St. Pierre, the principal city of the French island of Martinique, in the West Indies, lies for the length of about a mile along the island coast, with high cliffs hemming it in, its houses climbing the slope, tier upon tier. At one place where a river breaks through the cliffs, the city creeps further up towards the mountains. As seen from the bay, its appearance is picturesque and charming, with the soft tints of its tiles, the grey of its walls, the clumps of verdure in its midst, and the wall of green in the rear. Seen from its streets this beauty disappears, and the chief attraction of the town is gone.
Back from the three miles of hills which sweep in an arc round the town, is the noble Montagne Pelee lying several miles to the north of the city, a mass of dark rock some four thousand feet high, with jagged outline, and cleft with gorges and ravines, down which flow numerous streams, gushing from the crater lake of the great volcano.
Though known to be a volcano, it was looked upon as practically extinct, though as late as August, 1856, it had been in eruption. No lava at that time came from its crater, but it hurled out great quantities of ashes and mud, with strong sulphurous odor. Then it went to rest again, and slept till 1902.
The people had long ceased to fear it. No one expected that grand old Mount Pelee, the slumbering (so it was thought) tranquil old hill, would ever spurt forth fire and death. This was entirely unlooked for. Mont Pelee was regarded by the natives as a sort of protector; they had an almost superstitious affection for it. From the outskirts of the city it rose gradually, its sides grown thick with rich grass, and dotted here and there with spreading shrubbery and drooping trees. There was no pleasanter outing for an afternoon than a journey up the green, velvet-like sides of the towering mountain and a view of the quaint, picturesque city slumbering at its base.
A PEACEFUL SCENE
There were no rocky cliffs, no crags, no protruding boulders. The mountain was peace itself. It seemed to promise perpetual protection. The poetic natives relied upon it to keep back storms from the land and frighten, with its stern brow, the tempests from the sea. They pointed to it with profoundest pride as one of the most beautiful mountains in the world.
Children played in its bowers and arbors; families picnicked there day after day during the balmy weather; hundreds of tourists ascended to the summit and looked with pleasure at the beautiful crystal lake which sparkled and glinted in the sunshine. Mont Pelee was the place of enjoyment of the people of St. Pierre. I can hear the placid natives say: “Old Father Pelee is our protector—not our destroyer.”
Not until two weeks before the eruption did the slumbering mountain show signs of waking to death and disaster. On the 23d of April it first displayed symptoms of internal disquiet. A great column of smoke began to rise from it, and was accompanied from time to time by showers of ashes and cinders.
Despite these signals, there was nothing until Monday, May 5th, to indicate actual danger. On that day a stream of smoking mud and lava burst through the top of the crater and plunged into the valley of the River Blanche, overwhelming the Guerin sugar works and killing twenty-three workmen and the son of the proprietor. Mr. Guerin’s was one of the largest sugar works on the island; its destruction entailed a heavy loss. The mud which overwhelmed it followed the beds of streams towards the north of the island.
The alarm in the city was great, but it was somewhat allayed by the report of an expert commission appointed by the Governor, which decided that the eruption was normal and that the city was in no peril. To further allay the excitement, the Governor, with several scientists, took up his residence in St. Pierre. He could not restrain the people by force, but the moral effect of his presence and the decision of the scientists had a similar disastrous result.
A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION BY A SUFFERER.
The existing state of affairs during these few waiting days is so graphically given in a letter from Mrs. Thomas T. Prentis, wife of the United States Consul at St. Pierre, to her sister in Melrose, a suburban city of Boston, that we quote it here:
“My Dear Sister: This morning the whole population of the city is on the alert and every eye is directed toward Mont Pelee, an extinct volcano. Everybody is afraid that the volcano has taken into its heart to burst forth and destroy the whole island.
“Fifty years ago Mont Pelee burst forth with terrific force and destroyed everything within a radius of several miles. For several days the mountain has been bursting forth in flame and immense quantities of lava are flowing down its sides.
“All the inhabitants are going up to see it. There is not a horse to be had on the island, those belonging to the natives being kept in readiness to leave at a moment’s notice.
“Last Wednesday, which was April 23d, I was in my room with little Christine, and we heard three distinct shocks. They were so great that we supposed at first that there was some one at the door, and Christine went and found no one there. The first report was very loud, and the second and third were so great that dishes were thrown from the shelves and the house was rocked.
“We can see Mont Pelee from the rear windows of our house, and although it is fully four miles away, we can hear the roar of the fire and lava issuing from it.
“The city is covered with ashes and clouds of smoke have been over our heads for the last five days. The smell of sulphur is so strong that horses on the streets stop and snort, and some of them are obliged to give up, drop in their harness and die from suffocation. Many of the people are obliged to wear wet handkerchiefs over their faces to protect them from the fumes of sulphur.
“My husband assures me that there is no immediate danger, and when there is the least particle of danger we will leave the place. There is an American schooner, the R. F. Morse, in the harbor, and she will remain here for at least two weeks. If the volcano becomes very bad we shall embark at once and go out to sea. The papers in this city are asking if we are going to experience another earthquake similar to that which struck here some fifty years ago.”
THE FATEFUL EIGHTH OF MAY
The writer of this letter and her husband, Consul Prentis, trusted Mont Pelee too long. They perished, with all the inhabitants of the city, in a deadly flood of fire and ashes that descended on the devoted place on the fateful morning of Thursday, May 8th. Only for the few who were rescued from the ships in the harbor there would be scarcely a living soul to tell that dread story of ruin and death. The most graphic accounts are those given by rescued officers of the Roraima, one of the fleet of the Quebec Steamship Co., trading with the West Indies. This vessel had left the Island of Dominica for Martinique at midnight of Wednesday, and reached St. Pierre about 7 o’clock Thursday morning. The greatest difficulty was experienced in getting into port, the air being thick with falling ashes and the darkness intense. The ship had to grope its way to the anchorage. Appalling sounds were issuing from the mountain behind the town, which was shrouded in darkness. The ashes were falling thickly on the steamer’s deck, where the passengers and others were gazing at the town, some being engaged in photographing the scene.
