the disaster reaching her was from a small evening
newspaper printed in English, which in a very brief item said that "San
Francisco was destroyed by an earthquake this morning [April 18th]."
This was all the information which she could obtain that afternoon and
evening. A neighbor, a German lady, came in the next morning and told
her that the German newspapers of that morning said that the city of San
Francisco was on fire, and that the loss of life was enormous. That day,
the 19th, she visited the bulletin boards of the different newspapers,
and with her daughter endeavored to translate the brief cable telegrams
which were posted. The news came to London in English, and there cut
down as brief as possible and translated into German, so the information
was very brief. San Francisco people who were there sought one another
for news. Within a week the New York papers came, which gave more
particulars. While waiting for authentic information, such items as
these were in circulation: "Golden Gate Park has been withered by the
intense heat, and people are crowded to the beach," and that "Typhoid
fever has broken out"; that a tidal-wave had swept over the city; that
the earthquake shocks continued; that all communication with the
interior by rail or otherwise had been cut off; that thirty thousand
people had been killed. Whether her family and friends were alive she
did not know.

In this state of mind, she found in a New York paper a picture of the
Spreckels residence which showed mine. This was the first information
that she received in reference to her family or their belongings. Mr.
and Mrs. Dohrmann and his sister, Mrs. Paulsen, of San Francisco, were
in Dresden, and did much to allay the fears of the San Franciscans.

During the first few days the German people got over the excitement, but
not so with those whose homes were in this city. A letter which I mailed
to her on April 22d reached her on May 8th, which was the first one she
received, and which assured her of the safety of her family and friends.

Charles Stetson Wheeler, Jr., who was in school at Belmont, sends me an
interesting account of his experiences. He says:

I was awakened by the violent shaking of my bed, which rolled across the
room and struck the one occupied by my roommate. The pictures and frames
fell from the walls, the bowls and pitchers from the washstands, the
books from the shelves, and all were scattered over the floor. A piece
of plaster