Part 3

I was awakened by the violent shaking of my bed, which rolled across the room and struck the one occupied by my roommate. The pictures and frames fell from the walls, the bowls and pitchers from the washstands, the books from the shelves, and all were scattered over the floor. A piece of plastering and a broken wash-bowl struck me on my head. I at first thought it was the playful prank of the boys, but having got out of my bed, I was thrown headlong on the floor. I knew it was something serious and realized that it was an earthquake. I in some way got down the stairs; I hardly know how. In the yard I found my companions, badly frightened, all in pajamas, gazing at the sagging walls, broken windows and chimneys. My roommate, who had got out ahead of me, rushed up to me, and cried out: "By Jove, I am glad you're out safe; I didn't think of you until I saw you zig-zagging out of the building." I thanked him and joined the crowd, watching one of the teachers, who was climbing the flagpole, so as to be on top of the building if it further collapsed. We were all silent for a few minutes, but when the shock was fully over, we talked glibly and loud enough, and had many jokes.

No fires were started, as in San Francisco. We asked one another "if this was the end of the world or only the beginning." "Do you think we will get a holiday?" etc. As the excitement subsided, we began to shiver, so by common consent we sought in the ruins for our clothing. I felt that another shock might follow, and possibly worse than the first, and got out of the wrecked building as soon as possible.

A little later I found the Head Master of the school. "Good morning," said I. "Unfortunate morning," he replied. "Brick structures do not hold together when acted upon by conflicting motions caused by the vibrations due to earthquakes. This disturbance is purely local, and I think that Belmont is the only place which has suffered." I thought of our home in the city, which is built of brick, and that my mother, father, and sisters were in it. The more I thought of it, the weaker I felt, until my knees were shaking. In about twenty minutes I was at the Belmont Station determined to go to the city to learn the fate of my family.

I tried to telephone, but I was told that both telephone and wire connections between San Francisco and Belmont were broken. This was the first proof that the earthquake was more than local, and my fears were heightened. As I waited I was joined by other boys. All were curious to know what had happened in other places, but few were worried. Soon the entire school was gathered at the station. A teacher on a bicycle arrived and demanded in the name of Mr. R--that we return to school. The majority complied, but five of us refused. We were promised expulsion.

At last the train pulled in. We boarded it with difficulty, for it was packed with Stanford students. They told us that their college was a wreck.

"The buildings are of stone, you know," said one, "and stone buildings can't stand up against, an earthquake."

Hearing remarks like this made me so dizzy with dread that I began picturing to myself the ruins of my home. I could almost hear the groans of those most dear to me buried under tons of stone and beams, It was maddening, and I had to struggle some to keep from crying out like a child.

Slowly the train pulled by the ruins of San Mateo, Burlingame, and Milbrae, but just outside of San Bruno the long line of straining cars came to a sudden halt. We climbed out to find out the cause of the stop. Ahead we saw several hundred yards of track buckled and humped like much crumpled ribbon. We had gone as far as possible by rail.

We counted the money in the crowd and decided to rent a rig if possible and drive the twenty miles to our homes. After walking three miles, we found no one willing to take us to the city for the money we were able to offer; so at this point two of our party left us.

We must have gone about eight miles when the van of the thousands leaving the city met us. They were principally hobos and riffraff, packing their blankets on their backs. We stopped and anxiously inquired the plight of the city. Some said that the city was burned to the ground, some that the whole town was submerged by a tidal wave, but all agreed in this particular: that it was time to leave the city, for soon there would be nothing left of it.

The numbers of the retreat were increasing now. We could see mothers wheeling their babes in buggies, limping, dusty, and tired. Men lashed and swore at horses straining at loads of household furnishings. All were in desperate haste. This increased our speed in the opposite direction. We began to see the dense black cloud of smoke hanging above the sky-line ahead of us. We almost ran.

