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32038	----	THE FLAMING MOUNTAIN A RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE STORY BY JOHN BLAINE GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK, N. Y. 1962 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED _Printed in the United States of America_ [Illustration: _Rick swung the Sky Wagon onto a northward course that would take them past the volcano_] _THE FLAMING MOUNTAIN_ Rock, melting like butter on a hot stove! It is hard to believe, but that is what happens on San Luz, a small island off the coast of South America. When Rick Brant and his pal Dan Scott fly to the famous resort island to join Rick's father, head of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation, a seemingly inactive volcano is about to explode in an eruption which could easily blow San Luz off the map. The immediate threat is to a small town at the foot of the volcano, where the air reeks with the fumes of hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide, and it is here that Rick and Scotty help Dr. Brant and his scientist associates set up headquarters, in the hope of finding a way of controlling an eruption that is growing into a certainty with fantastic speed. But their efforts to save the island town are hindered by the superior forces of nature, the superstitious fatalism of the people--and sabotage! With the earth opening up all around them, Rick, Scotty, and the scientists have little hope of preventing a catastrophe, until a decision is made to unleash the awesome power of atomic energy in a desperate last attempt to fight the volcanic eruption. Jam-packed with excitement and swift, tense action, _The Flaming Mountain_ has all the elements that have made the Rick Brant Science Adventure series a favorite with boys all over the world. Contents I VULCAN'S HAMMER II SAN LUZ III FIRING PARTIES IV SEISMIC TRACINGS V DYNAMITE MISSING VI DANGEROUS TRAIL VII CASA GUEVARA VIII THE GOVERNOR VANISHES IX THE YELLOW GROUND X THE VOLCANIC PIPE XI EARTHQUAKE! XII THE RISING MAGMA XIII ARMED REVOLT XIV NIGHT PATROL XV STALEMATE XVI THE BRANT APPROACH XVII SOLUTION: NUCLEAR XVIII THE SEABEES XIX THE OLD ONE YIELDS XX A FEW SOUVENIRS List of Illustrations _Rick and Scotty's scale model of San Luz Island_ _Spindrift Island_ _Rick swung the Sky Wagon onto a northward course that would take them past the volcano_ _Connel was alone in the jeep_ _The three invaders waited while the long minutes ticked away_ _"They're shooting at us!" Rick exclaimed, and gave the plane the gun_ THE FLAMING MOUNTAIN CHAPTER I Vulcan's Hammer The entire staff of the world-famed Spindrift Scientific Foundation gathered in the conference room of the big gray laboratory building on the southeast corner of Spindrift Island. It was unusual for the whole staff to be called to a meeting. Even more unusual--not a single member knew what the meeting was about. Rick Brant, son of the Spindrift Foundation's director, Dr. Hartson Brant, was perhaps even more mystified than the professional scientists. His father had phoned from Florida with brief instructions. "Rick, I want you and Scotty to make a scale model of San Luz Island. It's off the coast of Venezuela. You'll find it on the sailing chart of the area, and there are references in the library. Be as complete and detailed as possible, and have the model ready by Saturday. Pick me up at Newark Airport Saturday noon. I'll have a guest. Ask Hobart Zircon to call a full staff meeting for two o'clock Saturday." Rick and his pal Don Scott had completed the model, which was now resting on a table at the front of the lab conference room. One hour ago he had flown with Scotty in his plane, the Sky Wagon, to Newark Airport where he had picked up his father and a short, white-haired elderly man by the name of Dr. Esteben Balgos. [Illustration: _Rick and Scotty's scale model of San Luz Island_] Rick, a teen-aged version of his long-legged, athletic father, was consumed with curiosity. He could tell that the scientist was deeply concerned over something. It seemed likely Dr. Balgos was at least involved in that concern, if not the actual cause. But Rick still knew of nothing that would relate Spindrift Island off the coast of New Jersey to San Luz, an island off the coast of northern South America. The Spindrift scientists were gathering, pausing to examine the model on the table before they took their seats. Hobart Zircon, the huge, bearded senior physicist and associate director of the Foundation, looked at the model in company with Tony Briotti, the youthful staff archaeologist. Dr. Howard Shannon, chief biologist, came in with Julius Weiss, the famous mathematical physicist. A slender, attractive dark-haired girl, Rick's own age, moved through the crowd to his side. He gave her a smile of welcome. Jan Miller was the daughter of one of the staff physicists, Dr. Walter Miller. "What's all this about, Rick?" Jan asked. "And where are Barby and Scotty?" "I wish I knew what it's all about," Rick replied. "Barby and Scotty are at the house with Dad's guest, a Dr. Esteben Balgos. We picked Dad and Balgos up at Newark an hour ago. They'll be over in a few minutes." Rick had come to the lab ahead of the others to be sure there were sufficient chairs set up and that the model was in position on the table. "You must have some idea," the girl insisted. "You and Scotty made the model." "Sure we did. But we don't know why. Dad called from the University of Florida and gave instructions, and I didn't have a chance to ask any questions." "It must be important," Jan commented. "The whole staff hasn't been together since Christmas." Rick nodded. That had been a social occasion, not business, and on the day after Christmas he, Scotty, and Dr. Parnell Winston had taken off for Cairo where they had become involved in intrigue and a major scientific mystery. The episode was now referred to as _The Egyptian Cat Mystery_. The boy wondered if this meeting was a beginning of something exciting, too, and in the same instant he was sure that it was. "Here comes Barby," Jan said suddenly. "Excuse me, Rick." Barby Brant, Rick's pretty blond sister, paused in the doorway until she saw Jan hurrying to meet her. The two girls conferred briefly, then hurried to take seats in the exact center of the front row. It was the custom at Spindrift to include the island's young people in staff activities, and Rick had been a part of the various projects and discussions since he could remember. But not until Jan Miller's arrival on the island, during the adventure of _The Electronic Mind Reader_, had Barby bothered to attend the scientific discussions. Jan, as bright as she was attractive, had succeeded in persuading Rick's sister that science was not only exciting, but understandable. The buzz of talk in the room stopped as Hartson Brant and his guest entered, followed by Scotty. The husky, dark-haired ex-Marine at once joined Rick. The two had been close friends and constant companions since the day Scotty joined the staff during _The Rocket's Shadow_ project. An orphan, Scotty was now a permanent member of the Spindrift family. Hartson Brant did not need to rap for attention. There was an expectant hush as he began immediately. "Our guest today is Dr. Esteben Balgos, of whom many of you have heard. Until his retirement a few years ago, he was considered by his colleagues as the dean of South American geophysicists. His primary field of interest was--and still is--volcanology." Rick leaned forward. Volcanology, study of volcanoes. The mountain that formed the backbone of San Luz had once been a volcano, but it had been dead or inactive since prehistoric times. El Viejo--the Old One--was its name. Rick wondered if it might not be the connecting link between San Luz and Spindrift, but he couldn't yet see how. "Dr. Balgos reached me at Florida University while I was lecturing there. We talked, and I agreed that we would examine his problem. It is so unusual and challenging that I wanted all of you to hear what he has to say. Rick and Scotty have built a scale model of the island to help Dr. Balgos describe the problem to us." "So that's why we built it," Scotty whispered. "I've been wondering." Rick grinned. So had he. Dr. Balgos acknowledged Hartson Brant's introduction, took a moment to wipe his horn-rimmed spectacles, and got down to business, using a pencil as a pointer. He spoke perfect English with a soft, musical Spanish accent which Rick found pleasant. "This, young ladies and colleagues, is San Luz. I retired to this island from my native Peru a few years ago, so it is now my home. Its relationship to South America is the same as that of Bermuda to the east coast of your country. In other words, it is an island vacation resort. There are about 32,000 people on San Luz, engaged in caring for tourists, in fishing, in farming bananas and cacao, and in digging and exporting pumice." Rick knew this from his research. He hoped Dr. Balgos wouldn't linger too long over descriptions. "The tourist facilities are along the south coast, which is one continuous beach, starting at the main town of Calor, and running to Redondo, a fishing village at the northern tip of the island. There are several excellent hotels and guest homes." Dr. Balgos pointed with his pencil to a cluster of buildings at the base of the mountain. "The location of this hotel is an exception. It is called the Hot Springs Hotel, and it is one of our biggest. It is named for the hot springs at the base of the mountain. You will see at once that El Viejo--this mountain--is clearly a volcano. The presence of hot springs at its base indicates that it is not entirely dead." Now they were getting somewhere, Rick thought. "Starting a few months ago, earthquakes in the vicinity began to increase in frequency. Since we are on the edge of a major geological fault, earthquakes are not at all unusual, and the increase attracted little attention. However, I have corresponded with seismologists throughout the area, and it is clear that the increase is due to activity directly under our island." The Peruvian scientist held up his pencil, like a teacher addressing a class. "I see that you consider this significant. So do I. There is one other bit of information that is also significant. The flow from the hot springs has changed in character. There is an occasional outpouring of hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide. Also, the average temperature of the springs has gone up several degrees." The area must smell pretty bad, Rick thought. Hydrogen sulfide was what gave the characteristic aroma to rotten eggs, and sulfur dioxide wasn't exactly perfume. He wasn't surprised when Dr. Balgos added that the hotel had been virtually abandoned. "My data is not sufficient for any conclusion, but the general one that some kind of volcanic activity is increasing. However, I'm sure most of you depend, as I do, on intuition as well as on data. This intuition is simply the result of years of experience. Mine tells me that El Viejo is about to become active again." There was a murmur from the scientists. "I am aware," Balgos went on, "that this is a conclusion which cannot yet be supported. But I am certain in my own mind that such is the case. I do not believe the present mild activity causing the earthquakes will subside. But more than that, I believe the activity will grow in a particularly disastrous way." The scientist pointed to the volcano. "I have examined this cone. It is ancient, covered with jungle growth. It is clearly stable. The crater is filled in with compacted, weathered lava. If there should be a normal eruption, it would have to vent through the hot springs, which is the only active channel. Notice that the town of Calor would then be right in line with the eruption." Rick could see it clearly. The contours of the terrain were such that a lava flow of any magnitude would engulf the little city. "I believe the volcano will vent through the hot springs," Balgos went on. "But my examination of the volcano leads me to expect that it will vent with fantastic violence. The hot-springs channel is purely seepage. There is no open vent. This means the mountain will resist the growing forces under it until it is forced to give with great suddenness. To be as concise as possible, what I see here is another Krakatoa." There was a concerted gasp from the assembled group. Rick felt his scalp prickle. He had expected nothing like this. Krakatoa, he knew from his reading, had been the greatest cataclysm in recorded history. The volcano, in the East Indies, had blown up with enormous violence. The island on which it was located had been literally blasted to bits; nothing was left. Nearby islands were blazed clean. No one knew how many people had perished instantly. The blast was felt completely around the world, and the dust of Krakatoa had so filled the world's skies that the weather was changed. Winters came earlier and stayed longer, until the dust settled at last. "This is our problem," Balgos said simply. "It is made more difficult by two things, our people and our politics. The people are superstitious fatalists. I know them too well to expect that they will move from the island. And where would they move? San Luz is claimed by three countries: England, Colombia, and Venezuela. But we consider ourselves independent. We have our own legislature. We cannot go to any one country for help without acknowledging its sovereignty over us. We cannot go to all three at once, because the diplomatic difficulties of getting three nations together would take too much time. Besides, I do not know what any nation could do. And so, I come to you, on behalf of our governor, and of myself." There was silence when Balgos finished. Then big Hobart Zircon boomed, "If we assume your conclusions are correct, what can be done? There is no way of stopping a volcanic eruption, much less an explosion. Man is helpless before such natural forces. It would be easier to stop a hurricane than another Krakatoa." Balgos shrugged. "I agree. Yet, can we stand by and wait without even making an attempt?" "Certainly not," Hartson Brant replied. "First, we must develop more data. Dr. Balgos had said that his conclusions are based on intuition, and not facts. I, for one, trust his intuition. But we must know the exact situation before we can even begin to study the possibilities of doing something." Tony Briotti objected. "Even with a study, what can be done? I'm not a physical scientist, so this is outside of my field. But I've never heard of anyone even attempting to change the direction of a lava flow, much less control an eruption." Dr. Balgos spread his hands expressively. "In mythology, Vulcan was the blacksmith, the god of fire and volcanoes. We have grown too wise to believe in myths, but we do believe in the scientific method. I come to you, as some of its most famous practitioners. If anything can be done--and I do not know if it can--then you are the scientific team that can do it. If you can do nothing, then San Luz will die, violently, under Vulcan's hammer!" CHAPTER II San Luz Rick Brant awoke slowly. For a moment he lay with eyes closed while he tried to identify the strange odor that smote his nostrils. It was a noxious combination of medicine, burned matches, and ancient eggs. Then he remembered, and sat bolt upright in bed. San Luz! The smell of the hot springs burned his nose even through the air-conditioning system. It must be awful outside, he thought. It had been bad enough last night. He looked over to the other bed in the luxurious room and saw Scotty, wrapped like a cocoon in sheet and blanket. For a moment he was tempted to heave a pillow at the ex-Marine, then reconsidered. Scotty needed sleep. Let him wake up naturally. Rick lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. He could do with a little more shut-eye himself. So much had happened in the past few days that he was still spinning from the speed of it. The arrival of Dr. Esteben Balgos had upset Spindrift more thoroughly than anything else Rick could remember. He and Scotty had sat through hours of argument and heated debate. Jan and Barby had given up when the scientific arguments got far beyond their ability to understand. Rick hadn't understood much either, but he had stuck it out to the end. The conclusion was that probably nothing could be done. There was simply no way to check the eruption of a volcano. If El Viejo was going to blow its top, well . . . that was that. But the Spindrift Scientific Foundation was not known for its eagerness to drop seemingly insoluble problems, so the staff had agreed that a study should be made, at the very least. Hartson Brant had chosen Hobart Zircon and Julius Weiss to work with him, then he had persuaded an old friend, Dr. Jeffrey Williams, to drop his work for a short time and join the party. Dr. Williams was a noted seismologist. From the U. S. Geological Survey, Hartson Brant had borrowed Dr. David Riddle, a geologist with considerable experience in volcanology. The scientific team departed at once for San Luz, leaving Rick and Scotty to bring up the rear. The boys loaded scientific equipment into the Sky Wagon and took off for San Luz. It took three days for the little plane to make the trip, the longest flight of Rick's flying career. Only once before had he flown so far over water, and then only to the Virgin Islands. The plane had made it easily, but he and Scotty had sweated it out. Ordinarily, Hartson Brant would have taken the boys by commercial air, but he wanted Rick's plane on hand. Since the senior scientist did not know what difficulties the scientists might encounter, he wanted a way of making aerial surveys and photographs, plus ready communication with the mainland and nearby islands. The boys had arrived early the evening before, only to be whisked to the Executive Mansion where the governor of San Luz, the Honorable Luis Montoya, was holding a reception for the visiting scientists. The governor, a charming little man who looked like Rick's idea of a Spanish grandee, knew why the scientists were there, of course. But the secret was confined to the governor himself and to Balgos. Even Jaime Guevara, the lieutenant governor, did not know. The agreement was that the scientific group would seem to be interested only in the hot springs. The purpose of their visit, the governor had announced to the local press and radio, was to investigate the change in the springs that had ruined a principal San Luz resort hotel. By ten o'clock, when the reception ended, the boys were exhausted. But the end was not yet. They were riding in Zircon's jeep--five jeeps had been assigned to the party by the governor--and Zircon had to meet the last member of the party, Bradley Connel, a geologist borrowed from an oil company in Caracas, Venezuela, by Dr. Balgos. It was nearly midnight before the boys got to sleep, after nearly three days with minimum rest. So, both were tired. In the middle of thinking how tired he was, Rick dropped off to sleep again. He awoke with Scotty's voice in his ears. "Come on, old buddy. Dad's calling a staff meeting in fifteen minutes." Rick sat up. "How do you know?" "Didn't you hear the phone ring? Boy, you must be tired! Let's go. Time for a quick shower and coffee. I've had mine." Rick saw that a breakfast tray was on a bedside table. He had slept through Scotty's arising, shower, and delivery of breakfast. He shook his head, still groggy. A quick shower woke him up. He sipped coffee and ate toast while getting into his clothes, then the two hurried down the corridor of the luxury hotel to the conference room Hartson Brant had taken over as headquarters. The scientists were already there, taking seats around the room as the boys walked in. Rick looked at the new faces. It was the first time he had seen them in daylight. Dr. Jeffrey Williams was a plump, round-faced man with a shock of pure-white hair. Dr. David Riddle was tall, dark, lean, and heavily tanned. He looked like a mining engineer, or perhaps a forest ranger. Bradley Connel was short, heavy set, with straw-colored hair and the kind of complexion that is always sunburned and peeling so long as the days are hot--which meant always, this close to the equator. "Let's get to work," Hartson Brant said. "It's obvious that visual inspection is not going to tell us much. We'll have to get tracings before we have any real idea of what's going on under us. Dave, have you found anything of importance?" David Riddle shook his head. "It's a typical formation. Nothing unusual about it at all. El Viejo is simply a dead volcano, its cone filled in, and plenty of jungle on the slopes. The hot springs are just a seepage point, as Dr. Balgos knows. So far as I can tell, they're the weakest point, so if the mountain lets go, that is where the blowoff will come. Of course, this could be wrong and there may be weaker channels we don't suspect. We'll know when we start shooting." Hartson Brant looked at Dr. Williams. "Anything to add, Jeff?" "Not much. I've gone over the seismic data Esteben got from the seismologists in the area, and it's clear that the epicenter of most recent earthquakes in the area is right under us. Something is happening down in the earth under the mountain, but I can't say what it is. It may be volcanism or it may be a fault shifting." Rick knew that a fault was like a great crack in the earth's structure, but he had thought the scientists had agreed that the earthquakes were caused by volcanic action. He asked, "Sir, doesn't the change in the springs mean something?" "Perhaps, Rick," Dr. Williams answered. "We don't really know. Dr. Balgos thinks they mean a great deal, and I have respect for his opinions. But I'm only a seismologist. I have to depend on traces from earthquakes, and the traces tell us nothing but the single fact that something is going on far below." Hartson Brant nodded. "The answer will depend on more data, so today we'll start to collect it. Rick and Scotty brought apparatus, and the governor has supplied us with dynamite and two experienced helpers, Ruiz and Honorario." "How do we split up?" Julius Weiss asked. "Into firing and recording teams. Since we have only two recorders, we can have only two teams for data collection. But we can have three firing parties. Dave Riddle will work with Honorario, Brad Connel with Ruiz, and Hobart Zircon with Rick and Scotty. Julius, you and I will form one recording party, and Esteben and Jeff will form the other. Each team will have a jeep. Now, if you'll all gather around this model the boys made, we'll pick approximate locations for stations." The boys had brought the model with them. Now the group gathered around and discussed the best locations for both firing and recording parties. Dave Riddle was assigned a station on the slope of El Viejo near the town of Redondo on the north end of the island. Brad Connel was given a location on the northwestern slope, and Zircon and the boys were shown a position on the west near the place where pumice, a foamy volcanic rock, was mined. Hartson Brant and Julius Weiss were to place one recording station on the eastern slope of the mountain, while Dr. Williams and Dr. Balgos were assigned a station on the northern coast. Hartson Brant handed a wrist chronometer to each team leader. Each team was also to have a transit, with which to take bearings for the purpose of locating the stations with precision. "The hotel restaurant has packed lunches for us," Hartson Brant stated. "If we get under way at once, we can start shooting at one o'clock. Let's try for three shots each this afternoon. Each firing team will move one mile in a clockwise direction between shots, and we'll need to space the shots fifteen minutes apart. Hobart, you'll start shooting at 1:00, Brad at 1:15, Dave at 1:30. At 2:00, we'll start the cycle over again. That should bring us all back to the hotel by suppertime." Big Hobart Zircon clapped the boys on the shoulder. "Let's get going. Scotty, you pick up our lunches. Rick, we'll load equipment." The five jeeps were lined up outside. Rick carried out a transit, the tripod slung over his shoulder, and found the two local helpers waiting. Ruiz was a short, swarthy man with gleaming white teeth and a Mexican-style sombrero. Honorario was only slightly taller, and so thin a strong breeze would blow him away. The two San Luzians greeted him courteously. "_Buenos días, señor._" Rick knew enough Spanish to be equally polite. "_Buenos días, señores. Cómo están ustedes?_" The two switched to English. Rick hoped it wasn't a reflection on his Spanish accent, acquired at Whiteside High School the year before. "We are well, señor," Ruiz answered, and Honorario added, "We hope you will enjoy San Luz, señor." Rick said that he expected to enjoy it very much indeed. He wondered if the two knew that their mountain was getting ready to blow its top. He asked, "Do you have the dynamite, _amigos_?" "In the shed, señor. Also the caps and the detonators. If you will come, I will show you." Ruiz gestured toward a concrete shed that stood some distance away. "What was the shed used for?" Rick asked as they walked toward it. "It is a shed for a pump, señor. The pump is for the hotel's water, which must be brought up the hill from Calor." In a moment Rick saw for himself. The pump was operating noisily. Along one wall were shelves, one of which contained two cases of dynamite and boxes of caps. On another shelf were three detonators. He selected one, then picked out six sticks of dynamite. He handled the stuff gingerly, even though he knew it was safe as so much soap. Dynamite, for all its explosive power, is stable stuff, and difficult to set off by accident. The dynamite caps were much less safe, however. Each was packed carefully in its own protective wrapping, but Rick took no chances. He put each one in a different pocket. Then, feeling like a keg of gunpowder with a sputtering fuse, he walked back to the jeep. Hobart Zircon and Scotty came out of the hotel as he approached. "Stand back," Rick said grimly. "I may go off like the Black Tom explosion if you touch me." Big Hobart Zircon chuckled. "Don't worry, Rick. If you do, we'll go off with you. Would it make you happier if I carried the explosives?" Rick considered. "It doesn't matter," he said. "If the stuff goes off, we'll all go into orbit at the same time and the jeep will go with us. Let's go." Scotty looked at him curiously. "Where are the caps?" Rick patted his pockets one at a time. "One in each breast pocket and one in my watch pocket. Don't push me around, buddy. I'm loaded." Scotty grinned. "I'll keep my distance." The rest of the party was loading jeeps now, too. Scotty hoisted the equipment and lunches into the back of the jeep and got in with them. Rick climbed gingerly into the front passenger seat and Zircon got ready to drive. He handed Rick a map. "You navigate. Our first destination is marked with a cross. We start out on the road leading west from the hotel. That will take us to the pumice works." "Okay," Rick began, but he never finished. The jeep began to rock under him. For an insane instant he thought it must have a perfectly silent motor, then he realized Zircon had not yet turned on the ignition switch. Sudden dizziness made him clutch at the seat, and instinctively he clapped an arm across his chest to protect the dynamite caps. He was vaguely conscious of yells from around him, and he struggled to sit up straight. His stomach was churning and he felt nauseated. Zircon let out a bellow like a wounded steer. From inside the hotel Rick heard the sudden crash of shattering glass and gripped the jeep seat tighter with his free hand. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was over. He straightened up, dizzy. "Wh-what happened?" he asked shakily. He heard Dr. Balgos. "A warning, my friends. The most serious one yet." He pointed up to where the peak of El Viejo loomed. "The Old One must be working faster than I thought." "But what was it?" Rick asked again and at the same time was afraid that he knew. "Earthquake," Zircon boomed. He pointed. Rick stared. In a zigzag line across the hotel parking lot was a fissure, one that hadn't been there a minute before. The concrete gaped in widths varying from a crack to a few inches. The earth had opened up! CHAPTER III Firing Parties It was a shaken group of scientists that moved off in their jeeps to the preselected stations. Most of the adults had experienced earthquakes before, but none had seen the earth split almost at their feet. To Rick, the sensation had been as upsetting as any he had ever experienced. "The one thing we learn to depend on," Zircon said, "is that the earth under our feet is solid and dependable. When it shakes like a jelly, it causes a kind of emotional shock, apart from any physical damage it may do." "It certainly did with me," Rick agreed. "Ditto," Scotty added. Zircon put the jeep in gear and moved away from the hotel. He drove slowly over the narrow part of the crack in the parking lot, then picked up speed. Rick looked around. Bradley Connel and Ruiz were following in their own vehicle. Zircon took a blacktop road to the west, close to the base of the mountain. Fortunately for Rick's peace of mind, the road was fairly smooth. He had never carried dynamite caps before, but he knew they contained fulminate of mercury, which is one of the most unstable and violent chemical substances, pound for pound, ever created. The big scientist sensed his uneasiness. "Relax, Rick. Those caps won't go off without a substantial knock against something. Enjoy the scenery." Rick grinned. "I'll try." The scenery was tropical. Once away from the hotel grounds, there was heavy growth, vines, creepers, and broad-leafed plants. He saw palmetto and wild banana interspersed with Judas palms and other typical vegetation. The growth clung to the side of El Viejo like a thick green carpet. Now and then the jeep passed an open space in the vegetation and he saw the plains stretching away to the sea on his left. The jeep climbed gradually and Rick realized that their direction had changed. They were now heading on the more northerly course. The vegetation was thinner, too, and he guessed it was because they were higher up the mountainside. At a rough estimate, the jeep had climbed nearly a thousand feet. "Pumice quarry ahead," Zircon announced. Rick saw ramshackle wooden buildings, then piles of grayish rock. A hundred yards farther on he saw an open pit. This was where the San Luzians mined pumice for export. "Is there much of a market for it?" Scotty asked. "Not as much as there was years ago," Zircon replied. "Pumice, as you probably know, is volcanic rock. But not an ordinary one. It's a kind of foamy lava honeycombed with gas bubbles. It's used as an abrasive. Modern industrial products have replaced it in general use, but apparently there's still enough demand so that the San Luzians are able to export a little. Our firing station is about a mile from here." Rick looked at the rough terrain. "Think we can get through?" "Easily. According to the map, we have an unpaved road part of the way." The unpaved road turned out to be a pair of wagon tracks. But at least there were no trees in the way. Rick held on tight as Zircon shifted into four-wheel drive and forged ahead. The big scientist kept an eye on his odometer, or mileage counter, while the boys watched for a clearing. It was slightly over a mile before they found one, and Zircon pulled off the road to let Brad Connel and Ruiz go by. The jeep stopped as the two came abreast and the geologist called, "Want to trade stations?" "We like this one," Zircon replied with a grin. "Don't blame you. I have another three miles through this stuff. Well, so long." The jeep started off and was soon lost as the path curved slightly. Zircon looked at his watch. "Plenty of time, but we might as well get ready." A few minutes search disclosed a spot far enough away from the clearing for safety, with no trees to be uprooted by the blast. Zircon took two of the dynamite sticks Rick carried and one of the caps. He placed the cap over one stick and used a special tool, like a jar opener, to crimp it into place. "This is the only really delicate part of the operation," he said. "If the crimpers slip, they could set off the cap and the dynamite. So be careful when you do it. Keep the crimpers low on the flange of the cap." He found a rubber band in his pocket and used it to hold the two sticks together. A coil of wire was produced next, and the connection made to the dynamite cap. Zircon dug a shallow hole with his heel and put the dynamite sticks in, then backed off unwinding wire as he went. The detonator had been left in the jeep. Rick got it and carried it to where Zircon waited with the pair of wires. "How does this thing work?" Scotty asked. "It's a dynamo," Zircon replied. "When the handle is pushed down it engages gears that spin a flywheel, which operates the dynamo long enough to send an electrical charge through the wires." "So don't sit on the handle," Rick joked. "And don't kick it," Scotty added. Zircon connected the wires to a pair of terminals on top of the detonator, then looked at his watch. "Plenty of time. We might as well take it easy. Anyone hungry?" No one was. It was too soon after breakfast. Instead, Rick took the opportunity to ask questions. "I can understand the general principle of what we're doing, but can you tell us exactly what happens?" "Sure. When the dynamite charge goes off, it sends shock waves through the earth in all directions. Whenever a shock wave strikes something of different density, its direction and velocity change. For instance, if there is denser rock a few hundred feet down, that will cause a change of both velocity and direction. With me so far?" "I think so," Scotty said. "The denser the stuff the wave strikes, the faster it moves. Like sound waves. I mean, sound moves faster in water than in air, and faster in a steel rail than in water. Is it the same?" "Just about," Zircon agreed. "The shock waves radiate away from us, through the earth, and eventually reach the recorders on the other side of the mountain. You can see what happens, I think. Waves will arrive at different times, depending on the path they took and the kind of material they went through." Rick nodded. "So if there's molten rock, or magma somewhere in the way, the shock wave that goes through it will slow down and arrive at the recorder later?" "That's it. The tracings we get can be analyzed to give us a kind of cross-sectional look at the mountain. You see, we know how fast the waves travel through different kinds of earth structure. Also, we will know the point of the explosion and the location of the recorder for each shot. Which reminds me. We'd better get out the equipment and locate ourselves precisely." "How?" Rick asked. "What will we use for landmarks?" "The top of the mountain, for one, and if you'll look carefully to a point slightly south of east between those two banana palms, you'll see the top of the control tower at the airport." Rick shook his head. "Good thing you're with us. I completely forgot to watch for landmarks." "That was the first thing I had in mind in looking for a spot," Zircon told him. The transit gave a precise angle between the two landmarks. Zircon drew a line on the map connecting the southern tip of the mountain and the airport tower. Then, with that as his base line, it was easy to draw two lines at the correct angles from each of the points. The transit's position was where the two lines intersected. By the time the scientist had finished, it was nearly one o'clock. The three walked to the detonator. "Pull the handle up," Zircon directed. Rick did so. "I'll count down from ten seconds. Push down on zero." It was like the countdown for a rocket firing, Rick thought. Zircon called out the time starting at one minute, then called off the last ten seconds. As he reached zero, Rick pushed the handle home. The dynamite went off with a roar that sent leaves and dirt flying, and Rick felt the shock wave slam against his ears with stunning force. "Open your mouth next time," Zircon said. "I forgot to warn you." He was already reeling in the wire. "Let's get going. One mile farther on for the next shot." At the next station the same procedure was repeated, but before it was time, there was a far-off explosion. Zircon looked at his watch. "Brad Connel. Right on time." In another fifteen minutes there was an even more distant sound as David Riddle's first shot went off. They ate their lunch and listened to the echo off the mountain. Zircon and the boys were ready when their time came. Location this time had been made on sightings toward the mountain, and a flagpole at Cape San Souci on the western side of the island. The road petered out and they were forced to go cross-country to reach the third shot station. Fortunately, Brad Connel had left a path of crushed vegetation, so it was only necessary to follow where he had led. After the third shot, the three collected their equipment and drove back to the hotel. They were the first back. All three were sticky from the heat, and somewhat insect bitten. By unanimous consent they headed for the showers. Rick dressed except for his shoes, then stretched out on his bed. He wondered what the day's work would show. The memory of the earthquake was still fresh, and he was anxious to see if it had come from rising magma far below, or from some other source. He had a mental image of white-hot rock rising sluggishly, melting a path to the surface. Now and then the magma struck water, or gas-producing minerals, and then there was a tightly held explosion that made the earth shudder. Well, it was probably like that, from what he had read about volcanic action. Anyway, he could do without earthquakes. They were unnerving. Scotty finished dressing, and Rick slipped on his shoes. It was time for the others to be back. Connel should have arrived only a few minutes behind them, but it would take longer for the others because they had gone around the mountain in the other direction. The boys walked to the staff conference room and found Hartson Brant and Julius Weiss. The two were busy unrolling long strips of paper covered with blue shadings. "Find anything yet?" Rick asked his father. "No. We're just getting ready to take a look. How did it go?" "No trouble. Zircon must still be in the shower. Probably Connel is, too. He must have been right behind us." The scientists started poring over the traces. "Here's your first shot," Hartson Brant said. He pointed to where a series of squiggles began. Rick could see nothing of interest. All the pen marks looked about the same