The Bancroft Library
|
Some Memories and Reflections, Chapter VII
EARLY the next morning—afterwards I learned it was about five o'clock—the world set up a tremendous roaring and rocking. The house rolled and pitched as though it were in a heavy sea. The great earthquake had begun.
To be taken by Mother Nature and shaken as a terrier would a rat makes one feel very unimportant. It was this feeling of insignificance, I suppose, that made one take so little thought for the saving of oneself or one's personal effects.
The pitching developed into more and more abrupt jerks until the great bed, a heavy mahogany four-poster in which I was lying, was gradually shaken from the wall out into the center of the room.
I realized that we were in the throes of an earthquake. Objects were falling all about me, and not wishing to see them, I buried my face, and clung with both hands to the bed in order not to be thrown out, and waited for the shocks to cease. I remained in bed because I did not wish to risk being maimed by the crashing
I was conscious of the rattling of the bed and of the rumbling, roaring sound of the earthquake like the roaring of thunder. Vases fell in my room and two electric lamps, but I did not hear them fall; all other sounds were drowned in the noise of the earthquake itself. On the terrace outside my window were large urns filled with flowers, and screwed on to the balustrade. These urns were wrenched off by the shaking and thrown down on to the floor of the terrace. The great chimney of a powerhouse on an adjoining lot crashed to the ground.
The duration of this quake has been estimated as a certain number of seconds, but it seemed to me hours before it was quiet enough for me to dare to open my eyes. And while I have always believed that perhaps the first tremor could be calculated in seconds, the succession of shocks which followed must have lasted minutes, not seconds.
At last the earthquake subsided except for
At first, still dazed from the shaking, I did not answer. Then realizing that he wished to speak to me, I flung on a dressing-gown and opened the door, to have him greet me with: "Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid! It's all over!"
I answered: "I'm not afraid."
He stared at me a second and asked:
"Do you know what it actually was?"
Quite coolly, I said: "I suppose it was an earthquake," being conscious of no sense of fear.
He laughed and commented: "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Let's go and see what Fanny is doing."
We then went to the rooms of Miss Fetridge and my maid. We found the former calmly shaking pieces of glass out of her slippers. My maid, a Frenchwoman on her first visit to this country, was perfectly unmoved. She had already had so many surprises that she probably imagined it was only one more of the natural phenomena. She told us, though, that when she saw a man running through the street in his nightshirt, bareheaded and shrieking, she
As I was to sing the rôle of the Countess in the "Nozze di Figaro" that afternoon, my first thought was whether a performance would take place under the circumstances. My host said that no one would dare to go into a theater after such a terrible earthquake shock for fear of the building collapsing. I tried to telephone to our manager, but of course the wires were down. Then I realized that there could be no performance. We then walked about the house to see what damage had been done. We found that the house itself had suffered little, but the ruins of valuable vases, china and glass strewed the floor.
I felt an immense exhilaration, a need to be doing something.
On coming upstairs again, we stepped out on to the terrace of my room, and there a peaceful, delicious morning breeze met us, and the song of birds.
The moon in her last quarter was near the horizon, and suddenly we saw one little tongue of flame in the distance. It was very far away, down by the Oakland Ferry, and as the air was so still we apprehended nothing from that source.
I then dressed myself, for I thought I would go down to the Hotel St. Francis and try and find Madame Sembrich who was staying there. It had occurred to us that she would be less well off on the sixth story of a modern skyscraper than we were in a house built to resist the light earthquake shocks which are of frequent occurrence in California—and in this case it proved it could resist a pretty severe one. On emerging from the house, we were fortunate enough to find an acquaintance passing in an automobile, who happened to be going our way. He agreed to take us to the Hotel St. Francis and call for us on his way back.
On our arrival at the hotel we found people in every stage of undress and in little quiet groups. Restlessness there was, but no noise or hysterics that I saw. All electric communication being stopped, there were little guttering candles placed about where lights were necessary.
In the hotel office we asked for Madame Sembrich and were given a pass to go up to her apartment. It was quite an unnecessary formality, as people were passing up and down as they pleased, and we were unchallenged at any time.
Up the six flights of stairs and back we went. Great masses of plaster were down in every direction, and in passing the drawing-room we saw the concert grand piano flung more than halfway across the room.