As we passed over each mile we heard more distressing tales from those leaving. Men called us fools to be going toward the doomed town. Thousands were traveling away; we were the only ones going toward San Francisco.

At last we came to the old Sutro Forest. We toiled up to the summit of the ridge and looked down for the first time upon the city we were raised in. In my mind, it was a sight that shall always be vivid. The lower part of the city was a hell-like furnace. Even from that distance we could hear the roar of the flames and the crash of falling beams. We were paralyzed for a moment with the wonder of it. Then we began to run, run hard, down the slope toward the city. It was impossible for us to see our homes, for many hills intervened. Soon we reached the outskirts of the town. Fear grew stronger and stronger in my heart as I saw that all the chimneys of the houses were littering the streets through which we passed. They were of brick and so was my father's house.

The trip across the city seemed endless, even though we strained every effort to hurry. I had had no breakfast, and was almost sick with fear and hunger. We passed a brick church, and it was in ruins, shaken to pieces by the shock. I almost reeled over when I saw it. The rest of the way I ran.

As I came within four blocks of the house I looked anxiously over the roofs of other houses for its high chimneys that had hitherto been visible from that point. I could not see them! Then I was sure that all was over, and that my father, mother, and sisters were lost forever.

These last four blocks I fairly flew, in spite of my fatigue. I kept my eyes on the ground, not daring to raise them as I ran. Then as I reached the curb before the door I never expected to enter again I looked up. The house, though shorn of its chimneys, stood staunch and strong--they were safe. For a second I stood still. Then, like a poor fool, I began to laugh and shout. That was the most joyous home-coming of my life.

* * * * *

During the day of Wednesday, April 18th, I saw some of the damage done by the earthquake. The loss to the California-Street cable railroad was the upper portion of the chimney. I had my lunch at the Pacific Union Club, corner of Post and Stockton Streets, and noted that building was damaged but very little; only some few pieces of plastering fell. The Call Building gave no evidence on the outside. The Commercial Block, in which my office was located, did not show any damage. The door leading into my office would not open, but the next one did. My house shows a few cracks. The tops of the chimneys on my house were thrown off, and the kitchen chimney had to be rebuilt. But the great loss, the great calamity, was the fire. After that had raged for three days the havoc was fearful to see. For miles and miles there was not a remnant of anything inflammable remaining,--nothing but brick, stone, broken crockery, iron and telegraph poles. In the general appearance it resembles the country where a forest fire has swept, the chimneys and unburned telephone poles representing the standing trunks of trees. The loss of life is probably nearly 450. Many earthquake shocks were felt during the three days of the calamity, and for as much as two months we felt gentle reminders.

The soldiers lacked good sense and judgment, or perhaps it may have been that some incompetent officers gave senseless orders,--for instance, the people occupying the stores on Polk Street, between Clay and Pacific, and the apartments above, were driven out at 8 A. M. of Thursday, and not permitted to re-enter. As the fire did not reach this locality until about 4 P. M., there was abundant time to save many valuable articles which were by this imbecile order lost. Why this was done, I did not at the time, nor have I since been able to understand.

Being busy in the work of restoration, I forget what a terrible calamity has befallen the city and the people, but I sometimes realize it, and it comes like a shock. It is estimated that 28,000 buildings were destroyed. I find that people lost the power of keeping time and dates, and if I had not made notes at the time I would be unable to recollect the events of these three days with any degree of accuracy in point of time.

I have felt that it was fortunate that this calamity did not happen on a Friday, or on the 13th of the month. Had it occurred on either of those days, superstitious people would have had much to aid them in their belief.

The feeding of 300,000 people suddenly made destitute is a matter of great difficulty, but it has been done. It rained two nights,--one night quite hard,--but the health of the people has been remarkably good.

We had water in the house on the 1st of May, glass in the windows on the 16th of May, gas on the 5th of June, electric light on the 7th of June, and cooked on the street until the 8th of May.

June, 1906