to him. It would take expert analysis to make anything out of them. The boys left the scientists to their work and wandered out into the parking lot. "I want to take a closer look at that crack," Rick said. "Same here. Suppose it goes to China?" Rick grinned at his pal. "That's a myth. If you drilled a hole straight down through the center of the earth from here you wouldn't come out anywhere near China. You'd be in the Southern Hemisphere." "Don't get technical on me, boy." The crack, however, went down only about three feet, gradually narrowing until it was closed. Even so, it was impressive. Rick knew that the actual break must continue down into the earth for some distance, perhaps for hundreds of feet. The force it took to shake the earth like that was awesome. Again he was reminded sharply of the kind of forces against which the Spindrift group was trying to contend, and he felt for the first time that the job was completely hopeless. What could mere men do? A horn honking wildly brought him to quick attention. He turned and saw a jeep coming along the western road into the parking lot. Brad Connel! But where was Ruiz? Then, as the jeep neared, Rick saw. The San Luzian was lashed to an improvised stretcher lying across the back of the jeep! The geologist drew to a stop, his face chalky. "Get a doctor!" he shouted. "Quickly! Ruiz got caught in the last explosion. I think he's dead!" CHAPTER IV Seismic Tracings Ruiz, the short, friendly San Luzian, was not dead, but he was only barely alive. Within a half hour he was on his way to the hospital at Calor, crushed and unconscious. Brad Connel was badly shaken. "I thought he was behind me," the geologist explained. "But he had gone back to check the cap connection. At least, that's what he must have gone back for. I fired, then turned around, and he wasn't there. He was blown fifty feet at least. If only I had checked! But he was there with me, and I just kept my eye on the chronometer. He didn't say anything. He just walked off." There was nothing much to be said. It was the kind of accident that seems absolutely senseless. Both Connel and Ruiz were old hands with explosives, yet the San Luzian apparently had wandered back to the charge just as it went off. Rick and Scotty walked toward the hot springs behind the hotel and talked it over. "Pretty stupid thing for anyone to do," Scotty said soberly. Rick agreed. "Especially an old hand. Ruiz was supposed to be experienced, but I can't imagine how a veteran could pull a stunt like that." It made absolutely no sense. Ruiz spoke English. Rick knew that from his conversation with the San Luzian. So he must have known Connel was counting down, getting ready to push the plunger home. Why would he walk into the blast, unless he was tired of living? But he didn't believe Ruiz would try to get himself killed deliberately. The little San Luzian had seemed like a sane, happy individual. Rick gave up. Maybe when Connel calmed down a little he could shed more light on the accident. "The smell from the springs is getting pretty strong," Scotty remarked. It certainly was. The wind had been from the hotel toward the hot springs most of the day, and the odor hadn't been bad. Now, in the vicinity of the springs, it was making Rick's eyes water and his nose smart. "Think we can get close enough for a look?" Rick asked. "We can try. There's the building ahead." A cement walk led from the hotel to the springs, rising up a gradual incline that was not too steep for wheel chairs, or for the elderly. The boys had heard that many invalids had come here, to bathe in the hot springs, to drink the mineral water, and to soak in warm mud. "How'd you like a nice hot mud bath?" Rick asked. Scotty grinned. "Can't say it appeals to me, but there must be something to it. There are mud baths and hot springs in Europe, too. With plenty of customers." Rick took out his handkerchief and dried eyes that were watering from the fumes. He doubted that the gases were good for them, but he was curious. He wanted to see where the volcano would blow its top, if it was going to. In spite of the irritating fumes, they persisted and got a quick look at the former health area. There was a series of pools for bathers, ranging from big ones for large groups to individual tublike affairs, all nicely tiled. There was one area of mud baths. Rick had an impression of two areas, one of bubbling mud, the other of steaming water. It was enough. The boys turned and got out of there. Back at the hotel, the scientists were working. All were present, except for Brad Connel, who had asked to be excused. He was in his room, apparently still badly upset over the accident. Dr. Jeffrey Williams had obtained a large sheet of paper and had sketched an outline of the volcano and the earth under it as seen in cross section. As Hartson Brant read off data from the day's tracings, Dr. Williams plotted points far underground. Now and then he connected points, or put in a light line. Rick and Scotty watched with interest. The tracings meant nothing to them; analysis was a job for trained scientists. But Dr. Williams was slowly producing a picture on the paper. "That's all," Hartson Brant said finally. "How does it look, Jeff?" The seismologist shook his head. "Not good." He held his pencil almost flat to the paper and began shading in an area bounded by the points he had made. "According to what we have, this is the shape of a magma front." He drew in other lines, rising vertically through the earth into the volcano. "Apparently these discontinuities indicate old channels, now filled in. Notice that the magma is not following the original channels. This seems to confirm what Esteben has been telling us." The volcanologist nodded. "It seems to. Jeff, do you have any doubt about this area being magma?" "I'm afraid not. The data fits. Of course it's still pretty far below the surface." Rick could see that the ominous shading was nearly twice as far underground as the top of the volcano was above sea level. Julius Weiss spoke up. "The next step is to find out how fast the magma is rising." "A series of shots every day for the next few days should tell us that," Hartson Brant agreed. "Hobart, you've been pretty quiet. Any comments?" "None of any importance," the big physicist boomed. "Only this: what can we possibly do about a situation like this?" Hartson Brant shrugged. "I don't know. At least we can keep track of the magma." David Riddle, the geologist, added, "It will allow time to warn the population. I can see no other means of saving them except to get them off the island." Rick had reached the same conclusion. It didn't take a scientist to realize the gravity of the situation. El Viejo was getting ready for something big, unless the magma subsided. Since no one was really sure about the physics of volcanology, no one had a good guess why the volcanic action had begun again. No one could be sure it would not decrease, either. "This picture is pretty rough," Dr. Williams said. "I'll refine it a little after dinner, Hartson. It will give us a better basis for plotting tomorrow's results." "Good idea," Hartson Brant agreed. "And speaking of dinner, it's about time. Let's wash up and meet in the dining room in a half hour." "Better call Brad Connel," Zircon said. "I know how upset he must be, but it will be better if he joins us and eats something." Rick and Scotty returned to their room and washed for dinner. Both were quiet. The appearance of the magma under them, almost like a mushroom cloud in shape, was pretty ominous. Like sitting on a volcano, Rick thought. It was the most appropriate expression he could think of. No wonder the earth had split. Scotty mused aloud. "Rock. Melting like butter on a stove. Thousands of tons of it. Makes you appreciate natural forces, doesn't it?" "Even hydrogen bombs are pretty feeble by comparison," Rick agreed. "It makes me uneasy to think of all that stuff boiling up under us." "I caught myself looking down a couple of times," Scotty said with a grin. "I wouldn't be surprised to see steam coming up through the rug." Rick consulted his watch. "Maybe food will make us feel better. Come on. It's about time." The scientific party was alone in the hotel, except for a reduced staff. The governor had made arrangements for the hotel to operate so that the visitors could have service. Rick almost wished they had stayed at a beach hotel with other people around them. The huge resort was like an abandoned city, with a few ghosts left in it. They walked through the conference room on their way into dinner and found Connel looking over the sketch Williams had made. He looked up as they entered and greeted them casually. "Hello, Rick, Scotty. I see we do have magma below us." "That's what Dr. Williams said," Rick agreed. "How do you feel, Mr. Connel?" The geologist shrugged. "How can I feel? Ruiz was--is--a nice little guy. I still don't know what happened, why he should walk back to the charge. I was concentrating on getting the charge off on time, and there was no reason for him to go back." "You said he went to check the cap connection," Scotty reminded. "It's the only reason I can think of, and it isn't a very good one. He made the connection himself. Maybe he wanted another quick look." The geologist transferred his attention back to the sketch. "The stuff is still pretty far down. Good thing, too. That will give time for evacuating the island. We've probably got several months yet." The subject wasn't brought up during dinner, but over coffee Esteben Balgos commented, "We must keep the governor informed. Jeff, if you will lend me your sketch, I'll take it to the Executive Mansion first thing in the morning and bring it back before we begin shooting. I think the governor will want to start planning for evacuation, if he has not yet done so." Williams nodded. "Help yourself, Esteben. I'll probably have the sketch in my room. Knock on the door in the morning if you want it." The talk turned to heat-transfer mechanisms in the earth, and from there to the whole problem of solar-energy input and outflow. The subject was not one in which Rick had any background, and it wasn't long before he lost interest. Besides, he was still tired from the trip, and the day's events had added their own burden of fatigue. Scotty yawned, and Rick took the opportunity to suggest, "Let's go to bed." "I'm with you." The boys excused themselves and in a short time were settled down for the night. Rick fell asleep almost instantly. He awoke with Scotty shouting in his ear. "Let's go, Rick! Trouble!" Rick was on his feet, into trousers and shoes before he was fully awake. Scotty had already dashed into the corridor. Rick joined him and the rest of the scientists, who were standing in a group in front of Jeffrey Williams' room. The white-haired scientist was holding a handkerchief to a bloody bruise on his head. Rick hurried up just in time to hear him tell the group: "I don't know what happened. My door wasn't locked, so anyone could have come in. I didn't see a soul. I must have dozed off." "What's going on?" Rick demanded. His father answered. "Someone came into Jeff's room and slugged him, apparently while he was dozing over the tracings. Both the tracings and the sketch are gone!" CHAPTER V Dynamite Missing "There's only one reason I can think of why anyone would want to steal the tracings," Rick said. He held on for a moment as Zircon steered the jeep over a bump in the trail. "If word has leaked out about why we're really here, maybe someone in the tourist business would steal the evidence to keep business from being ruined." Scotty spoke up from the rear seat. "There's one big fat flaw in that argument, boy. Would anyone care so much about business that he'd want to stay and be blown up? Who thinks more of business than he does of his own skin?" Zircon chuckled. "There may be such people, but I suspect they're scarce." Rick had to agree. He stared through the windshield at the tail of Brad Connel's jeep. The geologist was leading the way to the firing area, and he was alone. Hartson Brant had tried to assign one of the boys as a helper, but Connel had balked. He insisted that he did not need a helper, that he was used to handling charges alone, that he did not want to take the risk of an accident like that of yesterday. "Connel was pretty determined to go it alone," Rick remarked. "He's upset over the accident to Ruiz," Zircon pointed out. "He probably feels bad because he couldn't see Ruiz when he visited the hospital." Connel had gone into town with Dr. Balgos, and had paid a call at the Executive Mansion. While Balgos talked with Governor Montoya, recreating the stolen sketch from memory, Connel had been taken to the hospital by Lieutenant Governor Jaime Guevara. The hospital reported that Ruiz was on the danger list, his condition unchanged. He could have no visitors. Apparently both Guevara and Governor Montoya had tried to assure Connel that he should not be so depressed over what was obviously a freak accident. The trio stopped at their first station, and Connel waved, then continued on his way. Rick watched him out of sight, then turned to go to work. He remembered what the geologist had said the night before. "Connel figures we have months before the volcano blows," he remembered. "What?" Zircon looked up sharply. "How did he arrive at that conclusion?" "From Dr. Williams' sketch." "Hmmm." The big scientist checked the detonator thoughtfully. "He must have figured on a straight upward flow of the magma. But from the shape of the magma front, I think it's highly unlikely that it will progress in any such regular fashion. Instead, the front probably will increase erratically, but in a kind of progression. It may double its frontage at approximately regular periods." Scotty scratched his chin. "Double its frontage, huh? What does that mean?" "Maybe four hundred square feet today, eight hundred tomorrow, and sixteen hundred the day after. We won't know the rate of growth, or the time scale, until we've watched it for a while. But I talked with Balgos and Hartson last night at some length, and their opinion is that we probably have a couple of weeks, maybe even three or four. But not months." Rick whistled. "That fast? When will we be sure?" Zircon shrugged. "Can't tell. We'll keep shooting on a daily schedule, and perhaps in three or four days we'll see enough growth in the front to make an estimate. But even that can be misleading. If the magma strikes a softer area, it can grow even more rapidly. Our best bet will be to keep a daily watch from now on." Rick looked up at the extinct cone of El Viejo. In his imagination he saw the top blow off in an earth-shaking explosion and millions of tons of white-hot lava spurt high in the air. Then, when the lava came down ... "We'd better get on the ball," he said. "Almost time for our first shot." "Want to connect up?" Zircon asked. "I guess so." Rick had never handled dynamite before, but there was no time like the present to get started. He took sticks from his pocket, then a cap. Zircon handed him the crimping tool. He put a cap in place; then, with infinite care, put the crimping tool in position. He took a deep breath and squeezed. Nothing happened, except that the cap was now held tightly. Rick let his breath out and grinned. Zircon and Scotty grinned back. "When you get real salty," Scotty said, "you'll crimp the caps on with your teeth." "Ha!" Rick said. "And blow my head off?" "It's possible," Zircon agreed. "It has happened. My advice is, don't try it. I've seen men do it, but it always gives me the shudders. Come on. Let's plant the charge and lay the wire." The shots went off on schedule, and the party returned to the hotel. Later, in analyzing the shots and making a new sketch, Jeffrey Williams thought the magma front had grown slightly from the previous day, but since the first tracings were gone, there was no way of being sure. David Riddle and Brad Connel walked in as he finished. The two, using respirators, had been to inspect the hot-springs area. "Nothing new," Riddle reported. "The only sign of activity is a fresh outpouring of hydrogen sulfide. It's bubbling up through the mud, and it could be a pocket of gas that was suddenly released. The springs won't tell us much." Hartson Brant said thoughtfully, "I'm afraid you're right, Dave. Nothing for it but to keep shooting. And we'll lock up the papers at night, so we can keep track of what's going on. One thing we'd better do is start a survey of the entire cone, above the level where our shots give us information. I'd like to be sure we're not overlooking any new gaps or fissures in the mountain itself. But can we do it with the manpower we have available and still keep shooting?" Rick spoke up. "I know how we can help, Dad. Scotty and I can handle our stations alone now. That will leave Dr. Zircon free for other things. Then, if we change stations with Brad Connel, and he takes the closer ones, he can get back a good hour earlier and do other work." "No!" Brad Connel exploded. Hartson Brant and the other scientists looked at him with surprise. "Why not?" Dr. Brant asked. "It seems like a sensible suggestion, Brad." "It is," Connel said hurriedly. "It's just that ... well, maybe I'm still too upset over that accident, but I know the terrain now, and these kids don't. They should stick to the stations where they've been operating, and I'll handle my own. It's just that I don't want any risks whatever. My own part of the mountain is a lot rougher, and they'd be carrying dynamite and caps over pretty bouncy trails. I don't like it. I think we should stick to our own stations." The geologist obviously felt strongly about it, and Hartson Brant agreed. "Since you feel that way, Brad, we'll let things go as they are. Hobart, can the boys handle the shots?" "Sure," Zircon stated. "As long as Rick doesn't crimp caps with his teeth. Of course if he does we'll still get a reading, but we may lose Rick." "No danger," Rick retorted. "Besides, you wouldn't get a reading because the shot wouldn't be timed right." Hartson Brant saw that the big scientist was joking. "If Rick feels adventurous he can kick mountain lions for sport instead. I'm told there are some on the mountain." "Jaguars," Dr. Balgos offered. "Not your typical North American cats. These are much fiercer. They react faster to a kick--if you can get close enough to kick one." Brad Connel laughed heartily. "The boys can lure 'em with catnip," he said. Rick glanced at the geologist. The laugh hadn't rung true. "I suggest we also save time by shooting in the early morning," Hartson Brant added. "That will leave the afternoon for other activities. Jeff, if you can manage to keep your head out of the way of blunt instruments, perhaps you'd like to make a better sketch of the magma front. We can assign the boys as guards, if you like." Dr. Williams caressed the bruise on his head. "Not necessary, Hartson. I'll lock my door and keep my face toward the window. But for now, how about dinner?" There was no disagreement. After dinner, Rick and Scotty lingered over coffee with Dr. Balgos, Julius Weiss, and Hartson Brant. The others had excused themselves and gone back to their rooms. The boys were trying to learn more about volcanoes, but the scientists had a tendency to get involved in discussions of some of the finer points of geophysics and long minutes would pass before Rick or Scotty could bring them back to the main point with a question. In the midst of an interesting discussion of the Hawaiian volcanoes by Dr. Balgos, Honorario burst into the dining room and hurried to the Peruvian scientist. Rick couldn't follow the rapid Spanish, but Balgos jumped to his feet, his face white, and translated swiftly. "Honorario says all the dynamite is gone!" CHAPTER VI Dangerous Trail The search for the missing dynamite had failed completely. Rick, Scotty, and the scientists were equally puzzled. Why steal dynamite? What was there to be gained? At a conference early the following morning Hartson Brant voiced the question. Julius Weiss was the first to respond, and his answer was another question. "What was to be gained by stealing the tracings and Jeff's sketch? Isn't the theft of the dynamite in the same category?" "I suppose it is," Hartson Brant agreed. "I see no motive whatever for either theft. After all, it was simple enough to make additional tracings, and it will not be difficult to obtain more dynamite. So I go back to my original question. What is to be gained by the theft?" "Dynamite has some value," Zircon boomed. "To be sure. But the tracings had none, except to us." Rick said what had been on his mind. "Both thefts resulted in only one thing . . . delay. The tracings put us a day behind, and the dynamite might delay us even longer. It depends on how fast we can get more." "Maybe Rick has something there," David Riddle said. "But who gains from a delay in the project?" "No one," Brad Connel said testily. "I think we're looking for a motive that doesn't exist. The tracings probably were stolen by someone on the hotel staff, because they looked important. Maybe the thief thought they could be sold. Certainly the dynamite can be sold. What motive do we need other than the usual profit a thief expects?" "Perhaps none," Hartson Brant admitted. "The question is, what now? We can proceed no further without explosives." "I will go to the governor and see if he can obtain more for us," Esteben Balgos announced. "If he has none here on San Luz, there are other islands close by. A few telephone calls will locate a supply." "Fine. And while you're doing that, there is little the rest of us can do except relax. Will you let us know by telephone what the governor says?" "Yes, at once. Any of you care to go with me?" Williams and Riddle volunteered to go along. Weiss announced that he wanted to make some calculations and asked Hartson Brant and Zircon to help him. Rick and Scotty, left on their own, considered the possibilities for amusement and found none except the ocean itself--which was plenty. They decided on a swim and hurried back to their room to put on trunks under their slacks. Zircon readily gave permission to use the jeep. As they changed clothes, a jeep motor roared into life. Scotty walked to the window and opened the draperies. "Balgos and the others," he announced. A few minutes later another jeep motor started up. Rick went to the window and was just in time to see Brad Connel start across the parking lot in his jeep. He was alone. The boy turned away from the window, very thoughtful. "That was Connel. Wonder where he's going?" "Maybe to Calor, for shopping or sightseeing," Scotty replied. "What's on your mind?" "He worries me," Rick said bluntly. "I don't really know why. Only he's certainly determined to keep us away from his firing stations, isn't he?" "Go on. Something's biting you, and I want to know what it is." Rick stared at his dark-haired pal without really seeing him. He struggled to put into words the vague thoughts in the back of his mind. "Well, he acted worried about Ruiz, but I don't really think he was. It was kind of overdone, you know? His face didn't match his words." Scotty shook his head. "You're on thin ice, boy. People don't react to accidents in a standard way. It might have been overdone, but it might not, too. What else?" "He didn't want us to go along as helpers after Ruiz was hurt. I know that doesn't mean much, and he said he was just afraid of another accident, but wouldn't you think he'd like some company? Besides, two accidents like that just don't happen. Then, when we suggested changing stations so he could have more time to work on other things, he yelled pretty fast." "Because we don't know his terrain," Scotty pointed out. "At least that's what he said." "Sure. But what's to know about the terrain? All we'd have to do would be to follow his jeep tracks, and shoot where the ground is already torn up from his earlier shots. If it's safe for him to carry caps and dynamite, it's safe for us." Scotty scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. But the evidence isn't very conclusive, is it?" "No," Rick admitted. "Only where's he going now? If he planned to go to town, he'd invite anyone who wanted to go, wouldn't he? That's what most people would do." Scotty chuckled. "One thing I like about you. When you get a notion in that noggin, it doesn't come out easily. Next you'll be suggesting that he slugged Williams and stole the dynamite." "He could have," Rick pointed out. "Apparently he was alone in his room both times. At least no one said he was with them." Scotty held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. What do we do about it?" "Let's see where he's going." "I knew it," Scotty said resignedly. "Okay. But we'd better hurry." There was a clear view from the front of the hotel down the slopes of the foothills to the town of Calor. The road wound around and occasionally vanished from sight in clumps of green growth, but the boys watched for several minutes and saw no sign of Connel. The jeep with Balgos and the others was rolling along in the distance, but it was still close enough to see three occupants. "He didn't go to town," Rick said finally, "and there's only one other road out of here." "To the shot stations," Scotty agreed. "Unless he cut off and headed for San Souci." That was a little fishing village on the west coast. Neither boy had been there, but they had used a flagpole on the tip of the cape near the town as a sighting marker. "Let's go see," Rick suggested. They hurried through the hotel to the parking lot and got into the jeep. Rick started the vehicle, crossed the fissure in the lot, and took the road west. According to the map, the road was paved as far as the pumice works. Beyond that it was graded dirt. If Connel had taken the dirt road, instead of the trail to the shot stations, they should see dust. He kept the jeep rolling at good speed as far as the pumice-works shacks, then stopped to look for signs of a dust haze. There was none. At the end of the blacktop, he and Scotty got out and examined the road surface. There were signs of traffic, but none very recent so far as they could tell. Rick drove the jeep a few hundred yards along the road, then got out and looked again. The heavy treads of his vehicle were clearly visible in the dust. If Connel had gone this way, he would have left similar marks. "He took the trail," Rick said. Scotty nodded. "Looks like it. Do we follow?" "We sure do. What reason would he have for going to the station without dynamite?" "None that I know of. Let's go." Rick turned the jeep into the trail and sped along it as fast as the ruts allowed. As they reached their third station with no sign of Connel, Scotty spoke suddenly. "Suppose we find him? How do we explain why we're following him?" Rick considered. He rejected a casual trip as explanation. Connel wouldn't buy it. "We can park the jeep in the jungle," he said finally. "It will be well hidden. Then we can go on foot. If we see him coming, we can take to the bush. We'll be invisible a few feet away." The jeep was driven into the area where their shots had been set off. It was invisible from the trail. The boys left it and started hiking. It was hard going. The heat and humidity were both high, and they were sweating before a quarter mile was covered. The film of perspiration seemed to attract insects, too, and before long the pests were driving them to distraction. Rick brushed futilely at the shining swarm of gnats around his head. "I'm not sure it's worth it," he said grimly. "Neither am I," Scotty agreed. "But we've started. Let's keep plugging." They reached the first of Connel's shot stations without a sign of the geologist. It was much like their own, a small clearing with the ground torn by the dynamite. The second station, a mile farther on, was similar except that there were more trees and fewer scrub palms. Rick identified one giant tree as mahogany. They strode up the trail, grimly determined to find the geologist. One more station remained ahead. Rick doubted that he had gone farther than that. He wiped his streaming face and squinted his eyes to protect them from the whining gnats. They swarmed around but didn't seem to sting or bite. He was grateful for that much. Suddenly Scotty let out a warning gasp. The dark-haired boy threw himself sideways, on top of Rick, and the two of them crashed to the ground. "Roll away," Scotty said urgently. "Back! Hurry!" The ground opened up a few feet away. Rick felt a giant hand pick him up, shake him, then slam him into a palmetto. Bruised and dazed, he grabbed the palmetto for support and lacerated his hands on the rough covering. He slid to the ground, consciousness slipping from him. For a moment Rick lay slumped at the base of the palmetto. He didn't lose consciousness completely, but he was stunned and unable to function either mentally or physically. He had neither sight or hearing for the first few seconds, then these faculties slowly returned. He became aware that he was looking down at a broad green leaf, and that the leaf was gradually turning crimson. He watched, his vision clearing, and suddenly realized that the red pigment was dripping onto the leaf in a steady series of drops that was almost a stream. At almost the same instant he knew that the red was blood and that it was his. He shook his head to clear it, and the red spray flew from side to side. Through the periphery of vision he saw that it was coming from his nose. Rick realized that he was on his hands and knees. He rose to a kneeling position and fished for his handkerchief. He put it to his nose and it came away stained red. He sighed with relief. Nosebleed. For a moment he had wondered. . . . A few feet away Scotty was slowly stretching one limb after another, checking to be sure he was functioning. Satisfied, the ex-Marine sat up, with some effort. Rick saw that his nose was bleeding, too. "You've got a nosebleed," Rick said faintly. Scotty touched his nose with the back of his hand and examined the red trace. "Uhuh," he agreed. "What happened?" Rick asked weakly. His voice sounded far away! Scotty's answer was barely audible. "We found the missing dynamite. I saw a length of wire along the trail. Are you okay?" "I think so." Rick got to his feet, feeling as though his body were in sections. "We must have been close when it went off." The two held onto each other for mutual support while strength came back into them. "We weren't too close," Scotty said finally. He gestured up the trail. Rick looked, and saw a gaping hole some distance away. Beyond it, coming toward them at as high a speed as the trail allowed, was Brad Connel in his jeep. The geologist stopped as he reached the hole, then swung off the trail and plowed through some scrub and back onto it again. He drew up next to the boys. "So it was you who stole the dynamite!" the geologist said grimly. "What happened? Did it explode while you were fooling around with it?" The boys stared at him, dazed and openmouthed. "You're crazy," Rick managed finally. "We didn't steal it, but we almost got blown up in it. If Scotty hadn't seen the wire, we both would have been blown to bits." The geologist's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean to tell me someone tried to blow you up? That's nonsense!" "That's what happened, nonsense or not," Rick said curtly. Scotty added, "And what were you doing here?" "Came to get my wallet," the geologist answered readily. "I missed it and figured I must have dropped it up here. It wasn't anywhere else I'd been. Better get in and let me take you back. If you were close enough to get nosebleeds you must be shaken up quite a bit." "We're shaken," Rick agreed. "Our jeep is down at our shot station. We decided to leave it there and take a hike." They climbed into the back of Connel's jeep. The nosebleeds had stopped now, but their faces were smeared with blood. Neither felt like talking, nor, apparently, did Connel. He stopped at their third station and asked, "Can you make it? Or do you want to ride back with me?" "We can make it," Rick said. "Thanks for the lift." "I'd better stay behind you to make sure," Connel stated. The boys headed straight back to the hotel, Connel a hundred yards to their rear. In the parking lot they thanked him again for the lift, then hurried in to let warm water wash away the traces of their experience. Later, stretched out on their beds, they talked it over. "You saved our bacon," Rick stated. "But what really happened?" "I'm not sure," Scotty replied. "There are two possibilities. One, we sprung a booby trap. I don't really credit that one much, because we were rolling away when the stuff let go. If we'd hit a trip wire or something similar, the dynamite would have gone off right then. So, second possibility, someone was waiting for us. We jumped back just as he pushed the plunger. Or, maybe he saw we had spotted the trap and tried to get us, anyway." "Who's he?" Rick asked. "Persons unknown," Scotty answered. "Or maybe one person not unknown." "Meaning Connel? He could have done it. Suppose he set the trap, then took his jeep up the hill out of sight. Then he could have walked back, fired the shot, hurried back for his jeep, and driven down." "Could be," Scotty agreed. "Only, did he know we were coming?" Rick shrugged. "How can we know that? For all we know, from his third shot station he might be able to look right down on the trail. He sees us, hurries into position, fires the charge, and hurries back. We can't really tell until we get to that third station. Personally, I vote for Connel." "Not proven," Scotty warned. Rick knew it. "It may never be proven, on account of no witnesses. But suppose it was some unknown party? Why wouldn't that party try for Connel? Why wait until he's passed, and we're coming into position? Would an unknown thief be that interested in us?" "Too many questions," Scotty objected. "I haven't any answers. But you make a good case for its being Connel. Also, did you notice how he jumped on us for stealing the dynamite? That probably would have been his story if we'd been killed. Now tell me what his motive is. Why should he try to delay the project?" Rick had no answer to that. "Makes no sense," he agreed. "Unless there's something he doesn't want us to see. That dynamite sure discouraged our trip to his third station!" CHAPTER VII Casa Guevara The scientific party lost only one day because of the dynamite theft. Governor Montoya supplied more explosives and the firing schedule continued. Now, however, the dynamite was guarded by police supplied by His Excellency. Police also were in evidence around the Hot Springs Hotel. No more chances were being taken. After three days, the scientists began to have a better idea of what was going on in the earth beneath them, but Rick and Scotty could make little sense of the mass of data. Even the picture being filled in by Dr. Williams was confusing. Now, two magma areas were showing where only one had shown before. Esteben Balgos answered Rick's plea for an explanation. Over an excellent dinner of roast suckling pig and bananas steamed with lemon juice, the volcanologist took time to answer their questions. "There is much we do not know about volcanoes," the Peruvian scientist began. "For example, we do not know exactly what causes magma to form. Magma is, in simplest terms, molten rock. Some event takes place far below, where the earth's crust ends and the mantle begins, and the rock melts." "How far below?" Rick asked. "The distance varies. Under the ocean trenches, for example, the mantle may begin only four miles down. Under some of the mountainous land masses it may be closer to forty miles." Scotty whistled. "That's a whale of a distance. How can you tell how far down it is?" "By the seismic traces from earthquakes, or from explosive shots like the ones we are shooting. When the shock waves have reached the zone between the earth's crust and the mantle, we see the results on our tracings." "Is it really a sharp line?" Rick queried. "Probably not. No one is sure yet. It may be a kind of transitional zone, from one kind of material to another, or it may be a distinct layer. We call it the Mohorovicic Discontinuity, after the Yugoslav scientist who discovered it by analysis of seismic tracings. At any rate, it is somewhat above this discontinuity that magma is formed. We don't know how." "Then it rises?" Scotty asked. "It forces its way up, by expansion. Sometimes the magma strikes water and there is an explosion--a steam explosion. But generally the magma rises through a fairly small channel. It forms a pool under the volcano. The pool is actually a reservoir of molten rock. Generally it is shaped like a lens. The magma gathers. Eventually it forces its way to the surface, again through channels." "What kind of channels?" Rick asked. "It depends on the kind of volcano. Sometimes the channels are weaknesses in the whole surrounding earth structure, and the magma flows through cracks and emerges as sheets of lava. Sometimes there is a central channel through which the magma can rise." "Which do we have?" Scotty wanted to know. "Probably neither or perhaps both. There was once a central channel in El Viejo. It is closed now, and we do not know if it is weaker than the rest of the mountain. There is a weak fissure under the hot springs. So, El Viejo can vent either way." Rick shook his head. He had learned enough of natural forces to know there are often no definite answers to questions, but this was critical. "So the volcano could blow off on top or side, and we can't guess which?" "That is correct. However, explosive action in a volcano usually comes when the magma meets enough water to create steam. Now, our closest magma front is still far below the floor of the surrounding ocean. You follow me? Good. When the magma rises to the level of the ocean floor, what do you think will happen?" Rick could see the picture in his mind. He said slowly, "It will probably meet water. Plenty of it, from seepage of the ocean downward through cracks in the ocean floor. Maybe there are cracks like the one in the parking lot, caused by earthquakes." "Precisely. And when the magma meets the water, then what?" "The water turns to steam instantly." Scotty answered grimly. "The steam expands instantly--and boom!" "Boom," Balgos agreed solemnly. "But how big a boom we do not know. It may blow the top off El Viejo. It may blow a gap along one of the cracks. We don't know." Rick digested this information in silence. The picture was certainly not a cheerful one. "How far down are the magma fronts?" he asked. "As closely as we can tell, the bottom one is right above the discontinuity, which is about six miles below us at this point. The upper one is about a mile below the top of El Viejo. This puts it about a quarter of a mile below the floor of the ocean." "Too close," Scotty muttered. "What now?" "We keep shooting, to try and keep track of the upper front. Also, we will place instruments called tiltometers on the mountain slope. These are devices that really measure tilt. You see, if the lens of magma is increasing, El Viejo will swell up slightly. The tiltometers will show it, and we will then have further proof of what is coming." "But what can we do about it?" Rick demanded. Balgos shrugged. "_Quién sabe?