Ancestors: A Novel

  X

  Mac, so swollen with the prideful experience which enabled him tocompare two great earthquakes, and his accumulations of practical databearing thereon, appeared ten years younger, and, as Gwynne and Isabelrode up, was lording it over his fellow-hirelings. He had forbiddenChuma to make a fire in the kitchen stove until the chimney, what wasleft of it, had been repaired, directed him to bring down-stairs theoil-stove Isabel had bought for the old rheumatic's comfort, and cookbreakfast upon it. As even the stovepipe in the out-building, used forpreparing the elaborate repasts of the Leghorn, was twisted, Abe hadbeen ordered to drag the great stove into the open, build a screen aboutit, and "do the best he could, and be thankful he was alive." Poor Abe,who had not been extant in 1868, and had even missed the considerableearthquakes of the Nineties, was in a somewhat demoralized state, andwondering audibly what people supposed he cared about chickens, anyhow.

  Isabel and Gwynne sat down in the dining-room and ate theirbreakfast--on fragments--calmly and methodically, talking constantly ofthe earthquake, it is true, but instinct with that curious casuistrythat a certain safety lay in following the ordinary routine of life;perhaps--who knows?--so great is the egoism of the human spirit--thatthe unswerving march of man in his groove might restore the balance ofnature.

  After breakfast Isabel went up to her room and dressed hastily andmechanically in a short walking-suit, as mechanically expecting the sameearthquake to return to the spot associated with it. Gwynne wore hiskhaki riding-clothes, but it was doubtful if any one would be criticalin San Francisco that morning. Nothing, as it happened, could havesuited his purpose better, and it was long before he took them off.

  When the launch was under way Isabel told Gwynne of the blue flames thathad danced over the marsh during the convulsion. "If electricity is nota cause of earthquakes, it certainly is let loose by them," she added."I expected every moment that we would blow up and fly off into space."

  "I saw something of the same sort on the hills, and expected to see St.Helena spout flames."

  In a few moments they were sensible that the constant artificialvibration of the boat was the most grateful sensation they had everknown, and of the wish that they could leave it only for a train, to betransferred at the end of a long journey to another train, and stillanother. But these sentiments were not exchanged, and their conversationwas purely extrinsic. Here and there along the shore an old shanty layon its side, or had tumbled forward to its knees; but for the most partdilapidated chimneys and fallen poles were the only visible symbols ofthe tumult beneath the smiling beautiful earth. Never had Earth lookedso green, so velvety, its flowers so gay and voluptuous. Even the sky,now its normal deep blue, had this same velvety quality, the veryatmosphere seemed to breathe the same rich satisfaction. But no birdswere singing, and there was nothing normal in the groups of people,gathered wherever there were habitations: they wore bath-robes,blankets, overcoats, anything, apparently, they had found at hand, andhad not re-entered their treacherous habitations. No trains wererunning, but the drawbridge that separated the marsh from San Pablo Bayopened as usual.

  Gwynne steered the launch, and his conversation and Isabel's drifted tospeculations as to what had happened in the city.

  "Thank heaven I had the foundations of that old house replaced," shesaid, "or I am afraid your mother would have shot right down to theHofers' doorstep. I am fairly at ease about The Otis, for in spite ofthe old drifting sand-lots that district is built on, its foundations godown to bed-rock, and thanks to the strikers there is nothing to falloff the steel frame. But I am rather worried about the islands. SanFrancisco Bay is supposed to have been a valley some two hundred yearsago, and if it dropped once it might again. Those islands are onlyhilltops."

  The islands, however, looked as serene as the rest of nature, althoughmost of the chimneys were fallen or twisted, and there were the samegroups of people in the open, awaiting another throe. These, however,had had time to recover their balance and clothe themselves. The launch,which had a new engine, had been driven at top speed, and it was not yetseven o'clock, barely the beginning of day to these luxurious people,but a day that would doubtless be remembered as the longest of theirlives. On the military islands, routine, apparently, had received nodislocation, and on the steep romantic slopes of Belvedere the villasmight have sunken their talons to the very vitals of the rock. The mostprecariously perched had paid no toll but the chimney.

