felt the shock of an earthquake and fled to the
street, I being the last. As I reached the door
of the office, the earth gave so violent a shake,
that the shop and office fell together, shutting
me in between the walls for a quarter of an hour,
suffering from the continual shocks and having
no outlet. As soon as the shocks ceased, gaining
strength from my fears, I made every exertion
to move away the bricks which covered the
door; I succeeded in turning over two bricks,
and making an opening, by which I got out with
much difficulty. What horror!  So soon as
I stood upon the ruins I looked over the city by
moonlight: everything was in the dust, even the
churches; not one house remained standing.
Crossing the ruins towards my house, to see if I
could save my family, I heard, on passing by the
shop of Don Juan A. Josa, voices from below
calling for help. I could not pass them. I set to work
to clear off the rubbish which was above with
my hands and nails, and after an hour's work,
succeeded in rescuing two of Josa's shopmen.
We afterwards saved another who was further
on, and then I went on to my house to see if I
could not do the same for my family. After
much trouble I found my house, and climbed
on to the ruins calling for my wife and children;
but none answered. I then went to the house
of my son who lives in the plaza, but could not
find it, such was the sameness of ruin. Don
Jose de la Cruz Centeno, who was seated in the
plaza, much bruised, and who lived next door to
Merceditas, showed me which was her house.
I climbed over the ruins calling to her, till I
reached the gable of the room where she slept,
which remained standing, but leaning over most
dangerously to the north. I called, and she
answered me from below the ruins. I went
round, and never heeding the risk, set to work
to get her out, by taking off the bricks above
her. Alone, bruised in spirit, and sorrowful,
without tools, I raised the bricks with my hands,
and discovered the head of my daughter. As
soon as I had given her air, and she told me
that the child she had in her arms was not dead,
I called to Centeno to hire some peons, or send
some who could assist me; many came, but did
not dare to help me when they saw the leaning
gable, which, if it fell, would bury us all
together. One peon only took pity, seeing me
at work alone, and after two or three hours'
work removing bricks, we got out the child
before it died, but it was necessary to cut off
all the clothes of my daughter at the waist,
and thus only we rescued her bruised and hurt.
.... I have lost Demitita (his wife), my
daughter Adela, my son-in-law Emeterio, and
my two servants. Also the uncle and aunt of
my wife."

For two days such of the city authorities as
survived remained paralysed, hardly thinking
their lives their own, and not attempting anything;
thus the fire raged on unchecked, and
the plunderers followed their villanous work
unpunished. Already the air was laden with the
stench of putrifying bodies; the wounded and
dying lay stretched on the ground in the open
air, almost destitute of food and water, for the
ordinary water-courses were swallowed up, and
the market people dared not approach the town
to sell, so that it seemed as though famine and
pestilence would carry off those few that the
earthquake and the fire had spared. The only
sound which broke the silence of the desolation
was the mournful tolling of a bell raised by some
nuns on two posts in a meadow, where they had
erected an altar and held daily services for the
souls of those who had perished. Nine nuns
escaped from the ruins of their convent; one
after being five days buried made her way out
with no other assistance than her scissors. On
the twenty-third the governor killed three
bullocks, and distributed the beef, and on the
twenty-fifth kindly help arrived from the city
of San Juan; next day six plunderers were shot
by some soldiers sent from San Juan to preserve
order, so the evil was checked, and by this time
also the fire had pretty well burnt itself out:
but stronger and stronger rose the odour of
corruption from the ruin-covered streets, till the
search for any who might yet. survive was perforce
suspended, and the sick under the trees in
the plaza had to be removed to the alameda.
For the city was become a putrid city of the
dead, and living men could not dwell in its
atmosphere.

So passed the weary days, Fortunately rain
is a rarity in Mendoza, yet hundreds of the
wounded died for want of proper attention
and food; but soon from all parts came the
ready offerings of sympathy and sorrow, from
San Juan first, then across the Andes from
Chili, then from San Guis and Cordova, and at
last munificent assistance from the Central
Government at Parana, and from far distant Buenos
Ayres. Sheds were erected and fitted up as
hospitals, surgeons and physicians vied with each
other in eagerness to succour and to save, so
that at length many of the dying were brought
back again to health and strength, and money
was given to them for their sustenance during
convalescence. But most of them rose from their
couches only to find themselves bereft of all;
everything in the city was lost, hardly the
ground was left on which the houses once had
stood. Even to the end of April shocks
continued; generally there were two or three
every day, as an English visitor writes on
the twenty-second:  "I am writing this in
a shed, but it is all cracked, and one gable-
end is down; twice I have run out. As slight
shocks still continue two or three a-day, I feel
afraid of the place falling." The same gentleman
also writes: " It is useless attempting to
describe the suffering that existed when I first
arrived; I am not wanting in courage or in
strength of mind to witness such scenes, but
what I have seen here has completely over-
powered me, and made me as inactive as a child
and as powerless. The heap of ruins, the corpses
strewed in all directions, stripped, and in some
cases half eaten by dogs and rats, the stench,
and, above all, the sufferings and stupefaction of
the survivors, are altogether so appalling that only