_ The Spanish phrase is a good one, because it does not only ask 'who knows,' it also carries the meaning of a kind of resignation. There does not seem to be anything we can do." Rick stared across the dining room, eyes unseeing. It was hard to imagine that molten rock was gathering below them in sufficient quantity to make a mountain move; but once you succeeded in imagining it, the picture was terrifying. Motion attracted his glance and his eyes focused in time to see Brad Connel rise from the table and excuse himself. He watched the geologist walk out of the room and turned to Scotty. His pal nodded. He had seen Connel leave, too. Rick quickly counted noses. All others were present. Connel was the first to leave. He wondered where the geologist was going, and his eyes narrowed. Connel had been very anxious about his and Scotty's condition, once the hotel was reached. Rick was sure his anxiety was strictly phony. Both boys had been stiff and sore, but a medical examination showed nothing seriously wrong, thanks to Scotty's fast action. Hartson Brant had been reluctant to accept Rick's opinion that Connel had stolen the dynamite and booby-trapped them. He pointed out that the geologist had no motive; he had never even been on San Luz before. Rick had to agree. There was no apparent motive, but that didn't mean Connel was innocent. He might have a motive that no one suspected. Scotty cocked an eyebrow at Rick and made a slight motion of his head toward the door where Connel had vanished. Rick got the signal. He nodded. The boys thanked Dr. Balgos for his explanation, then excused themselves. They wandered casually from the dining room. Once outside, Rick grinned at Scotty. "So you're wondering where Connel has gone?" "Aren't you?" "Sure. But why not ask the others what he said when he excused himself?" Scotty shook his head. "They didn't think much of our theory about Connel causing our troubles, did they? If we asked, they'd think we were pushing the same point too hard." Rick agreed. "Where did he go?" "I don't know. But if he leaves the hotel, it will be by jeep. There's nothing within walking distance. If we get out back of the pump shed we'll see him if he comes out." "Aye, aye. And if he jeeps out of here, we'll be on his tail. Roger?" "You said a Brantish mouthful. Let's go." A quick reconnaissance disclosed no sign of the geologist outside, and the boys hurried across the dark parking lot to the shadow of the pump shed. A police officer materialized from the darkness and greeted them courteously. "Good evening, señores. _A sus órdenes._" By placing himself at their orders, the officer was politely asking their business, Rick knew. He replied, "We came out to see if anyone had made another try for the dynamite, Señor _Teniente_." Calling the officer "lieutenant" was a form of flattery. "_Sargento, muchas gracias_," the officer replied. White teeth flashed in a grin. "But who can tell the future? If I capture the thief, it may soon be lieutenant instead of sergeant." "We hope so," Scotty said politely. Rick noted that the three were hidden from the parking lot by the pump house. The position was satisfactory. If Connel was going to take a jeep, he probably would do so right away. Otherwise, why should he be the first to leave the dining room? "Why would anyone steal dynamite?" Rick asked the police officer. He wanted only to keep a quiet conversation going behind the pump house. The officer had theories. Perhaps revolutionaries had stolen it. Also, although it was against the law and brought severe punishment, fishermen were known to dynamite fish. This also was a possibility. But the explosion of the dynamite on the mountainside was certainly a puzzle. Rick didn't think so, but he agreed politely. It was bewildering, he said. Why steal explosives and then use it on a harmless scientific group? Perhaps fear of discovery caused the thief to set a trap, the officer guessed. He admitted it wasn't a good guess. A jeep roared into life and the boys stiffened. The officer strolled out of the shadow for a look. "One of your associates is going for a ride," he said. Rick waited until the jeep lights cut across the parking lot and moved down the western road, then he said, "It's a nice night for a ride, Scotty. What say we take a jeep and look over the country, too?" "Good idea," Scotty agreed readily. They bade the officer good night and started to where Zircon's jeep was parked. It was a temptation to hurry, but they suppressed it and sauntered to the jeep. Fortunately, no keys were needed. The jeep ignition was turned on by a simple switch. Rick got into the driver's seat and started up. He waited, the motor idling, until he was sure Connel was out of sight around the mountain, then he drove slowly across the parking lot and followed. Fortunately, there was enough moonlight to see the road. Once out of sight of the hotel, Rick stopped and switched off the lights. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he started off again as fast as vision allowed. Once he sighted Connel's lights. They were ahead and higher on the mountain. He lost sight of them again as foliage blocked the view. "Suppose he's heading for the shot station?" he asked. Scotty shrugged. "We'll soon know." They reached the pumice works without seeing the geologist's lights again, and Rick stopped at the turnoff. "Now what?" he asked. "Did he go up the trail or not?" Scotty sniffed the air. "Smell anything?" Rick breathed deeply. There was the odor of rank vegetation, and, very faintly, the odor of sulfur from the hot springs. But there was another smell, too. After a moment he identified it. "Dust!" "Seems so," Scotty agreed. "Which means he didn't take the trail to the stations. No dust on those tracks. He must have taken the dirt road to San Souci." "But why?" Rick was already moving ahead to where the pavement ended. "What's in San Souci?" Scotty chuckled. "Ask Connel. Don't ask me." "I thought Marines knew everything," Rick gibed. "Almost everything," Scotty corrected. The jeep moved onto the dirt road and in a moment their own cloud of dust obscured any slight haze that Connel's passing might have left. They were in strange territory now, and Rick slowed down somewhat. Connel had the advantage of lights. They wouldn't be able to gain on him. "He can't get far," Scotty said reassuringly. "The road goes to San Souci and nowhere else. It can't be much of a town, so we'll find him." Scotty was right. San Souci wasn't much of a town. There were a handful of fishermen's huts, a dock with a number of fishing boats, racks for drying fish, a single store, and nothing else. There was a paved road leading from the town to the main city of Calor, but Connel hadn't taken it. Nor was the jeep in San Souci. Rick's halting Spanish was sufficient to communicate with a fisherman who spoke equally halting English. He had been taking the air all evening. No other vehicle had come to San Souci. "Now what?" Rick asked helplessly. "He went somewhere," Scotty responded. "And that somewhere has to be a turnoff between here and the pumice works. We must have missed it because we traveled without lights. Let's go back and look." "I'm with you," Rick agreed. "But wherever he turned off must be a trail, because there are no side roads on the map." He swung the jeep around and started back. He had turned on the headlights as they approached the fishing village; he kept them on. They found the turnoff about a mile from San Souci. The road widened slightly, and there was an opening in the foliage just wide enough for a car. Twin gateposts of concrete marked the passage. Rick turned the jeep, and the headlights picked out a name cut in the concrete pillars: _Casa Guevara_. "Someone's house," Rick said. "Name of Guevara. We can't very well go rolling up a private driveway, can we?" "Especially with that sign," Scotty added. He pointed to a wooden sign set slightly to one side of the private road just beyond the gate. It read _No Entrar_. No Trespassing. "Question," Rick said thoughtfully. "Did Connel go up this road or is there another one?" "No evidence," Scotty replied. Rick pointed to the gatepost. "Who do we know that's named Guevara?" Scotty breathed, "Sure! The lieutenant governor!" "And he took Connel to the hospital to see Ruiz," Rick reminded, "so they're acquainted." He switched off the lights. "That's probably the answer. Connel was invited to pay a social call. Why not? This probably has nothing to do with the project at all." Scotty sighed audibly. "The trouble with you is that you come up with sensible answers. We might as well go on back to the hotel." "Might as well . . ." Rick began, then stopped as light appeared dimly through the foliage up the private driveway. They were headlights! "We've got to get out of here," he said, and threw the jeep into gear. For a moment he hesitated. If he went up the dirt road to the hotel, Connel would surely see them. If Rick went back toward San Souci and the oncoming car was not Connel, but someone from Casa Guevara, the car might also turn toward San Souci, and the boys would be seen. Rick thought quickly. About a hundred yards toward San Souci there was a break in the foliage that he had almost investigated until he saw that no tracks led into it. He quickly switched into four-wheel drive and swung the jeep in its own length. The lights were closer now. Rick accelerated and found the opening through the jungle scrub. The jeep bounced as he drove into it, then swung until they were behind a screen of palmetto. He killed the engine. Scotty piled out, Rick close behind him. They hurried to the edge of the highway, careful to keep masked by the palmetto, and watched. A jeep emerged from the driveway to Casa Guevara. In the back-scattered light from its headlights they saw that Connel was the driver. He was alone. They watched until his taillights flickered out beyond a bend in the road. [Illustration: _Connel was alone in the jeep_] "Interesting," Rick said. "Does a social call last for less than a half hour? Answer: no, not in San Luz. There's Spanish-style hospitality here, and Connel would have been there for hours." "He came on business," Scotty said slowly. "But what kind of business would he have with the lieutenant governor?" "That," Rick said grimly, "is what we need to find out." CHAPTER VIII The Governor Vanishes Far below the surface of San Luz, white-hot rock, flowing like incandescent molasses, forced its way upward under enormous pressure. Sometimes the magma remained quiet for hours, pulsing slightly like a living thing. Then it would melt its way through to a weakness in the earth's structure, creating a new channel for its upward flow. In one new channel was basaltic rock with a higher moisture content than the magma had encountered before. As the moisture turned instantly to steam, it expanded with sudden violence, and the earth shook with the force of the explosion. Far above the pocket, Rick Brant felt the earth tremble, and shook his head. The temblors were increasing in frequency, although none had been as violent as that first day's earthquake. The boy looked at Scotty. His pal's face was grim. The scientists around the worktable had paused, too, as they felt the earth tremble. Esteben Balgos said quietly, "El Viejo is getting ready. If we are going to act, it must be soon." "Act?" Connel demanded. "How?" Balgos shrugged. "That is what we are here to decide." Rick watched the geologist's face. He was sure that Connel, for reasons unknown, was trying to slow down the project. He was satisfied that the man had stolen both the initial tracings and the dynamite. He also knew that Connel lied. On their return from trailing him to Casa Guevara, the boys had found Connel having a cup of coffee in the dining room and had asked casually where he had gone. He had muttered something about going into Calor for a supply of cigars. Hartson Brant asked, "What do you make of this series of tracings? My own opinion is that we have found a structural weakness through which the magma will move. But the weakness does not extend far enough upward to give any idea of the channel the magma will take to the surface." The scientist pointed to a series of blue lines as he spoke. Dr. Williams examined the lines, then took his pencil and began to sketch rapidly on his cross-section drawing of the volcano and the earth under it. Rick watched as the sketch took shape. From the upper lens-shaped magma front Williams was drawing a series of lines that changed direction, moving toward the western side of the island. Then, across the top of the upward-moving lines Williams drew a horizontal line. "Those upward strokes are the fissures shown by the tracings," he said. "Notice that they stop at the horizontal line. My guess is that the horizontal line represents an unbroken stratum that will probably stop the magma temporarily. We may even have another one of those lens-shaped pools develop." Big Hobart Zircon poked at the sketch with a huge finger. "Jeff, how far below the surface is this stratum?" "Slightly over a quarter of a mile, I'd guess. It's hard to be accurate within a few feet. On that side of the mountain the ocean bottom is a few hundred feet below sea level, and I'd say the hard rock is probably a thousand feet below that." Zircon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If we could somehow breach that hard rock and allow room for the magma to flow upward, what would happen?" he inquired. Esteben Balgos exclaimed excitedly, "Once through the layer of hard rock, the magma would encounter plenty of surface water. Look at Jeff's sketch. Above the hard rock there are many fissures, which must have a high water content. If the magma reaches those, we will have violent eruption through the western side of the mountain, probably right about sea level." Rick could see instantly what Balgos meant. "Dad, an eruption on the west side would be perfect! The mountain itself would protect Calor and the rest of the island!" "That's true, Rick," Hartson Brant agreed. "The problem is, how can we possibly create a break in a layer of hard rock so far underground?" David Riddle answered him. "There's one way. Drive a tunnel down through it." All eyes looked at him. "Can it be done?" Julius Weiss demanded. "Yes. If there's enough time, enough machinery, and enough manpower. But look at the problem. Once the magma starts to move upward through those faults Jeff has drawn, it will move fast. The tunnel would have to be done before the magma started to move. Otherwise, the heat would be too great for men to work, and even if they could work they'd be drilling right into magma." "This stuff is beyond me," Connel said. "Let me know what you decide, will you?" He turned and walked from the room. Rick's eyes met Scotty's. The ex-Marine nodded, and in a moment quietly slipped out of the room. Julius Weiss demanded, "Are you seriously proposing that we drive a tunnel for over a quarter mile, almost straight down, through solid rock?" Riddle shrugged. "Do you know any other way of releasing the magma safely? I don't." "Perhaps it could be done," Hartson Brant said thoughtfully. "But, as Dave says, we'd need time, machinery, and manpower. I'm sure we can get the machinery and the manpower from the governor. But do we have time?" Balgos and Williams looked at each other. They were the experts. It was up to them to say. "How long, Jeff?" Balgos asked. "I don't know. If we assume the magma will continue rising at roughly the same rate we've measured during the past few days, I'd guess perhaps two or three weeks. On the other hand, the magma could find weaknesses we haven't detected. We may have only a few days." "We'll have to try," Hartson Brant stated. "If the governor can give us the entire labor force of the island, and all available earth-moving machinery, we have a chance at least. If we do nothing, there's no chance at all. I think we should pay a visit to the governor right now." Scotty came back into the room. "Connel's in his room," he reported. "I think he made a telephone call, but I can't be sure without checking with the switchboard. Shall I?" "It doesn't matter," Rick told him. "We're on our way to see the governor. Connel can't stop things now." The scientists were already moving through the door and to the jeeps. Within a few moments the small convoy was moving down the mountainside toward Calor and the executive offices. Inside the cool, white stone building the group waited while Esteben Balgos went to see if the governor was available. He came out of the executive suite with a look of concern on his face. "The governor is not in," he reported. "His secretary does not know where he is. The secretary's worried. Montoya didn't show up at all this morning and his residence says he left at the usual time. I think we'd better see the lieutenant governor." Rick started to speak, but thought better of it. Connel had not come with them, and his visit to Guevara could mean nothing. Jaime Guevara was a tall, thin man with a hawk face and a tiny goatee. Hartson Brant, as spokesman, got to the point right away. He described the reason for their coming, and their findings to date. He stressed the need for fast action. In the governor's absence, he stated, they would need the active support of Señor Guevara. If he would issue orders at once, the scientific group would be happy to organize and supervise the work. Guevara listened until the scientists had finished, then he smiled. "A strange tale," he said. "It is difficult to believe El Viejo is getting ready to erupt. Surely your imaginations have run away with you." "We do not depend on imagination," Balgos said curtly. "We depend on scientific investigation. The situation is precisely as Dr. Brant outlined it." "No doubt," Guevara said soothingly. "But surely you realize I cannot disrupt the economy of the entire island simply to dig a hole. Why, the people would laugh their heads off. No, señores, I am helpless. You had better see the governor." "The governor isn't here and there is no time to lose," Hartson Brant said flatly. "You must act immediately if the island is to be saved. The lives of your people are in your own hands." "Perhaps the governor will return soon," Guevara said. "He will doubtless believe your story and take action. I regret that I cannot. And now, if you will excuse me?" "Then you will not move even to save the island?" "I do not believe the island is in danger, Dr. Brant," Guevara said coldly. "Convince the governor--if you can find him. Meanwhile, have the favor to cease bothering me with your silly tales!" CHAPTER IX The Yellow Ground Governor Luis Montoya could not be located. Neither his family nor his staff knew his whereabouts. There was great alarm over his unexplained absence. The police were searching for the missing executive, but with no success. Hartson Brant called a council of war and told the scientific group that his most recent phone call to Guevara had even resulted in a turndown when he asked for more dynamite. The lieutenant governor evidently was not content with refusing to help, he was going to obstruct. "There is dynamite on Trinidad," Hartson Brant said. "Plenty of it. I made a phone call to a friend at the U. S. Air Base there, and he agreed to get it for us. Rick, you and Scotty fly over to Port of Spain right away. The information is written down here." He handed Rick a slip of paper. "If you leave now, you can get there before dark, spend the night and come back in the morning. Bring all the dynamite you can carry, with caps and a few reels of primer cord. We'll need more wire, too. Get hopping, now." "Yes, sir," Rick said. He and Scotty ran to their room for toothbrushes, stuffed their pockets with extra socks and underwear, and ran to the parking lot for the jeep. The weather was fine and clear, and the flight uneventful. When they landed at the U. S. base they found that Hartson Brant's friend, Colonel Tom Markey, had arranged for a full load of dynamite, and full gas tanks for the plane. The boys spent the night at bachelor officers' quarters at the base and took off at dawn, the Sky Wagon sluggish from its load of dynamite cases. Back at the Hot Springs Hotel, they unloaded the dynamite from the jeep and stored it under police protection in the pump house. Then they went to look for the scientists. Hartson Brant, David Riddle, and Julius Weiss were in the conference room working over drawings. Rick saw that they were sketches of a tunnel. The scientists welcomed them, and Rick asked, "Any progress, Dad?" "No, Rick. The governor is still missing. We can't get help until he's found." "Where are the others?" Scotty asked. "Placing tiltometers on the mountain," his father told him. "The instruments were ordered by phone from Caracas right after you left and got in on the first morning plane." Rick glanced at Scotty. He asked, "Exactly where are the others?" "Balgos and Connel are at the north end of the mountain, above Redondo. Williams and Zircon are up above us somewhere. They started the climb behind the hot springs." "I think we'll get a bite to eat," Rick said. "Unless you need us." "No. There's nothing for you to do right at the moment, but Balgos wants you to take some photos from the air later this afternoon." "Okay, Dad." Rick gestured, and Scotty followed him out. "All's quiet," Rick told his pal. "And a quiet time is a good time to do a little investigating. Let's go to the kitchen, get a couple of sandwiches, and eat them on the way." "To where?" Scotty asked. He grinned. "Don't tell me. To see what Connel is hiding over at his stations." "On the button. Let's get going." There was nothing whatever of interest at Connel's first two stations. The ground was torn up somewhat from the series of shots, but the boys could find no trace of anything unusual. They got back into the jeep, and Rick drove up the trail to the last station. He followed the path of broken vegetation Connel's jeep had made, noticing that the trail was dipping downward to a spot lower on the mountain than the other stations. They reached a patch of crushed and yellowed growth where Connel obviously had parked his jeep. There were oil stains on some of the broken leaves. Scotty pointed to a brown-paper cigarette stub. "Ever see Connel smoke one of those?" Rick hadn't. "He smokes cigars. Where do you suppose that came from?" Scotty got out of the jeep and bent over the butt. "The tip is still damp," he said. "Someone's been here very recently. We'd better keep an eye open." Trampled vegetation showed them the path to the firing place. Moving cautiously, the boys walked down the path, eyes constantly searching for signs of movement in the heavy growth. The clearing where Connel had placed his shots was only a short distance down the path. Rick examined it carefully, but it looked like all the others, except for one thing. The broken earth was yellow, and of a different texture than the deep jungle loam at the other stations. Rick walked into the shattered area and picked up a piece of the yellow ground. It broke in his hands. "Funny-looking stuff," he said. "Yes," Scotty agreed. "Take a look around while I keep a watch. I have a funny feeling we're not alone here." There was a fairly deep crater in the middle of the area. Rick stepped into it and kicked yellow earth out of his way. He was puzzled. There was nothing visible in the area except the yellow ground, and there was nothing about that to give him a clue to Connel's determination to keep them away. His foot dislodged a clump of earth. It rolled to the bottom of the shot crater, exposing two large crystals. Rick picked them up and rubbed the dirt off. They felt rather greasy. He didn't think they were quartz. His mind ranged over the possibilities. Probably datolite, he decided. The color was about right, and he knew datolite was found in igneous rocks of volcanic origin. He put the crystals in his pocket. A trace of blue caught his eye and he knelt, digging with his hands. He uncovered a few more of the datolite crystals and put them in his pocket. They weren't particularly good specimens; he had some in his rock collection that were perfectly formed and clear, but at least they were something to take home. Digging uncovered a layer of hard blue rock, heavily pockmarked and filled with the yellow ground. He saw one place where the blue actually blended in with yellow and decided that the blue and yellow were probably the same rock. The slaty blue simply turned to yellow when it was exposed to the air for a while. There were loose pieces of blue, broken by the dynamite blasts. He picked up a couple of smaller pieces, then added a piece of yellow to his collection. He uncovered another crystal, too, a large one nearly the size of a golf ball and put that in his pocket. Scotty was getting restless. "Let's get going," he said. "I don't like this." Rick had seen enough, and it had told him nothing. He was just as puzzled over Connel's motive as ever. Obviously, the answer was not here--or, if it was, they couldn't see it. "Okay," he said. "Move out." Scotty led the way back to the jeep. Rick got into the driver's seat and started the motor. He backed and turned in the narrow space Connel's jeep had created, and finally got his wheels straight for the run back. From somewhere behind them a voice called, "_Parada!_" "Who's that yelling at us to stop?" Rick asked. "I can't see anyone," Scotty replied. His eyes were scanning the jungle. "But I don't know anyone around here we want to talk to. I've got a hunch we should get going." Rick felt the same. He released the clutch and the jeep moved ahead. "_Parada!_" the voice yelled again, and on the echo came the clear crash of a rifleshot. A jagged star suddenly appeared on the windshield between them! Rick reacted instinctively. He shoved the gas pedal to the floor and bent low, the skin of his back crawling with the expectation of a rifle bullet hitting it. The jeep leaped ahead and he steered as best he could. He shifted into second and the vehicle picked up speed. The rifle snapped again and he heard the sound of the slug hitting metal in the rear of the jeep. Then the trail turned and there was heavy jungle growth between them and the unseen sniper. Not until they reached the second station, a mile away, did Rick slow down. He looked at Scotty, his face grim. "The place was guarded. What else can you make out of it?" "Just that," Scotty agreed. "The guard must have been making a tour around the shot station. He got back just as we were taking off." "Funny he didn't hear the jeep when we came," Rick said. "Not very. Sound gets lost pretty fast in this heavy growth. You couldn't hear us a hundred yards away. Probably there's just the one guard, and he goes around the station in a big circle." "I'll buy it," Rick agreed. "But why? Why guard a chunk of jungle with nothing in it but some torn up yellow ground?" "When I find out," Scotty replied, "I'll let you know first thing." CHAPTER X The Volcanic Pipe Hartson Brant and Julius Weiss were still at work in the conference room when Rick and Scotty returned. David Riddle had gone, and the others had evidently not finished placing the tiltometers. The two listened to Rick's story in silence, then Hartson Brant sighed. "I don't know how you do it, Rick. But if there's trouble around, you and Scotty will find it. Are you sure the rifleman shot at you?" "We've got a bullet hole in the windshield and one just under the rear seat," Scotty said. "One might be an accident, but not two." "I agree." Hartson Brant nodded. "Let's see the samples of earth you brought back, Rick." He took both the yellow and blue pieces from his pocket and put them on the table. Hartson Brant and Weiss examined them with interest. "Unusual," Weiss said. "I think you are right in assuming that the yellow is simply an oxidized form of the blue, Rick. But I can't tell you what the material is. I've never seen anything like it before." "The grain is pretty fine," Hartson Brant added. "It could be igneous or sedimentary in origin. I'm not enough of a rock hound to know. David Riddle can tell us when he returns." "Connel would know, too," Scotty reminded. "He's a geologist. Wouldn't you think he would have mentioned an unusual formation like this when he found it?" "Perhaps it's not unusual to a geologist," Weiss pointed out. "Where is Riddle?" Rick asked. "He went to his room a few minutes ago. He should be back shortly. Rick, I think you'd better tell us the whole story. Why do you suspect Connel? Why was it important for you to look at his shot station?" Rick started at the beginning. "It wasn't any one thing, it was a series of little offbeat things. We thought it was funny he didn't even want company after Ruiz was hurt. Then he reacted so violently when we proposed swapping stations. It just seemed odd. The theft of the tracings bothered us, too. No ordinary thief would steal papers and leave Dr. Williams' wallet in his pocket, or leave his pocket transistor radio and stuff like that." "But you can't connect Connel with the theft of the papers," Weiss objected. "No, sir, we can't. But we almost got caught in the stolen dynamite, and he could have set that off. It was while we were on the way to his third station." Scotty added, "Today, when we got to the station, I took a look along the trail. There's only one bend in it. If he was keeping a watch at the bend, he could have seen us arrive at the second station, hurried down the trail, set off the charge, then returned through the jungle to get his jeep." "But the fact that he could have, does not mean that he did," Hartson Brant stated. "We can't prove it," Scotty agreed. Rick continued. "Then we trailed him to Casa Guevara. He couldn't have been paying a social call, because he wasn't there long enough. And what business does he have with Guevara? I don't know, but I'll bet his business is the reason we can't get Guevara to move." "Possibly," Hartson Brant agreed. "I can see the reason for your suspicions, but you lack proof of anything, Rick. What motive could Connel have?" "We hoped to find out at the shot station," Rick replied. "But we drew a blank." Dr. David Riddle came into the room and joined them. Before anyone could speak, the geologist spotted the samples on the table and sucked in his breath sharply. "Where did these come from?" he demanded. "Connel's third shot station," Rick replied. "Do you know what the stuff is?" Riddle sank into a chair and picked up one of the samples, testing it between his fingers. "Yes," he said, "I do. I've seen it only once before, in Africa. It occurs in what is known as a volcanic pipe, actually an ancient channel that gets filled with the stuff for reasons we do not know." "A volcanic pipe," Hartson Brant said softly. "I'm beginning to see." Rick wasn't. "But what is it?" he asked. "The most valuable kind of ground in the world," Riddle said. "So far as anyone knew up to now, such pipes have occurred only in Africa. The one I saw was at Kimberley. The name came from there. This is kimberlite." [Illustration] Rick knew of only one kind of valuable that was associated with Kimberley, and the thought was so staggering that he was almost afraid to say it out loud. "You mean that this is the stuff diamonds are found in?" "Exactly," Riddle said. Rick fished the handful of crystals from his pocket and stared at them unbelievingly. "Then these," he said hoarsely, "must be diamonds!" CHAPTER XI Earthquake! "Everything adds up," Rick Brant said grimly. "And it isn't a pretty picture." Hartson Brant agreed. "It certainly seems to add up, Rick. I suggest you put those crystals in a safe place until we can find out for certain whether or not there is real value there." "Is there any doubt?" Scotty asked. David Riddle answered, "Yes, Scotty. There are many grades of diamonds. Until an expert takes a look at those Rick collected, we won't be sure that they're of gem quality. He may have industrial grade diamonds, of the type called bort." "Connel may already have had an expert take a look," Weiss pointed out. Rick examined the handful of crystals. It was hard to believe he had simply picked up diamonds like so many pebbles. What's more, he couldn't be sure whether he held a king's ransom in his hand or a few dollars' worth of industrial abrasives. "Why didn't Connel clean out all diamonds in the area?" he demanded. "How could he?" Hartson Brant retorted. "When has he had time for a real effort? I suspect he has picked up quite a few, but you found those just by kicking around, which would indicate he hasn't sifted that loose ground very thoroughly." David Riddle frowned. "It's odd that Rick found so many. Perhaps he was lucky enough to kick open a pocket that Connel missed. Diamonds just don't occur with such frequency, even in Kimberley." "They were pretty close together," Rick remembered. "It may have been a pocket, all right." "There is one other possibility," Riddle added, "and it's staggering to think of it. These crystals may have come from a single large crystal. Perhaps the dynamite explosions shattered the big one into a number of smaller ones." Scotty gulped. "But the original crystal would have had to be nearly the size of a grapefruit!" "True, Scotty. There have been crystals that big, or close to it. Usually the diamond that is cut from such a crystal is much smaller. There is considerable loss. But it's a possibility." Rick said abruptly, "I think we ought to sort of review the situation. To see where we stand." "A good idea," his father agreed. "Suppose you start?" Rick considered. "Well, Connel must have discovered the yellow ground the very first thing, probably while he was kicking a hole to lay the charge in. The reason I think so is because of Ruiz. That accident has always bothered me. Ruiz just wouldn't walk back to the charge while Connel was ready to set it off. He just wouldn't." Julius Weiss asked, "Are you implying that Connel deliberately blew Ruiz up?" "What else can we make of it?" Rick replied. "That kind of accident just doesn't happen. Not to an expert. But if Connel found the yellow ground while setting the charge, and took time to dig a little and be sure there was blue ground under it, he would certainly have known that he was standing on top of a volcanic pipe. He might even have picked up a crystal." "If word got out, he couldn't exploit the pipe," Scotty added. "So, Ruiz had to be eliminated. It would have been pretty easy. Connel had the watch. He could have kept track of the time, then asked Ruiz to make a final check and set the charge off while the poor guy was taking a look at the connections." "It could have happened that way," Hartson Brant agreed. "But I hate to think any human being could be so ruthless." "Connel had to keep others away, too," Rick went on. "Also, he had to slow things down so he could have time to set something up to exploit his find. So, he stole the tracings and the dynamite. That bought him a little time, didn't it? Then he tried to get Scotty and me, because we were following him and he was afraid we might find out what was going on." "It seems reasonable," Hartson Brant agreed. "Connel couldn't develop a diamond field in a foreign place without help, could he? He had to let someone in on it, locally. He sized up Guevara and figured the lieutenant governor could certainly help him out, so he brought Guevara in on it." "Pure speculation," Weiss said. "Yes, sir. But it fits. Guevara certainly wouldn't want people running around over there, so it's to his advantage to keep us from operating. If he thinks there's a fortune in the pipe, it's even to his advantage to kidnap the governor to make sure we can't follow our plans!" David Riddle shook his head. "A man would have to be insane to hold up an effort to save the island just to make himself rich." "He would if he believed the island was in danger," Scotty agreed. "But suppose he doesn't? I don't think Connel has the true picture. His time estimate was much longer than yours, and he hasn't been in on many of the discussions." The three scientists looked at each other. "You know," Riddle said, "Scotty is right. Connel has shown little interest in the magma flux. He may not have a true understanding of the situation at all!" "It's possible." Hartson Brant nodded. "Quite possible. After all, we borrowed him only to have another experienced man to handle the shots. His training certainly doesn't qualify him to understand the physics involved. He has concentrated on locating oil deposits, using standard data. This kind of thing is new to him." "We didn't get him to handle data analysis," Weiss remarked. "There are enough of us who can do that." Rick picked up his argument again. "If Connel doesn't believe there are only a couple of weeks, he would give the lieutenant governor his views, and he'd be believed, just because Guevara is so greedy he would believe anything that will make him rich. Of course I don't know for sure that Guevara is like that, but he certainly brushed us off, didn't he? And he didn't seem surprised when you told him about the danger." "The thing that bothers me," Scotty stated, "is why Connel and Guevara haven't started to mine the diamonds." "It takes organization," Rick pointed out. "Also, it couldn't be done while the governor was around, could it? He'd be sure to get wind of it. Connel and Guevara have to keep this quiet, or there will be a rush that will make the Klondike look like a picnic." Scotty nodded. "That must be why they put a guard up there, too. Probably just one trusted man, who has to make the rounds alone. We were lucky he was on his rounds when we got there, or we'd never have had a chance for a close look." "Well," Julius Weiss demanded, "what do we do now?" A sudden earth tremor made the group pause. It lasted only a few seconds. "Whatever we do, we'd better do it fast," Hartson Brant stated. "Find the governor," Rick said. "That's the first thing. We can't move unless we have official backing, and we certainly won't get it from Guevara!" Esteben Balgos walked in, closely followed by Brad Connel. "We placed the instruments without difficulty," Balgos