‘You may not find us still here.’ Frank looked worried, as though wondering whether he ought to prevent Robert from going. ‘The whole of the Chinatown area is on fire, and it’s out of control. There’s no water to fight it. Some bright engineer apparently laid the city’s water main right across the fault.’
‘What’s the fault?’ asked Robert, bewildered.
‘The San Andreas Fault is a weak part of the earth’s crust that’s been responsible for most of San Francisco’s tremors. Everyone knows about it. How anyone could be such a fool – anyway, the fault shifted and the pipes parted and the result is that there’s no water, except for the cistern on Nob Hill, and that won’t last long. The fire could spread to the whole downtown area of the city. Van Ness is safe enough, so I suppose there’s no harm in your going there. But if the wind blows this way, we shall have to leave the hotel. In that case, I shall take Alexa and Aunt Halloran out to the Presidio hills. You know where I mean?’
Robert nodded. It was in the open north-west corner of the peninsula that he and Brad spent their free time constructing a network of tunnels; and with other boys from the school they often fought mock battles in the old fort which guarded the Golden Gate.
‘The military authorities are opening the whole area as a refuge. Ask in the streets before you start back whether the hotel is still safe. If it’s been evacuated, look for us on Buena Vista.’
‘Right,’ said Robert. The tension in Frank’s voice had affected him, and he began to run as fast as he could. But the way was impeded by a slow procession of people leaving their homes. They were not hurrying, but instead moved with a shocked sadness, their backs bent with the weight of their burdens as they tried to save as many of their household goods as they could. Some were dragging sledges or even upturned tables loaded with possessions. Others, more fortunate, owned or had appropriated delivery vans and were able to move furniture as well as clothes. From time to time they stopped and looked back. Robert looked too, and saw that the whole of the eastern sky was blanketed with smoke. He started to run again.
The Marie Antoinette block of apartments was still standing, and looked no more dangerous than when he had left it. Relieved, Robert ran to the entrance. A soldier who had been lounging by the broken doors straightened himself and put out an arm.
‘No one admitted to this building.’
‘I live here,’ said Robert. He assumed that the man was acting as a guard against looters, and was glad of it. ‘If the janitor’s still here, he’ll tell you. I’ve just come back to collect some clothes.’
‘No one admitted for any purpose whatsoever. Safety reasons. I’ve got my orders, son. Don’t hang around.’
Puzzled and annoyed, Robert retreated. There must be a back entrance to the block, though he had never had cause to use it. When he found it, this too was guarded, and his attempts to pass were equally unsuccessful.
Back in the main avenue, he looked around. Somewhere there must be an officer in charge of the soldiers. But he, when discovered, proved even less sympathetic than his men. He was clearing everyone out of the avenue as Robert approached him. The families who had been sitting in clusters on the ground were grumbling but obedient. Robert’s request was turned down out of hand, and his attempt at an explanation brought only an explosion of fury.
‘For Christ’s sake! We’ve got a whole city burning and you’re worried about a spare pair of socks. Get out of here, and don’t let me see you again.’
Robert’s freckled face pouted with resentment as he walked slowly away. Even if it were true that much of the city was burning, there was no sign of fire here. And he would only have needed a few moments. He would have great difficulty in persuading Alexa that there had been no way to get past the guards. She had had a night without sleep, and Robert knew that she must have hated having to appear in public looking as dirty as when he had first seen her that day. Now she would be preparing to spend a second uncomfortable night, this time perhaps in the open. Robert recognized that anyone’s temper might become strained under such circumstances. He was likely to be given the rough edge of her tongue if he reported failure.
The thought persuaded him to wait around. The guard would change at some point, and the new men might prove more sympathetic. Or perhaps it would be possible to sneak past them after dark, when there would be neither gas nor electricity to light the streets.
He waited, out of sight, but without success. The evening guard was reinforced by a foot patrol which kept the whole avenue under surveillance. Just as he was screwing up his courage to make a dash through the entrance hall in the hope that he could hide immediately in an abandoned room, he heard the officer in charge of the new patrol shouting out his orders for the night.
‘Looters should be challenged first where practicable, but you have authority to shoot on sight.’
Robert was a level-headed boy, well able to judge when the odds had changed from adventure to recklessness. He was not a looter but it seemed that he might not be allowed time to convince anyone of that if he were seen. Even to slip quietly away was risky enough. As soon as he was safely out of the guarded area he walked despondently, trailing his feet through the debris which littered the road. In the adventure stories he had read, the heroes never gave up like this. They dodged through a hail of bullets, always in the end managing to rescue whatever needed to be rescued. But then the bullets were guaranteed never to hit them. This real-life adventure offered much less certainty that there would be a happy ending for everyone. The blood on his mother’s skirt had been a sufficient indication of that.
The way back to the hotel proved to be barred. The troops who stopped him on this occasion were more sympathetic than the guards, but equally definite. The fire, they told him, was spreading so rapidly that there was little hope of saving any of the downtown area. Only approved firefighters were allowed within the triangle edged by Hyde Street and Mission Street.