  As the launch bounded past the long eastern side of Angel Island, Gwynnecontracted his eyelids. "Have you noticed that black cloud over thecity?" he asked. "At first it did not strike me particularly--but--itlooks as if there might be a big fire."

  Isabel, who faced him, turned her head. "There are always fires in SanFrancisco after an earthquake," she said, indifferently. "And aboutseven a day at any time. There are none on the hills, so your mother isnot having a second fright. Poor thing! I am afraid she is terriblyupset. I wish she had gone."

  She sat about, to observe the city more critically. Already its sky-linewas changed, for every chimney, smokestack, and steeple, commonlyvisible, was shattered or down. The smoke cloud, which looked like agreat ostrich plume bent at the tip, was as stationary as the hills, andhad a confident permanent air that they would lack for some time. Andfixed as it was it seemed to grow larger.

  "Steer to the east of Alcatraz," said Isabel, suddenly; "and towardsYerba Buena. I should like to see where the fires are."

  When the launch was well off the point of Telegraph Hill, they sawseveral large fires on the western side of East Street, the wide roadwaythat divided the city from the water-front and Ferry Building. Far down,in the South of Market Street district there appeared to be other largefires.

  "Warehouses, probably," said Isabel. "What a sight!" She indicated thecollapsed sheds about the moles, and the twisted and topplingappearance of the tower on the Ferry Building, which stood on the edgeof the made ground. It was an immense structure of great weight, andonly an uncommon honesty--and vigilance--in building had saved it fromdestruction. Had the piles been hollow, or too short to reach bed-rock,it would either have sunken or tumbled.

  And then they noticed that the bay was silent and deserted. It was amoment before they realized that of the several lines of ferry-boatsnone appeared to be running. "That means that the tracks are out ofworking order," said Isabel, grimly. "We may have had the best of it,bad as it was. Ah!" One of the Oakland ferry-boats pushed out of its SanFrancisco mole. It was black with people. Isabel stared with wonder. "Itlooks as if people were running away from the city. Or perhaps a goodmany that live across the bay came over on the same mission asourselves, and have been turned back. That would mean that all EastStreet was on fire and they could not get into the city. Well, let ushurry. Even although the fires are so far off they may terrify yourmother. I remember she told me once in England that she had never seen afire. I have a queer sensation in my knees."

  Gwynne laughed. "I should think you might be used to fires by this time.And you have a celebrated fire department. I fancy you are just feelingthe reaction."

  "I was not a bit frightened during the earthquake!" saidIsabel, indignantly. "But there is nothing _phenomenal_ in fire to braceone up--and those had a sinister determined look--and that boat-load ofpeople! I only hope your mother has not run away--under the impressionthat San Francisco alone was shaken. We wouldn't find her for a week."

  "My mother's nerves are not what they were, but I am positive she willnot run. She is certain to wait for us at the house."

  A few moments later they ran the launch up to the landing at the foot ofRussian Hill. There were a few tumbled shanties on the slope, but noneof the well-built houses had been dislodged, and the great buildings onthis water-front were in good condition. Mr. Clatt was not visible, butleft his cottage at Isabel's call, and gave them something more than hisusual surly greeting.

  "Glad to see you are all right," he said. "Been expectin' you. Jeststepped in to git my pipe."

  "Much damage don
e?" asked Gwynne.

  "Considerable, but I guess the shake'll take a back seat. City's onfire."

  "There are always fires after earthquakes," said Isabel, angrily.

  "City's on fire. Thirty broke out s'multaneous. Water main's bust. Chiefof Fire Department killed in his bed, or as good as killed. There'splenty left to fight the fire but nothin' to fight it with. Guess theold town'll go up in smoke this time."

  "My knees feel rather weak, too," said Gwynne. He turned to thewharfinger, who was pulling leisurely at his pipe. "We--my mother andMiss Otis, at least, may need this launch to leave the city with," hesaid. "Can I rely on you? You shall have a hundred dollars if you let noone steal it; and if the fire should reach this side, you are welcome toa refuge on my ranch."

