The Rover of the Andes by Robert Michael Ballantyne (books to read for 12 year olds txt) 📕

go, but you'd better eat something first."

"No, massa; wid you's leave I'll go off at once. A hunk ob bread in de pocket an' lots o' fruit by de way--das 'nuff for dis nigger."

"Off with you, then, and tell Pedro that you left Manuela and me quite comfortable."

"O Massa Lawrie!--'scuse me usin' de ole name--it _am_ so nice to hear you speak jolly like dat. 'Minds me ob de ole times!"

"Get along with you," said Lawrence, with a laugh, as the warm-hearted black left the hotel.

Thus these two parted. Little did they imagine what singular experiences they should encounter before meeting again.

Soon after Quashy's departure Lawrence went to the door of Manuela's room, and, tapping gently, said--

"Dinner is ready, Manuela."

"I kom queek," replied the girl, with a hearty laugh.

It had by that time become an established little touch of pleasantry between these two that Lawrence should teach the Indian girl English--at least to the extent of familiar phrases--while she should do the same for him with Spanish. There was one thing that the youth liked much in this, and it also surprised him a little, namely, that it seemed to draw the girl out of her Indian reticence and gravity, for she laughed with childlike delight at the amazing blunders she made in attempting English. Indeed, she laughed far more at herself than at him, although his attempts at Spanish were even more ridiculous.

A few minutes later Manuela entered the room, and, with a modest yet gracious smile, took a seat opposite her pupil-teacher.

"Dignity," thought the latter--"native dignity and grace! Being the daughter of a great chief of the Incas--a princess, I suppose--she cannot help it. An ordinary Indian female, now, would have come into the room clumsily, looked sheepish, and sat down on the edge of her chair--perhaps on the floor!"

But as he gazed at her short, black, curly hair, her splendid black eyebrows, her pretty little high-bred mouth, beautiful white teeth, and horribly brown skin, he sighed, and only said--

"Ay, ay! Well, well! _What_ a pity!"

"What ees dat?" inquired the girl, with a look of grave simplicity.

"Did I speak?" returned Lawrence, a little confused.

"Yes--you say, `Ay, ay. Well, well. _What_ a pittie!'"

"Oh!--ah!--yes--I was only _thinking_, Manuela. What will you have?"

"Som muttin," replied the girl, with a pursing of the little mouth that indicated a tendency to laugh.

"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 wishing, 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 multitudes 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 crash! 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 space 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 God!"

Where there was space for a hand to move freely, he knew there must be space 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 pushing 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 mass of mingled bricks, mortar, and beams there must be spaces 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 crushingly 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 God 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, scrape 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 scrape 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 space in which he was confined did not admit of his sitting up, much less standing. What seemed to be a solid mass of the fallen wall was above him, prevented from crushing him by the beam before mentioned, while around him were masses of brick and mortar densely packed.

Again exerting his lungs,