A man may not choose how he shall serve the great Republic, but whatever service is asked of him, that let him render with heart and soul. Though Thompson would not have chosen the post of supercargo—any more than Flint would have asked to be cashier or J. interpreter—once it was assigned him, he threw himself into the work with all his might. The studio saw him no more; the little cat—all the family he had—missed him. He spent his days and most of his nights trying to bring order out of that chaos of supplies, checking bills, making lists and invoices of clothes, food, medicine, tools, all the wonderful things bought for the relief ship. The cargo was got together somehow, anyhow; the thing was done—that was the main point. From morning till night those tireless men and women bought and bought, sewed and sewed, packed and tied up in bundles the stores, clothing, shoes, medicines, for the sufferers. It was Thompson’s duty to try and bring some sort of order out of that chaos. When men and women are dying of cold and hunger, when human life is at stake and the race is with death, haste is the only thing to strive for; waste counts not. So Griscom and his Americans resolutely cut the Gordian knots of red tape that strangle Italy, whenever they came across one, and never counted the cost.

Now that we look back, what they did seems incredible. Remember, it was Sunday morning, January 3rd, that the Ambassador appointed his committee to help him put through the thing he had planned to do; the work of the next three days would not be believed if it could be told. From the beginning Griscom did the impossible—the only thing worth doing in this world. He was told that the idea of fitting out a relief ship was chimerical; every available steamer was already engaged by the Italian Government. Even if a ship could be found, where would the supplies come from? The Roman shops were well nigh sold out. If ship and cargo could be scared up, how to get the cargo to the ship? It took a month to get a box from Rome to Naples! This last argument seemed final!

Every objection was met, every obstacle overcome. In three days the ship was found, the cargo bought, the men and women of the relief crew enlisted, ready, eager to start. Monday Captain Belknap engaged the Austrian Lloyd steamer “Oceania;” she could be ready to sail in nine days. Monday night the North German Lloyd’s agent telephoned, offering the “Bayern” to be ready to sail from Genoa Wednesday, January 6th. This was a saving of six days; the offer of the “Bayern” was accepted, the Austrians handsomely refusing to claim the forfeit of one thousand dollars due them for breach of contract. Who says corporations have no heart? The committee knew they could count on the Germans to do what they undertook to do. The discipline, the steady hammer-hammer of the army drill master has got into the very blood and bones of that nation.

So the ship was found!

As for the cargo: when the committee was not in session, William Hooper, the famous Harvard athlete, Samuel Parrish, the connoisseur of Italian Cinque Cento, Nelson Gay, the historian, George Page, the banker, were working under the lash, buying coats, blankets, shawls, pins, needles, biscuits, cheese, sausages, picks, shovels—all they could lay hands on of these grave-digger’s tools, for still on the eighth, the tenth day after the earthquake, even later, men and women were taken out alive from the ruins. In Genoa, James Smith, American Consul, was gathering together a vast store of hams, beans, potatoes, salt pork, rope, canvas, candles, all the ship wares to be found in the great seaport. It was one thing to put these goods bought in Genoa on board the “Bayern,” but how to get the masses of clothing, tools, food, medicines and bedding, purchased in Rome—a tithe of which cumbered the great hall of the Palazzo del Drago—to the ship?

“If the railroad to the south cannot take the goods to Naples, the railroad to the north shall take them to Civitavecchia; the old papal seaport is as good a place to sail from as from Naples!” Griscom argued; so that knot was cut.

Stein, the shipper, was called in, another of those busy silent Germans who year by year are getting more and more of Italy’s commerce into their strong capable hands. Stein undertook to have the cargo at Civitavecchia on the “Bayern’s” arrival there, and he was as good as his word. The Government gave free transportation to the goods.

