EARTHQUAKES IN TROPICAL AMERICA.
“Hark! louder on the blast come hollow shrieks
Of dissolution; in the fitful scowl
Of night, near and more near, angels of death
Incessant flap their deadly wings, and roar
Through all the fevered air: the mountains rock
And thousand meteors flame about their heads;
The thunder long and loud gives out his voice,
Responsive to the ocean’s troubled growl,
While bellowing chasms rend th’ eternal hills.
Earth trembles at the mighty march of death.”
The reader will be assured, from the facts given concerning volcanic
eruptions, and the earthquakes of Asia Minor mentioned in the former
chapter, that great earthquakes are as numerous in Asiatic districts as
elsewhere; but beyond the bare fact, little is known of most of these.
India has preserved no written history: and China and Japan have been
till recently almost inaccessible to Europeans. So while the
disturbances there are equal in importance to those of other lands, it
is but lately that any definite information has been accessible; and our
chief knowledge has come from personal narratives of white settlers and
visitors to the islands of the western Pacific. In Japan, there is, to
say nothing of numerous volcanoes, strong circumstantial evidence of the
frequency of earthquakes in days past. Almost all dwellings are
constructed of bamboo and lightest woods, one story high, with screens
of paper as partitions: houses of stone are feared, the people
preferring to take their chances on a great fire than on an earthquake.
The same fact is noticeable
[Illustration: EARTHQUAKE IN CHINA.]
in the Philippines, Moluccas, and adjacent groups. Almost the only stone
buildings are those of Spanish and Dutch settlers. China has apparently
suffered less; but we learn that in 1556 two entire provinces were laid
waste. The extent of the loss of life can not be estimated. The earth
vomited ashes and flames, and ten great sea waves occurred in
twenty-four hours.
Since European occupation of the East Indies, the convulsions have been
frequent and alarming. The city of Manila was completely destroyed, with
thousands of people, in 1645. Not one stone remained on another. Severe
shocks occurred there again in 1699, 1796, 1825, 1852, and 1863. The
last named wrecked the cathedral while filled with worshipers. The loss
of property was from $8,000,000 to $10,000,000, or twice that of our
Charleston earthquake. Four hundred people were killed. The shock lasted
about half a minute, but opened many fissures, emitted volumes of gas
and spoilt the river water. Again, in 1880, after some vague or
irregular tremblings, there were several violent shocks. There was first
experienced a peculiar sense of nausea and faintness, with a feeling of
powerlessness or inability to flee. Horses stopped trembling in the
streets, “standing with ears erect, with staring eyes, and stiffly
extended legs, as though conscious of extraordinary peril.” The natives,
heedless of appeals for help, wildly sought their own safety, or knelt
devoutly invoking the saints. Clouds of dust filled the air, and heaps
of ruin blocked the streets. The terrible hush that prevailed was broken
only by an occasional cry for aid, or the crash of a ruined home.
Portions of ground between great crevices were raised five or six feet;
other parts fell as much. But the confusion rapidly subsided, and
occupations of all sorts were resumed. One newspaper, true to the
traditional enterprise of the fraternity, dragged its paraphernalia
from its ruined building, and went to work in the middle of the street.
An American publisher could hardly beat that.
But a region whose earthquakes have attracted greater attention, and
have been more carefully noticed by scientific men than those of the
eastern archipelago, is to be found along the western slope of the
Andes, extending thence into Central America and Northern Venezuela and
the West Indies.
Ever since the Spanish conquest, earthquakes have been numerous and
violent in this whole region; and judging from the character of the
native dwellings, the aborigines were for centuries accustomed to such
movements. But it remained for Humboldt, in the last century, to give us
a more careful description of some of the greater of these disasters.
Of the preceding disturbances, one of the most notable occurred in 1698,
when the crater of the volcano Carguirazo fell in with a great crash
during a shock of earthquake, and an area of twenty square miles was
covered with mud containing numerous dead fish. A few years later, a
similar occurrence north of Quito produced an epidemic of pernicious
fevers.
But of the many great convulsions, that of Riobamba, in 1794, must rank
as exceeding all within the range of authentic history, unless we except
the one which destroyed Antioch in the year 526. The area disturbed was
the great volcanic plain on which Quito stands.