began--and Connel's eye caught sight of the kimberlite samples on the table. The geologist realized instantly that his secret was known, and he knew, too, the conclusions that would be drawn. Among other things, he was guilty of the attempted murder of Ruiz. Connel bolted for the door. The geologist was fast, but Scotty was faster. The dark-haired boy charged across the room, then dove headlong. His extended arms caught the fleeting geologist around the thighs, then Scotty's shoulder smashed into him. Connel went down like a tackled ball carrier. Before he could recover, Scotty had shifted his grip and the geologist was helpless in a punishing hold. The scientists and Rick arrived a split second later. "Let him up," Riddle ordered. "But keep a grip on him." Scotty did so, and the geologist glared at the group with angry eyes. He didn't try to bluff; he knew it was useless. Rick hurried to find the hotel manager, who directed them to a tool closet on the outside of the hotel near the parking lot. It had no windows, a single, small ventilating duct, and only one door. Connel was pushed inside, and the door locked. Hartson Brant pocketed the key. "He'll have to stay there until we find the governor and arrange for trustworthy policemen," the scientist said. "I'm certain those who have been guarding the dynamite are all right, but we'd better have the governor's word for it." Rick agreed with the precaution. While Esteben Balgos was being briefed on the day's happenings, Zircon and Williams arrived and had to be briefed, too. Twice, small earth temblors interrupted the conference. "Something is happening below us," Balgos said. "I wish we knew exactly what!" The magma was pushing up relentlessly, melting its way into the channels Williams had marked on his sketch. In one of the channels was a large pocket in which water had collected over the centuries. Perhaps there was enough water to fill a substantial pond, perhaps even a small lake. There was also room in the porous rock for expansion, because the pocket was not entirely full. The magma neared the pocket, meeting small quantities of water on its way. Each meeting resulted in a small explosion, and a temblor that was felt far above. Then--the magma's heat turned the pocket itself to steam. The steam expanded in a mighty explosion that sent great shock waves smashing through the earth. Rick Brant's chair went over backward and he fell to a floor that was shaking like soft mud under him. He heard the crashing of glassware and the sounds of furniture falling. And he heard the ominous rumble of the building itself, splitting, cracking, falling. "Out!" Hartson Brant yelled. "Get outside!" Rick scrambled to hands and knees and saw that Scotty was bending to pick him up. He waved his pal away and got to his feet, fighting to keep his balance on the shaking floor. He was scared stiff, but far from paralyzed. Nor did he lose his head. He made sure the scientists were on their way before he followed them through the nearest door. "Back!" Scotty yelled. The group paused as a section of building cornice crashed to the ground just outside. Dust billowed. Scotty sprang through the opening and looked up. "Okay," he called. "Come on!" The Spindrifters poured through the doorway out onto the parking lot. They were in time to see another section of cornice break loose and fall to the ground. Hotel employees were pouring out, too, gathering in the parking lot beyond the reach of the crumbling hotel. Rick saw a great gap appear in one wall and waited breathlessly for the wall to fall, but it held. The ground still shook under his feet, and his insides were producing the queasy symptoms of motion sickness. Then the earth steadied again, leaving only a mild temblor that soon vanished. The group looked at each other, white-faced. The earthquake had been by far the worst yet. There was even some doubt that the hotel was still safe. Rick, seeing the manager busy counting noses to make sure all his employees were out, gasped, "Connel!" Hartson Brant ran for the tool closet, the others behind him. The scientist reached for the key, ready to let Connel out. The wall was tilted crazily. The door had sprung wide open. Connel was gone! CHAPTER XII The Rising Magma The Spindrift group held a council of war in their office-conference room. Inspection of the hotel had shown that damage was not as serious as first expected. The cornices, held only by mortar, had fallen, and the rear exterior wall had lost its brick veneer. The structural part of the wall, while cracked, was strong enough to hold up. The veneer was unsafe, however, and it was agreed that all should stay well away from the area where Connel had been imprisoned. "We must begin another series of shots at once," Hartson Brant said. "It's apparent that the magma has moved, and rapidly. But until we get more tracings, we won't know in what direction. Meanwhile, we _must_ find the governor!" "How?" Rick asked. "How can we find him?" Hartson Brant smiled at his son. "It seems to me that you and Scotty have acquired considerable reputations as detectives, Rick. I suggest you earn them. Find the governor for us. We will give you Honorario as an interpreter, but it will be up to you. The rest of us must operate as best we can short-handed." "How about Connel?" Scotty demanded. The scientist shrugged. "He's the least of my worries. Let him develop his diamond mine. My concern is with this island and the people on it. If our guess is right, Connel will be lucky to have a few days in which to work--scarcely enough to do much mining." "Any ideas?" Rick asked. "Yes. Talk to the governor's family, and to his personal staff. Stay away from Guevara. Once Connel tells him we know about the diamonds, he may become dangerous. Do what you can, boys. After all, this isn't a big island and the governor must be somewhere on it." "If he's alive," Scotty added. Hartson Brant looked at the boy and his face grew grim. "Yes," he agreed. "If he's alive." Rick and Scotty had always relished the adventure and excitement of trying to solve a mystery. Sometimes the success or failure of a project had hung in the balance, but this one was different. The fate of an island and nearly 32,000 people depended on solving the riddle of the missing governor. Rick felt the weight of the responsibility. The plan he and Scotty developed was simple and logical. They would start with the governor's movements on the morning of his disappearance and continue from there. At the governor's residence they learned from his butler that Montoya had left the house promptly at eight o'clock, as he did every morning. He drove himself, in a small English car that he used for personal transportation. But, as they knew from the visit to the executive offices, he had never arrived. The next stop was to determine his route. It wasn't difficult; there was only one main road from the outskirts of Calor into town, although there were many side streets. With Honorario as interpreter, they began the time-consuming job of questioning householders along the route. Honorario was personally interested in the job. He had learned from them of Connel's perfidy, and he said quietly, "Ruiz is my friend. We do not yet know if he will live, or, if he lives, if he will be a whole man again. I owe it to him to do my best in this matter. You may depend on me." Not until they had reached the outskirts of Calor did they find what had happened. Through Honorario, an old lady who had seen it all through her window told them the story. "A big military truck was across the road," Honorario reported. "It was keeping cars from passing. The little car of the governor came, and it had to stop. An officer got in with the governor. The truck moved away and the governor drove off. The old woman thinks the officer was pointing a gun at the governor. She did not know it was the governor, but her words to describe him were enough." Rick whistled. "Military? Does that mean the governor got caught by some kind of revolutionary group?" Honorario shrugged. "Who knows? But I have heard of no revolution. The governor is popular, and the people are satisfied. But you should know, my friends, that on this island the _comandante_ of our small military is the lieutenant governor. I think we are not dealing here with revolution, but with Señor Jaime Guevara!" "We're stuck," Scotty said. "I suppose we could keep on asking and try to get a line on where the governor's car went, but that's pretty hopeless. Honorario, can we possibly find someone who is loyal to the governor and who knows the island?" Honorario thought it over. "In such a case," he replied, "there is only one way to be sure. It is, you understand, a matter of family. Among San Luzians, the family is first and all else is after. So, I think we should see the nephew of the governor. He is _el capitán_ Ricardo Montoya, who is deputy of police for the western part of the island." Captain Ricardo Montoya was young, capable, and alert. Honorario found him in the police headquarters in central Calor and invited him to join the boys for coffee at a nearby café. Rick looked the officer over as he entered the restaurant, and he liked what he saw. Montoya was built like a middleweight fighter, and his white uniform was spotless. He was lighter in complexion than most San Luzians, but even the wisp of mustache on his upper lip couldn't conceal the firmness of his face. He greeted them courteously, in good English. "_A sus órdenes, señores._ This Honorario says you wish to speak with me?" "We place ourselves in your hands, Señor _Capitán_," Rick said quietly. "Because you are the governor's nephew and a police official, we must assume that you are completely loyal to him." The officer's brilliant dark eyes flashed. "It would be a grave insult to assume otherwise, señor. He is the brother of my father." "Good," Rick said. "No insult was intended. I think we had better tell you the entire story, then we can discuss what must be done." He started at the beginning, with the arrival of Balgos at Spindrift, and ended with the day's events. "You have cast much light on what has happened," the captain stated. "I am grateful. Now, señores, you must not believe I have been idle. I had already discovered how my uncle was kidnaped. It was clear that some military element was involved, but I rejected the idea of revolution. The motive puzzled me. It is puzzling no longer, thanks to you. Also, while I suspected Guevara, there was no proof. My suspicion, you understand, was based on his character." "Have you any idea where the governor was taken?" Scotty asked. "I have now," Montoya said grimly. "The best possibility--and about the only place we have not looked--is Casa Guevara." The boys exchanged glances. "Then we ought to make up a party of loyal people and invade the place," Rick stated. "No. If I know this man Guevara, any such move would mean the death of my uncle, if he still lives. We must find some other way." "Can you find loyal people?" Rick asked. "A few. You must understand most people do not feel as I do about Guevara. He is popular. Who knows where the loyalty of the people lies, between individuals? One cannot be certain. So, I must use only men loyal to me. There are such." Montoya rose. "We will be allies, since we fight for the same thing, which is San Luz. Let me see what kind of plan can be made. Go back to your hotel, and I will come for you there. We will work this thing out together." He shook hands with both boys, turned, and strode from the restaurant. Rick paid for their coffee and the boys joined Honorario, who was waiting outside in the jeep. "He's a good, tough _hombre_," Rick told the San Luzian. "You made a good choice." "I am glad," Honorario said. "Someday he will be governor, like his uncle." While the boys were in Calor, the scientists had conducted another series of shots. The tracings were spread out on the table when they returned, and the group was engrossed in checking them over. Rick and Scotty waited, watching. They knew from the quiet voices and tense attitudes that something serious had been found. Then Williams began to mark in the data on his sketch. "This is where the explosion took place," he said. "Probably the magma hit a quantity of water as it entered the new channel. Notice that the channel is one we marked on here earlier as a probable path. So far, we're guessing right. Now, my estimate is that the magma will move fast, stopping only when it reaches this dike of solid basalt." Hartson Brant wiped his face with his handkerchief. "It looks bad, Jeff. The magma will reach the solid layer before we could possibly get to it with a tunnel." "What does that mean?" Rick asked. Hobart Zircon answered him. "It means, Rick, that we no longer have time to dig a vent. It means the people of this island will be lucky if they can get away in time!" CHAPTER XIII Armed Revolt David Riddle had fired the last series of shots from Connel's stations. By unanimous consent, the last station at the volcanic pipe had been omitted. Two stations would have to do for now. All agreed it would be foolish to jeopardize a man by going near the guarded third station. Since Riddle had the longest distance to travel, he had not arrived when the boys returned to the hotel. Now, as Zircon finished his ominous statement, the government geologist strode into the room. "We're in trouble," he stated. "I'm only a few minutes ahead of soldiers. I came out of the trail onto the road and saw them just coming off the dirt road onto the pavement. They shouted for me to stop, but I wasn't of a mind to tangle with troops. I came as fast as I could." "Are they coming here?" Hartson Brant asked quickly. "They're either coming here or marching into Calor. Those are the only two places the road leads. My guess is that they're marching here." Rick said swiftly, "Connel got to Guevara! And Guevara is going to make sure we don't spread the word!" "Rick is probably right," Zircon snapped. "I suggest we clear out. If we're captured, we'll be unable to operate at all." "Grab the supplies and get into the jeeps," Hartson Brant ordered. "Quickly! Rick, you and Scotty move fast. Get your stuff into the jeep, then take as much dynamite as you can. Go up the road to where you have a good view and act as lookouts. Give us as much warning as you can. We'll take the rest of the dynamite and the equipment in the other jeeps!" Rick and Scotty dashed to their room. They threw clothes into their bags, slammed them shut without bothering to pack neatly, and hurried out into the parking lot. Rick backed the jeep up to the pump shed while Scotty ran to the door. To the policeman on duty he explained only that they were in a great hurry. The boys took time to load six cases, plus one of the detonators and a roll of wire, then they got into the jeep and roared off up the road toward the pumice works. "We've probably got ten minutes," Scotty estimated. "If they're marching at a normal pace, it would take them a little less than a half hour to walk from the pumice works." Rick drove a half mile up the road to where he had a good view of several hundred yards and stopped the jeep. "We'll be able to spot them from here." He turned the jeep around, ready to run as soon as the troops came in sight. "Where do you suppose the soldiers came from?" "Probably from a camp near San Souci," Scotty guessed. "Otherwise, they'd have come up the main road from Calor. There's probably a camp on the western shore somewhere." "Wish we had some way of slowing them down," Rick mused. "We need a mortar or a few military rockets. But all we've got is some dynamite, and we can't throw that very far." "Why do we have to throw it?" Scotty asked excitedly. "Listen. We'll put a charge by the side of the road and string wire back a way. Then we can park the jeep off the road next to the detonator. When they get within range, we'll push the plunger and run. We can time it so they won't get blown up, but they may think they're being shelled." "That should do it," Rick agreed. He shifted into gear and moved ahead slowly, searching for a likely spot. There was one a few yards ahead where a clump of wild banana plants would shield the jeep from view. He backed the jeep in next to the banana plants and made sure he could get out again easily, then he took the coil of wire and began unwinding it along the edge of the road. Scotty took out his scout knife and began to pry open a case of dynamite. Rick fed wire until he reached a spot a hundred yards up the road, then took out his knife and cut through the thin stuff. He started back to help Scotty and was just in time to see the dark-haired boy with a stick of dynamite in his mouth! Rick gasped. He started to run toward Scotty, but his pal waved him back. Then, as Rick watched, horrified, he saw Scotty take the stick out of his mouth and motion for him to come ahead. "What are you doing?" Rick demanded. "I thought for a minute you'd lost all your buttons and started eating dynamite." "We didn't have crimpers," Scotty explained. "The only way I could get the cap on was to crimp it with my teeth." Rick turned white. He gulped. No wonder Scotty looked a little pale! "It worked," Scotty said, a little shakily. "But I don't want to do it as a regular thing." "I should hope not!" Rick exclaimed fervently. "Give me that stick. I'll connect up. Will one be enough?" "Plenty," Scotty said. "Get going. I'll connect up the detonator." By the time Rick had placed the dynamite and connected the wires, Scotty was ready, the detonator in the front seat of the jeep between his legs. "I wish we had some regular fuse," he said. "Then we could put short fuses on a few sticks, light them, and throw them." Rick stared at him. "And crimp all the caps with your teeth? Boy, I'm glad we haven't any fuse!" Scotty's estimate was two minutes off. It took twelve minutes for the troops to come into sight. Watching from behind the banana plants, the boys saw them hiking down the road like a bunch of tenderfeet on their first five-mile hike. It was obvious that discipline in the San Luzian army was slack. The men wore sloppy brown uniforms and a variety of hats. They carried rifles and there were bandoliers of cartridges across their chests and grenades at their belts. "Can you see?" Rick whispered. "Fine," Scotty whispered back. They sat in the jeep, waiting. Rick kept the motor idling, knowing that the sound would be inaudible a short distance away. The troops reached the point the boys had selected. It was a big papaya about fifty feet beyond the dynamite. Scotty pushed the plunger. The dynamite exploded. Rick raced the motor, then shifted into gear. Scotty cut the wires loose with one flick of his knife and Rick lurched onto the road and fled toward the hotel as fast as he could accelerate. Through the rear-view mirror he could see the troops scatter and knew they had slowed things down for a few minutes at least. The last view he had was of one man, evidently an officer, trying to rally the troops again. Rick rounded the turn leading to the hotel grounds and saw that the scientists were waiting in the jeeps, ready to roll. He slowed long enough to yell, "Let's go," then led the way down the road to the front of the hotel and into Calor. The next problem was to find a place to stay. Honorario advised staying away from the big hotels on the beach and suggested a smaller but quite comfortable hostelry on the outskirts of town. Rick was pleased to see that it was located right on the water, at the point where the long San Luz beach began. But he doubted there would be time for swimming. The Hotel Internationale was comfortable, and more than adequate. The scientists congratulated each other on being able to get rooms. Fortunately, as the manager explained, it was not yet full _turista_ time. If they were prepared to double up, two to a room, he could accommodate them. Rick and Scotty drew a room on the second floor. The bath was down the hall, but they didn't mind that. Hartson Brant and Hobart Zircon shared the largest room, and there was a large porch that could be used as a meeting place. The hotel also had a basement room that the manager was glad to turn over for the equipment--at a slight fee, naturally. But he boggled when the boys appeared with cases of dynamite on their shoulder. "Leave it to me," Honorario suggested. "I will find a place that will be safe." Rick was glad to leave it to Honorario. He was anxious to get in touch with Montoya, to explain what had happened. The police station was not far away. He and Scotty hiked over and found the young captain alone in his office. Montoya listened to their story, and his face became stern. "There are two possibilities," he said finally. "Either Guevara is mounting a big revolution, or he is interested only in the diamonds. If it is the diamonds, then he probably will keep the troops near the mountain, and the city may not be bothered at all." "How can we find out?" Rick asked. "Except by waiting to see if troops show up here." Montoya stared through the window at the tiny harbor of Calor. The boys waited while he thought it over. Finally the captain swiveled around and faced them. "We can find out, if you will take a chance. I do not think it is much of a chance, really, but it may be. Let us think of things from Guevara's point of view. He knows that you know of these diamonds. He also knows, because he is intelligent, that you surely realize the danger of talking about them. So, what would he do with you if he caught you? Perhaps detain you for a while, but no more. He knows that harm to foreigners would bring down trouble he could not handle. We would have Venezuela, Colombia, Great Britain, and the United States in here. The first three might bring in troops on the pretext of restoring order, but actually to back up their claims to the island. The United States would bring great pressure on all three to do something." "It makes sense," Rick agreed. "So you don't think we're in any great danger from Guevara?" "No. If you had been at the hotel, he would have kept you there, I think. But you were not, so we must see if he is prepared to follow you. My own opinion is that he wants to be let alone to mine diamonds, while he has time. It does not take an invasion of Calor to do this." "What do you want us to do?" Scotty asked. "Simply take a ride to the hotel, or as far as you can go. See what the situation really is. If I, or my men, should try this it would surely mean shooting. But you are _extranjeros_,--foreigners. You can get away with it." "You hope," Rick said. Montoya's teeth flashed in the first smile they had seen on his face. "Indeed," he agreed. "I hope." CHAPTER XIV Night Patrol The jeep rolled out of Calor on the highway back to the Hot Springs Hotel. Scotty drove, while Rick relaxed in the seat beside him. They had taken time for a sandwich and coffee, because they were not sure when they might eat again. Hartson Brant and the scientists were at work on detailed analysis of the day's shots. It would take some time. When Rick told his father about the conversation with Captain Montoya, the scientist had nodded agreement. "It sounds like good sense, especially since there has been no sign of an invasion of the city. The troops could have been here before this. Go ahead, but be cautious. Always leave your escape route open." It was good advice, and the boys intended to take it. Scotty drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, "We're nearly at the fork in the road. Keep an eye open." "Will do," Rick assured him. The left fork was the main, paved road to San Souci. The right fork led up to the hotel. Scotty reached the fork and slowed. "There!" Rick pointed. Twenty yards up the right fork there was a barricade fence, newly made of small logs. Lounging against the fence were a half dozen soldiers. "We could go left to San Souci, but not to the hotel," Rick said. "Now what?" "Hold on and be ready for a quick take-off," Scotty muttered. He turned the jeep into the left fork, then shifted and backed around and up the right fork to where the soldiers waited. One soldier, with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, sauntered over to them. He carried a rifle, but Rick noted that he didn't hold it at the ready. The boy called, "Do you speak English, sergeant?" "Leetle beet," the soldier replied. He smiled cordially. "What you weesh, señores?" "Can we get to the hotel?" Scotty asked. "No can, señor." "Why not?" Rick asked. "Ees ... how you say? ... big talk at hotel. Ees _el gobernador y_ ... and ... _el comandante_ Guevara. Also more mens. No one goes to hotel long time. Maybe when talk feenish." "The governor and lieutenant governor are having a big conference at the hotel?" Rick asked incredulously. "Ees so, señor." "How long will this conference last?" Scotty asked. The sergeant shrugged. "_Quién sabe?_ Maybe two day, maybe two _semana_ ... how you say?..." "Weeks," Rick supplied. "What are they talking about?" "Ees ... how you say?... _seguridad nacional_. Thees ees what _el comandante_ speaks to us." Rick glanced at Scotty. "National security conference. Those can last a long time." He looked at the sergeant again. "We could go to San Souci, and from there to the hotel, maybe." "_Pero no_, señor. That way also ees guard. Ees no way get to hotel. More good you not try, eh? _Soldados_ at hotel, they maybe shoots." "Now we know," Scotty said. "Nothing more to be gained here." "Did you see the governor?" Rick asked. "No, señor. But I saw _el comandante_ Guevara. But eef he ees here, also _el gobernador_. _Cómo no?_" "I guess so," Rick agreed. "_Mil gracias_, sergeant. _Vaya con Dios._ A thousand thanks. Go with God." "_Y ustedes_," the sergeant returned politely. "And you, señores." Scotty let the clutch out and the jeep moved ahead. "Now to call on Captain Montoya," he said. "Right?" "Right," Rick agreed. "Interesting. Guevara tells the troops he and the governor are having a security conference and should not be interrupted. So guards are posted to protect the hotel. And none of the poor _soldados_ realize that blocking the roads also keeps people away from the volcanic pipe, so Guevara and Connel can start work." "With Guevara's own men to do the dirty work," Scotty added. "Too true. Maybe they even have soldiers on the job. I know what else the soldiers are guarding, too. Probably without knowing it." Scotty turned to look at him. "You thinking the same thing I am?" "Yep. Somewhere behind that guarded perimeter is the governor. And until we get him out, we're helpless." "Then," Scotty announced, "we'll just have to get him out." The jeep almost flew down the road to Calor. Scotty wheeled it through the narrow streets and drew up at the police station. In a moment they were reporting to Captain Montoya. The young officer listened, then smacked a fist into his palm. "_Bueno!_ This is good, _amigos_. We will let Guevara and your Connel have the diamonds, eh? They can use the entire army to guard the mine, if they wish. I hope they do. That means we have the rest of the island in which to maneuver. I have already sent one of my most trusted men to approach the diamond pipe from the north, through Redondo. That way we will know the exact limits." "But they've got the army," Rick objected. "Where does that leave us?" "Free to operate in other ways," Montoya said. "The army is occupied, no? Let them stay that way." His keen eyes examined the two critically. Rick felt a little uncomfortable at the penetrating stare. Then Montoya smiled. "I do not know you," he said flatly. "But I have certain evidence of the kind of young men you are. First, you came to this island. Why? On a mission of mercy, in answer to my uncle's call. It was unselfish, and it was also dangerous. Then, tonight, you took the chance of finding the roadblock. Also, though this may surprise you, we have heard something of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation even here on this island." Rick was surprised. He knew the Foundation had an international reputation, but he had thought it was limited to scientists. "So, I have some basis for what I now ask of you," Montoya added. "There is no time to collect those of my men who are completely loyal. It is because they are scattered, searching for some trace of my uncle. I do not wish to take time to wait until they report in." "What do you want us to do?" Scotty asked. "It is simple, and not so simple. A large party cannot invade the perimeter Guevara has established, but a very few can perhaps do it. We will be that few. We will go to Casa Guevara. And, if we are lucky, we will rescue my uncle. What do you say?" The boys exchanged glances. Rick spoke for both of them. "We're with you." Montoya didn't have to reply. His warm handshake said everything there was to say. Scotty spoke up. "I've had some experience in nighttime operations. We will need dark clothes, and something to blacken our faces. We will need weapons. Not guns. If we get into a shooting scrape it will bring the whole army down on us." "I agree." Montoya opened his desk drawer and drew out a policeman's night stick. He handed it to Scotty. "How about this?" Scotty hefted it, grinned, and handed it to Rick. It was heavy, and perfectly balanced. Rick guessed it had been drilled and the end filled with lead. "One good thing about this," he said. "No moving parts to get out of order." Montoya smiled. "True. We will each have one, and I will take my pistol as a last resort. Let us look at the map and memorize it. We will have to go through the jungle to reach the house, and it would be disastrous to lose our way." "Get a compass," Scotty requested. "We can set a compass course and hit it right on the nose." Rick looked at his pal. "Marine training?" "Nope." Scotty grinned. "Boy Scout. But it will come in handy. I think I could take you there anyway, but we'd better have a compass to be sure." The three bent over the map and worked out the approach to Casa Guevara. For one thing, they agreed to approach as close as possible by jeep. If they found the governor, transportation would be needed. He could not be as fast on foot as might be necessary, because of his age. Besides, they had no idea of his present physical condition. It was dark when they rolled out of Calor, Rick driving. All three were dressed in dark clothes, and each had a night stick in his belt. Montoya's pistol was hidden in a shoulder holster. At the officer's direction, they turned toward the airport, passed it, and headed toward the lighthouse at the extreme southern tip of the island. The road led past the light and along the southern shore, a hundred yards from the sea. Then, as they reached their first turning point, Montoya said, "Slowly. It should be about here." After a moment he found it, a pair of ruts through the rolling farm land. Rick knew from his study of the map that it was a road on which bananas were hauled from the plantations. It cut across to the main road to San Souci. By taking this route, they would miss the check point near the hotel. The road was bumpy but passable. Rick kept a steady speed in spite of the jouncing it gave his passengers. They could take it. Presently there was blacktop ahead. They had reached the road to San Souci. Rick pulled a flashlight from his pocket and pointed it at the odometer, counting off the tenths of a mile as he headed toward the town. When he reached seven-tenths he stopped the jeep. "Turnoff point," he said. "From now on, we steer our way through the boondocks. Any preferred way, Captain?" Montoya shrugged. "There is no road, or even a path. Do what you can." "Okay. Scotty, make sure we head due north." "Check. Make a 90-degree turn and keep going. I'll correct you." Rick had only one real concern, and that was that the jeep lights might be visible from the higher elevation of Casa Guevara. But it had to be risked. He thought there wasn't really much of a chance, because the thick foliage would screen them. Besides, anyone seeing the lights might assume it was soldiers making their rounds. The ground was carpeted with fallen vegetation, but it was the dry season and the earth under the leaves was firm enough. There was little danger of the jeep bogging down, especially in four-wheel drive. Rick picked his way through the jungle, keeping to clear spots as much as he could. Once it was necessary to butt down a huge banana plant before he could continue, but mostly it was a matter of plowing through scrub. Sometimes a palmetto leaf whipped across his face, and once a thorny bush caught painfully and drew blood. Scotty navigated, keeping track of their direction. Now and then he spoke. "More to the right when you can. We're about a hundred yards to the left of our base line." Then, "Straighten out. We're on course again." After what seemed to Rick an eternity of plowing through the heavy growth, Scotty said quietly, "Pick a place to turn around, then kill the lights and motor." Rick reached a place where there was room, swung the wheels hard, backed around, and put the jeep in its own tracks facing the other way. He turned off the lights and cut the motor switch. The silence and darkness flooded in. "Just sit still until our eyes adjust," Scotty said, very quietly. "If I've figured right, we're about a hundred yards from the dirt road, just about in front of the Guevara driveway. We'd better walk the rest of the way, in case of guards." Rick waited until the blackness lessened. His pupils were fully dilated now, and he could see surprisingly well. There was a moon, but at the moment it was behind a cloud bank. When it emerged, he would be able to see perfectly. "Let's go," Scotty said. "No more talking now. When I hold up my hand, stop and wait for me." The ex-Marine took the lead, Montoya following and Rick bringing up the rear. He took the night stick from his belt and hefted it. The weight was comforting in his hand. Scotty found his way with the ease that Rick always admired. Their steps were noiseless on the carpeted jungle floor. Presently Scotty held up his hand, and Montoya and Rick stopped, waiting. Scotty disappeared ahead of them. The seconds ticked by. Mosquitoes found them and whined around their heads. Neither moved. Scotty returned as silently as he had gone. Beckoning them close, he whispered, "One guard at the gateposts. Give me one minute, then walk forward until you reach the road. Call to him in Spanish, Captain. I want to be sure his attention is on you." "I understand," Montoya said softly. Rick put a finger on his pulse and began counting. He could tell his pulse was a little fast. When the count reached ninety he tapped Montoya on the shoulder. But the officer was already moving. Rick followed close behind, the night stick held in a palm that had grown sweaty with tension. The San Luzian picked his way carefully, but he moved at a good speed. Then, suddenly, he stopped. Rick peered past him and saw the lighter color of the dirt road. Montoya took a breath, then he called clearly, "_Hola, amigo! Qué pasa?_" Across the way a figure rose, rifle ready. A suspicious voice called, "_Quién va?