The best way in which we can describe a scene of which few lived to tell the story, is to give the narratives of a number of the survivors. From their several stories a coherent idea of the terrible scene can be formed. From the various accounts given of the terrible explosion by officers of the Roraima, we select as a first example the following description by Assistant Purser Thompson:
A TALE OF SUDDEN RUIN
“I saw St. Pierre destroyed. It was blotted out by one great flash of fire. Nearly 40,000 persons were all killed at once. Out of eighteen vessels lying in the roads only one, the British steamship Roddam, escaped, and she, I hear, lost more than half on board. It was a dying crew that took her out.
“Our boat, the Roraima, of the Quebec Line, arrived at St. Pierre early Thursday morning. For hours before we entered the roadstead we could see flames and smoke rising from Mont Pelee. No one on board had any idea of danger. Captain G. T. Muggah was on the bridge, and all hands got on deck to see the show.
“The spectacle was magnificent. As we approached St. Pierre we could distinguish the rolling and leaping of the red flames that belched from the mountain in huge volumes and gushed high in to the sky. Enormous clouds of black smoke hung over the volcano.
“When we anchored at St. Pierre I noticed the cable steamship Grappler, the Roddam, three or four American schooners and a number of Italian and Norwegian barks. The flames were then spurting straight up in the air, now and then waving to one side or the other for a moment and again leaping suddenly higher up.
“There was a constant muffled roar. It was like the biggest oil refinery in the world burning up on the mountain top. There was a tremendous explosion about 7.45 o’clock, soon after we got in. The mountain was blown to pieces. There was no warning. The side of the volcano was ripped out, and there was hurled straight toward us a solid wall of flame. It sounded like thousands of cannon.
“The wave of fire was on us and over us like a lightning flash. It was like a hurricane of fire. I saw it strike the cable steamship Grappler broadside on and capsize her. From end to end she burst into flames and then sank. The fire rolled in mass straight down upon St. Pierre and the shipping. The town vanished before our eyes and the air grew stifling hot, and we were in the thick of it.
“Wherever the mass of fire struck the sea the water boiled and sent up vast clouds of steam. The sea was torn into huge whirlpools that careened toward the open sea.
“One of these horrible hot whirlpools swung under the Roraima and pulled her down on her beam ends with the suction. She careened way over to port, and then the fire hurricane from the volcano smashed her, and over she went on the opposite side. The fire wave swept off the masts and smokestack as if they were cut with a knife.
HEAT CAUSED EXPLOSIONS
“Captain Muggah was the only one on deck not killed outright. He was caught by the fire wave and terribly burned. He yelled to get up the anchor, but, before two fathoms were heaved in the Roraima was almost upset by the boiling whirlpool, and the fire wave had thrown her down on her beam ends to starboard. Captain Muggah was overcome by the flames. He fell unconscious from the bridge and toppled overboard.
“The blast of fire from the volcano lasted only a few minutes. It shriveled and set fire to everything it touched. Thousands of casks of rum were stored in St. Pierre, and these were exploded by the terrific heat. The burning rum ran in streams down every street and out to the sea. This blazing rum set fire to the Roraima several times. Before the volcano burst the landings of St. Pierre were crowded with people. After the explosion not one living being was seen on land. Only twenty-five of those on the Roraima out of sixty-eight were left after the first flash.
“The French cruiser Suchet came in and took us off at 2 P. M. She remained nearby, helping all she could, until 5 o’clock, then went to Fort de France with all the people she had rescued. At that time it looked as if the entire north end of the island was on fire.”
C. C. Evans, of Montreal, and John G. Morris, of New York, who were among those rescued, say the vessel arrived at 6 o’clock. As eight bells were struck a frightful explosion was heard up the mountain. A cloud of fire, toppling and roaring, swept with lightning speed down the mountain side and over the town and bay. The Roraima was nearly sunk, and caught fire at once.
“I can never forget the horrid, fiery, choking whirlwind which enveloped me,” said Mr. Evans. “Mr. Morris and I rushed below. We are not very badly burned, not so bad as most of them. When the fire came we were going to our posts (we are engineers) to weigh anchor and get out. When we came up we found the ship afire aft, and fought it forward until 3 o’clock, when the Suchet came to our rescue. We were then building a raft.”
“Ben” Benson, the carpenter of the Roraima, said: “I was on deck, amidships, when I heard an explosion. The captain ordered me to up anchor. I got to the windlass, but when the fire came I went into the forecastle and got my ‘duds.’ When I came out I talked with Captain Muggah, Mr. Scott, the first officer and others. They had been on the bridge. The captain was horribly burned. He had inhaled flames and wanted to jump into the sea. I tried to make him take a life-preserver. The captain, who was undressed, jumped overboard and hung on to a line for a while. Then he disappeared.”
THE COOPER’S STORY.
James Taylor, a cooper employed on the Roraima, gives the following account of his experience of the disaster:
“Hearing a tremendous report and seeing the ashes falling thicker, I dived into a room, dragging with me Samuel Thomas, a gangway man and fellow countryman, shutting the door tightly. Shortly after I heard a voice, which I recognized as that of the chief mate, Mr. Scott. Opening the door with great caution, I drew him in. The nose of Thomas was burned by the intense heat.
“We three and Thompson, the assistant purser, out of sixty-eight souls on board, were the only persons who escaped practically uninjured. The heat being unbearable, I emerged in a few moments, and the scene that presented itself to my eyes baffles description. All around on the deck were the dead and dying covered with boiling mud. There they lay, men, women and little children, and the appeals of the latter for water were heart-rending. When water was given them they could not swallow it, owing to their throats being filled with ashes or burnt with the heated air.
“The ship was burning aft, and I jumped overboard, the sea being intensely hot. I was at once swept seaward by a tidal wave, but, the sea receding a considerable distance, the return wave washed me against an upturned sloop to which I clung. I was joined by a man so dreadfully burned and disfigured as to be unrecognizable. Afterwards I found he was the captain of the Roraima, Captain Muggah. He was in dreadful agony, begging piteously to be put on board his ship.
“Picking up some wreckage which contained bedding and a tool chest, I, with the help of five others who had joined me on the wreck, constructed a rude raft, on which we placed the captain. Then, seeing an upturned boat, I asked one of the five, a native of Martinique, to swim and fetch it. Instead of returning to us, he picked up two of his countrymen and went away in the direction of Fort de France. Seeing the Roddam, which arrived in port shortly after we anchored, making for the Roraima, I said good-bye to the captain and swam back to the Roraima.
“The Roddam, however, burst into flames and put to sea. I reached the Roraima at about half-past 2, and was afterwards taken off by a boat from the French warship Suchet. Twenty-four others with myself were taken on to Fort de France. Three of these died before reaching port. A number of others have since died.”
Samuel Thomas, the gangway man, whose life was saved by the forethought of Taylor, says that the scene on the burning ship was awful. The groans and cries of the dying, for whom nothing could be done, were horrible. He describes a woman as being burned to death with a living babe in her arms. He says that it seemed as if the whole world was afire.
CONSUL AYME’S STATEMENT
The inflammable material in the forepart of the ship that would have ignited that part of the vessel was thrown overboard by him and the other two uninjured men. The Grappler, the telegraph company’s ship, was seen opposite the Usine Guerin, and disappeared as if blown up by a submarine explosion. The captain’s body was subsequently found by a boat from the Suchet.
Consul Ayme, of Guadeloupe, who, as already stated, had hastened to Fort de France on hearing of the terrible event, tells the story of the disaster in the following words:
“Thursday morning the inhabitants of the city awoke to find heavy clouds shrouding Mont Pelee crater. All day Wednesday horrid detonations had been heard. These were echoed from St. Thomas on the north to Barbados on the south. The cannonading ceased on Wednesday night, and fine ashes fell like rain on St. Pierre. The inhabitants were alarmed, but Governor Mouttet, who had arrived at St. Pierre the evening before, did everything possible to allay the panic.
“The British steamer Roraima reached St. Pierre on Thursday with ten passengers, among whom were Mrs. Stokes and her three children, and Mrs. H. J. Ince. They were watching the rain of ashes, when, with a frightful roar and terrific electric discharges, a cyclone of fire, mud and steam swept down from the crater over the town and bay, sweeping all before it and destroying the fleet of vessels at anchor off the shore. There the accounts of the catastrophe so far obtainable cease. Thirty thousand corpses are strewn about, buried in the ruins of St. Pierre, or else floating, gnawed by sharks, in the surrounding seas. Twenty-eight charred, half-dead human beings were brought here. Sixteen of them are already dead, and only four of the whole number are expected to recover.”
A WOMAN’S EXPERIENCE ON THE “RORAIMA”
Margaret Stokes, the 9 year old daughter of the late Clement Stokes, of New York, who, with her mother, a brother aged 4 and a sister aged 3 years, was on the ill-fated steamer Roraima, was saved from that vessel, but is not expected to live. Her nurse, Clara King, tells the following story of her experience:
She says she was in her stateroom, when the steward of the Roraima called out to her:
“Look at Mont Pelee.”
She went on deck and saw a vast mass of black cloud coming down from the volcano. The steward ordered her to return to the saloon, saying, “It is coming.”
Miss King then rushed to the saloon. She says she experienced a feeling of suffocation, which was followed by intense heat. The afterpart of the Roraima broke out in flames. Ben Benson, the carpenter of the Roraima, severely burned, assisted Miss King and Margaret Stokes to escape. With the help of Mr. Scott, the first mate of the Roraima, he constructed a raft, with life preservers. Upon this Miss King and Margaret were placed.
While this was being done Margaret’s little brother died. Mate Scott brought the child water at great personal danger, but it was unavailing. Shortly after the death of the little boy Mrs. Stokes succumbed. Margaret and Miss King eventually got away on the raft, and were picked up by the steamer Korona. Mate Scott also escaped. Miss King did not sustain serious injuries. She covered the face of Margaret with her dress, but still the child was probably fatally burned.
The only woman known at that time to have survived the disaster at St. Pierre was a negress named Fillotte. She was found in a cellar Saturday afternoon, where she had been for three days. She was still alive, but fearfully burned from head to toes. She died afterward in the hospital.
CAPTAIN FREEMAN’S THRILLING ACCOUNT
Of the vessels in the harbor of St. Pierre on the fateful morning, only one, the British steamer Roddam, escaped, and that with a crew of whom few reached the open sea alive. Those who did escape were terribly injured. Captain Freeman, of this vessel, tells what he experienced in the following thrilling language:
“St. Lucia, British West Indies, May 11.—The steamer Roddam, of which I am captain, left St. Lucia at midnight of May 7, and was off St. Pierre, Martinique, at 6 o’clock on the morning of the 8th. I noticed that the volcano, Mont Pelee, was smoking, and crept slowly in toward the bay, finding there among others the steamer Roraima, the telegraph repairing steamer Grappler and four sailing vessels. I went to anchorage between 7 and 8 and had hardly moored when the side of the volcano opened out with a terrible explosion. A wall of fire swept over the town and the bay. The Roddam was struck broadside by the burning mass. The shock to the ship was terrible, nearly capsizing her.
AWFUL RESULTS
“Hearing the awful report of the explosion and seeing the great wall of flames approaching the steamer, those on deck sought shelter wherever it was possible, jumping into the cabin, the forecastle and even into the hold. I was in the chart room, but the burning embers were borne by so swift a movement of the air that they were swept in through the door and port holes, suffocating and scorching me badly. I was terribly burned by these embers about the face and hands, but managed to reach the deck. Then, as soon as it was possible, I mustered the few survivors who seemed able to move, ordered them to slip the anchor, leaped for the bridge and ran the engine for full speed astern. The second and the third engineer and a fireman were on watch below and so escaped injury. They did their part in the attempt to escape, but the men on deck could not work the steering gear because it was jammed by the debris from the volcano. We accordingly went ahead and astern until the gear was free, but in this running backward and forward it was two hours after the first shock before we were clear of the bay.
