RED CROSS STATION.
A little this side of the Municipio, or city hall, which we identified through the flames and smoke in which it was enveloped, we came upon a Red Cross station—a square building belonging to the Custom House. Here, stretched out in the sun, lay the rescued of the day—five or six only, for it was not yet nine o’clock. Opposite the Municipio was the covered market, now the home of hundreds of survivors, and a place where bread was distributed. Between the market and the Municipio a marble Neptune of the eighteenth century still posed in nude absurdity. The most trivial of figures in the most trivial of poses had been spared, to the tips of his silly fingers, to stand between the flaming wreckage of the palace and the human wreckage of the market. Still further along, where the Marina widened again, we came upon the landing where the dead were laid out—men, women and children, all deposited in haste under some inadequate covering; a ghastly sight. From time to time a row boat would come up to the landing. The bodies were piled into it, and rowed out to sea.
The Commander-in-Chief, we ascertained at last, could be found on the Duca di Genova, a steamer of the merchant marine anchored at the southern end of the harbor. Our struggle through the crowds to the landing stage; our fruitless efforts to get a boat; our final success, through the help of a friendly Italian officer; our visits to one ship and another, to authorities military and civil; our vain attempts to extract even the simplest information, such as the situation of our consulate and the fate of our consul; all this would be as dreary to tell as it was to experience. After three or four hours of ceaseless effort we returned to the shore with the following net acquisitions: an order for a tent, which we might pitch at a place to be appointed by the General in command of the third sector; permission to send one short official telegram; and a friend.
The friend was Mr. Baylis Heynes, a British merchant of Messina, who represented the firm of Peirce Brothers. His house had been spared by the earthquake. After taking his wife and children to a villa outside of the town, he had hurried back without a thought for personal safety or comfort and had thrown himself into the work of saving lives and property. In the villa his wife was caring for more than fifty destitute Messinesi, with such little food and clothing as she could procure. Mr. Heynes meanwhile was indefatigable in the work of rescue; and his coolness and intelligence at a time when everyone else was excited and flustered had already proved of inestimable value. He now offered us his house for a consulate, and the large garden behind for a Red Cross hospital. They were situated at the extreme northern end of the town, more than two miles from the headquarter’s ships. But the house was solid and uninjured and the garden spacious; it was in fact the “Lawn Tennis Club” of Messina. We accepted gladly Mr. Heynes’ kind offer, and started back with him to inspect the premises.
Ten Wounded. Lying by the Red Cross Station. Rescued on the Morning of the Eighth Day After the Earthquake.
It was no longer morning. The sun had been shining brightly for many hours. The smell of the dead rose from the earth, unendurably penetrating. It floated across the Marina on a light shore breeze; then at places it became suddenly pungent, so pungent that you expected to tread upon the cause. The ruined masses beside us took on a new horror. Beneath them, close to the dead of whose presence we were unconscious, were thousands of living, whose only air was the air we smelt. How few the soldiers seemed, in comparison to the gigantic task of excavation! And why were they all away? Poor men, they needed their mid-day rest, perhaps the full three hours they were given; but could there not be twice as many, working in relays?