The Rover of the Andes Part 13

"It is not mutton. It's beef, I think."

"Well, bee-eef very naice--an' som' gravvie too, plee-ese."

She went off at this point into a rippling laugh, which, being infectious in its nature, also set her companion off, but the entrance of the landlord checked them both. He sat down at a small table near to them, and, being joined by a friend, called for a bottle of wine.

"Hotter than ever," he remarked to Lawrence.

"Yes, very sultry indeed."

"Shouldn't wonder if we was to have a sharpish touch or two to-night."

To which his friend, who was also an American if not an Englishman, and appeared to be sceptical in his nature, replied, "Gammon!"

This led to a conversation between the two which is not worthy of record, as it was chiefly speculative in regard to earthquakes in general, and tailed off into guesses as to social convulsions present, past or pending. One remark they made, however, which attracted the attention of our hero, and made him wish to hear more. It had reference to some desperate character whose name he failed to catch, but who was said to be in the neighbourhood again, "trying to raise men to join his band of robbers," the landlord supposed, to which the landlord's friend replied with emphasis that he had come to the right place, for, as far as his experience went, San Ambrosio was swarming with men that seemed fit for anything--from "pitch-and-toss to manslaughter."

Not wis.h.i.+ng, apparently, to hear anything more about such disagreeable characters and subjects, Manuela rose at the conclusion of the meal and retired to her apartment, while Lawrence continued to sip his coffee in a balcony which overlooked the vineyard behind the hotel.

It was evening, and, although unusually warm, the weather was very enjoyable, for a profound calm reigned around, and the hum of the mult.i.tudes in the distant square seemed hushed as the church bells rang the hour for evening prayers. As the twilight deepened, and the stars came faintly into sight in the dark-blue vault above, the thoughts of Lawrence became strangely saddened, and, gradually quitting the scene of peaceful beauty on which he gazed, sped over the Cordillera of the Andes to that home of his boyhood which now lay in ashes. The frame of mind thus induced naturally led him to dwell on past scenes in which his mother had taken a part, and he was still meditating, more than half asleep, on the joys which were never to return, when he was roused into sudden and thorough consciousness by something--he could not tell what-- a sort of sensation--which caused him to leap from his chair.

At the same moment there arose from the streets a cry, or wail.

Suddenly a rumbling noise was heard. Lawrence bounded towards the nearest door. Full well he knew what it meant. Before he could escape there was a tremendous upheaval of the solid earth, and in one instant, without further warning, the entire town fell with one mighty cras.h.!.+

Lawrence just saw the walls and roof collapsing--then all was dark, and consciousness forsook him.

CHAPTER TEN.

RECOUNTS SOME TERRIBLE AND SOME VIGOROUS DEEDS.

How long our hero lay in this state he could not tell, but on recovering his faculties he became conscious of the fact that he was in total darkness, lying on his back, with a tremendous weight pressing on his chest. For a few moments he remained still, quite unable to recollect what had occurred, or where he was.

Suddenly memory resumed its office--the earthquake! the fall of the hotel!--and, with a gush of horror, he realised the terrible truth that he was buried alive.

The reader must have been in the position we describe to understand fully the feelings of the poor youth at that moment. His first impulse was to make a violent effort to shake off the intolerable weight that almost suffocated him; but his efforts, strong though he was, proved in vain. It felt as if a mountain held him down. Then the thought of Manuela rushed in upon him, and he uttered a loud cry. The sound of his voice in the confined s.p.a.ce was terrible. It seemed to rush in upon his brain with awful din. In his agony, a feeling of frantic despair came over him, and, with the strength of a giant, he struggled to be free, but still without success. Exhausted as much by his horror as by his efforts, he lay for some minutes quite still, his brain keenly alive and thirsting, as it were, for some sound that might convey hope. No sound was to be heard, save the intense beating of his own pulsations which seemed to throb into his ears, and down into his very extremities.

