumaroles are found on the edge of craters, but sometimes are found in cavernous places either in the crater or in the lava streams. There is, still, another class of openings through which only sulphurous vapors escape. These are called _solfataras_, a word derived from the Italian word _solfo_, or sulphur. Solfataras are generally found in regions distant from volcanic action. In the materials that escape from recently ejected lava, or molten lava, the temperature is high enough to volatilize many of the solid ingredients. But where the temperature is low, only sulphur vapors are driven off. It is for this reason that fumaroles are only found around the craters of active volcanoes, or on the lines of cracks or crevices of the lava stream where the temperature is very high. [Illustration: FIG. 38. BEE HIVE GEYSER OF ICELAND _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Besides water vapor and sulphurous vapors there are other substances that escape from the earth in volcanic districts. Sulphurous acid, together with hydrogen and nitrogen escape from nearly all lava. At Vesuvius chlorine gas is given off. This, however, as soon as it passes into the atmosphere becomes changed into hydrochloric acid. Sulphurous acid is frequently changed into sulphuric acid, which, combining with various substances, forms such materials as _gypsum_, or sulphate of lime, the chemical name for plaster of Paris; sulphate of soda or _Glauber's salt_; sodium chloride or _common table salt_; and _sal ammoniac_. You will remember in reading the description of Vulcano, in the Grecian Archipelago, that some of these products were collected at the chemical works that had been established on the volcano. When a volcanic mountain is for the time being passing from an active to an extinct condition, it is sometimes said to be in the _fumarole stage_, since the presence of the fumaroles are the only indication of its activity. The volcanic heat is still great. When it reaches a still greater decline, the fumaroles disappear, and only solfataras are left. The amount of heat is now only sufficient to produce sulphur vapors and the vapor of water. This is called the _solfatara stage_. Of course, as we have already pointed out, fumaroles and solfataras may occur in the neighborhood of a volcano at different distances from its crater. CHAPTER XXII THE VOLCANOES OF THE MOON There can be no doubt that the moon was once the seat of very great volcanic activity. It was formerly believed that the very many volcanic craters which can be seen on its surface when it is examined by a comparatively small telescope, were all extinct. While this is nearly true, yet recent investigations have shown that in all probability a feeble volcanic activity still exists in a few of these craters. The distinctness with which the surface of the moon is seen does not depend so much on the size of the telescope employed, as it does on the steadiness of the atmosphere when the telescope is being used. When one wishes to examine a very distant body like a star, it is necessary to use a powerful telescope, but in the case of a comparatively near body, like one of the planets or the moon, a big telescope is not necessary. It is, however, necessary to make the observations at some time of the year, or in some part of the world, when the air is apt to be free from winds. A person on the earth's surface looking at the heavenly bodies through a telescope is practically in the position in which he would be were he at the bottom of the water in a large lake looking up through the water at some body in the heavens. He would have no difficulty in seeing such a body distinctly as long as the upper surface of the water remained quiet, and unruffled by waves. As soon, however, as waves were set up, the images seen in the telescope are so distorted as to become practically worthless. It is for this reason that it is customary to build great astronomical observatories in parts of the world where there are apt to be many days in the year when the air is almost entirely free from wind. Since the atmosphere is apt to be disturbed by winds in both the temperate and the polar latitudes, these parts of the world are not very satisfactory as sites for astronomical observatories. The conditions are more favorable near the equator, since, although at certain seasons of the year there are very severe storms in these regions, yet there are quite long periods when the air is almost entirely free from winds. It is for this reason that Harvard University has erected an astronomical observatory at Arequipa, Peru, at an elevation of 8,000 feet above the level of the Pacific Ocean. Here, with a comparatively small object glass, of about twelve inches aperture, magnificent photographs have been obtained not only of the moon but also of the planet Mars. According to Professor Pickering, from whose magnificent work, entitled, "The Moon," much of the information in this chapter has been obtained, the moon, which is generally spoken of as a satellite of the earth, ought rather to be called the earth's twin planet. Although the moon appears to revolve in a small elliptical orbit around the earth it should properly be said to revolve around the sun; for, together with the earth, it revolves around the sun once every year. As seen from any of the planets that lie near the earth the earth and moon would appear as a very beautiful double star. In order the more readily to understand what will be said shortly concerning the origin of the moon, it may be mentioned that the moon's diameter is 2,163 miles, or a little more than one-fourth the diameter of our earth. You will, most probably, be surprised to learn that the origin of the moon is believed to be very different from the origin of the moons or satellites of Jupiter, Saturn, and the other planets. As we have already seen, according to the nebular hypothesis, all the planets except the earth probably had their moons formed from the rings that were left surrounding them when they shrunk on cooling to their present dimensions. Such a ring is still to be seen surrounding Saturn. Now it is believed that our moon was formed in a different manner. It was not thrown off from the earth while the latter was in a highly fluid or gaseous condition, but after the earth had shrunken to nearly its present size and, most probably, after a solid crust had been formed on its surface. In order that our earth should be able to violently throw off a large portion of its mass, it is only necessary that at the time this separation occurred, its motion of rotation on its axis was sufficiently great to enable it to make one complete revolution in rather less than three hours instead of in the twenty-four hours it now requires. At this velocity of rotation, objects would fly off the earth in the neighborhood of the equator, under the influence of the high centrifugal force. Let us, then, endeavor to see if it was at all probable that the earth ever did turn so rapidly on its axis. You all probably know that it is principally the attraction of the moon that produces the earth's tides. Of course, the sun also produces tides on the earth, but it is so far off from the earth that not withstanding its greater mass the tides it forms are much smaller than those produced by the moon. You also know that the moon produces at the same time two tides in every twenty-four hours, on directly opposite sides of the earth; one on the side immediately under the moon, and the other on the side furthest from the moon. As the earth rotates between these two tides, they act as a break which serves to impede its motion. Every high tide, therefore, tends to make the earth rotate more slowly, and thus to slowly increase the length of the day. For this reason to-day is a trifle longer than yesterday, and still longer than a day a hundred years ago. You must not suppose for a moment that this increase in the length of the day is large. On the contrary, it is so small that since the year A. D. 1, up to the present time, the day is only a very small fraction of a second longer. But it was very different in the earth's geological past, when the inside of the earth was in a molten condition; for then great tides were set up in the melted interior of the earth that not only greatly changed the shape of the earth, but decreased the rate of rotation much more rapidly than it does when the earth's tides are limited as they are now to the waters on the earth's surfaces. There was, however, at the same time, something going on that tended greatly to make the earth turn more rapidly on its axis. While the originally melted earth was cooling and shrinking, the rate of its rotation was necessarily increasing. As you know, the time of vibration of a pendulum, that is, the time it requires to make one complete to-and-fro motion, is shorter the shorter the length of the pendulum. A pendulum two feet long moves to and fro more slowly than a pendulum one foot in length. In the same way a rotating sphere will make one complete rotation in a shorter time when its radius, which corresponds to the length of a pendulum, is shorter. Therefore, as the earth shrunk, it rotated more and more rapidly, and at last reached a rapidity of motion at which an immense quantity of matter flew off its surface nearest the equator and went out into space, never again to return. It was this mass that constituted the earth's moon. Necessarily such a tremendous catastrophe was attended by an earthquake as well as by the most fearful volcanic phenomena that the earth has ever witnessed. The terrible catastrophe produced by the explosive eruption of Krakatoa was but as a small drop of rain falling on the earth, when compared with the catastrophe produced when the "five thousand million cubic miles of material left the earth's surface, never again to return to it." It is not known whether this matter was torn off the earth at a single time or during successive times, but quoting the beautiful language of Professor Pickering: "We may try in vain to imagine the awful uproar and fearful volcanic phenomena exhibited when a planet was cleft in twain, and a new planet was born into the solar system." This terrible catastrophe took place at a time not when the earth was a gaseous mass, but when it had condensed into a comparatively small mass not much larger than it is at its present time, and possibly even after it had hardened sufficiently to form a solid crust on its outside. If you look at a map of the earth on a Mercator's projection, such, for example, as that employed in illustrating the distribution of the world's volcanoes in Fig. 24, you can see, even without any very close examination, that the great water area of the Atlantic Ocean has its eastern and western shores almost parallel to each other, so that if you conceive the Eastern and Western Continents as being pushed together, they would, except at the south, almost completely fit together, and the same thing is true, if Greenland is pushed towards the northeastern coast of North America. Of course, some portions of the coast would not fit exactly, but then these portions might either have been worn away, or, as is more probable, have been changed in shape by the deposit of immense beds of sedimentary rocks spread over the borders of the Atlantic by the great rivers that empty into it. This is so remarkable a fact that it will be well worth your while to turn to the map mentioned and convince yourself of the proof of what I have just said. As you will see, Europe and Africa would almost exactly fit against South America and North America, while Greenland would even more closely fit against the northeastern coast of North America. Now, while we do not say that it was so, it has been suggested as just possible that the great depression of the Pacific Ocean represents the spot that was once filled by the moon. That the Eastern and Western Continents, then torn asunder by the great force of the convulsion, were left floating on the surface of a sea of molten matter, a greatly widened crack marking positions they assumed at the end of this cataclysm. Of course, you must understand that all this is a mere supposition, and that we do not know whether the earth was actually cooled on the outside when this occurred, since it might have still been in a liquid condition throughout. It would seem, however, to have occurred rather recently, since it could not have occurred until the earth shrunk so much that it became so small in radius as to acquire a very rapid rate of motion on its axis. It is an interesting fact that we are, perhaps, better acquainted with that side of the moon which is turned towards us than we are with the surface of the earth on which we live. Of course, I do not mean in the small details of the moon's surface, but with such portions as can be seen through a good telescope when the air is quiet. While there are no parts of the moon's surface that have not been carefully examined in detail probably thousands of times by acute astronomers, there are still comparatively large areas of the earth that have never been once trodden by civilized man. When I speak of all parts of the moon's surface, I only mean those parts that are turned towards us. You may possibly be ignorant of the fact that the moon always turns exactly the same face towards the earth. Not only has no man ever seen the opposite side of the moon, but he never can hope to see it while he remains on the earth. This is because the moon turns or rotates on its axis in exactly the same time that it revolves in its orbit. When I say that the time of rotation is the same as the time of revolution of the moon, I do not mean that it is almost the same, but that it is exactly the same. If it differed even but a small fraction of a second, a time would come when we would be able to see the other side of the moon. Now, since astronomers have made careful pictures of the moon, many, many years ago, we can see by comparing them with photographs taken at the present time there has been no change whatever in that face of the moon which is turned towards us, and this, of course, proves beyond question, that the time of the moon's rotation during this great period has remained exactly the same as the time of its revolution. It may possibly seem to you that it cannot be a matter of great importance in a book like this on the Wonders of Volcanoes and Earthquakes, whether or not the moon always turns its face towards the earth; on the contrary, it is a matter of the greatest importance since by it we can prove positively that the moon was at one time at least in a partly fluid condition. It was the presence of this partly fluid interior that resulted in the time of the moon's rotation agreeing exactly with the time of its revolution. The tides of the earth set up in the moon's molten interior, tides, that instead of reaching twice every day the height of a few feet only, were set up in the molten mass in the moon's interior, probably reaching miles in height, rapidly decreased the time of the moon's rotation until the moon rotated once only during every complete revolution. Even now that the moon is probably solid throughout, the time of its rotation and revolution exactly agree because, while in a molten condition, the action of the earth changed its shape from that of an exact sphere to a spheroid, with its longest axis in the direction of the earth. Even, therefore, if the moon at any time began to rotate faster than the earth, the earth acting on its projecting surface retarded it until the time of its rotation agreed exactly with the time of its revolution. It was at one time believed that the moon had no atmosphere. It is now known, however, that it has an atmosphere. It is true this is a rare atmosphere, probably not greater in density than the one-ten thousandth of the earth's atmosphere. This important question was settled once for all on August 12th, 1892, at the Harvard Observatory at Arequipa, Peru, when a photograph was taken of an object on the moon. It could be readily seen on examining this photograph that the light coming from the moon experienced a bending, known as refraction, in passing from the space outside the moon to its atmosphere on to its surface. Of course, when the moon was thrown off from the earth by reason of its great centrifugal force, it carried along with it a portion of the earth's atmosphere. But since the quantity of matter in the moon is only about one-eightieth of that of the earth, the force of gravity on the moon is much smaller than that on the earth, being almost exactly one-sixth that of the earth's gravity. In other words, if you could succeed in reaching the moon's surface, you would only weigh one-sixth of what you weigh on the earth, but then you could carry a weight six times heavier with no greater effort, and, as for running, jumping, and other athletic exercises, the surface of the moon would, indeed, be a great place on which to break records, since one could readily jump six times higher, put the shot six times further, than on the earth, or go through most other athletic exercises with a corresponding increase. Without going any further into this question it will be sufficient to say that the moon's present atmosphere is believed to consist of carbonic acid gas, and that while on the general surface of the moon this atmosphere must be very rare, yet, at the bottom of the great fissures that cross the moon's surface, it may possess a fairly great density, especially if the moon still possesses feeble volcanic activity; that carbonic acid gas is still being given off from the inside of the moon as we know it is being given off from inside the earth. Under the best conditions of atmosphere and telescope, we can see the moon's surface as it would appear at a distance varying from 800 miles to 300 miles from the earth. With a fifteen-inch telescope, under perfect conditions of vision, objects can be seen as if they were at a distance of 800 miles from the earth, and with the most powerful glasses, and the best conditions of atmosphere this distance can be reduced to about 300 miles. This would enable us to clearly see large objects like rivers, lakes, seas, or forests, if they existed, but would not be sufficient to enable us to see houses, buildings, or roads. When we come to examine the surface of the moon under the most favorable conditions, we find that it is extremely irregular. There are plenty of high mountains. These mountains are not collected in ranges as they are on the earth's surface, but are completely separated from each other, and are scattered in great numbers over the moon's surface. You may form some idea of the number of volcanoes that have been observed on the moon when I tell you that as many as 32,000 have been seen on that side of the moon that is turned towards the earth. Now it is an interesting fact that almost all these mountains possess great craters that are not unlike some of the volcanic craters we see on the earth. The volcanic craters of the moon, however, are of very much greater size than those on the earth, many being from fifty to sixty miles in diameter, while some of them are more than 100 miles in diameter. Smaller craters, say from twenty to twenty-five miles in diameter, can be counted by the hundreds. Like most of the moon's craters, the largest crater more closely resembles one of the pit-craters or calderas on the island of Hawaii. This volcanic crater consists of a huge circular ring with a small irregular peak that rises inside the ring. This peak, by the way, might at first appear to resemble the crater of Vesuvius, which after a long period of inactivity of the mountain during the eruption that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum was thrown up inside of what had been left standing of the old crater of Somma. But it has no crater at its summit, and, therefore, resembles rather the irregular pile or rock that rises from the surface of a lava lake in the craters of Mt. Loa or Mt. Kilauea in Hawaii. Besides the numerous craters to be seen on the moon's surface there are many lines of deep, crooked valleys, known as _rills_, that may at one time have been the beds of rivers. Besides the rills, there are many straight clefts about half a mile in width, that extend down into the surface of the moon for unknown depths. These clefts can be seen passing directly through mountains and valleys. They are believed to be cracks or fissures in the moon's surface. On the moon is a great crater called Tycho. It is situated near the moon's south pole. The great crater of Tycho is by far the most prominent object on the moon's surface. It has a system of rays that extend for great distances around its craters. You will also see if you examine the moon's surface by a powerful glass that there are immense plains called _oceans_ or _seas_. By an appropriate custom the names of the different craters on the moon are the same as the names of the great astronomers and philosophers that have long since passed from their labors, such as Tycho, Copernicus, Kepler, Plato, etc. Various explanations have been given as to the origin of the craters on the moon's surface, but without going into a discussion it may be said that they are now generally regarded as having been formed in the main just as were the craters of the earth's volcanoes. The tremendous size of the moon's craters is of course due to the great decrease in the force of gravity. This would make the craters, approximately, six times as great as the craters on the earth. Professor Pickering points out that while the moon's craters resemble more closely those of Hawaii than those of any other of the earth's volcanoes, yet there is this difference in them: that while the earth's crater floors are generally considerably higher than the level of the sea, the moon's crater floors are generally below the level of the surrounding country. Still, taking them all in all, the craters of the moon's volcanoes resemble those of the island of Hawaii, or again quoting from Pickering:-- "There seems, indeed, to be no feature found upon the moon which is not presented by these Hawaiian volcanoes, there is no feature of the volcanoes that does not also have its counterpart in the moon." CHAPTER XXIII EARTHQUAKES An _earthquake_ is a shaking of the earth. It may vary in intensity from a shaking so feeble that it requires the use of a delicate instrument to detect it, to a shaking violent enough to overthrow heavy buildings, and even to make great rents or fissures in the crust. An earthquake then is an _earth-shake_. It may be caused by anything capable of shaking the earth; for example, as the falling of a heavy weight on its surface. Now, a shaking so caused is only felt in the immediate neighborhood of the place the weight strikes the earth. On the contrary, in an earthquake, the shaking spreads in all directions through the earth's crust, until, in the case of very violent earthquakes, it reaches portions that may be situated many thousands of miles away from where the shock started. This spreading of the earthquake waves through the solid earth is not unlike the spreading of the circular waves that are set up in a still water surface when a stone is tossed in. Any shaking of the earth's crust produces what may be called an earth-shake or earthquake. The mere falling of a raindrop on the earth produces a slight shaking. The falling of a heavy stone produces a stronger shaking, and sets up a series of minute waves, generally called vibrations, that spread around the place in all directions from where the stone struck. These movements, however, while they spread in all directions, just as they do in a surface of a lake, when a stone is thrown into it, are of course much more quickly stopped by the solid earth than similar movements are by the more readily movable water. But, while any shaking of the earth's crust constitutes an earthquake, yet, strictly speaking, an earthquake is produced only by some force that acts suddenly on the earth, _at a point below its surface_, and, therefore, out of sight. This, of course, would rule out all such shakings as are caused by bodies striking the outer surface of the earth. Earthquakes may occur in any part of the world, and at any time of the day or year. They do occur, however, most frequently in certain parts of the world, at certain seasons of the year and at certain hours of the day. Earthquakes are far from being unusual occurrences. In some parts of the world, such as the island of Java, they are very common, and in Japan, under certain circumstances, scarcely a day passes without one or more shocks in some part of that little empire. Professor Mallet, who has made a very extensive study of earthquakes, published in 1850 to 1858, in the Philosophical Transactions, brief abstracts or descriptions of all the more important earthquakes he could find records of during the past 3,456 years. The number of earthquakes thus recorded during this period reached 6,830. Of this great number nearly one-half occurred during the last fifty years. It should not be inferred from the above figures that the number of earthquakes has really increased so greatly in the past half-century. The explanation of the apparent increase is that greater care has been taken recently in recording earthquakes, and that an apparatus called a _seismometer_, or _earthquake-recorder_, has been invented which automatically produces a record of the smallest shocks; so that a great many have been recorded that would otherwise have passed undetected. It is the opinion of Le Conte that if the records of all the earthquakes of 3,456 years had been thus made there would have been found during the entire time of Mallet's researches to have occurred no less than 200,000, while during the last four years of Mallet's records, the number would have probably reached two earthquakes per week. Since Mallet's time, Prof. Alexis Perry published (1876) a much larger list of earthquakes. Perry finds that from 1843 to 1872 there have been 17,249 earthquakes, or 575 every year. Perry's list, however, is incomplete, since it fails to record earthquakes that occurred in mid-ocean, and in the unexplored and uncivilized parts of the world. So it seems likely that earthquakes are so common that our earth, at some part or other of its surface, is continually shaking or quaking. Earthquakes are such tremendous phenomena that they were necessarily observed by the ancients. We find more or less complete accounts of them in various writings. Lucretius (Titus Carus Lucretius, a great Roman poet) speaks as follows, in his De Rerum Natura (On the Nature of Things). We use Munro's translation here: "Now mark and learn what the law of earthquakes is. And first of all take for granted that the earth below us as well as above is filled in all parts with windy caverns, and bears within its bosom many lakes and many chasms, cliffs and craggy rocks; and you must suppose that many rivers hidden beneath the crust of the earth roll on with violent waves and submerged stones; for the very nature of the case requires it to be throughout like to itself. With such things then attached and placed below, the earth quakes above from the shock of great falling masses, when underneath, time has undermined vast caverns. Whole mountains, indeed, fall in, and in an instant from the mighty shock tremblings spread themselves far and wide from that centre. And with good cause, since buildings beside a road tremble throughout, when shaken by a wagon of not such very great weight; and they rock no less, where any sharp pebble on the road jolts up the iron tires of the wheels on both sides. Sometimes, too, when an enormous mass of soil through age rolls down from the land into great and extensive pools of water, the earth rocks and sways with the undulation of the water just as a vessel at times cannot rest, until the liquid within has ceased to sway about in unsteady undulations.... "The same great quaking likewise arises from this cause, when on a sudden the wind and some enormous force of air gathering either from without or within the earth have flung themselves into the hollow of the earth and there chafe at first with much uproar among the great caverns and are carried on with a whirling motion, and when their force, afterwards stirred and lashed into fury, bursts abroad and at the same moment cleaves the deep earth and opens up a great yawning chasm. This fell out in Syrian Sidon and took place at Ægium in the Peloponnese, two towns which an outbreak of wind of this sort and the ensuing earthquake threw down. And many walled places besides fell down by great commotions on land and many towns sank down engulfed in the sea together with their burghers. And if they do not break out, still the impetuous fury of the air and the fierce violence of the wind spread over the numerous passages of the earth like a shivering-fit and thereby cause a trembling." Of course, no one at the present time believes this ridiculous explanation as to the cause of earthquakes. Aristotle, a Greek philosopher, speaks thus concerning earthquakes. We quote the translation employed by Mallet: "Three theories on the subject have been handed down to us by three different persons; namely, Anaxagoras of Klazomene, before him Anaximenes the Milesian, and later than these Democritus of Abdera. "Anaxagoras says that the ether of nature rises upward, but that when it falls into hollow places in the lower parts of the earth it moves it (the earth); because the parts above are cemented or closed up by rain, all parts being by nature equally spongy or full of cavities, both those which are above (where we live) and those which are below. Of this opinion it may perhaps be unnecessary to say anything, as being foolish, for it is absurd to suppose that things would thus exist above and beneath, and that the parts of bodies which have weight would not on every side be borne to the earth, and those which are light, and fiery, rise; especially since we see the surface of the earth to be convex and spherical, the horizon constantly changing as we change our place, at least as far as we know. And it is also foolish to assert on the one hand that it remains in the air on account of its great size, and on the other to say that it is shaken, when struck from beneath upwards. And besides these objections, it is to be remarked that he has not treated of the attendant circumstances of earthquakes, for neither every time nor place is subject to these convulsions. "But Democritus says, that the earth being full of water, and receiving much also by means of rain, is moved by this. For when the water increases in bulk, because the cavities cannot contain it, in its struggles it causes an earthquake. And when the earth becomes partially dried up, the water being drawn from the full reservoirs into those which are empty, in passing from one to the other, by its movements it causes an earthquake also. "Anaximenes, however, says that the earth, when parched up and again moistened, cracks, and by the masses thus broken off falling on it, is shaken; wherefore earthquakes occur in drouths and again in times of rain; in drouths, because, as we have said, it cracks, when highly dried, and then, when moistened over again, it cracks and falls to pieces. Were this the case, however, the earth ought to appear in many places subsiding. Why then is it that hitherto many places have been very subject to these convulsions which do not present any such remarkable differences from others? Yet such ought to be the case. And, moreover, those who think thus must assert that earthquakes constantly become less and less, and at last cease altogether. For the continual condensation of