Reports are dull reading, statistics worse—there is nothing quite so misleading as statistics—there are a few exceptions to this rule; the reports of the American Relief Committee are among them. The minutes kept by Samuel Parrish lie before me; they are as interesting as a novel. As interesting? Twenty thousand times more interesting. The story is told gravely and concisely, but the romance shines through the conventional terms, transfigures the formal statements; it has the life pulse of an old Greek drama; it moves with the inevitable sequence of history. The titles of Chairman, Secretary, Treasurer, are disguises like the masks worn by the Athenian players. They serve to hide the personality of the actor, leaving him freer to play the role for which he is cast. The characters speak their lines, the play moves steadily from the first lurid scene of the earthquake to the final chorus of Hope. After Nature had done her worst and the greatest disaster of history had stunned the world, the network of nerves with which America has enmeshed the globe, the telegraph wires and submarine cables, flashed the dreadful intelligence from nerve center to nerve center. Whether for good or for ill, we gave the world its nervous system; ours the responsibility for the quickened pulse of life! The cables were kept busy; message after message flashed from the Embassy at Rome to Washington, to New York, Philadelphia, Boston, San Francisco. That cry of the Calabrian exiles: “Do not forget to help Scylla,” touched the public imagination. I hear the thrill of it in all the messages that follow, the committee’s appeal to the American Red Cross, to the Governors of the States, to the people of America. The Ambassador and Mr. Parrish telegraph the President, Mr. Parish cables Governor Hughes and Mayor McClellan, Mr. Hooper calls on Governor Guild of Massachusetts for funds for a relief ship. Time is so precious they do not wait for answers; strong in their faith in America’s generosity, these men assume a personal responsibility for the great sums of money needed, so no time is lost in waiting for answers to their appeals. This is the secret of how the incredible thing was done; it was not only by the labor of these resolute men but by the faith that was in them that the country would “back” them, would make good all they promised.

“Theirs,” said the Roman American, “is an infallibility absolute as the Pope’s; they know that God and the American people are behind them!”

We were in Athol’s library Wednesday evening when J.’s sailing orders came. The large pleasant room was just light and warm enough. There was a wood fire, there were flowers—blood-red Roman anemones—there were books and pictures, there was Athol himself (the man of whose mellow culture and sensitive taste, the room was an expression) seated in a beautiful Savonarola chair at an ancient, perfectly appointed table, writing despatches with pen and ink on large foolscap paper.

“They have telephoned from the Embassy,” said Agnese, who brought the news, “that the Signore should be at the station at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. The Signora is invited to go as far as Civitavecchia with the Ambassadress and the other ladies to witness his departure—ah! sainted apostles! for that land of death!” Agnese disapproved of J.’s going down to Messina. “Give those unfortunates anything in reason,” she argued, “clothes, food, even a little money! But to go oneself, or even to allow one who is dear to go down to that—that pozzo d’infezione, ah! no, there is no reason in that! It is the act of the mad. Mama mia! Are there not enough dead already?”

“You will be too late for Messina,” said Athol, looking up from his despatches. “They don’t like having foreigners about; the English ships from Malta were there a week ago but they found they were not wanted! You will find more than enough to do at the smaller villages; they have been neglected. Have you any flannel shirts?”

“Hundreds,” said J.

“For the profughi, yes, but for yourself? You’ll need them and flannel collars; I can lend you some and a hold-all. Have you seen the last subscriptions to the Lord Mayor’s Fund?” He handed J. a London paper with the list of subscribers to the English Earthquake Fund. There was a generous rivalry of “who shall give and do most?” between the Americans and English that was heart-warming.

“You deserve a large share of the credit for this,” J. said; “I hope it will be set down to your account.”

Athol’s telegrams and articles were read by English-speaking people all over the world; they had great influence in raising the Mansion House Fund, and other contributions.

The next morning was gray and mild, a depressing sirocco day. Napoleone who drove us to the station was gloomy as Agnese about J.’s going to Messina. His clerical sympathies made him scoff at the value of all lay relief work.

“Those afflictions that are sent by the Padre Eterno can best be assuaged by the Church,” he grumbled, as he put Athol’s fine English hold-all on the box beside him. Even the strawberry roan was out of spirits and took ten minutes longer than usual between the palace and the station. “What has his Excellency to do with such matters?” Napoleone flung the words over his shoulder. “I tell you frankly, Signora mia, his life is worth more than all the Sicilians put together. It is a pity the island of Sicily did not sink beneath the sea and remain there twenty minutes, long enough to drown all the inhabitants. It would have been a good thing for Italy, magari, and for the rest of the world!”

Wilfred Thompson, who was at the station when we arrived, introduced Weston Flint, the cashier. Mr. Flint wore a leather money bag over his shoulder.

“Ask for the special,” said Flint, as he wrote our names down on a list; “the Government has put a train at the Ambassador’s disposal; they treat us handsomely, you see.”

“That young man came to Rome to study archeology,” said the Roman American, who was going with us. “He will learn more about ruins and excavation in the next few days than he could have learned at school in a lifetime.”

A cab drove up with three neat, plainly dressed, young girls.

“The American nurses, God bless them!” said the Roman American. “There come the English nurses; and there’s Robert Hale, the painter—why have they gone in so heavily for artistic talent?” Then answering his own question: “Because artists are the hardest working people in the world, and the most generous; they always do more than their share of good work; rich people give their money, they give themselves!”