No subterranean noise announced or accompanied the shock. Adjacent
volcanoes were quiet; but the volcano of Pasto, sixty miles to the
northward, had for three months been violently smoking; and at the
moment the shock sixty miles away began, it suddenly stopped, nor did it
again begin. The volcano of Cayambe, near Quito, seemed surrounded by
meteorites. The pious people, alarmed at this manifestation of the
divine wrath, formed a religious procession which walked through the
principal streets. The result justified their belief in the potency of
their prayers; for Quito remained unharmed. A great roar, since known as
_el gran ruido_, was heard under the town some twenty minutes after the
disaster; but at the scene of the latter it was not heard at all.
In the immediate vicinity of Riobamba, the destruction was fearful. The
entire plain seemed rent into small independent fragments, which rose or
sank at will. Humboldt tells that an eye-witness might have seen
“fissures which alternately opened and closed, so that persons partially
engulfed were saved by extending their arms, that they might not be
swallowed up; portions of long trains of muleteers and laden mules
disappearing in suddenly opening cross fissures, whilst other portions,
by a hasty retreat, escaped the danger; vertical oscillations, by the
non-simultaneous rising and sinking of adjoining portions of ground, so
that persons standing in the choir of a church, sixteen feet above the
pavement of the street, found themselves lowered to the level of the
pavement without being thrown down; the sinking down of massive houses,
with such an absence of disruption or dislocation that the inhabitants
could open the doors of the interior, pass uninjured from room to room,
light candles and debate with each other their chance of escape, during
two days which elapsed before they were dug out; lastly, the entire
disappearance of great masses of stones and building materials. The old
town had possessed churches, convents, and houses of several stories;
but in the places where they stood, we found, on tracing out among the
ruins the former plan of the city, only stone heaps of from eight to
twelve feet in height.”
Of some of the villages in the adjacent plain not a trace was left. They
sunk bodily, and the earth closed over them. Of the others, only heaps
of ruins were left.
[Illustration: AFTER THE SHOCK.]
Nor was this all. The great volcano of Tunguragua, at the southern
extremity of the plateau, was rent asunder by the shock, or, according
to others, had an eruption from the side. Immense torrents of thick,
dark, sandy mud, mingled with pebbles, poured out and flooded adjacent
portions of the plain, smothered scores still entangled in the ruins of
their dwellings, filling numerous ravines and valleys, one of which was
one thousand feet wide and seven hundred feet deep.
The total loss of life was terrible. One authority places the
destruction at two hundred thousand. Forty thousand Indians were
suffocated by the torrent of mud alone. It is the most destructive
earthquake in modern history.
The town of Cumana has been visited almost as frequently as the
far-famed Antioch. In 1530, we are told, the sea rose four fathoms, the
earth was rent, a fort laid in ruins, the town wrecked, and dark,
noisome liquids ejected from fissures. In 1766, a long drought, fifteen
months in duration, had turned the thoughts of the people once more upon
their manifold transgressions, and they were prepared for further
chastisement. This came upon them. October 21 an earthquake blotted the
town out of existence in less than a minute. The earth vomited
sulphurous waters. The shocks were continued during fourteen months. The
good people instituted an annual fast and procession in commemoration of
the event.
Again, in 1794, Cumana was nearly prostrated. December 14, 1797, there
was a tremendous, upward shock, with a noise like a mine explosion.
Four-fifths of the town was laid in ruins. The atmosphere seemed
converted to water, so great were the torrents of rain. The Indians held
a religious festival and dance, believing the destruction and
regeneration of the world was at hand.
The first days of November, 1799, were noted for the peculiar redness of
the sky and the oppressiveness of the atmosphere, though the weather was
not especially warm. At nightfall the sea breeze failed to begin, and
the dusty earth began to crack in all directions. The people were sure
some evil boded. November 4, as a heavy storm came up, there was a sharp
gust of wind, which the natives say always precedes an earthquake; and a
few minutes later came the shock; two others followed during the
evening; but though all the tokens of a great shock, according to native
ideas, were present in such force that the people abandoned their homes
and slept in the parks and fields, the great quake never came. The
redness of the sky continued, and a few nights later occurred a
brilliant shower of meteors. Despite these signs and wonders, Mother
Earth refused to tremble. Humboldt concluded native prognostications
were unreliable.