“One of the most terrifying conditions was that, the atmosphere being charged with ashes, it was totally dark. The sun was completely obscured, and the air was only illuminated by the flames from the volcano and those of the burning town and shipping. It seems small to say that the scene was terrifying in the extreme. As we backed out we passed close to the Roraima, which was one mass of blaze. The steam was rushing from the engine room, and the screams of those on board were terrible to hear. The cries for help were all in vain, for I could do nothing but save my own ship. When I last saw the Roraima she was settling down by the stern. That was about 10 o’clock in the morning.
“When the Roddam was safely out of the harbor of St. Pierre, with its desolations and horrors, I made for St. Lucia. Arriving there, and when the ship was safe, I mustered the survivors as well as I was able and searched for the dead and injured. Some I found in the saloon where they had vainly sought for safety, but the cabins were full of burning embers that had blown in through the port holes. Through these the fire swept as through funnels and burned the victims where they lay or stood, leaving a circular imprint of scorched and burned flesh. I brought ten on deck who were thus burned; two of them were dead, the others survived, although in a dreadful state of torture from their burns. Their screams of agony were heartrending. Out of a total of twenty-three on board the Roddam, which includes the captain and the crew, ten are dead and several are in the hospital. My first and second mates, my chief engineer and my supercargo, Campbell by name, were killed. The ship was covered from stem to stern with tons of powdered lava, which retained its heat for hours after it had fallen. In many cases it was practically incandescent, and to move about the deck in this burning mass was not only difficult but absolutely perilous. I am only now able to begin thoroughly to clear and search the ship for any damage done by this volcanic rain, and to see if there are any corpses in out-of-the-way places. For instance, this morning, I found one body in the peak of the forecastle. The body was horribly burned and the sailor had evidently crept in there in his agony to die.
“On the arrival of the Roddam at St. Lucia the ship presented an appalling appearance. Dead and calcined bodies lay about the deck, which was also crowded with injured helpless and suffering people. Prompt assistance was rendered to the injured by the authorities here and my poor, tortured men were taken to the hospital. The dead were buried. I have omitted to mention that out of twenty-one black laborers that I brought from Grenada to help in stevedoring, only six survived. Most of the others threw themselves overboard to escape a dreadful fate, but they met a worse one, for it is an actual fact that the water around the ship was literally at a boiling heat. The escape of my vessel was miraculous. The woodwork of the cabins and bridge and everything inflammable on deck were constantly igniting, and it was with great difficulty that we few survivors managed to keep the flames down. My ropes, awnings, tarpaulins were completely burned up.
“I witnessed the entire destruction of St. Pierre. The flames enveloped the town in every quarter with such rapidity that it was impossible that any person could be saved. As I have said, the day was suddenly turned to night, but I could distinguish by the light of the burning town people distractedly running about on the beach. The burning buildings stood out from the surrounding darkness like black shadows. All this time the mountain was roaring and shaking, and in the intervals between these terrifying sounds I could hear the cries of despair and agony from the thousands who were perishing. These cries added to the terror of the scene, but it is impossible to describe its horror or the dreadful sensations it produced. It was like witnessing the end of the world.
“Let me add that, after the first shock was over, the survivors of the crew rendered willing help to navigate the ship to this port. Mr. Plissoneau, our agent in Martinique, happening to be on board, was saved, and I really believe that he is the only survivor of St. Pierre. As it is, he is seriously burned on the hands and face.
“FREEMAN,
“Master British Steamship Roddam.”
THE “ETONA” PASSES ST. PIERRE
The British steamer Etona, of the Norton Line, stopped at St. Lucia to coal on May 10th. Captain Cantell there visited the Roddam and had an interview with Captain Freeman. On the 11th the Elona put to sea again, passing St. Pierre in the afternoon. We subjoin her captain’s story:
“The weather was clear and we had a fine view, but the old outlines of St. Pierre were not recognizable. Everything was a mass of blue lava, and the formation of the land itself seemed to have changed. When we were about eight miles off the northern end of the island Mount Pelee began to belch a second time. Clouds of smoke and lava shot into the air and spread over all the sea, darkening the sun. Our decks in a few minutes were covered with a substance that looked like sand dyed a bluish tint, and which smelled like phosphorus. For all that the day was clear, there was little to be seen satisfactorily. Over the island there hung a blue haze. It seemed to me that the formation, the topography, of the island was altered.
“Everything seemed to be covered with a blue dust, such as had fallen aboard us every day since we had been within the affected region. It was blue lava dust. For more than an hour we scanned the coast with our glasses, now and then discovering something that looked like a ruined hamlet or collection of buildings. There was no life visible. Suddenly we realized that we might have to fight for our lives as the Roddam’s people had done.
“We were about four miles off the northern end of the island when suddenly there shot up in the air to a tremendous height a column of smoke. The sky darkened and the smoke seemed to swirl down upon us. In fact, it spread all around, darkening the atmosphere as far as we could see. I called Chief Engineer Farrish to the deck.
“‘Do you see that over there?’ I asked, pointing to the eruption, for it was the second eruption of Mont Pelee. He saw it all right. Captain Freeman’s story was fresh in my mind.
“‘Well, Farrish, rush your engines as they have never been rushed before,’ I said to him. He went below, and soon we began to burn coal and pile up the feathers in our forefoot.
“I was on watch with Second Officer Gibbs. At once we began to furl awnings and make secure against fire. The crew were all showing an anxious spirit, and everybody on board, including the four passengers, were serious and apprehensive.
“We began to cut through the water at almost twelve knots. Ordinarily we make ten knots. We could see no more of the land contour, but everything seemed to be enveloped in a great cloud. There was no fire visible, but the lava dust rained down upon us steadily. In less than an hour there were two inches of it upon our deck.
“The air smelled like phosphorus. No one dared to look up to try to locate the sun, because one’s eyes would fill with lava dust. Some of the blue lava dust is sticking to our mast yet, although we have swabbed decks and rigging again and again to be clear of it.