Just then the Ambassador and Mrs. Griscom came up in their motor and we all got on board the train. The journey to Civitavecchia was all too short; we hardly found time to look from the window and were only half conscious of passing the ancient Temple of Minerva Medica, or Ponte Galera, the picturesque, fever-stricken, abandoned town hung in its green shroud of ivy. The artists missed nothing of the beauty of the trip (their search for beauty is as unconscious as breathing); the rest of us had to be forcibly wrenched from the discussion of medicated gauze and flannel bandages when a turn of the road brought a wonderful view before us,—the campagna swimming in an amethyst haze, the blue clear-cut lines of the Alban hills, and far off, a fainter blue stain against the sky, Monte Circeo, home of Circe, daughter of the sun. These things the sons of Mary saw, while the sons of Martha talked of ways and means.

What had been accomplished in the few days since that first meeting of the committee Sunday afternoon seemed a miracle. The men who had worked the miracle were with us, quiet, alert, full of attentions for the comfort of the ladies who were going to see the “Bayern” start on her cruise of mercy. The leader of the enterprise, Lloyd Griscom, and his right-hand man, Captain Belknap, who bore the brunt of all the great work that was to follow, talked together in undertones, discussing the final arrangements. Later Mr. Gay, Mr. Parrish and Mr. Page joined them. The rest of us kept apart, as it seemed they were holding an informal committee meeting, to decide some last weighty matter, and exchanged our news.

“Mr. Griscom saw the King,” said the Roman American, “and offered him the relief ship. The King accepted it and told the Ambassador that nothing could have been devised better than such a gift. The money for the expedition was given by the American Red Cross to Mr. Griscom to spend at his discretion.”

That was wise, for what was needed now even more than money was the good sense to spend it well, ability, organizing power—the thing that is so much harder to get or to give than money—brains!

At Civitavecchia we were received by the Sindaco, the Sub-Prefect, and the Captain of the Port; they all wore black gloves and crape bands on the arm. The general exaltation and excitement that ran like fire through Rome was lacking in the small provincial seaport; there was a sense of hopeless mourning here, more distressing than the tearing passion of Rome.

Two of our ladies disappeared as soon as we reached Civitavecchia. The rest of us, escorted by the officials, were rowed out in small boats to the “Bayern,” a fine steamer of 5000 tons, lying in the outer harbor surrounded by a fleet of lighters.

“Still taking on stores, you see,” said Mr. Stein, who had come in person to see that the goods from Rome were delivered on time. “By four o’clock everything will be on board; they will be able to start without delay.”

“This is Captain Miztloff,” said Belknap (how could he find time for everything?), presenting the big florid typical North-German-Lloyd commander.

“They tell me you shall not with us go?” said the captain. “It is a pity; we shall a moon and a fine weather have, and a good run to Messina make. Will you my quarters visit?”

His calm blue eyes, his smiling undismayed presence were comforting. Here was a man who had not been whirled out of his natural orbit like the rest of us. After we had gone over the “Bayern” with Captain Mitzloff, visited his cabin and admired the portraits of his wife and flaxen-haired children, the expedition began to look more rational, a little less out of the ordinary. His practical sober kindness was somehow reassuring. We went down to see J.’s cabin, an outer room with a good window. The familiar smell of stale sea-water brought a pang of homesickness—of course we were going to sail for America, there never had been any earthquake, it was all a bad nightmare; it was curious how the illusion persisted. It grew even stronger when a pink and white steward announced luncheon, and we made our way to the dining saloon, decorated and furnished in the usual North German Lloyd fashion. The chief steward allotted us our seats—oh, it was just like the beginning, of twenty other trans-atlantic crossings! I recognized the way the table was set, the napkins folded, the bread cut; we were going home—together.

“I shall order green goose and mirabellen—” I announced.

“You are to sit beside the Sindaco of Civitavecchia because you can talk Italian to him,” said one of the committee at that moment; the illusion vanished. I was placed with Mrs. Griscom and the other ladies of the Auxiliary Relief Committee at the captain’s table. J., already separated from me, sat with the nurses, and other assistants, Flint, Hale and Thompson, at the doctor’s table, below the salt as it were. He was under orders; discipline had begun.

Though we were all anxious and sad enough, there was a brave effort at gayety. The Ambassador proposed the health of the King and Queen of Italy in a neat little speech; and the Sindaco, a stout man with red eyes, responded with a toast to the President. He pronounced a few flowery sentences, and then speaking of the six or seven people from Civitavecchia who had escaped the earthquake and come back to their native town beggared and bereft, he faltered, burst into tears and sat down. After luncheon I found my way to the ladies’ saloon, all white and gold and blue brocade, with that faint dreadful under-smell of stale sea-water in its draperies, cushions and carpet. Here I found the nurses unrolling two bundles of stuff.

