THE DESTRUCTION OF ST. PIERRE
And now, while Mont Pelee is in full eruption, let us go ashore
and learn what was happening in the city of St. Pierre, with its
twenty-five thousand inhabitants and its five thousand refugees.
There had been more than one warning that this terrible catastrophe was
at hand. For a number of days outbreaks of more or less importance had
occurred, which had occasioned the lava dust and the strange condition
of the water encountered so far out at sea.
The first intimation that the inhabitants of northern Martinique had
that something was wrong was on Friday, April 25, 1902. On that day
curious vapors were seen to be rising above Morne Lacroix, the highest
summit of Pelee. A number of inhabitants went to investigate and found
the water in the lake on the mountain top boiling and throwing off
gases.
“We are going to have an eruption,” said some, but the majority
laughed and said it would amount to little or nothing.
The water in the lake continued to boil for several days, and then the
volcano began to throw up mud and cinders, which fell on all sides of
the crater. Still there was but little alarm, until on May 2d, when
there came a shower of cinders which completely covered some of the
villages near the mountain and even extended to certain portions of St.
Pierre.
The alarm was now greater, but still it was argued that St. Pierre was
safe. The leading newspaper of St. Pierre, _Les Colonies_, gave some
interesting information about the outbreaks, and spoke about the fine
dust which had entered every house and every store. This dust was so
obnoxious that some of the places of business had felt compelled to
close their doors. The inhabitants of the villages near to the angry
mountain were now coming into St. Pierre for protection, and churches
and many public buildings had to be opened for their benefit. It was
reported that all vegetation around the mountain itself had disappeared
and that even the roads and trails could no longer be found, owing to
the cinders and mud.
For two days cinders and mud continued to come from the mountain and
frequent explosions were heard accompanied by slight earthquakes.
The streets of St. Pierre and other towns close to the mountain were
covered with several inches of volcanic dust, and business came to a
standstill. Many began to leave the northern end of the island, taking
passage for Fort de France and other places further southward. But
still the majority of the citizens of St. Pierre believed that the
eruption would soon cease, and even the governor of the island advised
them to remain by their property until the excitement was over.
The River Blanche flows down from Mont Pelee to the sea, midway between
St. Pierre and the village of Precheur on the north. Near this stream
stood the great Guerin sugar factory, with many valuable plantations
around it. On May 5th it was noticed that the river was swelling and
that its waters were of a black and gray color. Then the river rose
with remarkable rapidity and began to boil, and the terror-stricken
people near at hand saw that it was nothing more than a torrent of lava
and mud from the mountain sweeping down to engulf them. On and on it
came, leaping bridges and low-lying fields, and in a few minutes not
only the buildings of the factory, but also the beautiful villas of the
owners, the houses of the workmen, and trees and all living things were
swallowed up. The ocean went down a distance of thirty or forty feet,
leaving parts of the harbor bottom dry at Precheur and at St. Pierre,
and then arose with tremendous force, sweeping the shipping about,
smashing small craft of all kinds, and causing a rush of people to the
hills.
The alarm was now universal, and several meetings were held at St.
Pierre and other places, to decide what was best to be done. The French
war cruiser _Suchet_ was called into service, to make an examination
and give all the relief possible. To add to the horror St. Pierre was
plunged into darkness that night, the electric light plant failing to
work.
For two days the terror of the people continued, and now they were
leaving, or trying to leave, as fast as they could make the necessary
arrangements. Those who owned valuable property hated, of course, to
give it up, and some said they would remain to the end, no matter
what occurred. There were constant showers of dust, and muddy rains,
and frequent rumblings as of thunder. Some parties that went out to
explore in the vicinity of the mountain reported that all was chaos
within three miles of Pelee, and that at some points the lava and mud
lay to a depth of ten feet.
The next day was Thursday, May 8th. It was Ascension Day, and early in
the morning the cathedral in St. Pierre and the churches were open for
divine service. A heavy cloud hung over Mont Pelee, that same cloud
which those on board of the _Vendee_ saw and which caused poor Frank
and Mark on their raft so much uneasiness.
And then the great eruption.
What the people of St. Pierre thought of that fearful outburst no one
can tell, for out of that vast number, estimated at between twenty-five
thousand to thirty-one thousand people, not a single person remained
alive to tell the tale! Surely such an awful record is enough to sadden
the hardest heart.
Having already viewed this scene from the deck of the _Vendee_ we know
that there was scant warning of this mighty outburst. From out of the
depths of Pelee issued mud, lava, stones, and a gigantic volume of gas
that rolled and fell directly down upon the doomed city, cutting off
every particle of life-giving air and suffocating and burning wherever
it landed. Men, women, and children were struck down where they stood,
without being able to do anything to save themselves. The explosions of
the gases, and the shock of an earthquake, made hundreds of buildings
totter and fall, and the rain of fire, a thousand times thicker here
than out on the ocean, soon completed the work of annihilation. St.
Pierre, but a short time before so prosperous and so happy, was no
longer a city of the living but had become a cemetery of the dead.
