"I was sleeping in a room on the third floor of the hotel, when the first shock occurred. An earthquake in San Francisco was no new sensation to me. I was there in 1868, when [I was] a boy [of] ten years old when the first great earthquake came. But that was a gentle rocking of a cradle [compared] 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 inthe 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. Ail 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 failing. 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 mov- ing 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 nightfail 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 waterfront. 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 thc cinders that still stick to my face and eyes I might think it was all a nightmare."
[RETURN]