Ahead we saw several hundred yards of track buckled and humped like much
crumpled ribbon. We had gone as far as possible by rail.

We counted the money in the crowd and decided to rent a rig if possible
and drive the twenty miles to our homes. After walking three miles, we
found no one willing to take us to the city for the money we were able
to offer; so at this point two of our party left us.

We must have gone about eight miles when the van of the thousands
leaving the city met us. They were principally hobos and riffraff,
packing their blankets on their backs. We stopped and anxiously inquired
the plight of the city. Some said that the city was burned to the
ground, some that the whole town was submerged by a tidal wave, but all
agreed in this particular: that it was time to leave the city, for soon
there would be nothing left of it.

The numbers of the retreat were increasing now. We could see mothers
wheeling their babes in buggies, limping, dusty, and tired. Men lashed
and swore at horses straining at loads of household furnishings. All
were in desperate haste. This increased our speed in the opposite
direction. We began to see the dense black cloud of smoke hanging above
the sky-line ahead of us. We almost ran.

As we passed over each mile we heard more distressing tales from those
leaving. Men called us fools to be going toward the doomed town.
Thousands were traveling away; we were the only ones going toward San
Francisco.

At last we came to the old Sutro Forest. We toiled up to the summit of
the ridge and looked down for the first time upon the city we were