During the past eighty years destructive earthquakes have been more
frequent in South America than in any other region of the earth. First
on the list is the great disaster at Caracas.
This town lies six miles from the seaport of La Guayra, in a valley
“where reigns eternal spring.” Shut in by lofty mountains, its aspect is
somewhat gloomy. The cold mountain air keeps the evening veiled with
clouds. But as a whole, the situation is so fine that the people would
hardly exchange it for a site less liable to earthquakes.
In December, 1811, when the disturbances were so great in the valleys of
the Mississippi, Ohio and Arkansas, there was a sharp shock, which did
no especial damage. At this time there was a severe drought, which
continued during the succeeding months; but no word of the disturbances
to the North, or in St. Vincent, reaching the people, they were not
especially alarmed. So the days passed till Holy Week came, and hundreds
were in the great churches.
At a few minutes past four there was a sudden shock which set
church-bells to ringing. Then came a second, which made the ground seem
as though it were boiling. This ceased, and the people supposed the
danger was past, when there came the fearful subterranean roar but too
well known in tropical countries, followed by series of alternating
shocks at right angles to each other, and at once the beautiful city,
with its palaces and homes and works of art was a shapeless ruin, with
twelve thousand corpses lying amid the wreck. Four thousand people were
slain in the churches alone. The great church of Alta Gracia, one
hundred and fifty feet in height, whose nave was supported by pillars
fifteen feet in diameter, was turned into a heap of rubbish but five or
six feet high. Nearly all had sunk in the earth. Scarce a vestige of
pillar or column could be found. A regiment of infantry, mustered in San
Carlos barracks, was engulfed, but few escaping. Nine-tenths of the town
was annihilated.
[Illustration: SCENE AT CARACAS.]
Night came. The cloud of dust, that like a mist had risen from the
wreck, had settled to the ground. The full moon shone as calmly on the
scene as in the past; and by the spectral light were seen strange
figures hurrying to and fro. Here passed a mother with an infant’s
corpse; while there a father groped amid the wreck, and called by turns
the names of wife and child. No tools were left in reach in all the
town; bare-handed creatures grappled with the stony heaps, and groaned
in answer to the moans beneath. The aqueducts were shattered and the
springs were stopped; the Guayra River was the sole supply. Scarce
vessels could be found to fetch it in. Here hurrying feet bore wounded
creatures to the stream; but lint and bandages were all beneath the
wreck. Two thousand injured people lay upon the turf, with little of
the needed help; but all their friends could do was done. Not even food
enough could be procured at first.
Then anguish-stricken souls repented of their sins, and marched in
procession that the wrath of God might be changed to mercy. Some driven
to the verge of madness loudly confessed their sins in the open streets.
Some promised to restore ill-gotten gains; often the peculation was
known only to themselves. Marriages were solemnized between many who had
hitherto not considered a ceremony necessary. Children were formally
recognized by parents who had before repudiated them; long standing
feuds and enmities were dropped.
Caracas was not the only place injured. La Guayra, Mayquetia, Antimano,
Baruta, La Vega, San Felipe, and Merida were totally destroyed. Five
thousand deaths occurred at San Felipe and La Guayra alone. It was
impossible to give burial. Vast funeral pyres were made and corpse after
corpse consigned to the flames. The total number of deaths from the
earthquake, including those who perished from want and sickness induced
by the exposure, was probably forty thousand; some have estimated fifty
thousand. The shocks were felt as far westward as Bogota.
It does not appear that any especial commotion was felt in Central
America, though shocks in the latter regions are nearly always felt in
Venezuela or Columbia. Every portion of Central America has been
repeatedly shaken. The town of Guatemala has been four times destroyed,
the people each time selecting a new site and adhering to the old name.
The people of San Salvador, on the other hand, have obstinately clung to
their site, though visited by violent earthquakes in 1575, 1593, 1625,
1656, 1798, and 1839; and minor shocks are of such constant
[Illustration: RUINS OF SAN SALVADOR.]
recurrence that the locality is nicknamed “the hammock.” But the shock
of 1889 was so severe that they seriously meditated leaving; but they
finally settled in the old place, when four-fifths of their town had
just been destroyed.
