The 1924 hurricane
Like many structures in the islands of the Caribbean, the original Government House suffered the ravages of several tropical storms and the original building was destroyed by the extremely severe 1924 hurricane. In that devastating hurricane, Cameron Lodge was almost destroyed, all but for two rooms, in one of which the then Commissioner, Captain Otho Hancock OBE and his family sheltered during the storm.
These two surviving rooms were subsequently incorporated into the new Government House, which was completed some two years later in 1926. One of these rooms is co-incidentally now the site of the museum display which houses the dramatic ‘story’ of this hurricane as written by the Commissioner’s wife.
Agnes Hancock, resident in the House at the time, wrote an account of this frightening and unexpected hurricane in a personal letter to her family back in England. This document is a good description of a hurricane experience for which virtually no preparation had been made because little was known of what was to come.
Captain Otho Hancock, OBE, the Monarch’s Representative at the time on a tour of four year’s duration, and his wife, Agnes (affectionately ‘Cuckoo’ to her friends) were stationed in Tortola from 1923 – 1926. They had two sons, ‘Pat’, born 1918, and ‘Tuppy’, born in l920. There is a copy of an historical portrait now on display in Government House itself which portrays the family outside Old Government House.
An extract of Agnes Hancock’s account of the hurricane of 1924 follows: A printed piece can be purchased in the gift shop for $2
At 2 am on the morning of Thursday, August 28th, awoke to find O (Otho), on his crutches, he had been downstairs to look at the barometer, which had dropped alarmingly since the night before. We got up, went round with hammer and fastened all shutters and doors downstairs and returned to bed at 3.45. At 5am, the warning signal was blown through town, and from then onwards we had constant enquires pouring in to know what our barometer was doing. A very curious morning, wind coming fitfully in small gusts, sea calm, wind due north – our dangerous quarter. Otho to office as usual, but returned at 1 pm. Wind getting higher and sea now beginning to get rough; very unusual feel in atmosphere, and barometer continuing to fall; sent for carpenter to put jambs on outside doors of drawing room. (These had been built before we came and without jambs!!) We depended in event of a storm on the drawing room which has 2 ft thick walls, and the new dining only completed 9 months ago. These two rooms communicate, but until three weeks ago there was an open doorway between these two rooms, and no doors. Providence must have prompted O. to have some put up.
By 3 pm the wind was very strong, and still coming in curious gusts at intervals of 20 minutes, half hourly. Sea now roaring into harbour over reef. We shut upstairs and barred all doors, and shutters, securely. Brought pillows, etc., downstairs to camp for the night in the drawing room. Govt. launch’ St. Ursula’ went to cleaning hole a place of shelter behind mangrove, as did two sloops. A schooner, Fardjina belonging to Puerto Rico with Spanish crew was anchored in harbour about a quarter mile from here. Besides her own two anchors, she was moored to a 500 pound mooring with 90 ft of chain cable.
By 6 pm we had the kitchen and maid’s quarters shut down, also Otho’s workshop with all his tools, lathe and model engine he had just completed and many other things, and the rooms secured. Maids (3) in pantry which has a door leading into the west end of drawing room. Before finally shutting and barring the last door facing west, we watched waves breaking and spray blowing off the sea up the mountain sides. Many birds fishing and one solitary frigate bird hovering overhead around the house. Wind getting worse, barometer falling fast, gusts getting more frequent.
By 6.30 pm we were all secured. Pat and Tups sleeping on floor under eiderdown at one end of the dining room. 8.35, wind now terrific and we could see lightning through cracks in door, but all sound of thunder drowned by the wind. Otho took reading from the glasses every half hour. Had mercury barometer in dining room and aneroid in drawing room. Dining room now leaking and we walked on boards to get to barometer. To our horror, a door suddenly blew open. Otho put heavy strut against it after using all our force to close it. Had to hammer groove in cement floor to hold the support. Barometer now 29.57 and falling rapidly, wind increasing. Had been trying to read ‘Dombey and Son’ and Otho an engineering paper, but we had to give it up as we could no longer concentrate our minds. Both babies sleeping peacefully.
9 pm gusts getting more terrific, anxiously watched doors facing north. Water oozing through and under, making pools on the floor. Moved boys onto two chairs.