  "I'll see daylight through any one that looks at it," said Mr. Clatt."This ain't no time to stand on ceremony. The army's called out alreadyto help the police keep order--the lootin' was disgraceful for about anhour. Every rat tumbled out of his hole, and of course they went for thesaloons. I'm well enough known along here to be let alone when I show myteeth. Your house is all right, miss."

  This side of the hill was almost deserted; nearly every one seemed to bewatching the fires from the crest; but occasionally Gwynne and Isabelpassed a solitary person clinging to his possessions, or a small group;and invariably were greeted with the same remark: "City's on fire. Watermains were broken by the earthquake."

  As they passed through the crowd on the hill-top, they received similarinformation, although many added confidently that "something would bedone. The wind was sure to change to the west."

  And so far, at least, the picture from the heights was by no meansappalling. There were a number of fires in the south, and a wall offlame and smoke along the water-front near the Ferry Building. Had theearthquake spared the mains they would merely have been spectacular.

  Gwynne and Isabel, as they made the slight descent to the Belmont House,saw two of their Japs sitting on the roof throwing down the bricks ofthe fallen chimneys. Then they turned the corner and found LadyVictoria, an opera-cloak thrown over her night-clothes, pacing up anddown the veranda.

  "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "I did not dare to wonder if you were deador alive. Why did we ever come to this God-forsaken country?" She didnot offer to embrace them, but her eyes were brilliant, and there was acolor in her cheeks. And no one had ever heard her talk so fast. "Wasit as dreadful with you? Did you get out of the house? I was awake whenI heard that awful roar. Somehow, I knew what it meant, and before theearthquake was well begun I was out here. I never ran so fast in mylife, although I was flung against the walls. And I almost wished I hadstayed in the house. Such a sight! That awful reeling city! Just imaginethousands of buildings plunging, and leaping, and dancing, and toppling.Towers bowing to you so solemnly that I almost disgraced myself and hadhysterics. And steeples pitching off, or huddling down like corpses. Andthat awful loud deep steady roar and crash of a thousand walls andchimneys falling. And the dust that seemed to swallow the city. For amoment I thought it had gone, and expected the hills to follow. Then itrose and everybody on earth seemed to be in those streets--and in white.They looked like Isabel's Leghorns. Such pigmies from up here. Pigmies!That is what we all are. And Angelique, the wretch, has run away."

  "Well, she cannot go far, as all the railroads but one seem to beinjured," said Gwynne, soothingly. "Better go in and dress and we'llwalk down and take a look at things. That will divert your mind."

  But it was not until Isabel had assured her that the worst force of anearth movement in California spent itself in the first great shock, andoffered to help her dress, that Victoria could be persuaded to enter thehouse. Gwynne fetched Isabel's field-glass and studied the scene below,picking out the more disastrous work of the earthquake. All the newsolid buildings, and most of the old, appeared to be unharmed, and theresidence district, built of wood on stone foundations, for the mostpart, was much as usual, save for its altered sky-line: every chimneyand skylight had disappeared. But tall slender factory chimneys hadbroken raggedly in half, and the great tower of the City Hall, standinghigh against the blue sky and advancing smoke, seemed to shriek like aman whose flesh had been torn off with hot pincers until only the shamedskeleton was left. Nothing but the steel cage that had supported thebricks remained: eloquent of the millions that a dishonest citygovernment and its confederates had stolen.

  Gwynne, as his eyes travelled more precisely, picked out more and moreevidences of the power of the earthquake. Steeples were gone, wallsfallen outward, roofs caved in, or yawning where a heavy chimney hadgone through, old houses were on their knees, or had fallen into theircellars. Great cracks and rifts in walls and asphalt, fallen cornicesand shattered windows detached themselves from the general picture ofthe half-ruined but oddly indifferent city. Almost immediately, throughthe smoke in the southeast, he had caught a glimpse of The Otis, animmense skeleton of steel, that had defied the earth, and offerednothing to the fire. But although he experienced a passing gratitudethat he should lose nothing by the disaster, he forgot the incident in amoment: he felt wholly impersonal.

