Part 9 (1/2)

”That's just how it served me,” said Tom. ”Kneel down, Mas'r Harry, same as I do. The house is as drunk as a fiddler, and the floor's going just like the deck of a s.h.i.+p.”

”Where are you?” I cried, trying to collect my scattered faculties, for, awakened so suddenly from a deep sleep, I was terribly confused.

”Oh, I'm here!” said Tom. ”Give's your hand. But, I say, Mas'r Harry, what's it mean? Do all the houses get dancing like this here every night, because, if so, I'll sleep in the fields. There it goes again!

Soap and soda! what a row!”

Tom might well exclaim, for with the house rocking frightfully, now came from outside the peal as of a thousand thunders, accompanied by the clang of bell, the crash of falling walls, the sharp cracking and splitting of woodwork, and the yelling and shrieking of people running to and fro.

”So this ere's a native storm, Mas'r Harry?” shouted Tom to me during a pause.

”No!” I shouted in answer, as with a s.h.i.+ver of dread I worded the fearful suspicion that had flashed across my brain. ”No, Tom, it's an earthquake!”

”Is that all?” grumbled Tom. ”Well, it might have come in the daytime, and not when folks were tired. But I thought earthquakes swallowed you up.”

”Here, for Heaven's sake help me at this door, Tom!” I shouted, ”or we shall be crushed to death. Here, push--hard!”

But our efforts were vain, for just then came another shock, and one side of the room split open from floor to ceiling.

”The window--the window, Tom!” I shrieked. And then, thoroughly roused to our danger, we both made for the cas.e.m.e.nt, reaching it just as, with a noise like thunder, down went the whole building, when it seemed to me that I had been struck a violent blow, and the next instant I was struggling amongst broken wood, dust, and plaster, fighting fiercely to escape; for there was a horrible dread upon me that at the next throe of the earthquake we should be buried alive far down in the bowels of the earth.

I was at liberty, though, the next minute.

”Tom--Tom!” I shouted, feeling about, for the darkness was fearful.

”Where are you?”

”All right, Mas'r Harry,” was the reply; ”close beside you.”

”Here, give me your hand,” I shouted, ”and let's run down to the sh.o.r.e.”

For in my horror that was the first place that occurred to me.

”Can't, sir,” said Tom. ”I ain't got no legs. Can't feel 'em about there anywheres; can you?”

”What do you mean?” I cried. ”This is no time for fooling! Look sharp, or we shall lose our lives.”

”Well, so I am looking sharp,” growled Tom. ”Ain't I looking for my legs? I can't feel 'em nowheres. Oh, here they are, Mas'r Harry, here they are!”

By this time I had crawled to him over the ruins of the house, to find that he was jammed in amongst the rubbish, which rose to his knees; and, as he told me afterwards, the shock had produced a horrible sensation, just as if his legs had been taken off, a sensation heightened by the fact that he could feel down to his knees and no farther.

”This is a pleasant spot to take a house on lease, Mas'r Harry,” he said, as I tore at the woodwork.

”Are you hurt?” I exclaimed hastily.

”Not as I knows on, Mas'r Harry, only my legs ain't got no feeling in 'em. Stop a minute, I think I can get that one out now.”

We worked so hard, that at the end of a few minutes Tom was at liberty, and after chafing his legs a little he was able to stand; but meanwhile the horrors around were increasing every instant, and, to my excited fancy, it seemed as if the earth was like some thick piece of carpet, which was being made to undulate and pa.s.s in waves from side to side.

Dust everywhere--choking, palpable dust; and then as from afar off came a faint roar, increasing each moment, till, with a furious rush, a fierce wind came tearing through the ruins of the smitten town, sweeping all before it, so that we had to cower down and seek protection from the storm of earth, sand, dust, plaster, and fragments hurled against us by the hurricane.