11.15 pm Barometer 29.22. Wind and noise horribly alarming, made more supports to door. Tore framework off of mosquito doors which had been erected by our predecessor and also a wooden seat. Ceiling now dripping, put basins on children’s cots and rugs over them. Terrific noises overhead and bumping. After reading barometer in dining room at 11.30 pm Otho saw the ceiling lift, so we had to abandon it with all speed and barricade the doors which had only been in existence for three weeks!!
11.43 pm I said to Otho “I shall light the lanterns in case the electric fails” 11.45 pm Electric light suddenly went. Terrible noises and bumpings. Sounds as if veranda and roof are departing!! They did between 12 midnight and 1 am. We just hung on and hoped for the best. Moved babies from one end of the room to the other, trying to dodge the water which was pouring through the ceiling. Terrible noises overhead and expected upstairs on our heads at any moment. Moved to pantry where three maids were. Put meat safe in front of door (wind had now gone west) and cook in front of the safe. Barometer at lowest 28.20 and we actually watched the pointer of the aneroid wavering between 28.25 and 28.15, but at the half hour reading the pointer showed 28.20, which is, therefore, the lowest reading recorded officially.
The image below and shown in the background to this page is an actual photograph of the house prior to the 1924 Hurricane
Put up umbrellas and tried to keep babies dry. Beat a hasty retreat back to the drawing room which by now was a pond, having seen pantry wall behaving somewhat like a wave! Also the bumping overhead was so alarming that we felt something must come through the ceiling. After 1 am the barometer showed signs of rising very slightly, but how we got through the hours 12 – 6 am I don’t know. We just watched the doors, nailed up more supports and hoped for the best.
Towards 6 am we heard voices outside, but we were almost afraid to open a door even then as it was still blowing hard; but the glass had continued to rise slowly. The people outside could not hear us answering and though, judging by the condition of the house, that we were all dead. Finally we opened a door, waded through the hall which was ankle deep in water, and stood on the stairs and were struck dumb by the sight we saw. It was worse than dreadful. The first thing that we saw was that the hospital roof had gone and we knew a man with a fractured leg had been lying there yesterday. Nothing but wreckage all around us; trees torn as if they had been twigs instead of big trees. All the mountains black and brown and looked as if they had been burnt, not a green thing to be seen. Every vestige of our verandah had gone and we saw nothing but wreckage and ruin around us. We sent the two men who had come to look for our remains off to the hospital fearing from what we could see that Miss Eldson couldn’t be alive, but were much relieved when they returned and told us all was well. The man with the broken leg had the sense to get under his bed, when the roof went, but although buried was unhurt. We then explored the remains of Government House. Dining room full of water and half the roof gone, walls all pouring and everything drenched and furniture smashed. Upstairs found half the roof had gone over our late bedroom, with result that all windows or doors were either blown away or open (in most cases blown away!) All three bedrooms were lakes to put it mildly. Otho’s dressing room, marble top washstand, big cupboard full of children’s things, trunks etc. all blown away with verandah, to say nothing of clothes.
Every mattress on beds soaking and had later to have water remove with a cup. Nothing can describe the mess, clothes, books, photos, everything; just a pulp of mess and wetness. All shelves in cupboards full of water, removed two bedroom basins full from a shelf where I kept china above hanging cupboard with my frocks, everyone ruined. Every piece of linen in cupboards soaked through and through. Old fashioned, heavy mahogany dressing table with mirror and marble top completely blown off in the bedroom and broken to pieces. These are only a few instances. Maids quarters, a separate wooden building at one end of which Otho had his workshop, lathe, tools and engine, he had just finished building, all completely gone; nothing but a few stones left. A door from upstairs we can see quite 150 yards up the mountainside, and yet an electric light bulb which had been over our beds in our late lamented bedroom was picked up unbroken at the bottom of the hill. This must have gone through the hole in the roof and around the house. It seems almost incredible, but it is true.
These two surviving rooms were subsequently incorporated into the new Government House, which was completed some two years later in 1926. One of these rooms is co-incidentally now the site of the museum display which houses the dramatic ‘story’ of this hurricane as written by the Commissioner’s wife.
Agnes Hancock, resident in the House at the time, wrote an account of this frightening and unexpected hurricane in a personal letter to her family back in England. This document is a good description of a hurricane experience for which virtually no preparation had been made because little was known of what was to come.
