overwhelm us. On the other hand was the spectacle of a number of men, women,
and children running in and out of their houses, on what each time proved a very
unnecessary alarm, as each shock ceased just as it became strong enough to
frighten us. It seemed really very much like "playing at earthquakes," and made
many of the people join me in a hearty laugh, even while reminding each other
that it really might be no laughing matter.
At length the evening got very cold, and I became very sleepy, and
determined to turn in; leaving orders to my boys, who slept nearer the door, to
wake me in case the house was in danger of falling. But I miscalculated my
apathy, for I could not sleep much. The shocks continued at intervals of half an
hour or an hour all night, just strong enough to wake me thoroughly each time
and keep me on the alert, ready to jump up in case of danger. I was therefore
very glad when morning came. Most of the inhabitants had not been to bed at all,
and some had stayed out of doors all night. For the next two days and nights
shocks still continued at short intervals, and several times a day for a week,
showing that there was some very extensive disturbance beneath our portion of
the earth's crust. How vast the forces at work really are can only be properly
appreciated when, after feeling their effects, we look abroad over the wide
expanse of hill and valley, plain and mountain, and thus realize in a slight degree
the immense mass of matter heaved and shaken. The sensation produced by an
earthquake is never to be forgotten. We feel ourselves in the grasp of a power to
which the wildest fury of the winds and waves are as nothing; yet the effect is
more a thrill of awe than the terror which the more boisterous war of the
elements produces. There is a mystery and an uncertainty as to the amount of
danger we incur, which gives greater play to the imagination, and to the
influences of hope and fear. These remarks apply only to a moderate earthquake.
A severe one is the most destructive and the most horrible catastrophe to which
human beings can be exposed.
A few days after the earthquake I took a walk to Tondano, a large village of
about 7,000 inhabitants, situated at the lower end of the lake of the same name. I
dined with the Controlleur, Mr. Bensneider, who had been my guide to
Tomohón. He had a fine large house, in which he often received visitors; and his
garden was the best for flowers which I had seen in the tropics, although there
was no great variety. It was he who introduced the rose hedges which give such
a charming appearance to the villages; and to him is chiefly due the general
neatness and good order that everywhere prevail. I consulted him about a fresh
locality, as I found Rurúkan too much in the clouds, dreadfully damp and
gloomy, and with a general stagnation of bird and insect life. He recommended