  Everybody in the city, apparently, was out-of-doors. The squares wereblack with people, quiet crowds, it would seem, moving slowly where theymoved at all. He saw mounted officers and parading soldiers, and groupsof firemen standing impotently by their hose and engines. In the burningSouth of Market Street district rivers of people were pouring towardsthe great central highway, their arms and shoulders burdened; fleeing nodoubt with their household goods. Then Gwynne began to study the fires,and it dawned upon him that he was looking down not upon a mereconflagration but a burning city. It was more than likely that the fireswould not cross Market Street, and that those near the water-front wouldbe extinguished by water pumped from the bay; but "South of MarketStreet" was a city in itself, and not only did he feel a certain pityfor all those terrified black pigmies down there, but a pang for theextinction of a region so identified with the early history of SanFrancisco. Rincon Hill was obliterated by the smoke, but no doubt shewould go; with all her pretty old-fashioned houses, so unlike thehorrors on the plateau below him--and South Park with its tragicmemories. Moreover, if all the factories and warehouses, and the blocksdevoted to the wholesale business, were destroyed, the city would bepoorer by many millions.

  He shifted his glass away from the fires. More and more details arrestedhis eye. Inert forms were being carried out of houses where chimneys orskylights had gone through the roof. Automobiles were flying about,hundreds of them. Mounted orderlies were dashing at breakneck speedbetween the Presidio and the city. For a moment he wondered, thenremembered that General Funston lived on Nob Hill. He inferred that theMechanics' Fair Building, down in the western section of the valley, hadbeen turned into a hospital, for automobiles were constantly dashing upand delivering limp and helpless burdens. The old Mission Church,Dolores, was unharmed, but not far away, and in that crowded districtbuilt upon the filled-in lake, or lagoon, of the Spanish era, he sawthat a large building, doubtless a cheap and flimsy hotel, had sunkento its upper story, and that people were digging frantically about it.Every house in the immediate neighborhood had dropped into its cellar orlurched off its foundations. But it was all like some horrid picture byDore: the smoky darkening atmosphere, the jets, the bouquets, the squaremasses of flame, each seeming to embrace a block if not more, the darkslowly rolling clouds not far overhead, the tides of humanity dwarfed bythe distance, the broken dislocated houses, the great haughty defiantbuildings, with the superb conflagration behind them.

  One of the neighbors, who lived on the crest, returning from areconnoitring expedition, paused and informed him that the mayor hadbeen persuaded to call a meeting of the more prominent citizens, todecide, if possible, what might be done to save the city, and to keepthe people from falling into a panic. Mr. Phelan, the "Reform Mayor"--ofthe city's last period of municipal decency--had suggested sending tothe military islands for dynamite enough to blow up a wide zone beyondthe
fire; but property-owners were already protesting. Many felt surethe fire would not cross Market Street, others were as certain that thewhole city would go. A corps of marines had been despatched from MareIsland immediately after the earthquake and would undoubtedly save theFerry Building and the docks, but if the fire ran over from MarketStreet a few blocks higher up, nothing could save all that greatbusiness, shopping, and hotel district; to say nothing of Chinatown, andpossibly these hills. All South of Market Street was in motion, makingfor the ferries or the bare western hills, the Presidio and Park; theymust answer for many of the fires, as they had not given a thought tocracked chimneys when they wanted their breakfast; but of course crossedwires and the overhead trolley system were responsible for as many more.Then he advised Gwynne to order that all the bath-tubs in the houseshould be filled with what water was left in the pipes, and that a stockof provisions from the neighboring grocer and butcher should be laid in."Personally I don't believe the fire will ever come as far as this," hesaid. "But there'll be a famine, no doubt of that. The wires are alldown, scarcely a train is running, the country may be as hard hit asourselves--and all that crowd down there to feed!"