the earth would cause this. Wherefore, if this be not the fact, it is plain that this is not the correct explanation." Besides the above, there are numerous references to earthquakes in the works of other writers. Thales, Seneca, and Pliny all speak of these phenomena and appear to describe correctly the movement of the earth in waves both in the solid land, as well as on the sea. Coming down to less ancient writers, Mallet refers to a book by Fromondi, published in Antwerp, in 1527, that contains much valuable and interesting information. Among other things Fromondi declares that in the year 369, in the reign of Valentinian, there was a great earthquake that shook nearly the entire world and that another earthquake of almost equal severity occurred in 1116. He also states that in 1601 an earthquake continued for nearly forty days; that a great earthquake in Italy, in 1538, lasted fifteen days, and that another, in Spain, lasted for nearly three years. This does not mean that these earthquakes actually continued to shake the earth violently for the times mentioned. These are only the times during which, at intervals of greater or less length, successive shocks were felt in these localities. Another of the less ancient writers referred to by Mallet is Travagini, who published a book in Venice in 1683. This book contains a description of a terrible earthquake occurring in Italy on the 6th of April, 1667, which affected large portions of the country adjacent to Ragusa. Without attempting at present to discuss the various theories of earthquakes, it will suffice to say that earthquakes can be divided, according to their origin, into two classes: _volcanic earthquakes_, or earthquakes that are caused by practically the same forces that cause volcanoes, and _tectonic[3] earthquakes_, or those produced by the slipping of a large mass of rock lying along the lines of old or new fractures. Earthquakes of the first class are found especially in volcanic districts, while those of the second class are found in all parts of the world, whether in volcanic districts or elsewhere. According to Dana, earthquakes of the second class generally start in the neighborhood of mountains, where old lines of fractures are especially abundant. As regards the direction of the shaking movements of the earth, earthquakes can be divided into three different classes: _explosive earthquakes_, or those in which the force acts vertically upwards; _horizontal earthquakes_, or those in which the force moves in a more or less horizontal direction, or parallel to the general surface of the earth, and _rotary earthquakes_, or those in which the earth rotates or moves in great eddies or whirls. When the earthquake wave is started below the earth's surface, it spreads through the crust in all directions. The direction these waves will have on emerging, or coming out of the surface, will depend on the distance of this point from the place the waves started. When a place is situated directly over where the wave started, the waves will emerge so as to move vertically upwards, so that the earth at this point will be shaken by an explosive earthquake. As the point where the waves pass out is situated further and further from the place where the waves start, the waves will emerge more nearly horizontally, the greater the distance from the source. In explosive earthquakes, which, as just explained, occur at areas almost immediately above the point where the disturbance starts, the force is, generally speaking, the greatest. In earthquakes of this character the force is sometimes sufficiently great to throw large bodies high up into the air. In the case of the great Riobamba earthquake of 1797, the force was not only sufficiently great to fracture the earth in various places, but also to throw bodies lying on the surface great distances into the air. Bodies of men were thrown several hundred feet into the air and were afterwards found on the other side of a broad river or high up on the side of a hill. It is possible that Humboldt did not inquire with as much care as he should have done into these reports. They were probably greatly exaggerated, since it is difficult to understand how a force great as this would have failed to detach the soil at these places, and hurl it after the people. This much, however, can be accepted, that the upward force was very great. In the great Calabria earthquake of March, 1783, Dolomieu states that the tops of the granite hills of Calabria were distinctly seen to rise and fall. In some cases houses were suddenly raised a great distance in the air, and were afterwards brought down again to a position of rest, at a higher level without any damage occurring to them. In a similar manner during the Caracas earthquake of March, 1812, the ground was seen to rise and fall in a nearly vertical direction. But, perhaps, one of the most terrible earthquakes of this character was the earthquake that destroyed the greater part of Jamaica in June, 1793. During this earthquake the entire surface of the ground at Port Royal assumed the appearance of a rolling sea. Houses were shifted from their old sites. Many of the inhabitants who had succeeded in escaping from the city to the neighboring country were thrown great distances into the air. Some of these, by good fortune, fell into the harbor, from which, in some cases, they escaped with their lives. Here again the projectile force was probably greatly exaggerated. Vertical movements characterized the great earthquake of Lisbon, on November 1st, 1755, the city appearing to have been not far from the point of origin. The commonest type of earthquakes is the horizontal, where the waves emerge at the surface in a direction either horizontal or parallel to the general surface, or at least inclined to it at a very small angle. Where the materials of the earth's crust, through which the waves spread, are of the same kind and of the same density in all directions, the area shaken is approximately circular, but where the materials of the crust are more or less dense in some directions than in others, the area of disturbance is of course oblong or elliptical. In some cases earthquakes of the horizontal type are limited almost entirely to a single direction. This is especially the case with earthquakes that occur in mountainous districts. These earthquakes are known as _linear earthquakes_, since they spread almost in a single line. When earthquake waves pass from one medium to another, that is, from one kind of rock to another, the greater portion of the waves is refracted or bent out of their straight direction as they pass into the new medium; a part of the waves, however, are reflected. It is these reflected waves that probably cause rotary earthquakes. The speed with which the surface waves move outwards in all directions, varies not only with the force of the wave, but also with the kind of material through which they pass. This velocity may be in the neighborhood of twenty miles per second, while in others the velocity is as great as 140 miles per second. Naturally, one would suppose that the most severe earthquakes are those in which the waves move the most rapidly. On the contrary, however, the comparatively feeble shocks are sent through the earth with greater velocity. In rotary earthquakes, as the name indicates, the ground is whirled or twisted in the manner of a violent eddy, and is often left in this twisted condition. In the great Calabria earthquake, huge blocks of stone forming obelisks were twisted on one another in a manner represented in Fig. 39. In this case the pedestals remained unaffected, but the separate blocks of stone were partially turned around, as shown. During this earthquake the earth was so twisted that trees, which had been planted in straight lines before the earthquake, were left standing in zigzags. During the great Charleston earthquake, South Carolina, the chimney-tops of the houses were separated at places where they joined the roof and were twisted around these places without being overthrown. In some of the houses wardrobes or bureaus were turned at right angles to their former positions, and in some cases were even found with their faces turned towards the wall. [Illustration: FIG. 39. HEAVY STONE OBELISKS TWISTED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783] Mallet suggests that in some cases the rotary motion is more apparent than real, being due only to a to-and-fro motion without any twisting, the apparent turning being due to the greater freedom of motion of the object in one direction than in another. A twisting motion, however, has actually taken place in some earthquakes. While separate shocks, in a given locality, may follow one another at intervals for fairly long times, yet the principal shock or shake that produces the greatest damage is generally of exceedingly short duration. In the Caracas earthquake the greatest destruction was accomplished in about one minute. There were three distinct shocks, each of which lasted but three or four seconds. The great Calabria earthquake, of 1783, lasted but two minutes. The earthquake of Lisbon, in 1755, lasted five minutes, but the first, and worst, shock, was only from five to six seconds. CHAPTER XXIV SOME OF THE PHENOMENA OF EARTHQUAKES The nature of an earthquake and the movements of its waves from their starting place having now been briefly described, it remains to explain some of the strange phenomena that precede, accompany, or follow one. Next to the violent shaking of the earth's crust, perhaps the most wonderful and impressive thing is the great variety of sounds and noises. These occur not only while the earth-waves are passing through the crust at any place, but also long before the principal shocks reach the place, as well as long after they have passed. Earthquake sounds vary almost infinitely, both in intensity and character. Some are like the gentle sighings of the wind, or resemble faint mysterious whisperings; some are not unlike the confused murmurings of a crowded room; some resemble the sounds of a busy street. Some sounds are full and strong, like the deep bass notes of a large organ. Others resemble the din of a great battle with the reports of the large guns. Still others reach the intensity of continuous peals of thunder. But we can better understand the nature of earthquake sounds from an actual description of them in a number of great earthquakes, and by inquiring at the same time into any of the peculiar facts connected. Humboldt in his great work, "Cosmos," thus describes the varied voice of the earthquake: "It is either rolling or rustling, or clanking, like chains being moved, or like near thunder, or clear and ringing, as if obsidian or some other vitrified masses were struck in subterranean cavities." That the sounds produced during earthquakes are carried through the ground faster than through the air appears clear from the fact that such sounds are sometimes heard in deep mines when they are not at all heard on the earth's surface. In describing the earthquake that occurred in Kamtschatka, in 1759, Krashenikoff of St. Petersburg states that noises were heard like the rushing of a strong underground wind, accompanied by a hissing sound, which resembled the sizzlings heard when red hot coals are thrown in water. In an earthquake that occurred in Lincolnshire, England, February 6th, 1817, a noise was heard closely resembling the sounds of wagons running away on a road. So complete and convincing was the resemblance that several wagoners on one of the roads drew their teams to one side so as to permit the runaway to pass safely. Another kind of noise heard during earthquakes is a loud hollow bellowing. Sometimes, however, the sounds are more musical in their nature, being not unlike those produced by a very large organ pipe. At other times they resemble the noises produced when steam is blown into cold water. The following account of earthquake sounds is given by Daubeny, in his book on volcanoes. It appears that during March, 1822, the people living on the island of Melida, opposite Ragusa, in Dalmatia, were greatly alarmed by sounds that at first they believed due to cannonading either at sea or on the neighboring coast. They afterwards found that these sounds were due to something that was taking place under the ground. The noises continued at intervals until August 23d, 1823, when a great earthquake occurred, during which one of the highest mountains on the island was cleft or split in one place. The underground noises continued from time to time and so frightened the people that they were about to leave the island permanently and emigrate to the mainland of Dalmatia. They were dissuaded from doing so by the government, and while the noises continued at intervals it so happened that no damage came to them. It is said, however, that twenty years after an active volcano broke out on the island. There are various causes that produce earthquake sounds. A very slight rubbing or grinding together of rock surfaces may produce fairly loud noises, the volume of the sound being increased by transmission through the rock masses that lie in the path of the waves. An example of such an increase in the loudness of sounds is seen in the case of several of the large blocks of stone used for some of the piers of Kingston Harbor, in Ireland. When these rocks are moved together by blows of the waves they produce loud and appalling sounds, as if the whole island were being washed away. The same rocks, however, when left high and dry on the falling of the tide, can be caused to rub together, when moved by the hand. Under these circumstances, they produce but feeble sounds that can only be heard in their immediate neighborhood. No doubt, some find it difficult to understand how it is possible for comparatively feeble sound-waves to be strengthened by their passage through large masses of solids. This is important and should be made clear. As everyone well knows, the ticking of a watch can only be heard at a short distance when the watch is held in the hand, because the sound-waves cannot readily pass through the body of the person holding the watch to the earth, the materials of the body not being sufficiently elastic. If, however, the watch be placed on the bare surface of a large wooden table from which the tablecloth has been removed, so that the watch can come directly in contact with the wood, and nothing else is placed on the table but the watch, the sound-waves are transmitted to the mass of the table and its entire surface sends them out into the air. The ticking of the watch can then be heard distinctly in almost any part of a large room. Mallet states that in nearly all great earthquakes sounds are heard before the principal shock, and in his description of the Calabrian earthquake Hamilton says: "All agreed that every shock seemed to come with a rumbling noise from the westward, beginning with the horizontal and ending with the vorticose (rotary) motion." According to Dolomieu, during the Lisbon earthquake, the shocks were preceded "by a loud subterranean noise like thunder, which was renewed for every shock.... This great shock," he says, referring to one of the great upward shocks, "occurred without the prelude of any slight shocks, without any notice whatever as suddenly as the blowing up of a mine.... Some, however, pretend that a muffled interior noise was heard almost at the same moment." The noises do not generally continue long after the earthquake shocks. In some cases, however, a very loud noise is heard at intervals for a considerable length of time after the principal shock. This was the case at Quito and Ibarra, in which a great noise was heard for from eighteen to twenty minutes after the principal shock. In a similar manner during the earthquake of October, 1746, at Lima, and Callao, South America, peals of underground thunder were heard at Truxillo for fifteen minutes after the principal shock. In such cases it seems probable that the noises were not caused by the same impulses that caused the original shock, but by the forces that caused the subsequent shock. Humboldt relates that in 1784 there were noises heard at Guanajuato, from the 9th to the 12th of February. They were not, however, followed by an earthquake. Humboldt also states that in an earthquake which occurred on the 30th of April, 1812, on the banks of the Orinoco River, in South America, a loud thundering noise was heard, without, however, any shock, but at this time a volcano on the island of St. Vincent, in the Lesser Antilles, although some 632 miles to the northeast, was pouring out streams of lava. Again in the great eruption of Cotopaxi, in 1734, underground noises were heard as if cannon were being fired. These sounds were distinctly heard at as great a distance as Honda on the banks of the Magdalena River. Now, bearing in mind that the crater of Cotopaxi is situated on the high plateau of Quito, in a region full of valleys and fissures, it would seem that for the sounds to have been sent through the 436 miles between the mountains and the valley of the Magdalena River, the waves must, for the greater part, have been transmitted through the solid earth at some considerable distance below the surface. Mallet states that the underground noises which continued for more than a month from the midnight of January 9th, 1784, at Guanajuato, were not followed by any earthquake shocks, that it was if as thunder clouds occupied the space below the surface at that part of the earth and from these clouds there came the slow rolling sounds like short, quick, snaps of thunder. Major Dutton in his book entitled "Earthquakes in the Light of the New Seismology" gives the following as the principal signs that herald the coming earthquake in the open country. "The first sensation is the sound. It is wholly unlike anything we have ever heard before, unless we have already had a similar experience. It is a strange murmur. Some liken it to the sighing of pine-trees in the wind, or to falling rain; others to the distant roar of the surf; others to the far-off rumble of the railway train; others to distant thunder. It grows louder. The earth begins to quiver, then to shake rudely. Soon the ground begins to heave. Then it is actually seen to be traversed by visible waves somewhat likes waves at sea, but of less height and moving much more swiftly. The sound becomes a roar. It is difficult to stand, and at length it becomes impossible to do so. The victim flings himself to the ground to avoid being dashed to it, or he clings to a convenient sapling, or fence-post, to avoid being overthrown. The trees are seen to sway sometimes through large arcs, and are said, doubtless with exaggeration, to touch the ground with their branches, first on one side, then on the other. As the waves rush past, the ground on the crests opens in cracks which close again in the troughs. As they close, the squeezed-out air blows forth sand and gravel, and sometimes sand and water are spurted high in air. The roar becomes appalling. Through its din are heard loud, deep, solemn booms that seem like the voice of the Eternal One, speaking out of the depths of the universe. Suddenly this storm subsides, the earth comes speedily to rest and all is over." There are many other curious phenomena besides earthquake sounds or noises. Among some of the more interesting are the fire and smoke that are seen to come out of fissures that have been rent in the ground. It is possible that in many cases these flashes of fire are in reality produced by electric discharges that momentarily light the clouds of dust thrown up out of the fissure. But sometimes true flames are seen escaping from the fissures. This was the case during the earthquake of Lisbon, in 1755, when fire burst through fissures at several places, burning with a lambent flame for some hours. The clouds of dust that follow the rending of mountain masses by earthquakes are probably to be traced to the fracture of the rock masses, the dust so formed being violently thrown forth by the air squeezed out of the fissures, when they are suddenly closed. The violent compression of this air may raise this dust to incandescence. Mallet asserts that in many cases the clouds of smoke observed do not consist of true smoke like that produced when wood or vegetable matters are incompletely burned, but is only ordinary air mixed with sulphurous acid gas, and various other gases. But not only fire and smoke are seen at times coming out of fissures in the earth. A thing still more frequently thrown out is water, which often spouts forth along with great quantities of mud, sand, and the finely ground fragments of earthy materials generally. Among many other instances where the emission of water from the crevices was particularly noticeable, may be mentioned the earthquakes at Jamaica in 1687 and 1692. Here the water, in some places, was thrown out of the ground to considerable heights in the air. Mallet calls attention to the fact that the waters of springs collect in reservoirs consisting either of fissures or crevices of the rocks, of small width but great depth, which are vertical or inclined to the horizon, or in reservoirs that are formed of extended beds of sand or gravel. Now, when the earthquake waves moving horizontally over the surface produce movements that squeeze these fissures together, the water in the fissures is spurted out in high jets, and carries with it the finely divided rock or sand formed by the rubbing together of the rock surfaces. In the case of the reservoirs consisting of beds of sand or gravel, lying between impervious layers, if, during an earthquake motion, the land areas are suddenly lowered, the water rushing into the cavity thus left will afterwards be shot out with considerable force, when the land is suddenly raised again. Where there are no direct openings in the ground the water will burst through the crust in the shape of great vertical jets, thus forming a circular hole, broken or fractured at its edges. Water jets of this character were especially numerous during the earthquake of Calabria in 1783. In a swampy plain, known as Rosarno, many of these circular wells or openings about the size of an ordinary carriage wheel, though in some cases much larger, were to be seen crowded together. The appearance of the openings are represented in Fig. 40. Some of these were filled with water, but the greater number were dry and filled with loose sand. These latter, when examined by digging, were shown to be funnel-shaped, as seen in Fig. 41. As seen, the margins of the wells exhibit a series of cracks or crevices extending radially outward from the centre. Their origin is evident. As the water was violently expelled by the squeezing motion of the upper and lower impervious strata, it shot upwards, thus producing the funnel-shaped tube. At the same time the force of the eruption was sufficiently great to produce the radial fissures or fractures at the sides. [Illustration: FIG. 40. CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE] [Illustration: FIG. 41. SECTION OF CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE] But greater fissures than these have been formed by earthquakes, especially those of the class created by a slipping of the earth's strata. In the case of an earthquake on the South Island of New Zealand, in 1848, a fissure having an average width of eighteen inches could be clearly seen extending in a direction parallel to the mountain chain for a distance of sixty miles, and during a later earthquake in the same region, in 1855, a fracture was formed that could be clearly traced for a distance of nearly ninety miles. In some cases these fissures or fractured parts of the crust are left with one of their sides at a higher level than the opposite side. This was the case of the great Japanese earthquake of October 28th, 1891. There are three kinds of waves produced by earthquakes; namely, the earthquake waves proper through the earth; the sound waves in the air, and great forced waves in the sea. The sound waves of course reach the air from the point of origin below the earth's surface through the solid materials of the crust, and take on the curious varieties already described in connection with the sounds accompanying earthquakes. We have already briefly described the manner in which the earthquake waves travel through the materials of the earth's crust. There remain to be discussed the great waves that are rolled up in the ocean during an earthquake shock. These waves are, perhaps, among the most destructive phenomena of great earthquakes. The following are only some of the more remarkable of such waves, and have been taken from Mallet's collection of earthquake data. During some of the great earthquakes on the coasts of Chile and Peru, huge waves from the ocean did great damage when they reached the land. In the earthquake of 1590, ocean waves rushed for several leagues inland over the coast of Chile, carrying with them ships that were left high and dry as the wave receded. In the earthquake of 1687, Callao was inundated by a great wave from the Pacific Ocean, and ships were carried a full league into the country. During the earthquake of 1746, Callao was again swept away by a huge ocean wave. At later times earthquake waves have caused great damage to several other parts of the coast of South America. Ocean waves of this character are formed by successive upward and downward movements at the bottom of the ocean, following each other at very brief intervals. Le Conte points out that the sudden upheaval of the bed of the ocean forms a huge mound in the surface of the water which results in a large wave that spreads rapidly in all directions. Waves produced in this manner sometimes reach a height of fifty to sixty feet. They are not readily observed in the deep ocean, but as soon as they reach the shallow waters near the shore they rush forward, forming waves from fifty to sixty feet in height and, rushing over the land, sweep everything before them. During the great Lisbon earthquake of 1755 a huge wave started at a point fifty miles off the coast of Portugal. Half an hour after the earthquake was over several waves, the largest of which was sixty feet in height, rushed over a part of the city and greatly increased the ruin already wrought by the earthquake. According to Le Conte the great waves so formed moved in all directions across the Atlantic Ocean. They were thirty feet high when they reached Cadiz, eighteen feet in height at Madeira, and five feet on the coast of Ireland. They even crossed the Atlantic, being observed on the coasts of the West Indies. A great ocean wave accompanied the Japanese earthquake in 1854. As in the case of the Lisbon earthquake this wave started in the bed of the ocean off the coast of Japan and only reached the island half an hour afterwards. It was thirty feet in height, and completely swept away the town of Simoda. Owing to water's greater freedom of motion earthquake waves travel greater distances through the water than they do on land. Of course, great earthquake shocks as a rule cause a very large loss of life. The following figures from Mallet give some idea of the extent of this loss, which is generally a matter of a few moments. In the Lisbon earthquake, where the worst shock lasted a few seconds, 60,000 people were killed. During other earthquakes the losses have been as follows: 10,000 at Morocco; 40,000 in Calabria; 50,000 in Syria, and probably 120,000 in earthquakes that occurred in Syria in A. D. 19 and in A. D. 526. But even these figures give only a meagre idea of the vast loss of life that has occurred during the past. It is said that during the reign of Justinian, earthquakes repeatedly shook the whole Roman world. The city of Constantinople was visited by earthquake shocks that continued at intervals for forty days. Deep chasms were opened in the earth and huge masses were thrown into the air. Enormous sea-waves were formed. At Antioch, during the earthquake of May 20th, A. D. 526, 250,000 people are believed to have been killed. On the 31st of July, A. D. 365, in the second year of Valentinian, a dreadful earthquake shook the Roman world, and a great wave rolled in from the Mediterranean and swept two miles inland, carrying ships over the tops of houses. During this earthquake 50,000 people lost their lives at Alexandria. In the earthquake of Messina in 1692, 74,000 people are said to have been killed; and, according to other accounts, 100,000. In the year A. D. 602, another earthquake at Antioch killed 60,000 people. During the earthquake of Quito, in 1797, Humboldt estimates that 40,000 natives were either buried in crevices in the earth, under the ruins of buildings, or were drowned in lakes and ponds that were temporarily formed. In this connection Mallet writes as follows: "Such are the numbers to be met with in narratives, and if we suppose that there occurs one great earthquake in three years over the whole earth and that this involves the entombment of only 10,000 human beings, and that such has been the economy of our system for the last 4,000 years, we shall have a number representing above 13,000,000 men thus suddenly swallowed up, with countless bodies of animals of every lower class. Sir Charles Lyell then with good reason suggests that even in our own time we may yet find the remains of men and of their habitations and implements thus buried deep and embalmed, as it were, by earthquakes that occurred in the days of Moses and the Ptolemies." Necessarily the progress of a great earthquake wave will produce great changes in the earth's surface features; for example, landslides, where immense layers of clay or other material slip or slide to a lower level and are thrown across the course of a river, causing its waters to be dammed up and then by spreading to form great lakes. Sometimes, after vast bodies of water have been collected in this manner, disastrous floods result later from a sudden giving way of the barrier, and the loss thus caused is occasionally far greater than that directly due to the earthquake. Permanent changes of level are frequently caused by earthquakes, as, for example, the coast of Chile during the earthquake of November 19th, 1822, where the coast for many miles was raised from three to four feet above its former plane. In other cases the level of the ground is permanently lowered. This occurred in the Bengal earthquake in 1762, when an area of some sixty square miles suddenly sank, leaving only the tops of the higher points above water. In some cases of changes in the level of the ground, large areas being raised in one place and lowered in another, rivers take new courses, and their old courses are completely obliterated. CHAPTER XXV THE EARTHQUAKE OF CALABRIA IN 1783 All students of elementary geography are quick to notice that the extreme southeastern part of Italy is shaped something like a boot, which appears to be kicking at the island of Sicily. This part of the Mediterranean Sea has for very many years been the arena or storm centre of more or less intense volcanic activity. To the northwest is the active volcano of Vesuvius, as well as the volcanic regions of the Phlegræan Fields. Immediately opposite the point of Italy, near the toe of the foot, is the active volcanic mountain, Etna, while not far from this point is the volcano of Stromboli. In 1783 this part of the world was visited by a very severe earthquake. Since at that time the country was divided into two parts, known as Upper Calabria and Lower Calabria, this earthquake is sometimes spoken of as the earthquake of the Calabrias, or more simply as the Calabrian earthquake. The great mountain range of the Apennines, mainly of granite formation, extends