“After a little more than an hour’s fast running we saw daylight ahead and began to breathe easier. If I had not talked with Captain Freeman and heard from him just how the black swirl of wind and fire rolled down upon him, I would not have been so apprehensive, but would have thought that the darkness and cloud that came down upon us meant just an unusually heavy squall.”
CHIEF ENGINEER FARRISH’S STORY
“The Etona’s run from Montevideo was a fast one—I think a record breaker. We were 22 days and 21 hours from port to port. Off Martinique I stared at the coast for about an hour, and then went below. The blue lava that covered everything faded into the haze that hung over the island so that nothing was distinctly visible. Through my glass I discovered a stream of lava, though. It stretched down the mountain side, and seemed to be flowing into the sea. It was not clearly and distinctly visible, however.
“About 3 o’clock I went below to take forty winks. I had been in my berth only a few minutes when the steward told me the captain wanted me on the bridge.
“‘Do you see that, Farrish?’ he asked, pointing at the land. An outburst of smoke seemed to be sweeping down upon us. It made me think of the Roddam’s experience. Smoke and dust closed in about us, shutting out the sunlight, and precipitating a fall of lava on our decks.
“‘Go below and drive her,’ said the captain, and I didn’t lose any time, I can tell you. We burned coal as though it didn’t cost a cent. The safety valve was jumping every second, even though we were making twelve knots an hour. For two hours we kept up the pace, and then, running into clear daylight, let the engines slow down and we all cheered up a bit.”
CAPTAIN CANTELL VISITS THE “RODDAM”
Captain Cantell went on board the Roddam, whose frightful condition he thus describes:
“At St. Lucia, on May 11th, I went on board the British steamship Roddam, which had escaped from the terrible volcanic eruption at Martinique two days before. The state of the ship was enough to show that those on board must have undergone an awful experience.
“The Roddam was covered with a mass of fine bluish gray dust or ashes of cement-like appearance. In some parts it lay two feet deep on the decks. This matter had fallen in a red-hot state all over the steamer, setting fire to everything it struck that was burnable, and, when it fell on the men on board, burning off limbs and large pieces of flesh. This was shown by finding portions of human flesh when the decks were cleared of the debris. The rigging, ropes, tarpaulins, sails, awnings, etc., were charred or burned, and most of the upper stanchions and spars were swept overboard or destroyed by fire. Skylights were smashed and cabins were filled with volcanic dust. The scene of ruin was deplorable.
“The captain, though suffering the greatest agony, succeeded in navigating his vessel safely to the port of Castries, St. Lucia, with eighteen dead bodies on the deck and human limbs scattered about. A sailor stood by constantly wiping the captain’s injured eyes.
“I think the performance of the Roddam’s captain was most wonderful, and the more so when I saw his pitiful condition. I do not understand how he kept up, yet when the steamer arrived at St. Lucia and medical assistance was procured, this brave man asked the doctors to attend to the others first and refused to be treated until this was done.
“My interview with the captain brought out this account. I left him in good spirits and receiving every comfort. The sight of his face would frighten anyone not prepared to see it.”
THE VIVID ACCOUNT OF M. ALBERT
To the accounts given by the survivors of the Roraima and the officers of the Etona, it will be well to add the following graphic story told by M. Albert, a planter of the island, the owner of an estate situated only a mile to the northeast of the burning crater of Mont Pelee. His escape from death had in it something of the marvellous. He says:
“Mont Pelee had given warning of the destruction that was to come, but we, who had looked upon the volcano as harmless, did not believe that it would do more than spout fire and steam, as it had done on other occasions. It was a little before eight o’clock on the morning of May 8 that the end came. I was in one of the fields of my estate when the ground trembled under my feet, not as it does when the earth quakes, but as though a terrible struggle was going on within the mountain. A terror came upon me, but I could not explain my fear.
“As I stood still Mont Pelee seemed to shudder, and a moaning sound issued from its crater. It was quite dark, the sun being obscured by ashes and fine volcanic dust. The air was dead about me, so dead that the floating dust seemingly was not disturbed. Then there was a rending, crashing, grinding noise, which I can only describe as sounding as though every bit of machinery in the world had suddenly broken down. It was deafening, and the flash of light that accompanied it was blinding, more so than any lightning I have ever seen.
“It was like a terrible hurricane, and where a fraction of a second before there had been a perfect calm, I felt myself drawn into a vortex and I had to brace myself firmly. It was like a great express train rushing by, and I was drawn by its force. The mysterious force levelled a row of strong trees, tearing them up by the roots and leaving bare a space of ground fifteen yards wide and more than one hundred yards long. Transfixed I stood, not knowing in what direction to flee. I looked toward Mont Pelee, and above its apex there appeared a great black cloud which reached high in the air. It literally fell upon the city of St. Pierre. It moved with a rapidity that made it impossible for anything to escape it. From the cloud came explosions that sounded as though all of the navies of the world were in titanic combat. Lightning played in and out in broad forks, the result being that intense darkness was followed by light that seemed to be of magnifying power.
“That St. Pierre was doomed I knew, but I was prevented from seeing the destruction by a spur of the hill that shut off the view of the city. It is impossible for me to tell how long I stood there inert. Probably it was only a few seconds, but so vivid were my impressions that it now seems as though I stood as a spectator for many minutes. When I recovered possession of my senses I ran to my house and collected the members of the family, all of whom were panic stricken. I hurried them to the seashore, where we boarded a small steamship, in which we made the trip in safety to Fort de France.
“I know that there was no flame in the first wave that was sent down upon St. Pierre. It was a heavy gas, like firedamp, and it must have asphyxiated the inhabitants before they were touched by the fire, which quickly followed. As we drew out to sea in the small steamship, Mont Pelee was in the throes of a terrible convulsion. New craters seemed to be opening all about the summit and lava was flowing in broad streams in every direction. My estate was ruined while we were still in sight of it. Many women who lived in St. Pierre escaped only to know that they were left widowed and childless. This is because many of the wealthier men sent their wives away, while they remained in St. Pierre to attend to their business affairs.”