_" There was a soft but definite sound, like a pumpkin dropping on a hard floor. The guard crumpled. Montoya and Rick moved to Scotty's side with long strides. Scotty was already tying the guard hand and foot with his own belt and rifle sling. Then he took out a handkerchief and tied it into place as a gag. The guard could breathe past it, but yelling would get him little--when he woke up. "Help me get him into the brush," Scotty whispered. In a moment the guard was out of sight of any casual glance. There wasn't time to hide him with care. "Up the driveway," Scotty whispered. "I'll lead. When we get near the house, there probably will be other guards, so we'll have to leave the road and take to the bush again. Let's go." It was an eerie walk. Rick kept expecting a challenge from up ahead, but apparently there was no guard on the driveway itself. It wound through the jungle for a good quarter of a mile before it began to widen out into a clearing. Scotty motioned and led the way off the road. The march through the jungle began again. Rick plodded ahead, with complete faith in Scotty. He knew his pal was taking them in a circle, but he couldn't have said exactly where they were in relation to the house or the driveway. Then, suddenly, there were lights ahead! Scotty moved a few feet more, then sank down into the dense cover. Rick inched to his side, and saw that Montoya was doing the same. They had a clear view of the two-story house and the surrounding clearing. It was a hacienda very much like those Rick had seen in Mexico, stucco on the outside, probably with heavy brick walls. And there were guards! He saw the glow of two cigarette butts on the front porch, and another toward the rear. Three so far. Then a figure crossed through the light from a window. Four! The three invaders waited while the long minutes ticked away. The three were not alone; hordes of night insects joined them and made the wait miserable. [Illustration: _The three invaders waited while the long minutes ticked away_] Scotty drew back until his lips were close to Rick's ear. "I'm going to circle the house once. Keep watching." When Montoya would have followed Scotty, Rick put a hand on his arm and whispered that they should wait. The two concentrated on watching the windows and the guards. Rick guessed that Guevara was not at home. So far as he could tell, no one was inside the house, at least on his side. There was light in one upstairs window, but the angle was wrong; he couldn't see inside. The two guards on the front porch stayed there. That was probably their station. Another guard seemed to have the rear corner of the house. The fourth also seemed to be assigned to the rear, but he moved around more than his compatriot. Rick could see that the four were not soldiers. At least they were not in uniform. Probably they were Guevara's personal employees. Bodyguards, perhaps. Scotty returned, silent as a wraith in the night. He sank to the ground between the two and whispered, "I don't think there's anyone home. Just the four guards. If the governor is here, he's in that upstairs room." "What do we do?" Rick whispered. "We'll have to take it from the rear. It will be tough, because there's not much cover." Scotty began to outline his plan, then stopped suddenly. Rick had a strange feeling in his stomach again, and he realized that the earth was trembling under him. The tremor grew in strength, and from close by there was a snapping sound as a dead limb broke under the vibration and dropped to the jungle floor. "Now!" Scotty whispered sibilantly. "Come on!" Instantly Rick and Montoya followed the ex-Marine's lead, withdrawing into the denser brush, then rising and hurrying after him, crouched over and careful not to make a sound. Scotty led them in a wide circle that brought them finally to the rear of the house. Rick sized up the situation and saw only two trees that offered any cover. The ground was still trembling, although slightly. Then, as he crouched, the temblor increased again. The guards were disturbed. The two in the rear moved back, away from the house, as though expecting it to fall on them. One of them spoke in Spanish and the other replied curtly. Montoya sucked in his breath. He whispered, "The first one asked if they should not get the old man out, and the second said let him fall with the house." The two guards were well back from the house now, staring upward at the second floor. If the stucco started to go, it would be high on the house wall at the roof line. Scotty touched Rick on the arm, then rose and moved like a dark ghost, straight across the open glade toward the guards. Scotty reached the tree nearest the house and slipped into its shadow. Rick sized things up. The other tree was perhaps thirty feet away from Scotty, and about ten feet closer to the jungle's edge. The guards were still looking at the house. Rick moved, bent low, night stick firmly clutched in his hand. He sensed that Montoya was close behind him. He straightened up in the shadow of the tree, his eyes on Scotty. His pulse was speeding and his breathing was short and shallow. Montoya crouched next to him, ready to move. Rick saw Scotty bend and pick up something. He saw Scotty wave toward them, then saw Scotty throw something. The object crashed into the stucco of the house high on the second floor, then it tumbled to the ground. Scotty had thrown a rock! The guards stiffened, thinking that the sound was the first evidence that the house was falling. Scotty moved like a streak, and Rick charged forward with club held high. Montoya was even faster. The two guards, interested only in the house, never knew what hit them. Rick eased one to the ground as his knees crumpled after Montoya's vicious swing. Scotty had the other; he had knocked him out and caught him before he fell. The three left the guards and hurried to the back door. Montoya motioned, and took over the lead. He snaked the pistol out of his shoulder holster and held it ready. For an instant they paused in what seemed to be a pantry, then moved into the kitchen beyond. Rick could see a hallway leading straight to the front door. The door was solid wood, and it was closed. Montoya gestured with the pistol and led the way. Then, motioning the boys back, he boldly opened the door and strode out. The surprised front guards stared into the pistol muzzle. Montoya spoke in crisp Spanish that Rick couldn't follow, but the meaning was amply clear. The guards' hands shot high. Montoya stepped aside and the guards walked into the house like lambs. "Tie them!" Montoya snapped. A cord from the Venetian blinds was the most convenient tie material. Scotty cut it loose with a sweep of his scout knife and slashed it into two pieces. While Montoya held his pistol on the guards the boys tied their arms behind them, lashing their elbows together. "Now," the police captain said, "let us find my uncle." The stairs led up from the hallway. Montoya took them two at a time, the boys close behind. At the top of the stairs, the officer called in Spanish. There was an answer from a room on the left. The door was locked, but the key was hanging from a hook on the wall. In a moment the two Montoyas were greeting each other with a warm embrace, and then with a more formal handshake. The governor greeted the two Spindrifters with a bow and a handshake, and then inquired, "What good providence brought you here, nephew mine?" "We knew you were here," Montoya said, "because there was no other place where Guevara could have hid you." "Let's discuss it later," Rick urged. "Those guards out back will be coming to, and we want to be out of here." "You are right," Montoya agreed instantly. "We are not yet in the clear, señor uncle. We must hurry." "Into the jungle," Scotty said. "Once in the brush and we're okay. They'll never catch us then." Montoya hefted the pistol he still held in his left hand. "It will be better for them if they do not," he said quietly. CHAPTER XV Stalemate Governor Luis Montoya paced the floor of his office. Seated in the comfortable chairs were the Spindrift scientists, Captain Montoya, and the boys. "We are in a difficult situation," the governor stated. "Guevara controls the army, and the army controls the area in which you must work. We need the army if we are to evacuate the island. My nephew and his fellow police are efficient, but their number is too small." "Is there any possibility of getting outside help?" Hartson Brant asked. "I am afraid not. Our difficult political situation makes it almost impossible to obtain any fast action. We would need to approach three governments at the same time. They would have to have conferences, to agree on how the help was to be given. Each would be afraid to let the other help, you see, for fear of giving up its claim to sovereignty over us. No, I'm afraid we must find our own solution." "You are the governor," Hobart Zircon pointed out. "Wouldn't the troops respond to your orders?" The governor shrugged. "You can be sure our efficient lieutenant governor has his own men in key positions. But what you suggest has occurred to me, and I must make the attempt. First, however, I must alert the people of the island. The danger must be described to them." "How?" Julius Weiss asked. "By radio. We have our own government radio here. I think Esteben and I should go on the air at once. He can describe what is going on under El Viejo. I will ask the people to assemble at the docks." He turned to his nephew. "Ricardo, send two of your most trusted men to Redondo and San Souci. They must persuade the fishermen to load their families and villagers, then come to Calor. We will need to crowd all fishing boats for many trips if we are to get the people off." "At once, señor," Montoya replied. He hurried to the door and gave orders to the police guard. The handful of police were now the sole security force of the island. The chief of police was personally supervising the government's safety, somewhere outside the building. Only two officers were still on regular police duty. The rest were either guarding the executive office or awaiting orders. "Where can the people be taken?" Balgos asked. "I think we will send them to Curaçao and Bonaire. Those islands are close, and they belong to the Netherlands. The Dutch are hospitable, no? And we avoid entanglement with England, Venezuela, and Colombia." It sounded reasonable to Rick. He asked, "Aren't there ships in the harbor? I mean, big ships?" "One freighter, and two interisland cargo ships of the C-1 class. All three fly the flag of Panama. We will have the harbor master speak to their captain and attempt to hire them. I am sure they will co-operate." "I'm sure that if you asked for help from the United States they'd send all available U. S. Navy ships in the area," Dr. David Riddle said. The governor smiled warmly. "That is our ace in the hole, as you would call it, Señor Riddle. The world knows that the Americans are always ready to help. But perhaps there will be no need. We will see." The building shook slightly and Rick waited, holding his breath. But the temblor subsided. It was the third one within an hour, he thought. The magma must be moving fast. "Now, gentlemen, I must get busy. Ricardo, I leave the details of moving our people in your hands. I will go to the roadblocks and see if these soldiers can be persuaded that their governor speaks for the people. But first, Esteben, you and I will go to the government radio and speak to the people. Our talk will be put on tape, and repeated over and over. _Vamos._ Let us go. Time is getting short." At Montoya's request, Rick and Scotty had agreed to remain with the governor, in company with two police sergeants. The scientists returned to the hotel, to continue their attempts to predict the magma movement based on data already in hand. New data would be obtained as soon as the situation cleared up. The governor, Balgos, Rick, Scotty, and the governor's secretary drove in the official car, a huge American import. The two police sergeants led the way in one of the island's two police cruisers. The radio station was only a few blocks away. These were the studios. The transmitter was on the coast a mile south of Calor. Rick was pleased to see that the equipment was modern, the staff apparently efficient. A musical program was interrupted and the governor and Balgos put on the air at once. Rick's Spanish was too poor to permit him to follow the discussion, but he gathered that the governor told the people of the scientific mission, and then Balgos described the situation. The governor returned to the mike with a plea for instant evacuation. Tape recorders rolled while the speech was on. At the governor's orders, the tapes would be replayed every hour on the hour from now on. It was getting very late. The night was warm and pleasant, and the clouds had vanished leaving a brilliant moon shining down on San Luz. It was a lovely island, Rick thought. The greed of two men, Connel and Guevara, had prevented any possibility of action to save it. Now, evacuation of the people was the only possibility. Ricardo Montoya met the governor's party as they emerged from the studios. He reported rapidly to his uncle, speaking English in courtesy to the Americans. "Men are on the way to the fishing villages, señor. The harbor master is speaking to the ships in the harbor, and already one C-1 is agreeing to take the people. I have spoken with the airlines managers at the airport, and they are trying to obtain many aircraft from the nearby cities. Your own aircraft is being made ready for instant take-off." It was the first Rick had heard of a government plane. "What kind is it?" he asked. "A very ancient, but very reliable Douglas, of the DC-3 type. We hold it in reserve, Rick. Your scientists, the governor, and our police will be the last to leave the island. I have counted the numbers. If you can carry four, our plane will carry the rest." Rick nodded. It was nice to know there would be a way out, even though he hadn't considered the necessity until that moment. He was glad Ricardo Montoya was thinking ahead. "Now," the governor stated, "I must visit the army." "I will go with you," the police captain said instantly. "No, Ricardo. There is too much for you to do. I will be safe. There is no enemy but Guevara. No soldier would harm me." Rick admired the little governor's courage, but he wasn't as sure of their safety as the old man seemed to be. "I think we'd better be armed," Scotty said. Ricardo Montoya had met them in the island's other police cruiser. He said, "Wait," and hurried to the car. Pulling down the rear seat, he disclosed a gunrack. From it he drew two riot guns, automatic shotguns with short barrels. "Can you use these?" he asked. Scotty nodded an affirmative. "Both Rick and I have fired automatic shotguns on a skeet range. These can't be much different." "They are not. The safety is behind the trigger guard. There is no shell in the chamber now, but there are nine in the magazine. Go with God, señores." The governor's car with its police escort rolled through the streets of Calor, en route to the roadblock at the hotel road. Rick and Scotty held the riot guns, both hoping that they would not be needed. The governor chatted calmly, as though this were simply a routine sightseeing trip. "Few Americans come to San Luz. We had hoped that perhaps an advertising campaign might bring more of you to our island. We have much to offer, you will agree. Have you tried our swimming yet? I appreciate there has been little opportunity for pleasure." The boys answered politely, but neither could really get into the swing of the conversation. It took a kind of experience they did not yet have, to talk of casual things while en route to what might be genuine danger. The governor's secretary called over his shoulder, "There is the roadblock, señor. How shall I approach?" "Drive up to it, Juan. Be very casual." Rick fingered the safety on his riot gun. He could see dark figures at the barricade fence. The car drew to a stop. The governor said quietly, "Perhaps you had better stand by the car. Do not let your guns be seen. If necessary, you will know what to do." One boy got out on either side, leaving the car doors open. The doors shielded them and the riot guns. The governor got out and walked briskly to the barricade and spoke in Spanish. It was light enough so Rick could see the men at the barricade clearly. He realized suddenly that they were not dressed as the soldiers had been earlier; these men seemed to be farmers. But they had rifles, and two hand grenades hanging from their belts. He couldn't follow the exchange in Spanish. The governor was talking in a quiet voice with one man who was better dressed than the rest. The man's voice was cultured, but mocking in tone. Rick heard the secretary draw in his breath sharply, and he surreptitiously got ready to pump a shell into the riot gun's chamber. But nothing happened. Esteben Balgos muttered, "This is unbelievable!" Then the governor was coming back. He got into the car and spoke quietly. "Back to Calor, Juan." The boys got in and closed the doors. The secretary swung the big car around and headed back the way they had come. Governor Montoya took time to light an aromatic cigar. Only when it was going well did he speak. "An interesting talk, señores. Those were not soldiers, but the peons--how do you say it?--tenant farmers of Jaime Guevara. The man with whom I talked is his foreman. They have replaced the troops at all barricades, and their loyalty is only to Guevara." "But the troops?" Balgos asked. "Either guarding the volcanic pipe or working in it. I am told that Guevara is now the governor of the island. He has taken over. If I try to resist, it will mean bloodshed. If I leave the island, all will remain quiet and peaceful." "That's nonsense!" Rick exploded. "Guevara can't get away with it!" "No? He is getting away with it, Señor Rick. We have a dozen policemen; he has the army. He also has his own men, at key points. So what can we do? We haven't enough force to fight. Besides, there is no time. We can't arm the people because we have neither weapons nor time." "But what can we do?" Scotty demanded. "I do not know. At least we can continue our efforts to get the people off the island. Without the ability to make scientific readings, we cannot know how much time is left, so we must hurry. We will do the best we can. After that--well, you had a Spanish song in America that says it well. You recall the title? '_Qué será será._'" Rick remembered. An expression of fatalism. What will be, will be. CHAPTER XVI The Brant Approach The magma drove upward, melting its way through the fractured rock of the channels under the western side of the island. Now and then it struck rock with a higher water content, and the island shuddered under a new explosion as the steam expanded. Rick felt the bed shake under him and sat upright. A new day had dawned, and there was much to do. He and Scotty had volunteered to help Captain Ricardo Montoya plan the evacuation of the island, and the youthful officer had accepted with pleasure. He had agreed to meet them for breakfast. The scientists had worked late, trying to extrapolate their data into some kind of prediction. Rick and Scotty, tired after an exhausting day, had gone to bed while the light still burned in Hartson Brant's room. Scotty awoke as Rick's feet hit the floor. "I'm getting used to these little earthquakes," he said. "Don't know if I'll be able to sleep on steady ground after this." "The ground is going to get unsteadier," Rick reminded. "Until--boom!" "I'm not forgetting," Scotty said grimly. "Let's get dressed and eat. I'm famished." "It's ham and eggs for me," Rick told him. "If I had to watch milk slosh around in a cereal bowl I'd get seasick." The boys dressed rapidly and hurried down to the hotel coffee shop. They were just in time. Ricardo Montoya walked in just as they were seated. The officer joined them. Rick noted that his face was drawn and tired, and thought Montoya had probably been up a good part of the night. "How's the evacuation going?" Rick asked. Montoya shook his head. "Poorly. My uncle's radio broadcast continued all night and through the morning hours. A few families have come to the harbor, and the stevedores are organized now to get them aboard ship. A few fishing boats have come, with fishermen's families, but there is no big exodus." "Don't they realize the danger?" Scotty exclaimed. "Perhaps. You must understand my people. They have lived with earthquakes all their lives. Not so often, perhaps, but these temblors are not unusual. What is there to be excited about? Who believes El Viejo will explode? It never has, so it never will." Rick thought it over. "Maybe not enough are hearing the broadcasts." "That is possible. I have put volunteers to work going from house to house, asking people to turn on their radios to hear the governor, and also to explain the urgency. But it will take a long time, even in Calor." "If we only had the troops," Rick said thoughtfully. "Trained manpower is what's needed for a job like this." "True. And I think if my uncle could only talk to the troops they would believe him. But he cannot reach them. Guevara's peons would never let him by." The hotel loud-speaker system drowned out his last words as a soft feminine voice paged someone in Spanish. "If only the troops could listen to the radio," Rick commented. "Perhaps they'd believe him and turn on Guevara." "Perhaps. But soldiers cannot afford radios, and they are away from their barracks now. There is no way for my uncle's voice to reach them." There had to be, Rick thought. There had to be some way. The loud-speaker sounded again, paging a Señor Alvarez. Rick sat bolt upright. Why not use a loud-speaker? "Listen," he said excitedly. "If the government radio station has a loud-speaker system, or can make one, we can put it in my plane. I can fly the governor over the troops and he can talk to them direct. My plane can go slowly enough, and low enough for that!" "How about power supply?" Scotty asked. "There must be an inverter on the island somewhere. We can use automobile batteries, and the inverter will give us 110 AC for a while, until the batteries run down. Just twenty minutes of power would be enough and we can get that with enough batteries!" Scotty chuckled. "The Brant approach," he said. "There always is one. How about it, Captain?" "We will try," Montoya said decisively. "You have not eaten?... Then do so, while I make a phone call to the radio station. I have had coffee and rolls, and perhaps there will be time to join you for more breakfast while the radio engineers get the equipment together." The boys were just finishing ham and eggs when Montoya returned. There was a broad smile on his tired face. "The engineers say it can be done. They have a portable loud-speaker system, and there is an inverter, as you call it, at the transmitter. What is this inverter?" "It's an electric generator," Rick explained. "Battery current turns it, and it produces 110-volt alternating current. But inverters aren't very efficient, and they take a lot of battery current. That's why we'll need as many batteries as we can carry." "The chief radio engineer said he understood exactly what was needed. He will gather the materials and meet us at the airport. Now, I think we have time for coffee, and perhaps I can follow your example with ham and eggs. It will take an hour for the equipment to be ready. Also, I called my uncle. He will be waiting for our call." "Did you get any sleep last night?" Scotty asked. Montoya smiled. "Sleep? I have forgotten what it is. But perhaps if this plan of yours works, I will remember, eh? Then I can sleep tonight." A check with the hotel desk told Rick that the scientists had left word that they were not to be disturbed until later in the morning except for an emergency. They had worked a good part of the night, apparently with no satisfactory results. The boys waited until Ricardo Montoya had breakfasted, then rode with him to the airport. There was another wait while the radio engineers arrived, bringing the loud-speaker equipment. Rick supervised the placement of the amplifier in the rear seat. The inverter was placed on the floor, and wedged into place with scrap lumber. The automobile batteries were put into the luggage compartment behind the rear seat and were also wedged in place. Wires were run from the amplifier through the rear-seat windows, which were opened just enough to take the thin cables. The leads were then brought out to the plane's struts. Two large loud-speakers were attached to the struts. At first there was some difficulty in figuring out a secure attachment, but the chief engineer, a resourceful type, managed to find a pair of U bolts somewhere in the hangars. They did the job nicely. The chief engineer connected up, then hung the microphone between the two front seats. He threw a switch and the inverter started up with a whine. At the throw of a second switch, the loud-speakers broke into a hum. The engineer tapped on the microphone, and the tap, greatly amplified, reverberated across the airstrip. "It works!" Rick exclaimed, delighted. "_Cómo no?_" the engineer said with a smile. He spoke to Montoya in Spanish. The officer translated. "There is one more thing. He has rigged a cable with a switch box so you can operate the controls from the front seat. When the cable is attached, you will be ready. I will go call my uncle." Rick and Scotty watched as the engineer got busy, hooking the remote-switch cable into the amplifier. "Room for only two," Rick pointed out. "Want to toss for it?" Scotty shook his head. "It was your idea. I'll stay on the ground. Take the governor and talk those troops into submission." "Maybe," Rick said. "We'll see. I think it depends on whether or not they know the real story. If they have any idea there are diamonds around, they won't be interested in anything else." "Guevara wouldn't dare to let them in on it," was Scotty's opinion. "I'll bet they're just following orders, with no idea what's behind all this. Most of them probably think there really is a national security conference going on." Rick thought Scotty was probably right. Time would tell. He waited until the engineer signaled that the job was done, then climbed into the pilot's seat. He checked the plane over. Plenty of gas. Everything seemed okay. He tried the loud-speaker switches, then spoke into the microphone. He could hear his voice boom out with thunderous amplification and saw Scotty clap his hands to his ears. Finally, he started the motor and let the plane warm, keeping an eye on his gauges. When the manifold temperature got high enough he cut the switch. He tested the control surfaces and he was satisfied. Now all he needed was the governor. Governor Montoya arrived within ten minutes. He inspected the plane and its equipment and nodded his approval. "Very ingenious. Shall we try it?" "Yes, sir." Rick helped the governor in, buckled his safety belt, then ran around and got into the pilot's seat. He started the motor, waved to Scotty and the others, then taxied out to the runway. The tower gave him clearance and he took off. "We'll make a swing over the area and locate the troops," he explained, "then I'll slow down as much as I can, and you can talk." Rick climbed to a thousand feet and set a course directly for the Hot Springs Hotel. He asked, "Sir, how many troops are there?" "Our army numbers three companies, of about two hundred and fifty men each. Then we have a few special units, including the transportation platoons. Perhaps nine hundred in all. We do not need a large army. But we need some kind of force. These are troubled times, and there is always some danger that a revolutionary force might consider us an excellent staging or training base for an invasion of a nearby country. So, we keep prepared." The Sky Wagon was over the hotel within minutes. Rick spotted a large group of soldiers--he estimated about two hundred--dispersed around the hotel. They probably thought they were guarding the conference. He banked left and followed the contour of the mountain, and found another group of soldiers camped near the pumice works. "That is two companies accounted for, more or less," the governor stated. "Now, can we find the third?" It wasn't difficult. Rick followed the dirt road to San Souci, and found the third large group marching in the direction of the mountain, apparently about to join forces with the group at the pumice works. "Let's take a look at the diamond pipe," he suggested, and pulled the Sky Wagon around in a tight circle. He had his bearings, and the third shot station was not difficult to locate. There was considerable activity. Earth-moving machinery had been moved into place and was operating. The yellow ground was already gone, and the equipment was cutting into the blue kimberlite below. Military trucks were lined up, apparently waiting to be loaded with the blue earth. "Where are they taking it?" the governor wondered. Rick had talked with David Riddle about the process. "They need water. The blue earth is run down long wooden tables with cleats on them, like washing out gold. The table is coated with grease. The diamonds stick in the grease and the blue earth washes away. They've probably set things up at the pumice works if there's water there. Otherwise, it may be the hotel." "It has to be the hotel, then," the governor explained. "There would not be enough water at the pumice plant. Well, I think we have found all our troops. Those who are not with the three companies are below us, digging diamonds. I wonder if they know what they are digging?" Rick told the governor what Scotty had said. "That is probably right," the governor agreed. "Guevara would not dare to let too many in on the secret. Well, shall we get to work?" "Yes, sir," Rick said. He handed the governor the microphone and swung into position for a run over the troops on the road. He throttled down, and then gave the plane a few degrees of flaps. He kept an eye on his air-speed indicator. If he got too slow, the plane would stall and he'd be too low to recover. "I'll make as tight a circle as I can," he said. "Be ready." The troops came into sight. Rick lost altitude and began a slow circle only a few hundred feet over the marching soldiers. He turned on the switches and nodded. The governor began to talk in slow, clear Spanish. Rick understood that he identified himself to the men below, but then he lost the trend of the talk. He concentrated on flying. The loud-speakers were operating perfectly, and he knew the troops could hear. He could see them looking up and pointing, but they kept marching. Apparently the governor wasn't making much of an impact. The governor paused, and Rick cut the switches. "Maybe they don't believe it's you," he suggested. "Perhaps not. But my voice is well known. I speak over the radio at least once a week. More likely the whole idea is just too much for them. Who can believe that mountain over there is about to blow up?" "Let's try the troops at the pumice works. Maybe you can tell them that all who care about their homeland should march at once to Calor." "I'll try it," the governor agreed. Rick circled low over the pumice works while the loud-speakers blasted at the troops below. They watched the plane, they pointed, some ran out for a better look. But when the governor pleaded with them to hurry to Calor to help save the people of the island, nothing happened. "If El Viejo started smoking, they'd move fast enough," Rick said bitterly. "But then it would be too late. They just don't believe there is any danger, and maybe they're not sure it's you. I guess no one has ever given them orders from the air before." "They are simple people," the governor agreed. "I think most of them have never heard of a volcano. They don't even know what an eruption is. How can they be excited? If I ever succeed in getting good schools here, this may change. But it won't help us now." Rick considered. It would do little good to repeat the announcement to the soldiers at the hotel. He wondered if Guevara and Connel were somewhere below, and with that thought he turned toward the diamond pipe. "Let's see if we can do any good with the truckmen," he suggested. "Tell them the trucks are essential to the safety of their families." The governor tried, while Rick held the plane in in a tight circle over the blue ground. Again, there was interest in the flying loud-speaker plane itself, but the message made no impact. Then Rick noticed tiny spurts of fire from one edge of the diamond field and cold sweat started on his forehead as he suddenly realized what they were. "They're shooting at us!" he exclaimed, and gave the plane the gun, taking evasive action as the distance widened. [Illustration: _"They're shooting at us!" Rick exclaimed, and gave the plane the gun_] "I saw," the governor said wearily. "It was not the troops. It was the peons. Our friend Guevara is down there, I think. But he need not be afraid of our effect. We have had none." Rick had seldom felt so frustrated. He was tempted to call the San Luzians a stupid bunch of cattle, but he realized the governor had stated the case accurately. They just didn't understand the danger. What would they understand? His lips formed the word. "Diamonds!" At least they would understand treasure. "Sir," he said excitedly, "we can break this up, at least enough so we can start collecting data again. If we tell them the whole story, they'll at least understand that Guevara is after great treasure. They'll flock to the diamond field and disrupt the operation, and we can move back in to some of the shot stations. The people won't be any worse off than they are now, and it will give us a chance to do something!" The governor considered. "Perhaps that is the only solution. It will not get my people to safety, but it will at least give us a chance to find out the exact situation. When I talked with your father this morning he said they needed more data or they could tell nothing about the timing of the eruption. If we get that data, then I will ask the Americans for troops. If we must, we will take the people off by armed force and save their lives in spite of themselves!" Rick circled and lost altitude again. He got into position over the marching troops and turned on the switches, then gave the governor the signal. Later, the governor told him what he had said: "Soldiers of San Luz! Do you know why you are protecting this area? It is not because of a great conference. It is because Lieutenant Governor Guevara has found a great treasure! He is using you to help him to become the wealthiest man in the world! But what will you get out of this? Nothing! He will give you nothing! Go for yourself and see the blue earth. It is found only near mountains like El Viejo. Do you know what it contains? Diamonds! The most valuable gems in the whole world! Will you let Guevara use you to make himself rich while you get nothing? Do not be fools! Help yourselves to this wealth. Look for the crystal pebbles, the ones like cloudy glass, among the blue stones. Go! You are soldiers! Take your share!" "They're running!" Rick pounded on the control wheel with excitement. "Look! They're breaking ranks and running!" "Excellent," the governor said calmly. "Now the other groups. Then, in spite of the rifle fire, let us go and tell those at the diamond pipe what they are doing. They will not hit us with those rifles." Rick knew that was true. A lucky shot might hit them, but it took practice to hit a fast-flying plane, even with automatic weapons. "Let's go," he said. CHAPTER XVII Solution: Nuclear San Luz was in a state of complete chaos. The majority of the island people dropped everything as the word of treasure spread, and the slopes of El Viejo were covered with treasure hunters using everything from shovels to pointed sticks in an effort to find _los diamantes_. Only a bare handful even knew that the diamonds occurred only in a small volcanic pipe on the western slope. If the hunt continued, Rick thought, the slopes would be denuded of vegetation. There was intermittent fighting around the volcanic pipe, the police reported. Guevara's peons had succeeded in holding the diamond pipe, but were surrounded by soldiers. Now and then Guevara attempted to clear the entire area, but with the entire army struggling to dig diamonds he wasn't having much success. The police officer who investigated also reported that an American was with Guevara. That would be Connel, of course. The scientists had moved at once to start shooting again, with the police pushing back the diamond seekers until the dynamite could be set off in safety. The crazed hunters assumed that the explosions were also means of seeking the diamonds, and rushed to the craters before the smoke had cleared. No one really cared. The data was being collected, and it showed that the situation was growing extremely serious. "Ten days maximum," Zircon said. "Maybe less. The magma has about reached that rock dike, and once it melts through, there goes the mountain." "We must get the people off," Governor Montoya insisted. "That is the first thing. I shall call at once for help from the Americans. They have forces at the Canal Zone and also in the West Indies. They will send help." "Yes," Hartson Brant agreed. "But first, we have a proposal. We will need the troops, but we may also need other help." Governor Montoya looked at him keenly. "This proposal is perhaps a solution for El Viejo?" "Perhaps. Let me outline the situation." The scientist pointed out the magma on Dr. Williams' sketch. "This is where the magma is now. Above it is a very thick layer of rock in which we can find no major weakness. It may hold the magma for a while. At least it probably will melt slowly." He pointed to a little line running from the western slope of the mountain down to the rock dike. "This was where we wanted to dig a channel. Now it is too late to go all the way to the rock. The heat would be too great. But if we could drive a hole through, with great suddenness, the magma would be released and the eruption would be away from the island and into the sea." "How would you do this?" the governor asked. "By getting help from the U. S. government, from Army Engineers and Seabees, who are U. S. Navy engineers. We would drive the tunnel as far down as time permitted. Of course we would keep track of the magma constantly. Then, as time ran out, we would place a charge in the hole--a shaped charge, as it is called--which would drive the hole most of the way to the magma. It would also crack the rock dike. The magma would seek the weakest spots, of course. It is under enormous pressure. And we would have the result we want." "But what kind of explosive would be enough for such an undertaking?" Montoya demanded. "Not enough dynamite could be packed into the tunnel to do the work." "We weren't thinking of dynamite," Hartson Brant said quietly. "We were thinking of a nuclear explosion." Rick gasped. He had no warning of this. The scientists had evidently arrived at the conclusion while he was flying around over the diamond seekers. Montoya gasped, too. "But that would kill everyone on the island!" "Not at all," Zircon boomed. "It would kill no one. Of course we would clear the area with troops." "But the radioactivity," the governor protested. "I have read it is deadly!" "Only if it can reach people," Hartson Brant explained. "This shot would be far underground. There would be no fall-out, as it is called, at all. Of course the earth around the explosion would be greatly radioactive. Some of the activity would be trapped in the magma. But where would it come to rest? On the bottom of the sea. There might be some danger to bottom fish in the vicinity, but I think the water would get so hot from the lava that fish would avoid it, anyway. And eventually the radioactivity would decay of itself to low levels. Sir, I see no other way." The governor raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. "I know nothing of these matters, and it is your business to know. I accept your assurances without reservation. Now, what do we do?" The scientists had not only conceived the solution, but had a detailed plan of action. Within a half hour, the loud-speaker had been removed from the plane, and Rick was flying Governor Montoya, Hartson Brant, and Esteben Balgos to Trinidad. Arrangements had been made by phone while they were en route. A car, sent by the President of the West Indies Federation, picked them up at the airport and whisked them to the Federation's headquarters. The President listened to the story with intense interest, then summoned the American ambassador and the representatives of Venezuela and Colombia. After a detailed discussion by Hartson Brant of the properties and limitations of nuclear explosions, the conference agreed. Immediate action was called for. The Venezuelan and Colombian representatives hurried off to notify their governments, while the President of the Federation put in a conference call to the United States, to the Chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, and the President's Special Assistant for Science and Technology, who happened to be an old friend of Hartson Brant's. A personal phone call from a head of state was without precedent--especially a conference call. The U. S. officials were located within an hour, and the call put through. On the West Indies end were the Federation's President, the U. S. ambassador, Governor Montoya, and Hartson Brant, speaking from four different rooms. Rick hung over his father's chair, listening. The Federation's President introduced himself and described the problem briefly. Then he introduced the governor. Montoya said briefly, "Gentlemen, we must have help or the island of San Luz will perish. I ask help on behalf of my 32,000 people." The Federation's President then introduced Hartson Brant. Rick gathered that the U. S. President's Special Assistant and the Chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission both greeted him warmly as an old friend. The scientist outlined the problem and its solution. He continued, "According to our estimates, we will need ten kilotons in order to have a margin of safety. It will take as many Seabees or engineers as