In three days, which seemed only as so many hours, there faded out of existence noble business blocks, grand and imposing structures, beautiful and superb residences the homes of the Argonauts, the sea kings, mining barons and merchant princes, together with the marts and dwellings of those who toil and delve and go down to the sea in ships, completely desolating and razing by fire three-fourths of this once beautiful metropolis of the whole Pacific Coast on either the northern or southern continents. Nor was the City of San Francisco alone in its extremity, for many smaller and populous towns within a radius of seventy-five miles were subjected to the peril of the mighty corkscrew quakings, Santa Rosa being entirely shaken down; Salinas, San Jose, Palo Alto, Santa Cruz, Berkeley, Alameda and Oakland all suffering great property losses and some human lives. The beautiful structures of the Leland Stanford, Jr., University, at Palo Alto, all erected and endowed to a sum in excess of $40,000,000 by the late Senator Leland Stanford and his philanthrophic wife, were almost completely wrecked, including the Memorial Cathedral, which contained the largest and finest collection of mosaic pictures on the Western Hemisphere. At no point in the affected area were the earthquake shocks so severe and destructive as in the down town district, south of Market and east of Kearny streets, where were the large office buildings, newspaper offices, banks, wholesale stores and warehouses, the occupants of which conducted the business, commerce and financial engagements of not only the major portion of the Pacific Slope, but a large and constantly-growing Oriental trade as well. The opportune hour of the morning was all that saved the lives of the untold thousands who labored there, but had not as yet left their homes in the residence sections of the ill-fated city. Hardly had the mighty tremblor ceased its gyrations when innumerable fires broke out among the chaotic ruins, having caught from engine furnaces, broken electric wire conduits and spontaneous combustion, fed by the most inflammable of materials and fanned by a stiff breeze from the bay, grew and spread into what shortly became the most stupendous and widespread, as well as awe-inspiring conflagration, which any people of the eighteenth or nineteenth century have ever as yet looked upon or flown from. Had the water mains not have been ruptured, the splendid San Francisco fire department might have been able to cope with these many outbursts of flame at their inception, but deprived of water in the mains, they nobly fought the appalling flames by pumping water from the bay at as many places as length of hose and their engines' ability would permit; but their efforts to stay the onrushing, wide-spreading flames proved as a match's flicker before a whirlwind.