Ariston saw it all and cried out in horror. Then he prayed:
"O Lord Poseidon, shaker of the earth, save me! I am a Greek!"
Then he came out of the forum. A steep street sloped down to a gate. A
river of people was pouring out there. The air was full of cries. The
great noise of the crowd made itself heard even in the noise of the
volcano. The streets were full of lost treasures. Men pushed and fell
and were trodden upon. But at last Ariston passed through the gateway
and was out of the city. He looked about.
"It is no better," he sobbed to himself.
The air was thicker now. The shower had changed to hot dust as fine
as ashes. It blurred his eyes. It stopped his nostrils. It choked his
lungs. He tore his chiton from top to bottom and wrapped it about his
mouth and nose. He looked back at Caius and pulled the blanket over his
head. Behind him a huge cloud was reaching out long black arms from the
mountain to catch him. Ahead, the sun was only a red wafer in the shower
of ashes. Around him people were running off to hide under rocks or
trees or in the country houses. Some were running, running anywhere to
get away. Out of one courtyard dashed a chariot. The driver was lashing
his horses. He pushed them ahead through the crowd. He knocked people
over, but he did not stop to see what harm he had done.
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