necessary to drive a tunnel. The tunnel dimensions will depend on what machinery you can get to us. I leave that to your experts. We will also need about five thousand sea-based troops to handle the island population. We may have to carry them bodily to safety. Now, can it be done?" There was silence as the scientist listened. Rick stood on one foot, then the other, waiting. He could hear the mumble of voices through the earphone but could make no sense out of it. Presently Hartson Brant said, "Yes. I believe the runway at San Luz could handle a C-124." There was silence again. Finally, the scientist said, "I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then." He hung up and turned to Rick with a grin. "Our President will put pressure on the local Venezuelan and Colombian ambassadors here for an immediate decision from their governments, and our own Secretary of State will instruct our ambassadors in Venezuela and Colombia to camp on the doorsteps until they get agreement. He will also notify the United Nations, and invite observers from the Security Council. The AEC will fly in a 10-KT nuclear charge and a group of experts. The Secretary of Defense promised that a battalion of Seabees with full equipment would arrive in San Luz within twenty-four hours. The Military Air Transport Service will airlift in enough troops to handle the crowd. Any questions?" Rick grinned back. "It sounds as though everyone's in the act but the British." "Oh, they're in it, too. The Federation's President will represent their political interests, but we'll also have a British cruiser standing offshore for help as needed. And I forgot an important addition. Our President's Assistant for Science and Technology is notifying the proper committees of the National Academy of Sciences. We'll have a planeload of geophysicists down here in a few days to get all the scientific data possible out of this event. So we're well covered." "I guess we can relax now," Rick said with relief. "The job is out of our hands." "Not quite," Hartson Brant corrected. "They all agreed that the Spindrift Foundation should be placed in over-all charge. So we've got our work cut out for us!" CHAPTER XVIII The Seabees The sea off the west coast of San Luz was alive with ships. Rick counted up to twenty-five and then gave up. Some of the ships were moving, and he was sure he had counted the same one three times. He identified cruisers, destroyers, one aircraft carrier with a squadron of helicopters aboard, and landing ships of several kinds. One huge landing ship was nosed right up to the shore, and from it rolled tons of heavy equipment. From an attack transport, the equipment's operators, a U. S. Naval Construction Battalion--Seabees--were disembarking by the hundreds. Scotty asked, "How many different kinds of flags can you see? I've counted six so far. U. S., British, Dutch, Venezuelan, Colombian, and Panamanian." "It's an international job, all right," Rick agreed. "And when the UN observers arrive tonight you can run up a few more flags, too." "Reminds me of the amphibious exercises we used to have in the Marines," Scotty commented to Rick. Nearby, Hartson Brant and the other scientists were deep in conversation with a group of civilians and Navy officers. The officers were the engineers, from the Naval Construction Battalion. Last night had been spent in working with them on the details of the problem. It would be their job to drive the big hole down into the earth below El Viejo, working against time to intercept the rising magma. Scientists had arrived, too, and they were taking over much of the detail of keeping track of the magma. Each scientist had his own special field of interest, but all were anxious to have the data from tracings. There were geophysicists, including volcanologists and seismologists; mineralogists and more geologists. "Nothing much left for us to do," Rick said, a little sadly. "Except watch," Scotty corrected. "That's enough! Great crumbling craters, what do you want? A mystery every day?" Rick had to grin. "I guess this is enough. But one thing I want to do is go over to the volcanic pipe and see how Guevara and Connel are making out." "You will have an escort," a voice said from behind them. They turned to greet Ricardo Montoya. "Now that we can turn our attention to that pair, I think we should have a talk with them. To make the talk easier, we will put bars between us." "You're going to arrest them?" Rick asked. "Of course! What did you think?" "Right now?" "If you want to come along, join me. Now is as good a time as any. If we can find them, of course." The boys joined Montoya in the front seat of a military vehicle. The back was loaded with his men. Montoya at once steered for the trail to the volcanic pipe. It was only a thousand yards to the north from the point selected for the big hole. Even around the site of the hole there were diamond seekers, and it was hard to find a piece of ground that had not been tried with a shovel. As they got closer to the diamond field the numbers of treasure hunters increased until, as Scotty remarked, they were thicker than fleas at a mutt show. Montoya had to lean on the horn continually, and even then the San Luzians paid little attention. Finally the group got out and walked. It was easier to move on foot through the frantically digging mob. Strangely, there was little noise. Each individual seemed intent on his own little hole. But the digging was futile. There was no yellow ground under the flying shovels. Then the group did reach yellow ground, and met rifles in the hands of Guevara's peons. Evidently Guevara had put a ring of men around the volcanic pipe and planned to hold it by force of arms. Rick looked at Montoya. What would he do now? The young officer looked haughtily at the nearest peons and demanded in Spanish, "Do you know me?" One of them nodded respectfully. "_Sí_, Señor Capitán Montoya." "Good. You will stand aside. I am inspecting Señor Guevara's mine." He stalked through as though there was not the slightest question that the peons would allow it. The boys and the police officers followed on his heels. A shelter had been erected on one side of the volcanic pipe. Only blue ground showed, and there was a power scoop digging out more. Watching the shovel were Guevara and Brad Connel. Montoya walked up to the pair before they were even aware of his presence. "Good afternoon, señores," he greeted them courteously. Guevara snapped, "What are you doing here, Montoya?" "Arresting you, señor," Montoya replied calmly. Connel looked worried, but Guevara gestured toward the ring of men with rifles. "Don't be a fool. We outnumber you five to one. You haven't a chance." Captain Montoya smiled affably. "But, señor, it is you who haven't a chance. Consider, señor. The honor of the Montoyas requires that I take you to my uncle, eh? Well, I allow the chance that perhaps I will not survive to take you to my uncle, but I can assure you that you will become a lifeless body on the instant a rifle is raised. Surely you do not doubt me, señor?" Guevara looked at the officer, looked at the capable hand on the cocked gun in the holster. Then he looked into the fierce Montoya eyes, and his swarthy face turned pale. "Not even a Montoya would throw his life away for so small a thing," he said harshly. The captain smiled gently. "Call my bluff, señor." Rick had no doubt whatever that Montoya was not bluffing. Apparently Guevara was convinced, too. But he tried once more. "How do you expect to get us out of here?" "Simplicity itself. You will walk to my truck, arm in arm with Señor Connel. That is all. Of course if you should be so unfortunate as to have a peon lift his rifle, you would never reach the truck alive. But perhaps you are lucky. Shall we try, señor?" Guevara hesitated, then shrugged. "Very well." Connel spoke for the first time. He demanded hoarsely, "Are you going to let him get away with this when our men have all the rifles?" Guevara smiled wryly. "You do not know the Montoyas, Brad. Call his bluff yourself--only not if you wish to live." The ex-lieutenant governor walked slowly toward the ring of men. After a moment Connel joined him. Montoya stepped behind them as though taking a stroll through the Calor public gardens. The ring opened and let them through. Rick breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been quite as confident as Ricardo Montoya appeared to be. Guevara paused. "May I make an announcement?" he asked. "Certainly, señor." Guevara called, "_Amigos!_" Montoya translated the Spanish for the boys. "You know what you have been guarding. Now I must leave. What is left is yours. Work as fast as you can and find many diamonds. May good fortune be yours!" The ring broke as the peons rushed to grab shovels. Guevara led the way to the truck. It was all so easy, Rick thought later, if you were an aristocratic Montoya with a code of honor that permitted no yielding, even unto death. No one else he had ever met could have carried it off quite so superbly. So fast had the Seabees swung into operation that work on the big hole already was in progress when Montoya dropped the boys off. Pneumatic drills hammered into the congealed lava, cutting holes in which charges would be placed. As the boys watched, explosive was thrust into the holes, a warning was yelled through a portable loud-speaker, and the charge fired. Tons of rock were loosened. Even before the dust had begun to settle, huge machines were lifting the rock out, or dragging big chunks, and dumping them down the mountainside. Bulldozers kept the rock moving, keeping the entrance clear. Within minutes the hole was empty of rock and the pneumatic drills were hammering again. The cycle was repeated. The Seabees joked as they worked, and warned each other against shoving a hole right through into hot lava, but the pace never slowed for an instant. Hour after hour the big hole deepened until the Seabees ran into noxious gases. Then they donned gas masks and continued. Deeper and deeper the hole was driven, until the temperature at the hole's end was over a hundred degrees. The Seabees merely shortened working time and operated in relays so efficiently that no time was lost. Rick and Scotty got back to the hole as often as they could, but there was much doing elsewhere. The Hot Springs Hotel swarmed with scientists and observers, and there were heated conferences and late evaluation sessions. The Spindrift scientists were always in demand, and their faces grew gaunt as the days passed. The hole gave its own location because of the shock waves it sent through the earth to the recorders, and even Rick's untrained eye could see the traces slowly closing with the magma front. Earthquakes increased in frequency until Rick and Scotty felt as though the ground never ceased shuddering. The air became noisy with planes as the Military Air Transport Command began ferrying in troops. Flight after flight of huge transports roared in for a landing at the Calor airport, discharged the soldiers, and took off again at once. And still the diamond hunt continued. Then, at one o'clock in the afternoon, Hartson Brant called a halt. "The magma's moving up through the dike," he reported. "It's now or never. Captain Montoya, we will ask the troops to clear the area. Commander Jameson, withdraw all men and equipment except those necessary for the final packing. Dr. Cantrell, please be ready to place the charge at dawn tomorrow." The final phase of the operation swung into action. The troops gathered at Redondo and marched shoulder to shoulder southward along the mountain slopes. They herded the diamond seekers before them, sometimes with enough roughness to overcome protests, but mostly with little difficulty. They herded the population entirely around El Viejo, and established a perimeter from Calor northward, with the population confined to a narrow segment of the island along the seaward side. Loud-speaker trucks roamed along the perimeter, reassuring the people. Military disaster units cooked huge quantities of food and prepared thousands of gallons of coffee and reconstituted milk. American soldiers played with cute little San Luzian kids and--after the diamond seekers became convinced they had never had a chance to find diamonds--the whole affair became one big picnic. But it was a picnic with overtones of fear. Rick and Scotty watched the placement of the nuclear explosive--a simple steel can, from the outside--in the big hole. They watched the remaining handful of Seabees load tons of rock in after it. Only the wires connecting the device to a radio firing unit on the beach gave evidence that an explosion equal to ten thousand tons of TNT was about to take place. Rick asked, "Won't all those rocks keep the volcano from erupting?" Hartson Brant smiled. "Rick, compared with the force of the volcano, that atomic device is like a firecracker compared with a hurricane. But even to the nuclear explosion those rocks won't mean much. They're just to confine it a little." The night passed. San Souci was empty of people. The Seabees were back aboard ship. The scientific instruments were in place. Only a small group of scientists remained, their helicopter standing by. They checked out the radio firing unit, threw switches according to their check list, then announced: "We're ready!" CHAPTER XIX The Old One Yields Rick banked the Sky Wagon over the fleet. Scotty, in the front passenger seat, had the camera ready. Hartson Brant, in the rear seat, had a motion-picture camera poised. Governor Montoya, the fourth in the party, even had his personal camera along. Their cameras were not the only ones. Nearly every ship had its official photographers, and there were photography planes in the air. Directly under the Sky Wagon now was a U. S. destroyer. Aboard her was the nuclear firing party from Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory, and the UN Observer Group. On other ships of the fleet were the representatives of the interested nations and the Seabees. Rick turned up the volume of his plane radio. By agreement, the countdown was to be broadcast to all aircraft over one of the airport frequencies. "Thirty seconds!" the voice said. "Won't we need dark glasses?" Scotty asked. "No," Hartson Brant replied. "The nuclear fireball won't emerge. If it gets a little too bright, squint and turn your head." "How long after the nuclear shot will the volcano go?" Rick asked. "We don't know. Anywhere from seconds to hours. It depends on how much of a path the nuclear shot cracks." "Ten seconds!" Rick made sure they had a good view of El Viejo's western slope, and held the plane on course. "Five, four, three, two, one ... "Zero!" There was an instant of quiet, then dust spurted from the deep hole, followed by billowing clouds of pulverized rock. Down below, the earth heaved as though from another earthquake, and a line of waves appeared, running from shore outward! The dust settled slowly, hanging in the air like a great gray ball. The nuclear explosion, deep underground, had gone off. "Now what?" Rick wondered. Hartson Brant said quietly, "We may have to wait a while." "That explosion sure didn't look like the pictures I've seen of shots in Nevada," Rick told him. "No, Rick. This was too far underground. They've had those in Nevada, too, but the pictures don't get much publicity because they're not spectacular." Far below, where the end of the big hole had been, the huge chamber blown by the atomic explosion was white-hot with trapped heat and radioactivity. Below the chamber the earth was shattered, with myriad tiny cracks reaching far down. Some cracks reached the white-hot magma. Instantly the magma exploited the new weakness, pressure was released until ... "Look!" Even in the plane Scotty's yell was loud. Rick turned in time to see the side of El Viejo blow off in an explosion that made ten kilotons of fission seem puny indeed. For an instant he saw thousands of tons of white-hot lava rise into the air, then it fell into the sea. Instantly steam clouds blanketed the area, but the steam was mixed with traces of red and gray from the rock carried upward. A great boulder, weighing many tons, was hurled high in the air to fall into the steam cloud. The great rift in the volcano widened, and the molten lava was visible until steam rose again. Under the steam cloud was an inferno, but it was only occasionally visible as the wind tore rents in the vapor. The noise must be deafening, Rick knew, but only a low rumble and an occasional hissing could be heard in the plane. "Well," Hartson Brant said wearily, "it worked." Governor Luis Montoya spoke gently. "Yes, my friend. It did indeed work. And it has saved our island. I doubt that a single life was lost, thanks to you and your associates." "We'd better be sure." The scientist smiled. "Rick, suppose you fly us around the island?" "Yes, sir." Rick instantly swung the Sky Wagon onto a northward course that would take them past the erupting volcano and on to the north. He kept well out to sea, because now and then he could see big rocks flying through the air as the volcano spouted. Only the immediate area was affected. The new outlet was about a half mile wide, stretching from sea level and possibly below, to about a quarter mile up the slope. Beyond the crater San Luz seemed normal, although Rick knew there were no human beings in the area. Not until he passed Redondo did signs of life appear, and then the beach became black with people. The wave of humanity extended inward to the slopes of El Viejo and along the beach to Calor. Past Calor, at the airport, troops not needed on the perimeter waited for their planes. Already there were planes landing. Rick completed the circuit of the island, then on impulse moved past the volcano and took a good look at where the diamond pipe had been. A momentary wind blew the area clear long enough for him to glimpse white-hot lava. "Well," he remarked, "there go Connel's diamonds. Either buried, or burned." "Cheer up," Scotty said with a grin. "Maybe El Viejo is making some new ones." Governor Montoya added the final word. "I hope not. But if so, I can only hope they will not be discovered just before the next eruption!" CHAPTER XX A Few Souvenirs San Luz settled back to normal in an astonishingly short time, a tribute to the calm nerves of the population. Within recorded island history, the discovery of diamonds was the sole event that seemed to have excited most of the islanders. The troops left on MATS planes. The ships withdrew, except for two oceanographic ships sent hurriedly by Columbia University and Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute. Aboard were not only oceanographers, but marine biologists experienced in radiation physics. They would keep track of events in the sea for many months. The scientific population of the Hot Springs Hotel did not decrease appreciably. The combination of advance warning of eruption, a nuclear explosion, and the eruption itself provided data never before obtainable. The scientists intended to make the most of it. The courts of San Luz went into operation again. Guevara was charged with treason, Connel with attempted murder. The boys gave depositions--sworn testimony--to the government attorneys. But Ruiz would be his own best witness. The doctor promised that he would be able to testify by the time the case came to trial. At a dinner for the Spindrift scientists, the governor presented certificates of appreciation to each one of the party, including the boys. Then he made a short speech. "I could thank you, but words are inadequate in the face of the deed. An island and its people have been saved. You did this. What more is there that can be said? We will not forget. Already, with the help of my good friend Esteben Balgos, we are planning to erect a permanent volcanic observatory and laboratory in which scientists can work and learn from El Viejo. I do not ask your permission--I merely inform you that it is to be called Spindrift Memorial Laboratory." The scientists murmured in protest, but the governor held up his hand. "I know you do not approve. I do not ask you to. It is accomplished. Also, we will have a small but imperishable plaque over the door. It will say simply: 'This laboratory is dedicated to the scientists of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation. They saved San Luz.' Your names will be listed." The governor was adamant. He said with a twinkle that the scientists could make representations through formal diplomatic channels to the governments of Venezuela, Colombia, and Great Britain if they wished, but so far as he was concerned, the matter was closed. It was Rick who changed the subject. He reached into his pocket and drew out the handful of diamonds that he had carried there since the day he found out what they were. "We have to give these back," he said. "I picked them up, but we have no more right to them than Connel or Guevara. It wasn't a legal mining claim, I guess." Governor Montoya shook his head. "Rick, who will ever know how many diamonds were found? Already I hear of several huge crystals among the people. We have confiscated several times that amount from Guevara and Connel. Should we penalize you for being honest? I think not. You found them, and in the finding you were instrumental in saving the island. They are yours." Again the governor was adamant. He simply stated that the matter was settled, and that was that. "Then they're not mine," Rick said finally. "They belong to all of us, share and share alike. I happened to be the one who picked them up, but we were all involved with El Viejo, so we share equally. Of course we're not sure there's anything to share. These may be only of industrial grade." As it happened, Rick was wrong. The diamonds were, for the most part, of gem grade. Even after paying import duty, they were bought at a handsome price, uncut, by one of New York's leading diamond importers. It was quite a handful of souvenirs, even though the proceeds were divided equally among the entire Spindrift group, including Honorario and Ruiz. Most of Rick's share went into his education fund, but he kept enough out to buy gifts for his mother, Barby, and Jan Miller. And he kept out enough to buy something he had long wanted ... something that was to lead him into another adventure-mystery, a story to be told in THE FLYING STINGAREE. _The_ RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE _Stories_ BY JOHN BLAINE [Illustration] Rick Brant is the boy who with his pal Scotty lives on an island called Spindrift and takes part in so many thrilling adventures and baffling mysteries involving science and electronics. You can share every one of these adventures in the pages of Rick's books. They are available at your book store in handsome, low-priced editions. THE ROCKET'S SHADOW THE LOST CITY SEA GOLD 100 FATHOMS UNDER THE WHISPERING BOX MYSTERY THE PHANTOM SHARK SMUGGLERS' REEF THE CAVES OF FEAR STAIRWAY TO DANGER THE GOLDEN SKULL THE WAILING OCTOPUS THE ELECTRONIC MIND READER THE SCARLET LAKE MYSTERY THE PIRATES OF SHAN THE BLUE GHOST MYSTERY THE EGYPTIAN CAT MYSTERY THE FLAMING MOUNTAIN 
31627	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 31627-h.htm or 31627-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31627/31627-h/31627-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31627/31627-h.zip) The Contemporary Science Series. Edited by Havelock Ellis. VOLCANOES: PAST AND PRESENT. [Illustration: Fig. 1.--Eruption of Vesuvius, 1872-1873] VOLCANOES: PAST AND PRESENT. by EDWARD HULL, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S. Examiner in Geology to the University of London. With 41 Illustrations and 4 Plates of Rock-Sections. London: Walter Scott, Limited, 24, Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row. 1892. _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ The Coal-fields of Great Britain: their History, Structure, and Resources. 4th edit. (1881.) E. Stanford. The Physical History of the British Isles. With a Dissertation on the Origin of Western Europe and of the Atlantic Ocean. (1882.) E. Stanford. The Physical Geology and Geography of Ireland. 2nd edit. (1891.) E. Stanford. Treatise on the Building and Ornamental Stones of Great Britain and Foreign Countries. (1872.) Macmillan and Co. Memoir on the Physical Geology and Geography of Arabia-Petræa, Palestine, and adjoining Districts. (1886.) Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund. Mount Seir, Sinai, and Western Palestine. Being a Narrative of a Scientific Expedition, 1883-84. (1885.) Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund. Text-book of Physiography. (1888.) C. W. Deacon and Co. Sketch of Geological History. (1887.) C. W. Deacon and Co. PREFACE. It has not been my object to present in the following pages even an approximately complete description of the volcanic and seismic phenomena of the globe; such an undertaking would involve an amount of labour which few would be bold enough to attempt; nor would it be compatible with the aims of the _Contemporary Science Series_. I have rather chosen to illustrate the most recent conclusions regarding the phenomena and origin of volcanic action, by the selection of examples drawn from the districts where these phenomena have been most carefully observed and recorded under the light of modern geological science. I have also endeavoured to show, by illustrations carried back into later geological epochs, how the volcanic phenomena of the present day do not differ in kind, though they may in degree, from those of the past history of our globe. For not only do the modes of eruption of volcanic materials in past geological times resemble those of the present or human epoch, but the materials themselves are so similar in character that it is only in consequence of alterations in structure or composition which the original materials have undergone, since their extrusion, that any important distinctions can be recognised between the volcanic products of recent times and those of earlier periods. I have, finally, endeavoured to find an answer to two interesting and important questions: (1) Are we now living in an epoch of extraordinary volcanic energy?--a question which such terrible outbursts as we have recently witnessed in Japan, the Malay Archipelago, and even in Italy, naturally suggest; and (2) What is the ultimate cause of volcanic action? On this latter point I am gratified to find that my conclusions are in accordance with those expounded by one who has been appropriately designated "the Nestor of Modern Geology," Professor Prestwich. Within the last few years the study of the structure and composition of volcanic rocks, by means of the microscope brought to bear on their translucent sections, has added wonderfully to our knowledge of such rocks, and has become a special branch of petrological investigation. Commenced by Sorby, and carried on by Allport, Zirkel, Rosenbusch, Von Lasaulx, Teall, and many more enthusiastic students, it has thrown a flood of light upon our knowledge of the mutual relations of the component minerals of igneous masses, the alteration these minerals have undergone in some cases, and the conditions under which they have been erupted and consolidated. But nothing that has been observed has tended materially to alter conclusions arrived at by other processes of reasoning regarding volcanic phenomena, and for these we have to fall back upon observations conducted in the field on a more or less large scale, and carried on before, during, and after eruptions. Macroscopic and microscopic observations have to go hand in hand in the study of volcanic phenomena. E. H. CONTENTS. PART I. _INTRODUCTION._ PAGE Chap. I. Historic Notices of Volcanic Action 1-9 " II. Form, Structure, and Composition of Volcanic Mountains 10-19 " III. Lines and Groups of Active Volcanic Vents 20-29 " IV. Mid-ocean Volcanic Islands 30-40 PART II. _EUROPEAN VOLCANOES._ Chap. I. Vesuvius 41-60 " II. Etna 61-68 " III. The Lipari Islands, Stromboli 69-75 " IV. The Santorin Group 76-83 " V. European Extinct or Dormant Volcanoes 84-91 " VI. Extinct Volcanoes of Central France 92-112 " VII. The Volcanic District of the Rhine Valley 13-125 PART III. _DORMANT OR MORIBUND VOLCANOES OF OTHER PARTS OF THE WORLD._ Chap. I. Dormant Volcanoes of Palestine and Arabia 126-135 " II. The Volcanic Regions of North America 136-145 " III. Volcanoes of New Zealand 146-153 PART IV. _TERTIARY VOLCANIC DISTRICTS OF THE BRITISH ISLES._ Chap. I. Antrim 154-159 " II. Succession of Volcanic Eruptions 160-171 " III. Island of Mull and Adjoining Coast 172-176 " IV. Isle of Skye 177-179 " V. The Scuir of Eigg 180-184 " VI. Isle of Staffa 185-186 PART V. _PRE-TERTIARY VOLCANIC ROCKS._ Chap. I. The Deccan Trap-series of India 187-189 " II. Abyssinian Table-lands 190-193 " III. Cape Colony 194-195 " IV. Volcanic Rocks of Past Geological Periods of the British Isles 196-199 PART VI. _SPECIAL VOLCANIC AND SEISMIC PHENOMENA._ Chap. I. The Eruption of Krakatoa in 1883 201-216 " II. Earthquakes 217-224 PART VII. _VOLCANIC AND SEISMIC PROBLEMS._ Chap. I. The Ultimate Cause of Volcanic Action 225-235 " II. Lunar Volcanoes 236-252 " III. Are we Living in an Epoch of Special Volcanic Activity? 253-257 APPENDIX. A Brief Account of the Principal Varieties of Volcanic Rocks 259-265 Index 268 ILLUSTRATIONS. Fig. 1. Eruption of Vesuvius, 1872-73 _Frontispiece_ " 2. Cotopaxi _Page_ 16 " 3. Volcanic Cone of Orizaba " 21 Map of the World, showing Active and Extinct Volcanoes " 23 " 4. Teneriffe, seen from the Ocean " 31 " 5. View of the Summit of Teneriffe " 35 " 6. Probable Aspect of Vesuvius at Beginning of Christian Era " 43 " 7. View of Vesuvius before 1767 " 50 " 8. Map of District bordering Bay of Naples " 52 " 9. View of Vesuvius in 1872 " 53 " 10. Ideal Section through Etna " 63 " 11. Map of the Lipari Islands " 70 " 12. The Island of Vulcano in Eruption " 71 " 13. Ideal Section through Gulf of Santorin " 76 " 14. Bird's-eye View of Gulf of Santorin " 79 " 15. Ground Plan of Rocca Monfina " 80 " 16. Geological Section of Tiber Valley at Rome " 88 " 17. Generalised Section Through the Vale of Clermont " 93 Fig. 18. View of Puy de Dôme and Neighbouring Volcanoes _Page_ 95 " 19. Mont Demise, seen from the S.E. " 103 " 20. Sketch Map of Rhenish Area in the Miocene Epoch " 114 " 21. The Volcanic Range of the Siebengebirge " 117 " 22. Section of Extinct Crater of the Roderberg " 120 " 23. Plan and Section of the Laacher See " 122 " 24. Extinct Craters in the Jaulân " 130 " 25. Mount Shasta " 139 " 26. Forms of Volcanic Tuff-Cones, Auckland " 148 " 27. "The White Rocks," Portrush, Co. Antrim " 157 " 28. Section across the Volcanic Plateau of Antrim " 159 " 29. Section at Templepatrick " 161 " 30. Cliff above the Giant's Causeway " 163 " 31. The Giant's Causeway, Co. Antrim " 165 " 32. "The Chimneys," North Coast of Antrim " 166 " 33. Section at Alt na Searmoin, Mull " 175 " 34. View of the Scuir of Eigg from the East " 181 Map of Volcanic Band of the Moluccas " 200 " 35. Map of the Krakatoa Group of Islands " 203 " 36. Section from Verlaten Island through Krakatoa " 204 Fig. 37. Isoseismals of the Charleston Earthquake _Page_ 223 " 38. Photograph of the Moon's Surface " 241 " 39. Portion of the Moon's Surface " 243 _PLATES._ I. & II. Magnified Sections of Vesuvian Lavas. III. & IV. Magnified Sections of Volcanic Rocks. Volcanoes: Past and Present. PART I. INTRODUCTION. CHAPTER I. HISTORIC NOTICES OF VOLCANIC ACTION. There are no manifestations of the forces of Nature more calculated to inspire us with feelings of awe and admiration than volcanic eruptions preceded or accompanied, as they generally are, by earthquake shocks. Few agents have been so destructive in their effects; and to the real dangers which follow such terrestrial convulsions are to be added the feelings of uncertainty and revulsion which arise from the fact that the earth upon which we tread, and which we have been accustomed to regard as the emblem of stability, may become at any moment the agent of our destruction. It is, therefore, not surprising that the ancient Greeks, who, as well as the Romans, were close observers of the phenomena of Nature, should have investigated the causes of terrestrial disturbances, and should have come to some conclusions upon them in accordance with the light they possessed. These terrible forces presented to the Greeks, who clothed all the operations of Nature in poetic imagery and deified her forces, their poetical and mystical side; and as there was a deity for every natural force, so there was one for earthquakes and volcanoes. Vulcan, the deformed son of Juno (whose name bears so strange a resemblance to that of "the first artificer in iron" of the Bible, Tubal Cain), is condemned to pass his days under Mount Etna, fabricating the thunderbolts of Jove, and arms for the gods and great heroes of antiquity. The Pythagoreans appear to have held the doctrine of a central fire (meson pyr) as the source of volcanic phenomena; and in the Dialogues of Plato allusion is made to a subterranean reservoir of lava, which, according to Simplicius, was in accordance with the doctrine of the Pythagoreans which Plato was recounting.[1] Thucydides clearly describes the effect of earthquakes upon coast-lines of the Grecian Archipelago, similar to that which took place in the case of the earthquake of Lisbon, the sea first retiring and afterwards inundating the shore. Pliny supposed that it was by earthquake avulsion that islands were naturally formed. Thus Sicily was torn from Italy, Cyprus from Syria, Euboea from Boeotia, and the rest; but this view was previously enunciated by Aristotle in his "Peri kosmou," where he states that earthquakes have torn to pieces many parts of the earth, while lands have been converted into sea, and that tracts once covered by the sea have been converted into dry land. But the most philosophical views regarding terrestrial phenomena are those given by Ovid as having been held by Pythagoras (about B.C. 580). In the _Metamorphoses_ his views regarding the interchange of land and sea, the effects of running water in eroding valleys, the growth of deltas, the effect of earthquakes in burying cities and diverting streams from their sources, are remarkable anticipations of doctrines now generally held.[2] But what most concerns us at present are his views regarding the changes which have come over volcanic mountains. In his day Vesuvius was dormant, but Etna was active; so his illustrations are drawn from the latter mountain; and in this connection he observes that volcanic vents shift their position. There was a time, he says, when Etna was not a burning mountain, and the time will come when it will cease to burn; whether it be that some caverns become closed up by the movements of the earth, or others opened, or whether the fuel is finally exhausted.[3] Strabo may be regarded as having originated the view, now generally held, that active volcanoes are safety-valves to the regions in which they are situated. Referring to the tradition recorded by Pliny, that Sicily was torn from Italy by an earthquake, he observes that the land near the sea in those parts was rarely shaken by earthquakes, since there are now orifices whereby fire and ignited matters and waters escape; but formerly, when the volcanoes of Etna, the Lipari Islands, Ischia, and others were closed up, the imprisoned fire and wind might have produced far more violent movements.[4] The account of the first recorded eruption of Vesuvius has been graphically related by the younger Pliny in his two letters to Tacitus, to which I shall have occasion to refer further on.[5] These bring down the references to volcanic phenomena amongst ancient authors to the commencement of the Christian era; from all of which we may infer that the more enlightened philosophers of antiquity had a general idea that eruptions had their origin in a central fire within the interior of the earth, that volcanic mountains were liable to become dormant for long periods, and afterwards to break out into renewed activity, that there existed a connection between volcanic action and earthquakes, and that volcanoes are safety-valves for the regions around. It is unnecessary that I should pursue the historical sketch further. Those who wish to know the views of writers of the Middle Ages will find them recorded by Sir Charles Lyell.[6] The long controversy carried on during the latter part of the eighteenth century between "Neptunists," led by Werner on the one side, and "Vulcanists," led by Hutton and Playfair on the other, regarding the origin of such rocks as granite and basalt, was finally brought to a close by the triumph of the "Vulcanists," who demonstrated that such rocks are the result of igneous fusion; and that in the cases of basalt and its congeners, they are being extruded from volcanic vents at the present day. The general principles for the classification of rocks as recognised in modern science may be regarded as having been finally established by James Hutton, of Edinburgh, in his _Theory of the Earth_,[7] while they were illustrated and defended by Professor Playfair in his work entitled, _Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory of the Earth_,[8] although other observers, such as Desmarest, Collini, and Guettard, had in other countries come to very clear views on this subject. The following are some of the more important works on the phenomena of volcanoes and earthquakes published during the present century:--[9] 1. Poulett Scrope, F.R.S., _Considerations on Volcanoes_ (1825). This work is dedicated to Lyell, his fellow-worker in the same department of science, and was undertaken, as he says, "in order to help to dispel that signal delusion as to the mode of action of the subtelluric forces with which the Elevation-Crater theory had mystified the geological world." The second edition was published in 1872. 2. This was followed by the admirable work, _On the Extinct Volcanoes of Central France_, published in 1826 (2nd edition, 1858), and is one of the most complete monographs on a special volcanic district ever written. 3. Dr. Samuel Hibbert, _History of the Extinct Volcanoes of the Basin of Neuwied on the Lower Rhine_ (1832). Dr. Hibbert's work is one of remarkable merit, if we consider the time at which it was written. For not only does it give a clear and detailed account of the volcanic phenomena of the Eifel and the Lower Rhine, but it anticipates the principles upon which modern writers account for the formation of river valleys and other physical features; and in working out the physical history of the Rhine valley below Mainz, and its connection with the extinct volcanoes which are found on both banks of that river, he has taken very much the same line of reasoning which was some years afterwards adopted by Sir A. Ramsay when dealing with the same subject. It does not appear that the latter writer was aware of Dr. Hibbert's treatise. 