“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.