“You missed us,” said one of the ladies, “and wondered where we went from the station; this is what we were in search of.” She unrolled a piece of ivory-white flannel and another of scarlet cloth.

“Who can cut me out a neat cross? This is all lopsided,” said the chief cutter-out. She held up a badly cut cross of red cloth.

“I know who can make a better one than that,” I cried and went in search of J.

“We shall want a good many, for every one of them must wear the badge on his left arm,” said the chief cutter-out.

“We fly the Red Cross then? It has been arranged?”

The Ambassador had cut another strand of the red tape that strangles Italy. Permission to fly the Red Cross flag had been asked and refused because none of the party belonged to the Italian Society, though several were members of the American Association. When in order to overcome this objection the leaders asked leave to join the Italian Red Cross, the answer was that it would take two weeks for them to be elected. Mr. Griscom passed over the refusal and carried the request to a higher court, where it was granted.

My last impression of the “Bayern” was that scene in the saloon, where Thompson and J. stood patiently cutting out the red cloth crosses and the trained nurses sat stitching them neatly on the ivory cloth bands. At two o’clock Mrs. Griscom and the ladies of her auxiliary committee left the ship and took the train for Rome with Mr. Parrish and Mr. Page.

“Of course I wanted to go to Messina,” said Mr. Parrish, “but somebody had to stay in Rome to attend to this end of the business!”

At four o’clock the “Bayern” sailed,

Captain Belknap having commandeered three small craft against the need of landing on an open beach, for which the ship’s boats were unsuitable. As she sailed out of the harbor of Civitavecchia, past the old lighthouse with the two defending towers, the “Bayern” flew the American ensign at the fore, the German merchant flag aft, and between foremast and funnel on the triatic stay the flag of the whole Christian world, a cross vermilion on a ground white.

IV

THE CRUISE OF THE “BAYERN”

Gasperone, the Messinese, shook the rough mane of hair out of his eyes and parried the question with a “Chi lo sa?” Then he added: “It was foretold; I myself heard the prophecy, though at the time I laughed, with others who laugh no more. One of the hottest days of last summer a tall Nazarene, a hermit from the hills dressed in sackcloth, went up and down the city, followed by a boy—half naked like himself—ringing a great bell. There on the Marina they stopped at a cross street and the Nazarene cried out like one possessed:

“‘Be warned! Take heed and repent, ye of Messina! This year shall not end before your city is utterly destroyed!’”

“It was a wicked city,” said Hugh; “the Almighty smote this place. What else could ha’ done it? Our chart called for fifty fathom of water, we plumbed and plumbed—two hundred and fifty didn’t fetch it, the bottom had just dropped out. There’s Riggio ‘crost the straits, hit the same way—a double stroke you may say. When you see a city smote like that, you may know it was a wicked city; ’twas the same with ‘Frisco—she got what she deserved. Down to Callao centuries ago ‘twas the same. The people were fighting and killing each other, so the Almighty he shook down the town and out of the water a great high mountain riz right up in the air carrying a big ship as was lying in the harbor with it; I know folks as has seen it! They put an immense cross on the spot; the kings or presidents or whatever there is down there, swore that until that cross was pulled down they would never fight no more. Whenever they’re like to quarrel, some one points to that cross, and then they manage to settle the row without bloodshed!”

“Awe ri’,” said Gasperone.

“They say a vile piece of poetry was printed in an infidel paper, asking our Saviour to prove He could work miracles by sending a good earthquake—is that true?”

Gasperone spat over the side and nodded; then he too prophesied.

“There is more to come.” Gasperone shook a warning finger: “Listen! la Sicilia will go down, down, and finally be lost under the sea. Already it has begun; the mountains grow lower and lower; when I was a boy they were much higher than now. The Marina has sunk in some places a metre. You know the ancient stemma, the coat-of-arms of Sicily, has but three legs? We have lost one leg, there are but two left. When the next leg goes, it will be finished; the island will topple and sink beneath the sea. I have said it.” He made a gesture as if to wipe the ancient island of Trinacria from the face of the globe.

It was the third day of the cruise of the “Bayern;” all the relief party were on shore, except Wilfred Thompson and J., who had been detained on board by their work. J., who had come up from the hold to take a breath, listened half consciously to the talk of Gasperone and Hugh, the Yeoman. In his confused memories of that time this scrap of their conversation survives.

What has happened since the “Bayern” sailed from Civitavecchia? First one, then another of that strangely assorted ship’s company shall tell the story.

