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- Жюль Верн
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The
moon
was
rising
.
The
atmosphere
was
pure
and
calm
.
Not
a
cloud
visible
either
above
or
below
.
Here
and
there
was
a
passing
reflection
from
the
flames
of
Antuco
,
but
neither
storm
nor
lightning
,
and
myriads
of
bright
stars
studded
the
zenith
.
Still
the
rumbling
noises
continued
.
They
seemed
to
meet
together
and
cross
the
chain
of
the
Andes
.
Glenarvan
returned
to
the
CASUCHA
more
uneasy
than
ever
,
questioning
within
himself
as
to
the
connection
between
these
sounds
and
the
flight
of
the
guanacos
.
He
looked
at
his
watch
and
found
the
time
was
about
two
in
the
morning
.
As
he
had
no
certainty
,
however
,
of
any
immediate
danger
,
he
did
not
wake
his
companions
,
who
were
sleeping
soundly
after
their
fatigue
,
and
after
a
little
dozed
off
himself
,
and
slumbered
heavily
for
some
hours
.
All
of
a
sudden
a
violent
crash
made
him
start
to
his
feet
.
A
deafening
noise
fell
on
his
ear
like
the
roar
of
artillery
.
He
felt
the
ground
giving
way
beneath
him
,
and
the
CASUCHA
rocked
to
and
fro
,
and
opened
.
He
shouted
to
his
companions
,
but
they
were
already
awake
,
and
tumbling
pell-mell
over
each
other
.
They
were
being
rapidly
dragged
down
a
steep
declivity
.
Day
dawned
and
revealed
a
terrible
scene
.
The
form
of
the
mountains
changed
in
an
instant
.
Cones
were
cut
off
.
Tottering
peaks
disappeared
as
if
some
trap
had
opened
at
their
base
.
Owing
to
a
peculiar
phenomenon
of
the
Cordilleras
,
an
enormous
mass
,
many
miles
in
extent
,
had
been
displaced
entirely
,
and
was
speeding
down
toward
the
plain
.
"
An
earthquake
!
"
exclaimed
Paganel
.
He
was
not
mistaken
.
It
was
one
of
those
cataclysms
frequent
in
Chili
,
and
in
this
very
region
where
Copiapo
had
been
twice
destroyed
,
and
Santiago
four
times
laid
in
ruins
in
fourteen
years
.
This
region
of
the
globe
is
so
underlaid
with
volcanic
fires
and
the
volcanoes
of
recent
origin
are
such
insufficient
safety
valves
for
the
subterranean
vapors
,
that
shocks
are
of
frequent
occurrence
,
and
are
called
by
the
people
TREMBLORES
.
The
plateau
to
which
the
seven
men
were
clinging
,
holding
on
by
tufts
of
lichen
,
and
giddy
and
terrified
in
the
extreme
,
was
rushing
down
the
declivity
with
the
swiftness
of
an
express
,
at
the
rate
of
fifty
miles
an
hour
.
Not
a
cry
was
possible
,
nor
an
attempt
to
get
off
or
stop
.
They
could
not
even
have
heard
themselves
speak
.
The
internal
rumblings
,
the
crash
of
the
avalanches
,
the
fall
of
masses
of
granite
and
basalt
,
and
the
whirlwind
of
pulverized
snow
,
made
all
communication
impossible
.
Sometimes
they
went
perfectly
smoothly
along
without
jolts
or
jerks
,
and
sometimes
on
the
contrary
,
the
plateau
would
reel
and
roll
like
a
ship
in
a
storm
,
coasting
past
abysses
in
which
fragments
of
the
mountain
were
falling
,
tearing
up
trees
by
the
roots
,
and
leveling
,
as
if
with
the
keen
edge
of
an
immense
scythe
,
every
projection
of
the
declivity
.
How
long
this
indescribable
descent
would
last
,
no
one
could
calculate
,
nor
what
it
would
end
in
ultimately
.
None
of
the
party
knew
whether
the
rest
were
still
alive
,
whether
one
or
another
were
not
already
lying
in
the
depths
of
some
abyss
.
Almost
breathless
with
the
swift
motion
,
frozen
with
the
cold
air
,
which
pierced
them
through
,
and
blinded
with
the
whirling
snow
,
they
gasped
for
breath
,
and
became
exhausted
and
nearly
inanimate
,
only
retaining
their
hold
of
the
rocks
by
a
powerful
instinct
of
self-preservation
.
Suddenly
a
tremendous
shock
pitched
them
right
off
,
and
sent
them
rolling
to
the
very
foot
of
the
mountain
.
The
plateau
had
stopped
.
For
some
minutes
no
one
stirred
At
last
one
of
the
party
picked
himself
up
,
and
stood
on
his
feet
,
stunned
by
the
shock
,
but
still
firm
on
his
legs
.
This
was
the
Major
.
He
shook
off
the
blinding
snow
and
looked
around
him
.
His
companions
lay
in
a
close
circle
like
the
shots
from
a
gun
that
has
just
been
discharged
,
piled
one
on
top
of
another
.
The
Major
counted
them
.
All
were
there
except
one
--
that
one
was
Robert
Grant
.