Captain Otho Hancock, OBE, the Monarch’s Representative at the time on a tour of four year’s duration, and his wife, Agnes (affectionately ‘Cuckoo’ to her friends) were stationed in Tortola from 1923 – 1926. They had two sons, ‘Pat’, born 1918, and ‘Tuppy’, born in l920. There is a copy of an historical portrait now on display in Government House itself which portrays the family outside Old Government House.
An extract of Agnes Hancock’s account of the hurricane of 1924 follows: A printed piece can be purchased in the gift shop for $2
At 2 am on the morning of Thursday, August 28th, awoke to find O (Otho), on his crutches, he had been downstairs to look at the barometer, which had dropped alarmingly since the night before. We got up, went round with hammer and fastened all shutters and doors downstairs and returned to bed at 3.45. At 5am, the warning signal was blown through town, and from then onwards we had constant enquires pouring in to know what our barometer was doing. A very curious morning, wind coming fitfully in small gusts, sea calm, wind due north – our dangerous quarter. Otho to office as usual, but returned at 1 pm. Wind getting higher and sea now beginning to get rough; very unusual feel in atmosphere, and barometer continuing to fall; sent for carpenter to put jambs on outside doors of drawing room. (These had been built before we came and without jambs!!) We depended in event of a storm on the drawing room which has 2 ft thick walls, and the new dining only completed 9 months ago. These two rooms communicate, but until three weeks ago there was an open doorway between these two rooms, and no doors. Providence must have prompted O. to have some put up.
By 3 pm the wind was very strong, and still coming in curious gusts at intervals of 20 minutes, half hourly. Sea now roaring into harbour over reef. We shut upstairs and barred all doors, and shutters, securely. Brought pillows, etc., downstairs to camp for the night in the drawing room. Govt. launch’ St. Ursula’ went to cleaning hole a place of shelter behind mangrove, as did two sloops. A schooner, Fardjina belonging to Puerto Rico with Spanish crew was anchored in harbour about a quarter mile from here. Besides her own two anchors, she was moored to a 500 pound mooring with 90 ft of chain cable.
By 6 pm we had the kitchen and maid’s quarters shut down, also Otho’s workshop with all his tools, lathe and model engine he had just completed and many other things, and the rooms secured. Maids (3) in pantry which has a door leading into the west end of drawing room. Before finally shutting and barring the last door facing west, we watched waves breaking and spray blowing off the sea up the mountain sides. Many birds fishing and one solitary frigate bird hovering overhead around the house. Wind getting worse, barometer falling fast, gusts getting more frequent.
By 6.30 pm we were all secured. Pat and Tups sleeping on floor under eiderdown at one end of the dining room. 8.35, wind now terrific and we could see lightning through cracks in door, but all sound of thunder drowned by the wind. Otho took reading from the glasses every half hour. Had mercury barometer in dining room and aneroid in drawing room. Dining room now leaking and we walked on boards to get to barometer. To our horror, a door suddenly blew open. Otho put heavy strut against it after using all our force to close it. Had to hammer groove in cement floor to hold the support. Barometer now 29.57 and falling rapidly, wind increasing. Had been trying to read ‘Dombey and Son’ and Otho an engineering paper, but we had to give it up as we could no longer concentrate our minds. Both babies sleeping peacefully.
9 pm gusts getting more terrific, anxiously watched doors facing north. Water oozing through and under, making pools on the floor. Moved boys onto two chairs.
11.15 pm Barometer 29.22. Wind and noise horribly alarming, made more supports to door. Tore framework off of mosquito doors which had been erected by our predecessor and also a wooden seat. Ceiling now dripping, put basins on children’s cots and rugs over them. Terrific noises overhead and bumping. After reading barometer in dining room at 11.30 pm Otho saw the ceiling lift, so we had to abandon it with all speed and barricade the doors which had only been in existence for three weeks!!
11.43 pm I said to Otho “I shall light the lanterns in case the electric fails” 11.45 pm Electric light suddenly went. Terrible noises and bumpings. Sounds as if veranda and roof are departing!! They did between 12 midnight and 1 am. We just hung on and hoped for the best. Moved babies from one end of the room to the other, trying to dodge the water which was pouring through the ceiling. Terrible noises overhead and expected upstairs on our heads at any moment. Moved to pantry where three maids were. Put meat safe in front of door (wind had now gone west) and cook in front of the safe. Barometer at lowest 28.20 and we actually watched the pointer of the aneroid wavering between 28.25 and 28.15, but at the half hour reading the pointer showed 28.20, which is, therefore, the lowest reading recorded officially.
