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Updated: June 14, 2025
His face was a bit grave as he said in answer to their inquiry: "No, it is not malaria, I am afraid. The doctors think it is typhoid. There has been a great deal of it in the city this summer, and the boy wouldn't take a vacation, was afraid I would stay here if he did. So I went up to Pelee, instead." It was typhoid, and young Price died within the week.
Forests and buildings in its path were leveled as by a tornado, wood was charred and set on fire by the incandescent fragments, all vegetation was destroyed, and to breathe the steam and hot, suffocating dust of the cloud was death to every living creature. On the morning of the 8th of May, 1902, the first of these peculiar avalanches from Mt. Pelee fell on the city of St.
Pierre not to flee the city, the article closing with the words, "Mont Pelée presents no more dangers to the inhabitants of St. Pierre than does Vesuvius to those of Naples." Next day the governor was dead, the members of the commission were dead, the editor was dead, and the presses on which this article had been printed had, in one blast, been fused into a mass of twisted metal.
"Why, those are Jack Miner's geese," remarked a voice of the waiting-room. I ignored a reply. A local witticism past doubt the cut-up of the place. Jack Miner, as I saw it, might own Pelee Island, Lake Erie or the District of Columbia, but no man's pronoun of possession has any business relation to a flock of wild geese, the same being about the wildest things we have left.
He so urged their labors of this day, by alternate threats and promises, that the canoe reached the eastern side of Point au Pelee at the very time of Cuyler's landing on its western shore.
Mont Pelee was regarded by the natives as a sort of protector; they had an almost superstitious affection for it. From the outskirts of the city it rose gradually, its sides grown thick with rich grass, and dotted here and there with spreading shrubbery and drooping trees.
To the accounts given by the survivors of the Roraima and the officers of the Etona, it will be well to add the following graphic story told by M. Albert, a planter of the island, the owner of an estate situated only a mile to the northeast of the burning crater of Mont Pelee. His escape from death had in it something of the marvellous.
I remember my father once describing how, when a young man, he had gone to the little island of Martinique shortly after the great volcanic outbreak of Mount Pelée. I remember his reluctance to dwell upon the scenes he saw there in that silent city of St.
The papers in this city are asking if we are going to experience another earthquake similar to that which struck here some fifty years ago." The writer of this letter and her husband, Consul Prentis, trusted Mont Pelee too long. They perished, with all the inhabitants of the city, in a deadly flood of fire and ashes that descended on the devoted place on the fateful morning of Thursday, May 8th.
Her nurse, Clara King, tells the following story of her experience: She says she was in her stateroom, when the steward of the Roraima called out to her: "Look at Mont Pelee." She went on deck and saw a vast mass of black cloud coming down from the volcano. The steward ordered her to return to the saloon, saying, "It is coming." Miss King then rushed to the saloon.
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