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 eased. The earth sinks together again, as the ball
did when it was pricked; and sinks lower, perhaps, than it was before:
and back rushes the sea, which the earth had thrust away while it rose,
and sweeps in, destroying all before it.

Of course, there is a great deal more to be said about all this: but I
have no time to tell you now. You will read it, I hope, for yourselves
when you grow up, in the writings of far wiser men than I. Or perhaps
you may feel for yourselves in foreign lands the actual shock of a great
earthquake, or see its work fresh done around you. And if ever that
happens, and you be preserved during the danger, you will learn for
yourself, I trust, more about earthquakes than I can teach you, if you