But
they were too seriously panic-stricken to get comfort from anything I
could say.
During the third severe shock the trees were so violently shaken that
the birds flew out with frightened cries. In particular, I noticed two
robins flying in terror from a leafless oak, the branches of which
swished and quivered as if struck by a heavy battering-ram. Exceedingly
interesting were the flashing and quivering of the elastic needles of
the pines in the sunlight and the waving up and down of the branches
while the trunks stood rigid. There was no swaying, waving or swirling
as in wind-storms, but quick, quivering jerks, and at times the heavy
tasseled branches moved as if they had all been pressed down against the
trunk and suddenly let go, to spring up and vibrate until they came to
rest again. Only the owls seemed to be undisturbed. Before the rumbling
echoes had died away a hollow-voiced owl began to hoot in philosophical
tranquillity from near the edge of the new talus as if nothing
extraordinary had occurred, although, perhaps, he was curious to know
what all the noise was about. His "hoot-too-hoot-too-whoo" might have
meant, "what's a' the steer, kimmer?"
It was long before the Valley found perfect rest. The rocks trembled
more or less every day for over two months, and I kept a bucket of water
on my table to learn what I could of the movements.
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