WHAT HAPPENED ON THE “HORACE”
The British steamer Horace experienced the effect of the explosion when farther from land. After touching at Barbados, she reached the vicinity of Martinique on May 9th, her decks being covered with several inches of dust when she was a hundred and twenty-five miles distant. We quote engineer Anderson’s story:
“On the afternoon of May 8 (Thursday) we noticed a peculiar haze in the direction of Martinique. The air seemed heavy and oppressive. The weather conditions were not at all unlike those which precede the great West Indian hurricanes, but, knowing it was not the season of the year for them, we all remarked in the engine room that there must be a heavy storm approaching.
“Several of the sailors, experienced deep water seamen, laughed at our prognostications, and informed us there would be no storm within the next sixty hours, and insisted that, according to all fo’cas’le indications, a dead calm was in sight.
“So unusually peculiar were the weather conditions that we talked of nothing else during the evening. That night, in the direction of Martinique, there was a very black sky, an unusual thing at this season of the year, and a storm was apparently brewing in a direction from which storms do not come at this season.
GREAT FLASHES OF LIGHT
“As the night wore on those on watch noticed what appeared to be great flashes of lightning in the direction of Martinique. It seemed as though the ordinary conditions were reversed, and even the fo’cas’le prophets were unable to offer explanations.
“Occasionally, over the pounding of the engines and the rush of water, we thought we could hear long, deep roars, not unlike the ending of a deep peal of thunder. Several times we heard the rumble or roar, but at the time we were not certain as to exactly what it was, or even whether we really heard it.
“There would suddenly come great flashes of light from the dark bank toward Martinique. Some of them seemed to spread over a great area, while others appeared to spout skyward, funnel shaped. All night this continued, and it was not until day came that the flashes disappeared. The dark bank that covered the horizon toward Martinique, however, did not fade away with the breaking of day, and at eight in the morning of the 9th (Friday) the whole section of the sky in that direction seemed dark and troubled.
“About nine o’clock Friday morning I was sitting on one of the hatches aft with some of the other engineers and officers of the ship, discussing the peculiar weather phenomena. I noticed a sort of grit that got into my mouth from the end of the cigar I was smoking.
“I attributed it to some rather bad coal which we had shipped aboard, and, turning to Chief Engineer Evans, I remarked that ‘that coal was mighty dirty,’ and he said that it was covering the ship with a sort of grit. Then I noticed that grit was getting on my clothes, and finally some one suggested that we go forward of the funnels, so we would not get dirt on us. As we went forward we met one or two of the sailors from the forecastle, who wanted to know about the dust that was falling on the ship. Then we found that the grayish-looking ash was sifting all over the ship, both forward and aft.
ASHES RAINED ON THE SHIP
“Every moment the ashes rained down all over the ship, and at the same time grew thicker. A few moments later, the lookout called down that we were running into a fog-bank dead ahead. Fog banks in that section are unheard of at nine o’clock in the morning at this season, and we were more than a hundred miles from land, and what could fog and sand be doing there.
“Before we knew it, we went into the fog, which proved to be a big dense bank of this same sand, and it rained down on us from every side. Ventilators were quickly brought to their places, and later even the hatches were battened down. The dust became suffocating, and the men at times had all they could do to keep from choking. What the stuff was we could not at first conjecture, or rather, we didn’t have much time to speculate on it, for we had to get our ship in shape to withstand we hardly knew what.
“At first we thought that the sand must have been blown from shore. Then we decided that if the Captain’s figures were right we wouldn’t be near enough to shore to have sand blow on us, and as we had just cleared Barbados, we knew that the Captain’s figures had to be right.
“Just as the storm of sand was at its height, Fourth Engineer Wild was nearly suffocated by it, but was easily revived. About this time it became so dark that we found it necessary to start up the electric lights, and it was not until after we got clear from the fog that we turned the current off. In the meantime they had burned from nine o’clock in the morning until after two in the afternoon.
THE ENGINE BECAME CHOKED
“Then there was another anxious moment shortly after nine o’clock. Third Engineer Rennie had been running the donkey engine, when suddenly it choked, and when he finally got it clear from the sand or ashes, he found the valves were all cut out, and then it was we discovered that it was not sand, but some sort of a composition that seemed to cut steel like emery. Then came the danger that it would get into the valves of the engine and cut them out, and for several moments all hands scurried about and helped make the engine room tight, and even then the ash drifted in and kept all the engine room force wiping the engines clear of it.
“Toward three o’clock in the afternoon of Friday we were practically clear of the sand, but at eleven o’clock that night we ran into a second bank of it, though not as bad as the first. We made some experiments, and found the stuff was superior to emery dust. It cut deeper and quicker, and only about half as much was required to do the work. We made up our minds we would keep what came on board, as it was better than the emery dust and much cheaper, so we gathered it up.
“That night there were more of the same electric phenomena toward Martinique, but it was not until we got into St. Lucia, where we saw the Roddam, that we learned of the terrible disaster at St. Pierre, and then we knew that our sand was lava dust.”
The volcanic ash which fell on the decks of the Horace was ground as fine as rifle powder, and was much finer than that which covered the decks of the Etona.
Returning to the stories told by officers of the Roraima, of which a number have been given, it seems desirable to add here the narrative of Ellery S. Scott, the mate of the ruined ship, since it gives a vivid and striking account of his personal experience of the frightful disaster, with many details of interest not related by others.
MATE SCOTT’S GRAPHIC STORY
“We got to St. Pierre in the Roraima,” began Mr. Scott, “at 6.30 o’clock on Thursday morning. That’s the morning the mountain and the town and the ships were all sent to hell in a minute.
“All hands had had breakfast. I was standing on the fo’c’s’l head trying to make out the marks on the pipes of a ship ‘way out and heading for St. Lucia. I wasn’t looking at the mountain at all. But I guess the captain was, for he was on the bridge, and the last time I heard him speak was when he shouted, ‘Heave up, Mr. Scott; heave up.’ I gave the order to the men, and I think some of them did jump to get the anchor up, but nobody knows what really happened for the next fifteen minutes. I turned around toward the captain and then I saw the mountain.