The image below and shown in the background to this page is an actual photograph of the house prior to the 1924 Hurricane
Put up umbrellas and tried to keep babies dry. Beat a hasty retreat back to the drawing room which by now was a pond, having seen pantry wall behaving somewhat like a wave! Also the bumping overhead was so alarming that we felt something must come through the ceiling. After 1 am the barometer showed signs of rising very slightly, but how we got through the hours 12 – 6 am I don’t know. We just watched the doors, nailed up more supports and hoped for the best.
Towards 6 am we heard voices outside, but we were almost afraid to open a door even then as it was still blowing hard; but the glass had continued to rise slowly. The people outside could not hear us answering and though, judging by the condition of the house, that we were all dead. Finally we opened a door, waded through the hall which was ankle deep in water, and stood on the stairs and were struck dumb by the sight we saw. It was worse than dreadful. The first thing that we saw was that the hospital roof had gone and we knew a man with a fractured leg had been lying there yesterday. Nothing but wreckage all around us; trees torn as if they had been twigs instead of big trees. All the mountains black and brown and looked as if they had been burnt, not a green thing to be seen. Every vestige of our verandah had gone and we saw nothing but wreckage and ruin around us. We sent the two men who had come to look for our remains off to the hospital fearing from what we could see that Miss Eldson couldn’t be alive, but were much relieved when they returned and told us all was well. The man with the broken leg had the sense to get under his bed, when the roof went, but although buried was unhurt. We then explored the remains of Government House. Dining room full of water and half the roof gone, walls all pouring and everything drenched and furniture smashed. Upstairs found half the roof had gone over our late bedroom, with result that all windows or doors were either blown away or open (in most cases blown away!) All three bedrooms were lakes to put it mildly. Otho’s dressing room, marble top washstand, big cupboard full of children’s things, trunks etc. all blown away with verandah, to say nothing of clothes.
Every mattress on beds soaking and had later to have water remove with a cup. Nothing can describe the mess, clothes, books, photos, everything; just a pulp of mess and wetness. All shelves in cupboards full of water, removed two bedroom basins full from a shelf where I kept china above hanging cupboard with my frocks, everyone ruined. Every piece of linen in cupboards soaked through and through. Old fashioned, heavy mahogany dressing table with mirror and marble top completely blown off in the bedroom and broken to pieces. These are only a few instances. Maids quarters, a separate wooden building at one end of which Otho had his workshop, lathe, tools and engine, he had just finished building, all completely gone; nothing but a few stones left. A door from upstairs we can see quite 150 yards up the mountainside, and yet an electric light bulb which had been over our beds in our late lamented bedroom was picked up unbroken at the bottom of the hill. This must have gone through the hole in the roof and around the house. It seems almost incredible, but it is true.
The photograph above was taken in 1924 immediately after the hurricane tore through the British Virgin Islands. It shows the young son of Commissioner Capt Hancock OBE crying as his home is in ruins.
Roof of electric light engine house gone and engine wet, to say the least of it. But Otho covered it, oiled it, and on Sunday afternoon put on some kind of roof of shutters and galvanised, and on Sunday evening he had mended wires and we had light that evening downstairs. Our roof, we can see in the sea, some of it has been retrieved. The schooner ‘Fardijna’ is on her side, keel-less and with a hole in her side just below our wall in spite of her heavy anchorage, and loads of bags of charcoal with which she was heavily laden. All the boats in the place of safety, the Cleaning Hole were ashore, one of them is just below the hospital terribly mutilated. Of the quarantine station hardly a trace remains, even concrete walls have gone, and how Ince, our one eyed gardener and his wife who lived there are alive is a mystery. Before I forget, talking of Ince, the day after the hurricane he arrived here with a basket on his head, and enquiring what he had, this is the answer I got. “This is what the breeze leave, Mistress”. A few mangoes from the Experiment Station. This was the first good laugh we had, - the hurricane being called ‘a breeze’.
To go further afield. What had once been the town was ruin and wreckage, much like the pictures one saw of villages in France after being shelled. A house stood here and there, but most of them were just masses of wreckage, completely blocking the road and we had to climb over portions of roof etc., to get along at all. The sea did much of the damage in the town, as it came up and literally floated the wooden houses off of their wooden foundations.