Alarmed to find that the rendezvous with his mother had become impossible to keep, Robert remembered Frank’s instructions and turned towards the Presidio. By now he was very tired, and the walk was a long one. As darkness fell, it was difficult to pick his way safely along the unlit streets, but at last he arrived in the hilly open area.
The whole of San Francisco seemed to be there already. Tents had been pitched in long lines, and soldiers were still hard at work erecting more. Families not yet fortunate enough to be offered shelter squatted in circles round their piles of possessions. A few cooking fires were burning, but it was impossible to recognize anyone without going right up to a group and staring. Without warning, Robert found himself gripped by panic. He had promised to look after Alexa, and now he did not even know where she was. She and his mother must both be somewhere in the crowd, but how could he ever hope to find them amongst three hundred thousand people?
Robert had been frightened for the brief period of the earthquake itself, but that fear had quite quickly given way to a feeling of excitement, and a determination to make himself as useful as a grown man. The new fear which swept over him now was worse than anything he had felt as he waited for his bedroom ceiling to crash down on his head. He was tired and hungry; he had failed in his errand and lost touch with his family. He was in a foreign continent, in a strange city – a city which was collapsing before his eyes – and he didn’t know what to do. For more than an hour he ran between the lines of the tents, calling his mother’s name and Alexa’s. Tears began to run silently down his cheeks and he was too tired even to be ashamed. At last, stumbling over a guy rope, he allowed himself to lie where he had fallen, sprawled in misery on the ground. Within five minutes he was asleep.
6
Terror disappears when danger ends: shame lasts longer. At the moment when the earthquake struck the Davidson mansion on Nob Hill, Alexa was in bed with Frank. She had not until that moment felt guilty – for they were, after all, engaged to be married now. As they clung together in that terrifying moment when some demon seemed to be sh
aking the house from side to side in an attempt to eject its occupants, it was difficult to feel anything more specific than physical fear. Only afterwards, as they held their breaths, wondering whether there would be another shock, did it occur to her how unfortunate the timing had been. Even the most liberal-minded aunt – and Miss Halloran was far from being that – could not be expected to condone such immoral behaviour if it was unmistakably brought to her notice.
Alexa’s anxiety on this count was quick to control any temptation to panic. As soon as the first violent tremor had subsided to a residual quivering, as though the air were trembling like a jelly, she hurried into her ball dress again – while Frank, equally conscious of the need to preserve his fiancée’s reputation, acted as her dresser.
‘I brought you home for a celebration drink,’ he instructed her as he fastened the tiny satin buttons with surprising dexterity. ‘Servants all asleep. You were sitting in the drawing room when the ‘quake struck. I was fetching the champagne. If you’re seen on the stairs now, then you’re looking for me.’
He opened the bedroom door and glanced quickly up and down the gallery. Alexa waited for his signal that there was no one about. Then she slipped out of the room while he in turn set about dressing himself. There was no need to be quiet, for the air was full of noise. From outside the house a ragged jangling of church bells provided a discordant background to the crashing of falling walls and the hiss and crackle of electric cables. Inside, Mr Davidson’s collection of clocks, suddenly set askew, protested with a whirr of broken springs or the untimely striking of some hour which had not yet arrived, and somewhere in the background the water from a broken pipe could be heard cascading down a wall in a noisy waterfall.
The curved central staircase of the house had collapsed, but it was possible to climb down the wreckage. Alexa heard her gown rip as a splintered banister tore at its skirt, but she did not allow this to delay her. She looked quickly round the drawing room as she entered, choosing the situation which would best explain her tousled hair. Even if she had had the ability to dress it again herself into the elaborate style which had caused gasps of admiration to greet her appearance at the ball, there would have been no time. When Frank’s father hurried into the room a few moments later, he found her apparently in the process of extricating herself from beneath a fallen lacquer screen.
It was the beginning of a day in which nothing could be taken for granted. The morning developed the atmosphere almost of a party as more and more of the Davidsons’ friends discovered that their own kitchens were not safe to use and arrived at the St Francis Hotel for breakfast. Alexa’s remaining anxiety, about the safety of Margaret and Robert, was relieved when Brad brought them to join the group. Then the mood changed for a second time, with equal unexpectedness, as the first news arrived that fires were sweeping the city and threatened soon to be out of control: the hotel was declared to be in danger.
Mr Davidson had spent little time at the hotel, but had hurried off first to look to the security of his own business and afterwards to put himself at the disposal of the emergency citizens’ committee; and Margaret and Brad soon followed to see what they could usefully do, while Robert later went off to collect her jewels. Alexa knew her own limitations. She could sing, but this was no time for singing: she had none of the practical skills or the brute strength which the present occasion demanded. Bewildered by the sudden turn of events, she was thankful at least that Frank was at hand to look after her and his aunt, and accepted his assurance that he had told Robert where to look for them if the hotel was closed. When they were forced to leave, and had made their way to the Presidio, she sat patiently on the grass with Miss Halloran while places in a tent were found for them.
