have
struck upon a rock; and the force which could give a ship, floating in
water, such a blow as that, would be strong enough to hurl thousands of
tons of water up the beach, and on to the land.

But there is another way of accounting for this great sea wave, which I
fancy comes true sometimes.

Suppose you put an empty india-rubber ball into water, and then blow into
it through a pipe. Of course, you know, as the ball filled, the upper
side of it would rise out of the water. Now, suppose there were a party
of little ants moving about upon that ball, and fancying it a great
island, or perhaps the whole world--what would they think of the ball's
filling and growing bigger?

If they could see the sides of the basin or tub in which the ball was,
and were sure that they did not move, then they would soon judge by them
that they themselves were moving, and that the ball was rising out of the
water. But if the ants were so short-sighted that they could not see the
sides of the basin, they would be apt to make a mistake, because they
would then be like men on an island out of sight of any other land. Then
it would be impossible further to tell whether they were moving up, or
whether the water was moving down; whether their ball was rising out of
the water, or the water was sinking away from the ball. They would
probably say, "The water is sinking and leaving the ball dry."

Do you understand that? Then think what would happen if you pricked a
hole in the ball. The air inside would come hissing out, and the ball
would sink again into the water. But the ants would probably fancy the
very opposite. Their little heads would be full of the notion that the
ball was solid and could not move, just as our heads are full of the
notion that the earth is solid and cannot move; and they would say, "Ah!
here is the water rising again." Just so, I believe, when the sea seems
to ebb away during the earthquake, the land is really being raised out of
the sea, hundreds of miles of coast, perhaps, or a whole island, at once,
by the force of the steam and gas imprisoned under the ground. That
steam stretches and strains the solid rocks below, till they can bear no
more, and snap, and crack, with frightful roar and clang; then out of
holes and chasms in the ground rush steam, gases--often foul and
poisonous ones--hot water, mud, flame, strange stones--all signs that the
great boiler down below has burst at last.

Then the strain is