“Immediately on getting under way,” writes Captain Belknap, “the work of arranging our supplies began, so that we might know what, how much, and where to lay our hands on everything. Supplies purchased at Genoa were in the after hold, those from Rome forward; except for this separation everything was mixed together. The Rome purchases had been made by several persons acting independently; marks on many packages had been torn off or obliterated in the hurry of transportation, and the difficulty was increased by the absence of many invoices. Fortunately good weather favored us. The work continued in the fore hold until ten P.M. on Thursday.”

“Worked very hard till dinner getting cargo in order and opening up some stuff. After dinner worked on bills with Flint and Hale,” writes Wilfred Thompson in his diary for January 7th.

A letter from J., of the same date, gives a fuller account of the first day:

“We got straight to work the moment you were all clear of the ship. I didn’t even get a chance to take a snap-shot as we left the harbor of Civitavecchia; indeed, I didn’t even see the town, as I was helping Thompson with his invoices. After that we all went down in the hold and were hunting or moving things and getting them up on deck. Such confusion as there was in the hold, it is impossible to imagine! Everything simply dumped in a heap. I found a lot of things they wanted. We worked down there till dinner just like porters, and I am tired as a dog.”

Friday, January 8th, was a busy day for all on board. In the morning the weather was fine, at noon they passed Stromboli, the burning mountain that rises in a sharp cone from the Tyrrhene Sea. Mr. Thompson notes in his diary the beauty of the Calabrian coast. They passed near enough the shore to see the people of the ruined villages living in tents and shanties.

J.’s letter for that day says:

“After breakfast I went to find sterilized milk in the forward hold. Then I got to work with Hooper, who is a brick, as my partner, and between us we cleaned out that hold. Mr. Griscom came down and saw what we were doing, and tried to photograph us. He approved our efforts, which resulted in our finding many things at the bottom that were supposed to be missing. Such a jumble there never was seen! Everything had been hauled off the lighters and pitched into the holds, without any attempt at order; one and every kind of thing on top of the other and always the thing most needed at the bottom. When I tell you that a bunch of picks and spades had been dropped upon boxes of macaroni, you may get a slight idea of what would naturally happen. I spent the day as Hooper’s side companion—a bully worker, no shirk in him—and we got through about six this evening. It was a splendid day and Thompson, who worked above the water line, had a glimpse of Stromboli as we passed it about noon. At 4.45 we dropped anchor at Messina—what there is left of it, only a heap of ruins, though at first sight the houses didn’t seem to be so utterly destroyed. However, under the searchlights from the ships one could see how complete the ruin is—nothing but heaps of rubbish with walls sticking up above them. As soon as we came to anchor, the Captain of the Port came aboard. I stuck to the Commander like Sherlock Holmes and was his interpreter. He (the Italian port official) wanted to know the kind of things we had on board. Three American officers came aboard with Major Landis and Delmé Radcliffe, Mr. Cutting and Chanler, who seemed quite in his element.... Everyone says what splendid work he has been doing. A little later the Ambassador and the Commander (Belknap), Mr. Lupton, the American Vice Consul, Major Landis, and yours truly, went to see General Mazza on board the ‘Duca di Genova,’ a magnificent Italian liner. It was all very interesting. I went as interpreter. Delmé Radcliffe is quartered on board the staff ship, so he went with us too. He applied to the captain of one of the American ships in the harbor for a boat to take the remains of the English Consul’s wife to the cemetery tomorrow morning, but could not get one promised till three P.M., as the U. S. flagship only arrives in the morning. Mr. Griscom returns on her and brings you this letter. Delmé Radcliffe saw a man taken out alive at six o’clock this afternoon. A propos of boots, they seem to be the things most needed. I fear I have lost my pen in the hold. I am sorry Mr. Griscom is leaving, and Dodge too. D. has been working like a slave. Splendid! I forgot to say that the visit to the General in command was to place the ship with everything aboard at his disposal.”

Captain Belknap’s record for the same day, giving a fuller account of the visit to the “Duca di Genova,” ends with these words:

“General Mazza expressed his warm appreciation of the offer and the spirit that prompted it, and recommended that the ship proceed to Catania and Palermo, possibly also to Syracuse, as these places had received many sick, wounded and refugees, but so far no help in proportion to their needs. At Messina the situation was well in hand and supplies were already available, sufficient for all requirements.”

