Catastrophe (part thirty-three)
La Catastrophe de la Martinique
The 21st, the crater still smokes a great deal.
The 22nd, the mission departs and works as usual. We recognize, as was announced by the Suchet, that the city has changed in appearance. This time the ruins are consumed. Everything above 3 meters in height is razed. All the east-west walls in the Ford district, and the north-south in the district of the Mouillage, are razed. Those that remain barely stand. The second tower of the cathedral has fallen. The Eiffel bridge, on the Roxelane, has been carried away. The ash and mud have leveled the districts… etc., etc.
A search done before the old barracks indicates 30 centimeters of ash. Though the rain fell in quantity, this ash up to 3 centimeters is still hot. We had left in the streets of Longchamp, Amité, etc., 800 corpses that needed incinerating. We can no longer find them. They have been buried in ash.
The crater smokes a little.
(This was in the morning, for in the evening from five to six o’clock, arriving on the Saint-Domingue, I had seen from the sea an immense eruption of the crater, with glowing smoke—Hess.)
We saw with the naked eye a great rent, which cut the mountain in the direction of the southwest; a rent that had not existed on the 19th. The tremors of the twentieth have all-in-all modified the form of the mountain. It is entirely split.
The 24th, the mission continues its work.
These things were said by M. Cappa, who had noted in his book up to May 30, when I met him for the last time, 3678 corpses incinerated. M. Cappa told me a thousand interesting things. I have noted the summary of his observations on the appearance of the corpses:
“Nearly all are lying on their stomachs. Barely a proportion of 1 in 100 are lying on their backs. So it can be said that all fell with their heads to the south. The eyes were burned. The orbit is a black hole. There is a foam at the mouth. The tongue is out. We saw that many men had died in a fit of excitement. All the corpses were naked. They had neither hair nor beard. The flesh was either carbonized or reddened and peeling. The fat had melted. The bowels of many had burst. The breasts of the women were bloated and punctured. The remains seemed to lie in pieces…
“The medical instructions given to the mission,” continued M. Cappa, “prescribed burying the bodies in accord with scientifically established rules. A load of precautions, very good where we can conform to these… But, here, it was impossible. When we found a body, or a pile of bodies—before one house in the hospital district there were twenty-three—we covered them with pieces of wood, tree branches; we sprinkled them with petrol; we lit it, and the next day, went back to see. Generally, we found a pile of ashes. All were calcined.”
(This is astonishing enough, for incineration of corpses demands a great amount of heat, as results from a substantial piling of wood. What served, I think, to make all these corpses disappear, is the ash from the eruption of the 20th.)
“My mission,” continued M. Cappa, “comprises 200 men, who operate in teams of ten. We have already used 180 cans of petrol. The winds from the south have allowed us to work methodically.”
You see all the horror contained within these cold lines? I have lived this horror…a day in the broken city, in the city of corpses…
La Catastrophe de la Martinique
(1902, Jean Hess, La Catastrophe de la Martinique; 2018, translation, Stephanie Foster)