We arrived at Madame Sembrich's apartment and called and pounded in vain, and were just leaving the hotel when it occurred to us that she might be in the dining room. Sure enough, we found here there, she having hurriedly thrown on a few garments and left her apartment as soon as the first quake had subsided.
Having seen the ease with which people entered the hotel, we persuaded her to go up to her room and get her valuables and enough clothing to pass the night, and come up to us on the hill. She gladly consented, saying she would follow us as soon as she could get ready. My host also invited M. Plançon and Mr. Dippel to lunch.
While at the hotel we learned that the theater where the rest of our season of opera was to have taken place was shaken up badly. The roof had fallen in and the balconies had been thrown into the pit.
Shortly after we had returned home and while Madame Sembrich was in her apartment
We next learned that the water mains had parted, that San Francisco was at the mercy of the flames, and cut off from all communication with the outside world.
From the big window of the house, we had all of Chinatown and the business portion of San Francisco mapped out before us, down to the wharves and out to Oakland across the bay. It seemed to us merely a spectacle, and not even a particularly thrilling one, as all through the day we watched it.
At frequent intervals there were new shocks, but they could only be considered feeble in comparison with the first. Each time a shock occurred, Madame Sembrich's faithful Frieda went into another room and put on her hat, and when the quake had died down, she took it off again.
At one o'clock we had a small hot meal. It was taken upstairs in the big drawing-room, as we wanted to remain where we could watch the fires. The sight, first of the enormous high
In the afternoon the recurring shocks became a bit exasperating, and we went down into the garden and sat there. It began to be very sultry as the fire, though distant, was raging on two sides of the hill and surrounding it, and great flakes of burned material fell on us.
We went out from time to time to the edge of the hill, where the Fairmount Hotel now stands, to watch the progress of the flames, and everywhere camped out about the houses in that neighborhood were groups of Chinese, whole families of them, quite quiet, quite cheerful, and very picturesque. They felt the hill was safe, as we all did. We imagined they could easily prevent the hill being destroyed by dynamiting blocks of houses at the base, as the only wind of any force blew away from us and towards the burning city. The fire did spare the hill, as may be remembered, and went around and beyond it to Van Ness Avenue; then suddenly the wind veered about in the
In speaking of this double calamity that fell on San Francisco, the Californians have always belittled the part played in it by the earthquake. They refer to it more often as the "great fire."
Towards the middle of the afternoon—one no longer took any account of time—Dr. Tevis, our host, told us the Fire Department had sent word to him that it was dangerous to have a fire in the kitchen, as most chimneys had been cracked by the earthquake, and the house might be set on fire.
I tired, finally, of looking at the "fireworks" and started to play patience, much to the indignation of Plançon, who said I was not "in the picture" at all, that I had no sentiment of the earthquake, and was a "rock." Plançon said the earthquake was a visitation to him for having come out to California with us instead of having gone back to the marriage of his niece. To this Madame Sembrich replied that it was a pity so many had been made to suffer for so small a sin on his part!
As far as I was concerned, after the shake
We were to have some food brought up: sandwiches, eggs and bouillon, the last two to be warmed or cooked by us. However, we were all much too excited to eat anything, and were contented with a cup of bouillon.
About eight o'clock in the evening Dr. Tevis told us that a fireman or policeman had come to warn him that the house might be surrounded by fire, and though it might be at a great distance, we might still find it anxious work sitting there, and possibly very difficult to get out from a ring of flame. He said we had better leave the house for the night, returning to it in the morning when the flames had either been mastered or had passed by us.
In the early afternoon, with a great deal of trouble Dr. Tevis had been able to secure a
On account of my apparent imperviousness and insensibility to the earthquake, Dr. Tevis, who could only think of others and their comfort, felt in me a sister soul, and asked my advice as to what we had better take with us for the night. Although we were panting from the excessive heat at the time, I counseled the taking of warm blankets and wraps—all that the carriage could hold—and a bottle of brandy. Why I should have foreseen the need of such comforters is curious; it seemed to have been an inspiration on my part.
As quickly as possible, therefore, our bags containing only a few valuables, together with a collection of blankets, coats and wraps, were put into the carriage with Miss Fetridge, and
It was already dark when we got to North Beach, and it was certainly a long enough walk as it was. Some of our party kept all the time to the middle of the road, fearing more earthquake shocks or a falling chimney. I remember I was rather bored and thought it was a silly precaution.