The far end of the town which is more sheltered did not suffer so badly, the church, thanks to a good roof, which was put on after the 1916 hurricane stood the storm and only inside damage was done. Also the school stood and is now full of refugees and lots of babies.
As for the Wesleyan church, which is only a stone’s throw from ours, it is like a pack of cards, completely razed to the ground. Their schoolroom, however, stood and is now a temporary hospital.
We next heard terrible tales of dead and wounded. We have twenty nine dead and I believe between 70 and 80 wounded and most of the population homeless and destitute. Many people live in the mountains and I believe hardly a house remains. As for the wounds, some of them are terrible, ghastly deep gashes, many on the head, most of them septic as they could not get to town at once for treatment. It was particularly distressing to see small children with ghastly wounds. One small girl of three years has her skull exposed, her father, mother and five brothers and sisters were killed. Another baby aged about six months had its skull fractured and a ghastly septic wound; but mercifully it died after a week. Baughers Bay, where we used to go to bathe got terribly devastated, a man called Jennings had built a big new house there where many people rushed to for safety. Not a stick or stone of the house remains. Jennings died after a week, with broken limbs and terrible wounds. The Americans from St. Thomas sent us the first relief and a motor boat bought food and medical aid, tents and a Doctor and assistant, and took eleven of our worst cases to hospital in St. Thomas.
Roof of electric light engine house gone and engine wet, to say the least of it. But Otho covered it, oiled it, and on Sunday afternoon put on some kind of roof of shutters and galvanised, and on Sunday evening he had mended wires and we had light that evening downstairs. Our roof, we can see in the sea, some of it has been retrieved. The schooner ‘Fardijna’ is on her side, keel-less and with a hole in her side just below our wall in spite of her heavy anchorage, and loads of bags of charcoal with which she was heavily laden. All the boats in the place of safety, the Cleaning Hole were ashore, one of them is just below the hospital terribly mutilated. Of the quarantine station hardly a trace remains, even concrete walls have gone, and how Ince, our one eyed gardener and his wife who lived there are alive is a mystery. Before I forget, talking of Ince, the day after the hurricane he arrived here with a basket on his head, and enquiring what he had, this is the answer I got. “This is what the breeze leave, Mistress”. A few mangoes from the Experiment Station. This was the first good laugh we had, - the hurricane being called ‘a breeze’.
To go further afield. What had once been the town was ruin and wreckage, much like the pictures one saw of villages in France after being shelled. A house stood here and there, but most of them were just masses of wreckage, completely blocking the road and we had to climb over portions of roof etc., to get along at all. The sea did much of the damage in the town, as it came up and literally floated the wooden houses off of their wooden foundations.
The far end of the town which is more sheltered did not suffer so badly, the church, thanks to a good roof, which was put on after the 1916 hurricane stood the storm and only inside damage was done. Also the school stood and is now full of refugees and lots of babies.
As for the Wesleyan church, which is only a stone’s throw from ours, it is like a pack of cards, completely razed to the ground. Their schoolroom, however, stood and is now a temporary hospital.
We next heard terrible tales of dead and wounded. We have twenty nine dead and I believe between 70 and 80 wounded and most of the population homeless and destitute. Many people live in the mountains and I believe hardly a house remains. As for the wounds, some of them are terrible, ghastly deep gashes, many on the head, most of them septic as they could not get to town at once for treatment. It was particularly distressing to see small children with ghastly wounds. One small girl of three years has her skull exposed, her father, mother and five brothers and sisters were killed. Another baby aged about six months had its skull fractured and a ghastly septic wound; but mercifully it died after a week. Baughers Bay, where we used to go to bathe got terribly devastated, a man called Jennings had built a big new house there where many people rushed to for safety. Not a stick or stone of the house remains. Jennings died after a week, with broken limbs and terrible wounds. The Americans from St. Thomas sent us the first relief and a motor boat bought food and medical aid, tents and a Doctor and assistant, and took eleven of our worst cases to hospital in St. Thomas.
