(Ambrose Bierce: Collected Sketches.)
At the time of “the great earthquake of ’68,” said Mr.
Swiddler--William Swiddler; of Calaveras--I was at Arica, Peru. I have
not a map by me, and am not certain that Arica is not in Chili, but it
can’t make much difference; there was earthquake all along there.
Sam Baxter was with us; I think he had gone from San Francisco to make
a railway, or something. On the morning of the ’quake, Sam and I had
gone down to the beach to bathe. We had shed our boots, and begun to
moult, when there was a slight tremor of the earth, as if the elephant
who supports it was pushing upward, or lying down and getting up again.
Next, the surges, which were flattening themselves upon the sand and
dragging away such small trifles as they could lay hold of, began
racing out seaward, as if they had received a dispatch that somebody
was not expected to live. This was needless, for _we_ did not expect to
live.
When the sea had receded entirely out of sight, we started after it;
for, it will be remembered, we had come to bathe; and bathing without
some kind of water is not refreshing in a hot climate.
For the first four or five miles the walking was very difficult,
although the grade was tolerably steep. The ground was soft, there were
tangled forests of sea-weed, old rotten ships, rusty anchors, human
skeletons, and a multitude of things to impede the pedestrian. The
floundering sharks bit our legs as we toiled past them, and we were
constantly slipping down upon the flat fish strewn about like orange
peel on a sidewalk. Sam, too, had stuffed his shirt front with such a
weight of doubloons from the wreck of an old galleon, that I had to
help him across all the worst places. It was very dispiriting.
Presently, away on the western horizon, I saw the sea coming back. It
occurred to me then that I did not wish it to come back. A tidal wave
is nearly always wet, and I was now a good way from home, with no means
of making a fire.
The same was true of Sam, but he did not appear to think of it in that
way. He stood quite still a moment with his eyes fixed on the advancing
line of water; then turned to me, saying, very earnestly:
“Tell you what, William; I never wanted a ship so bad from the cradle
to the grave! I would give m-o-r-e for a ship!--More than for all
the railways and turnpikes you could scare up! I’d give more than a
hundred, thousand, million dollars! I would--I’d give all I’m worth,
for--just--one--little--ship!”
To show how lightly he could part with his wealth, he lifted his shirt
out of his trousers, unbosoming himself of his doubloons, which tumbled
about his feet, a golden storm.
By this time the tidal wave was close upon us. Call _that_ a wave!
It was one solid green wall of water, higher than Niagara Falls,
stretching as far as we could see to right and left, without a break
in its towering front! It was by no means clear what we ought to do.
The moving wall showed no projections by means of which the most daring
climber could hope to reach the top. There was no ivy; there were no
window-ledges. Stay!--there was the lightning rod! No, there wasn’t any
lightning rod. Of course, not!
Looking despairingly upward, I made a tolerably good beginning at
thinking of all the mean actions I had wrought in the flesh, when I saw
projecting beyond the crest of the wave a ship’s bowsprit, with a man
sitting on it reading a newspaper! Thank fortune, we were saved!
Falling upon our knees with tearful gratitude, we got up again and
ran--ran as fast as we could, I suspect; for now the whole fore-part of
the ship budged through the water just above our heads, and might lose
its balance any moment. If we had only brought along our umbrellas!
I shouted to the man on the bowsprit to drop us a line. He merely
replied that his correspondence was already very onerous, and he hadn’t
any pen and ink.
Then I told him I wanted to get aboard. He said I would find one on the
beach, about three leagues to the south’ard, where the “Nancy Tucker”
went ashore.
At these replies I was disheartened. It was not so much that the man
withheld assistance, as that he made puns. Presently, however, he
folded his newspaper, put it carefully away in his pocket, went and
got a line, and let it down to us just as we were about to give up the
race. Sam made a lunge at it, and got it. I laid hold of his legs,
the end of the rope was passed about the capstan, and as soon as the
men on board had had a little grog, we were hauled up. I can assure
you that it was no fine experience to go up in that way, close to the
smooth, vertical front of water, with the whales tumbling out all round
and above us, and the sword-fishes nosing us pointedly with vulgar
curiosity.
We had no sooner set foot on deck, and got Sam disengaged from the
hook, than the purser stepped up with book and pencil--“Tickets,
gentlemen.”
We told him we hadn’t any tickets, and he ordered us to be set ashore
in a boat. It was represented to him that this was quite impossible
under the circumstances; but he replied that he had nothing to do with
circumstances--did not know anything about circumstances. Nothing would
move him till the captain, who was really a kind-hearted man, came on
deck and knocked him overboard. We were now stripped of our clothing,
chafed all over with stiff brushes, rolled on our stomachs, wrapped
in flannels, laid before a hot stove in the saloon, and strangled
with scalding brandy. We had not been wet, nor had we swallowed any
sea-water, but the surgeon said this was the proper treatment. It is
uncertain what he might have done to us if the tender-hearted captain
had not thrashed him into his cabin, and told us to go on deck.
By this time the ship was passing the town of Arica, and we were about
to go astern and fish a little, when she grounded on a hill-top.
The captain hove out all the anchors he had about him; and when the
water went swirling back to its legal level, taking the town along
for company, there we were, in the midst of a charming agricultural
country, but at some distance from any seaport.
At sunrise next morning we were all on deck. Sam sauntered aft to the
binnacle, cast his eye carelessly upon the compass, and uttered an
ejaculation of astonishment.
“Tell _you_, captain,” he called out, “this has been a direr convulsion
of nature than you have any idea. Everythin’s been screwed right round.
Needle points due south!”
“Why, you lubber!” growled the skipper, taking a look, “it p’ints
d’rectly to labbard, an’ there’s the sun, dead ahead!”
Sam turned and confronted him, with a steady gaze of ineffable contempt.
“Now, who said it wasn’t dead ahead?--tell me _that_. Shows how
much _you_ know about earthquakes. ’Course, I didn’t mean just this
continent, nor just this earth: I tell you, the _whole thing’s_
turned!”