One house we passed, within a block of the one we had left in Taylor Street, had had the front completely and precisely shorn off, leaving the whole of the interior in full view with the furniture jumbled together and strewn with plaster, looking like an old-fashioned doll's house in disorder. North Beach and its surroundings are not supposed to be the safest quarter of the city, so we arranged our blankets as near as possible to the road and lay down. The carriage was sent to wait on the other side so as not to call attention to us, as we had no idea what sort of people we had around us, and feared they might attack us for our valuables.
When we arrived we found the lots fully occupied. The ground made a hard and uncomfortable bed and, on account of the heavy dews, in spite of furs, a chilly one. I passed most of the night walking up and down. At intervals I would sleep from mere exhaustion for ten or fifteen minutes at a time in an agonized position of discomfort; then I would get up and walk about in order to throw off the chill. The dew fell upon us almost like rain, and the air was filled with falling soot and bits from the burning city. The road beside which we were camping was a highroad, a main thoroughfare between the city and Fort Mason.
Towards three o'clock in the morning some of our party went back to the house in Taylor Street to see how near the flames had come. My maid went with them to get a bag containing a change of linen for Miss Fetridge and me. They reported the flames to be within two blocks of the house, but creeping round the base of the hill still, and away from Dr. Tevis's house. We still hoped his large garden and vacant lots below would serve as a check to the flames.
Just at dawn and before sunrise, when there was a silvery blue light over everything and
Smoke began to go up in little puffs here and there—people camped about us warming something for breakfast. The soldiers at once ordered all fires out.
During the night ownerless animals of various sorts prowled about, and Plançon, startled out of a stertorous nap to find a cow sniffing at his feet, awoke with the cry: "Emma, quelle est cette horrible bête?" (What is this horrible beast?) A flick of my handkerchief sent her away. It was rather a comfort to see the familiar animal, and also to see some dogs playing naturally. The earth was still there
At about seven o'clock that morning, a charming young woman, Mademoiselle de Bretteville, who lived in a house on the brow of the hill just above our encampment, came down to ask if we would like to go up to them for a cup of coffee and a rest, until we could decide what to do. She said she had, with her family, been watching the various encampments and seeing all the others were of a rough type, had had her curiosity aroused by our group and wished to save us discomfort if possible. Of course, we joyously accepted the idea of making ourselves less untidy.
The men of the party, Plançon and Dippel, were left to find the Opera Company by themselves, and Madame Sembrich, Miss Fetridge and I, accompanied by our maids, gratefully went up at once and, after making ourselves a little cleaner, sank on to the beds provided, to try and get an eyeful of sleep. Alas! We had hardly been lying down five minutes when Dr. Tevis came to call us and tell us he had been warned that we must get out of San Francisco if we could, as soon as possible.
We hastened to dress, then drank a cup of coffee and went back to the carriage. There
No idea of physical discomfort or fatigue entered my mind. Our only thought was to do what had to be done and not be a burden to anybody.
The horses were harnessed, and all the blankets, bags and wraps, including those we had worn in the night, were piled in and on the carriage. Miss Fetridge and Frieda got in, and the private secretary of our host, being armed, took his place on the box with the driver, as guard.
Our way led through the Barbary Coast, the
One great dramatic touch I learned first hand. People in a dramatic situation of great seriousness are so busy enduring it and facing it that they have not the time to be sorry for themselves, or to realize its extent.
The ground was very hot, being mostly pavements and cobblestones, and from having been chilled to the marrow in the night by the dew—which we could literally wring from the blankets—we were broiled by the heat; and as we walked the perspiration streamed from us, and our feet were almost blistered by the stones which had so recently been exposed to the ravaging heat of the fire.
They tell me we covered a distance of about six miles in that walk, although one was unconscious of every moment as it passed. I did not know whether I walked or flew those
We passed through a big square where, I was told, hundreds of victims were lying on the ground, dead, awaiting burial. Fortunately, I was warned in time not to look in that direction.
When we arrived at the ferry the carriage was not there, and we went through agony imagining every possible disaster that might have happened to it. After having waited a half hour that seemed an eternity, our host's secretary appeared to say he had misunderstood where they were to meet us, and they had been waiting about a mile away from the ferry at the end of Broadway, to see us pass. He at once rushed back and brought the carriage, and we boarded the ferry which, smelly and awful as it was, seemed heaven. Our whole desire was to get away with all possible haste from the stricken city where we should be bound to see agony and suffering we would be powerless to help.