But in Holy Week, in 1854, as Mr. Squier tells us, unusual rumblings
were heard on the morning of Holy Thursday. The inhabitants, somewhat
alarmed, still went about their customary avocations. The remainder of
the week passed without further cause for fear. At half past nine
o’clock on Sunday night a severe shock so alarmed many people that they
prepared to camp out for the night. At ten minutes to eleven there came
without any warning a fearful quaking, which levelled the city to the
earth in ten seconds; clouds of dust filled the streets; wells and
fountains were choked; not a drop of water could be obtained. Not a
house was left inhabitable; scarce one preserved the semblance of being
erect; yet the town was composed chiefly of low, one-story structures.
The air was filled with fumes of sulphur; the neighboring volcano
threatened an eruption; and in addition to the usual horrors of an
earthquake, other features were added.
The ex-president of the republic was so badly hurt as to be almost
incapacitated for duty. Indians roamed pillaging the wreck, dropping on
their knees and praying as fresh shocks terrified them; then returning
to the plunder; for they were good Christians. Justice, police,
clergy--all were gone. The venerable bishop, Soldana, when dragged from
the ruin, bade the people flee in all haste, for “God had given the city
over to the Evil One as a punishment for its sins; and in spite of the
name it bore ‘(Holy Savior)’ it would be cast into the bottomless pit.”
The good bishop promptly headed the retreat of the clergy from the
forces of Satan, evidently under the impression that if the people
could only leave the accursed locality, the devil would not be so
scrupulously exact in tormenting them before the time. The people
flocked after the clergy in large numbers, believing they would be
safest in the neighborhood of the holy men. It is well known that even
the devil respects the cloth.
[Illustration: PEOPLE OF SAN SALVADOR FRIGHTENED.]
The republic had been rent by civil war for years; and in this critical
juncture, it seemed that it was about to be renewed. But a man of strong
will and energy and coolness stepped forward--Duenas, ex-monk, lawyer,
deputy, and president--from his farm, like Cincinnatus. Collecting a few
friends and digging some arms from the wreck of the barracks, he
inspirited the new president, and martial law was proclaimed. The
shooting of a few Indian robbers imparted to the remainder a respect for
law equalled only by their practical Christianity, and the work of
rescue began. Large numbers of the populace permanently forsook the
site.
Two years later there was a great earthquake in Honduras; but the area
of disturbance was not so densely peopled, and the damage done was
proportionately less. Disasters of this sort cause most Central
Americans to emigrate. “Then women and children form themselves into
groups and travel through the country. They set the drama in which they
have taken part to music, and they go through the country singing the
rude verses which they have run together in the different villages, and
then send the hat around. After they have visited the whole of their own
country, they cross the frontier into the neighboring State, where they
are also assured of doing pretty well.”
During three centuries of Spanish occupation of South America, while
scores of convulsions had visited the Pacific seaboard, none had shaken
the eastern slope of the Cordilleras, or the great plains beyond; and
there had resulted a settled belief that the entire region was, so to
speak, earthquake-proof. But the illusion was rudely dispelled.
In the extreme west of the Argentine Republic, on the high road from
Valparaiso to Buenos Ayres, lies the town of Mendoza, in full view of
Tupungato and the mighty Aconcagua. Never having, in all their history,
experienced any harm from these mountains, the people anticipated none.
“Mendoza had about 20,000 inhabitants and five hundred houses, nearly
all of them very handsome. It also contained two very large hospitals,
several schools, a splendid cathedral, and several churches. Its trade
was prosperous, and more than a hundred large shops testified to the
extent of its commerce. There was no such library in the whole of the
Argentine Republic. Its theatre was most sumptuous, and the Alameda, its
public promenade was regarded as the finest in South America.
[Illustration: SHOCK AT LAKE IN HONDURAS.]