through the central part of Italy. The lands adjoining the mountains on each side are flat and marshy, and consequently unhealthy. Numerous observers have compiled excellent accounts of the Calabrian earthquake. These, having been made by educated persons, are, to a large extent free from the inconsistencies and exaggerations apt to characterize descriptions by ignorant persons, especially when in a condition of excitement or alarm. Among reliable writers was Sir William Hamilton, who made a personal examination of the region, soon after the first severe shock, and collected much valuable information for a paper which was afterwards published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. Then, too, Dolomieu, another scientific man of high ability, made a careful study of the effects produced by the earthquake. [Illustration: FIG. 42. MAP OF THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783] As can be seen by an examination of the map presented in Fig. 42, the part of Italy included in the Calabrias covers an area from north to south almost equal to two degrees of latitude. Although the shock extended beyond the limits of Calabria, since it reached as far north as Naples, as well as over a great part of the Island of Sicily, the territory in which the greatest damage was done did not exceed in area about 500 square miles. The southern part of Italy is subject to frequent earthquake shocks. Pignatari, an Italian physician, asserts that this region was visited during 1783 by no less than 949 earthquakes, of which 501 were of the first class, or degree of intensity, while in 1784, there were 151 earthquakes, of which ninety-eight were of the first class. It seems that the city of Oppido, marked on the above map as midway between the two coasts, was the point from which the severe earthquake of 1783 started. If one draws a circle, with a radius of twenty-two miles, around Oppido as a centre, the portions of the Calabrias that were the most affected will all lie within this circle. The great Calabrian earthquake was attended by numerous shocks. The first and the most severe shock, that of February 5th, 1783, was only two minutes in destroying most of the houses in all cities, towns, and villages on the western side of the Apennines in this part of Italy. Another severe shock occurred on the 28th of March. This shock was almost as severe as that of February 5th. In order to understand many of the effects produced by this earthquake, inquiry must be made into the geological character of the region. According to Dolomieu, the flat country at the slopes of the Apennines, known as the Plain of Calabria, is covered with sand and clay mixed with sea shells. These strata have been deposited by the sea from materials that have been obtained by the decomposition of the granite mountain ranges in the Apennines. The plain is quite level except where it is crossed by deep valleys or ravines, which have been eroded or cut by the swift mountain torrents. In many cases, these ravines or valleys have depths as great as 600 feet. Their sides are generally almost perpendicular. Consequently, as Lyell remarks, throughout the length of the mountain chain, the soil, which adheres but loosely to the granite base of the mountain chain, could therefore be easily separated from the mountain, and sliding over the solid steeps of the mountain could readily move, especially through the ravines or gorges, to distances in some cases as great as from nine to ten miles. This peculiarity of the country must be thoroughly understood, since, otherwise, it would seem impossible that lands could be carried several miles from their former position, and often bear along with them almost undisturbed houses, olive groves, vineyards, and cultivated fields. The heaving of the surface of the earth like the waters of the sea, so common in severe earthquakes, occurred during the Calabrian earthquake. In some places this heaving so shook the trees that they bent until their tops touched the ground near their base. Parts of the ground were violently thrown upwards into the air as in the explosive type of earthquakes. In many instances the large paving stones were thrown into the air and afterwards found with their lower portions upwards. During the earthquake deep fissures were made in the earth at various localities and there were, moreover, marked changes of level. At Messina in Sicily the shore was fissured and rent and while before the convulsion the surface had been level, it was afterwards found to be inclined toward the sea. According to Dolomieu the following curious incident occurred during the passage of the earthquake waves. A well in the ground of one of the convents of the Augustines, lined on the inside with stones, was so affected by the upward thrust given to the land that its stone lining was left projecting above the level of the earth in the form of a small tower some eight or nine feet in height. Frequent instances occurred of deep fissures in the surface of the earth. Many of these remained open after the earthquake, although in other cases they were firmly closed together before the earthquake shocks ceased. [Illustration: FIG. 43. FISSURES CAUSED BY THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE] Fig. 43 represents the appearance of certain fissures in a part of Calabria during this earthquake. These cracks, it will be noticed, radiate or pass outward in all directions from a central point, just like the cracks that are formed in a glass window pane when it is fractured by a stone thrown against it. Of course, the most violent effects were near the origin of the earthquake at Oppido. Here the formation of deep fissures was common. In another part of the country a number of buildings were suddenly swallowed up in a central chasm, which almost immediately closed, thus permanently burying all these objects. Some idea of the force with which the fissures were afterwards closed can be formed by reflecting on a case where, in order to recover some of the buried articles, the ground was dug up at these points, and it was found that the materials, human bodies and other objects, were so jammed together as to make one compact mass. To Sir William Hamilton a place was shown where the fissures, though, when he saw them, they were not more than a foot in width, had opened sufficiently wide during the shock to swallow up a hundred goats as well as an ox. An earthquake that caused such marked changes in the appearance of the earth's surface, naturally made great changes in the direction of the rivers. In one case the end of a small valley was so completely filled with stones and dirt that the water was dammed up, producing a lake two miles in length and one mile in breadth. In a similar manner no less than 215 lakes were formed in different portions of Calabria. Of course, in the flat country at the base of the Apennines, frequent landslides occurred, the land sliding into great chasms and continuing to move down them for considerable distances, so that in many places pieces of land containing olive trees, vineyards, and green fields, were bodily transported for distances of several miles. This, moreover, was done so quietly as to leave the houses entirely uninjured, and the trees and other vegetation continuing to grow up with apparently no marked decrease in vitality. As is usual in such cases, the sudden and strong blows acting on the waters of the sea, killed great numbers of fish just as does the explosion of dynamite at a point below the surface of the water; and in a similar way the fish that usually live at the bottom of the sea in the soft mud, being disturbed by the earthquake shocks, came near the surface where they were caught in vast numbers. It is an interesting fact that during this earthquake the volcano of Stromboli showed a marked decrease in the volume of smoke it gave out. Etna, however, was observed to emit large quantities of vapor during the convulsion. Lyell tells the following story of the Prince of Scilla, who with many of his vassals sought safety in their fishing boats. Suddenly, on the night of February 5th, while some of the people were sleeping in the boat, and others were resting on a low plain near the sea, in the neighborhood, another shock occurred, a great mass was torn from a neighboring mountain and hurled with a crash on the plain, and immediately afterwards a wave, twenty feet or more in height, rolled over the level plain, sweeping away the people. It then retreated, but soon rushed back again, bringing with it many of the bodies of the people who had perished. At the same time all the boats were either sunk or dashed against the beach, and the Prince with 1,430 of his people was destroyed. The total number of deaths caused by this earthquake in the Calabrias and Sicily were estimated by Hamilton at 40,000. Besides these about 20,000 more perished in epidemics that followed the earthquake, or died for lack of proper food. CHAPTER XXVI THE GREAT LISBON EARTHQUAKE OF 1755 Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, on the Tagus River, is built along both banks for five miles, and on several small neighboring hills. It is supplied with water by means of an aqueduct, called the Alcantara, which brings the water from springs about nine miles to the northwest. For portions of its length the aqueduct is placed underground, but where it crosses the deep valley of the Alcantara it is supported, for a distance of 2,400 feet, by a number of marble arches, which in one place are 260 feet in height. This fact is put forward not merely for the sake of its artistic interest, but because, strange to relate, this part of the aqueduct remained uninjured during that great earthquake, the greatest of modern times. On the 1st of November, 1755, this frightful catastrophe, according to Lyell, from whose excellent account much of the information contained in this chapter has been obtained, struck the beautiful city almost without any warning. Terrible sounds came suddenly from underground; almost instantly afterward a violent shock threw down the greater portion of the city; in less than six minutes 60,000 people were killed. The place from which this earthquake started must have been situated on the bed of the ocean at some distance from the coast; for the great wave thus raised in the Atlantic Ocean did not reach the mouth of the Tagus River until about half an hour after the most severe shocks were over. The arrival of this wave at the mouth of the Tagus was announced by the sea retiring to such an extent as to leave the bar dry. Then a huge wave, sixty feet in height, rolled in from the ocean and completed the work of destruction that had been commenced by the earthquake. So great was the shock that the mountains in the neighborhood were violently shaken and some of them split or fractured in a most wonderful manner. Particularly large was the loss of life in the churches whither hundreds hastened for refuge when the shakings of the earth began, for most of these buildings fell and buried the worshippers. Another immense loss of life was caused by the destruction of a large marble quay or wharf that was suddenly swallowed up by the sea. While the buildings in the city were being overthrown by the violent shakings of the earth, a multitude sought the quay as a flat place where they could not be injured by the falling buildings. Suddenly, however, this structure sank into the water and not only were all the people drowned, but none of the bodies was ever afterwards found. Failure to find any remnants of the pier or any of the people who perished on it has been attributed to the formation of eddies or whirls that were sufficiently strong to carry down vessels by suction similar to that of the famous maelstrom off the coast of Norway. Of course, in a time of boundless excitement like that of the Lisbon earthquake, accounts are apt to be highly exaggerated. For example, assertions are made in many books that the water left in the harbor after the sinking of the quay was unfathomable. Now, in point of fact, the depth of this place has been measured and found to be less than 100 fathoms. When it is remembered that not one of the bodies of the people on that quay was ever again seen, it is possible, as Lyell suggests, that a deep fissure or chasm opened immediately on the ground on which the quay stood, so that it, together with all on it, were dropped into the chasm, which, closing, buried them deep in the earth. The Lisbon earthquake was especially noted for the extent of country affected by it. Humboldt estimated this area as being more than four times the size of Europe. In parts of this area immense mountain ranges, such as the Pyrenees, Alps, etc., were violently shaken. When the size of these mountains is considered one realizes that it must have required a mighty force to shake them. These shakings were so severe that they produced a deep fissure in the ground in France. Continuing towards the north the solid earth was shaken as far as the shores of the Baltic and Norway and Sweden, generally. This, of course, included the flat country of Northern Germany. The hot springs of Toplitz disappeared for a time, but, breaking out afterwards, discharged such quantities of muddy water that the surrounding country was inundated. The waves crossed the Atlantic, causing high tides on the island of Antigua, Barbadoes, and Martinique, of the Lesser Antilles, where, instead of the usual tides of two feet, tides of twenty feet high were observed. Further to the north the waves reached the eastern shores of North America, and shook the continent as far west as the Great Lakes, and spread in the North Atlantic as far as Iceland. Toward the south the waves affected parts of northwestern Africa, where much loss of life occurred in the villages some eight leagues distant from the city of Morocco. Here from 8,000 to 10,000 people were killed, being swallowed up by deep fissures in the earth, which afterwards closed on their bodies. Severe shocks were in many cases felt on vessels at sea. In one instance, although the vessels were at considerable distances from where the waves started, the captains reported that the shocks were so great that on several occasions it was believed the vessel had struck a rock, till, on heaving the lead, they found that they were in very deep water. In another instance, such was the shock to the vessel that the planks on the deck had their seams opened. In still another case several of the sailors were thrown into the air for a distance of about one and a half feet. It has been frequently observed that when great earthquakes happen, curious changes take place in the level of the waters of lakes entirely disconnected with the ocean; for example, mountain lakes, far above the level of the sea, the water suddenly rising and then resuming its original level. Sometimes the waters of such lakes have suddenly disappeared, probably being drained off through a fissure formed in the bed of the lake. In such event the lake generally remains dry after the passage of the earthquake. At the time of the Lisbon earthquake it was observed that the water of Loch Lomond in Scotland first rose above its ordinary, then sank again to its usual level. This difference of level is explained by Lyell as follows: when the earthquake waves reached the lake, the water being unable to take the sudden shove given to it by the earthquake waves, dashed over that side of the basin which first received the shock. Assuming this to be the case, since the rise of the level in the water of Loch Lomond was two feet and four inches, it is comparatively easy to calculate the speed of movement that the earthquake waves had, when they reached this body of water. Calculated in this way it would seem that the waves had a speed of about twenty miles a minute. But what especially characterized the Lisbon earthquake were the great waves that were produced in the ocean. Besides the huge wave that entered the Tagus, a wave of the same height swept eastward along the southern coast of Spain, and the northwestern coast of Africa. At Tangier in Africa it swept the coast as a very high wave no less than eighteen times, or, in other words, eighteen huge waves rolled in from the ocean. At Funchal, on the Madeira Islands, this wave rose fifteen feet above the high water mark. Many attempts have been made to explain the manner in which the great sea waves are started in earthquake movements. Some believe that they are due to the sudden raising or heaving up of the water, far above ordinary level. But, as Lyell points out, this explanation would not be satisfactory for the waves produced in the case of the Lisbon earthquake, since it would fail to account for the fact that both on the coasts of Portugal as well as on the island of Madeira the high wave was preceded by a movement of the water toward the point of origin; that is, the waters moved away from Lisbon and the Madeira Islands, so as to leave the water very low at those points, when shortly afterwards a huge wave rushed in from the sea and swept over the land. Earthquake waves move much more rapidly through the solid rocks of the earth's crust than through the waters of the ocean. The shock transmitted through the solid earth from Lisbon to the Madeira Islands took only twenty-five minutes to reach the islands, while the waves in the ocean took about two and a half hours to cover the same distance. CHAPTER XXVII THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH, INDIA, IN 1819 Cutch is one of the Provinces of India lying on the western coast of Hindostan, east of the delta of the Indus River. A great earthquake occurred in this region on June 16th, 1819. As indicated by the map presented in Fig. 44, by Lyell, the district of Cutch lies on the coast of the Arabian Sea. Cutch is at times a peninsula, being washed on the south and east by the Arabian Sea and the Gulf of Cutch, and on the north by a depression known as the Runn of Cutch which, during unusual tides, is overflowed by the waters of the sea, but for the rest of the year is dry. The earthquake of Cutch was apparently central at the town of Bhooj, where the destruction was extreme, hardly a house being left standing. The shock extended over a radius of about 1,000 miles from Bhooj, reaching to Khatmandoo, Calcutta, and Pondicherry. At Anjar the fort, together with its tower and guns, were completely ruined. The shocks continued at intervals after the principal shock until June 20th, when the volcano of Denodur is said by some to have emitted flames, although this is denied by others. Great changes were produced in the eastern channel of the Indus, which forms the western boundary of the Province of Cutch. The water in this inlet had become so low that it was readily fordable at low tide at Luckput, and was only covered with six feet of water at high tide. After the earthquake it deepened at the port of Luckput to over eighteen feet at low tide, while in other parts of the channel the water had deepened from four to ten feet at high tide, where before the earthquake shock it had never been deeper than from one to two feet. Indeed, after these changes the inland navigation of the country again became possible after having been closed for many centuries. [Illustration: FIG. 44. MAP SHOWING DISTRICT VISITED BY THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH OF 1819] The Cutch earthquake resulted in a marked depression of the country, especially north of Luckput, where the fort and village of Sindree were so quietly sunk that the fort, with its tower and walls, was left projecting slightly above a body of water that not only completely covered the old site but also formed a large lake marked on the preceding map, at Sindree, by the dark shading. It was this change of level that deepened the eastern channel of the Indus, just mentioned. [Illustration: FIG 45.. SINDREE BEFORE THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819] Fig. 45, from Lyell, gives an idea of the appearance of the fort at Sindree before the earthquake. The appearance of the fort after its submergence is represented in Fig. 46, where, as will be noticed, only the top of the tower and the walls remain above the surface of the water. That the masonry was not affected either by the earthquake, or by the inrush of waters, is evident from the fact that the ruins were still standing in March, 1838, as represented in the figure. In heavy shading on the map in Fig. 44 is a large area lying in the northern part of the province known as the Runn of Cutch. This is a flat region of about 7,000 square miles. It owes its level surface to its being the deserted or dried-up bed of a sea. For the greater part of the year its bottom is dry and hard, and is covered with a crust of salt half an inch or so in thickness. [Illustration: FIG. 46. SINDREE AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819] According to Lyell, from whom most of the facts concerning this earthquake have been obtained, the Runn of Cutch is connected with a vast inland sea, not only by the water driven into it through the Gulf of Cutch, but also through the eastern channel of the Indus at Luckput. These changes occur especially during the monsoon, when the seas are high, and especially after the heavy rains that come with these winds, when the wet condition of the soil permits the sea water to spread rapidly. Traditions of the natives tend to confirm belief that Cutch a long time ago was a true peninsula, and that the Runn of Cutch was then an arm of the sea. That a change of this character did occur in the Runn of Cutch seems to be proved by the ruins of old towns now far inland that are said to have been ancient seaports, and as apparent evidences of this many pieces of wrought iron and ships' nails have been found in parts of the Runn. At the same time that the sinking of the land around the fort and village of Sindree took place a considerable elevation occurred in the neighborhood. Immediately after the earthquake, the people in Sindree saw that a low hill or mound had been thrown up in a place that before had been a low and perfectly level plain. They named this elevation the Ullah Bund, or _the Mound of God_, in order to distinguish it from several embankments that had been built directly across the eastern mouth of the Indus; for the Ullah Bund had been raised by the earthquake across the same branch of the Indus. For several years after the earthquake of 1819 marked changes kept developing in the channels of the Indus. During 1826 a large body of water entered into the eastern branch of the Indus above the Ullah Bund and finally forced its way through the mound, thus establishing a direct course to the sea. The Ullah Bund, being thus cut in two, an opportunity was afforded of seeing the materials of which it was composed. These were found to consist principally of clay filled with shells. The opening of the river resulted in throwing such large quantities of fresh water into Lake Sindree that its waters were rendered fresh for several months, but at last regained their saltiness. Dana states that in 1845 another earthquake occurred in this district which converted Sindree Lake into a salt marsh. CHAPTER XXVIII THE SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE OF APRIL 18, 1906 About twelve minutes past five o'clock on the morning of the 18th of April, 1906, the inhabitants of San Francisco were rudely awakened by a few frightful earthquake shocks. Their houses were violently shaken to and fro, and on all sides were heard the awful crashings of falling walls, chimneys, and buildings, together with the death-shrieks of those caught in the ruins. Rushing madly into the streets they could see on every side evidences of destruction; for, in almost every direction, were heaps of fallen buildings, still being violently shaken by the earthquake waves that rapidly passed through the solid earth. Huge cracks or crevices had been formed in the streets, while the heavy rails of the trolley tracks had been bent and twisted by the mighty forces. Before describing in detail the great San Francisco earthquake, the location of the city and its surroundings demand consideration. As can be seen from the map, Fig. 47, San Francisco is situated on the western coast of California, at the northern end of a peninsula, some twenty miles in length and about six miles in width. This peninsula is formed by the magnificent Bay of San Francisco on the east, a navigable strait called the Golden Gate on the north, and the Pacific Ocean on the west. [Illustration: FIG. 47. MAP OF WESTERN COAST OF CALIFORNIA SHOWING POSITION OF SAN FRANCISCO] San Francisco Bay, accessible by the Golden Gate, is the principal harbor on the Pacific Coast, and is, indeed, one of the most magnificent harbors in the world. It is land-locked, that is, surrounded by a continuous land border except at its entrance through the Golden Gate. Including San Pablo Bay, it has a length of about fifty-five miles, and varies in breadth from three to twelve miles. The entrance to the harbor, however, is impeded by a bar across the mouth of the Golden Gate, over which there is a depth of but thirty feet of water at low tide. San Francisco has over 750 miles of streets, 200 miles of which are paved. The city is lighted by both electricity and gas, and has an extensive system of water-works, the water being brought from the Pilarcitos and Calaveras Creeks, situated from twenty to forty miles respectively from the city. San Francisco is in a region where earthquakes are common. It might, therefore, be visited at any time by a great catastrophe. There have occurred between 1850 and 1888, no less than 254 earthquake shocks in the State of California, these shocks having been especially frequent in the country surrounding San Francisco Bay. The most severe were the earthquake of 1868, which injured San Francisco; the Owens Valley earthquake of 1872; the Vacaville earthquake of 1892; the Mare Island earthquake of 1898; and a smaller earthquake in 1900. Since 1900 there was a period of rest until the 18th of April, 1906. As in the case of practically all severe earthquakes, that which destroyed San Francisco consisted of a few momentary shocks: then all was over. According to a preliminary report of the State Earthquake Commission, appointed by the Governor of California, April 21st, 1906, these shocks, as recorded in the observatory at Berkeley, began at twelve minutes and six seconds after five A. M., Pacific Standard Time. Their entire duration was only one minute and fifty seconds, but, as frequently happens, there were a number of minor shocks, following at regular intervals during the next few hours as well as the next few days. While the most severe shocks were in the neighborhood of the Peninsula of San Francisco, yet minor disturbances were felt as far north as Coos Bay, Oregon, and as far south as Los Angeles, California. As shown by recording instruments at the seismograph station at Washington, D. C., Sitka, Alaska; Potsdam, Germany; and Tokio, Japan, a series of waves were propagated through the earth, as well as over its periphery. The damage done within the city limits was wide-reaching. Among the buildings almost completely destroyed were the City Hall, on which about $7,000,000 had been expended, the United States Post Office, besides many business blocks, hotels, department stores, theatres, banks, churches, and dwelling houses. Amid the terrors of such a calamity it is difficult to obtain observations possessing any scientific value. Fortunately, however, there was in the city a physicist trained to observe phenomena of this character, Professor George Davidson of the University of California. Like others, he had been awakened by the first severe shock. At once recognizing the nature of the phenomenon, and desirous of obtaining the exact time of its occurrence, he counted seconds while he ran towards the table on which he had placed his watch, and in this way estimated that the shock occurred at twelve minutes past five in the morning. The closeness of this observation is emphasized by the fact that it differed from the recorded time by only six seconds. He states that the motion, at the time of its greatest intensity, closely resembled that of a rat vigorously shaken by a terrier. The destruction caused by the earthquake was, however, but a small part of the total loss to the city. Fires were almost immediately started in the ruined houses by the fires in the kitchens and other parts of the houses, by the ignited jets of the illuminating gas, and, perhaps, especially, by the crossing of numerous electric light wires. The manner in which the woodwork and other combustible materials of the buildings were loosely tossed together by the shocks helped the quick spread of the fires, and this, too, was probably greatly aided by the illuminating gas from the broken gas pipes and mains. Eight severe conflagrations were, therefore, soon raging in different parts of the doomed city. What made these fires especially dangerous was the fact that the earthquake shocks had destroyed the water pipes. Thus the firemen were handicapped in their heroic endeavors to extinguish the flames. At the time of the fire a strong wind was blowing from the northeast. Since the firemen were unable to check the flames, the fire line rapidly advanced. Its path led towards the best residential parts of the city through portions of the mission section containing a dense population of poor people. The dwellings in this latter section consisted of frame houses, through which the flames rapidly spread. There was but one way to save the city from total destruction--a free use of dynamite! This was intelligently employed until the supply gave out, when it seemed that the city was doomed to utter destruction. But at the last moment, as it were, came a lucky change in the direction of the wind. Instead of blowing from the northeast, the steady southwest winds set in, and beat back the fire on itself, so by Friday, the 18th being Wednesday, it was under complete control and the rest of the city was saved. [Illustration: A SAN FRANCISCO PAVEMENT TORN BY THE EARTHQUAKE _From a Stereograph, Copyright, 1906, by Underwood & Underwood_] The extent of the fire is thus described in an article in the "Outlook," for Saturday, April 28th, 1906, as follows: "The turn in the direction of the fire endangered for a time the great Ferry House, at the foot of Market Street. While the section actually destroyed is not, geographically speaking, much more than one-third of the city limits, yet it is in the heart of San Francisco, and includes the chief business streets and the Mission District, inhabited by poor people, and a large part of the so-called Nob Hill Quarter, where were the finest and costliest residences of the city. Another fine residence section, Civic Heights, escaped, together with that known as the Western District. "The unburned district, though large in extent, was in the nature of suburbs, and was not closely built up, so that estimates made, as late as Saturday, declared that three-fourths of San Francisco's improvements in real estate had been destroyed." The burnt district was about two miles from east to west and from two to four miles from north to south, with, of course, very irregular outlines. Naturally, the great destruction wrought by the earthquake of April 18th, 1906, attracted the almost universal attention of scientific men especially interested in earthquake phenomena. We are, therefore, able to speak authoritatively about the probable causes. The great San Francisco earthquake of April 18th, 1906, appears to have been a _tectonic_ quake. Ransome, in an article entitled, "The Probable Cause of the