As he lay listening, it came strangely into his thoughts, with something like a feeling of regret, that it would be very hard for him to die! So much strong life as he possessed must, he thought, take long to destroy!

But again, the memory of poor Manuela, perhaps in a similar condition, and certainly not far from him, banished the thoughts of self, and he listened once more intently.

All was still as the grave. The effort at self-control, however, calmed him a little, and, in a gentler mood, he tried to move his arms. The left arm was fixed as in a vice, and gave him so much pain, that he feared it had been broken. The right arm was also fast, but he felt that he could move his hand.

It was a feeble straw for the buried man to clutch at, yet it was strong enough to buoy up Hope in a stout heart. His courage returned, and with calm, resolute patience he set to work, uttering the fervent prayer, "Help me, O G.o.d!"

Where there was s.p.a.ce for a hand to move freely, he knew there must be s.p.a.ce to remove rubbish, though it might be ever so little. In a few minutes some handful of earth were thrust aside. Then, by drawing his arm upwards and pus.h.i.+ng it downwards, he loosened the rubbish around it, and by slow degrees set it partially free. If he had been entombed in solid earth, this, he was well aware, could not have been possible; but, rightly judging that in a ma.s.s of mingled bricks, mortar, and beams there must be s.p.a.ces more or less open, he worked away, with patience and in hope. The result was that he was able at last to touch with his right hand the object which lay so crus.h.i.+ngly on his chest. It was an enormous beam. The utter impossibility of even moving it filled him for a moment with despair, but again he cried to G.o.d for help. The cry was answered, truly and effectively, yet without a miracle, for the very act of trust in the Almighty calmed his mind and set it free to consider intelligently.

He could not hope to lift the beam. It was far too heavy. Being so heavy, he knew it would have killed him outright if it had not been checked in its descent, and partially supported somehow. Might he not, then, sc.r.a.pe away the rubbish on which he lay until he should, as it were, sink away from the beam? He tried at once, and managed to get his right hand slightly under him. He could reach his haunch. It was a terribly slow process, but by degrees the busy hand reached the waist, drawing the rubbish out by small portions at a time. It seemed to him as if hours were spent in these painful efforts. Still no appreciable difference was made in his position, and he had by that time pushed his hand as far up under his back towards his neck as it was possible to turn it. Finding that he could sc.r.a.pe away no more in that direction, he now sought to deepen the hollows already made. In doing so he got hold of a brick, which he wrenched out with a desperate effort. The result was instantaneous relief, for he seemed to subside, not much, indeed, but sufficiently to permit of his breathing freely.

With a fervent exclamation of thankfulness he turned slightly round, and drew his left arm out from the rubbish. He felt it anxiously. It was bruised a good deal, but not broken.

Although so greatly relieved that he felt for a few moments almost as if he had been delivered from death, the poor youth was still in a terrible case. The s.p.a.ce in which he was confined did not admit of his sitting up, much less standing. What seemed to be a solid ma.s.s of the fallen wall was above him, prevented from crus.h.i.+ng him by the beam before mentioned, while around him were ma.s.ses of brick and mortar densely packed.

Again exerting his lungs, the youth shouted with all his might, and then paused to listen; but there was no reply. Then he shouted the name of Manuela, in the hope that she might hear, and answer, if still alive.

But no answering voice replied.

Believing now that nothing could save him but a fixed purpose and a prolonged desperate effort on an intelligent plan, he prayed again for help, and then proceeded to enlarge his tomb by sc.r.a.ping the rubbish back under the beam, from beneath which he had drawn himself, and packing it tightly down. This enlarged the s.p.a.ce, enabling him to get upon his knees. To work upward through the fallen wall would, he knew, be an impossibility. He therefore worked horizontally for some time, throwing the rubbish between his legs behind him, as, we presume, the moles are accustomed to do. Then he pa.s.sed his hand along over his head, and found that the solid wall was no longer above him,--only disjointed bricks and beams.

