CHAPTER XVI.
The Great Lisbon and Calabrian Earthquakes.
To our account of the great earth convulsions of San Francisco it is in place to append a description of some similar events of older date. It is due to the same causes, whatever these causes may be, the imprisoned forces within the earth acting over great distances during the earthquake, while they are concentrated within some limited space when the volcano begins its work. The earthquake is the most terrible to mankind of all the natural agencies of destruction. While the volcano usually has a greater permanent effect upon surface conditions, it is, as a rule, much less destructive to human life, the earthquake often shaking down cities and burying all their inhabitants in one common grave. Violent earthquakes are also of far more frequent occurrence than destructive volcanic eruptions, many hundreds of them having taken place during the historic period.
While the earthquake is only indirectly connected with the subject of our work, it seems desirable to make some mention of it here, at least so far as relates to those terrible convulsions whose destructiveness has given them special prominence in the history of great disasters. Ancient notable examples are those which threw down the famous Colossus of Rhodes and the Pharos of Alexandria. The city of Antioch was a terrible sufferer from this affliction, it having been devastated some time before the Christian era, while in the year 859 more than 15,000 of its houses were destroyed. Of countries subject to earthquakes, Japan has been an especial sufferer, in some cases mountains or islands being elevated in association with shocks; in others, great tracts of land being swallowed up by the sea. The number of deaths in some of these instances was enormous.
Numerous thrilling examples of the destructive work of the earthquake at various periods are on record. Of these we have given elsewhere a tabular list of the more important, and shall confine ourselves to a few striking examples of its destructive action. In the record of great earthquakes, one of the most famous is that which in 1755 visited the city of Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, and left that populous, place in ruin and dire distress. It may be well to recall the details of this dire event to the memories of our readers.
THE GREAT LISBON EARTHQUAKE
On the night of the 31st of October, 1755, the citizens of the fair city of Lisbon lay down to sleep, in merciful ignorance of what was awaiting them on the morrow. The morning of the 1st of November dawned, and gave no sign of approaching calamity. The sun rose in its brightness, the warmth was genial, the breezes gentle, the sky serene. It was All Saints’ Day—a high festival of the Church of Rome. The sacred edifices were thronged with eager crowds, and the ceremonies were in full progress, when the assembled throngs were suddenly startled from their devotions. From the ground beneath came fearful sounds that drowned the peal of the organ and the voices of the choirs. These underground thunders having rolled away, an awful silence ensued. The panic-stricken multitudes were paralyzed with terror. Immediately after the ground began to heave with a long and gentle swell, producing giddiness and faintness among the people. The tall piles swayed to and fro, like willows in the wind. Shrieks of horror rose from the terrified assembly. Again the earth heaved, and this time with a longer and higher wave. Down came the ponderous arches, the stately columns, the massive walls, the lofty spires, tumbling upon the heads of priests and people. The graven images, the deified wafers, and they who had knelt in adoration before them—the worshipped and the worshippers alike—were in a moment buried under one undistinguishable mass of horrible ruins. Only a few, who were near the doors, escaped to tell the tale.
It fared no better with those who had remained in their dwellings. The terrible earth-wave overthrew the larger number of the private houses in the city, burying their inhabitants under the crumbling walls. Those who were in the streets more generally escaped, though some there, too, were killed by falling walls.
The sudden overthrow of so many buildings raised vast volumes of fine dust, which filled the atmosphere and obscured the sun, producing a dense gloom. The air was full of doleful sounds—the groans of agony from the wounded and the dying, screams of despair from the horrified survivors, wails of lamentation from the suddenly bereaved, dismal howlings of dogs, and terrified cries of other animals.
In two or three minutes the clouds of dust fell to the ground, and disclosed the scene of desolation which a few seconds had wrought. The ruin, though general, was not universal. A considerable number of houses were left standing—fortunately tenantless—for a third great earth-wave traversed the city, and most of the buildings which had withstood the previous shocks, already severely shaken, were entirely overthrown.