San Francisco Earthquake," says: "The region thus amply fulfils the conditions under which tectonic earthquakes arise. It is in unstable equilibrium, and it is cut by long northwest faults into narrow blocks which are in turn traversed by many minor dislocations. Under the operation of the unknown forces of elevation and subsidence, stresses are set up which finally overcome the adhesion of the opposing walls of one or more of the fault fissures; an abrupt slip of a few inches, or a few feet, takes place and an earthquake results. The region extending for some hundreds of miles north and south of the Bay of San Francisco may be considered as particularly susceptible to shocks on account of the number and magnitude of the faults and the evidences that these furnish of very recent slippings and the marked subsidence in the vicinity of the Golden Gate." CHAPTER XXIX SOME OTHER NOTABLE EARTHQUAKES It would, of course, be impossible within the limits of this book to attempt a description of all the remarkable earthquakes in the annals of science; but before leaving this part of the theme a brief account of a few more among the many may be worth while. Jamaica, one of the West Indian Islands, about ninety miles south of Cuba, suffered a very destructive earthquake in 1692. During this earthquake the ground was agitated like the waves of the sea. These movements were so violent that numerous fissures were made in the ground, as many as 300 being formed at the same time, rapidly opening and closing. Many of the inhabitants were swallowed up in these fissures. In some cases, however, their bodies were afterward thrown out of the fissures, along with quantities of water. The Jamaican earthquake was characterized by marked sinkings of the ground. At the city of Port Royal, which was then the capital, many houses on the harbor side sank in from twenty-four to forty-eight feet of water. As in the case of the earthquake at Cutch, many of these houses were left standing, the chimney tops of some being seen above the water, with their foundations and other parts apparently uninjured, and some of them were standing at a date as late as 1780. At a little later date, 1793, they were mostly ruins. During the Jamaican quake a tract of land containing at least 1,000 acres near the town was sunk, and a wave of the sea rolled over it. This wave is said by Lyell to have carried a frigate over the roofs of the houses and left it stranded on one roof. When the wave rolled back to the sea, the weight of the frigate made it fall through the roof. Perhaps one of the most remarkable things about the Jamaican earthquake was the swallowing up of several plantations, which disappeared, together with all their inhabitants, their former place becoming a lake. But the lake soon disappeared, leaving a mass of sand and gravel which obliterated any least sign that dwellings and trees had once adorned the spot. The forces developed during this earthquake were sufficiently powerful to make several rents in the Blue Mountains, and the shock of blows on the waters of the sea killed fish by the hundred thousands so that the silver shine of their dead bodies stretched for miles and was beheld for days "on the face of the deep." Portions of the world that have been frequently visited by mighty earthquakes, are the coasts of Chile. On the 24th of May, 1751, a part of the Chilian coast near the ancient town of Concepcion, sometimes called Penco, was destroyed by an earthquake, and the powerful earthquake waves that afterwards rushed in from the sea. So complete was this destruction that the ancient harbor was rendered useless and the people had to build another town about ten miles from the coast, so as to be beyond the reach of earthquake waves from the sea. Another great earthquake occurred on the coast of Chile on the 19th of November, 1822. This shock was felt simultaneously over a distance of 1,200 miles from north to south. It reached its greatest intensity about 100 miles north of Valparaiso. This earthquake caused a rising of the coast to a height of from three to five feet. From careful examinations it appears that the area over which a permanent elevation of the country took place must have been equal to 100,000 square miles, an area equal to about half of the area of France, and five-sixths that of Great Britain and Ireland. "If we suppose," says Dana, "the elevation to have been only three feet on an average, it will be seen that the mass of rock added to the continent of America by the movement, or, in other words, the mass previously below the level of the sea, and after the shock, permanently above it, must have contained fifty-seven cubic miles in bulk; which would be sufficient to form a conical mountain two miles high (or about as high as Etna) with a circumference at the base of nearly thirty-three miles.... Assuming the Great Pyramid of Egypt, if solid, to weigh in accordance with the estimate before given 6,000,000 tons, we may state that the rock added to the continent by the Chilian earthquake would have equalled more than 100,000 pyramids. "But it must always be borne in mind that the weight of rock here alluded to constituted but an insignificant part of the whole amount which the volcanic forces had to overcome. The thickness of rock between the surface of Chile and the subterranean foci of volcanic action may be many miles or leagues deep. Say that the thickness was only two miles, even then the mass which changed place and rose three feet, being 200,000 cubic miles in volume, must have exceeded in weight 363,000,000 pyramids." The shocks of this earthquake continued from the time of its occurrence, on November 19th, 1822, to the end of September, 1823, and even then there were scarcely two days that passed without a shock. On the 20th of February, 1835, the same part of the world was in the throes of an earthquake that was felt nearly 1,000 miles from north to south, or from near the town of Concepcion to the Isle of Chiloe, and from east to west a distance of about 500 miles, from Mendoza to the island of Juan Fernandez, which you probably know better as Robinson Crusoe's Island. By this earthquake the new town of Concepcion and several other towns were partly destroyed. There were the same phenomena connected with great sea waves that are common in earthquakes of this character. Both this and the preceding earthquakes probably began on the bed of the ocean at some distance from the coast; for, in the last earthquake, the sea retired from the Bay of Concepcion and vessels were grounded that had been anchored in seven fathoms of water. Shortly afterwards waves from sixteen to twenty feet in height rushed in from the ocean and swept over the land. It is interesting in this connection to note that the volcanoes of the Chilian Andes were in an unusual state of activity before, during, and after the earthquake. Another characteristic of this quake was the great number of severe shocks. Between the day of the first great shock; i. e., on February 20th, 1835, and March 4th, there were more than 300 severe shocks. In this as in the preceding quake a notable elevation of the land near the coast occurred, amounting to from four to five feet, and a part of the bed of the ocean near the coast was raised permanently above the level of the sea. In the description of the explosive eruption of Krakatoa in 1883, the fact was noted that the island of Java is very frequently visited by earthquakes. Here a terribly severe earthquake occurred on the 5th of January, 1699. There were no less than 208 shocks of great intensity. Considerable property in the city of Batavia was destroyed, and a neighboring river, that has its head waters by a volcano near the city, ran high and muddy and brought down multitudes of fishes that had been killed, together with many buffaloes, tigers, rhinoceroses, deer, and other wild beasts. Seven hills bordering on the river sank down, damming up the streams of the region and thereby causing wide destruction from floods. During portions of the years 1811 and 1812 an earthquake occurred in the United States, in the Mississippi Valley near the town of New Madrid, Missouri, at the mouth of the Ohio River. These shocks continued almost incessantly for several months, and were accompanied by a sinking of the ground over large areas. This depressed area, known in the neighborhood as _The Sunk Country_, extended along the course of the White Water River and its tributaries for a distance of about eighty miles from north to south, and several miles from east to west. Most of it was converted into a marshy lake characterized by thousands of submerged trees. The area was covered for the greater part with water to a depth of about three to four feet. As the earthquake shocks continued at intervals for several months there was an ample opportunity for studying the peculiarities of the earth waves. The ground rose and fell like large waves in the sea, and after the crest of the waves had reached great heights, the ground burst, and threw large quantities of water, sand, and earth into the air. [Illustration: FIG. 48. NEW ZEALAND] Throughout the disturbed district there were numerous depressions known as _sink-holes_, or irregularly shaped pits, varying from ten to thirty yards across, and having a depth of about twenty feet. These were formed by the forcible ejection of large quantities of water mixed with sand. New Zealand has been subject to earthquake shocks for a long time, the years 1826, 1841, 1843, 1848, and 1855 being especially marked by such visitations. It is a characteristic of the New Zealand earthquakes that they have produced a marked change in the coast line. This was particularly the case with those of 1848 and 1855. The 23d of January, 1855, an earthquake occurred that was most violent in the narrowest part of Cook's Strait, a body of water separating the two principal islands that constitute New Zealand; or, as they are called, the North Island and the South Island. These shocks were felt at sea by ships 150 miles from the coast. The entire area shaken, including the water, has been estimated at three times the area of the British Isles. In the vicinity of the southern shores of the North Island a tract of land having an area of 4,600 square miles is believed to have been permanently raised from one to nine feet. The earthquakes in New Zealand are evidently of the tectonic type. During that of 1848 a rent or fissure was formed, which, though but eighteen inches in average width, yet extended for a distance of sixty miles in a direction parallel to one of the mountain chains. On the 31st of August, 1886, an earthquake of considerable intensity occurred in the United States in the neighborhood of the city of Charleston, South Carolina. The details of this earthquake were carefully studied by Major Dutton of the U. S. A., and published in the Ninth Annual Report of the United States Geological Survey of 1888. Charleston is situated on a narrow tongue of land between the Ashley and the Cooper Rivers, about seven miles from the Atlantic Ocean. There are in this area numerous creeks connected with the drainage of these rivers. As the city limits extended, the creeks were filled in, forming "made land," all buildings or structures erected on this land being supported by pilings. It appears that the point at which the earthquakes started was situated sixteen or seventeen miles from Charleston. The earthquake shock affected a large area of the United States. Fig. 49 shows curved lines called isoseismal connecting places, having the same degree of seismic intensity. This map shows that these isoseimals are marked by figures or numbers from two to ten. These numbers are the numbers of the Rossi-Forel earthquake scale. They indicate varying degrees of intensity, beginning from the least intense shock which is marked as two and ending with the severest shock marked as ten. There is one degree not marked on this map, the least, called the micro-seismic shock. The shocks then increase in intensity as follows: II. Extremely feeble shocks; III. Very feeble shocks; IV. Feeble shocks; V. Shocks of moderate intensity; VI. Fairly strong shocks; VII. Strong shocks; VIII. Very strong shocks; IX. Extremely strong shocks; X. Shocks of extreme intensity. The meaning of the map presented in the accompanying figure will now become more apparent in several ways. That portion numbered ten, denoting where shocks of greatest intensity have been experienced, clearly indicates the region just above the point where the earthquake originated. Beyond this is a region marked nine where the earthquake shock has decreased in intensity to the next figure on the Rossi-Forel scale, and then to eight and a half, seven, six, five, four, three, and two. [Illustration: FIG. 49. MAP SHOWING REGION AFFECTED BY THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE OF 1886] The Charleston earthquake damaged property to a considerable extent; for, although comparatively few buildings were completely destroyed, a considerable number were partially injured, and many, not thrown down by the shock, had to be torn down in order to insure public safety. The loss of life, fortunately, was comparatively small. During this earthquake a number of openings called _craterlets_ were made in the ground by the forcible ejection of large quantities of water and sand. The empire of Japan is another part of the world particularly subject to great as well as frequent earthquake shocks. Although Japan is also especially noted for its volcanic activity, its earthquakes are almost entirely of the tectonic type, or are due to the slipping of the land at faults in the earth's crust. Most of these quakes occur on the bed of the ocean on the sides of a steep slope that extends down to a very deep part of the Pacific known as the _Tuscarora Deep_. On the 28th of October, 1891, Japan was visited by a great quake, generally known as the Mino-Owaro earthquake, from the name of the two provinces of Mino and Owaro in which it occurred. This earthquake is correctly regarded as one of the most severe in Japanese records. Originating, as it did, in a densely populated section, it caused a great loss of life and property. The deaths reached about 7,000, while the number of houses entirely destroyed reached about 80,000 and those partly destroyed nearly 200,000. The total area markedly affected reached 250,000 square kilometres, while the area sensibly affected reached 900,000 square kilometres, or a little more than one-half the Empire. The place at which this earthquake started was situated, not as usual on the bed of the ocean, but on the surface of the land. The first shock was the strongest and wrought the greatest havoc. Besides the loss of life and property, the damage to the system of dikes or levees on the river where it passed through the delta plain near the river's mouth was heavy, and singular in some of its features. In one case, near the city of Nagoya, on the Bay near the southern coast of Niphon, one of these levees was lifted and shifted bodily more than sixty feet from its original position. That this quake was of the tectonic type was evident from the great fault that was formed. According to Davison this fault was seventy miles in length and in places had a breadth of from two to five feet. It extended from east to west, crossing the entire width of the island. Another great earthquake was that which hit northeastern Bengal and Assam in India on the 12th of June, 1897. According to the India Geological Survey, by whom a careful examination of the effects produced by this quake was made, it was, perhaps, the greatest quake that ever happened, not even excepting the Lisbon earthquake. The place where the quake started appears to have been of unusual size and irregularity of outline. Its southern boundary was almost in the shape of a straight line extending from east to west about 200 miles, and covering a total area of nearly 6,000 square miles. Over all this vast area the intensity of the shock was exceedingly severe. The total area perceptibly shaken by the quake was about equal to 1,750,000 square miles. That this quake was of the tectonic type became evident, when several faults were found in the ground afterwards. Some of these extended twelve miles, with a breadth at places as great as thirty feet. Valparaiso, or, as the name means, Vale of Paradise, the second largest city of Chile and its chief seaport, lies about ninety miles east of Santiago, the capital, with which it is connected by a railroad. This beautiful sea city is built at the base of a cluster of hills about 1,600 feet above sea level. On August 16th, 1906, it was visited by an earthquake. There were two distinct shocks. Contrary to general rule it was not the first, but the second shock that did the most damage, coming about ten minutes after the first. As you will see from the above date the earthquake of Valparaiso occurred shortly after the catastrophe of San Francisco. In a general way, its coming was predicted by Dr. G. F. Becker of the United States Geological Survey, on April 19th, 1906, one day after the San Francisco disaster. Becker published an article in the "New York Tribune," in which he argued that the severe shock at San Francisco, having occurred on one part of the earthquake region extending around the Pacific, would probably soon affect other portions of this region along the Pacific coast line of this hemisphere. As at San Francisco fierce fires immediately started in the ruins of the houses, but the Valparaisans were more fortunate in having a water supply available. There were very many shocks following the first two of this earthquake. Indeed, during August 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th, no less than 380 were noted. Santiago, situated at the foot of the Andes, was also considerably damaged by the same earthquake. Estimates, probably conservative, put the total of dead in both cities at 1,000 and the number of people rendered homeless temporarily, at 100,000. CHAPTER XXX SODOM AND GOMORRAH AND THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN The eastern border of the Mediterranean Sea or Syria, with that part of Arabia forming the Sinai Peninsula and which lies between the two northern arms of the Red Sea, is a region formerly characterized by extreme volcanic activity. This region includes the greater part of the land promised, according to the Old Testament, to the Children of Israel. Through a large part of this region flows that historic river, the Jordan, until it empties into the Dead Sea, also called the Salt Sea, the Sea of the Plain, and by some Lake Asphaltites because of asphalt or bitumen so abundant on its shores. This river has its source in the Mountains of Lebanon, some distance north of the Sea of Chinnerth, Tiberius, or the Sea of Galilee, which empties into the River Jordan. As the map in Fig. 50 shows, this famous, though small river, flows between ranges of high hills, or low mountains, that lie on both its eastern and western boundaries; and these parallel ranges extend down to the Gulf of Akaba, which forms the eastern boundary of the Sinai Peninsula. The Sea of Galilee, the valley of the Jordan and the country between the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Akaba, are all, for the most part, considerably below the level of the Mediterranean or the Red Sea; the Sea of Galilee being about 626 feet and the Dead Sea 1312 feet below that line. [Illustration: FIG. 50. SYRIA] That this country has been the scene of great volcanic activities is evident from the volcanic rocks found over different portions of its surface. Moreover, the remains of several craters are still visible. On the western banks of the Jordan numerous dikes and streaks of basalt occur in the limestone that covers parts of the region. Besides there are thermal springs whose waters are at a temperature, according to Daubeny, of 114° F. Then, too, in the neighborhood of the Dead Sea, as well as in the neighborhood of the adjoining mountain ranges, there are quantities of sulphur and asphaltum or bitumen, while on the Dead Sea asphaltum is found floating in sufficient quantity to be a source of considerable revenue to the boatmen who collect it. It was in this region that Sodom, Gomorrah, and other cities of the plain were situated; cities so wicked that God utterly destroyed them by volcanoes and earthquakes. Volcanic activity was evidently common in this land of the Bible during the times of the prophets of Israel; for in their poetic writings are frequent references to such phenomena--beautiful and majestic similes and metaphors derived from contemplation of live volcanoes. Jeremiah says: "Behold, I am against thee, O devouring mountain, saith the Lord, which destroyeth all the earth; and I will stretch out mine hand upon thee, and roll thee down from the rocks, and will make thee a burnt[4] mountain. "And they shall not take of thee a stone for a corner, nor a stone for foundations; but thou shalt be desolate forever, saith the Lord." (Jer. li, 25-26.) So, too, the prophet Isaiah says: "Oh that thou wouldst rend the heavens, that thou wouldst come down, that the mountains might flow down at thy presence! "As when the melting fire burneth, the fire causeth the water to boil, to make thy name known to thine adversaries, that the nations may tremble at thy presence! "When thou didst terrible things which we look not for, thou cameth down, the mountains flowed down at thy presence." (Is. lxiv, 1-2.) So, too, the prophet Nahum says: "The mountains quake at him, and the hills melt, and the earth is burned at his presence, yea, the world, and all that dwell therein. "Who can stand before his indignation? And who can abide in the fierceness of his anger? His fury is poured down like fire, and the rocks are thrown down by him." (Nahum, i, 5-6.) Let us now examine briefly the description Moses gives of the destruction of Sodom, Gomorrah, and other cities of the plain. This destruction occurred during the life time of Abraham and his nephew Lot. The record says that God told Abraham He intended to destroy them because of their wickedness. Then follows in the 18th chapter of Genesis the eloquent pleading of Abraham for one of the doomed cities. At Abraham's earnest plea God promises to spare Sodom if fifty righteous men can be found therein. Obtaining this respite, Abraham repeatedly asks further mercy for the city, and at last receives the sacred promise that the city shall not be destroyed, if but ten righteous people can be found there. An evidence of the great wickedness of the city is seen in the fact that not even ten could be found. Whereupon the Lord gives notice to Lot that the cities were doomed and commands Lot to leave at once with his family. "Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed!" Moses describes what happened as follows: "The sun was risen upon the earth, when Lot entered into Zoar. "Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven; "And he overthrew those cities and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground. "But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt. "And Abraham gat up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the Lord: "And he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace." (Gen. xix, 23-28). This is clearly the description of a volcanic eruption, for throughout the Bible things are described as they appear to be. When Moses speaks of brimstone and fire being rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah out of heaven, he is describing the phenomenon as it would appear to one looking at it. Of course, we know that in volcanic eruptions such things come to the earth through the crater of the volcano. The lava is thrown high into the air, and the hardening, but still red hot, ashes, rain down on the earth from the ash cloud that forms over the mountain. But, looked at from a distance they appear to fall or be rained down from the skies. In exactly the same way, Livy, the Roman historian, tells about showers of stones that fell from heaven on Mt. Albano near Rome for two whole days during the second Punic War. So, too, even Pliny, who had some pretensions to be considered a naturalist, in describing the appearance of Mt. Vesuvius during the terrible eruption of A. D. 79, when Herculaneum and Pompeii were destroyed, speaks of the red hot stones and ashes as falling from above. So, in reality, they did, although, as in the case of the cities of the plain, the materials forming the cloud came from the crater of the volcano below. As to brimstone falling from the sky, this is by no means an unusual occurrence during many volcanic eruptions, since sulphur is a common material, often thrown out of the craters of some volcanoes. Note also the statement that, when Abraham rose early in the morning and looked toward the place where Sodom and Gomorrah stood, he saw the smoke of the country go up like the smoke of a furnace. This was, probably, the smoke caused by the burning of the city, or even by the destruction of the crops in their fields, when ignited by the falling red hot ashes. It might also have been partly due to the burning of asphalt thrown out from the fissures in the ground, or to the showers of volcanic ashes that fell from the cloud formed during the eruption. That the cities there were destroyed by a volcano far in the past appears from things outside of the Bible proper; for Strabo, the Greek geographer, refers to Jewish traditions that thirteen flourishing cities were swallowed up by a volcano, and this finds fair corroboration in the ruins along the western borders of the Dead Sea. A writer referring to these eruptions says: "The eruptions themselves have ceased long since, but the effects, which usually succeed them, still continue to be felt at intervals in this country. The coast in general is subject to earthquakes, and history notes several which have changed the face of Antioch, Laodicea, Tripoli, Berytus, Tyre, and Sidon. In 1793 there happened one which spread the greatest ravages. It is said to have destroyed in the valley of Balbec upwards of 20,000 persons." Attention has already been called to the fact that the valley of the Jordan occupies a depressed or sunken region far below the level of the Mediterranean and the Red Seas. It is the belief of some geologists that this depression was caused by an earthquake which accompanied the volcanic eruption that destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities of the plain. Indeed, some contend that the present site of the valley of the Jordan, including the Sea of Tiberius and the Dead Sea, is a great fissure that was made in the limestone of the valley during the time of that earthquake. It would appear from the peculiar geography of this section of country that the Jordan River has not always emptied into the Dead Sea, but that before the time of the destruction of the Cities of the Plain the greater part of the country now occupied by the Dead Sea was a fertile valley, and the Jordan emptied directly into the Red Sea at the Gulf of Akaba; that during the disturbance through changes in the valley, or possibly by a lava stream flowing across a portion of the bed of the lower Jordan, or even by a huge accumulation of stones or ashes thrown out from a neighboring volcano, the discharge of the river into the Red Sea was cut off, and that in this way the waters of the rivers began to accumulate and to flow over the plain, thus forming the basin of the Dead Sea. There is no difficulty in accounting for the saltness of the Dead Sea. There are large quantities of salt, and salty matters generally, in the volcanic rocks of the region, but, even if this were not so, when a river empties into a lake with no outlet to the sea, and which therefore loses its water by evaporation only, the water will gradually become very salt, since the remaining waters of such a lake contain more or less salt, while the water they lose by evaporation contains none. The waters of the Dead Sea are very salt, but not the saltest in the world. In every 100 pounds of Dead Sea water twenty-four pounds consist of salty matters. The waters of the Great Salt Lake, in Utah, contain eighteen per cent of salty matters. Lake Van, in eastern Turkey, is, perhaps, the saltest lake on earth, it containing no less than thirty-three pounds of salty substances in every 100 pounds of water. Daubeny, an authority on volcanoes, and quite competent to give an opinion concerning what is possible in this line, describes what he believes took place, as follows: "Briefly then to recapitulate the train of phenomena by which the destruction of the cities might have been brought about, I would suppose that the River Jordan, prior to that event, continued its course tranquilly through the great longitudinal valley, called El Arabah, into the Gulf of Akaba; that a shower of stones and sand from some neighboring volcano first overwhelmed these places; and that its eruption was followed by a depression of the whole of the region, from some point apparently intermediate between the lake of Tiberius and the mountains of Lebanon, to the watershed in the parallel of 30°, which occurs in the valley of El Arabah above-mentioned. I would thence infer that the waters of the Jordan, pent-up within the valley by a range of mountains to the east and west, and a barrier of elevated table-land to the south, could find no outlet, and consequently by degrees formed a lake in its most depressed portion, which, however, did not occur at once, and therefore is not recorded by Scripture as a part of the catastrophe, though reference is made in another passage of its existence _in what was before the valley of Siddim_." As regards the turning of Lot's wife into a pillar of salt, Henderson, who has carefully studied this part of the country, remarks: "How natural is the incrustation of his wife on this hypothesis! Remaining in a lower part of the valley, and looking with a wistful eye towards Sodom, she was surrounded, ere she was aware, by the lava, which rising and swelling, at length reached her, and (whilst the volcanic effluvia deprived her of life) incrusted her where she stood, so that being, as it were, embalmed by the salso-bituminous mass, she became a conspicuous beacon and admonitory example of future generations." CHAPTER XXXI INSTRUMENTS FOR RECORDING AND MEASURING EARTHQUAKE SHOCKS To attempt by the unaided senses a determination of the direction in which earthquake shocks reach any certain spot, the velocity with which they are travelling, their degree of intensity, their general character, whether horizontal or vertical, or any peculiarities which might show them to be exceptional would be futile for more reasons than one. Even a skilled scientific observer, familiar with what has already been discovered and eager to discover more, might in the excitement of an earthquake become so excited himself as to make him unable to take reliable observations. But human ingenuity has succeeded in devising delicate instruments capable of recording not only the exact time of the arrival of an earthquake shock, but also of measuring the different parts of what may seem to be a single shock, the direction in which the shocks reach the place, as well as the variations of intensity in all the shocks. Crude instruments to do some of these things have been in use from very early times. According to Mallet among the more important of these early instruments was the following: the instrument of Cacciatore of Palmero. This consisted of a circular wooden dish, about ten inches in diameter, placed horizontally, and filled with mercury to the brim of eight notches at equal distances apart. Beneath each notch was placed a