| Berlin | 11.20 a.m. |
| Constantinople | 11.26 a.m. |
| London | 9.30 a.m. |
| Madrid | 9.15 a.m. |
| Paris | 9.40 a.m. |
| St. Petersburg | 11.31 a.m. |
| Rome | 10.20 a.m. |
| Calcutta | 3. 4 p.m. |
| Nanking | 5. 5 p.m. |
At Baltimore, as we are aware, twelve hours after the passage of the Sun on the meridian of Kilimanjaro, it would be 5.24 p.m.
We need not enlarge on the agony of these moments. The most powerful pen of modern times would be helpless to describe them.
That the inhabitants of Baltimore ran no danger of being swept away by the rising sea may be very true! That they would not see Chesapeake Bay empty itself, and Cape Hatteras at the end become a mountain crest above the dried Atlantic, is agreed! But the city, like many others not menaced with emersion or immersion, might be shattered by the shock, its monuments thrown down, and its streets engulphed in the abysses that might open in the ground! And was there not a justification for fearing for those other parts of the world which would never survive the displacement of the waters?
Why, certainly!
And so every human being in that city felt a cold shiver in the spinal marrow during that fatal minute. Yes! all trembled with terror—but one! And that one was Sulphuric Alcide, who was quietly sipping a cup of hot coffee as if he and the old world would last for ever.
5.24 p.m., answering to Kilimanjaro midnight, passed.
At Baltimore—nothing occurred!
At London, Berlin, Paris, Rome, Constantinople—nothing! Not the least shock!
Professor Milne, in the coal-pit at Kagoshima, in Japan, gazed steadily at the tromometer, and saw not the least abnormal movement in the crust of the Earth in that part of the world.