“One evening, an immense red and blue meteor slowly traversed the sky
from East to West, and the volcano of Aconcagua broke into an eruption
upon the night following--20th March, 1861--without any premonitory
sound or sign: the earth quaked violently, and in less than a minute the
town of Mendoza had disappeared. It was transformed into a vast field of
ruins, the highest of which were not more than three feet from the
ground. Never within the memory of man has a town been so taken by
surprise; for in this case the earthquake was not preceded by the
underground mutterings which, even if only a few seconds in advance of
the shock, give some sort of warning. Upon that night, and in less than
four seconds, fifteen thousand people were buried in the ruins. Horrible
noises, cries of terror, the heartrending howls of men and animals
filled the air, and a thick cloud of dust darkened the sky.”
Mendoza was not the only place injured. At San Juan, one hundred miles
northward, three thousand people were killed. Three hundred and fifty
miles further away, Cordova lost a number of houses, and a slight shock
was felt at Buenos Ayres. The wreck presented the scenes common in such
cases; and, as in several similar disasters, bands of brigands pounced
upon the town to pillage the ruins.
Of the many touching incidents, we must give place to two:
That the town was absolutely unwarned is hardly correct. A French
geologist, M. Bravard, sent on a scientific mission by the Russian
government, had found the volcanoes near by violently roaring, yet
emitting no smoke or fire; and, nearing the valley of Mendoza, he found
the soil in a constant tremor. Alarmed at these manifestations, he
expressed his belief that if the pressure were not speedily relieved by
eruption, a severe earthquake might follow. His assertion caused serious
apprehension, for his high attainments gave his opinions great weight
with the people. For nearly a week the possibility of a catastrophe was
seriously discussed. One evening he stood at the door of M. Matussiere,
wishing his friends good-night. Again he alluded to the earthquake--the
shock came, and he was caught by the fall of the house.
Matussiere himself was on his way home from Valparaiso. When fifteen
miles from Mendoza, in the mountains, a tremendous roaring was heard,
but he felt no shock. The moon shone as calmly and clearly as ever, and
no disturbance followed. Oppressed, however, by terrible fear, he
hastened to Mendoza. He could not even guess where was the wreck of his
own home. After a
[Illustration: WRECK AT MENDOZA.]
long, despairing search, he saw his great house dog come bounding toward
him. The dog led him to the wreck; and, after wearisome toil, the
merchant found his wife and one child alive. The rest of the family, and
the French geologist, were dead.
Another episode is related by M. Charton: There was at Mendoza a rich,
French hotel keeper, M. Tesser. After the shock, “one of his intimate
friends wandered among the ruins. His eyes were dry: he could shed tears
no longer. He stopped on the site of the hotel, trying in vain to recall
the old arrangements. He was retiring--his heart filled with sighs,
thinking of the honest man and the family he had loved so well--when he
perceived, through the shapeless mass of girders and calcined stones, M.
Tesser’s dog, which moaned; he approached it. The poor animal, the two
hind legs and part of the body of which were crushed, forced itself, in
spite of his sufferings and weakness, to scratch with his front paws,
and uttered, from time to time, a plaintive howl. As it saw its master’s
friend come near, it exerted itself and howled louder. The friend
understood that Tesser must be beneath this rubbish, and hoped he was
not dead. He ran to fetch some persons, and, with their help, after much
labor, he indeed discovered the body of poor Tesser; his left arm and
leg, lying under the beams, were broken, his mouth and eyes full of
earth, but he still breathed. Before trying to disengage his limbs, they
washed his face, which seemed to relieve him; without saying a word, he
instinctively stretched his right arm toward his dog, who drew himself
to him, and died a few moments afterwards.
“Tesser scarcely was in a state to pronounce any words, before he asked
where his family was. All had perished in the great disaster. Hearing
this answer, he closed his eyes with despair; then, making a fresh
effort, he pronounced the name of his little girl, and showed with his
finger a separate place where he had put her to bed. Some of the people,
in compassion for his grief, although without hope, made further search;
others occupied themselves in dressing his broken limbs. A few minutes
later, those rendering him this service saw him suddenly raise himself
up--he gave a cry--they brought him his daughter, still living. A beam
had fallen across the bed of the child and had protected it; but she was
seriously wounded in the head; she had also her mouth and eyes filled
with dirt, and was exhausted with hunger.” For two months the pair lay
under a tent against a tree, more dead than alive. They only remained to
each other of the once rich and happy family. But in this respect, they
were no worse off than hundreds of others.