4. Leopold von Buch, _Description Physique des Iles Canaries_ (1825), translated from the original by C. Boulanger (1836); _Geognostische Reise_ (Berlin, 1809), 2 vols.; and _Reise durch Italien_ (1809). From a large number of writings on volcanoes by this distinguished traveller, whom Alexander von Humboldt calls "dem geistreichen Forscher der Natur," the above are selected as being the most important. That on the Canaries is accompanied by a large atlas, in which the volcanoes of Teneriffe, Palma, and Lancerote, with some others, are elaborately represented, and are considered to bear out the author's views regarding the formation of volcanic cones by elevation or upheaval. The works dealing with the volcanic phenomena of Central and Southern Italy are also written with the object, in part at least, of illustrating and supporting the same theoretical views; with these we have to deal in the next chapter. 5. Dr. Charles Daubeny, F.R.S., _Description of Active and Extinct Volcanoes, of Earthquakes, and of Thermal Springs, with remarks on the causes of these phenomena, the character of their respective products, and their influence on the past and present condition of the globe_ (2nd edition, 1848). In this work the author gives detailed descriptions of almost all the known volcanic districts of the globe, and defends what is called "the chemical theory of volcanic action"--a theory at one time held by Sir Humphrey Davy. 6. Wolfgang Sartorius von Waltershausen, _Der Ætna_. This work possesses a melancholy interest from the fact that its distinguished author did not live to see its publication. Von Waltershausen, having spent several years in making an elaborate survey of Etna, produced an atlas containing numerous detailed maps, views, and drawings of this mountain and its surroundings, which were published at Weimar by Engelmann in 1858. A description in MS. to accompany the atlas was also prepared, but before it was printed, the author died, on the 16th October 1876. The MS. having been put into the hands of the late Professor Arnold von Lasaulx by the publisher of the atlas, it was subsequently brought out under the care of this distinguished petrologist, who was so fully fitted for an undertaking of this kind. 7. Sir Charles Lyell in his _Principles of Geology_[10] devotes several chapters to the consideration of volcanic phenomena, in which, being in harmony with the views of his friend, Poulett Scrope, he combats the "elevation theory" of Von Buch, as applied to the formation of volcanic mountains, holding that they are built up of ashes, stones, and scoriæ blown out of the throat of the volcano and piled around the orifice in a conical form. Together with these materials are sheets of lava extruded in a molten condition from the sides or throat of the crater itself. 8. Professor J. W. Judd, F.R.S., in his able work entitled, _Volcanoes: What they are, and what they teach_,[11] has furnished the student of vulcanicity with a very complete manual of a general character on the subject. The author, having extensive personal acquaintance with the volcanoes of the south of Europe and the volcanic rocks of the British Isles, was well equipped for undertaking a work of the kind; and in it he supports the views of Lyell and Scrope regarding the mode of formation of volcanic mountains. 9. Sir Archibald Geikie, F.R.S., in his elaborate monograph[12] on the Tertiary Volcanic Rocks of the British Isles, has recorded his views regarding the origin and succession of the plateau basalts and associated rocks over the region extending from the north of Ireland to the Inner Hebrides; and in dealing with these districts in the following pages I have made extensive use of his observations and conclusions. 10. _Report published by the Royal Society on the Eruption of Krakatoa_--drawn up by several authors (1885)--and the work on the same subject by Chev. Verbeek, and published by the Government of the Netherlands (1886). In these works all the phenomena connected with the extraordinary eruptions of Krakatoa in 1883 are carefully noted and scientifically discussed, and illustrated by maps and drawings. 11. _The Charleston Earthquake of August 31, 1886_, by Captain Clarence Edward Dutton, U.S. Ordnance Corps. Ninth Annual Report of the United States Geological Survey, 1887-88, with maps and illustrations. 12. Amongst other works which may be consulted with advantage is that of Mr. T. Mellard Reade on _The Origin of Mountain Ranges_; the Rev. Osmond Fisher's _Physics of the Earth_; Professor G. H. Darwin and Mr. C. Davison on "The Internal Tension of the Earth's Crust," _Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society_, vol. 178; Mr. R. Mallet, "On the Dynamics of Earthquakes," _Trans. Roy. Irish Academy_, vol. xxi.; Professor O'Reilly's "Catalogues of Earthquakes," _Trans. Roy. Irish Academy_, vol. xxviii. (1884 and 1888); and Mr. A. Ent. Gooch _On the Causes of Volcanic Action_ (London, 1890). These and other authorities will be referred to in the text. [1] See Julius Schwarez _On the Failure of Geological Attempts made by the Greeks_. (Edition 1888.) [2] "Vidi ego, quod fuerat quondam solidissima tellus, Esse fretum. Vidi factas ex æquore terras: Et procul à pelago conchæ jacuere marinæ; Et vetus inventa est in montibus anchora sumnis. Quodque fuit campus, vallem de cursus aquarum Fecit; et eluvie mons est deductus in æquor: Eque paludosa siccis humus aret arenis; Quæque sitim tulerant, stagnata paludibus hument. Hic fontes Natura novos emissit, at illuc Clausit: et antiquis concussa tremoribus orbis Fulmina prosiliunt...." --Lib. xv. 262. [3] "Nec, quæ sulfureis ardet fornacibus, Ætne Ignea semper erit; neque enim fuit ignea semper. Nam, sive est animal tellus, et vivit, habetque Spiramenta locis flammam exhalantia multis; Spirandi mutare vias, quotiesque movetur, Has finire potest, illas aperire cavernas: Sive leves imis venti cohibentur in antris; Saxaque cum saxis...." --_Ibid._, 340. [4] Strabo, lib. vi. [5] Tacitus, lib. vi. 16, 20. [6] _Principles of Geology_, 11th edition, vol. i., ch. 3. [7] 2 vols., Edin. (1795). [8] Edin. (1802). [9] A more extended list of early works will be found in Daubeny's _Volcanoes_ (1848). [10] 11th edition (1872). [11] 4th edition (1888). [12] "The History of Volcanic Action during the Tertiary Period in the British Isles," _Trans. Roy. Soc., Edin._ Vol. xxxv, (1888). CHAPTER II. FORM, STRUCTURE, AND COMPOSITION OF VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS. The conical form of a volcanic mountain is so generally recognised, that many persons who have no intelligent acquaintance with geological phenomena are in the habit of attributing to all mountains having a conical form, and especially if accompanied by a truncated apex, a volcanic origin. Yet this is very far from being the fact, as some varieties of rock, such as quartzite, not unfrequently assume this shape. Of such we have an example in the case of Errigal, a quartzite mountain in Donegal, nearly 3000 feet high, which bears a very near approach in form to a perfect cone or pyramid, and yet is in no way connected, as regards its origin or structure, with volcanic phenomena. Another remarkable instance is that of Schehallion in Scotland, also composed of quartz-rock; and others may be found amongst the ranges of Islay and Jura, described by Sir A. Geikie.[1] Notwithstanding, however, such exceptions, which might be greatly multiplied, the majority of cone-shaped mountains over the globe have a volcanic origin.[2] The origin of this form in each case is entirely distinct. In the case of quartzite mountains, the conical form is due to atmospheric influences acting on a rock of uniform composition, traversed by numerous joints and fissures crossing each other at obtuse angles, along which the rock breaks up and falls away, so that the sides are always covered by angular shingle forming slopes corresponding to the angle of friction of the rock in question. In the case of a volcanic mountain, however, the same form is due either to accumulation of fragmental material piled around the cup-shaped hollow, or crater, which is usually placed at the apex of the cone, and owing to which it is bluntly terminated, or else to the welling up from beneath of viscous matter in the manner presently to be described. _Views of Sir Humphrey Davy and L. von Buch._--The question how a volcanic cone came to be formed was not settled without a long controversy carried on by several naturalists of eminence. Some of the earlier writers of modern times on the subject of vulcanicity--such as Sir Humphrey Davy and Leopold von Buch--maintained that the conical form was due to upheaval by a force acting from below at a central focus, whereby the materials of which the mountain is formed were forced to assume a _quâ-quâ versal_ position--that is, a position in which the materials dip away from the central focus in every direction. But this view, originally contested by Scrope and Lyell, has now been generally abandoned. It will be seen on reflection that if a series of strata of ashes, tuff, and lava, originally horizontal, or nearly so, were to be forced upwards into a conical form by a central force, the result would be the formation of a series of radiating fissures ever widening from the circumference towards the focus. In the case of a large mountain such fissures, whether filled with lava or otherwise, would be of great breadth towards the focus, or central crater, and could not fail to make manifest beyond dispute their mechanical origin. But no fissures of the kind here referred to are, as a matter of fact, to be observed. Those which do exist are too insignificant and too irregular in direction to be ascribed to such an origin; so that the views of Von Buch and Davy must be dismissed, as being unsupported by observation, and as untenable on dynamical grounds. As a matter of fact, the "elevatory theory," or the "elevation-crater theory," as it is called by Scrope, has been almost universally abandoned by writers on vulcanicity. _Principal Varieties of Volcanic Mountains as regards Form._--But whilst rejecting the "elevatory theory," it is necessary to bear in mind that volcanic cones and dome-shaped elevations have been formed in several distinct ways, giving rise to varieties of structure essentially different. Two of the more general of these varieties of form, the crater-cone and the dome, are found in some districts, as in Auvergne, side by side. The crater-cone consists of beds or sheets of ashes, lapilli, and slag piled up in a conical form, with a central crater (or cup) containing the principal pipe through which these materials have been erupted; the dome, of a variety of trachytic lava, which has been extruded in a molten, or viscous, condition from a central pipe, and in such cases there is no distinct crater. There are other forms of volcanic mountains, such as those built up of basaltic matter, of which I shall have to speak hereafter, but the two former varieties are the most prevalent; and we may now proceed to consider the conditions under which the crater-cone volcanoes have been formed. _Crateriform Volcanic Cones._--Of this class nearly all the active volcanoes of the Mediterranean region--Etna, Vesuvius, Stromboli, and the Lipari Islands--may be considered as representatives. They consist essentially of masses of fragmental material, which have from time to time been blown out of an orifice and piled up around with more or less regularity (according to the force exerted, and direction of the prevalent winds), alternating with sheets of lava. In this way mountains several thousand feet in height and of vast horizontal extent are formed. The fragmental materials thus accumulated are of all sizes, from the finest dust up to blocks many tons in weight, the latter being naturally piled around nearest to the orifice. The fine dust, blown high into the air by the explosive force of the gases and vapours, is often carried to great distances by the prevalent winds. Thus during the eruption of Vesuvius in A.D. 472 showers of ashes, carried high into the air by the westerly wind, fell over Constantinople at a distance of 750 miles.[3] These loose, or partially consolidated, fragmental materials are rudely stratified, and slope downwards and outwards from the edge of the crater, so as to present the appearance of what is known as "the dip" of stratified deposits which have been upraised from the horizontal position by terrestrial forces. It was this excentrical arrangement which gave rise to the supposition that such volcanic ash-beds had been tilted up by a force acting in the direction of the volcanic throat, or orifice of eruption. The interior wall of Monte di Somma, the original crater of Vesuvius, presents a good illustration of such fragmental beds. I shall have occasion further on to describe more fully the structure of this remarkable mountain; so that it will suffice to say here that this old prehistoric crater, the walls of which enclose the modern cone of Vesuvius, is seen to be formed of irregular beds of ash, scoriæ, and fragmental masses, traversed by numerous dykes of lava, and sloping away outwards towards the surrounding plains. Of similar materials are the flanks of Etna composed, even at great distances from the central crater; the beds of ash and agglomerate sometimes alternating with sheets of solidified lava and traversed by dykes of similar material of later date, injected from below through fissures formed during periods of eruptive energy. Numerous similar examples are to be observed in the Auvergne region of Central France and the Eifel. And here we find remarkable cases of "breached cones," or craters, which will require some special description. Standing on the summit of the Puy de Dôme, and looking northwards or southwards, the eye wanders over a tract formed of dome-shaped hills and of extinct crater-cones rising from a granitic platform. But what is most peculiar in the scene is the ruptured condition of a large number of the cones with craters. In such cases the wall of the crater has been broken down on one side, and we observe that a stream of lava has been poured out through the breach and overflowed the plain below. The cause of this breached form is sufficiently obvious. In such cases there has been an explosion of ashes, stones, and scoriæ from the volcanic throat, by which a cone-shaped hill with a crater has been built up. This has been followed by molten lava welling up through the throat, and gradually filling the crater. But, as the lava is much more dense than the material of which the crater wall is composed, the pressure of the lava outwards has become too great for the resistance of the wall, which consequently has given way at its weakest part and, a breach being formed, the molten matter has flowed out in a stream which has inundated the country lying at the base of the cone. In one instance mentioned by Scrope, the original upper limit of the lake of molten lava has left its mark in the form of a ring of slag on the inside of the breached crater.[4] _Craterless Domes._--These differ essentially both in form and composition from those just described, and have their typical representatives in the Auvergne district, though not without their analogues elsewhere, as in the case of Chimborazo, in South America, one of the loftiest volcanic mountains in the world. [Illustration: Fig. 2.--Cotopaxi, a volcano of the Cordilleras of Quito, still active, and covered by snow down to a level of 14,800 feet. Below this is a zone of naked rock, succeeded by another of forest vegetation. Owing to the continuous extrusion of lava from the crater, the cone is being gradually built up of fresh material, and the crater is comparatively small in consequence.--(A diagrammatic view after A. von Humboldt.)] Taking the Puy de Dôme, Petit Suchet, Cliersou, Grand Sarcoui in Auvergne, and the Mamelon in the Isle of Bourbon as illustrations, we have in all these cases a group of volcanic hills, dome-shaped and destitute of craters, the summits being rounded or slightly flattened. We also observe that the flanks rise more abruptly from their bases, and contrast in outline with the graceful curve of the crater cones. The dome-shaped volcanoes are generally composed of felsitic matter, whether domite, trachyte, or andesite, which has been extruded in a molten or viscous condition from some orifice or fissure in the earth's crust, and being piled up and spreading outwards, necessarily assumes such a form as that of a dome, as has been shown by experiment on a small scale by Dr. E. Reyer, of Grätz.[5] The contrast between the two forms (those of the dome and the crater-cone) is exemplified in the case of the Grand Sarcoui and its neighbours. The former is composed of a species of trachyte; the latter of ashes and fragmental matter which have been blown out of their respective vents of eruption into the air, and piled up and around in a crateriform manner with sides of gradually diminishing slope outwards, thus giving rise to the characteristic volcanic curve. The two varieties here referred to, contrasting in form, composition, and colour of material, can be clearly recognised from the summit of the Puy de Dôme, which rises by a head and shoulders above its fellows, and thus affords an advantageous standpoint from which to compare the various forms of this remarkable group of volcanic mountains. Cotopaxi (Fig. 2) has been generally supposed to be a dome; but Whymper, who ascended the mountain in 1880, shows that it is a cone with a crater, 2,300 feet in largest diameter. He determined the height to be 19,613 feet above the ocean. Its real elevation above the sea is somewhat masked, owing to the fact that it rises from the high plain of Tapia, which is itself 8,900 feet above the sea surface. The smaller peak on the right (Fig. 2) is that of Carihuairazo, which reaches an elevation of over 16,000 feet. Chimborazo, in Columbia, province of Quito, is one of the loftiest of the chain of the Andes, and is situated in lat. 1° 30' S., long. 78° 58' W. Though not in a state of activity, it is wholly composed of volcanic material, and reaches an elevation of over 20,000 feet above the ocean; its sides being covered by a sheet of permanent snow to a level of 2,600 feet below the summit.[6] Seen from the shores of the Pacific, after the long rains of winter, it presents a magnificent spectacle, "when the transparency of the air is increased, and its enormous circular summit is seen projected upon the deep azure blue of the equatorial sky. The great rarity of the air through which the tops of the Andes are seen adds much to the splendour of the snow, and aids the magical effect of its reflection." Chimborazo was ascended by Humboldt and Bonpland in 1802 almost to the summit; but at a height of 19,300 feet by barometrical measurement, their further ascent was arrested by a wide chasm. Boussingault, in company with Colonel Hall, accomplished the ascent as far as the foot of the mass of columnar "trachyte," the upper surface of which, covered by a dome of snow, forms the summit of the mountain. The whole mass of the mountain consists of volcanic rock, varieties of andesite; there is no trace of a crater, nor of any fragmental materials, such as are usually ejected from a volcanic vent of eruption.[7] _Lava Crater-Cones._--A third form of volcanic mountain is that which has been built up by successive eruptions of basic lava, such as basalt or dolerite, when in a molten condition. These are very rare, and the slope of the sides depends on the amount of original viscosity. Where the lava is highly fused its slope will be slight, but if in a viscous condition, successive outpourings from the orifice, unable to reach the base of the mountain, will tend to form a cone with increasing slope upwards. Mauna Loa and Kilauea, in the Hawaiian Group, according to Professor J. D. Dana, are basalt volcanoes in a normal state. They have distinct craters, and the material of which the mountain is formed is basalt or dolerite. The volcano of Rangitoto in Auckland, New Zealand, appears to belong to this class. Basalt is the most fusible of volcanic rocks, owing to the augite and magnetite it contains, so that it spreads out with a very slight slope when highly fused. Trachyte, on the other hand, is the least fusible owing to the presence of orthoclase felspar, or quartz; so that the volcanic domes formed of this material stand at a higher angle from the horizon than those of basaltic cones. [1] _Scenery and Geology of Scotland_ (1865), p. 214. [2] Humboldt says: "The form of isolated conical mountains, as those of Vesuvius, Etna, the Peak of Teneriffe, Tunguagua, and Cotopaxi, is certainly the shape most commonly observed in volcanoes all over the globe."--_Views of Nature_, translated by E. C. Otté and H. G. Bohn (1850). [3] It is supposed that after the disastrous explosion of Krakatoa in 1883 the fine dust carried into the higher regions of the atmosphere was carried round almost the entire globe, and remained suspended for a lengthened period, as described in a future page. [4] Another remarkable case is mentioned and figured by Judd, where one of the Lipari Isles, composed of pumice and rising out of the Mediterranean, has been breached by a lava-stream of obsidian.--_Loc. cit._, p. 123. [5] Reyer has produced such dome-shaped masses by forcing a quantity of plaster of Paris in a pasty condition up through an orifice in a board; referred to by Judd, _loc. cit._, p. 125. [6] Whymper determined the height to be 20,498 feet; Reiss and Stübel make it 20,703 feet. Whymper thinks there may be a crater concealed beneath the dome of snow.--_Travels amongst the Great Andes of the Equator_, by Edward Whymper (1892). [7] Whymper states that there is a prevalent idea that Cotopaxi and a volcano called Sangai act as safety-valves to each other. Sangai reaches an elevation (according to Reiss and Stübel) of 17,464 feet, and sends intermittent jets of steam high into the air, spreading out into vast cumulus clouds, which float away southwards, and ultimately disappear.--_Ibid._, p. 73. CHAPTER III. LINES AND GROUPS OF ACTIVE VOLCANIC VENTS. The globe is girdled by a chain of volcanic mountains in a state of greater or less activity, which may perhaps be considered a girdle of safety for the whole world, through which the masses of molten matter in a state of high pressure beneath the crust find a way of escape; and thus the structure of the globe is preserved from even greater convulsions than those which from time to time take place at various points on its surface. This girdle is partly terrestrial, partly submarine; and commencing at Mount Erebus, near the Antarctic Pole, ranging through South Shetland Isle, Cape Horn, the Andes of South America, the Isthmus of Panama, then through Central America and Mexico, and the Rocky Mountains to Kamtschatka, the Aleutian Islands, the Kuriles, the Japanese, the Philippines, New Guinea, and New Zealand, reaches the Antarctic Circle by the Balleny Islands. This girdle sends off branches at several points. (See Map, p. 23.) [Illustration: Fig. 3.--Volcanic cone of Orizaba (Cittaltepeth), in Mexico, now extinct; the upper part snow-clad, and at its base forest vegetation; it reaches a height of 16,302 Parisian feet above the sea.--(After A. von Humboldt.)] (_a._) The linear arrangement of active or dormant volcanic vents has been pointed out by Humboldt, Von Buch, Daubeny, and other writers. The great range of burning mountains of the Andes of Chili, Peru, Bolivia, and Mexico, that of the Aleutian Islands, of Kamtschatka and the Kurile Islands, extending southwards into the Philippines, and the branching range of the Sunda Islands are well-known examples. That of the West Indian Islands, ranging from Grenada through St. Vincent, St. Lucia, Martinique, Dominica, Guadeloupe, Montserrat, Nevis, and St. Eustace,[1] is also a remarkable example of the linear arrangement of volcanic mountains. On tracing these ranges on a map of the world[2] (Map, p. 23), it will be observed that they are either strings of islands, or lie in proximity to the ocean; and hence the view was naturally entertained by some writers that oceanic water, or at any rate that of a large lake or sea, was a necessary agent in the production of volcanic eruptions. This view seems to receive further corroboration from the fact that the interior portions of the continents and large islands such as Australia are destitute of volcanoes in action, with the remarkable exceptions of Mounts Kenia and Kilimanjaro in Central Africa, and a few others. It is also very significant in this connection that many of the volcanoes now extinct, or at least dormant, both in Europe and Asia, appear to have been in proximity to sheets of water during the period of activity. Thus the old volcanoes of the Haurân, east of the Jordan, appear to have been active at the period when the present Jordan valley was filled with water to such an extent as to constitute a lake two hundred miles in length, but which has now shrunk back to within the present limits of the Dead Sea.[3] Again, at the period when the extinct volcanoes of Central France were in active operation, an extensive lake overspread the tract lying to the east of the granitic plateau on which the craters and domes are planted, now constituting the rich and fertile plain of Clermont. [Illustration: Map Of The World Showing Active And Extinct Volcanoes (Large Dots)] Such instances are too significant to allow us to doubt that water in some form is very generally connected with volcanic operations; but it does not follow that it was necessary to the original formation of volcanic vents, whether linear or sporadic. If this were so, the extinct volcanoes of the British Isles would still be active, as they are close to the sea-margin, and no volcano would now be active which is not near to some large sheet of water. But Jorullo, one of the great active volcanoes of Mexico, lies no less than 120 miles from the ocean, and Cotopaxi, in Ecuador, is nearly equally distant. Kilimanjaro, 18,881 feet high, and Kenia, in the equatorial regions of Central Africa, are about 150 miles from the Victoria Nyanza, and a still greater distance from the ocean; and Mount Demavend, in Persia, which rises to an elevation of 18,464 feet near the southern shore of the Caspian Sea, a volcanic mountain of the first magnitude, is now extinct or dormant.[4] Such facts as these all tend to show that although water may be an accessory of volcanic eruptions, it is not in all cases essential; and we are obliged, therefore, to have recourse to some other theory of volcanic action differing from that which would attribute it to the access of water to highly heated or molten matter within the crust of the earth. (_b._) _Leopold von Buch on Rents and Fissures in the Earth's Crust._--The view of Leopold von Buch, who considered that the great lines of volcanic mountains above referred to rise along the borders of rents, or fissures, in the earth's crust, is one which is inherently probable, and is in keeping with observation. That the crust of the globe is to a remarkable extent fissured and torn in all directions is a phenomenon familiar to all field geologists. Such rents and fissures are often accompanied by displacement of the strata, owing to which the crust has been vertically elevated on one side or lowered on the other, and such displacements (or "faults") sometimes amount to thousands of feet. It is only occasionally, however, that such fractures are accompanied by the extrusion of molten matter; and in the North of England and Scotland dykes of igneous rock, such as basalt, which run across the country for many miles in nearly straight lines, often cut across the faults, and are only rarely coincident with them. Nevertheless, it can scarcely be a question that the grand chain of volcanic mountains which stretches almost continuously along the Andes of South America, and northwards through Mexico, has been piled up along the line of a system of fissures in the fundamental rocks parallel to the coast, though not actually coincident therewith. (_c._) _The Cordilleras of Quito._--The structure and arrangement of the Cordilleras of Quito, for example, are eminently suggestive of arrangement along lines of fissure. As shown by Alexander von Humboldt,[5] the volcanic mountains are disposed in two parallel chains, which run side by side for a distance of over 500 miles northwards into the State of Columbia, and enclose between them the high plains of Quito and Lacunga. Along the eastern chain are the great cones of El Altar, rising to an elevation of 16,383 feet above the ocean, and having an enormous crater apparently dormant or extinct, and covered with snow; then Cotopaxi (Fig. 2), its sides covered with snow, and sending forth from its crater several columns of smoke; then Guamani and Cayambe (19,000 feet), huge truncated cones apparently extinct; these constitute the eastern chain of volcanic heights. The western chain contains even loftier mountains. Here we find the gigantic Chimborazo, an extinct volcano whose summit is white with snow; Carihuairazo[6] and Illiniza, a lofty pointed peak like the Matterhorn; Corazon, a snow-clad dome, reaching a height of 15,871 feet; Atacazo and Pichincha, the latter an extinct volcano reaching an elevation of 15,920 feet; such is the western chain, remarkable for its straightness, the volcanic cones being planted in one grand procession from south to north. This rectilinear arrangement of the western chain, only a little less conspicuous in the eastern, is very suggestive of a line of fracture in the crust beneath. And when we contemplate the prodigious quantity of matter included within the limits of these colossal domes and their environments, all of which has been extruded from the internal reservoirs, we gain some idea of the manner in which the contracting crust disposes of the matter it can no longer contain.[7] Between the volcanoes of Quito and those of Peru there is an intervening space of fourteen degrees of latitude. This is occupied by the Andes, regarding the structure of which we have not much information except that at this part of its course it is not volcanic. But from Arequipa in Peru (lat. 16° S.), an active volcano, we find a new series of volcanic mountains continued southwards through Tacora (19,740 feet), then further south the more or less active vents of Sajama (22,915 feet), Coquina, Tutupaca, Calama, Atacama, Toconado, and others, forming an almost continuous range with that part of the desert of Atacama pertaining to Chili. Through this country we find the volcanic range appearing at intervals; and still more to the southwards it is doubtless connected with the volcanoes of Patagonia, north of the Magellan Straits, and of Tierra del Fuego. Mr. David Forbes considers that this great range of volcanic mountains, lying nearly north and south, corresponds to a line of fracture lying somewhat to the east of the range.[8] (_d._) _Other Volcanic Chains._--A similar statement in all probability applies to the systems of volcanic mountains of the Aleutian Isles, Kamtschatka, the Kuriles, the Philippines, and Sunda Isles. Nor can it be reasonably doubted that the western American coast-line has to a great extent been determined, or marked out, by such lines of displacement; for, as Darwin has shown, the whole western coast of South America, for a distance of between 2000 and 3000 miles south of the Equator, has undergone an upward movement in very recent times--that is, within the period of living marine shells--during which period the volcanoes have been in activity.[9] (_e._) _The Kurile Islands._--This chain may also be cited in evidence of volcanic action along fissure lines. It connects the volcanoes of Kamtschatka with those of Japan, and the linear arrangement is apparent. In the former peninsula Erman counted no fewer than thirteen active volcanic mountains rising to heights of 12,000 to 15,000 feet above the sea.[10] In the chain of the Kuriles Professor John Milne counted fifty-two well-defined volcanoes, of which nine, perhaps more, are certainly active.[11] They are not so high as those of Kamtschatka; but, on the other hand, they rise from very deep oceanic waters, and have been probably built up from the sea bottom by successive eruptions of tuff, lava, and ash. According to the view of Professor Milne, the volcanoes of the Kurile chain are fast becoming extinct. (_f._) _Volcanic Groups._--Besides the volcanic vents arranged in lines, of which we have treated above, there are a large number, both active and extinct, which appear to be disposed in groups, or sporadically distributed, over various portions of the earth's surface. I say _appear to be_, because this sporadic distribution may really be resolvable (at least in some cases) into linear distribution for short distances. Thus the Neapolitan Group, which might at first sight seem to be arranged round Vesuvius as a centre, really resolves itself into a line of active and extinct vents of eruption, ranging across Italy from the Tyrrhenian Sea to the Adriatic, through Ischia, Procida, Monte Nuovo and the Phlegræan Fields, Vesuvius, and Mount Vultur.[12] Again, the extinct volcanoes of Central France, which appear to form an isolated group, indicate, when viewed in detail, a linear arrangement ranging from north to south.[13] Another region over which extinct craters are distributed lies along the banks of the Rhine, above Bonn and the Moselle; a fourth in Hungary; a fifth in Asia Minor and Northern Palestine; and a sixth in Central Asia around Lake Balkash. These are all continental, and the linear distribution is not apparent. [1] For an interesting account of this range of volcanic islands see Kingsley's _At Last_. The grandest volcanic peak is that of Guadeloupe, rising to a height of 5000 feet above the ocean, amidst a group of fourteen extinct craters. But the most active vent of the range is the Souffrière of St. Vincent. In the eruption of 1812 this mountain sent forth clouds of pumice, scoriæ and ashes, some of which were carried by an upper counter current to Barbados, one hundred miles to the eastward, covering the surface with volcanic dust to a depth of several inches. [2] An excellent, and perhaps the most recent, map of this kind is that given by Professor Prestwich in his _Geology_, vol. i. p. 216. One on a larger scale is that by Keith Johnston in his _Physical Atlas_. [3] _Memoir on the Physical Geology and Geography of Arabia Petræa, Palestine_, etc., published for the Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund (1886), p. 113, etc. [4] This mountain was ascended in 1837 by Mr. Taylor Thomson, who found the summit covered with sulphur, and from a cone fumes at a high temperature issued forth, but there was no eruption.--_Journ. Roy. Geographical Soc._, vol. viii. p. 109. [5] Humboldt, _Atlas der Kleineren Schriften_ (1853). [6] Ascended by Whymper June 29, 1880. He found the elevation to be 16,515 feet. [7] The arrangement of the volcanoes of Peru and Bolivia is also suggestive of a double line of fissure, while those of Chili suggest one single line. The volcanoes of Arequipa, in the southern part of Peru, are dealt with by Dr. F. H. Hatch, in his inaugural dissertation, _Ueber die Gesteine der Vulcan-Gruppe von Arequipa_ (Wien, 1886). The volcanoes rise to great elevations, having their summits capped by snow. The volcano of Charchani, lying to the north of Arequipa, reaches an elevation of 18,382 Parisian feet. That of Pichupichu reaches a height of 17,355 Par. feet. The central cone of Misti has been variously estimated to range from 17,240 to 19,000 Par. feet. The rocks of which the mountains are composed consist of varieties of andesite. [8] D. Forbes, "On the Geology of Bolivia and Southern Peru," _Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society_, vol. xvii. p. 22 (1861). [9] Darwin, _Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs_, second edition, p. 186. [10] Erman, _Reise um die Welt_. [11] Milne, "Cruise amongst the Kurile Islands," _Geol. Mag._, New Ser. (August 1879). [12] See Daubeny, _Volcanoes_, Map I. [13] Sir A. Geikie has connected as a line of volcanic vents those of Sicily, Italy, Central France, the N. E. of Ireland, the Inner Hebrides and Iceland, of which the central vents are extinct or dormant, the extremities active. CHAPTER IV. MID-OCEAN VOLCANIC ISLANDS. _Oceanic Islands._--By far the most extensive regions with sporadically distributed volcanic vents, both active and extinct, are those which are overspread by the waters of the ocean, where the vents emerge in the form of islands. These are to be found in all the great oceans, the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Indian; but are especially numerous over the central Pacific region. As Kotzebue and subsequently Darwin have pointed out, all the islands of the Pacific are either coral-reefs or of volcanic origin; and many of these rise from great depths; that is to say, from depths of 1000 to 2000 fathoms. It is unnecessary here to attempt to enumerate all these islands which rise in solitary grandeur from the surface of the ocean, and are the scenes of volcanic operations; a few may, however, be enumerated. [Illustration: Fig. 4.--The Peak of Teneriffe (Pic de Teyde) as seen from the ocean.