small cup. On the passage of the earthquake waves the vessel, being tilted in a direction dependent on the direction in which the waves were travelling, would cause some of the mercury to spill over into one or more of the cups, thus indicating by its amount the intensity of the wave, and by the particular cup or cups that were filled, the direction in which the waves reached the place. Somewhat similar contrivances were of a vessel partly filled with molasses, or other sticky liquid; or a cylindrical tub, the sides of which were chalked or whitewashed and filled with some colored liquid. In either of these cases, on the passage of the earthquake waves, the vessels were tilted and showed by the height of the marks the intensity of the waves, and by the position of the marks the direction in which the waves first reached the instrument. These instruments, though satisfactory for the study of earthquake shocks a long time ago, when an earthquake was regarded as practically consisting of but a single shock, or, at the most, of a very few shocks, would be worthless for the study of earthquakes now, for it is finally known that an earthquake consists of a series of many hundreds of vibrations, differing greatly in their rapidity and intensity, and following one another in a definite order. The old forms of earthquake instruments were known as _seismoscopes_. The word seismoscope is a compound word from Greek consisting of the two words, seism and scope. It means literally any instrument capable of seeing, or calling attention to, a seism, or _earth-shake_. In other words, a seismoscope is any instrument capable of calling attention only to an earth-shake. Of course, neither of the rude seismoscopes just mentioned would be able to give any valuable indications of the successive shakings to which the vessel containing the viscid liquid had been subjected, since the liquid would simply be splashed a number of times over the same parts of the vessel. In order to get a record of the successive shocks another form of apparatus must be employed, a form known as a _seismograph_. Concerning the complex character of the apparently single earthquake shock, Professor Milne makes this highly interesting and picturesque statement: "An earthquake disturbance at a station far removed from its origin shows that the main movement has two attendants, one which precedes and the other which follows. The first of these by its characteristics indicates what is to follow, whilst the latter, in a very much more pronounced manner, will often repeat at definite intervals, but with decreasing intensity, the prominent features of what has passed. Inasmuch as these latter rhythmical, but decreasing, impulses of the dying earthquake are more likely to result from reflection than from interference, I have provisionally called them Echoes." There are many different forms of instruments known as seismographs that are capable of recording all of these vibrations, but there is this objection to their use: that the records appear in so tangled a form that it is practically impossible to decipher or untangle them. This fact can be grasped by examining Fig. 51, which represents a record of this kind. [Illustration: FIG. 51. COMPLEX RECORD OF SEISMOGRAPH] It is necessary, therefore, to employ a modified form of instrument called a _seismometer_, able not only to record all the different vibrations, but to record them in such a manner that they can be easily recognized. Fig. 52, for example, shows results obtained by the use of a seismometer, in which the different vibrations are separated, and so recorded on a sheet of paper, as to be readily understood. Such a record is called a _seismogram_, and represents a _long distance seismogram_. Here the large arrow indicates the beginning of the record. And herein, as can be clearly seen, what would appear to an observer without an instrument only a single shock, lasting but the fraction of a minute, in reality consists of the _preliminary shake_ as represented in ab and bc, the _principal shake_, as represented at c, d1, d2, and d3, and the _final portions of the shake_ or the "echoes" of Professor Milne, as represented from d3 to e. [Illustration: FIG. 52. LONG DISTANCE SEISMOGRAM] Except in a very general way there is for present purposes no need of explaining the construction and operation of the seismometer and seismograph. Suffice it to say, there are many forms of these instruments, any of which are capable of recording the details of a passing shock. The most important thing in either a seismograph or a seismometer is to obtain what is known as a _steady point_; that is, a point consisting of some object or mass that will remain practically at rest, while everything around it, even the support which holds it, is affected by the earthquake. It is, of course, not very easy to obtain a steady point, but it can be done; and it will be at once comprehended that if a plate or piece of paper were attached to such a steady point or mass, and a pencil or tracer had one of its ends resting on the plate, and its other end attached to the support that vibrates with the earth, a tracing or record would be drawn on the plate from which the character of the motion of the end of the tracer, and, therefore, of the earth, would be marked on the plate. [Illustration: FIG. 53. VICENTINI VERTICAL PENDULUM] Various devices have been employed for the steady points. The most successful consists of a heavy mass of lead. Fig. 53 represents a form of instrument invented by Professor Vicentini of Italy. Here the steady point consists of a heavy leaden bob, of 200, 400, or even 500 kilograms, suspended by three metallic rods united above by a brass cap, hung on a steel wire to a bracket fixed on the wall. This wire may have a length as great as fifty feet. [Illustration: FIG. 54. VICENTINI PENDULUM AND RECORDER] Fig. 54 represents the recording instrument. Here a tracer is provided that is capable of multiplying the motion fifty times, or even eighty times. A record is traced on a sheet of paper passing over a roller which imparts a rapid motion to a sheet so as to make sure that the different parts of the shock or vibration will be recorded on separate portions of the paper. CHAPTER XXXII SEAQUAKES As earthquakes are shakings of the earth's crust in places where it is uncovered by the waters of the ocean, so _seaquakes_ are the shakings of those portions that lie on the bed of the ocean. Mallet points out that the earthquake wave may start either in the interior of the continent, or on the bed of the ocean; that the latter place is the more common, since on the land vents--rude safety-valves, as it were,--are provided by the craters of the volcanoes; that, when earthquakes start on the ocean bed, the impulses are conveyed in different forms of waves, i. e., those through the solid earth, those through the water, and those through the air, with varying sounds like bellowings and explosions, or like the rolling of wagons over rough roads. To learn when quakes occur on the sea is a much harder task, since on the land we can use seismoscopes, seismographs, or seismometers to indicate, record, or measure the shakings of the crust, while on the sea, where the water is always in more or less motion and the surface so far from the ocean's bed this is impossible, or, rather shall it be said, has hitherto been found so; for that the mind of man may surmount this obstacle is not impossible to conceive. To detect the wave produced by the quaking of the bed of the ocean is exceedingly difficult, since those in very deep water are flat or possess but a small height. Indeed, in the deepest parts of the ocean this height is probably to be measured only by inches instead of feet. When, however, the waves advance towards the shore they increase in height, and when they reach the shallows near the coast, they begin to curl over and break, thus creating the enormous waves mentioned so often as attending great earthquakes in the ocean. During the great earthquake of Simoda in Japan, 1854, the waters of the bay were first greatly agitated, and then retreated, leaving the bottom bare in places where the water was formerly thirty feet deep. A wave, thirty feet high, then rushed in from the bay and, climbing the land, swept away everything in its path, covering the town with water to the tops of the houses. This monster wave then receded, but rushed back five times. In 1751, an earthquake wave suddenly entered Callao, the port of Lima, Peru, sinking twenty-three vessels and driving a frigate inland, where it was left high and dry. This wave extended across the Pacific to the Hawaiian Islands, a distance of 6,000 miles. On the 13th of August, 1866, an earthquake wave, that started a short distance from shore, produced a number of earthquake waves sixty feet high that reached the coast of Peru half an hour after the principal earthquake shock. These waves reached Coquimbo, 800 miles distant, in about three hours, and Honolulu, on the Sandwich Islands, 5,520 miles distant, in twelve hours, and the coast of Japan, more than 10,000 miles distant, on the next day. Le Conte remarks that these waves would have encircled the earth, had it not been for the barrier interposed by the Andes. Another great seaquake, known as the Iquiqui seaquake, during 1868 in the same neighborhood damaged severely the towns of north Chile and southern Peru. While, however, there is difficulty in readily observing the earthquake waves that form in the deep ocean, yet such is at times the violence of an earthquake that there is no difficulty in detecting its presence, even in deep water. Dr. Rudolph has made a careful study of the evidences of earthquakes produced in the deep sea, from a careful examination of a great number of the logs of ships. Logs, as everybody knows, are books in which the captain or commanding officer makes careful entries of all important happenings to the vessel, conditions of the weather and of the sea. From this source Dr. Rudolph obtained considerable information of much value concerning these phenomena. I have already called your attention to portion of the Atlantic Ocean lying near the Equator, in the warmest part of the ocean, between Africa and South America, as being a region especially liable to submarine volcanic showers. While, generally speaking, there is nothing in this region to indicate the probability of submarine disturbance, yet suddenly, if a vessel happens to pass directly over the point of origin of the quake, there ensues a great quaking or quivering. Loose objects on the ship begin to shake and clatter. Noises arise from some invisible point deep down in the ocean. The disturbance grows, the noises begin to resemble distant thunder, the ship trembles and staggers as though it had struck rocks, and many believe she is about to go down; when, as suddenly as it began, the commotion ceases, the noises stop, and the ship shapes her course as calmly, and as gallantly, as before. Rudolph gives two excellent examples of seaquakes in this region, both of which were, doubtless, due to submarine eruptions. On the 25th of January, 1859, as the ship _Florence_ was in lat. 0° 48' N., long. 29° 16' W., about ten miles N. W. by N. from St. Paul's Rock, the people on board felt a sudden shock that began with a rumbling sound like distant thunder. This lasted only forty seconds. The glass and dishes of the vessel rattled so violently that it was feared they would be broken. The shakings were so strong that several objects on the vessel were thrown down. Everyone believed the ship had struck on rocks. The captain leaned over the taffrail in order to see the position of the reef, but soon saw that the vessel had struck nothing, and informed his crew "it was only an earthquake shock." Another of the log books examined by Rudolph was that of a ship in the same part of the Atlantic Ocean. This record showed that suddenly on a morning, in 1883, strange noises were heard that soon increased and became not unlike the firing of great guns or the peals of distant thunder. The ship vibrated as if its anchor had been suddenly let go, and at the same time a feeling came over all the crew, as if they had been electrified. In some cases the vibrations were sufficiently severe to throw heavy objects from the deck, as appears in an account given by a French geologist of a quake in the Mediterranean off the shores of Asia Minor. "Our ship was over the epicentre,"[5] he says, "and was so severely shaken that at first the Admiral feared the complete destruction of the corvette." He then makes the statement that the shocks which were directly upwards were so strong as to throw heavy objects in the air; for example, a heavy gun and its carriage. While it is possible, as Dutton remarks, that this incident of the heavy gun and carriage was grossly exaggerated, yet it should not be forgotten that in the case of submarine eruptions such as that which resulted in the production of the island of Sabrina, an immense column of water, weighing probably many times more than a gun and its carriage, was observed to be shot high into the air. Where the seaquake is produced by a strong submarine volcanic eruption, there is a violent commotion of the water itself, so that a vessel passing over such a point may be greatly injured, and, indeed, even destroyed. Such disasters, however, are fortunately exceedingly rare. Among other common effects of seaquakes is the destruction of fish already mentioned by the sudden blow to the water stunning and killing them, just as the explosion of dynamite or other high explosives does in a lake or pond. The most marked effect, however, of seaquakes is the starting of the great wave on the coasts of continents and islands. There are certain parts of the ocean that are especially liable to seaquakes. Some of the more important of these, as shown by Rudolph's researches, are: The region already referred to in the narrowest parts of the Atlantic Ocean between Africa and South America almost immediately under the equator. Here there are two well marked regions. One is in lat. 1° N., long. 30° W., where there is a submarine ridge, the tops of which form what are known as St. Paul's Rock. The ocean here is very deep, the slopes of the ridge descending rapidly. It is on these slopes that earthquakes are very apt to occur just as they do on the steep slopes of mountain ranges. The other region, called by Rudolph the _Equatorial District_, lies a little further to the east on both sides of the equator in long. 20° W. It appears from Rudolph's researches that between 1845 and 1893 no less than thirty-seven seaquakes were reported in the logs of ships in the neighborhood of St. Paul's Rock, and between 1747 and 1890, in the equatorial district, there were forty-nine seaquakes. It must not be supposed, however, that these were all the quakes in the regions during these times, since, of course, many shocks must have happened that were not felt even by vessels in the neighborhood and many more, when this portion of the ocean was free from any craft. In the North Atlantic there is a portion of the ocean's bed known as the _West Indies Deep_. Here the bed is marked by great depths and by many irregularities and is, therefore, a region where seaquakes are common. Still another district is found in the North Atlantic in the neighborhood of the Azores. This is the region in which the Lisbon earthquake is believed to have started. Another region where seaquakes are common is in the Pacific along the coast of South America from the equator to 45° S. lat. "Here," says Dutton, "especially in the vicinity of the angle where the Peruvian and Chilian coasts meet have they been most numerous and formidable. The harbors of Pisco, Arica, Tacua, Iquiqui, and Pisago have been repeatedly subject to these destructive invasions." There has been considerable discussion as to the exact manner in which the earthquake waves are set up. Whatever be the cause or causes, the action must be sudden, such as an upheaval of the bottom, or a collapse of a large section of the ocean's bed, with a dropping of a vast body of water. Or, possibly, a submarine volcanic eruption causes the water to lift suddenly under pressure of steam generated by escape of the lava and other hot volcanic products. Dr. Rudolph attributes earthquake waves to submarine volcanic eruptions alone. It would seem, however, as if each one of the other things above referred to might at times be the direct cause. CHAPTER XXXIII THE DISTRIBUTION OF EARTHQUAKES Earthquakes may occur at any part of the earth's surface, at any time of the day, or at any season of the year, yet they are more frequent at certain parts, certain hours, certain seasons. Since some earthquakes are unquestionably connected with volcanic eruptions, a map or chart of the volcanoes of the earth would also, to a certain extent, show the parts of the earth that are likely to be visited by earthquakes. Since, however, by far the most severe earthquakes are not directly connected with volcanoes, but are due to sudden slips of faulted strata, a volcanic chart would necessarily fail to indicate accurately the principal earthquake regions. In the preparation of a map showing the distribution of earthquakes over the earth's surface, Mallet adopted the plan of colorings or tintings in such a manner that the depth of the colors would represent not only the parts shaken, but also the relative number of times shaken, as well as the intensity of the shocks. In order to determine the depth of tint to be employed, Mallet divided earthquakes into the following classes according to their intensity: _Great earthquakes_, or earthquakes of the first class; or those in which the area affected is of great size, in which many cities have been overthrown, and many people killed, and parts of the surface greatly altered. _Intermediate earthquakes_, or those in which, although the area affected is great, yet the destruction of buildings, or loss of life, has been comparatively small. _Minor earthquakes_, or those which, although capable of producing small fissures in the crust, generally leave but few or no traces of their occurrence. The greatest distance to which earthquake waves of the first class extend is taken by Mallet as being over a diameter of 1,080 miles; those of the second class over a diameter of about 360 miles, and those of the third class over a diameter of about 120 miles. According to the Rossi Forel scale already given, earthquake shocks are divided according to their relative intensity into ten separate classes, viz.: I. The micro-seismic; II. The extremely feeble; III. The very feeble; IV. The feeble; V. The moderately intense; VI. The fairly strong; VII. The strong; VIII. The very strong; IX. The extremely strong; X. Shocks of extreme intensity. An earthquake map prepared according to Mallet's scale would show a greater depth of color or tint in the neighborhood of the volcanic districts of the earth and especially in the neighborhood of the mountain regions, where tectonic quakes are most frequent. Oceanic areas would be left almost untinted, not because earthquakes do not occur on the bed of the ocean, but because of the difficulty of observing such earthquakes at great distances from the land. So far from earthquakes being absent on the bed of the ocean it is most probable that they are more frequent there than elsewhere. Prepared in this way, Mallet's map would show a preponderance of earthquakes along the borders of the continents, especially along the "Great Circle of Fire" on the borders of the Pacific Ocean. Dutton as well as some others assert that the "Great Circle of Fire" on the shores of the Pacific has in reality no existence; that, instead of there being a continuous region of volcanoes, there is in reality nothing more than a considerable number of volcanoes arranged in groups along the borders of this ocean, but separated by spaces containing no marked volcanic activity. We do not think this a tenable position, since it is well known that volcanoes lie along great lines of fissures at different points or openings which are kept open by subsequent volcanic activity, while the remaining portions are closed soon afterwards; and, moreover, in parts of these so-called non-volcanic regions, there are probably extended regions of extinct volcanoes. Since the time of Mallet many maps have been made to show the distribution of earthquakes. Among the best of such is that by M. de Montessus de Ballore. Some idea of the great amount of work required for the preparation of Montessus' map may be formed when one learns that the catalogue of earthquakes collected by him for this purpose included for the years 1880 to 1900, 131,292 quakes. De Montessus' earthquake map divides the grand divisions of the earth into numerous sub-divisions, too numerous, indeed, for even brief description in a work of this kind. From the map he thus laboriously prepared De Montessus drew the following general conclusions: 1. The parts of the earth that are most apt to be shaken by earthquakes are those which possess the greatest differences of relief between their highlands and lowlands, and that in such regions the most pronounced earthquakes are found on the steepest slopes. 2. Earthquakes are most common along those parts of the crust that are thrown up in huge wrinkles, or mountain ranges, whether these masses be above the level of the sea or are covered by it. [Illustration: FIG. 55. DAVISON'S EARTHQUAKE MAP OF JAPAN] 3. Earthquakes are more common in mountainous districts than in plains. But not all mountains are characterized by earthquakes nor are all plains free from them. Sometimes the plain at the base of the mountain appears to be especially liable to shocks, probably by reason of slips along faults at these points. The great mountain ranges of the world are generally characterized by unequal slopes, the long gentle slope facing the interior of the continents, and the short, abrupt slopes being turned towards the coast. Now, Montessus points out that volcanoes are the most frequent on the short, abrupt slopes. In some cases, however, where the long slopes are the roughest, it is these slopes that are most frequently shaken. The beds of the ocean that lie along rapidly descending lines, especially when they lie on the borders of large mountain ranges, are especially liable to earthquakes. Dr. Charles Davison has made a map of the earthquakes of Japan in which he had adopted the plan of representing the origin or centres of earthquakes by a series of contour lines like those employed on topographical maps. The advantage of this type of map over that employed by Mallet is just this: Davison's earthquake map of Japan in which the active volcanoes are marked by dots, and the earthquakes by contour lines surrounding the points of origin, discloses the interesting fact that here the positions of the volcanoes and the earthquake centres coincide, since the mountainous districts where the active volcanoes are numerous are singularly free from earthquakes. This can be seen from an inspection of Fig. 55. CHAPTER XXXIV THE CAUSES OF EARTHQUAKES Earthquakes occurred long before man appeared on earth. It is natural, therefore, that our early ancestors, experiencing these unwelcome phenomena, vaguely endeavored to explain their causes. These early attempts at explanation have in many cases been of an exceedingly fanciful character. The ancient Mongolians and Hindoos declared that earthquakes are due to our earth resting on a huge frog and that they occur whenever the frog scratches its head. In Japan, where earthquakes are very common, the ignorant people even at a much later day declared that there exists in the depth of the sea an immense fish which, when angry, dashes its head violently against the coast of the island, thus making the earth tremble. This is, doubtless, the biggest fish-story extant. Another folk-lore explanation in Japan attributes the cause of the tremblings of the earth to a subterranean monster whose head lies in the north of the island of Hondo, while his tail lies between the two principal cities. The shaking of his tail causes earthquakes. Fantastic and foolish as these explanations are, it is worthy of note that the first of the Japanese explanations shows no little observation on the part of the people, since it locates the starting-points of earthquakes as being not on the land, but on the bottom of the sea. In point of fact, nearly all the great earthquakes in Japan seem to start somewhere between the coasts of the islands on the sea-bottom that leads down to a very deep part of the Pacific known as the Tuscarora Deep. Many years ago nearly everyone believed that earthquakes were caused solely by the forces that produce volcanic eruptions; that all earthquakes, whether in the neighborhood of active volcanoes, or at great distances therefrom, were to be regarded solely as volcanic in their origin. It is now recognized that the most severe and far-reaching earthquakes have no immediate connection with volcanic explosions, but are due to the sudden slippings of the earth's strata over lines of faults; or, in other words, earthquakes are most frequently of the tectonic type. At the present time there is unfortunately much difference in opinion as to the exact cause of earthquakes. By this is not meant the immediate cause, but the ultimate cause. As to the immediate cause, practically all are agreed that quakes of volcanic origin are to be traced to the same forces that produce volcanic eruptions, while quakes of tectonic origin are due directly to the slipping of the strata along the faults. But when inquiry is instituted as to the nature of the forces that cause the volcanic eruptions, or that produce such an alteration of the strata as permits them afterwards to slip and thus jar the earth, there is much difference of opinion. As can be seen from a few quotations of well-known authorities, only two kinds of earthquakes exist; namely, volcanic earthquakes and tectonic earthquakes. Dana, for example, while acknowledging that small earthquakes may be caused by the sudden falling of large rock masses into cavities in the crust of the earth, says: "But true earthquakes come, for the most part at least, from one or the other of the following sources of disturbance. "1. Vapors suddenly produced, causing ruptures and friction. "2. Sudden movements or slips along old or new fractures. "Earthquakes due to the former of these methods are common about volcanoes, and at the Hawaiian islands shakings that are destructive over the island of Hawaii at the moment of some of the more violent eruptions, do not often affect the island of Oahu, a depth of 500 fathoms of water, the least depth between the two islands, being sufficient to stop off the vibrations.... "Earthquakes of the second mode of origin may occur in all regions, volcanic or not. They have their origin mostly in the vicinity of mountain regions, where old fractures most abound. The vibrations may begin in a slip of a few inches, in fact; but where there has been a succession of slips, up and up from 10,000 feet or more, as in the Appalachian, earthquakes of inconceivable volcanic activity must have resulted." Dana points out that volcanoes stand on lines of fractures in the openings of which their existence began and that, during geological time, slips up or down these fractures have occurred, producing earthquakes and possibly starting eruptions. Prestwich, a well-known English geologist, speaks very decidedly concerning the causes of earthquakes: "For my own part, I am disposed to share the belief expressed by Dana that the tension or pressure, by which the great oscillations or plications of the earth's crust have been produced, have not entirely ceased; and that this is generally the most probable cause of earthquakes. The uplifting of the great continental tracts and mountain ranges must have always left the interior of the crust in a state of unstable equilibrium, and any slight slide or settling along an old fracture, or in highly disturbed and distorted strata, would be attended by an earthquake shock. "In volcanic areas the removal of the large volumes of molten rock from the interior to the surface must produce settlements and strains which might also result in some of these minor earthquakes to which volcanic districts are so subject. Where we have the two conditions combined, as they are in the Andes in South America, these earthquake phenomena are, as we should expect, developed on the grandest and widest scale." Geikie, the Scotch geologist, says: "Various conceivable causes may, at different times and under different conditions, communicate a shock to the subterranean regions. Such as the sudden flashing into steam of water in the spherodial state, the sudden condensation of steam, the explosion of a volcanic outpour, the falling in of the roof of a subterranean cavity, or the sudden snap of deep-seated rocks subjected to prolonged and intense stress." Sir Charles Lyell, the great English geologist, holds the following views concerning the origin of earthquakes. He speaks as follows in his "Principles of Geology": "1. The primary cause of the volcanoes and the earthquakes are to a great extent the same, and connected with the development of heat and chemical action at various depths in the interior of the globe. "2. Volcanic heat has been supposed by many to be the result of the high temperature which belonged to the whole planet when it was in a state of igneous fusion, a temperature which they suppose to have been always diminishing and still to continue to diminish by radiation into space.... "The powerful agency of steam or aqueous vapor in volcanic eruptions leads us to compare its power of propelling lava to the surface with that which it exerts in driving up water in the pipe of an Icelandic geyser. Various gases also, rendered liquid by pressure at great depths, may aid in causing volcanic outbursts and in fissuring and convulsing the rocks during earthquakes." Major Clarence Edward Dutton, U. S. A., an acknowledged authority on seismology, speaks as follows: "Thus far, then, we have two causes of earthquakes which are apparently well sustained: (1) the downthrows, which have often been observed to be accompanied by earthquakes, and (2) volcanic action. But neither of them have been shown to be connected with more than a comparatively small number. Much the greater part of the earthquakes still require explanation, and the indications are manifold that some of them are produced by some cause yet to be stated." He acknowledges, however, this unknown cause may be traceable to volcanic agency. To quote him in full: "It remains now to refer to the possibility that many quakes whose origin is unknown, or extremely doubtful, may, after all, be volcanic. This must be fully admitted, and, indeed, it is in many cases highly probable. Evidences that volcanic action has taken place in the depths of the earth without visible, permanent results on the surface abound in ancient rock exposures. Formations of great geological age, once deeply buried and brought to daylight by secular denudations, show that lavas have penetrated surrounding rock-masses in many astonishing ways. Sometimes they have intruded between strata, lifting or floating up the overlying beds without any indication of escaping to the surface. Sometimes the lava breaks across a series of strata and finds its way into the partings between higher beds. Or it forces its way into a fissure to form a dike which may never reach the surface. In one place a long arm or sheet of lava has in a most surprising and inexplicable manner thrust itself into the enveloping rock-mass, and in the older or metamorphic