The people abandoned the site, unable to remain in view of so many
monuments of former happiness. Strangers came in and a new Mendoza rose,
but not so lovely as the former one. This town was also severely shaken
in 1885.
With a notice of one other earthquake, which demands attention because
of unusual results, this chapter must close.
This shock occurred August 13, 1868, in Peru. The center of the
convulsion was at Arequipa, at the foot of the lofty volcanic mountain
of Misti, which has not shown signs of activity since the great outburst
of 1542. So far as their volcanic neighbor was concerned, the forty-four
thousand people of Arequipa had apparently no reason for apprehension.
At five minutes past five, there came a light shock like the jar of a
distant explosion. Half a minute later began the subterranean rumbling,
with a rapidly increasing vibration, which made the people run for their
lives into the streets. Then “the swaying motion changed into fierce,
vertical upheaval. The subterranean roaring increased in a terrifying
manner; then were heard the heart-piercing shrieks of the wretched
people, the bursting of walls, the crashing fall of houses and churches,
while over all rolled thick clouds of a yellowish-black dust, which, had
they been poured forth many minutes longer, would have suffocated
thousands.”
Tacna and Arica suffered little less. But the greatest damage in the
coast region was from the sea wave. A few minutes after the shock, the
sea rolled back, falling twenty-five feet; then a huge, black wall of
water leaped up, fifty feet in height, and rushed for the shore. The
American vice-consul at Arica, well versed in the phenomena of
earthquakes, left his house at the first shock, and ran with his family
to the hills to avoid any probable sea wave. The monster billow struck
the mole to pieces, and swept clean the lower part of the town. Six
vessels were lost in the bay, or tossed over rocks and houses; two, a
Peruvian corvette and a United States war-ship, were carried inland and
left high and dry, half a mile north of Arica, without a broken spar or
tarnished flag. Similar feats were recorded at Iquique. Twelve hundred
miles of sea-coast were more or less affected. Sixty million dollars
worth of property were destroyed, and twenty thousand people killed.
The great sea wave was especially remarkable. Recoiling from the
Peruvian coast, in three hours its southern expansion was observed at
Coquimbo, eight hundred miles south. An hour later it was at
Constitucion, four hundred and fifty miles further. Northward, the wave
rushed, sixty feet high, into the harbor of San Pedro, California, five
thousand miles from the shock.
To the westward, the Sandwich Islands were reached that night, and
irregular waves broke upon the coast for three days. Before midnight it
broke upon the Marquesas and the Paumotu archipelago. At half-past three
in the morning it was at New Zealand. By daylight it was surging along
the coasts of Australia, and by mid-day it was tossing even on the
southwest coast of Australia. The same day, it was heaving on the shores
of Japan.
[Illustration: THE GREAT SEA WAVE REACHES CHILI.]
This wave is doubtless surpassed only by the great wave set in motion
by the convulsion of Krakatoa, mentioned in the chapter on volcanoes. It
travelled to a distance of 10,500 miles from its starting point, at a
speed of from 400 to 500 miles an hour, according to the direction. Yet
it has had several strong rivals. Had the great wave of 1867, at the
time of the earthquake at St. Thomas, been raised in the open sea,
instead of in the comparatively shut in Caribbean, it might have
travelled to an equal distance. The sea wave which followed the
earthquake at Simoda, Japan, in 1854, completely wiped out that town,
leaving only fragments of a temple-wall, and some wrecked vessels, two
miles inland. Most of the people perished. Recoiling from the coast, the
wave rolled in upon the shores of California, travelling 5,000 miles in
twelve hours.
The terrible earthquake that ravaged Jamaica in 1692, produced a wave
that swept thirty-three feet of water over the highest house in Port
Royal, destroying 3,000 persons. An English frigate, the _Swan_, was
deposited on the top of a large building, breaking in the roof. The
waves of the Lisbon and Calabrian earthquakes have been noticed
elsewhere.
This same district in Peru has suffered similarly several times. Callao,
with the ground on which it was built, was swept away in 1746. Only
fifteen of its people ever reached Lima, six miles inland. When the town
was rebuilt, a second disaster of this sort nearly destroyed it. Iquique
and Arequipa, in Peru, were again destroyed May 9, 1877; and a wave
seventy feet high swept the coast, and recoiling reached Japan next day,
travelling two hundred and eighteen yards per second.
