Scarcely thirty seconds had elapsed when the two men came back with the papers of the street, one having the Baltimore Times, the other holding in his hands the Southern Herald. The faces of both men were pale, and on the cheeks of Ned Garrett shone a trace of tears. Barry was the first to enter the room, and as Mr. Garrett, now standing at the head of the table, his body half turned towards the door, his face suffused with unchecked emotion—as Mr. Garrett said, “Well, what is it?” he faltered, and dropping the paper to his side, he faced the convulsed merchant, and was silent. It was Ned Garrett who cried out, “The Isthmus is crumbling to pieces and the Canal is doomed.”
The order of events as we hear any sudden stroke of affliction, as we suddenly confront the inevitable bereavement, as we feel the sharp thrust of calamity penetrate our hearts, varies with temperaments and sex; but for the most part it reflects the order of events under physical attack, the stunned senses, and the reaction. It is in the reaction that the difference among men most visibly appears. Slowly Mrs. Garrett arose and left the room, and Sally, after a pause, during which she had stolen to the side of Brig Barry, and lifted the paper from his side, where it had fallen in his unnerved hands, followed her.
The four men were left behind, and of them only Leacraft was seated. It was Leacraft who first spoke: “This is awful, but the Nation is far greater than any misfortune that can befall it.” The other three turned to him with one accord, as if saved from their own wretchedness, and moved in his direction as if to embrace him. It was the right word. It brought relief, and to one at least as he turned his back to the speaker it brought tears. Mr. Garrett the elder looked intensely at Leacraft, his eyes almost glittering with the sudden joy of consolation, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Leacraft, for that true word. It is the one we need. You are an Englishman, and your confidence in us is part of your own Anglo-Saxon strength, and part of your best knowledge that we are nourished by the same blood. Let us sit down, and you, Brig,” (Ned Garret’s back was still turned to them) “read the papers to us. The first reports may be much exaggerated.”
Some servants had by this time collected in the room at the side of the butler’s pantry and waited there irresolute. Mrs. Garrett and Sally also softly returned, and took their places at the table; with them, as with Ned Garrett, the thought of the President’s misery unnerved them. Barry had spread the paper before him. The dark head lines swept across the sheet in ominous relief. They read:
THE NATION’S LOSS.
EARTHQUAKES AND LAND SUBSIDENCE ENGULF
THE ISTHMUS AND THE CANAL.
The Awful Cataclysm of Nature.
THE PRESIDENT DEEPLY AFFECTED.
THE MOST TERRIBLE CATASTROPHE IN MODERN TIMES.
News from Aspinwall of the most appalling character has been received in Washington, and though an initial effort to conceal or suppress the despatches was made, wiser councils prevailed and the country will know the worst. America must now vindicate her courage and maintain the reputation she justly holds among the nations of the world for self-reliance and self-control.
A long telegram received at the executive mansion in Washington to-day was given to the country by the orders of the President, after unavailing remonstrances from the members of the cabinet, who wanted the news withheld until confirmatory despatches were received. It is believed that these were received, and that the President ordered the distribution of the news. In a word it announces the destruction of the Canal, and the submergence of the Canal zone, through a series of progressive changes in the earth’s surface at that section, accompanied by severe earthquake phenomena. The confluent waters of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans will mingle over the buried structures of the Canal, and one hundred and fifty millions of dollars, representing the labor of three years, and nearly fifty thousand men, with an enormous accumulation of material, will have been spent in vain. The Nation’s credit remains unimpeached and unimpeachable, but the moral effects of this stupendous calamity can scarcely be over-estimated.
THE STORY IN DETAIL.
A series of quickly succeeding earthquakes shook the City of Panama on the evening of May 27th. They were slight in character, though distinguished by peculiar rotatory effects, turning natural objects half way round, and producing curious effects upon pedestrians who became dizzy under their influence. These seemed to have passed inland and to have accumulated in one severe shock at Miraflores, just as a number of waves in water, chasing each other, may combine to form a resultant wave higher than its components, and generally, if the confluence takes place in the right phase, of a height which is the sum of the heights of the smaller elements.
At any rate, a most violent disturbance occurred at the latter place, throwing down houses, and opening hillsides, which was followed by an alarming sinking of the ground. The railroad track disappeared, part of the canal walls were swallowed up, an immense influx of water from La Boca poured in, and the former site of the village became a lake-like expanse. No further shocks were felt, although doubtless considerable dislocation farther west had taken place, and the locks on the Canal beyond the Culebra Cut, in the direction of Gamboa, San Pablo, and Tavernilla were perhaps impaired. As if the hidden energies of the earth had become reinforced, and the subterranean fires had renewed their devastating fury, on the morning of the 28th a sharp upheaval of the ground at Tavernilla, in the old delta plane of the Chagres river, took place, almost immediately succeeded by as rapid a collapse and depression. This alarming operation of the ground was repeated, upon a titanic scale in the submerged delta plane between Pena Blanca and Gatun. It was reported that at first small monticules of rock, mud, and sand, appeared in the vicinity of Agua Clara, but these proved to be ephemeral elevations, subsiding foot by foot, until with one monstrous convulsion the whole ridge of hills between Limon Bay, to the west on the Canal line, and Barrage at the old French dam, slipped bodily into the sea, with unutterable sounds, the rocks as it were exploding with immeasurable violence. The discharge of the mountain mass into the oceanic depths caused terrific tidal waves to rush outward, and north and south, in colossal walls of water. One of these swept upon the panic-stricken inhabitants of Colon, its solid phalanx suddenly approaching from the sea, and in conjunction with earthquakes that had emptied the houses of the horrified occupants, bringing them all to the verge of madness, from sheer fear. The skies, as if engaged in some hideous conspiracy of destruction, with the moving earth, suddenly darkened. Deluges of water poured from the ebony and swollen clouds, lightning in incessant lines of quivering brilliancy shot from their lurid depths, and thunders intensified by a thousand reverberations, shook the recesses of the trembling hills.