In the saloon of the ferry, nectar and ambrosia awaited us in the shape of coffee and corned-beef hash. One could eat little, however, although the hot coffee was life-giving.
On arriving at Oakland Pier, Dr. Tevis decided
Then our host set to work to find some sort of conveyance to take us up to his place in the mountains sixty miles away. All his efforts were in vain, until at last we saw a man arriving with a handful of tools. He had broken down in his automobile on coming from San José with the news of the death of Mrs. Tevis's father. He said if he could get his machine mended in time he could take us as far as San José, but, of course, that was not of much use. He said, however, he thought he could get two automobiles for us.
While he was talking, the carriage arrived with only my maid in it, Madame Sembrich's
Madame Sembrich said she was wretched at the thought of retarding our departure, and she begged to be sent back to the Company, where she would ultimately find her maid and go back to New York at once. By that time, having learned that the St. Francis Hotel had been destroyed, we did not oppose her decision. So Dr. Tevis, Miss Fetridge, my maid and I got into another automobile that had been found, with our few bags, and set off on our
By this time we were so tired and light-headed that our bodies no longer seemed to belong to us. I can say my spirit was sufficiently freed to be able to enjoy the scenery with my eyes bloodshot and aching and my head filled with fever. Beautiful California! The automobile was an open one, and we went so fast it was like flying.
Knowing that our friends in the East would be made most anxious by the sensational accounts of the earthquake, I promised Madame Sembrich I would send a telegram from the first place we passed where the wires were not down; but we found that all communications on the way had been severed. It was only little by little and by such signs, that one realized the extent and immensity of the disaster. One could not grasp it. I remember our saying, Dr. Tevis and I, "Now is the time when people whose souls are bound down by material possessions are going to suffer the most." It will ever be a source of thankfulness to me that I saw none of the agony or suffering I afterwards heard described.
When we got to San José we were stopped by the police and obliged to make a long detour,
By that time daylight was fading and we had to stop just beyond San José to ask our way and light our lamps. We did not even get out or think of stretching our legs. To get on was our one idea, and as quickly as possible, to the country and away from people and cities. Then we went on flying through the darkness, seeing only the light of our lamps, but getting whiffs of country air cool on our faces. At last we came to the entrance gates of Dr. Tevis's country place, from whence there was a steady climb of a mile over a road cut in the side of a mountain, with a sheer wall of rock on one side and a steep bank to the valley on the other. There were great fissures in this road caused by the earthquake, over which we bounded; and in some places the road was narrowed to danger limit by the landslides both upon and out of the road.
Finally we arrived at the last little incline of
Dr. Tevis's house stood directly over the "fault" and was irremediably damaged. It had been twisted round six inches on its foundations. Of course, all the plaster was down and hanging from the walls in ribbons; the front door of heavy oak two inches thick, although both bolted and barred, had been twisted off its hinges and thrown into the hall. All the glass was broken, and, of course, there was danger in going into the house, even for a night. Fortunately, the caretakers' house, which, in their fright, they had abandoned, was a little cottage all wood, even the walls and ceilings; and beyond broken windows and destroyed plumbing, no damage had been done to it. The floors were still covered with broken glass and crockery and everything
Dr. Tevis set everybody he could to work to clear it, and went himself to the big house to get blankets and sheets, towels and mattresses. Miss Fetridge and I had a room with two beds in it and space for little else. Dr. Tevis slept on the floor on a mattress in one room, and my maid in another.
Before we went to bed we had supper, the first morsel we had eaten since the coffee of the morning. It consisted of crackers, sardines and jam, as food, and a bottle of Pol Roger champagne, 1899 vintage. They had brought it from the house in San Francisco in case any body might be ill, but during the night out of doors it had been so cold that most of them took little sips of brandy when chilled through.
Of course, we had recurrent earthquake shocks all the time we were there in the country.
Afterwards we learned that the house in Taylor Street, San Francisco, was burning as we were on our way to the country. The chauffeur who had driven us up turned out to be a gentleman—a lawyer—who had lost
After the meager supper we had to go to bed unwashed, as there was no water we could get at; and I was reduced to such a pitch of degradation that I no longer cared whether I was dirty or not. Utter exhaustion had set in, and we slept like the dead.
