The most fearful visitation, however, was at Charleston, South Carolina. Telegraphic communication was cut off with the rest of the world, and for hours the horrifying belief prevailed that the city had been entirely destroyed. Such, happily, was not the fact, though never in all the stormy history of Charleston did she pass through so terrible an experience.
Late on the evening named, the inhabitants found themselves tossed about, with their houses tumbling into ruins. They ran in terror into the streets, many not stopping until they reached the open country, while others flung themselves on their knees and begged heaven to save them.
The shocks that night were ten in number, each less violent than its predecessor. Fires started in several quarters, and twenty houses were burned before the firemen gained control. The next morning vibrations again shook the city, all coming from the southeast and passing off in a northwesterly direction. The first warning was a deep, subterraneous rumbling, then the earth quivered and heaved, and in a few seconds the terrific wave had gone by. When night came again, 50,000 people—men, women, and children—were in the streets, none daring to enter their houses. They fled to the open squares to escape being crushed by the falling buildings. Many believed the day of judgment had come and the negroes were frenzied with terror.
Singular effects of the earthquake showed themselves. In some places, the covers were hurled from the wells and were followed by geysers of mud and water. Some wells were entirely emptied, but they soon refilled. The shocks continued at varying intervals for several weeks, though none was as violent as at first. In Charleston fully a hundred people were killed and two-thirds of the city required rebuilding. While damage was done at other points, none equaled that at Charleston.
The country was quick to respond to the needs of the smitten city. Contributions were forwarded from every point as freely as when Chicago was devastated by fire. Tents, provisions, and many thousands of dollars were sent thither. Even Queen Victoria telegraphed her sympathy to President Cleveland. One of the mitigations of such scourges is that they seem to draw humanity closer into one general brotherhood.
CONQUEST OF THE APACHES.
An important work accomplished during the first administration of Cleveland was the conquest and subjection of the Apaches of the Southwest. These Indians are the most terrible red men that ever lived anywhere. They are incredibly tough of frame, as merciless as tigers, and capable of undergoing hardships and privations before which any other people would succumb. They will travel for days without a mouthful of food, will go for hour after hour through a climate that is like that of Sahara without a drop of moisture, will climb precipitous mountains as readily as a slight declivity, will lope across the burning deserts all day without fatigue, or, if riding one of their wiry ponies, will kill and eat a portion of them when hunger must be attended to, and then continue their journey on foot.
If a party of Apache raiders are hard pressed by cavalry, they will break up and continue their flight singly, meeting at some rendezvous many miles away, after the discouraged troopers have abandoned pursuit. They seem as impervious to the fiery heat of Arizona and New Mexico as salamanders. Tonight they may burn a ranchman's home, massacre him and all his family, and to-morrow morning will repeat the crime fifty miles distant.
No men could have displayed more bravery and endurance in running down the Apaches than the United States cavalry. The metal-work of their weapons grew so hot that it would blister the bare hands, and for days the thermometer marked one hundred and twenty degrees.
Captain Bourke, who understands these frightful red men thoroughly, gives the following description of the Apache: