San Francisco, California suffered a huge earthquake on April 18th, 1906.  More than 3,000 people were confirmed dead but the true number of dead will never be known. 250,000 people lost their homes. Just a few hours after the terrible earthquake, a magazine named Collier’s sent a telegraph message to the famous American writer Jack London. They asked Mr. London to go to San Francisco and report about what he saw.  He arrived in the city only a few hours after the earthquake. The report he wrote is called,

“The Story of an Eyewitness”

In all of history, no modern city has been so completely destroyed. San Francisco is gone. Nothing remains of it but memories and a few homes that were near the edge of the city. Its industrial area is gone. Its business area is gone. Its social and living areas are gone. The factories, great stores and newspaper buildings, the hotels and the huge homes of the very rich, are all gone.  For three days and nights this huge fire moved through the city, reddening the sky, darkening the day, and filling the land with smoke.

The Fire

Within minutes of the earthquake, fires began all over the city. And within an hour, a huge tower of smoke caused by the fires could be seen a hundred miles away.  By Wednesday afternoon, only twelve hours after the earthquake, half the heart of the city was gone.

There was no hope of fighting the flames. There was no organization and no communication mostly because the earthquake had smashed all of the modern inventions of a twentieth century city.  The streets were broken and filled with pieces of fallen walls. The telephone and telegraph systems were broken. And the great water pipes had burst. All inventions and safety plans of man had been destroyed by thirty seconds of the earth’s movement.

There was no water to fight the fire. Firefighters decided to use explosives to destroy buildings in its path. They hoped this would create a block to slow or stop the flames. Building after building was destroyed. And still the great fires continued.

The People

Wednesday night the whole city crashed and roared into ruin, but there were no stampedes. There was no shouting and yelling. There was no disorder. I spent Wednesday night in the path of the fire and in all those terrible hours there was not one woman who was in hysterics, not one man who provoked, not one person who caused trouble that I saw.  Everyone was gracious.  Never in all of San Francisco’s history were her people so kind and courteous as on that night of terror.

Throughout the night, tens of thousands of homeless ones fled the fire. Many of the poor left their homes with everything they could carry. Some carried bedding and their household ‘treasures.’  Some had baby strollers, toy wagons and wooden carts packed full of belongings. But many of their loads were extremely heavy and they were forced to lighten their loads. Throughout the night they dropped items they could no longer hold. They left clothing and treasures on the street that they had carried for miles.

Many carried large boxes called trunks. They held onto these the longest, but many strong men broke their hearts that night.  For it was a hard night and the hills of San Francisco are steep. And up these hills - mile after mile - these trunks were dragged.  Even though the flames pressed forward, people would collapse exhausted on top of their trunks unable to move.  A picket line of soldiers were lined in front of the fire.  One of their tasks was to keep the trunk-pullers moving.  Forced by bayonet, the extremely tired people would rise and struggle on, pausing from weakness every five or ten feet. Often, after reaching the top of a heart-breaking hill, they would find another wall of fire was moving at them from a different direction.  So, in the end, after working hours and hours through the night to save part of their lives, thousands were forced to leave their trunks and flee.  Some, with their last remaining strength, buried the trunks, hoping they could return for the later.  

The Comparisons

At night I walked down through the very heart of the city. I walked through mile after mile of beautiful buildings. Here was no fire. All was in perfect order. The police patrolled the streets.   Every building had a watchman at the door. And yet it was all doomed.  All of it.

Four hours later I walked through this same part of the city. Everything still stood as before. And yet there was a change. A rain of ashes was falling. The watchmen at the doors were gone.  The police had been withdrawn. There were no firemen, no fire engines, and no men using explosives. There was no water.  The dynamite was giving out.  The district had been absolutely abandoned.  I stood at the corner of Kearney and Market Streets in the very heart of San Francisco. And from 2 different directions, huge walls of flame were sweeping down upon it.  Nothing could be done. Nothing could be saved. The surrender was complete.

It was impossible to guess where the fire would move next. In the early evening I passed through Union Square. It was packed with refugees. Thousands of them had gone to bed on the grass. Government tents had been set up, food was being cooked and the people were lining up for free meals.

Later that night I passed Union Square again. Three sides of the Square were in flames and it was deserted. The troops, refugees and all had retreated.

The Great ‘Equalizer’

On Thursday morning at a quarter past five, just twenty-four hours after the earthquake, a group of us sat on the steps of a residence on a hill. With me sat Japanese, Italians, Chinese, and Africans. All around us were the mansions of the very rich, but from both the east and south at right angles, two mighty walls of flame were approaching.  

I went inside with the owner of the house.   He showed me his wife’s china, his fine carpets worth thousands, and his one-of-a kind piano. "Yesterday morning," he said, "I was worth six hundred thousand dollars. The earthquake has destroyed my business.  So this morning, this house is all I have left. And the fire will be here in fifteen minutes.

Outside the house the troops were falling back and forcing people away. From every side came the roaring of flames, the crashing of walls and the sound of explosives.

Day was trying to dawn through the heavy smoke. A sickly light was creeping over the face of things. When the sun broke through the smoke it was blood-red and small. I was creeping past the shattered dome of the City Hall. There was no better exhibit of the destructive force of the earthquake. The great pillars and most of the giant building’s stone had been shaken from its framework of steel, which now stood charred and ashen. This section of the city was a waste of smoking ruins. Here and there through the smoke came a few men and women. It was like the meeting of the handful of survivors after the day of the end of the world.

The End

In the end, the fire went out by itself because there was nothing left to burn. Jack London finishes his story:

San Francisco now is like the smoldering center of a volcano. Camped around it are tens of thousands of refugees. All the surrounding cities and towns are jammed with homeless ones who are being cared for by relief committees.  The refugees were carried for free by the railroads to any place they wished to go. It is said that more than one hundred thousand people have left the peninsula on which San Francisco stood.

Looking forward, the government has control of the situation.  And thanks to the immediate relief given by the whole United States, there is no lack of food. The bankers and businessmen have already begun making plans and preparations to rebuild this once beautiful city of San Francisco.

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Words in This Story

provoke - v. to make someone angry or annoyed on purpose

surrender - v. to agree to stop fighting, hiding, resisting, etc., because you know that you will not win or succeed

refugee - n. a person who has been forced to leave their home in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.

retreat - v. to move or go away from a place or situation especially because it is dangerous, unpleasant, etc.

jammed - v. to fill (a place) completely