With renewed hope and redoubled effort he now worked his way upwards, although well-nigh suffocated by dust, as well as by smoke arising from fires which had broken out in many places all over the ruined town.

Suddenly, while thus engaged, he heard voices faintly. He shouted with all his might, and listened. Yes, he was not mistaken; he heard voices distinctly, and they appeared to be speaking in Spanish. With something like a bounding of the heart he repeated his shout, and renewed his labours.

If he had known the character of the persons who had thus encouraged him, his hopes would not have been so strong.

We have said that the entire town had been levelled by one tremendous convulsion, and that in many places fires had broken out among the ruins. These fires sent up dense volumes of smoke, which naturally attracted people from all quarters of the surrounding country. Among them came bands of desperate and lawless characters, who fastened on the ruins as vultures seize on carrion. They resembled the unclean birds in more respects than one, for they went about as long as there was anything of value to be seized, long after other people had been forced to quit the place owing to the horrible stench of the hundreds of corpses decaying, and in many cases burning, among the ruins. (See note 1.)

It was the voices of some of these lawless ruffians that Lawrence had heard. He soon became aware of their character by the terrible oaths which they used, and the fiendish laughter in which they indulged whenever he called for help. Knowing that he had nothing to hope from such miscreants, he ceased to call out, but toiled none the less vigorously to effect his deliverance. At last he managed to sc.r.a.pe through to the upper world; and a feeling of inexpressible relief filled his breast as a bright ray of suns.h.i.+ne shot into his prison.

That it was daylight did not surprise him, for the many hours which he had spent under ground seemed to him like weeks. But he soon found that he was not yet free. The hole which he had sc.r.a.ped was much too small to admit of the pa.s.sage of even a little boy. In trying to enlarge it, he found, to his dismay, that on one side of it was an enormous beam, on the other a ma.s.s of solid masonry, which could not be moved without aid.

Looking out, he saw nothing but confused heaps of smoking ruins, save in one direction, where, in the far distance, (for the hotel had stood on a mound), he could see a group of men engaged as if searching for something.

To these he shouted again, but did not attract their attention. Either they did not hear him, or did not care. Turning then to the beam, he tried with all his might to raise it, but failed, though it moved slightly. Encouraged by hope, and afterwards influenced by despair, he tried again and again, until his strength broke down.

At this juncture he heard footsteps, and saw a man pa.s.sing near.

"Senhor! senhor!" he cried, in the best Spanish he could muster, "aid me to get out, for the love of G.o.d!"

A coa.r.s.e insult was the only reply as the man pa.s.sed on. A group of other men who pa.s.sed soon after behaved as badly, for they only laughed at his entreaties.

It is difficult to say whether rage or indignation was more powerful in Lawrence's heart, but both pa.s.sions were equally unavailing in the circ.u.mstances. He felt this, and soon calmed down; so that when, half an hour later, another man pa.s.sed that way, he addressed him in tones of respect and earnest entreaty.

The bandit, for such he was, seemed to be utterly unaffected; for although he must certainly have heard the appeal, he, like the others, pa.s.sed on without taking the slightest notice.

"Senhor! senhor!" cried Lawrence, "I have a gold watch and chain, to which you--"

The man stopped, for the bait took at once. Turning, and walking towards the place from which the sound came, he soon found the hole through which our hero looked.

"Hand out the watch, senhor," he said.

"No, no," answered Lawrence; "aid me first to lift the beam."

Whether the man understood the bad Spanish or not we cannot say, but instead of helping to lift the beam, he drew a pistol from his belt, and said--

"Hand out the watch, or I shoot!"

"Shoot away, then," cried Lawrence, savagely, as he drew quickly back into his hole.

The report of the pistol followed the words, and the ball caused a cloud of dust and rubbish to mingle with the smoke.

A wild laugh of defiance from within told that our Englishman was not hurt.

"Ha--ha! Shoot again," he cried, fiercely.