The cases given illustrate well the stupendous power and destructiveness
of vibrations in the earth’s surface. But few have been given, nor have
all the greatest been detailed. Mention only must suffice for the one
which shook Naples and vicinity, December 5, 1456, destroying forty
thousand people. Another in Persia, June 7, 1755, destroyed Kaschan,
with forty thousand people; one at Cairo, Egypt, the preceding year,
killed twenty thousand. Another in the Abruzzi, Italy, November 3, 1706,
killed fifteen thousand persons; one at Palermo; Sicily, September 13,
1726, killed six thousand; one hundred thousand perished in the Pekin
earthquake of November 30, 1731; two thousand were destroyed by an
earthquake in the Kutch district, India, in 1819. Constantinople was
overturned in the year 1800; six thousand people perished in an
earthquake in Murcia, Spain, in 1829; fifteen hundred were killed by
Italian earthquakes in 1835-36; Southern Syria suffered greatly in 1836;
Hayti was shaken, and four thousand people perished, in 1842; one
hundred thousand houses and thirty thousand people destroyed by an
earthquake in Japan, 1854; Montenerro, Calabria, and ten thousand people
in 1857; five thousand people in Ecuador, 1859; Northwestern Khorassan,
Persia, with thirty thousand people, in 1871; Antioch again nearly
destroyed in 1872; three thousand people killed in Cashmere, 1885.
Terrible as this list seems, the total but little exceeds the havoc
wrought by the single Bengal famine of 1866. There would be little
difficulty in proving that drought, with the consequent famine, has
proved the most terrible agent of destruction known to man; and yet it
is one that facilities for rapid transit should render least
destructive.
Scientific men have within forty years made efforts to keep a sort of
catalogue of shocks; but the frequency of earthquakes has rendered this
a profitless task. Great ones are long remembered; but as for numbering
the minor shocks, one might as well count rainfalls; several
[Illustration: EARTHQUAKE IN SPAIN.]
occur every day; and it is only when unusually destructive, like
extraordinary tempests, that they attract any attention; so that their
being recorded depends even more upon location than upon actual force.
All the phenomena of volcanoes and earthquakes point us to one
conclusion: that the earth may in time become as dead and deserted as
the moon. The telescope shows the latter to be thickly dotted with
volcanic craters, whose immensity, in comparison with those of our own
globe, is astounding; yet all are extinct. It is not probable that the
interior of our earth is molten; and we have seen that fractures and
subsidence, caused by gradual cooling, seem to be the main cause of the
local phenomena of volcanoes and earthquakes. As the ages roll on, these
weak places may become still higher; and the belt of warm climate will
grow narrower and narrower. Cooling at the present rate, 2,500,000,000
years will be necessary to render it as lifeless as the moon.
“As the cooling progresses, a sheet of snow and ice, from north and
south, will descend from the mountains upon the table-lands and valleys,
driving before it life and civilization, and covering forever the cities
and nations that it meets on its passage. All life and human activity
will press insensibly toward the inter-tropical zone. The great cities
of the world will fall asleep in succession under their eternal shroud.
During very many ages, equatorial humanity will undertake arctic
expeditions to find again under the ice the place of Paris, Lyons,
Bordeaux, and Marseilles. The sea-coasts will have changed, and the
geographical map of the earth will have been transformed. No one will
live and breathe, except in the equatorial zone, up to the day when the
last family, nearly dead with cold and hunger, will sit on the shore of
the last sea, in the rays of the sun, which will thereafter shine here
on a dead, cold earth, revolving, like a satellite moon, about a sun
unseen by mortal eyes, and distributing to an extinguished planet a
useless heat.” So will end the history of our planet and its great
disasters.
“All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume
Its immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of time!
I saw the last of human mold
That shall creation’s death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!
The sun’s eye had a sickly glare,
The earth with age was wan;
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in fight--the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands.
In plague and famine some!
Earth’s cities had no sound or tread,
And ships were drifting with the dead,
To shores where all was dumb!
Yet prophet-like that lone one stood
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by!
Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
’Tis Mercy bids thee go:
For thou ten thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears
That shall no longer flow.”