Daylight began to fade, and there was still no sign of Robert. Alexa began to walk around, looking for him and asking whether anyone had seen a freckled boy with bright ginger hair: but without success. As she turned back, afraid that she herself might become lost when darkness fell, she was conscious of the wind beginning to freshen, catching her long hair and tossing it over her shoulders. The breeze was strong enough partly to disperse the pall of smoke which had hidden until then the devastation of the city. The atmosphere on the Presidio hills, which for the past few hours had been one of an impromptu picnic, was chilled as gradually the chatter of conversation died away. One after another the citizens of San Francisco rose to their feet to watch their city burning. The crimson glow of flames in the east was far brighter than the rich sunset in the west. It was dramatic – in a way, even beautiful – but at the same time it was terrifying. The first shock of disbelief amongst the waiting crowds changed to a feeling of desolation. Even the youngest children, who had spent the afternoon happily playing, were infected by their parents’ fear and fell silent with the rest.
Alexa had not yet had time to develop any sentimental attachment to San Francisco, but she searched the disaster area with her eyes as intently as anyone else.
‘Where is Van Ness Avenue?’ she asked the woman standing nearest to her at that moment. Once it had been pointed out, recognizable by its unusual width, she sighed with relief. The fire was nowhere near it. There was no discernible obstacle to prevent Robert from making his way safely to the hills. If they had so far failed to find each other, it must be only because of the thousands of people around. In the morning light, everything would be easier. As for Margaret, Alexa had felt no real anxiety about her once it was known that she and Robert had not been hurt in the earthquake. As long as anyone needed a doctor, Margaret would continue to work. Returning to the tent, Alexa was able to subdue her fears and hope that all would be well in the morning.
She was accustomed to warm blankets and comfortable beds, and to a sleeping pattern which started very late at night and continued until late morning, not from sunset to sunrise. Stiff and uncomfortable, she awoke in a tetchy mood, made less bearable by the knowledge that she must be careful not to reveal it. Everyone around her had lost his home, his possessions, probably even his livelihood, while she was still only a stranger in San Francisco. True, she had hoped to make it her home, but there had not yet been time to acquire any real stake in the city. The tool of her trade was her voice, and she carried it with her. When she was so much less unfortunate than so many others, she could not expect sympathy. The realization of that fact did nothing to improve her temper.
Like everyone else, she stepped out first of all to look down on the city. The fire had spread during the night. It was moving now so steadily that it could be seen to devour one block after another along a wide front. Alexa heard gasps of horror and hysterical tears as some of her neighbours saw for the first time that their homes had ceased to exist.
Frank, who had slept outside the tent, came to stand beside her.
‘You and Aunt Halloran must get out of the city,’ he said. ‘Cassie will be taking it for granted that we shall all make our way to her as soon as we can.’
‘Is it possible to leave?’ asked Alexa.
‘The ferry is running across the bay to Oakland. There were so many thousand people in the queue already yesterday that I thought it hopeless to join in. But it is the only way out of San Francisco, and San Francisco is ceasing to exist. Even if the wait takes a week, to join the queue now may be the best plan.’
‘But the fire, surely, is between us and the ferry.’
‘The earliest buildings to burn are now safe from any further fire. The streets are hot to the feet, my father tells me, but there is a way through – it’s the way that relief food supplies are coming up here.’
‘I cannot leave without Margaret and Robert,’ said Alexa. ‘Even if Margaret doesn’t want to come, I must at least tell her where I am going.’
Frank nodded his understanding. ‘Look for them now, then, while I collect some food.’
Once again Alexa began to search, but this time she changed her mind after only a few moments. There were too many people, and most of them were on the move, searching for food or w
ater. While she went in one direction, Robert might pass within a few feet of her, hurrying the other way. She had had a better idea. She climbed on to a rocky outcrop and began to sing.
Although Alexa loved to have an audience, it was not exhibitionism which made her display herself at such a time. She preferred people to stare at her when she was looking her best, not when her clothes were crumpled and her face dirty, and her long hair strained into peasant plaits. But if she sang something high and piercing, her voice would carry over a long distance. And if she chose an aria from Carmen which Robert had recently heard her practising in the apartment, he would recognize the sound at once.
Alexa never allowed herself to sing less than perfectly: to be casual or slipshod was to risk spoiling her voice. She ignored the reactions of the people around her -some amazed, some admiring, and some almost angry that anyone could appear carefree when they themselves were despairing. Her interest at this moment was in one possible member of her audience only.
Robert came running, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, before she had finished the song. Alexa recognized at once that he had been distressed. She knew that he found it embarrassing to be hugged or kissed, especially in public, but she also guessed instinctively that he needed the opportunity now to express his relief. Still singing, although less loudly, she stepped down from her makeshift platform and whirled him round in the gypsy dance which the aria accompanied. She felt the tightness of his grip, and returned it in reassurance.
The relief of the reunion lasted for only a short time. She had been worried about him, and conscious that if he had suffered any kind of accident it would have been her fault for sending him out on her errand. Guilt made her first of all press for a quick assurance that at least he had been successful, and then snap at him in annoyance when she discovered that he had not.
Frank returned with the breakfast rations to find them still bickering.
The Lorimer Legacy Page 22