As the shuddering feeling of what Tom had escaped passed off, we both thought it would be better to say nothing about it.  We knew that he had acted foolishly; and I felt that I ought to have known better, and then soon enough, boy like, we forgot it all.

For there was a bright future spread before us, and I began to wonder how it was that with such lovely places on the face of the earth, people could be content to live in old England.  There, seen through the bright transparent atmosphere, were convent, cathedral, castle, and tower, grouped at the foot of a mountain, glistening with endless tints as it towered up nine thousand feet, wall and battlement running up the spurs of the great eminence.

The scene was lovely, and I was in raptures then with all that lay before me, and again I asked myself how people could be content in chilly Europe; but I soon understood all that.

Tom was walking by my side, and turning to him ­

“What do you think of it, Tom?” I said.

“Well, ’taint so very bad, Mas’r Harry,” he grumbled out.  “But ain’t them sharkses?”

I followed his pointing finger, and, to my horror, I could see, cleaving the blue and creamy-foamed water, close inshore, the black fins of one ­ two ­three ­half a score of sharks; while all the time, dashing and splashing in and out of the surf, busily unloading boats and larger vessels, were dozens of mulatto porters.

I expected every moment to hear a shriek and to see the silver foam tinged with red.  My heart beat intermittently, and there was a strange dampness in my hands; but I soon learned that familiarity bred contempt, and that probably from the noise and splashing kept up, the sharks rarely ventured an attack.  But all the same, that one incident made me gaze down into the blue depths where we were at anchor with a shudder, and think that the waters were not so safe as those of home.

I had yet to learn something of the land.

“What’s this place called, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom, interrupting my reverie.  “You did tell me, but I’ve forgotten.”

“La Guayra!”

“Humph!” ejaculated Tom.  “Why can’t they call places by some name in plain English?”

But the various strange sights and sounds soon silenced Tom’s tongue, and, tired out at last with a long walk, we went to the house that had been recommended to me, and after partaking of coffee ­the best I ever remember to have drunk ­I sought my room, Tom insisting upon sleeping on the floor in the same chamber, and my last waking recollections were of the pungent fumes of tobacco, and the tinkle, tinkle, twang of a guitar beneath my window.

I must have been asleep about three hours, and I was dreaming of having found gold enough to load a vessel homeward bound, when I was wakened by some one shaking me violently, and as I started up I became aware of a deafening noise, a choking sensation, as of dust rising in a cloud, and the voice of Tom Bulk.

“Mas’r Harry ­Mas’r Harry!  Wacken up, will you?”

“What’s the matter?” I gasped, springing out of bed, but only to reel and stagger about before falling heavily.

“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 ship.”

“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 shiver 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 casement, 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 shore.”

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 pass 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.

But the rush of wind was as brief as it was fierce, and it passed away; when, in the lull that followed, came shrieks and moans from all directions, and the sounds of hurrying, stumbling feet, and then, all at once, from out of the thick darkness a voice cried:  “Quick ­quick!  To the mountain ­the sea is coming in!”

Then came more wails and shrieks from out of the darkness, followed by a silence that was more awful than the noise.

For full five minutes that silence lasted, broken only by the fall of some tottering beam.  Then came quickly, one after the other, short, sharp, shivering vibrations of the earth beneath our feet ­a shuddering movement that was transferred to one’s own frame; and then I began to understand the meaning of the cry we had heard respecting the sea, for from where I supposed it to be, now came a singular hissing, rushing noise, gradually increasing to a roar, as of mighty waves, and mingled with that roar there was the creaking and grinding together of shipping and the hoarse shouting of the crews for help.

But gradually the noises ceased, save when a shuddering shock once more made the earth to tremble beneath our feet, and some scrap of wood or plaster to fall from riven wall or roof.  The tremendous choking dust, too, began to settle down as we groped our way along over the ruins that choked the streets.  Now we were lost ­now, after a struggle, we regained the way, trying to join one of the hurrying bands of fugitives hastening from the place.

I spoke to one man, asking him if there was any more danger, but his reply was in Spanish; and at last, led by Tom ­who seemed by instinct to know his way ­we went down to the shore, strewn with wreck, when, seizing a rope, and drawing a boat to the sand, Tom told me to enter, and we half lay there, rising and falling upon the wave ­rocked gently, but wakeful ever, till the sun rose over the sea ­bright, glorious, and peaceful, as if there had been no havoc and desolation during the night.