rocks these offshoots or apophyses cross each other in great numbers and form a tangled network of intrusive dikes. In other places the intruded lava has formed immense lenticular (lense shaped) masses (laccolites), which have domed up the overlying strata into mountain masses. These intrusions, almost infinitely varied in form and condition, are often, in fact usually, inexplicable as mechanical problems, but their reality is vouched for by the evidence of our senses. What concerns us here is the great energy which they suggest and their adequacy to generate in the rocks those sudden, elastic displacements which are the real initiatory impulses of an earthquake. They assure us that a great deal of volcanic action has transpired in past ages far under ground, which makes no other sign at the surface than those vibrations which we call an earthquake." Koto, the celebrated Japanese student of earthquakes, and a member of the Earthquake Investigation Committee appointed by the Japanese Government for studying the great Mino-Owaro earthquake, in Japan, 1891, is properly regarded as an authority on earthquakes. Living, as he does, in a country where earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are of almost daily occurrence, he has had abundant opportunity for studying these phenomena, especially in connection with the Seismological Institute of Japan. He speaks as follows: "To make clear once for all my own standpoint, I may say plainly that the chain of volcanoes and the system of mountains of the non-volcanic earthquake, appear to me to have very intimate and fundamental relations with the so-called tectonic line." Mallet regards earthquakes that can be directly traceable to volcanic origin as unsuccessful efforts on the part of nature to establish volcanoes. He speaks concerning this matter as follows: "An earthquake in a non-volcanic region may, in fact, be viewed as an uncompleted effort to establish a volcano. The forces of explosion and impulse are the same in both; they differ only in degree of energy, or in the varying sorts and degrees of resistance opposed to them. There is more than a mere vaguely admitted connection between them, as heretofore commonly acknowledged--one so vague that the earthquake has been often stated to be the cause of the volcano (Johnson, 'Phy. Atlas,' Geology, page 21), and more commonly the volcano the cause of the earthquake, neither view being the expression of the truth of nature. They are not in the relation to each other of cause and effect, but are both unequal manifestations of a common force under different conditions." Before closing this chapter on the causes of earthquakes it may be well to state briefly the explanations that have been suggested by those who hold that the earth is solid and cold throughout its entire mass, except that in the neighborhood of volcanic districts there are limited areas situated only a comparatively few miles below the surface where the rocks are highly heated. Professor Mallet suggested that the source of heat for these local areas of melted rocks was to be found in the enormous mechanical force that is developed by the crushing of the strata in the earth's crust. The principal objection to Mallet's theory is to be found in the fact that, for this heat to be available for the melting of rocks, it must be produced rapidly, and not spread out over long periods of time. Moreover, there would appear to be no other way to account for the production of the great force required to effect the crushing of the earth's strata save on the assumption of a highly heated interior still cooling and contracting. In his "Aspects of the Earth" Shaler has suggested an hypothesis that may be regarded to a certain extent as explaining how heat, slowly generated, might be blanketed, or prevented from escaping and so possibly reaching a temperature sufficiently high to melt the materials in portions of the interior not far below the surface of the earth. "We thus see that in the water imprisoned in the deposits of the early geological ages and brought to a high temperature by the blanketing action of the more recently deposited beds, we have a sufficient cause for the great generation of steam at high temperatures, and this is the sole essential phenomenon of volcanic eruptions. We see also by this hypothesis why volcanoes do not occur at points remote from the sea, and why they cease to be in action soon after the sea leaves their neighborhood.... "The foregoing considerations make it tolerably clear that volcanoes are fed from deposits of water contained in ancient rocks which have become greatly heated through the blanketing effects of the strata which have been laid down upon them. The gas which is the only invariable element of volcanic eruptions is steam; moreover, it is the steam of sea-water, as is proven by analysis of the ejections. It breaks its way to the surface only on those parts of the earth which are near to where the deposition of strata is lifting the temperature of water contained in rocks by preventing, in fact, the escape of the earth's heat." Another very common theory is that of chemical action, or the heat produced by the oxidation of various substances inside the earth, such, for example, as iron pyrites, a compound of iron and sulphur. When Sir Humphrey Davy discovered metallic sodium and it was found that this material, when thrown on water, possessed the power of liberating intense heat, the discovery was welcomed by geologists as affording a possible explanation of the cause of volcanoes and earthquakes. It may be said generally concerning chemical action as the source of the earth's interior heat, that the chief objection against it is the fact that such heat is liberated too slowly to result in the production of a very high temperature. This objection does not exist in the case of such substances as metallic sodium, since here the heat is rapidly developed and is sufficient in amount to fuse the substances produced. But in the lava produced in such great quantities as it is in volcanic districts there must be liberated at the same time large quantities of gaseous hydrogen. Now, although hydrogen is, as we have already seen, sometimes given off with the gases that escape from volcanic craters, yet the quantity which escapes is so small that this theory of volcanic activity has been practically abandoned. Quite recently, however, among the various chemical substances that are produced under the extremely high temperatures of the electric furnace have been found, or formed, a number of curious substances such as _calcium carbide_, _calcium silicide_, _barium silicide_, etc., that possess the property of becoming highly heated on coming in contact with water. Now it is an interesting fact that the hydrogen and other gases which are given off by the action of water on these substances are absorbed in large quantities by the materials themselves, so that the objection of the absence of hydrogen and similar gases in the craters of the volcanoes would not be quite as objectionable as in the case of such substances. Of course, it is impossible to say whether such substances as calcium carbide, etc., actually exist inside the earth's crust, yet, as has been pointed out, the principal condition necessary for their formation, i. e., a high temperature, existed at times long after the earth, assuming the correctness of the nebular hypothesis, was separated from the nebulous sun. There still remains to be discussed the most curious of all possible causes that have been suggested for the presence of the local heated areas at comparatively short distances below the earth's crust; namely, radio-activity. In 1896, Henri Becquerel, a Frenchman, while investigating the power of the X-rays, when passing through certain substances, to produce phosphorescence, or causing the substances to shine in the dark, made the extraordinary discovery that some of the salts of uranium possess the power of emitting a peculiar radiation closely resembling the X-rays, that is able to pass through substances opaque to ordinary light as well as to affect photographic plates. But the most extraordinary part of this discovery was that the salts of uranium apparently possess the power of giving out this radiation continuously without being exposed to the sun's rays. This peculiar property was called _radio-activity_, and was shortly afterwards found to be present in many other substances besides uranium, and notably so in two newly discovered elements known as polonium and radium. Now it has been suggested that if there existed somewhere beneath the earth's crust in these locally heated areas, large quantities of radio-active substances, these regions would at last become highly heated, and in this way likely to produce volcanoes and earthquakes. It would not, however, seem that this is probably their true cause. From what has just been said it is clear how exceedingly difficult it has become to explain the source of the earth's interior heat when the fact of the earth's original highly heated condition is denied. We are, therefore, disposed with Russell to believe, as stated in the first part of this volume, that the ultimate cause of both volcanoes and earthquakes is to be found in the gradual cooling of an originally highly heated globe, and that the greater part of the interior is still in a highly heated condition, hot enough to be melted but yet in a solid condition by reason of the great pressure to which it is subjected. CHAPTER XXXV EARTHQUAKES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST--CATACLYSMS There were numerous volcanoes in the geological past; therefore, since volcanic eruptions are generally attended by earthquake shocks, it follows that during that remote past the earth has been violently shaken by earthquakes. Indeed, if we assume, as we believe to be the case, that the cause of earthquakes is correctly to be traced to an originally heated globe which is gradually cooling, it follows that the earth was necessarily subject to great earthquakes almost from the time when it began to cool. But to establish as a fact the occurrence of an earthquake at so remote a time in the earth's history is far more difficult than to detect the occurrence of a volcano at that time. While the earthquake shocks may produce fissures in the earth's crust, and may be accompanied by great changes of level, yet the great time that has elapsed between such occurrences and the present would permit the various geological agencies that are at work either to cover these fissures completely, or completely to remove by erosion, or in other similar ways, the rocks in which they occurred. It is different in the case of a volcano; for the volcanic craters are in many cases still left standing, and then there are the voluminous sheets of lava that have spread over great areas of the earth, as well as numerous volcanic cones. Besides, there are thousands of square miles of surface that have been covered, often to great depths, by deposits of volcanic dust thrown out at one time or another from the craters of the then active volcanoes. I am sure you will acknowledge that any force capable of causing great cracks or fissures in the earth's crust, must, while doing this, have produced violent shakings of the earth. Great cracks or fissures are to be found in the rocks of all the geological formations. These are a record of the earthquakes that must have attended these convulsions. And there is plenty of evidence to show that the earth's crust has been torn into these fissures in places deep down below the present surface; for, by the action of water, many of these portions have been uncovered so that these great cracks or fissures which have been afterwards filled with a molten rock that has hardened can be seen in the great dikes that still remain. But there are still other evidences of the existence of earthquakes during the geological past. There are found in the different strata of the earth's crust fossil remains of the plants and animals that lived on the earth long before the creation of man. By a careful study of these fossils we know positively the kinds of animals and plants that lived on the earth, in its waters, or in its atmosphere, when these strata were being deposited. It is in this way possible for a geologist to trace the life of the earth and its development as it is written on the great book of which the earth's different strata form the separate pages. Now, a careful study of the earth's fauna and flora during the geological past, shows, beyond any question, that occasionally great changes have occurred in the earth; for, here and there, during different times, we find that certain species of animals and plants have completely disappeared, to be followed, after certain intervals, by entirely different species. It is evident, therefore, that changes have occurred that have made it impossible for the animals and plants that formerly lived on the earth to exist under the changed conditions. These occurrences are known to geologists as _exterminations_, _catastrophes_, or _cataclysms_. They are also sometimes called _revolutions_, for they mark a more or less complete wiping-out of the animals living at the time they occurred. If you will try to think you will readily understand how great a catastrophe must be, that would be able to wipe out or completely destroy an entire race of animals. You have doubtless read with astonishment the terrible catastrophe that accompanied the eruption of Krakatoa, especially at the loss of life and property caused by the great waves that were set up in the ocean, but far reaching as these losses were they have nevertheless affected but a limited portion of the earth. The plain truth is even more stupendous, for catastrophes of the geological past appear to have been so far-reaching and powerful as to affect the whole surface of the earth, and to have annihilated entire races of animals and plants as if they had never existed. Geologists are all practically agreed that there are only two ways in which such exterminations of the earth's life could have been caused, and these are changes in the earth's climate, or the starting of waves in the sea by great earthquakes. In the sea; for it must be borne in mind that in the geological past the greater part of the earth's surface was covered by water, and the land areas were comparatively small and low, so that waves created by earthquakes might easily have overwhelmed the entire land surface. Of course, it is fair to suppose that in many cases these exterminations may have been caused by sudden changes of climate, such as would naturally have resulted from any change in the direction of hot ocean currents which formerly flowed from the equator to the poles. The appearance of a fairly large mass of land in the central parts of the ocean might readily have turned aside the hot ocean currents that formerly swept over the polar regions, thus greatly lowering the earth's average temperature in these regions. But it seems probable that the principal cause of the destruction of life in the geological past was produced by earthquake waves in the sea, sweeping over the continents. Let us, therefore, examine two of the earth's principal geological revolutions or cataclysms; namely, that which occurred at the close of an early geological time known as the Palaeozoic, and that which occurred at the end of a geological time intermediate between the Palaeozoic time or the time of ancient life, called the Mesozoic time, and the Cenozoic time, or the time immediately preceding the present time. These two revolutions are called by Dana, _the Post-Palaeozoic_, or _Appalachian Revolution_, and the _Post-Mesozoic Revolution_. Both were characterized by the making of great mountain systems, and were, therefore, especially liable to repetitions of tremendous earthquakes that must have produced enormous waves in the ocean. "Palaeozoic time," says Dana, "closed with the making of one of the great mountain ranges of North America--the Appalachian, besides ranges in other lands, and in producing one of the most universal and abrupt disappearances of life in geological history. So great an event is properly styled a revolution." Towards the close of the Palaeozoic time immense disturbances of the earth's crust occurred during the uplifting of the Appalachian Mountain System. One may, perhaps, form some faint idea of the immensity of the forces at work, from the fact that there were great faults produced by the uplifting of the lands attended with displacement amounting to 10,000 or 20,000 feet or more; that in parts of southwestern Virginia there were flexure faults 100 miles in length. As to the probability of the extensive exterminations that have occurred during these times being produced by earthquake waves, Dana speaks thus: "The causes of the extermination are two.... (1) a colder climate.... (2) earthquake waves produced by orogenic movements (movements producing mountain ranges). If North America from the west of the Carolinas to the Mississippi Valley can be shaken in consequence of a little slip along a fracture in times of perfect quiet (the allusion here to the Charleston earthquake, in 1886), and ruin mark its movements, incalculable violence and great surgings of the ocean should have occurred and been often repeated during the progress of flexures, miles in height and space, and slips along newly opened fractures that kept up their interrupted progress through thousands of feet of displacements.... "Under such circumstances the devastation of the sea-border and the low-lying land of the period, the destruction of their animals and plants, would have been a sure result. The survivors within a long distance of the coastline would have been few. The same waves would have swept over European land and seas, and there found coadjutors for new strife in earthquake waves of European origin. These times of catastrophe may have continued in America through half of the following Triassic period; for fully two thirds of the Triassic period are unrepresented by rocks and fossils on the Atlantic border." Coming now to the Post-Mesozoic revolution this period was marked by the making of the greatest of the North American mountain systems. Dana points out that this revolution affected the summit region of the Rocky Mountains over a broad belt probably as long as the western side of the continent. This great belt of mountain-making extended from the Arctic regions through North America, probably paralleled by like work, of equal extent, in South America, but on a more eastern line. "The disappearance of species," says Dana, "at the close of Mesozoic time was one of the two most noted in all geological history. Probably not a tenth part of the animal species of the world disappeared at the time, and far less of the vegetable life and terrestrial Invertebrates; yet the change was so comprehensive that no Cretaceous species of Vertebrate is yet known to occur in the rocks of the American Tertiary, and not even a marine Invertebrate." In tracing the causes of these disappearances, Dana points out that, perhaps, the principal cause was a decrease in the temperature of the ocean, since the destructions were limited in large measure to marine life. He regards, however, the other most probable cause as traceable to earthquake waves; for the making of a great mountain range along the entire length of the continent resulted in displacements of the rock formations along lines hundreds of miles in length. Such displacements must have been attended by a succession of earthquakes of unusual violence, causing the destruction by sudden shocks beneath, and resulting, directly and indirectly, in waves sweeping over the continent. Since at this time the land was still low for the greater part, the huge waves must have repeatedly swept over the greater part of the land, leaving only the smaller species of animals and the vegetation. It is evident, therefore, that during the geological past earthquakes occurred that were probably vastly greater than any that have occurred on the earth during more recent times. CHAPTER XXXVI THE KIMBERLY DIAMOND FIELDS AND THEIR VOLCANIC ORIGIN The elementary substance carbon occurs in three forms, i. e., _charcoal_, _graphite_, and the _diamond_. The commonest form of carbon is to be found in charcoal, as well as in bituminous coal, anthracite coal, and _lignite_. Graphite, also known as _plumbago_, or _black lead_, is the substance you have seen so often in the lead of pencils. The diamond, as every one knows, is the highly prized precious stone that sparkles so brightly in the light, and is so hard that it is capable of scratching almost any other substance. Diamonds are found in various parts of the world. We are now interested in them, however, only as they occur in certain parts of the world, as in the great Kimberly diamond fields in Southern Africa. Dr. Max Bauer in his book on precious stones says that the discovery of diamonds in South Africa was made by a traveller named O'Reilly, who, in 1867, saw a child sitting in the house of a Boer named Jacobs, playing with a shining stone. Jacob's farm was a short distance south of the Orange River near Hopetown. This stone proved to be a diamond weighing some twenty-one and three-tenths carats and was afterwards sold for $2,500. The incident led to the discovery and consequent development of the Kimberly diamond fields. Without going into a description of the different deposits in which diamonds are found, it will suffice to say that in the Kimberly district the diamonds occur distributed through the materials that fill peculiar funnel-shaped depressions called _pipes_ which extend vertically downward to unknown depths. The rock that fills a pipe consists of an entirely different material from that in which the pipe occurs. The upper extremity of the pipe is generally slightly elevated above the general surface for a few yards. The pipes vary in diameter from twenty to 750 yards, diameters of from 200 to 300 yards being quiet common. In 1892, the diamond-bearing material found in the pipes of the Kimberly mines had been excavated vertically downwards a distance of 1,261 feet, without any signs of its being exhausted. Now, the materials which fill the pipe of the great Kimberly mine are practically the same in all the mines in the neighborhood. At the upper part of the pipe the materials show the action of weathering by exposure to the air. Here the ground is of a yellowish color. Below, the materials have a blue color. According to Bauer the diamond-bearing material that fills the upper part of the pipe consists of a soft, sandy material of a light yellow color, known to diamond miners as _yellow ground_, or _yellow stuff_. In the case of the Kimberly mine, the yellow ground has a thickness of about sixty feet. Below it the material has a blue color and is known as the _blue ground_. This latter material possesses the character of a volcanic _tuff_, which is a hardened clay. It is of a green or bluish green color and has the appearance of dried mud that holds or binds together numerous irregular, tough, and sometimes rounded fragments of a green or bluish black serpentine. The diamonds are found near the surface in the yellow ground, as well as downwards through the blue ground. It was at one time thought that most of the diamonds existed in the yellow ground, and that they would soon disappear entirely at short distances below where the blue ground began. Under this belief some of the most valuable claims changed hands at prices far below their true value. It was soon found, however, that large and valuable stones existed in the blue ground, and, indeed, this ground has never been mined to a depth below where valuable diamonds appear. The diamonds occur in very small quantities spread through the yellow and blue grounds. The following statement by Bauer will show this: "A striking illustration of their sparing occurrence is furnished by the fact that in the richest part of the richest mine, namely, in the Kimberly mine, they constitute only one part in 2,000,000, or 0.00005% of the blue ground. In other mines the proportion is still lower, namely, one part in 40,000,000, a yield which corresponds to five carats per cubic yard of rock." Of course, you will desire by this time to know the manner in which the pipes of the diamond mines of South Africa have become filled with the diamond-bearing rocks, and particularly what diamonds have to do with a book on volcanoes and earthquakes. Dr. Emil Cohen, who has made a study of these regions, regards the pipes as volcanic vents or chimneys, and that the materials filling the pipes have been brought up from below by volcanic forces. He says: "I consider that the diamantiferous ground is a product of volcanic action, and was probably erupted at a comparatively low temperature in the form of an ash saturated with water and comparable to the materials ejected by a mud volcano. Subsequently new minerals were formed in the mass, consequent on alterations induced in the upper part by exposure to atmospheric agencies, and in the lower by the presence of water. Each of the crater-like basins, or, perhaps, more correctly, funnels, in which alone diamonds are now found, was at one time the outlet of an active volcano which became filled up, partly with the products of eruption and partly with ejected material which fell back from the sides of the crater intermingled with various foreign substances, such as small pebbles, or organic remains of local origin, all of which became imbedded in the volcanic tuff. The substance of the tuff was probably mainly derived from deep-seated crystalline rocks, of which isolated remains are now to be found, and which are similar to those which now crop out at the surface, only at a considerable distance from the diamond fields. These crystalline rocks from which the diamonds probably took their origin, were pulverized and forced up into the pipes by the action of volcanic forces, and imbedded in this eruptive material, these diamonds either in perfect crystals or in fragments are now found." So far as the volcanic origin of the diamonds of the Kimberly diamond fields is concerned, Cohen's theory has been generally accepted with the following modifications: that the pipes were not filled by a single volcanic eruption, but by successive eruptions, and that in the case of the Kimberly mine, the pipes contain the results of as many as fifteen successive eruptions. There has, however, been another and more important modification proposed to Cohen's theory, which is far more probable. It will be noticed that Cohen's theory regards the action of the volcanic eruption as only serving to bring fragments of a deep-seated mother rock that contained the diamonds up from below with the material that fills the pipe. Now, Prof. Carvill Lewis proposes the following very important change in Cohen's theory: that the blue ground does not consist of fragmentary material or tuff, but was forced up from below in the pipe in a molten mass and consolidated on cooling. In other words, the blue ground is filled with an ordinary igneous rock that was solidified in place in the vent or pipe. In the great Kimberly mines the surface of the pipe is divided into numerous separate claims, each consisting of a small square lot. There are so many of these claims in the Kimberly mine that its surface is honey-combed by numerous square pits. The work is done largely by native Kaffirs employed there since the '70's. As the material was removed from the pit, the adjoining claims were separated from each other by high vertical walls. At a later date, in order to remove the material and separate the lots, high staging provided with ropes and hauling machinery was erected. The number of these ropes is now so great that the mine has the appearance of a huge cobweb. A very extensive series of investigations has been made at a comparatively recent date by Prof. Henri Moissan of France on various chemical products that are obtained under the influence of the high temperatures of the electric furnace. When a powerful electric current is caused to pass through a highly refractory material, that is to say, a material difficult to fuse, such as carbon, it raises it to an extremely high temperature. A still higher temperature can be obtained by causing a powerful current to flow between two carbon rods that are first brought into contact, and then gradually separated from each other, just as they are in the ordinary arc lights employed for lighting the streets of our cities. In the latter way a temperature that is estimated as high as 3,500° C. (6,332° F.), can be readily obtained. Under these very high temperatures some very curious chemical products have been obtained in electric furnaces. These furnaces consist of small chambers made of highly refractory materials closely surrounding the incandescent carbon, or the carbon voltaic arc. Among some of the most curious of these products are artificially produced diamonds. Moissan, however, was not the first to produce diamonds artificially. As soon as Lavoisier had experimentally shown that the chemical composition of the diamond and carbon are the same, efforts were made to convert charcoal into diamonds, and Despretz, as early as 1849, by means of the combined influence of a powerful burning glass, the oxyhydrogen blowpipe, and the carbon voltaic arc obtained a very high temperature. He claims by this temperature to have been able to change carbon into a few microscopic diamonds. It is quite possible, in the light of later investigations, that Despretz may have been mistaken in his belief that he had actually produced diamonds; but whether this be so or not, he was certainly one of the pioneers in this early transformation of charcoal. Theoretically, all that would be required in order to change the non-crystalline form of carbon into the diamond, would be to subject the carbon to a temperature sufficiently high to fuse it and then permit it slowly to crystallize. Could this be done, there should be no trouble in transforming any amount of coal into any equal amount of diamonds. But the transformation is by no means as simple as might be supposed. It is not that the temperature of the carbon cannot be raised to its point of fusion, but that as soon as a certain temperature has been reached, the carbon, instead of fusing or melting, is suddenly volatilized or turned into vapor. There is no doubt that this is done. Thousands of feet of carbon rods are volatilized every night in the arc lamps of our cities, but the trouble is that this carbon vapor so formed, when cooled, or condensed, is not converted into the exceedingly hard, clear, crystalline diamond, but into the soft, dull black graphite or plumbago. Now the process adopted by Moissan in order to cause volatilized carbon, or carbon vapor, to condense in the form of crystalline diamonds was practically as follows: he placed pieces of pure carbon inside a very strong steel tube, such, for example, as would be formed by boring a short cylindrical hole in a piece of strong thick steel, and placing a small quantity of carbon inside the tube so formed. Closing the open end of the tube by means of a tightly fitting screw plug, he volatilized the carbon inside the tube. The steel, tube, and plug formed an electric furnace, for, as soon as he passed an electric current through it, the temperature at once became high enough to volatilize the carbon. Under these circumstances the carbon vapor was subjected to great pressure owing to the limited space in which it was liberated. As soon as this mass of dense vapor had been formed, he seized the steel tube with a pair of furnace