“Did you ever see the tide come into the Bay of Fundy. It doesn’t sneak in a little at a time as it does ‘round here. It rolls in in waves. That’s the way the cloud of fire and mud and white-hot stones rolled down from that volcano over the town and over the ships. It was on us in almost no time, but I saw it and in the same glance I saw our captain bracing himself to meet it on the bridge. He was facing the fire cloud with both hands gripped hard to the bridge rail, his legs apart and his knees braced back stiff. I’ve seen him brace himself that same way many a time in a tough sea with the spray going mast-head high and green water pouring along the decks.
“I saw the captain, I say, at the same instant I saw that ruin coming down on us. I don’t know why, but that last glimpse of poor Muggah on his bridge will stay with me just as long as I remember St. Pierre and that will be long enough.
“In another instant it was all over for him. As I was looking at him he was all ablaze. He reeled and fell on the bridge with his face toward me. His mustache and eyebrows were gone in a jiffy. His hat had gone, and his hair was aflame, and so were his clothes from head to foot. I knew he was conscious when he fell, by the look in his eyes, but he didn’t make a sound.
“That all happened a long way inside of half a minute; then something new happened. When the wave of fire was going over us, a tidal wave of the sea came out from the shore and did the rest. That wall of rushing water was so high and so solid that it seemed to rise up and join the smoke and flame above. For an instant we could see nothing but the water and the flame.
“That tidal wave picked the ship up like a canoe and then smashed her. After one list to starboard the ship righted, but the masts, the bridge, the funnel and all the upper works had gone overboard.
“I had saved myself from fire by jamming a metal ventilator cover over my head and jumping from the fo’c’s’l head. Two St. Kitts negroes saved me from the water by grabbing me by the legs and pulling me down into the fo’c’s’l after them. Before I could get up three men tumbled in on top of me. Two of them were dead.
“Captain Muggah went overboard, still clinging to the fragments of his wrecked bridge. Daniel Taylor, the ship’s cooper, and a Kitts native jumped overboard to save him. Taylor managed to push the captain on to a hatch that had floated off from us and then they swam back to the ship for more assistance, but nothing could be done for the captain. Taylor wasn’t sure he was alive. The last we saw of him or his dead body it was drifting shoreward on that hatch.
“Well, after staying in the fo’c’s’l about twenty minutes I went out on deck. There were just four of us left aboard who could do anything. The four were Thompson, Dan Taylor, Quashee, and myself. It was still raining fire and hot rocks and you could hardly see a ship’s length for dust and ashes, but we could stand that. There were burning men and some women and two or three children lying around the deck. Not just burned, but burning, then, when we got to them. More than half the ship’s company had been killed in that first rush of flame. Some had rolled overboard when the tidal wave came and we never saw so much as their bodies. The cook was burned to death in his galley. He had been paring potatoes for dinner and what was left of his right hand held the shank of his potato knife. The wooden handle was in ashes. All that happened to a man in less than a minute. The donkey engineman was killed on deck sitting in front of his boiler. We found parts of some bodies—a hand, or an arm or a leg. Below decks there were some twenty alive.
“The ship was on fire, of course, what was left of it. The stumps of both masts were blazing. Aft she was like a furnace, but forward the flames had not got below deck, so we four carried those who were still alive on deck into the fo’c’s’l. All of them were burned and most of them were half strangled.
“One boy, a passenger and just a little shaver [the four-year-old son of the late Clement Stokes, above spoken of] was picked up naked. His hair and all his clothing had been burned off, but he was alive. We rolled him in a blanket and put him in a sailor’s bunk. A few minutes later we looked at him and he was dead.
“My own son’s gone, too. It had been his trick at lookout ahead during the dog watch that morning, when we were making for St. Pierre, so I supposed at first when the fire struck us that he was asleep in his bunk and safe. But he wasn’t. Nobody could tell me where he was. I don’t know whether he was burned to death or rolled overboard and drowned. He was a likely boy. He had been several voyages with me and would have been a master some day. He used to say he’d make me mate.
“After getting all hands that had any life left in them below and ‘tended to the best we could, the four of us that were left half way ship-shape started in to fight the fire. We had case oil stowed forward. Thanks to that tidal wave that cleared our decks there wasn’t much left to burn, so we got the fire down so’s we could live on board with it for several hours more and then the four turned to to knock a raft together out of what timber and truck we could find below. Our boats had gone overboard with the masts and funnel.
PREPARED TO TRUST TO LUCK
“We made that raft for something over thirty that were alive. We put provisions on for two days and rigged up a make-shift mast and sail, for we intended to go to sea. We were only three boats’ length from the shore, but the shore was hell itself. We intended to put straight out and trust to luck that the Korona, that was about due at St. Pierre, would pick us up. But we did not have to risk the raft, for about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, when we were almost ready to put the raft overboard, the Suchet came along and took us all off. We thought for a minute just after we were wrecked that we were to get help from a ship that passed us. We burned blue lights, but she kept on. We learned afterward that she was the Roddam.”
Soundings made off Martinique after the explosion showed that earthquake effects of much importance had taken place under the sea bottom, which had been lifted in some places and had sunk in others. While deep crevices had been formed on the land, a still greater effect had seemingly been produced beneath the water. During the explosion the sea withdrew several hundred feet from its shore line, and then came back steaming with fury; this indicating a lift and fall of the ocean bed off the isle. Soundings made subsequently near the island found in one place a depth of 4,000 feet where before it had been only 600 feet deep. The French Cable Company, which was at work trying to repair the cables broken by the eruption, found the bottom of the Caribbean Sea so changed as to render the old charts useless.
New charts will need to be made for future navigation. The changes in sea levels were not confined to the immediate centre of volcanic activity, but extended as far north as Porto Rico, and it was believed that the seismic wave would be found to have altered the ocean bed round Jamaica. Vessels plying between St. Thomas, Martinique, St. Lucia and other islands found it necessary to heave the lead while many miles at sea.
