The Chronicler

Unfortunately, another monstrous quake struck six hours later at 8 o’clock in the morning. The aftershock released as much violent terror as the first. But this time, the total effect was visible.

“She’s coming back on us, Sir!” the pilot screeched.

“What is, Jack?”

“The entire river, Sir!” the befuddled fellow pointed. “The current has reversed!”

“Steer into it, man!” Roosevelt barked. “Don’t let the leading wave swamp us!”

Aware of necessity, the engineer jerked the firebox damper open and shoveled more coal. The rapid side wheel responded, and the New Orleans quickened her pace, leaving a plume of ash and glowing cinders in the boat’s wake. Bucking like a wild horse, the steamship plowed into the rolling billow. Crashing through the ridge of water, the bow lifted and dropped between each intervening trough and peak.

Within four hours, another massive tumult battered the torn earth and roiled the troubled tide. The horrific midday shock whipped a bleak veil of dust and vile gas overhead. The revolting mist obliterated every scrap of blue sky and blotted the beaming sun.