Williston graphic. (Williston, Williams County, N.D.) 1895-1919, 1902-09-18
DESTRUCTION OF ST. PIERRE.
Graphic Manner the Eruption
OF Mont Pelee..

The following paragraphs are part
OF letter in the form of journal
written to the absent bishop of Mar
Unique by Vicar General Parel, the
whole forming an historic document
of great intelligence and particular
lty. A copy of the original was given
by the writer to Chaplain MacGrail,
OF the Dixie, and appears entire in
Century. The qualities of trained
observer appear in these pathetic pas
sages:
Thursday, May 8. The Ascension.
This date should be written in blood!
Toward four o'clock in the morn.
ing violent thunderstorm, with tor
rents of rain, broke over Fort de
France. Toward eight o'clock the
horizon in the north, in the direction
OF the volcano, was as black as ink.
The clouds were moving rapidly to-
ward the northwest. The sky was
darkening more and more, when sud-
denly l heard something like hail
falling on the roofs and the leaves
of the trees. A great noise rose
from the city. In church, where the
eight o'clock mass was in progress,
terrible panic seized the congrega-
ton, and the priest was left stand
ing alone.
Might had descended on us, and the
crash of thunder was continuous. The
sea retreated three times for dis
lance of several hundred meters. The
boat which was putting out of St.
Pierre turned back. ......
II stepped out on my balcony to take
In the situation, and Immediately it
was covered with hail of stones and
still hot cinders. People stood petri-
fled on their doors tops. Others ran
wildly here and there through the
streets. All this lasted for about q
quarter of an hour-a quarter on an
hour of terror.
'But what was happening at St.
Pierre? No one dared to think. Tel
ephonic communicat ton had been cut
off abruptly in the middle of word.
Some persons asserted that they had
seen, above the tops Of the mountains
separating us from St. Pierre, col
umn of fire rising into the sky and
spreading outward toward all points
of the horizon. Boundless anxiety
seized upon us all. At II o'clock the
Marin set out to reconnoiter. 1t wit.
messed sight appalling beyond imag.
ination. St. Pierre was nothing but
one vast brazier! When the truth,
like the funeral knell of Martinique,
reached us at about one o'clock, cry
of horror went up not to be described
1 will not try to give a picture of
such scenes. TO write of them would
take the pen of Dante and the ac-
cents of Jeremiah.
IL learn that boat is to be sent out
to rescue the wounded. I am fortu-
nate enough to obtain place in it,
together with one of my Wears. The
police and gendarmes cannot keep back
the crowd struggling to make it's way
on board The expedition is composed
of the public prosecutor of the repub.
lie, and officer, and platoon of ma.
rines. People refuse to believe in the
realities of so horrible disaste The "
cling to every hypothesis that may still
make hope possible. We say to our.
selves that, at least, great part OF
the population must have had time to
fee!
"When, about four o'clock in the
afternoon, we turn the last promon-
tory that separates us from what was
once the magnificent panorama Of St.
Pierre, the first sight hat strikes our
eyes, at the farther end Of the road
stead, is Riviere Blanche, with it's
stream of smoke, throwing itself fu-
riously, as the day be fore, into the sea.
Then, a little farther out, a large
steamer (the Roraima) in flames. We
hear that it is an American packet,
just arrived that morning, IN time to
be enveloped in the catastrophe. Two
other steamboats, are burning nearer
the shore. Wreckage and the up
turned keels of boats strew the road.
stead. And this is all that IS left Of
the 80 or 40 ships anchored here the
day previous. All along the quays,
for distance of 200 N ters, piles of
lumber are burning. There are small
err fires on the hills a bout the city, WIS.,
ible, through the smoke, as far as
Fonds Core. But St. Pierre. that city
this morning alive, full of human
souls, is no more! 1t lies consumed
before us, in it's winding-sheet Of
smoke and cinders, silent and isolate,
a city of the dead. We strain our
eyes for fleeing inha bitants, for men
returning to bury their lost ones. We
see no one! There is no living being
left in this desert of desola ton, framed
in terrifying solitude. In the back
ground, when the cloud of smoke and
cinders breaks away, the mountain
and its slopes, once SO green, stand
forth like an Alpine landscape. They
look as if they were covered with
heavy cloak of snow, and through the
thickened atmosphere rays of pale
sunshine, wan, and unknown to our
ATTITUDES, illumine this scene with
light that seems to belong to the other
side of the grave.
'With what profound emotion I
raise my hand over these 5000 victims
sleeping, in their dread tomb, their
last sleep!"