It is estimated that the sea had encroached from ten feet to two miles along the coast of St. Vincent near Georgetown, and that a section on the north of the island had dropped into the sea. Soundings showed seven fathoms where before the eruption there were thirty-six fathoms of water. Vessels that endeavored to approach St. Vincent toward the north reported that it was impossible to get nearer than eight miles to the scene of the catastrophe, and that at that distance the ocean was seriously perturbed as from a submarine volcano, boiling and hissing continually.
In this connection the remarkable experience reported by the officers of the Danish steamship Nordby, on the day preceding the eruption, is of much interest, as seeming to show great convulsions of the sea bottom at a point several hundred miles from Martinique. The following is the story told by Captain Eric Lillien-skjold:
THE STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF THE “NORDBY”
“On May 5th,” the captain said, “we touched at St. Michael’s for water. We had had an easy voyage from Girgenti, in Sicily, and we wanted to finish an easy run here. We left St. Michael’s on the same day. Nothing worth while talking about occurred until two days afterward—Wednesday, May 7th.
“We were plodding along slowly that day. About noon I took the bridge to make an observation. It seemed to be hotter than ordinary. I shed my coat and vest and got into what little shade there was. As I worked it grew hotter and hotter. I didn’t know what to make of it. Along about 2 o’clock in the afternoon it was so hot that all hands got to talking about it. We reckoned that something queer was coming off, but none of us could explain what it was. You could almost see the pitch softening in the seams.
“Then, as quick as you could toss a biscuit over its rail, the Nordby dropped—regularly dropped—three or four feet down into the sea. No sooner did it do this than big waves, that looked like they were coming from all directions at once, began to smash against our sides. This was queerer yet, because the water a minute before was as smooth as I ever saw it. I had all hands piped on deck and we battened down everything loose to make ready for a storm. And we got it all right—the strangest storm you ever heard tell of.
“There was something wrong with the sun that afternoon. It grew red and then dark red and then, about a quarter after 2, it went out of sight altogether. The day got so dark that you couldn’t see half a ship’s length ahead of you. We got our lamps going, and put on our oilskins, ready for a hurricane. All of a sudden there came a sheet of lightning that showed up the whole tumbling sea for miles and miles. We sort of ducked, expecting an awful crash of thunder, but it didn’t come. There was no sound except the big waves pounding against our sides. There wasn’t a breath of wind.
“Well, sir, at that minute there began the most exciting time I’ve ever been through, and I’ve been on every sea on the map for twenty-five years. Every second there’d be waves 15 or 20 feet high, belting us head-on, stern-on and broadside, all at once. We could see them coming, for without any stop at all flash after flash of lightning was blazing all about us.
“Something else we could see, too. Sharks! There were hundreds of them on all sides, jumping up and down in the water. Some of them jumped clear out of it. And sea birds! A flock of them, squawking and crying, made for our rigging and perched there. They seemed like they were scared to death. But the queerest part of it all was the water itself. It was hot—not so hot that our feet could not stand it when it washed over the deck, but hot enough to make us think that it had been heated by some kind of a fire.
“Well that sort of thing went on hour after hour. The waves, the lightning, the hot water and the sharks, and all the rest of the odd things happening, frightened the crew out of their wits. Some of them prayed out loud—I guess the first time they ever did in their lives. Some Frenchmen aboard kept running around and yelling, ‘Cest le dernier jour!’ (This is the last day.) We were all worried. Even the officers began to think that the world was coming to an end. Mighty strange things happen on the sea, but this topped them all.
“I kept to the bridge all night. When the first hour of morning came the storm was still going on. We were all pretty much tired out by that time, but there was no such thing as trying to sleep. The waves still were batting us around and we didn’t know whether we were one mile or a thousand miles from shore. At 2 o’clock in the morning all the queer goings on stopped just the way they began—all of a sudden. We lay to until daylight; then we took our reckonings and started off again. We were about 700 miles off Cape Henlopen.
“No, sir; you couldn’t get me through a thing like that again for $10,000. None of us was hurt, and the old Nordby herself pulled through all right, but I’d sooner stay ashore than see waves without wind and lightning without thunder.”
FIERY STREAM CONTAINED POISONOUS GASES
Careful inspection showed that the fiery stream which so completely destroyed St. Pierre must have been composed of poisonous gases, which instantly suffocated every one who inhaled them, and of other gases burning furiously, for nearly all the victims had their hands covering their mouths, or were in some other attitude showing that they had perished from suffocation.
It is believed that Mont Pelee threw off a great gasp of some exceedingly heavy and noxious gas, something akin to firedamp, which settled upon the city and rendered the inhabitants insensible. This was followed by the sheet of flame that swept down the side of the mountain. This theory is sustained by the experience of the survivors who were taken from the ships in the harbor, as they say that their first experience was one of faintness.
The dumb animals were wiser than man, and early took warning of the storm of fire which Mont Pelee was storing up to hurl upon the island. Even before the mountain began to rumble, late in April, live stock became uneasy, and at times were almost uncontrollable. Cattle lowed in the night. Dogs howled and sought the company of their masters, and when driven forth they gave every evidence of fear.
Wild animals disappeared from the vicinity of Mont Pelee. Even the snakes, which at ordinary times are found in great numbers near the volcano, crawled away. Birds ceased singing and left the trees that shaded the sides of Pelee. A great fear seemed to be upon the island, and though it was shared by the human inhabitants, they alone neglected to protect themselves.
Of the villages in the vicinity of St. Pierre only one escaped, the others suffering the fate of the city. The fortunate one was Le Carbet, on the south, which escaped uninjured, the flood of lava stopping when within two hundred feet of the town. Morne Rouge, a beautiful summer resort, frequented by the people of the island during the hot season as a place of recreation, also escaped. In the height of the season several thousand people gathered there, though at the time of the explosion there were but a few hundred. Though located on an elevation between the city and the crater, it was by great good fortune saved.
The Governor of Martinique, Mr. Mouttet, whose precautions to prevent the people fleeing from the city aided to make the work of death complete, was himself among the victims of the burning mountain. With him in this fate was Colonel Dain, commander of the troops who formed a cordon round the doomed city.
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