the tumultuous bosom of the river, carrying down with them the cottonwood trees cracking and crashing, tossing their arms to and fro, as if sensible of their danger, while they disappeared beneath the flood. From the check given to the current by the heaving bottom, the river rose in a few minutes five or six feet and again rushed forward with redoubled impetuosity, hurrying along the boats, now let loose by the horror-stricken boatmen, as in less danger on the water than on the land."
Whole islands disappeared. Captain Sarpy of St. Louis, with bis family and considerable money aboard, tied up at an island on the evening of the fifteenth of December, 1811. In looking around they found that a party of river pirates occupied part of the island and were expecting Sarpy with the intention of robbing him. As soon as the latter found that out he quietly dropped lower down the river. In the night the earthquake came, and next morning when the accompanying haziness disappeared, the island could no longer be seen; it had been utterly destroyed as well as its pirate inhabitants.
Few scientists were in the region during the period of shocks, but we are fortunate in having handed down to us a realistic picture from the pen of the great naturalist Audubon.
The vibrations did not cease for over a year from December sixteenth, the date memorable for the first shock. During the succeeding three months 1,874 shocks were recorded, of which eight were violently destructive, ten very severe and thirty-five generally alarming. In fact, this earthquake is famous all over the world as one of the few instances of almost incessant shaking for a period of many months in a region remote from the seat of any volcanic action.