The next morning, Saturday, the U. S. S. “Connecticut,” flagship of the Atlantic Fleet, Admiral Sperry commanding, arrived at Messina with her tender, the “Yankton,” and the supply ship, “Culgoa.” A conference was held, and the plan of action, the policy of the American relief work in Sicily was doubtless then and there perfected; of this the men in the hold of course knew little or nothing. They only knew that Mr. Griscom, the leader of the expedition, was to leave them and were sorry that he should go.

Admiral Sperry landed two hundred and fifty men to excavate the American Consulate and recover the bodies of the Consul and his wife; the “Yankton” remained at Messina as a base of supplies; and the “Connecticut,” with the Ambassador on board, sailed for Naples Saturday afternoon and left the “Bayern” to coöperate with the supply ship, “Culgoa,” in relief work along the coast.

Several boatloads of supplies for the American Consulate were landed, and a large amount of food and clothes was given with a sum of money to the Archbishop of Messina. About the time the “Connecticut” sailed, a message was received by the Americans that at Reggio, the city on the Calabrian shore that faces Messina, their help would be gratefully received.

While all these official matters were going on, Wilfred Thompson was busy with his invoices and accounts, and J. with his stores in the hold. It was not until the afternoon of Saturday that they went on shore. Gasperone and Hugh, the Yeoman, went with them. In all J.’s notes and letters there is frequent mention of the strange Sicilian servant, Gasperone, who seems to have been half crazed by the earthquake, and of Hugh, the Yeoman, one of the enlisted men who had sailed on the great cruise round the world.

They landed in a pouring rain and made their way to the ruins of the American Consulate. From a shattered window flapped a yellow brocade curtain above a huge mass of stone and plaster, with gaunt beams sticking up against the leaden sky. A detachment of American sailors were working here in shifts day and night. A little farther on the party stopped, rooted to the earth by the sound of a weird lament, like the keening of the mourners at an Irish wake. They soon saw where the dreadful wailing came from. Seated on a pile of debris was an old woman, all huddled together, her head in her hands, her knees drawn up to her chin, swaying slowly backwards and forwards, the movement of her body keeping time to her moans; she might have been one of the ancient cave-dwellers, the attitude, the lament seemed a strange primitive expression of despair, old as the race.

“That is Sora Anna; they have found her son’s head and part of the body,” said Gasperone indifferently. “That girl is Elena, his fidanzata; they were to be married this month. They are waiting for the coffin.”

The girl, Elena, stood beside the old woman like a thing of stone. She was a beautiful creature; her face was almost as white as the lint with which her head was bandaged. Silent and dry-eyed, she looked like a statue of revolt. At her feet lay the ghastly fragments of her lover’s body. Two soldiers passed with picks on their shoulders; one of them asked the girl if he could help her. She paid no attention, but stood looking across the sea, stony and silent, while the mother wailed the death song for her son.

“Come,” said Gasperone, “it will be dark in an hour; the sun no sooner gets up than it goes to bed. Madonna! With all the rest, it is too much that the days should be so short. After dark, the wild dogs who come from the mountains to devour the dead are dangerous; in the day, they are more timid, the soldiers have shot so many.”

Gasperone led the way towards the cathedral square. On their way they passed the ruins of the Banca d’Italia, guarded by a strong force of soldiers.

“There is a great treasure here,” said Gasperone, “that must be guarded at any cost, you understand. These soldiers might—but it is always so; gold is worth more than flesh and blood!”

In one of the main streets Gasperone stopped beside a tragic group—a priest, an old woman and a dead man.

“Ah, behold!” he cried, “they have just found Padre Antonio’s twin brother. He and his mother were the only ones saved of a family of fourteen.”

The priest, haggard and wild looking, with his arm in a sling, began to read aloud a prayer. His mother stood beside him, swaying backwards and forwards. As the prayer ended, the mother joining in the benediction, In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritûs Sancti; a newspaper reporter fixed his camera on a tripod and photographed the pathetic group. The rain, that had stopped for a moment, now came down again in torrents and drenched them all to the skin.

“It was raining like mad most of the time,” J. writes, “I can well understand how your poor old woman, Rosina, kept harping on the rain. Anything more dismal it is hard to imagine. I have only been made uncomfortable by it; but there are hundreds of poor people camping out wherever there is a clear space big enough to run up a primitive shelter with boards, if they have them, or sails rigged on poles. I saw one ambitious family roofing roughly with tiles they had collected from the streets. They seemed to be the first to make the attempt, though the streets are literally strewn with tiles. In these poor shelters, and in the miserable little tents (some of them about half big enough for a man to crawl into and lie down, and which do not reach the ground by about a foot and a half) the water had flooded everything. The suffering from this cruel rain that these poor souls endure must be cruel beyond words.”

