We counted the money in the crowd and decided to rent a rig if possible and drive the twenty miles to our homes. After walking three miles, we found no one willing to take us to the city for the money we were able to offer; so at this point two of our party left us.
We must have gone about eight miles when the van of the thousands leaving the city met us. They were principally hobos and riffraff, packing their blankets on their backs. We stopped and anxiously inquired the plight of the city. Some said that the city was burned to the ground, some that the whole town was submerged by a tidal wave, but all agreed in this particular: that it was time to leave the city, for soon there would be nothing left of it.
The numbers of the retreat were increasing now. We could see mothers wheeling their babes in buggies, limping, dusty, and tired. Men lashed and swore at horses straining at loads of household furnishings. All were in desperate haste. This increased our speed in the opposite direction. We began to see the dense black cloud of smoke hanging above the sky-line ahead of us. We almost ran.
As we passed over each mile we heard more distressing tales from those leaving. Men called us fools to be going toward the doomed town. Thousands were traveling away; we were the only ones going toward San Francisco.
At last we came to the old Sutro Forest. We toiled up to the summit of the ridge and looked down for the first time upon the city we were raised in. In my mind, it was a sight that shall always be vivid. The lower part of the city was a hell-like furnace. Even from that distance we could hear the roar of the flames and the crash of falling beams. We were paralyzed for a moment with the wonder of it. Then we began to run, run hard, down the slope toward the city. It was impossible for us to see our homes, for many hills intervened. Soon we reached the outskirts of the town. Fear grew stronger and stronger in my heart as I saw that all the chimneys of the houses were littering the streets through which we passed. They were of brick and so was my father's house.
The trip across the city seemed endless, even though we strained every effort to hurry. I had had no breakfast, and was almost sick with fear and hunger. We passed a brick church, and it was in ruins, shaken to pieces by the shock. I almost reeled over when I saw it. The rest of the way I ran.
As I came within four blocks of the house I looked anxiously over the roofs of other houses for its high chimneys that had hitherto been visible from that point. I could not see them! Then I was sure that all was over, and that my father, mother, and sisters were lost forever.
These last four blocks I fairly flew, in spite of my fatigue. I kept my eyes on the ground, not daring to raise them as I ran. Then as I reached the curb before the door I never expected to enter again I looked up. The house, though shorn of its chimneys, stood staunch and strong—they were safe. For a second I stood still. Then, like a poor fool, I began to laugh and shout. That was the most joyous home-coming of my life.
During the day of Wednesday, April 18th, I saw some of the damage done by the earthquake. The loss to the California-Street cable railroad was the upper portion of the chimney. I had my lunch at the Pacific Union Club, corner of Post and Stockton Streets, and noted that building was damaged but very little; only some few pieces of plastering fell. The Call Building gave no evidence on the outside. The Commercial Block, in which my office was located, did not show any damage. The door leading into my office would not open, but the next one did. My house shows a few cracks. The tops of the chimneys on my house were thrown off, and the kitchen chimney had to be rebuilt. But the great loss, the great calamity, was the fire. After that had raged for three days the havoc was fearful to see. For miles and miles there was not a remnant of anything inflammable remaining,—nothing but brick, stone, broken crockery, iron and telegraph poles. In the general appearance it resembles the country where a forest fire has swept, the chimneys and unburned telephone poles representing the standing trunks of trees. The loss of life is probably nearly 450. Many earthquake shocks were felt during the three days of the calamity, and for as much as two months we felt gentle reminders.