This dining-room was a very lofty hall, paved with marble and entirely
surrounded by arches open to the air. It had previously reminded me of
the interiors seen in Italian pictures of sacred subjects, with its
bareness, spacious whiteness, its columns and arches. Here the
Governor, Lady Swettenham and her sister were living, in little
encampments formed by screens. Two splendid chandeliers of Spanish
bronze, originally looted from Havannah in the eighteenth century, had
been dismantled by the Governor's orders, in view of the possibility
of further shocks. The verandah outside formed the living-room for
every one. My nephew and I were very comfortably lodged in a little
wooden shed, formerly the laundry. I had noticed as we drove through
the town that the great Edinburgh reservoirs were apparently quite
uninjured, and here at King's House the fountain was splashing in its
basin as gaily as ever, the building containing the big swimming-bath
was undamaged, and the spring which fed the bath still gurgled
cheerfully into it. Wherever there was water, the shock seemed to have
been neutralised, for I imagine that the water acted as a cushion to
deaden the earth-wave. Neither the electric lighting nor the
telephones were working.

A tropical night is seldom quiet, what with the croaking of frogs, the
chirping of the cicadas, and some bird, insect, or reptile that
imitates the winding in of a fishing-reel for hours together, but
really the noise of the Jamaican nights after the earthquake was quite
unbearable. Negroes are very hysterical, and some black preachers had
utilised the earthquake to start a series of revival meetings, and
these were held just outside the grounds of King's House. Right
through the night they lasted, with continual hymn-singing, varied
with loud cries and groans. "Abide with me" is a beautiful hymn, but
really its beauties began to pall when it had been sung through from