The tall piles swayed to and fro, like
willows in the wind. Shrieks of horror rose from the terrified assembly.
Again the earth heaved, and this time with a longer and higher wave.
Down came the ponderous arches, the stately columns, the massive walls,
the lofty spires, tumbling upon the heads of priests and people. The
graven images, the deified wafers, and they who had knelt in adoration
before them--the worshipped and the worshippers alike--were in a moment
buried under one undistinguishable mass of horrible ruins. Only a few,
who were near the doors, escaped to tell the tale.
It fared no better with those who had remained in their dwellings. The
terrible earth-wave overthrew the larger number of the private houses in
the city, burying their inhabitants under the crumbling walls. Those who
were in the streets more generally escaped, though some there, too, were
killed by falling walls.
The sudden overthrow of so many buildings raised vast volumes of fine
dust, which filled the atmosphere and obscured the sun, producing a
dense gloom. The air was full of doleful sounds--the groans of agony
from the wounded and the dying, screams of despair from the horrified
survivors, wails of lamentation from the suddenly bereaved, dismal
howlings of dogs, and terrified cries of other animals.
In two or three minutes the clouds of dust fell to the ground, and
disclosed the scene of desolation which a few seconds had wrought. The
ruin, though general, was not universal.
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