It was something of this last outburst that reached Mark and Frank
and the Norwegian sailor, as they clung fast to the lumber raft as it
whirled and rocked in the boiling sea that raged on all sides of them.
Then a cloud as black as night swept over them, so that they could
scarcely see each other.
“What can it be?” murmured Mark. “Is it the end of the world?”
“The world is on fire!” shrieked Sven Orlaff, in his native tongue.
“The Lord God have mercy on us!” And he began to pray earnestly. The
boys did not understand him, but in the mind of each was likewise a
prayer, that God would bring them through that terrible experience in
safety.
At last the cloud lifted a bit and the sea became somewhat calmer. Part
of the lumber had become loosened and drifted off, so that the raft
was scarcely half as big as before. In the excitement Mark had had his
leg severely bruised and Frank’s left hand was much scratched and was
bleeding, but neither paid attention to the hurts.
“The boats--where are they?” questioned Mark, trying to clear his eyes
that he might see. All had drifted out of sight but one, a craft with a
single sail, which the strange current had sent close beside them. This
boat was filled to overflowing with people, Frenchmen and negroes, all
as terror-stricken as themselves.
“Help! Help us!” called the boys, and Sven Orlaff added a
similar appeal. But no help could be given--the boat was already
overloaded--and soon wind and current carried her out of sight through
the smoke and dust and the rolling sea.
Slowly the hours passed and gradually the sky cleared, although over
Mont Pelee still hung that threatening cloud of death. The sea remained
hot, and as the lumber raft drifted southward it encountered numerous
heaps of wreckage. Far off could be seen the ruins of buildings which
still smoked and occasionally blazed up.
“It’s a tremendous volcanic explosion,” said Mark, at last. “I believe
Mont Pelee has blown its head off.”
“Look! Look!” cried Sven Orlaff. “Da boat! We git da boat!”
He pointed but a short distance away. A boat was drifting toward them,
a craft probably twenty-five feet in length and correspondingly broad
of beam. The boat had had a mast but this was broken off short and
hung, with the sail, over the side.
Soon the boat bumped up against the lumber raft and they caught hold of
the wreckage and held fast. The body of the craft was in good condition
and they immediately leaped into the boat and began to clear away the
fallen mast and the sail with its ropes. There were some signs of fire
both at the bow and the stern but this had done little but char the
seats and gunwale. In the bottom of the boat rested a keg and several
boxes.
“This is much better than the lumber,” observed Frank, when they
were safely on board and had saved part of the mast and the sail.
“I suppose this boat either went adrift or the persons in her were
drowned. What do you suppose is in the keg and in the boxes?”
“Water in da keg,” announced the sailor, after an examination. He took
a long drink and the boys did the same. The water was very warm but to
their parched throats it was like nectar.
On breaking open the boxes they were found to contain eatables of
various kinds, evidently packed for a trip of several days. At once all
fell to, eating the first “square” meal they had had since drifting
around.
“There, that puts new life into a fellow,” exclaimed Mark, when he
had finished. “Now let us hoist that mast and sail and steer for St.
Pierre.”
“Do you believe this eruption reached that city?” questioned Frank,
with a look of new alarm suddenly showing itself on his worn face.
Mark gazed back blankly for an instant. “Great Cæsar, Frank! If it did,
and your father and mine were there----” Mark could not finish.
With sober faces the two boys assisted Sven Orlaff to hoist the broken
mast and fix it in place with ropes, of which, fortunately there
were plenty, they having been dragging in the water, thus escaping
the fire. Then the sail was hoisted, and they began a slow journey
southward, in the direction of St. Pierre harbor.
As the boat advanced more wreckage was encountered, and once they
passed a small raft filled with household goods. On top of the goods
lay the half burnt bodies of several people. Then they passed the
bodies of several cows and of a horse, and the wreckage became thicker
and thicker. The sights made them shudder and grow sick at heart.
Night found them still on the sea, some distance west of St. Pierre,
for they had missed their reckoning by over a mile, Sven Orlaff being
but a common sailor and understanding little more of steering than
themselves. A horrible smell reached them, coming from the distant
shore.
When day dawned, it found them somewhat rested and eager to get closer
to land, although they determined not to go ashore until they felt it
would be safe to do so. Each of the boys was thinking of his father.
Was it possible that St. Pierre had been overcome and were their
parents dead?
As last they made out the distant city, and the harbor dotted here and
there with the burnt shipping. Directly in the roadstead rested the
wrecked and burnt hulk of a big steamship, the _Roraima_, of the Quebec
line. The _Roraima_ had been caught with twenty-one passengers and a
crew of forty-seven on board, and of that number less than a third were
saved and many of these were horribly crippled for life.
“Another ship! A man-of-war!” cried Frank, and he was right. Close at
hand was the big warship, the _Suchet_, sent north once more from Fort
de France to investigate the happenings of St. Pierre. The captain of
the warship had just taken on board the survivors from the _Roraima_,
and now a hail was sent to our friends and they too were assisted to
the deck.