tongs, and plunged it below the surface of cold water in a bucket. Of course, as the hot tube suddenly chilled, there was a great shrinking in the walls of the furnace, so that the already compressed carbon vapor was subjected to a still greater pressure which possibly liquified it. Of that, however, we cannot speak definitely. This, however, can safely be asserted, that when the tube was broken open a confused mass of small crystals was found inside, some of which, on examination with the microscope, were found to consist of small crystals of two forms of diamonds, namely, the black diamond, or carbonado, and the regular crystallized diamond. Moissan made a great number of experiments for producing diamonds in this way, and succeeded in forming some very beautiful, though microscopic, diamonds. What may be said to characterize especially Moissan's experiments was the comparatively great number of diamonds, so small as to be scarcely distinguishable under the microscope. The high temperature to which the materials inside the tube were exposed resulted in the production of numerous minute crystals of different minerals. In order to get rid of as many of these as possible Moissan adopted the plan of subjecting the material to the action of powerful solvents, such as sulphuric acid, aqua regia, or a mixture of sulphuric and nitric acid, and hydrofluoric acid. These acids destroyed most of the minute crystals of other minerals, but left the minute crystals of diamonds unaffected. Now it will be observed that the theory proposed by Prof. Carvill Lewis as to the probable origin of the diamonds of the Kimberly mines bears a wonderfully close resemblance to the method adopted by Moissan for the production of artificial diamonds, since it supposes the diamonds to have been formed by the sudden cooling or chilling within the pipe of various molten materials brought up from great depths by the volcanic forces. If this be true, then besides the comparatively large crystallized and perfect diamonds found in the blue ground of the Kimberly mines, there should also be found large quantities of microscopic diamonds, just as are found in Moissan's electric furnaces, in which he produced artificial diamonds. Moissan, considering this, obtained a specimen of the blue ground from the Kimberly diamond pipe and on subjecting it to the action of the different solvents before named, found in the mass that was left undissolved a great number of microscopic diamonds. It would seem, therefore, that there is no reasonable doubt but that the Kimberly diamond fields had their diamonds produced by the sudden chilling in the volcanic pipes of molten materials brought from great depths by the force of volcanic eruption. CHAPTER XXXVII THE FABLED CONTINENT OF ATLANTIS Besides the sudden changes of level that frequently occur during earthquake shocks there are gradual changes of level that take place very slowly throughout long periods of time. These are believed to be due to the warpings produced by the cooling of an originally highly heated globe. It is not true, therefore, that the earth's surface is fixed, or that its land and water areas remain always the same. On the contrary, what is land at one time is water at another time, and so, too, water areas may become changed into land areas. For the most part these changes go on so slowly as not to be noticeable in an ordinary lifetime. Indeed, in some cases, they are so extremely gradual that Methuselah himself might have gone to his grave in ignorance of their progress. Let us briefly note a few well-known gradual changes of level. One of the most extensive of these is the sinking of an immense area, over 6,000 miles in diameter, that covers a large part of the bed or floor of the Pacific Ocean. It is an easy matter to observe the gradual changes of level on the coasts, since the old water line can be at once found, but it is very difficult to detect such changes in the bed of the ocean, hidden as it is by a covering of water. Yet many things that seem impossible to the uninitiated are readily solved by those familiar with physical science. Little signs, meaningless to others, are easily read, and these prove beyond doubt the gradual sinking of the ocean's bed. It was once believed that the coral polyps or animalculæ from the hard, bony skeletons of which coral reefs are formed, could live at the greatest depths of the ocean. These minute animals were, therefore, generally credited with filling up the deep ocean, in certain places, and converting it into dry land, and poetic philosophers were pleased to point to their indefatigable labors as an object lesson to the slothful. But these charming, though fallacious, ideas were rudely overthrown by the sounding line and the drag-net. It had long been known that pieces of coral rock were brought up by dredging apparatus from the bottom of the ocean at all depths, but it was eventually shown that such pieces of coral rock never contained living animalculæ, when brought from water at greater depths than from 100 to 120 feet. It puzzled scientific men no little at first to explain this apparent inconsistency. If the coral polyp could not live in water at greater depths than from 100 to 120 feet, how could the presence of coral rock at a depth of thousands of feet be explained? Happily, however, this problem was solved by the great naturalist, Charles Darwin, who showed that coral islands can only be formed in parts of the ocean whose beds are sinking at the same gradual rate at which the coral rock is being deposited. The presence, therefore, of coral islands on the bed of the Pacific, as well as along parts of its coasts, are, to scientific men, as good indications of its gradual sinking as if such facts had been written in the clearest language. But there are other instances of gradual changes of level besides the bed of the Pacific. About 600 miles along the coast of Greenland, from Disco Bay, near lat. 69° N., south to the Firth of Igaliko, lat. 60° 43' N., the bed of the ocean has been slowly sinking through 400 years. Old buildings and islands have been covered by the waters, so that fishermen have been compelled to provide new poles for their boats. As Sir Charles Lyell remarks: "In one place the Moravian settlers have been obliged more than once to move inland the poles upon which their large boats are set, and the old poles still remain beneath the water as silent witnesses of the change." Besides these gradual changes of level there are many others, but only one more need be cited: the gradual movements of the coasts of North America between Labrador and New Jersey that are rising in some places, and sinking in other places. The evidences of these gradual changes of level are sometimes of such a character that he who runs may read them. One of the most interesting is, perhaps, that of the old Roman temple of Jupiter Serapis, at Pozzuli, on the borders of the Mediterranean. This temple, when completed, was 124 feet in length and 115 feet in width. Its roof was supported by forty-six columns, each forty-two feet in height, and five feet in diameter. Only three of these columns are now standing. They give, however, unquestionable evidence of having been submerged for about half their height. Nor, indeed, is the evidence wanting that this submergence continued a considerable time; for, while the lower twelve feet of the columns remain smooth and unaffected, yet, for a distance of nine feet above this portion, they have been perforated by various stone-boring mollusks of a species still living in the Mediterranean. This witnesses that the columns, when submerged, were buried in mud for twelve feet, and surrounded by water nine feet deep. According to Dana, the pavement of the temple is still under water. The fact that another pavement exists below it shows that these changes of level had occurred before the temple was deserted by the Romans. It appears, that, prior to 1845, a gradual sinking of this part of the coast had been going on, but that since then there has ensued a gradual rising. The evidences of these gradual changes of level in the land and water surfaces of the earth cannot be doubted by even the most skeptical. Again and again has the dry land disappeared below the surface of the waters of the ocean. Again and again, the ocean's bed has been raised to the surface and been converted into dry land. Suppose we attempt to follow one of the latter movements. We will imagine an extensive area to have slowly appeared above the ocean. In due process of time this land surface, which we will assume to have continental dimensions, gradually becomes covered with plant and animal life. If it remains above the water for a sufficient length of time, its simple plants and animals acquire more and more complex forms, so as to make it difficult to detect any traces of the original species from which they have descended, or, more correctly, ascended. Moreover, where favorable conditions exist, the continent becomes peopled with men, who gradually advance from barbarism to semi-barbarism and eventually become a most highly civilized nation, sending to different parts of the world colonies, who carry with them the language and religious customs of the land of their birth. But, a sudden or paroxysmal change of level occurs. The highly developed and densely populated region is suddenly swept out of existence and completely covered by the waters of the ocean until, in a few thousand years, all traces of its existence have so completely disappeared that but few, if any, can be found willing to acknowledge it ever had an existence. Such, it is claimed, was the fate of the fabled Continent of Atlantis. It will, therefore, be interesting to endeavor briefly to review its past history and to read some of the things that have been written about this part of the world, which appears in the opinion of some of the ancients to have actually existed. References to Atlantis have been made by various early writers. Solon, the great Athenian lawgiver, who flourished 600 years B. C., began a description of this place in verse. This description was never completed. At a later date one of Solon's descendants, Plato, who lived about 400 B. C., prepared a description of Atlantis, giving in detail its location, the general character of its surface, a description of its principal city, and the civilization of its inhabitants, as well as a brief reference to its sudden destruction. In another place this record of Plato will be given in full. It will suffice now to quote briefly what he says concerning its location. "There was an island situated in front of the straits which you call the Columns of Heracles (Straits of Gibraltar). The island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from the island you might pass through the whole in the opposite continent, for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbor, having a narrow entrance, but that other is the real sea, and the surrounding land may most truly be called a continent. Now, in the island of Atlantis, there was a great and wonderful empire, which had ruled over the whole island and several others, as well as over part of the continents; and, besides these, they subjected the parts of Libya within the Columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. The vast power, thus gathered into one, endeavored to subdue at one blow our country and yours, and the whole of the land which was within the straits, and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtues and strength, among all mankind, for she was the first in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjected, and freely liberated all the others who dwelt within the limits of Heracles. "But afterwards, there occurred violent earthquakes and floods, and in a single day and night of rain, all your warlike men in a body sunk into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in a like manner disappeared, and was sunk beneath the sea. And that is the reason why the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is such a quantity of shallow mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island." ("Plato's Dialogues," ii, 517, Timæus). But besides Solon and Plato there are other ancient writers who refer to the lost island of Atlantis. Ælian, in his "Varia Historia," lib. iii, chap. xvii, states that Theopompos, who flourished 400 B. C., refers to an interview between Midas, King of Phrygia, and Sielus, in which the latter speaks of a great continent larger than Asia, Europe, and Libya together that existed in the Atlantic. Proclus quotes a statement from an ancient writer, who speaks about the islands of the sea beyond the Pillars of Hercules (Straits of Gibraltar). Marcellus, in a book on the Ethiopians, refers to seven islands in the Atlantic whose inhabitants preserve legends of a greater island (possibly Atlantis), that had dominion over the small islands. Diodorus Siculus asserts that the Phoenicians discovered a large island in the Atlantic beyond the Pillars of Hercules several days' sail from the coast of Africa. Homer, Plutarch, and other ancient writers, refer to several islands in the Atlantic situated several thousand stadia from the Pillars of Hercules. (A stadium was a Greek measure of length equal to 600 feet. It was equal to one-eighth of a Roman mile, or 625 Roman feet.) Ignatius Donnelly, in his book, called "Atlantis, the Ante-Diluvian World," claims that Plato's description of Atlantis which has generally been regarded as imaginary, was, on the contrary, historic; that the prehistoric continent of Atlantis was the cradle of the human race; that here man reached his highest civilization; that Atlantis was the site of the Garden of Eden, the Gardens of the Hesperides, the Elysian Fields, as well as Olympus; that, under the forms of the gods and goddesses of the ancient Greeks, the Phoenicians, the Hindoos, and the Scandinavians, are related the stories of the kings, queens, and heroes of Atlantis. Much that has been claimed for the lost continent can hardly be regarded in any other light save that of imagination. For example, it has been asserted that it was from Atlantis that the colonies were sent out that peopled the coast countries of the Gulf of Mexico, of parts of the valley of the Mississippi, the basin of the Amazon, the western coasts of South America, parts of Europe, the shore lands of the Mediterranean Sea, the coasts of Europe, including the Caspian and the Black Seas, and even of parts of Africa. It has also been asserted that this mighty nation of Atlantis carried the worship of the sun to Egypt, which was one of its first colonies, and, therefore, the civilization of Egypt was but an offshoot of prehistoric Atlantis. But it will be reasonably objected that, if such a mass of land ever existed in the North Atlantic, some evidences should still be found on the bed of the ocean. Even though great periods of time have elapsed since the disappearance of Atlantis, some traces of its former existence should still remain on the floor of the ocean. Are there any evidences of an old land mass on this part of the floor of the Atlantic? The answer is unmistakable. Deep-sea soundings show beyond question that there still exists in the North Atlantic in the region where Atlantis is said to have been located a submarine island, the summits of which appear above the waters in the Azores and the Canary Islands. This submarine island has been traced southwest over the bed of the ocean for a distance of several thousand miles with a breadth of fully 1,000 miles. Toward the south there is connected with it another submarine island, the summits of which reach above the surface in the islands of Ascension, St. Helena, and Tristan d'Acunha. But the testimony of the submarine islands extends further than this. According to a number of careful soundings it appears that the bed of these parts of the ocean, instead of being characterized by a comparatively level surface due to the gradual accumulation of silt, possesses, to a great extent, the peculiarly sculptured surfaces which are only produced by exposure for a long time to the atmosphere. Other facts might be adduced to show that some time during the first appearance of man on the earth there was a large land mass connecting the Eastern and Western Continents. These facts include the wonderful resemblances existing between the plants and animals of the Eastern and Western Continents, the close resemblances of the myths and legends of the races of the Eastern and Western Continents, as well as the identity of their religious ideas, and the close similarity of their language so far as relates to certain fundamental ideas. These facts all point unquestionably to the existence of some large land mass between the two continents, and to this extent to throw light on the probable existence of prehistoric Atlantis. CHAPTER XXXVIII PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF ATLANTIS The following is a translation of Plato's record in full: Critias. Then listen, Socrates, to a strange tale, which is, however, certainly true, as Solon, who was the wisest of the seven sages, declared. He was a relative and great friend of my great-grandfather, Dropidas, as he himself says in several of his poems, and Dropidas told Critias, my grandfather, who remembered, and told us, that there were of old great and marvellous actions of the Athenians, which have passed into oblivion through time and the destruction of the human race--and one in particular, which was the greatest of them all, the recital of which will be a suitable testimony of our gratitude to you.... Socrates. Very good; and what is this ancient famous action of which Critias spoke, not as a mere legend, but as a veritable action of the Athenian State, which Solon recounted? Critias. I will tell an old-world story which I heard from an aged man; for Critias was, as he said, at that time nearly ninety-years of age, and I was about ten years of age. Now the day was that day of the Apaturia which is called the registration of youth; at which, according to custom, our parents gave prizes for recitations, and the poems of several poets were recited by us boys, and many of us sung the poems of Solon, which were new at the time. One of our tribe, either because this was his real opinion, or because he thought that he would please Critias, said that, in his judgment, Solon was not only the wisest of men but the noblest of poets. The old man, I well remember, brightened up at this, and said smiling: "Yes, Amynander, if Solon had only, like other poets, made poetry the business of his life, and had completed the tale which he brought with him from Egypt, and had not been compelled, by reason of the factions and troubles which he found stirring in this country when he came home, to attend to other matters, in my opinion, he would have been as famous as Homer, or Hesiod, or any poet." "And what was that poem about, Critias?" said the person who addressed him. "About the greatest action which the Athenians ever did, and which ought to have been most famous, but which, through the lapse of time and the destruction of the actors, has not come down to us." "Tell us," said the other, "the whole story, and how and from whom Solon heard this veritable tradition." He replied: "At the head of the Egyptian Delta, where the river Nile divides, there is a certain district which is called the district of Sais, and the great city of the district is also called Sais, and is the city from which Amasis the king was sprung. And the citizens have a deity who is their foundress: she is called in the Egyptian tongue Neith, which is asserted by them to be the same whom the Hellenes called Athene. Now, the citizens of this city are great lovers of the Athenians, and say that they are in some way related to them. Thither came Solon, who was received by them with great honor; and he asked the priests, who were most skilful in such matters, about antiquity, and made the discovery that neither he nor any other Hellene knew anything worth mentioning about the times of old. "On one occasion, when he was drawing them on to speak of antiquity, he began to tell about the most ancient things in our part of the world--about Phoroneus, who is called 'the first,' and about Niobe; and, after the Deluge, to tell of the lives of Deucalian and Pyrrha; and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and attempted to reckon how many years old were the events of which he was speaking, and to give the dates. Thereupon, one of the priests, who was of very great age, said: 'O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are but children, and there is never an old man who is an Hellene.' Solon, hearing this, said, 'What do you mean?' 'I mean to say,' he replied, 'that in mind you are all young; there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient traditions, nor any science which is hoary with age. And I will tell you the reason of this: there have been, and there will be again, many destructions of mankind arising out of many causes. "'There is a story which even you have preserved, that once upon a time Phaëthon, the son of Helios, having yoked the steeds in his father's chariot, because he was not able to drive them in the path of his father, burnt up all that was upon the earth, and was himself destroyed by a thunder-bolt. Now, this has the form of a myth, but really signifies a declination of the bodies moving around the earth, and in the heavens, and a great conflagration of things upon the earth recurring at long intervals of time: when this happens, those who live upon the mountains and in dry and lofty places are more liable to destruction than those who dwell by rivers or on the sea-shore; and from this calamity the Nile, who is our never-failing savior, saves and delivers us. "'When, on the other hand, the gods purge the earth with a deluge of water, among you herdsmen and shepherds on the mountains are the survivors, whereas those of you who live in cities are carried by the rivers into the sea; but in this country neither at that time nor at any other does the water come up from below, for which reason the things preserved here are said to be the oldest. The fact is, that wherever the extremity of winter frost or of summer sun does not prevent, the human race is always increasing at times, and at other times diminishing in numbers. And whatever happened either in your country or in ours, or in any other regions of which we are informed--if any action which is noble or great, or in any other way remarkable has taken place, all that has been written down of old, and is preserved in our temples; whereas you and other nations are just being provided with letters and the other things which States require; and then, at the usual period, the stream from heaven descends like a pestilence, and leaves only those of you who are destitute of letters and education; and thus you have to begin all over again as children, and know nothing of what happened in ancient times, either among us or among yourselves. "'As for those genealogies of yours which you have recounted to us, Solon, they are no better than the tales of children; for, in the first place, you remember one deluge only, whereas there were many of them, and, in the next place, you do not know that there dwelt in your land the fairest and noblest race of men which ever lived, of whom you and your whole city are but a seed or remnant. And this was unknown to you, because for many generations the survivors of that destruction died and made no sign. For there was a time, Solon, before that great deluge of all, when the city which now is Athens, was first in war, and was preëminent for the excellence of her laws, and is said to have performed the noblest deeds, and to have had the fairest constitution of any of which tradition tells, under the face of heaven.' "Solon marvelled at this and earnestly requested the priest to inform him exactly and in order about these former citizens. 'You are welcome to hear about them, Solon,' said the priest, 'both for your own sake and for that of the city; and, above all, for the sake of the goddess who is the common patron and protector and educator of both our cities. She founded your city a thousand years before ours, receiving from the Earth and Hephæstus the seed of your race, and then she founded ours, the constitution of which is set down in our sacred registers as 8,000 years old. As touching the citizens of 9,000 years ago, I will briefly inform you of their laws and of the noblest of their actions; and the exact particulars of the whole we will hereafter go through at our leisure in the sacred registers themselves. If you compare these very laws with your own, you will find that many of ours are the counterpart of yours, as they were in the olden time. "'In the first place, there is the caste of priests, which is separated from all the others; next there are the artificers, who exercise their several crafts by themselves, and without admixture of any other, and also there is the class of shepherds and that of hunters, as well as that of husbandmen; and you will observe, too, that the warriors in Egypt are separated from all the other classes, and are commanded by the law only to engage in war. Moreover, the weapons with which they are equipped are shields and spears, and this the goddess taught first among you, and then in Asiatic countries, and we among the Asiatics first adopted. "'Then, as to wisdom, do you observe, what care the law took from the very first, searching out and comprehending the whole order of things down to prophecy and medicine (the latter with a view to health); and out of these divine elements drawing what was needful for human life, and adding every sort of knowledge which was connected with them. All this order and arrangement the goddess first imparted to you when establishing your city; and she chose the spot of earth in which you were born, because she saw that the happy temperament of the seasons in that land would produce the wisest of men. "'Wherefore the goddess, who was a lover both of war and of wisdom, selected, and first of all settled that spot which was the most likely to produce men likest herself. And there you dwelt, having such laws as these and still better ones, and excelled all mankind in all virtue, as became the children and disciples of the gods. Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your State in our histories; but one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valor; for these histories tell of a mighty power which was agressing wantonly against the whole of Europe and Asia, and to which your city put an end. "'This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front of the straits which you call the Columns of Heracles: the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from the island you might pass through the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbor, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a continent. Now, in the island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire, which had rule over the whole island and several others, as well as over parts of the continent; and, besides these, they subjected the parts of Libya within the Columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. "'That vast power, thus gathered into one, endeavored to subdue at one blow our country and yours, and the whole of the land which was within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all mankind, for she was the first in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjected, and freely liberated all the others who dwelt within the limits of Heracles. But afterward there occurred violent earthquakes and floods, and in a single day and night of rain all your warlike men in a body sunk into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared, and was sunk beneath the sea. And that is the reason why the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is such a quantity of shallow mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island.' ('Plato's Dialogues,' ii, 517, Timæus.)