beneath, are dragged up again to life. Some
are unhurt, most are severely bruised, and many
have bones broken. Quickly from deep down
under the brickwork, the wounded and dying are
dragged out by scores and by hundreds, and are
laid under the shady trees in the plaza and in
the alameda, till that broad promenade, the pride
and the breathing place of the city, becomes one
vast open-air hospital. And now as the moon
sets, at midnight, come troops of country people
from the suburbs. To help in the work of
mercy? No. They pass on, heedless of the
cry for succour from the wounded and dying at
their feet; they come to tear up the ruins with
spades and with crowbars, intent only on plunder.
They dig down into what an hour or two before
were shops and stores, they break open the tills
and the iron chests in which money was kept.
They dig down into what were salons and
luxuriously furnished boudoirs, and are away
again to their low wooden huts in the suburbs,
that had stood the earthquake shock, laden with
plunder in money, gilded ornaments, jewellery,
and rich clothing. These hidden, again they
grope their way back through the thick darkness
to renew their heartless task. A glare
now breaks upon the darkness. Where the
Arcade stood, the rich shops of the city, and the
boasted Club-house, paraffin oil was burnt, in
abundance. The lamps were all smashed in the
ruin, but the burning wicks took the fire down
with them. French silks, Manchester cottons,
Yorkshire woollens, and rich carpets, soaked in
the spilt oil, become as tinder, and the fire
creeps along, now smouldering for a space, now
leaping up into flame as it finds a vent into the
upper air, till at length it bursts forth in a general
conflagration. Woe to those buried alive under
these ruins, for on comes the remorseless fire,
and there are none to stay its course. What
the earthquake has left the fire will destroy, and
nothing shall be left of the old city but cinders
and heaps of broken brickwork. Will they not
help now, these savages from the suburbs? Yes,
they will help, if they are paid for it.

"Help me out,"  cried a man who had nothing
but his head left visible.

"What will you give us ?"   said they.

"Two dollars, which is all I have with me."

" Give us six, and we get you out."

"I have not so much," said the poor fellow.

" Then you may stay where you are," and they
pointed mockingly to the flames rapidly
approaching. The fire rolled on and on and over
him, and when it had passed it left only
undistinguishable ashes.

Nine of one family were burned to death for
want of aid to get them out; they were all in
one room, and the roof so fell that they were
protected, but without means of egress, until
the ruins were removed. Their brother was
embedded near them, where he could converse
with them, and also speak to those passing
near, to whom he appealed for assistance. At
last somebody got him out. Then he began
to relieve his family, but before he could do
so effectually, the flames reached the place from
a fire raging on both sides. He remained
until he was seriously burnt, encouraging his
family with hopes, and calling for assistance,
but none came. He was at last obliged to
leave the spot, and at that moment he could
distinctly hear them praying. I saw the remains
of this family when they were clearing away the
rubbish. Nothing was left but a large mass of
charred bones.

The dead and those who were maimed and
could offer no resistance were robbed of their
clothes and left naked. Many people were got
out alive several days afterwards. One man
was found alive after being sixteen days under
the ruins; he died three days after his rescue.

Dr. Blancas, who was despatched by the
Government of Buenos Ayres immediately on
receipt of intelligence of the catastrophe, with
succours for the survivors, thus writes to
General Mitre, the governor, under date the 25th
of April: " It is impossible to paint to your
excellency the picture of desolation presented
by this unhappy capital. At a distance of forty-two
leagues, on entering the province, the traveller
first sees the ravages of the earthquake
of the 20th of March—fractured walls and fallen
ranchos. As he approaches the fallen city,
these ravages become more notable, until for a
radius of twenty leagues round not a house is
to be found, not a fence remains standing, one
small hermitage, situated in the northern part
of the district, known as Guamayen, alone excepted.
The beauteous city of Mendoza, surrounded
by pleasant alamedas and water-courses,
presents a most moving spectacle, that of an
immense heap of ruins under which lie buried
more than ten thousand victims, crushed,
suffocated, or burnt on that dreadful night. To the
shock followed the fire, and to this the plunder
by the mob; who, by reason of the nature of
their dwellings, escaped without injury. More
than two thousand wounded were dug out from
under the ruins, of whom a great part are since
dead; there are perhaps not two hundred persons
in Mendoza who did not spend some hours
or days beneath the ruins. The tales that are
told are horrible. The inhabitants are at present
living under the trees in tents or in huts.
The shocks yet continue daily. The great
earthquake of the 20th of March came from the
north-west, and took a straight course of twenty
leagues, terminating at the city of Mendoza,
which stretched almost due north and south.
It was of an undulating character, and from the
explorations made by the English geologist,
Mr. Forbes, it seems that there has been no
volcanic eruption, but an ejection of a great
quantity of gases along the Sierra, and near to
the place called Uspallata, where there are
great gulfs in the earth, and large masses of
rock have been torn from their base. In some
of these wide deep gulfs, which may be seen in
several parts, a dark-looking water flows, and
in one of them a sort of lake has been formed,
more than three hundred metres long by fifty
wide."

A survivor thus describes his escape:  " We