  Gwynne thanked him and replied that the launch was in waiting; but whenthe man had gone he called the Japs, gave them money, and ordered themto follow his neighbor's suggestion. He realized that he had no desireto leave this city where life was suddenly keyed to its highest pitch,and retire to the security and inaction of the country. Moreover, herecalled the promise he had given Hofer and his other friends on thenight of the ball: this might be the emergency, and what services hecould render should be given freely enough.

  Lady Victoria and Isabel came forth, and they all made their way rapidlydown to Nob Hill. The stair was more rickety than ever, and many of theolder houses they passed looked badly shaken within, if notwithout--every door was open. The floors were covered with plaster; moreoften than not the furniture and ornaments, and even mantels, weremassed in an indistinguishable heap. The Hofers' door, like the rest,was open, and they saw that the spiral marble stair was a pile ofglittering splinters and that the pictures had been turned completelyround or flung across the hall. Mrs. Hofer had been too eager to reignon Nob Hill to wait for a new foundation. Several of the servants weresitting on the steps, and informed Gwynne that all the family, includingthe children, had gone out in two automobiles an hour before, to see thecity.

  They walked down the hill, stopped many times by returning citizensanxious to impart information. The Italians on Telegraph Hill were madwith terror: "they were no Californians," in accents of bitter contempt.Portsmouth Square was full of Chinamen laughing at the women that hadrun there from the hotels without shoes on their feet, and only an operaor automobile cloak over their night-clothes. Even more amused werethose Oriental philosophers at the white scared faces of the prisonersclinging to the bars of the jail. Nobody could tell how many people hadbeen killed by falling roofs and walls, although the wildest storieswere current, but so far there were more doctors and nurses attending tobusiness than patients to care for. Down in the Mechanics' FairBuilding, which had been converted into an emergency hospital, they wereworking as methodically, with book and pencil, as well as with bandageand instrument, as if earthquake and fire were a part of the dailyroutine. "Almost everybody was quiet, but there were sights down there,Oh, Lord, there were sights!" One man button-holed Gwynne, as he hadbutton-holed others on his ascent, and informed him that he had "gotdown there" just in time to see two hundred and fifty thousand dollarsgo up in smoke. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and it hastaken me twenty years to make it!" he reiterated, with an excitedbitterness that was almost hilarious. He did not ask Gwynne if he hadlost anything, but passed on to button-hole the next man and pour outhis tale of individual protest; upon him the earthquake and fire hadmade a personal attack.

  "How strange it seems to be in the midst of so much _life_--merephysical life," said Lady Victoria. "A whole city tense and helpless! Iwonder that man could think of himself. We are all mere fragments of onegreat whole."

  Her eyes were still restless and bright, her mask had fallen, and withit, curiously, many of her years. For a time, at least, the heavy burdenof self had slipped from her tired spirit.

  Few stood in the doorways, or even gardens; nearly every one notexploring the city was in the middle of the street. In theboarding-house district, half-way down the hill, the corners werecrowded with people watching the fires, although as many more had goneto the heights to command a better view. Some were still dazed and whitewith terror, a few looked distraught; more than one man was as nervousas his wife. But the majority were calm, although they wore anexpression of being ready for anything. A few, mindful of the Californiatradition, were joking and relating the absurdities of their experience.There was no question that the shock had been far greater in the citythan in and about Rosewater, and both Isabel and Gwynne, to LadyVictoria's disgust, expressed a regret that they "had missed anything."But it was possible that the convulsion had been even worse elsewhere.St. Peter was built over a known fault, and San Francisco was not; andindeed news was already coming into the city of coast hamlets that hadliterally been torn to pieces. Other wild rumors were flying about. NewYork had disappeared. Chicago had been swept by a tidal wave. As thetelegraph wires were all down no one attempted to account for theseitems of news, but so much had already happened that if the easternhemisphere had dropped to the level of Atlantis, no one would havestared.

