The western American city of San Francisco, California suffered a huge earthquake on April 18th, 1906.
More
than three thousand people are known to have died. The true number of
dead will never be known. Two hundred fifty thousand people lost their
homes. Just a few hours after the terrible earthquake, a magazine named
Collier's sent a telegraph message to the famous American writer Jack
London. They asked Mr. London to go to San Francisco and report about
what he saw.
He arrived in the city only a few hours after the
earthquake. The report he wrote is called, "THE STORY OF AN
EYEWITNESS." Here is Doug Johnson with the story.
Not in history
has a modern city been so completely destroyed. San Francisco is gone.
Nothing remains of it but memories and a few homes that were near the
edge of the city. Its industrial area is gone. Its business area is
gone. Its social and living areas are gone. The factories, great stores
and newspaper buildings, the hotels and the huge homes of the very
rich, are all gone.
Within minutes of the earthquake the fires
began. Within an hour a huge tower of smoke caused by the fires could
be seen a hundred miles away. And for three days and nights this huge
fire moved in the sky, reddening the sun, darkening the day and filling
the land with smoke.
There was no opposing the flames. There was
no organization, no communication. The earthquake had smashed all of
the modern inventions of a twentieth century city. The streets were
broken and filled with pieces of fallen walls. The telephone and
telegraph systems were broken. And the great water pipes had burst.
All inventions and safety plans of man had been destroyed by thirty
seconds of movement by the earth.
By Wednesday afternoon, only
twelve hours after the earthquake, half the heart of the city was gone. I
watched the huge fire. It was very calm. There was no wind. Yet from
every side, wind was pouring in upon the city. East, west, north and
south, strong winds were blowing upon the dying city.
The heated
air made a huge wind that pulled air into the fire, rising into the
atmosphere. Day and night the calm continued, and yet, near the flames,
the wind was often as strong as a storm.
ANNOUNCER: There was no
water to fight the fire. Fire fighters decided to use explosives to
destroy buildings in its path. They hoped this would create a block to
slow or stop the fire. Building after building was destroyed. And
still the great fires continued. Jack London told how people tried to
save some of their possessions from the fire.
STORYTELLER: Wednesday
night the whole city crashed and roared into ruin, yet the city was
quiet. There were no crowds. There was no shouting and yelling. There
was no disorder. I passed Wednesday night in the path of the fire and
in all those terrible hours I saw not one woman who cried, not one man
who was excited, not one person who caused trouble.
Throughout the
night, tens of thousands of homeless ones fled the fire. Some were
wrapped in blankets. Others carried bedding and dear household
treasures.
Many of the poor left their homes with everything they
could carry. Many of their loads were extremely heavy. Throughout the
night they dropped items they could no longer hold. They left on the
street clothing and treasures they had carried for miles.
Many
carried large boxes called trunks. They held onto these the longest. It
was a hard night and the hills of San Francisco are steep. And up
these hills, mile after mile, were the trunks dragged. Many a strong
man broke his heart that night.
Before the march of the fire were
soldiers. Their job was to keep the people moving away from the fire.
The extremely tired people would arise and struggle up the steep hills,
pausing from weakness every five or ten feet. Often, after reaching the
top of a heart-breaking hill, they would find the fire was moving at
them from a different direction.
After working hour after hour
through the night to save part of their lives, thousands were forced to
leave their trunks and flee.
At night I walked down through the
very heart of the city. I walked through mile after mile of beautiful
buildings. Here was no fire. All was in perfect order. The police
patrolled the streets. And yet it was all doomed, all of it. There was
no water. The explosives were almost used up. And two huge fires were
coming toward this part of the city from different directions.
Four
hours later I walked through this same part of the city. Everything
still stood as before. And yet there was a change. A rain of ashes was
falling. The police had been withdrawn. There were no firemen, no
fire engines, and no men using explosives. I stood at the corner of
Kearney and Market Streets in the very heart of San Francisco. Nothing
could be done. Nothing could be saved. The surrender was complete.
It
was impossible to guess where the fire would move next. In the early
evening I passed through Union Square. It was packed with refugees.
Thousands of them had gone to bed on the grass. Government tents had
been set up, food was being cooked and the refugees were lining up for
free meals.
Late that night I passed Union Square again. Three
sides of the Square were in flames. The Square, with mountains of
trunks, was deserted. The troops, refugees and all had retreated.
The
next morning I sat in front of a home on San Francisco's famous Nob
Hill. With me sat Japanese, Italians, Chinese and Negroes. All about
were the huge homes of the very rich. To the east and south of us were
advancing two huge walls of fire.
I went inside one house and
talked to the owner. He smiled and said the earthquake had destroyed
everything he owned. All he had left was his beautiful house. He
looked at me and said, "The fire will be here in fifteen minutes."
Outside
the house the troops were falling back and forcing the refugees ahead
of them. From every side came the roaring of flames, the crashing of
walls and the sound of explosives.
Day was trying to dawn through
the heavy smoke. A sickly light was creeping over the face of things.
When the sun broke through the smoke it was blood-red and small. The
smoke changed color from red to rose to purple.
I walked past the
broken dome of the City Hall building. This part of the city was already
a waste of smoking ruins. Here and there through the smoke came a few
men and women. It was like the meeting of a few survivors the day after
the world ended.
ANNOUNCER: The huge fires continued to burn on.
Nothing could stop them. Mr. London walked from place to place in the
city, watching the huge fires destroy the city. Nothing could be done
to halt the firestorm.
In the end, the fire went out by itself because there was nothing left to burn. Jack London finishes his story:
All
day Thursday and all Thursday night, all day Friday and Friday night,
the flames raged on. Friday night saw the huge fires finally conquered,
but not before the fires had swept three-quarters of a mile of docks
and store houses at the waterfront.
San Francisco at the present
time is like the center of a volcano. Around this volcano are tens of
thousands of refugees. All the surrounding cities and towns are jammed
with the homeless ones. The refugees were carried free by the railroads
to any place they wished to go. It is said that more than one hundred
thousand people have left the peninsula on which San Francisco stood.
The
government has control of the situation, and thanks to the immediate
relief given by the whole United States, there is no lack of food. The
bankers and businessmen have already begun making the necessary plans to
rebuild this once beautiful city of San Francisco.
ANNOUNCER: You
have just heard "THE STORY OF AN EYEWITNESS." It was written by Jack
London and adapted for Special English by Paul Thompson. It was
published in Collier's Magazine, May fifth, nineteen-oh-six. Your
narrator was Doug Johnson.
Join us again next week for another AMERICAN STORY, in Special English, on the Voice of America. This is Shirley Griffith.