Mr. Thompson writes under the same date:

“Worked early getting off the goods the Vice Consul had asked for. The Ambassador and the rest of the party, except Elliott and myself, went on shore; weather very wet and stormy. Lunched early and went on shore with Elliott, passing the ‘Connecticut’ with the Ambassador on board. Went to temporary Consulate and met Deputy Vice-Consul, Mr. Cutting, and the acting English Consul. Then Elliott and I went out to see the town, wearing our red crosses. The sights were terrible; we realize now what an earthquake means. We walked along the Marina, the former chief water-front street. It has in places sunk beneath the water level, and is full of huge cracks. Here and there we passed a house but little damaged, but nearly all have the roofs fallen in; and, curious to say, at short intervals are houses that have been utterly and entirely smashed for no particular reason that one could see. The American and British Consulates are a case in point. Italian soldiers were digging and the party from the ‘Culgoa’ working all day under the driving rain, looking in vain for the bodies of the American Consul and his wife. Constantly saw soldiers with spades passing along. The city is under martial law and we saw many soldiers on guard. A few people living in wooden shanties or among the ruins with the rain soaking in upon them. Made our way inland to the cathedral which looks, as far as one can judge, as though the façade must have been fine. The ruins of the cathedral are well guarded by soldiers, on account of the great treasure buried there. The streets around the duomo are so ruined that we climbed over debris level with the second and third floors. The presence of the dead was all too obvious at every few yards. It will take two or three years to clear what is left of the city, and I should think it was a hopeless task and that Messina must be abandoned. Some of the

remains, broken beds and chairs, tawdry candlesticks, torn dresses were very pathetic. One of the sentries stood on guard under a black silk lace-trimmed parasol. So fearfully wet we returned to the Consulate and found Mr. Griscom. About four P. M. we went down on the beach to wait for the boat. Grand and terrible storm over Calabrian coasts. Flashes of lightning lit up the shipping in the harbor and the dreary shore with its broken barrels and all kinds of rubbish. Fell in with an officer from the ‘Culgoa.’ Frightful rain and flashes of blinding lightning. When it was dark but for these, the launch from the ‘Bayern’ at last arrived with a boat in tow. The boat was cut loose, but the fool men did not know how to manage it and tried to beach it on the shelving shore over a huge iron grating. Every wave filled the boat and the men let her get broadside on and almost swamped her. To my relief Mr. Cutting was on board and jumped into the water over his knees. Cutting ordered the men to carry the bales and cases of stores ashore. The goods were full of water and some were in consequence almost too heavy to carry. Quite dark except for the lightning. I sent a man back to the Consulate for a lantern, which helped somewhat. Finally Cutting and the men went off and left me to guard the goods. When all but the heaviest were taken away I went to the Consulate, taking my officer. Found various men and we had hot coffee, which was welcome and I think saved me. My coat so heavy with water I could hardly move under the weight. Great difficulty in getting the German sailors (of the ‘Bayern’) to carry up the heavy cases to the Consulate. If Cutting had not spoken German we never could have done so. Finally got it done and started to walk about a mile to where the launch and boat were waiting for us. Weird effects! Lights of ships in the harbor over inky black water and sky. At last got launch and got to our ship. Tired out but felt better after dinner. Dreams full of earthquake and huge waves. The desolation of those hours in the drenching rain, waiting for the boat, will remain always in my mind!”

“January 10th: Left Messina about 7:30 A.M. in rain. Came over to Reggio and lay there all day. Commander Belknap heard from the Italian cruiser, ‘Napoli,’ that they wanted stores there, so we had a hard and busy day getting them out. Officers and boats came about three P.M. to fetch them. So rushed had hardly time to look at coast and Reggio, but it did not seem so badly damaged as one would expect from the newspaper accounts. The ‘Napoli’ is to distribute our stores to the small towns along the coast. Tired out and bruised by fall. Thick wet evening. At dark got all boats on board and got up anchor and went back to Messina, and lay there for the night about a mile off shore (there is no anchorage at Reggio). Woman said to have been taken out alive from debris at Messina but to have died later.”

J.’s letter for the same date says:

“I only got a squint at Reggio for a moment, just as we were leaving, when the rain let up a little and we had sent our last boatload ashore. I spent all the morning getting up the stuff from the hold and keeping track of it, and most of the afternoon. What did not go into the boats went into the forward hold. I hunted among hundreds of bales and things for two bales of tent canvas, which I found and got on deck. Chanler had been down there with a gang in the morning and arranged things in a way that made it possible. The last time I was down there it was in a terrible mess with everything together. You see the after holds are where I have been since the first day, and in my part I know where to find everything they ask for, though some things—the white beans for instance—I can’t get at, as there are two layers of sacks on top of ’em, which will have to be removed first. It is raining like mad most of the time; I never saw such rain as we had last night. I believe I have said so already; anything more dismal it is hard to imagine.”