  When they reached Union Square they found it so crowded that they hardlycould make their way. Not only the guests of the St. Francis Hotel, thatflanked it, had taken refuge in the open, but those of many otherhotels. A few of the men were still in pyjamas, and of the women indressing-gown or opera-cloak, caught up as they fled. But the majorityhad ventured back and dressed themselves, so that the "sights" were notwhat they may have been an hour earlier. But no one seemed to care forshelter; at all events they liked companionship in misery, although fewbesides the foreign members of the Grand Opera Company were voluble.Gwynne and Victoria and Isabel saw many of their acquaintance, not allrecognizable at first, for even those that had returned to their roomsto dress themselves had taken little pains with their hair. One woman ofgreat beauty, however, whose husband's hat surmounted her flowing locks,was just informing Isabel that she had reached that frame of mind wherevanity was pressing apprehension to the wall, when there was anexplosive sound, another as of rushing wings, the crowd stumbled againstone another, and the large buildings about the square rocked. Againthere was an exodus, and some clutching and gasping; but only a few ofthe refugees from the burning district, sitting on the furniture theyhad dragged with them, screamed. It was over in a few seconds, and thenGwynne pressed his women gently out of the crowd and down, through thetide of refugees, to Market Street. They walked in the middle of thestreet, for the sidewalks in this business district, where many of thebuildings were of brick or stone, were littered with the debris offallen cornice and shattered windows and chimneys. Market Street waskept open for automobiles, and the crossing refugees; the spectatorsstood on the edge of the northern pavement only, and in some cases onthe top of bricks that represented an outer wall. A number of therefugees were marching towards the ferries, although a curtain of smokebounded the lower end of Market Street. Others were moving stolidlytowards the western hills. All were burdened with pillow-cases packedwith clothing, or dragged trunks, cribs, baby-carriages, in which was astrange assortment of utensils, children, and household pets. Thescrape, scrape of these unwieldy objects could be heard in a monotonousreiteration above the distant roar and crackling of the flames. Behindthe tide of humanity rolling in from the burning district, at the end ofevery street, was a vista of flame and smoke. And the dark clouds weremounting higher and higher, lit with a million golden sparks. Thetemperature was tropical.

  People were already beginning to talk in phrases: The doomed city. Thefire zone. Razed to the ground. Brains were not active, and any oneenergetic enoug
h to put a few expressive words together was sure ofdisciples. Here, more than elsewhere, it was apparent that the army wasin possession of the city. Mounted officers rode slowly up and down, andat the mouth of each of those dusky and menacing avenues was a guardwith drawn bayonets. They permitted the unfortunate to emerge, but fewto enter. In spite of the audible energy of the fire, the slow tramp ofthe refugees, the scraping of their furniture on the ill-paved streets,the city was extraordinarily silent. People scarcely spoke above amutter. There was no shouting of orders. Even the children were notwhimpering, the tawdry women were not hysterical, not a parrot raisedhis voice nor a dog whined. Faces were dazed, blank, imprinted with astolid determination to get to a place of safety and keep families andbelongings together. The present moment was as much as they could grasp,and truth to tell there was a good deal in it.

  Some of the sightseers speculated mildly--those that owned no propertyin this district--as to what would happen if the wind drove the firemuch farther north. The opposite side of the street was lined with someof the greatest business houses in the city. The Palace Hotel lookedlike the rock of Gibraltar. Not a vase in its court had been overturned,some one said. The other buildings were of stone, brick, concrete. Theyhad stood the earthquake; even the great square tower of the CallBuilding, unsupported by other buildings, had barely lost a cornice. Wasit possible that the fire would take them? But the fire was rollingnearer every moment, for it met little to resist it but wood. Down byEast Street several of the Market Street buildings were blazing. But nodoubt the marines would extinguish those, and surely that sea of flamewould break and retreat before the wall of rock opposite; and behind itwere other structures of stone and brick and concrete. Now and then arefugee, permitting his attention to be drawn from his own littleaffairs, told that the back windows of these buildings were already hungwith wet blankets, and that people stood by the cisterns on the roofs,hose in hand. But the South of Market Street fraternity shook a unitedhead, and when the new phrase, The doomed city, was wafted into its dullears, it adopted it promptly, and marched on muttering it over andover.