The next morning I was awakened by the sunshine beating on the green shade of the window and etching thereon a beautiful rose vine which covered the little cottage. Hearing also the sound of running water, I felt an immediate desire to be clean, so took soap and towels and went out into the delicious morning air. By that time it was five-thirty. The caretaker's wife was there outside making a fire over some bricks set up on end to boil
Even earthquakes seemed less fearful in the country, where one was far away from man's handiwork and inventions through which the great disaster had been rendered infinitely more devastating and hideous. A little shake and it was over. However, I don't know how it would have seemed to see the solid ground rolling like the waves of the sea, as they said it did.
After we had been to the house and chosen the few necessities for our daily life, and Dr. Tevis had in some measure organized the clearing up of his house and belongings, I walked with our host that day over miles of the place.
Fortunately, there was a plentifully supplied storeroom, and, as Dr. Tevis said, "the
In our walk we found one of the mountain trails entirely blocked and discovered that the trail above had slipped down upon it.
One of the things done on that first day was to improvise a bathroom, and to this end a big galvanized iron tub was placed in the brook and covered with a tent.
Being so far away from the center we had no means of knowing what was happening in San Francisco or Oakland, and nobody knew what had become of us. At the end of four or five days during which there had been a frantic search for us, we managed to get into communication with the outside world by the aid of a telephone attached to a tree. Melville Stone, then head of the Associated Press, at once got into touch with me and asked me to write a short account of my experiences. This I did.
Through my article for the Associated Press the transportation agents of the Opera Company learned where I was, and made the necessary arrangements to take us back East.
By that time I knew the San Francisco house was in ashes, with all it contained, including our twenty-seven trunks. So I arranged
The day after we had settled in the farmhouse Dr. Tevis's agent had brought us news of the fire. On their way to Van Ness Avenue the flames had spared Nob Hill, only to sweep back upon it at a sudden change of wind. The servants had had barely time to bury the silver, a head of Minerva by Rodin, and one or two more of Dr. Tevis's particular treasures, and to take his beautiful collection of Keith paintings out of their frames and carry them to safety before the fire was upon them. When I visited Nob Hill again in 1915, I found that Dr. Tevis had made no effort to rebuild, neither had he sold the land, and all one saw of that once charming house and its innumerable treasures was two charred gateposts.
As soon as we heard the house was gone we saw there was no use waiting. We had still thought to save our belongings, that being one reason for our not joining the Opera Company and going East with them, though a second reason was that it was doubtful, at the time, whether their train would start at all, or having
I think that week of life in the open air, with exercise and very little food, was the best thing that could have happened to us, although we chafed at the delay. A shock of sorts the earthquake certainly must have been to me even while I was unconscious of fear or even nervousness, for once away from it and in the country with no effort to be made, I was unable to make a sound for three days, unable even to speak, as though the nerves of my throat had been paralyzed.
The morning of our departure it was pouring. We had to leave at dawn and drive through the rain to Los Gatos, taking there a narrow gauge railway to Oakland. By tramway we went on to another station and took another train to the pier, where we were to board the eastbound train. There the Union Pacific agent did not find our tickets, as he had expected, and had to cross over the ferry to San Francisco to get them. For us it was rather a nervous moment for fear he would not return in time.
When he did arrive and we were safely on
It was worth going through an earthquake to see such fortitude, bravery and unselfishness as San Francisco's trouble brought out in her children. I cannot find words to express my admiration for them.
Courtesy of The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley, CA 94720-6000; http://bancroft.berkeley.edu/
http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=hb867nb68m&brand=oac4
Title: Selection from: Some memories and reflections
By: Eames, Emma, 1865-1952
Date: 1927
Contributing Institution: The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley, CA 94720-6000; http://bancroft.berkeley.edu/
Copyright Note: Copyright status unknown. Some materials in these collections may be - protected by the U.S. Copyright Law (Title 17, U.S.C.). In addition, the - reproduction, and/or commercial use, of some materials may be restricted - by gift or purchase agreements, donor restrictions, privacy and - publicity rights, licensing agreements, and/or trademark rights. - Distribution or reproduction of materials protected by copyright beyond - that allowed by fair use requires the written permission of the - copyright owners. To the extent that restrictions other than copyright - apply, permission for distribution or reproduction from the applicable - rights holder is also required. Responsibility for obtaining - permissions, and for any use rests exclusively with the user.