In Captain Belknap’s report of this day he says:

“We were unable to see General Mazzitelli (in command at Reggio), as he was ill, but Captain Cagni, commanding the ‘Napoli,’ senior Italian naval officer present, received us in his stead. He showed much satisfaction in having our supplies to draw upon, especially for women and children’s clothing, oil stoves, tent canvas, cooking and table utensils, tools and nails. About four-fifths of the ‘Napoli’s’ crew had been sent away on relieving expeditions among the outlying small villages, and our supplies were in good time for use in a second expedition which was being prepared. We were cordially thanked for our supplies (about 25 tons), which we were able to transfer that afternoon. The ‘Bayern’ then returned to anchor overnight at Messina, there being no good berth at Reggio. The ‘Culgoa’ remained off Reggio to deliver provisions next day.”

Remember Captain Cagni! We shall hear of him again; a live man, with red blood in his veins!

Extract from Mr. Thompson’s diary.

“Monday, January 11th: Left Messina about six A.M. Splendid rainbow with moon above it. At 7:30 as we passed close to the coast, the lower slopes of Etna, covered with snow, visible. Unfortunately a cloud on top. Anchored off Catania at 10:30. Ugly town from the sea view, but Etna proud above it.”

Extract from J.’s letter of same date:

“We have been getting rid of a lot of stuff and I believe are likely to discharge the greater part of our cargo here, perhaps all, and take a fresh cargo of planks and building wood to some particular place where they are very much in need of it for shelter. This afternoon I helped Captain Belknap to receive the Prefetto and Sindaco of Catania, together with a committee of ladies and gentlemen, and to show them over the ship. The operating room, store room, and rooms where the nurses have the clothes, boots, hats, etc., which they put up in bundles as they are wanted. They inspected also the staterooms, turned into hospital wards. As soon as they were all gone I got the hatches off (it was six o’clock), went down into the hold and sent up sixteen bales of blankets and two cases of suits of clothes. As luck would have it, I had them all moved in the morning, right under the crane so that I was able to get them slung up and over the side into the boats on record time, but for all that it took an hour and three quarters and I didn’t come out of the hold till eight o’clock. I helped Thompson for about an hour after dinner, and that let me out for today. We started in with breakfast at 7:30; hatch off at 8:30, work till lunch at 12 o’clock; then getting ready for the reception—the receiving committee being Captain Belknap, Hooper (my side companion) and Gay—myself and Flint (a firstrate Harvard boy) as assistants to handle the crowd. I have done so many different things today that I have forgotten about half of them. Now I must go to bed as tomorrow is going to be a tremendous day.”

Catania is the second largest city in Sicily. Twenty-five thousand of the survivors had been sent to Catania from Messina and the smaller towns destroyed by the earthquake; the problem of supplying food, clothing and shelter for these poor people was no easy one for the Catanians to solve. Catania had not suffered from the earthquake and therefore was not under military law; the civil authorities were most grateful and appreciative of all the help the Americans offered in whatever shape. Admiral Gagliardi, who was in the harbor on board the battleship “Garibaldi,” seems to have been as cordial in his reception of the “Bayern” as the Sindaco. He immediately sent an officer to welcome the expedition and to offer any assistance Captain Belknap might require. The cordial relations that immediately sprang up between the Italian admiral and the commander of the American relief expedition can be felt even in Captain Belknap’s necessarily guarded record.

“We were immediately boarded by an officer from the battleship ‘Garibaldi,’” he says, “with the compliments of Rear Admiral Gagliardi. The Admiral offered us any assistance we might need; and when I made an official visit to him that afternoon, he inquired with much interest about all that could be learned of the situation at Messina and Reggio, and about the expedition. He very kindly made it well understood that we had only to ask to obtain any assistance at his disposal—an offer that I was glad to avail of, for men to assist with handling supplies, transmission of telegrams by wireless, and service of boats. The Admiral returned the visit next day, inspected the ship with evident interest, and expressed his approval of her organization and arrangements, particularly of the medical department.”

Catania was glad to see the Americans, and the Americans were glad to see Catania. Everything combined to make the visit a success. It is noted in the diary that the eleventh of January was “a splendid warm day and a starlight night.” The dreadful rain had held up for a little; they were received with open arms. The Sindaco letter of welcome, dated January 11th, rings true:—