... "But in addition to the gods whom you have mentioned, I would specially invoke Mnemosyne; for all the important part of what I have to tell is dependent on her favor, and if I can recollect and recite enough of what was said by the priests, and brought hither by Solon, I doubt not that I shall satisfy the requirements of this theatre. To that task, then, I will at once address myself. "Let me begin by observing first of all that nine thousand was the sum of years which had elapsed since the war which was said to have taken place between all those who dwelt outside the Pillars of Heracles and those who dwelt within them. This war I am now to describe. Of the combatants on the one side the city of Athens was reported to have been the ruler, and to have directed the contest; the combatants on the other side were led by the kings of the islands of Atlantis, which, as I was saying, once had an extent greater than that of Libya and Asia; and, when afterwards sunk by an earthquake, became an impassable barrier of mud to voyagers sailing from hence to the ocean. The progress of the history will unfold the various tribes of barbarians and Hellenes which then existed, as they successively appear on the scene; but I must begin by describing, first of all, the Athenians as they were in that day, and their enemies who fought with them; and I shall have to tell of the power and form of government of both of them. Let us give the precedence to Athens.... "Many great deluges have taken place during the nine thousand years, for that is the number of years which have elapsed since the time of which I am speaking; and in all the ages and changes of things there has never been any settlement of the earth flowing down from the mountains, as in other places, which is worth speaking of; it has always been carried round in a circle, and disappeared in the depths below. The consequence is that, in comparison with what then was, there are remaining in small islets only the bones of the wasted body, as they may be called, all the richer and softer parts of the soil having fallen away, and the mere skeleton of the country being left.... "And next, if I have not forgotten what I heard when I was a child, I will impart to you the character and origin of their adversaries; for friends should not keep their stories to themselves, but have them in common. Yet, before proceeding further in the narrative, I ought to warn you that you must not be surprised, if you should hear Hellenic names given to foreigners. I will tell you the reason of this: Solon, who was intending to use the tale for his poem, made an investigation into the meaning of the names, and found that the early Egyptians, in writing them down, had translated them into their own language, and he recovered the meaning of the several names and retranslated them, and copied them out again in our language. My great-grandfather, Dropidas, had the original writing, which is still in my possession, and was carefully studied by me when I was a child. Therefore, if you hear names such as are used in this country, you must not be surprised, for I have told you the reason of them. "The tale, which was of great length, began as follows: I have before remarked, in speaking of the allotments of the gods, that they distributed the whole earth into portions differing in extent, and made themselves temples and sacrifices. And Poseidon, receiving for his lot the island of Atlantis, begat children by a mortal woman, and settled them in a part of the island which I will proceed to describe. On the side toward the sea, and in the centre of the whole island, there was a plain which is said to have been the fairest of all plains, and very fertile. Near the plain, and also in the centre of the island, at a distance of about fifty stadia, there was a mountain, not very high on any side. In this mountain there dwelt one of the earth-born primeval men of that country, whose name was Evenor, and he had a wife named Leucippe, and they had an only daughter, who was named Cleito. "The maiden was growing up to womanhood when her father and mother died; Poseidon fell in love with her, and had intercourse with her; and, breaking the ground, enclosed the hill in which she lived all around, making alternate zones of sea and land, larger and smaller, encircling one another; there were two of land and three of water, which he turned as with a lathe out of the centre of the island, equidistant every way, so that no man could get to the island, for ships and voyagers were not yet heard of. He himself, as he was a god, found no difficulty in making special arrangements for the centre island, bringing two streams of water under the earth, which he caused to ascend as springs, one of warm water and the other of cold, and making every variety of food to spring up abundantly in the earth. He also begat and brought up five pairs of male children, dividing the island of Atlantis into ten portions; he gave to the first-born of the eldest pair his mother's dwelling and the surrounding allotment, which was the largest and best, and made him king over the rest; the others he made princes, and gave them rule over many men and a large territory. "He named them all: the eldest, who was king, he named Atlas, and from him the whole island and the ocean received the name of Atlantic. To his twin brother, who was born after him, and obtained as his lot the extremity of the island toward the Pillars of Heracles, as far as the country which is still called the region of Gades in that part of the world, he gave the name which in the Hellenic language is Eumelus, in the language of the country which is named after him, Gadeirus. Of the second pair of twins, he called one Ampheres and the other Evæmon. To the third pair of twins he gave the name Mneseus to the elder, and Autochthon to the one who followed him. Of the fourth pair of twins he called the elder Elasippus and the younger Mestor. And of the fifth pair he gave to the elder the name of Azaes, and to the younger Diaprepes. "All these and their descendants were the inhabitants and rulers of divers islands in the open sea; and also, as has been already said, they held sway in the other direction over the country within the Pillars as far as Egypt and Tyrrhenia. Now Atlas had a numerous and honorable family, and his eldest branch always retained the kingdom, which the eldest son handed on to his eldest for many generations; and they had such an amount of wealth as was never before possessed by kings and potentates, and is not likely ever to be again, and they were furnished with everything which they could desire both in city and country. For, because of the greatness of their empire, many things were brought to them from foreign countries, and the island itself provided much of what was required by them for the uses of life. "In the first place, they dug out of the earth whatever was to be found there, mineral as well as metal, and that which is now only a name, and was then something more than a name--orichalcum--was dug out of the earth in many parts of the island, and, with the exception of gold, was esteemed the most precious of metals among the men of those days. There was an abundance of wood for carpenters' work, and sufficient maintenance for tame and wild animals. Moreover, there were a great number of elephants in the island, and there was provision for animals of every kind, both for those who live in lakes and marshes and rivers, and also for those which live in mountains, and on plains, and therefore for the animal which is the largest and most voracious of them. "Also whatever fragrant things there are in the earth, whether roots, or herbage, or woods, or distilling drops of flowers, or fruits, grew and thrived in that land; and again, the cultivated fruit of the earth, both the dry edible fruit and other species of food, which we call by the general name of legumes, and the fruits having a hard rind, affording drinks, and meats, and ointments, and good store of chestnuts and the like, which may be used to play with, and are fruits which spoil with keeping--and the pleasant kinds of dessert which console us after dinner, when we are full and tired of eating--all these that sacred island lying beneath the sun brought forth fair and wondrous in infinite abundance. "All these things they received from the earth, and they employed themselves in constructing their temples, and palaces, and harbors and docks; and they arranged the whole country in the following manner: first of all they bridged over the zones of sea which surrounded the ancient metropolis, and made a passage into and out of the royal palace; and then they began to build the palace in the habitation of the god and of their ancestors. This they continued to ornament in successive generations, every king surpassing the one who came before him to the utmost of his power, until they made the building a marvel to behold for size and for beauty. "And, beginning from the sea, they dug a canal three hundred feet in width and one hundred feet in depth, and fifty stadia in length, which they carried through to the outermost zone, making a passage from the sea up to this, which became a harbor, and leaving an opening sufficient to enable the largest vessels to find ingress. Moreover, they divided the zones of land which parted the zones of sea, constructing bridges of such a width as would leave a passage for a single trireme to pass out of one into another, and roofed them over; and there was a way underneath for the ships, for the banks of the zones were raised considerably above the water. "Now the largest of the zones into which a passage was cut from the sea was three stadia in breadth, and the zone of land which came next of equal breadth; but the next two, as well a zone of water as of land, were two stadia, and the one which surrounded the central island was a stadium only in width. The island in which the palace was situated had a diameter of five stadia. This, and the zones and the bridge, which was the sixth part of a stadium in width, they surrounded by a stone wall, on either side placing towers, and gates on the bridges where the sea passed in. The stone which was used in the work they quarried from underneath the centre island and from underneath the zones, on the outer as well as the inner side. One kind of stone was white, another black, and a third red; as they quarried, they at the same time hollowed out decks, double within, having roofs formed out of the native rock. "Some of their buildings were simple, but in others they put together different stones, which they intermingled for the sake of ornament, to be a natural source of delight. The entire circuit of the wall which went around the outermost one they covered with a coating of brass, and the circuit of the next wall they coated with tin, and the third, which encompassed the citadel, flashed with the red light of orichalcum. The palace in the interior of the citadel was constructed in this wise: in the centre was a holy temple, dedicated to Cleito and Poseidon, which remained inaccessible, and was surrounded by an enclosure of gold; this was the spot in which was originally begotten the race of ten princes, and thither they annually brought the fruits of the earth in their season from all the ten portions, and performed sacrifices to each of them. "Here, too, was Poseidon's own temple, of a stadium in length and half a stadium in width, and of a proportionate height, having a sort of barbaric splendor. All the outside of the temple, with the exception of the pinnacles, they covered with silver, and the pinnacles with gold. In the interior of the temple the roof was of ivory, adorned everywhere with gold and silver and orichalcum; all the other parts of the walls and pillars and floor they lined with orichalcum. In the temple they placed statues of gold: there was the god himself standing in a chariot--the charioteer of six winged horses--and of such a size that he touched the roof of the building with his head; around him were a hundred Nereids riding on dolphins, for such was thought to be the number of them in that day. "There were also in the interior of the temple other images which had been dedicated by private individuals. And around the temple, on the outside, were placed statues of gold of all the ten kings and of their wives; and there were many other great offerings, both of kings and of private individuals, coming both from the city itself and the foreign cities over which they held sway. There was an altar, too, which in size and workmanship corresponded to the rest of the work, and there were palaces in like manner which answered to the greatness of the kingdom and the glory of the temple. "In the next place, they used fountains both of gold and hot springs. These were very abundant, and both kinds wonderfully adapted to use by reason of the sweetness and excellence of their waters. They constructed buildings about them, and planted suitable trees; also cisterns, some open to the heaven, others which they roofed over, to be used in winter as warm baths: there were the king's baths, and the baths of private persons, which were kept apart; also separate baths for women, and others again for horses and cattle, and to them they gave as much adornment as was suitable for them. The water which ran off they carried, some to the grove of Poseidon, where were growing all manner of trees of wonderful height and beauty, owing to the excellence of the soil; the remainder was conveyed by aqueducts which passed over the bridges to the outer circles: and there were many temples built and dedicated to many gods; also gardens and places of exercise, some for men, and some set apart for horses, in both of the two islands formed by the zones; and in the centre of the larger of the two, there was a racecourse of a stadium in width, and in length allowed to extend all round the island, for horses to race in. "Also there were guard-houses at intervals for the body-guard, the more trusted of whom had their duties appointed to them in the lesser zone, which was nearer the Acropolis; while the most trusted of all had houses given them within the citadel, and about the persons of the kings. The docks were full of triremes and naval stores, and all things were quite ready for use. Enough of the plan of the royal palace. Crossing the outer harbors, which were three in number, you would come to a wall which began at the sea and went all round; this was everywhere distant fifty stadia from the largest zone and harbor, and enclosed the whole, meeting at the mouth of the channel toward the sea. "The entire area was densely crowded with habitations; and the canal and the largest of the harbors were full of vessels, and merchants coming from all parts, who, from their numbers, kept up a multitudinous sound of human voices and din of all sorts, night and day. I have repeated his descriptions of the city and the parts about the ancient palace nearly as he gave them, and now I must endeavor to describe the nature and arrangement of the rest of the country. The whole country was described as being very lofty and precipitous on the side of the sea, but the country immediately about and surrounding the city was a level plain, itself surrounded by mountains which descended toward the sea; it was smooth and even, but of an oblong shape, extending in one direction three thousand stadia, and going up the country from the sea through the centre of the island two thousand stadia; the whole region of the island lies toward the south, and is sheltered from the north. "The surrounding mountains were celebrated for their number and size and beauty, in which they exceeded all that are now to be seen anywhere; having in them also many wealthy inhabited villages, and rivers and lakes, and meadows supplying food enough for every animal, wild or tame, and wood of various sorts, abundant for every kind of work. I will now describe the plain, which had been cultivated during many ages by many generations of kings. It was rectangular, and for the most part straight and oblong; and what it wanted of the straight line followed the line of the circular ditch. The depth and width and length of this ditch were incredible, and gave the impression that such a work, in addition to so many other works, could hardly have been wrought by the hand of man. But I must say what I have heard. "It was excavated to the depth of a hundred feet, and its breadth was a stadium everywhere; it was carried round the whole of the plain, and was ten thousand stadia in length. It received the streams which came down the mountains, and winding round the plain, and touching the city at various points, was there let off into the sea. From above, likewise, straight canals of a hundred feet in width were cut in the plain, and again let off into the ditch, toward the sea. These canals were at intervals of a hundred stadia, and by them they brought down the wood from the mountains to the city, and conveyed the fruits of the earth in ships, cutting transverse passages from one canal into another, and to the city. Twice in the year they gathered the fruits of the earth--in winter having the benefit of the rains, and in summer introducing the water of the canals. As to the population, each of the lots in the plain had an appointed chief of men who were fit for military service, and the size of the lot was to be a square of ten stadia each way, and the total number of all the lots was sixty thousand. "And of the inhabitants, of the mountains and of the rest of the country there was also a vast multitude having leaders, to whom they were assigned according to their dwellings and villages. The leader was required to furnish for the wars the sixth portion of a war-chariot, so as to make up a total of ten thousand chariots; also two horses and riders upon them, and a light chariot without a seat, accompanied by a fighting man on foot carrying a small shield, and having a charioteer mounted to guide the horses; also, he was bound to furnish two heavy-armed men, two archers, two slingers, three stone-shooters, and three javelin men, who were skirmishers, and four sailors, to make up a complement of twelve hundred ships. Such was the order of war in the royal city. "That of the other nine governments was different in each of them, and would be wearisome to narrate. As to offices and honors the following was the arrangement from the first: each of the ten kings, in his own division and in his own city, had the absolute control of the citizens, and in many cases, of the laws, punishing and slaying whomsoever he would. "Now the relations of their governments to one another were regulated by the injunctions of Poseidon as the law had handed them down. These were inscribed by the first men on a column of orichalcum, which was situated in the middle of the island, at the temple of Poseidon, whither the people were gathered together every fifth and sixth years alternately, thus giving equal honor to the odd and to the even number. And when they were gathered together they consulted about public affairs, and inquired if any one had transgressed in anything, and passed judgment on him accordingly--and before they passed judgment they gave their pledges to one another in this wise: "There were bulls who had the range of the temple of Poseidon; and the ten who were left alone in the temple, after they had offered prayers to the gods that they might take the sacrifices which were acceptable to them, hunted the bulls without weapons, but with staves and nooses; and the bull which they caught they led up to the column. The victim was then struck on the head by them, and slain over the sacred inscription. Now on the column, besides the law, there was inscribed an oath invoking mighty curses on the disobedient. When, therefore, after offering sacrifices according to their customs, they had burnt the limbs of the bull, they mingled a cup and cast in a clot of blood for each of them. The rest of the victim they took to the fire, after having made a purification of the column all round. "They then drew from the cup in golden vessels, and, pouring a libation on the fire, they swore that they would judge according to the laws on the column, and would punish any one who had previously transgressed, and that for the future they would not, if they could help, transgress any of the inscriptions, and would not command, or obey any ruler who commanded them, to act otherwise than according to the laws of their father Poseidon. "This was the prayer which each of them offered up for himself and for his family, at the same time drinking, and dedicating the vessel in the temple of the god; and, after spending some necessary time at supper, when darkness came on and the fire about the sacrifice was cool, all of them put on most beautiful azure robes, and, sitting on the ground at night near the embers of the sacrifices on which they had sworn, and extinguishing all the fires about the temple, they received and gave judgment, if any of them had any accusation to bring against any one; and, when they had given judgment, at daybreak they wrote down their sentences on a golden tablet, and deposited them as memorials with their robes. "There were many special laws which the several kings had inscribed about the temple, but the most important was the following: that they were not to take up arms against one another, and they were all to come to the rescue, if any one in any city attempted to overthrow the royal house. Like their ancestors, they were to deliberate in common about war and other matters, giving the supremacy to the family of Atlas; and the king was not to have the power of life or death over any of his kinsmen, unless he had the assent of the majority of the ten kings. "Such was the vast power which the god settled in the lost island of Atlantis; and this he afterward directed against our land on the following pretext, as traditions tell. For many generations, as long as the divine nature lasted in them, they were obedient to the laws, and well-affectioned toward the gods, who were their kinsmen, for they possessed true and in every way great spirits, practicing gentleness and wisdom in the various chances of life, and in their intercourse with one another. "They despised everything but virtue, not caring for their present state of life, and thinking lightly on the possession of gold, and other property, which seemed only a burden to them; neither were they intoxicated by luxury, nor did wealth deprive them of their self-control; but they were sober, and saw clearly that all these goods are increased by virtuous friendship with one another, and that by excessive zeal for them and honor of them, the good of them is lost, and friendship perishes with them. "By such reflections, and by the continuance in them of a divine nature, all that which we have described waxed and increased in them; but when this divine portion began to fade away in them, and became diluted too often, and with too much of the mortal admixture, and the human nature got the upper hand, then, they being unable to bear their fortune, became unseemly, and to him who had an eye to see, they began to appear base, and had lost the fairest of their precious gifts; but to those who had no eye to see the true happiness they still appeared glorious and blessed at the very time when they were filled with unrighteous avarice and power. Zeus, the god of gods, who rules with law, and is able to see into such things, perceiving that an honorable race was in a most wretched state, and wanting to inflict punishment on them, that they might be chastened and improved, collected all the gods into his most holy habitation, which, being placed in the centre of the world, sees all things that partake of generations. And when he had called them together, he spake as follows:" The story abruptly ends here, for Plato left no further record. CHAPTER XXXIX NATURE'S WARNING OF COMING EARTHQUAKES That there are signs of coming earthquakes which might be read by man, had he sufficient knowledge, there would seem to be but little doubt. These phenomena follow natural laws so that the approach of an earthquake must necessarily be in a definite order both as regards the phenomena which precede as well as those which follow it. There should, therefore, be signs that would enable one to predict its coming, although it must be acknowledged that these signs, so far as we actually know, are indistinct. It may seem to the unthinking and unobservant that the awful catastrophe of an earthquake comes entirely unheralded; that, apparently, it is not until the earth's surface begins to rock to and fro under the mighty forces that are causing destruction that its presence can be known. There are, however, many reasons for believing that in, perhaps, the greatest number of cases, it might have been foreseen, if greater attention had been given to the slight indications of its probable approach a short time before its occurrence. It is evident that the conditions of great pressure or stress in the earth's crust which finally result in a disastrous earthquake have been slowly accumulating for a long time, and that when the pressure at last reaches a point where the crust has to yield or slip, the ground is suddenly crushed and tossed to and fro while vast fissures and chasms are produced in the subterranean regions. At those points of the earth immediately above or in the neighborhood of such regions it is possible that there are many signs of the coming quake; and, although indistinguishable by our duller senses, are readily appreciated by the more highly developed senses of the lower animals. Indeed, had we accustomed ourselves to reading the various indications of nature as the lower animals have, we, too, might be able to read these warnings of the coming earthquake. At great distances from the place where the earthquake starts there would necessarily be a better opportunity for predicting its approach. As already stated, what is called an earthquake does not consist of a single shaking of the ground, but of a highly complex series of shakings. According to Mallet, the following waves start at the same time from the place of origin of an earthquake, when located on the bed of an ocean; i. e., an earth sound wave and a earth wave constituting the earth's shake; a sound wave through the ocean, another through the air; a sea wave called by him a forced sea wave, and finally the great sea wave. These waves reach a distant point in the following order: the sound wave through the earth and the great earthquake or shake which produces the damage. Then a smaller sea wave called the forced sea wave. This is followed almost immediately by the sound wave through the sea. Next come the air sound wave and finally the great sea wave; which, rushing in on the shore, sweeps nearly everything before it. In other words, the disturbances produced by the great earthquake follow in this order of sequence. If, therefore, the great earthquake wave proper transmitted through the earth should for any reason be delayed in reaching a distant place, the great sound waves should be able to give warning of the coming disturbances. Again, as we have already seen, the earthquake wave is preceded by a number of preliminary tremors, and is followed by a number of after tremors or _earthquake echoes_. Since, therefore, the preliminary waves reach a place first, it would seem that the approach of an earthquake must be heralded by the preliminary tremors. These, perhaps, at least in part, enable the lower animals to detect its coming. Again, in almost all instances there are a number of preliminary shocks that precede the great earthquake shock. Some of these preliminary shocks continue at intervals for several days or even longer. Sometimes, indeed, these subterranean sounds fail to be followed by earthquakes. Milne thinks that these sounds are caused by the preliminary tremors which precede the principal shock of the earthquake and that they reach the place first. Here again then it is evident that, were we able to interpret properly these sounds, we would probably be able to foretell the coming quake with a fair degree of certainty. There would appear to be no reasonable doubt that in some manner which we have not yet been able to discover, but probably along some of the lines indicated above, animals are capable of recognizing a coming earthquake. Long before the coming of the catastrophe they are said to exhibit extreme terror, and in many cases appear to seek the companionship of man, as if for protection. That the senses of smell and hearing are far more acute in the lower animals than in man no one can reasonably doubt. The manner in which a trained dog can follow a scent, for a long time after the animal or thing producing it has passed, far exceeds the power of scent possessed by man, and it is more than likely that this same power is possessed by all animals who live upon or prey upon other animals. It is probable that faintly odorous vapors or gases escape from the crust shortly before the great shock occurs, and that these faint odors are warnings to the animals of the approaching calamity. The sense of hearing also is much more acute in the lower animals. Daubeny is evidently of this belief, as will be seen from the following: "These gases and vapors (alluding to emanations given off from the ground during earthquakes) exert an influence on the barometer, which does appear to be indirectly affected by the earthquake. Then, similar properties also may occasion that uneasiness which animals are said to evince before any such event. Thus, according to the accounts of some writers, rats and mice leave their holes, alligators seek the dry land, quadrupeds snuff the ground, and manifest such signs of the impending calamity that in countries where earthquakes are common, the inhabitants take the alarm in consequence, and escape from their houses. It is right, however, to add, that more recent authorities dispute altogether the correctness of these statements." Dutton doubts the ability of animals to foretell coming earthquake shocks. But that the lower animals do exhibit signs of fear at the approach of an earthquake has been repeatedly asserted by good observers. Hamilton, who made a careful examination of the neighboring country during the great earthquake at Calabria, asserts that horses and oxen during the shocks extended their legs widely in order to avoid being thrown down, "and that hogs, oxen, horses, and mules, and also geese, appeared to be painfully aware of the approach of the earthquake of Calabria; and the neighing of a horse, the braying of an ass, or the cackling of a goose, even when he (Hamilton) was making his survey (after the occurrence of the great earthquake shock), drove the people out of their temporary sheds in expectation of a shock." It is asserted that birds appear to be especially sensible to a coming earthquake shock. That geese will quit the water in which they were swimming before the earthquake and will not return to it. It is quite possible that these birds with their heads immersed in the water can hear the distant murmurings long before they become audible in the air. Von Hoff makes the following statement: "It has been remarked that at such times (immediately before the coming of an earthquake shock), domestic animals showed a decided uneasiness, dogs howled mournfully, horses neighed in an unusual manner, and poultry flew restlessly about. These latter phenomena might easily be produced by mephitic vapours, which often ascend to the surface of the earth before the breaking out of an earthquake." Mallet states that there is abundant evidence that earthquake shocks, even when not of very great intensity, produce nausea in both men and women. This would seem natural, since, as everyone knows, until one is accustomed to sea-voyages, merely to be tossed to and fro by the motion of the waves results in the production of sea-sickness. It has been also noticed that during earthquakes fish which under ordinary circumstances live in the mud at the bottom of bodies of water come near to the surface and at such times can be caught in great numbers. Mallet cites the following effects produced by earthquakes: "Amongst the effects supposed to be produced by the earthquake on the atmosphere were reckoned tempestuous winds, thunder-storms, meteors, coldness of the air, severe winters, heavy rains, miasmata, producing diseases and affecting vegetation. A very remarkable instance of the latter is quoted, namely, that in Peru, after the earthquake of 1687, wheat and barley would not thrive at all, though formerly the country was remarkably favourable for them." Sir Charles Lyell notes the following phenomena attending earthquakes: "Irregularities in the seasons preceding or following the shocks; sudden gusts of wind, interrupted by dead calms; violent rains at unusual seasons, or in countries where, as a rule, they are almost unknown; a reddening of the sun's disk, and haziness in the air, often continued for months; an evolution of electric matter, or of inflammable gas from the soil, with sulphurous and mephitic vapours; noises underground, like the running of carriages, or the discharge of artillery, or distant thunder; animals uttering cries of distress, and evincing extraordinary alarm, being more sensitive than men to the slightest movement; a sensation like sea-sickness, and a dizziness in the head, experienced by men. These, and other phenomena, less connected with our present subject as geologists, have recurred again and again at distant ages, and in all parts of the globe." THE END FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: A point on the other side of the earth directly opposite a given point.] [Footnote 2: A fracture of a stratum, or a general rock mass, with a relative displacement of the opposite sides of the break. The plane or fracture of a fault, known as the fault-plane, is seldom vertical. The higher side is called the heaved or upthrow side; the opposite side the thrown or downthrow side.] [Footnote 3: _Tectonic Earthquake_. An earthquake due to the sudden slip of faulted strata.] [Footnote 4: _I. e._, burnt out mountain, extinct volcano.] [Footnote 5: _Epicentre._ A point on the surface of the earth vertically above the point of origin of an earthquake, or the place where it starts.] Transcriber's Notes Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected. Some illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks. Page 43: Kamehamoha could be a typo for Kamehameha. Page 68: Changed "salter" to "saltier." (Orig: another with water salter than the sea,) Page 76: Changed "Ena" to "Etna." (Orig: during his time Mt. Ena had lost so much of its height) Page 115: "eruption during the winter of 1841-43," could be a typo for 1841-42 or 1842-43. Page 122: "Mont Pelée" could be a typo for "Mount Pelée." Page 136: 43° C." (109° 4' F.). could be a typo for (109.4° F.). Page 341: Changed one-eight to one-eighth. (Orig: It was equal to one-eight of a Roman mile) Retained the following spelling variations: Page 49: The largest volcano in Iceland, the Dyngjufköll, Page 57: The largest volcano in Iceland is Dyngjufjoll. Pages 52, 193, 311: Geikie Page 181: Geicke Pages 17, 156, 257: Hindostan Page 165: Hindustan Page 63: Lucullis Page 76: Lucullus