“I don’t live anywhere,” was the
answer given in many cases when the applicant for
a license was asked the locality of his residence.
“I used to live in San Francisco.”
Births seem to have been about as common as marriages,
in one night five children being born in Golden Gate
Park. In Buena Vista Park eight births were recorded
and others elsewhere, the population being thus increased
at a rate hardly in accordance with the exigencies
of the situation.
We have spoken only of the camps of refugees within
the municipal limits of San Francisco. But in
addition to these was the multitude of fugitives who
made all haste to escape from that city. This
was with the full consent of the authorities, who
felt that every one gone lessened the immediate weight
upon themselves, and who issued a strict edict that
those who went must stay, that there could be no return
until a counter edict should be made public.
From the start this was one of the features of the
situation. Down Market Street, once San Francisco’s
pride, now leading through piles of tottering walls,
piles of still hot bricks and twisted iron and heaps
of smouldering debris, poured a huge stream of pedestrians.
Men bending under the weight of great bundles pushed
baby carriages loaded with bric-a-brac and children.
Women toiled along with their arms full, but a large
proportion were able to ride, for the relief corps
had been thoroughly organized and wagons were being
pressed into service from all sides.
In constant procession they moved toward the ferry,
whence the Southern Pacific was transporting them
with baggage free wherever they wished to go.
Automobiles meanwhile shot in all directions, carrying
the Red Cross flag and usually with a soldier carrying
a rifle in the front seat. They had the right
of way everywhere, carrying messages and transporting
the ill to temporary hospitals and bearing succor
to those in distress.
Oakland, the nearest place of resort, on the bay shore
opposite San Francisco, soon became a great city of
refuge, fugitives gathering there until 50,000 or
more were sheltered within its charitable limits.
Having suffered very slightly from the earthquake
that had wrecked the great city across the bay, it
was in condition to offer shelter to the unfortunate.
All day Wednesday and Thursday a stream of humanity
poured from the ferries, every one carrying personal
baggage and articles saved from the conflagration.
Hundreds of Chinese men, women and children, all carrying
baggage to the limit of their strength, made their
way into the limited Chinatown of Oakland.
