The Lisbon Earthquake

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 14, 1874

The Lisbon Earthquake.

A FEARFUL TRAGEDY OF THE LAST CENTURY.

[THE following is the most impressive description of the great event that marked the opening of the sixth seal, Rev. 6:12, that we have ever seen.—ED. REVIEW.]

The morning of Nov. 1, 1755, dawned serene, but the heavens were hazy. Since midnight the thermometer had risen 1 degree, and stood at 9 o'clock at 14 above freezing, Réaumur. As it was the feast of All-Saints, the churches were thronged from an early hour, and all their altars brilliantly illuminated with thousands of tapers, and decorated with garlands of various tinted muslin and thin silk. At a quarter of 10 o'clock, the first shock was felt. It was so slight that many persons attributed it to the passage of heavy wagons in the street, and even to mere fancy. Three minutes afterward, a second shock occurred, so violent that it seemed as if the heavens and earth were passing away. This agitation lasted fully ten minutes, and ere it diminished, the greater portion of the city was in ruins. The dust raised obscured the sun; an Egyptian darkness prevailed, and to add to the universal horror, the fearful screams of the living and the groans of the dying rose through the air.

In twenty minutes all became calm again, and people began to look around them, and consider the best means of escape. Some were for going to the hills, but were soon discouraged from so doing by the rumors that those who had already gone thither were suffocating from the effects of the dense fog of dust which still rose from the falling buildings. Then they rushed toward the quays which line a part of the Tagus, but only to learn the horrible news that these had sunk into the earth, with all the people and edifices upon them.

Those who thought to put to sea were told to look at the river, and lo! in its center they beheld a whirlpool which was sucking in all the vessels and boats in its vicinity, not a fragment of any of them being ever seen again. The royal palace had been entirely swallowed up, and over its site is now the vast square of the Baco, or Black Horse, one of the largest public places in Europe. The great library of the Holy Ghost was in flames, and its priceless Moorish and Hebrew manuscripts were fast becoming ashes. The opera-house had fallen in, the Inquisition was no more, and the great church of San Domingo was a heap of stones, beneath which lay crushed to atoms the entire congregation. The Irish church of St. Paul was the death place of a thousand persons, and the palace of Bemposta, where Catherine of Braganza, widow of Charles II., lived and died, had fallen over from the heights on which it was built, and utterly destroyed the poor but populous part of the town which lay beneath it. In a word, where but an hour since was Lisbon was now nothing but desolation. As to the people, who can describe their condition? At least 70,000 persons had perished, and the majority of the survivors were cruelly wounded and in an agony of mind and body. Some went mad with fright, some lost forever the power of speech, sinners went about confessing their secret crimes, and fanatics, believing the last day had come, cried out to the horror-stricken multitude “to repent, for that Christ was coming to judge the quick and the dead.”

As the day waxed on, the wretched Lisbonese grew calmer, and it was universally declared that the safest places, now that the dust was diminishing, were the heights overlooking the city, and thither the majority fled. Here they found the Court assembled, for the Royal family was fortunately at Belem, where, strange to say, the earthquake was scarcely felt at all, and had hastened at once to the hills. The Cardinal-Patriarch was here also, and so was Pombal; and these two men, with surprising presence of mind, by their admirable courage, were enabled before night to inspire some feeling of order in the excited throng. The King and Queen behaved nobly, and the young Duke of Lafoens deserves to be immortalized for his splendid conduct. He organized a band of noblemen who went about aiding the wounded, rescuing the children, and even burying the dead.

It was a strange and awful sight to see this multitude gather together on the summit of the hills which once overlooked their magnificent capital, and which now looked down upon a mere mass of smoldering ruins. As day declined and night came on, the Cardinal issued a proclamation, ordering all to kneel in prayer and entreat the mercy of God upon them, and then rose on the air the wailing tone of that saddest of psalms, the Miserere. When the shades of night had fully fallen, a frightful discovery was made; the city was in flames in a hundred places. The conflagration was greatly increased by a strong wind blowing in from the sea. There was now no hope of saving anything, and it was but too well known that thousands of human beings who had taken refuge in the cellars and crypts were being roasted alive.

But if the anxiety of the escaped was dreadful to witness, the scenes within the city itself were even more terrible. Robbers, escaped jail-birds, low sailors, and degraded negroes, formed bands, and went about amidst the ruins pillaging the wounded of their trinkets, and even murdering those who ventured to oppose their ghastly deeds. The lewd inhabitants of the brothels broke from the rigid restraint in which they were confined by the law and joined the bandits. They plundered such of the wine-stores as were left intact, and maddened with drink and probably with terror, cast off their garments, and went dancing and whooping blasphemous songs through the desolate streets, if such they could now be called, while the lurid light from the innumerable fires cast a blood-colored glow on their naked and contorted forms. They got into the churches, robbed the sacred images, threw the holy vestments over their shoulders, and made the ruined walls re-echo the shouts of their beastly revelry. “It seemed,” says Fray Bernardo de Carmo, “as if hell had vomited forth its demons, and that the powers of darkness had indeed prevailed.”

From the cellars of the houses rose the piercing cries of those who were perishing of their neglected wounds, or suffering from the effects of foul atmosphere. Here a mother wept over the bodies of her children; there a group of timid nuns stood around their Abbess and knew not which way to turn; now a fanatic rushed along howling dismal prophecies; now a long file of white-clad Cistercians passed by reciting mournful prayers; and then again fell upon the ear the horrid maniacal laughter of the gang of lewd women and brutal men at their dreadful revelry. An aged noble woman in full court garments was seen searching among the ruins of her palace for her jewels; and a famous Phryne of the day, Theresa Brandao, suddenly converted, did such noble deeds of charity that her name deserves to be written in letters of gold.

For fifteen days was the city infested with robbers, until Carvalho, afterward the celebrated Minister Pombal, set an example of courage and energy. He descended into Lisbon, and remained days and nights together in his carriage or on horseback, directing affairs and assisting in clearing away the ruins; he planted soldiers all over the city, and whoever could not give a clear account of the property found in his possession was hung then and there, and three hundred and fifty-seven persons thus perished. Many months elapsed ere tranquillity was in a measure restored, and before the people began to think of rebuilding their homes. Indeed, it was at one time almost decided to remove the capital to Rio de Janeiro.—Lippincott for July.