The black and white photograph above shows a wooden house toppled by the 1924 Hurricane
Pat’s and Tuppy’s goats made soup for the destitute the first two days and we all had work enough, and still have, although three weeks have passed. On the second morning after the hurricane, a small boat came in from one of the outer islands with a palm leaf for a sail, a pathetic sight. We could not get news from our other islands, Jost Van Dyke, with a population of 4-500. Salt Island, Peter Island, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and of course had no means of getting to them with the Government Launch high and dry ashore, but now of course all have had relief, and many wounded brought from Jost Van Dyke who got the full force of the storm.
It is the same story everywhere, people homeless and lost their all.
On September 9th H.M.S. Valerian arrived with the Acting Governor, Archbishop and other good friends. All the ship’s crew worked for two days, but even 60 of them couldn’t move a house which still completely blocks the road which had been floated off of its foundations.
Long before the ship came the roads were passable again. Otho took a gang of workers at one end of town. Mr. Roy started at the other end, and for three hours they worked with their own hands and shamed certain lazy individuals into helping.
To go back to the ship. They bought us food and seven huge cases of clothing. These we have in the church and three of us are sorting and doing up parcels all day. Long lists are coming in from all parts of the island and outlying islands asking for clothes, and it is a work of art sorting and finding garments for entire families, especially when the age and the sex of the children is not specified , and some lists have things like the following example. “Have lost roof, trunk and three children”.
As there are only three other white women in the place besides myself, and one of these a nurse whose hands are full, you can imagine we are somewhat busy, and now Barbados has sent us thirteen more packing cases of clothes and more are coming from other islands, so we go on, and in the midst of it all we are going to move our bed-sitting room (one time drawing room) and moving all our remaining belongings, furniture etc. to the Botanic Station, the quarters there have been patched, and this house will have to be completely rebuilt, so we will turn the Botanic Station into a temporary Government House. This is impossible, especially in wet weather, when even our last remaining room drips and the hurricane season is not over yet.
They say this is the worst breeze experienced for many years.
I am not sure of figures, but something like £25,000 worth of damage has been done in these islands alone. We all have work enough to last many months, but ours is nothing compared to Otho’s who has everything on his shoulders, and not a white man on his staff. Still many people have been splendid, and we are all so thankful to be alive and unhurt.
Pat’s and Tuppy’s goats made soup for the destitute the first two days and we all had work enough, and still have, although three weeks have passed. On the second morning after the hurricane, a small boat came in from one of the outer islands with a palm leaf for a sail, a pathetic sight. We could not get news from our other islands, Jost Van Dyke, with a population of 4-500. Salt Island, Peter Island, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and of course had no means of getting to them with the Government Launch high and dry ashore, but now of course all have had relief, and many wounded brought from Jost Van Dyke who got the full force of the storm.
It is the same story everywhere, people homeless and lost their all.
On September 9th H.M.S. Valerian arrived with the Acting Governor, Archbishop and other good friends. All the ship’s crew worked for two days, but even 60 of them couldn’t move a house which still completely blocks the road which had been floated off of its foundations.
Long before the ship came the roads were passable again. Otho took a gang of workers at one end of town. Mr. Roy started at the other end, and for three hours they worked with their own hands and shamed certain lazy individuals into helping.
To go back to the ship. They bought us food and seven huge cases of clothing. These we have in the church and three of us are sorting and doing up parcels all day. Long lists are coming in from all parts of the island and outlying islands asking for clothes, and it is a work of art sorting and finding garments for entire families, especially when the age and the sex of the children is not specified , and some lists have things like the following example. “Have lost roof, trunk and three children”.
As there are only three other white women in the place besides myself, and one of these a nurse whose hands are full, you can imagine we are somewhat busy, and now Barbados has sent us thirteen more packing cases of clothes and more are coming from other islands, so we go on, and in the midst of it all we are going to move our bed-sitting room (one time drawing room) and moving all our remaining belongings, furniture etc. to the Botanic Station, the quarters there have been patched, and this house will have to be completely rebuilt, so we will turn the Botanic Station into a temporary Government House. This is impossible, especially in wet weather, when even our last remaining room drips and the hurricane season is not over yet.
They say this is the worst breeze experienced for many years.
I am not sure of figures, but something like £25,000 worth of damage has been done in these islands alone. We all have work enough to last many months, but ours is nothing compared to Otho’s who has everything on his shoulders, and not a white man on his staff. Still many people have been splendid, and we are all so thankful to be alive and unhurt.