he center of the French sea-rovers.

This was the story of Lewis Galdy, a merchant of Port Royal, French-born
and a man of substance, who went through one of the most extraordinary
experiences that has ever happened to a human being.

He was walking down the narrow street of that buccaneer town, on June 7,
1692, when the whole city and countryside was shaken by a terrific
earthquake shock. The earth opened under the merchant's feet and he
dropped into the abyss. He lost consciousness, yet, in a semi-comatose
state, felt a second great wrenching of the earth, which heaved him
upwards. Water roared about his ears, and he was at the point of
drowning, when, suddenly, he found himself swimming in the sea,
half-a-mile from land.

As the place where he had been walking was fully three hundred yards
inland, he had been carried in the bowels of the earth three-quarters of
a mile before being thrown forth. A boat picked him up, and he lived for
forty-seven years after his extraordinary escape.

Jamaica, indeed, has been the prey of earthquakes, the most serious of
which wrecked the city of Kingston, in 1907. The shocks lasted ten
seconds, and the town of 46,000 inhabitants was a ruin. The death list
reached nearly a thousand. From this shock, however, as Stuart found,
the city has recovered bravely, largely due to the lighter system of
building common to British islands, and all places which have an
American impress, while in French, Dutch and Danish islands, buildings
are more solidly constructed. Frame houses, however, are less damaged by
earthquake than are stone structures.

There was, however, little opportunity for Stuart to make tours in
Jamaica or to work out any articles for his "Color Question" series. A
registered letter from the paper awaited the boy in Kingston, the
reading of which he concluded with a long, low whistle.

That night, without attracting attention, Stuart left the city on foot,
taking neither tramway nor railroad, and made a long night march. The
roads were steep, but the cool air compensated for that difficulty, and
having spent a long time on board ship the boy was glad to stretch his
legs. On the further side of Spanish Town he saw what he sought, a
rickety automobile under a lean-to-shed.

He hurried to the negro owner, who was lolling on the verandah.

"I want to go to Buff Bay," he said. "How soon can you get me there?"

"De road ain' none too good, Sah," the Jamaican answered, "your be