--(From a photograph.)] (_a._) _Iceland._--In the Atlantic, Iceland first claims notice, owing to the magnitude and number of its active vents and the variety of the accompanying phenomena, especially the geysers. As Lyell has observed,[1] with the exception of Etna and Vesuvius, the most complete chronological records of a series of eruptions in existence are those of Iceland, which come down from the ninth century of our era, and which go to show that since the twelfth century there has never been an interval of more than forty years without either an eruption or a great earthquake. So intense is the volcanic energy in this island that some of the eruptions of Hecla have lasted six years without cessation. Earthquakes have often shaken the whole island at once, causing great changes in the interior, such as the sinking down of hills, the rending of mountains, the desertion by rivers of their channels, and the appearance of new lakes. New islands have often been thrown up near the coast, while others have disappeared. In the intervals between the eruptions, innumerable hot springs afford vent to the subterranean heat, and solfataras discharge copious streams of inflammable matter. The volcanoes in different parts of the island are observed, like those of the Phlegræan Fields, to be in activity by turns, one vent serving for a time as a safety-valve for the others. The most memorable eruption of recent years was that of Skaptár Jokul in 1783, when a new island was thrown up, and two torrents of lava issued forth, one 45 and the other 50 miles in length, and which, according to the estimate of Professor Bischoff, contained matter surpassing in magnitude the bulk of Mont Blanc. One of these streams filled up a large lake, and, entering the channel of the Skaptâ, completely dried up the river. The volcanoes of Iceland may be considered as safety-valves to the region in which lie the British Isles. (_b._) _The Azores, Canary, and Cape de Verde Groups._--This group of volcanic isles rises from deep Atlantic waters north of the Equator, and the vents of eruption are partially active, partially dormant, or extinct. It must be supposed, however, that at a former period volcanic action was vastly more energetic than at present; for, except at the Grand Canary, Gomera, Forta Ventura, and Lancerote, where various non-volcanic rocks are found, these islands appear to have been built up from their foundations of eruptive materials. The highest point in the Azores is the Peak of Pico, which rises to a height of 7016 feet above the ocean. But this great elevation is surpassed by that of the Peak of Teneriffe (or Pic de Teyde) in the Canaries, which attains to an elevation of 12,225 feet, as determined by Professor Piazzi Smyth.[2] This great volcanic cone, rising from the ocean, its summit shrouded in snow, and often protruding above the clouds, must be an object of uncommon beauty and interest when seen from the deck of a ship. (Fig. 4.) The central cone, formed of trachyte, pumice, obsidian, and ashes, rises out of a vast caldron of older basaltic rocks with precipitous inner walls--much as the cone of Vesuvius rises from within the partially encircling walls of Somma. (Fig. 5.) From the summit issue forth sulphurous vapours, but no flame. Piazzi Smyth, who during a prolonged visit to this mountain in 1856 made a careful survey of its form and structure, shows that the great cone is surrounded by an outer ring of basalt enclosing two _foci_ of eruption, the lavas from which have broken through the ring of the outer crater on the western side, and have poured down the mountain. At the top of the peak its once active crater is filled up, and we find a convex surface ("The Plain of Rambleta") surmounted towards its eastern end by a diminutive cone, 500 feet high, called "Humboldt's Ash Cone." The slope of the great cone of Teneriffe ranges from 28° to 38°; and below a level of 7000 feet the general slope of the whole mountain down to the water's edge varies from 10° to 12° from the horizontal. The great cone is penetrated by numerous basaltic dykes. The Cape de Verde Islands, which contain beds of limestone along with volcanic matter, possess in the island of Fuego an active volcano, rising to a height of 7000 feet above the surface of the ocean. The central cone, like that of Teneriffe, rises from within an outer crater, formed of basalt alternating with beds of agglomerate, and traversed by numerous dykes of lava. This has been broken down on one side like that of Somma; and over its flanks are scattered numerous cones of scoriæ, the most recent dating from the years 1785 and 1799.[3] [Illustration: Fig. 5.--View of the summit of the Peak of Teneriffe (12,225 feet) and of the secondary crater, or outer ring of basaltic sheets which surrounds its base; seen from the east.--(After Leopold von Buch.)] The volcanoes of Lancerote have a remarkably linear arrangement from west to east across the island. They are not yet extinct; for an eruption in 1730 destroyed a large number of villages, and covered with lava the most fertile tracts in the island, which at the time of Leopold von Buch's visit lay waste and destitute of herbage.[4] In the island of Palma there is one large central crater, the Caldera de Palma, three leagues in diameter, the walls of which conform closely to the margin of the coast. Von Buch calls this crater "une merveille de la nature," for it distinguishes this isle from all the others, and renders it one of the most interesting and remarkable amongst the volcanic islands of the ocean. The outer walls are formed of basaltic sheets, and towards the south this great natural theatre is connected with the ocean by a long straight valley, called the "Barranco de los Dolores," along whose sides the structure of the mountain is deeply laid open to view. The outer flanks of the crater are furrowed by a great number of smaller barrancos radiating outward from the rim of the caldera. Von Buch regards the barrancos as having been formed during the upheaval of the island, according to his theory of the formation of such mountains (the elevation-theory); but unfortunately for his views, these ravines widen outwards from the centre, or at least do not become narrower in that direction, as would be the case were the elevation-theory sound. The maps which accompany Von Buch's work are remarkably good, and were partly constructed by himself. (_c._) _Volcanic Islands in the Atlantic south of the Equator._--The island of Ascension, formed entirely of volcanic matter, rises from a depth of 2000 fathoms in the very centre of the Atlantic. As described by Darwin, the central and more elevated portions are formed of trachytic matter, with obsidian and laminated ash beds. Amongst these are found ejected masses of unchanged granite, fragments of which have been torn from the central pipe during periods of activity, and would seem to indicate a granitic floor, or at least an original floor upon which more recent deposits may have been superimposed. In St. Helena we seem, according to Daubeny, to have the mere wreck of one great crater, no one stream of lava being traceable to its source, while dykes of lava are scattered in profusion throughout the whole substance of the basaltic masses which compose the island. Tristan da Cunha, in the centre of the South Atlantic, rises abruptly from a depth of 12,150 feet, at a distance of 1500 miles from any land; and one of its summits reaches an elevation of 7000 feet, being a truncated cone composed of alternating strata of tuff and augitic lava, surrounding a crater in which is a lake of pure water. The volcano is extinct or dormant. Were the waters of the ocean to be drawn off, these volcanic islands would appear like stupendous conical mountains, far loftier, and with sides more precipitous, than any to be found on our continental lands, all of which rise from platforms of considerable elevation. The enormous pressure of the water on their sides enables these mid-oceanic islands to stand with slopes varying from the perpendicular to a smaller extent than if they were sub-aerial; and it is on this account that we find them rising with such extraordinary abruptness from the "vasty deep." (_d._) _Volcanic Islands of the Pacific._--The volcanic islands of this great ocean are scattered over a wide tract on both sides of the equator. Those to the north of this line include the Sandwich Islands, the Mariana or Ladrone Islands, South Island, and Bonin Sima; south of the equator, the Galapagos, New Britain, Salomon, Santa Cruz, New Hebrides, the Friendly and Society Isles. While the coral reefs and islands of the Pacific may be recognised by their slight elevation above the surface of the waters, those of volcanic origin and containing active or extinct craters of eruption generally rise into lofty elevations, so that the two kinds are called the _Low_ Islands and _High_ Islands respectively. Amongst the group are trachytic domes such as the Mountain of Tobreonu in the Society Islands, rising to a height probably not inferior to that of Etna, with extremely steep sides, and holding a lake on its summit.[5] The linear arrangement of some of the volcanic islands of the Pacific is illustrated by those of the Tonga, or Friendly, Group, lying to the north of New Zealand. They consist of three divisions--(1) the volcanic; (2) those formed of stratified volcanic tuff, sometimes entirely or partially covered by coralline limestone; and (3) those which are purely coralline. The first form a chain of lofty cones and craters, lying in a E.N.E. and W.S.W. direction, and rising from depths of over 1000 fathoms. Mr. J. J. Lister, who has described the physical characters of these islands, has shown very clearly that they lie along a line--probably that of a great fissure--stretching from the volcanic island of Amargura on the north (lat. 18° S.), through Lette, Metis, Kao (3030 feet), Tofua, Falcon, Honga Tonga, and the Kermadec Group into the New Zealand chain on the south. Some of these volcanoes are in a state of intermittent activity, as in the case of Tofua (lat. 20° 30' S.), Metis Island, and Amargura; the others are dormant or extinct. The whole group appears to have been elevated at a recent period, as some of the beds of coral have been raised 1272 feet and upward above the sea-level, as in the case of Eua Island.[6] The greater number of the Pacific volcanoes appear to be basaltic; such as those of the Hawaiian Group, which have been so fully described by Professor J. D. Dana.[7] Here fifteen volcanoes of the first class have been in brilliant action; all of which, except three, are now extinct, and these are in Hawaii the largest and most eastern of the group. This island contains five volcanic mountains, of which Kea, 13,805 feet, is the highest; next to that, Loa, 13,675 feet; after these, Hualalai, rising 8273 feet; Kilauea, 4158 feet; and Kohala, 5505 feet above the sea; this last is largely buried beneath the lavas of Mauna Kea. The group contains a double line of volcanoes, one lying to the north and west of the other; and as the highest of the Hawaiian Group rises from a depth in the ocean of over 2000 fathoms, the total elevation of this mountain from its base on the bed of the ocean is not far from 26,000 feet, an elevation about that of the Himalayas. Mauna Kea has long been extinct, Hualalai has been dormant since 1801; but Mauna Loa is terribly active, there having been several eruptions, accompanied by earthquakes, within recent years, the most memorable being those of 1852 and 1868. In the former case the lava rose from the deep crater into "a lofty mountain," as described by Mr. Coan,[8] and then flowed away eastward for a distance of twenty miles. The interior of the crater consists of a vast caldron, surrounded by a precipice 200 to 400 feet in depth, with a circumference of about fifteen miles, and containing within it a second crater, bounded by a black ledge with a steep wall of basalt--a crater within a crater; and from the floor of the inner crater, formed of molten basalt, in a seething and boiling state, arise a large number of small cones and pyramids of lava, some emitting columns of grey smoke, others brilliant flames and streams of molten lava, presenting a wonderful spectacle, the effect of which is heightened by the constant roaring of the vast furnaces below.[9] [1] _Principles of Geology_, 11th edition, vol. ii. p. 48. [2] Smyth, _Report on the Teneriffe Astronomical Experiment of 1856_. Humboldt makes the elevation 12,090 feet. A beautiful model of the Peak was constructed by Mr. J. Nasmyth from Piazzi Smyth's plans, of which photographs are given by the latter. [3] Daubeny, _loc. cit._, p. 460. [4] _Iles Canaries_, p. 37. [5] Daubeny, _loc. cit._, p. 426. [6] Lister, "Notes on the Geology of the Tonga Islands," _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, No. 188, p. 590 (1891). [7] Dana, _Characteristics of Volcanoes, with Contributions of Facts and Principles from the Hawaiian Islands_. London, 1890.--Also, _Geology of the American Exploring Expedition--Volcanoes of the Sandwich Islands_. [8] Coan, _Amer. Jour. of Science_, 1853. [9] W. Ellis, the missionary, has given a vivid description of this volcano in his _Tour of Hawaii_. London, 1826.--Plans of the crater will be found in Professor Dana's work above quoted. PART II. EUROPEAN VOLCANOES. CHAPTER I. VESUVIUS. Having now dealt in a necessarily cursory manner with volcanoes of distant parts of the globe, we may proceed to the consideration of the group of active volcanoes which still survive in Europe, as they possess a special interest, not only from their proximity and facility of access, at least to residents in Europe and the British Isles, but from their historic incidents; and in this respect Vesuvius, though not by any means the largest of the group, stands the first, and demands more special notice. The whole group rises from the shores of the Mediterranean, and consists of Vesuvius, Etna, Stromboli, one of the Lipari Islands, and Vulcano, a mountain which has given the name to all mountains of similar origin with itself.[1] Along with these are innumerable cones and craters of extinct or dormant volcanoes, of which a large number have been thrown out on the flanks of Etna. (_a._) _Prehistoric Ideas regarding the Nature of this Mountain._--Down to the commencement of the Christian era this mountain had given no ostensible indication that it contained within itself a powerful focus of volcanic energy. True, that some vague tradition that the mountain once gave forth fire hovered around its borders; and several ancient writers, amongst them Diodorus Siculus and Strabo, inferred from the appearances of the higher parts of the mountain and the character of the rocks, which were "cindery and as if eaten by fire," that the country was once in a burning state, "being full of fiery abysses, though now extinct from want of fuel." Seneca (B.C. 1 to A.D. 64) had detected the true character of Vesuvius, as "having been a channel for the internal fire, but not its food;" nevertheless, at this period the flanks of the mountain were covered by fields and vineyards, while the summit, partially enclosed with precipitous walls of the long extinct volcano, Somma, was formed of slaggy and scoriaceous material, with probably a covering of scrub. Here it was that the gladiator Spartacus (B.C. 72), stung by the intolerable evils of the Roman Government, retreated to the very summit of the mountain with some trusty followers. Clodius the Prætor, according to the narration of Plutarch, with a party of three thousand men, was sent against them, and besieged them in a mountain (meaning Vesuvius or Somma) having but one narrow and difficult passage, which Clodius kept guarded; all the rest was encompassed with broken and slippery precipices, but upon the top grew a great many wild vines; the besieged cut down as many as they had need of, and twisted them into ladders long enough to reach from thence to the bottom, by which, without any danger, all got down except one, who stayed behind to throw them their arms, after which he saved himself with the rest.[2] "On the top" must (as Professor Phillips observes) be interpreted the summit of the exterior slope or crater edge, which would appear from the narrative to have broken down on one side, affording an entrance and mode of egress by which Spartacus fell upon, and surprised, the negligent Clodius Glabrus. [Illustration: Fig. 6.--Probable aspect of Vesuvius as it appeared at the beginning of the Christian era; seen from the Bay of Naples.] In fancied security, villas, temples, and cities had been erected on the slopes of the mountain. Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Stabiæ, the abodes of art, luxury, and vice, had sprung up in happy ignorance that they "stood on a volcano," and that their prosperity was to have a sudden and disastrous close.[3] (_b._) _Premonitory Earthquake Shocks._--The first monitions of the impending catastrophe occurred in the 63rd year after Christ, when the whole Campagna was shaken by an earthquake, which did much damage to the towns and villas surrounding the mountain even beyond Naples. This was followed by other shocks; and in Pompeii the temple of Isis was so much damaged as to require reconstruction, which was undertaken and carried out by a citizen at his own expense.[4] These earthquake shakings continued for sixteen years. At length, on the night of August 24th, A.D. 79, they became so violent that the whole region seemed to reel and totter, and all things appeared to be threatened with destruction. The next day, about one in the afternoon, there was seen to rise in the direction of Vesuvius a dense cloud, which, after ascending from the summit of the mountain into the air for a certain height in one narrow, vertical trunk, spread itself out laterally in such a form that the upper part might be compared to the cluster of branches, and the lower to the stem of the pine which forms so common a feature in the Italian landscape.[5] (_c._) _Pliny's Letters to Tacitus._--For an account of what followed we are indebted to the admirable letters of the younger Pliny, addressed to the historian Tacitus, recounting the events which caused, or accompanied, the death of his uncle, the elder Pliny, who at the time of this first eruption of Vesuvius was in command of the Roman fleet at the entrance to the Bay of Naples. These letters, which are models of style and of accurate description, are too long to be inserted here; but he recounts how the dense cloud which hung over the mountain spread over the whole surrounding region, sometimes illuminated by flashes of light more vivid than lightning; how showers of cinders, stones, and ashes fell in such quantity that his uncle had to flee from Stabiæ, and that even at so great a distance as Misenum they encumbered the surface of the ground; how the ground heaved and the bed of the sea was upraised; how the cloud descended on Misenum, and even the island of Capreæ was concealed from view; and finally, how, urged by a friend who had arrived from Spain, he, with filial affection, supported the steps of his mother in flying from the city of destruction. Such being the condition of the atmosphere and the effects of the eruption at a point so distant as Cape Misenum, some sixteen geographical miles from the focus of eruption, it is only to be expected that places not half the distance, such as Herculaneum, Pompeii, and even Stabiæ, with many villages and dwellings, should have shared a worse fate. The first of these cities, situated on the coast of the Bay of Naples, appears to have been overwhelmed by volcanic mud; Pompeii was buried in ashes and lapilli, and Stabiæ probably shared a similar fate.[6] (_d._) _Appearance of the Mountain at the Commencement of the Christian Era._--At the time of the first recorded eruption Vesuvius appears to have consisted of only a single cone with a crater, now known as Monte di Somma, the central cone of eruption which now rises from within this outer ruptured casing not having been formed. (Fig. 6.) The first effect of the eruption of the year 79 was to blow out the solidified covering of slag and scoriæ forming the floor of the caldron. Doubtless at the close of the eruption a cone of fragmental matter and lava of some slight elevation was built up, and, if so, was subsequently destroyed; for, as we shall presently see by the testimony of the Abate Guilio Cesare Braccini, who examined the mountain not long before the great eruption of A.D. 1631, there was no central cone to the mountain at that time; and the mountain had assumed pretty much the appearance it had at the time that Spartacus took refuge within the walls of the great crater. (_e._) _Destruction of Pompeii._--Pompeii was overwhelmed with dry ashes and lapilli. Sir W. Hamilton found some of the stones to weigh eight pounds. At the time of the author's visit, early in April 1872, the excavations had laid open a section about ten feet deep, chiefly composed of alternating layers of small pumice stones (lapilli) and volcanic dust. It was during the sinking of a well in 1713 upon the theatre containing the statues of Hercules and Cleopatra that the existence of the ancient city was accidentally discovered. (_f._) _More recent eruptions._--Since the first recorded eruption in A.D. 79 down to the present day, Vesuvius has been the scene of numerous intermittent eruptions, of which some have been recorded; but many, doubtless, are forgotten. In A.D. 203, during the reign of Severus, an eruption of extraordinary violence took place, which is related by Dion Cassius, from whose narrative we may gather that at this time there was only one large crater, and that the central cone of Vesuvius had not as yet been upraised. In A.D. 472 an eruption occurred of such magnitude as to cover all Europe with fine dust, and spread alarm even at Constantinople. (_g._) _Eruption of 1631._--In December 1631 occurred the great convulsion whose memorials are written widely on the western face of Vesuvius in ruined villages. This eruption left layers of ashes over hundreds of miles of country, or heaps of mud swept down by hot water floods from the crater; the crater itself having been dissipated in the convulsion. Braccini, who examined the mountain not long before this eruption, found apparently no cone (or mount) like that of the modern Vesuvius. He states that the crater was five miles in circumference, about a thousand paces deep (or in sloping descent), and its sides covered with forest trees and brushwood, while at the bottom there was a plain on which cattle grazed.[7] It would seem that the mountain had at this time enjoyed a long interval of rest, and that it had reverted to very much the same state in which it was at the period of the first eruption, when the flanks were peopled by inhabitants living in fancied security. But six months of violent earthquakes, which grew more violent towards the close of 1631, heralded the eruption which took place in December, accompanied by terrific noises from within the interior of the mountain. The inhabitants of the coast were thus warned of the approaching danger, and had several days to arrange for their safety; but in the end, a great part of Torre del Greco was destroyed, and a like fate overtook Resina and Granatello, with a loss of life reported at 18,000 persons. During the eruption clouds condensed into tempests of rain, and hot water from the mountain, forming deluges of mud, swept down the sides, and reached even to Nola and the Apennines. Nor was the sea unmoved. It retired during the violent earthquakes, and then returned full thirty paces beyond its former limits. Not indeed until near the close of the seventeenth century is there any evidence that the central cone of Vesuvius was in existence; but in October 1685 an eruption occurred which is recorded by Sorrentino, during which was erected "a new mountain within, and higher than the old one, and visible from Naples," a statement evidently referable to the existing cone--so that it is little more than two centuries since this famous volcanic mountain assumed its present form. (_h._) _Eruptions between the years 1500 and 1800._--Since A.D. 1500 there have been fifty-six recorded eruptions of Vesuvius; one of these in 1767 was of terrific violence and destructiveness, and is represented by Sir William Hamilton in views taken both before and during the eruption. A pen-and-ink drawing of the appearance of the crater before the eruption is here reproduced from Hamilton's picture, from which it will be seen that the central crater contained within itself a second crater-cone, from whence steam, lava, and stones were being erupted (Fig. 7). Thus it will be seen that Vesuvius at this epoch consisted of three crater-cones within each other. The first, Monte di Somma; the second, the cone of Vesuvius; and the third, the little crater-cone within the second. During this eruption, vast lava-sheets invaded the fields and vineyards on the flanks of the mountain. A vivid account of this eruption, as witnessed by Padre Torre, is given by Professor Phillips.[8] We shall pass over others without further reference until we come down to our own times, in which Vesuvius has resumed its old character, and in one grand exhibition of volcanic energy, which took place in 1872, has evinced to the world that it still contains within its deep-seated laboratory all the elements of destructive force which it exhibited at the commencement of our era. [Illustration: Fig. 7.--View of the crater of Vesuvius before the eruption of 1767, showing an interior crater-cone rising from the centre of the exterior crater.--(After Sir W. Hamilton.)] (_i._) _Structure of the Neapolitan Campagna._--But before giving a description of this terrific outburst of volcanic energy, it may be desirable to give some account of the physical position and structure of this mountain, by which the phenomena of the eruption will be better understood. Vesuvius and the Neapolitan Campagna are formed of volcanic materials bounded on the west by the Gulf of Naples, and on the east and south by ranges of Jurassic limestone, a prolongation of the Apennines, which send out a spur bounding the bay on the south, and forming the promontory of Sorrento. The little island of Capri is also formed of limestone, and is dissevered from the promontory by a narrow channel. The northern side of the bay is, however, formed of volcanic materials; it includes the Phlegræan Fields (Campi Phlegræi), and terminates in the promontory of Miseno. Lying in the same direction are the islands of Procida and Ischia, also volcanic. Hence it will be seen that the two horns of the bay are formed of entirely different materials, that of Miseno on the north being volcanic, that of Sorrento on the south being composed of Jurassic limestone, of an age vastly more ancient than the volcanic rocks on the opposite shore. (Map, p. 52.) The general composition of the Neapolitan Campagna, from which the mountain rises, has been revealed by means of the Artesian well sunk to a depth of about 500 metres (1640 feet) at the Royal Palace of Naples, and may be generalised as follows:-- { Recent beds of volcanic tuff (1) From surface to depth of { with marine shells, and containing 715 feet { fragments of trachytic { lava, etc. (_Volcanic Beds_). { Bituminous sands and marls (2) From 715 to 1420 { with marine shells of recent { species(?) (_Pre-Volcanic Beds_). (3) From 1420 to 1574 { EOCENE BEDS. Micaceous sandstone { and marl (_Macigno_). (4) From 1574 to bottom { JURASSIC BEDS. Apennine { Limestone. [Illustration: Fig. 8.--Map of the district bordering the Bay of Naples, with the islands of Capri, Ischia, and Procida.] From the above section, for which we are indebted to Mr. Johnston-Lavis, the most recent writer on Vesuvius, it would appear that the first volcanic explosions by which the mountain was ultimately to be built up took place after the deposition of the sands and marls (No. 2), while the whole Campagna was submerged under the waters of the Mediterranean. By the accumulation of the stratified tuff (No. 1), the sea-bed was gradually filled up during a period of volcanic activity, and afterwards elevated into dry land.[9] [Illustration: Fig. 9.--View of Vesuvius from the Harbour of Naples at the commencement of the eruption of 1872.--(From a sketch by the author.)] (_j._) _Present Form and Structure of Vesuvius and Somma._--The outer cone of Vesuvius, or Monte di Somma, rises from a circular platform by a moderately gentle ascent, and along the north and east terminates in a craggy crest, with a precipitous cliff descending into the Atria del Cavallo, forming the wall of the ancient crater throughout half its circumference; this wall is formed of scoriæ, ashes, and lapilli, and is traversed by numerous dykes of lava. Along the west and south this old crater has been broken down; but near the centre there remains a round-backed ridge of similar materials, once doubtless a part of the original crater of Somma, rising above the slopes of lava on either hand. On this has been erected the Royal Observatory, under the superintendence of Professor Luigi Palmieri, where continuous observations are being made, by means of delicate seismometers, of the earth-tremors which precede or accompany eruptions; for it is only justice to say that Vesuvius gives fair warning of impending mischief, and the instruments are quick to notify any premonitory symptoms of a coming catastrophe. The elevation of the Observatory is 2080 feet above the sea. On either side of the Observatory ridge are wide channels filled to a certain height with lavas of the nineteenth and preceding centuries, the most recent presenting an aspect which can only be compared to a confused multitude of black serpents and pachyderms writhing and interlocked in some frightful death-struggle. Some of this lava, ten years old, as we cross its rugged and black surface presents gaping fissures, showing the mass to be red-hot a few feet from the surface, so slow is the process of cooling. These lava-streams--some of them reaching to the sea-coast--have issued forth from the Atria at successive periods of eruption. From the midst of the Atria rises the central cone, formed of cinders, scoriæ, and lava-streams, and fissured along lines radiating from the axis. This cone is very steep, the angle being about 40°-45° from the horizontal, and is formed of loose cindery matter which gives way at every step, and is rather difficult to climb. But on reaching the summit we look down into the crater, displaying a scene of ever-varying characters, rather oval in form, and about 1100 yards in diameter. From the map of Professor Guiscardi, published in 1855, there are seen two minor craters within the central one, formed in 1850, and an outflow of lava from the N.W. down the cone. At the time of the author's visit the crater was giving indications, by the great quantity of sulphurous gas and vapour rising from its surface, and small jets of molten lava beginning to flow down the outer side, of the grand outburst of internal forces which was presently to follow. (_k._) _Eruption of 1872._--The grand eruption of 1872, of which a detailed account is given by Professor Palmieri,[10] commenced with a slight discharge of incandescent projectiles from the crater; and on the 13th January an aperture appeared on the upper edge of the cone from which at first a little lava issued forth, followed by the uprising of a cone which threw out projectiles accompanied by smoke, whilst the central crater continued to detonate more loudly and frequently. This little cone ultimately increased in size, until in April it filled the whole crater and rose four or five metres above the brim. At this time abundant lavas poured down from the base of the cone into the Atria del Cavallo, thence turned into the Fossa della Vetraria in the direction of the Observatory and towards the Crocella, where they accumulated to such an extent as to cover the hillside for a distance of about 300 metres; then turning below the Canteroni, formed a hillock without spreading much farther. In October another small crater was formed by the falling in of the lava, which after a few days gave vent to smoke and several jets of lava; and towards the end of October the detonations increased, the smoke from the central crater issued forth more densely mixed with ashes, and the seismographical apparatus was much disturbed. On the 3rd and 4th November copious and splendid lava-streams coursed down the principal cone on its western side, but were soon exhausted; and in the beginning of 1872 the little cone, regaining vigour, began to discharge lava from the summit instead of the base as heretofore. In the month of March 1873, with the full moon, the cone opened on the north-west side--the cleavage being indicated by a line of fumaroles--and lava issued from the base and poured down into the Atria as far as the precipices of Monte di Somma. On the 23rd April (another full moon) the activity of the craters increased, and on the evening of the 24th splendid lava-streams descended the cone in various directions, attracting on the same night the visits of a great many strangers. A lamentable event followed on the 26th. A party of visitors, accompanied by inexperienced guides, and contrary to the advice of Professor Palmieri, insisted on ascending to the place from which the lava issued. At half-past three on the morning of the 26th they were in the Atria del Cavallo, when the Vesuvian cone was rent in a north-west direction and a copious torrent of lava issued forth. Two large craters formed at the summit of the mountain, discharging incandescent projectiles and ashes. A cloud of smoke enveloped the unhappy visitors, who were under a hail-storm of burning projectiles. Eight were buried beneath it, or in the lava, while eleven were grievously injured.[11] The lava-stream, flowing over that of 1871 in the Atria, divided into two branches, the smaller one flowing towards Resina, but stopping before reaching the town; the larger precipitated itself into the Fossa della Vetraria, occupying the whole width of 800 metres, and traversing the entire length of 1300 metres in three hours. It dashed into the Fossa di Farone, and reached the villages of Massa and St. Sebastiano, covering a portion of the houses, and, continuing its course through an artificial foss, or trench, invaded cultivated ground and several villages. If it had not greatly slackened after midnight, from failure of supply at its source, it would have reached Naples by Ponticelli and flowed into the sea. The eruption towards the end of April had reached its height. The Observatory ridge was bounded on either side by two fiery streams, which rendered the heat intolerable. Simultaneously with the opening of the great fissure two large craters opened at the summit, discharging with a dreadful noise an immense cloud of smoke and ashes, with bombs which rose to a height of 1300 metres above the brim of the volcano.[12] The torrents of fire which threatened Resina, Bosco, and Torre Annunziata, and which devastated the fertile country of Novelle, Massa, St. Sebastiano, and Cerole, and two partially buried cities, the continual thunderings and growling of the craters, caused such terror, that numbers abandoned their dwellings, flying for refuge into Naples, while many Neapolitans went to Rome or other places. Fortunately, the paroxysm had now passed, the lava-streams stopped in their course, and the great torrent which passed the shoulders of the Observatory through the Fossa della Vetraria lowered the level of its surface below that of its sides, which appeared like two parallel ramparts above it. Had these streams continued to flow on the 27th of April as they had done on the previous night, they would have reached the sea, bringing destruction to the very walls of Naples. During this eruption Torre del Greco was upraised to the extent of two metres, and nearly all the houses were knocked down. The igneous period of eruption having terminated, the ashes, lapilli, and projectiles became more abundant, accompanied by thunder and lightning. On the 28th they darkened the air, and the terrific noise of the mountain continuing or increasing, the terror at Resina, Portici, and Naples became universal. It seemed as though the tragic calamities of the eruption of A.D. 79 were about to be repeated. But gradually the force of the explosions decreased, and the noise from the crater became discontinuous, so that on the 30th the detonations were very few, and by the 1st May the eruption was completely over. Such is a condensed account of one of the most formidable eruptions of our era. In the frontispiece of this volume a representation, taken (by permission) from a photograph by Negretti & Zambra, is given, showing the appearance of Vesuvius during the final stage of the eruption, when prodigious masses of smoke, steam, and illuminated gas issued forth from the summit and overspread the whole country around with a canopy which the light of the sun could scarcely penetrate. It will be noticed in the above account that, concurrently with the full moon, there were two distinct and special outbreaks of activity; one occurring in March, the other in the month following. That the conditions of lunar and solar attraction should have a marked effect on a part of the earth's crust, while under the tension of eruptive forces, is only what might be expected. At full moon the earth is between the sun and the moon, and at new moon the moon is between the sun and the earth; under these conditions (the two bodies acting in concert) we have spring tides in the ocean, and a maximum of attraction on the mass of the earth. Hence the crust, which at the time referred to was under tremendous strain, only required the addition of that caused by the lunar and solar attractions to produce rupture in both cases, giving rise to increased activity, and the extrusion of lava and volatile matter. It may, in general, be safely affirmed that low barometric pressure on the one hand, and the occurrence of the syzygies (when the attractions of the sun and moon are in the same line) on the other, have had great influence in determining the crises of eruptions of volcanic mountains when in a state of unrest. _Contrast between the Northern and Southern Slopes._--Before leaving Vesuvius it may be observed that throughout all the eruptions of modern times the northern side of the mountain, that is the old crater and flank of Somma, has been secure from the lava-flows, and has enjoyed an immunity which does not belong to the southern and western side. If we look at a map of the mountain showing the direction of the streams during the last three centuries,[13] we observe that all the streams of that period flowed down on the side overlooking the Bay of Naples; on the opposite side the wall of Monte di Somma presents an unbroken front to the lava-streams. From this it may be inferred that one side, the west, is weaker than the other; and consequently, when the lava and vapours are being forced upwards, under enormous pressure from beneath, the western side gives way under the strain, as in the case of the fissure of 1872, and the lava and vapours find means of escape. From what has happened in the past it is clear that no place on the western side of the mountain is entirely safe from devastation by floods of lava; while the prevalent winds tend to carry the ashes and lapilli, which are hurled into the air, in the same westerly direction. [1] For an excellent view of this remarkable volcanic group see Judd's _Volcanoes_, 4th edition, p. 43. [2] Plutarch, _Life of Cassius_; _ed. Reiske_, vol. iii. p. 240. [3] Strabo gives the following account of the appearance and condition of Vesuvius in his day:--"Supra hæc loca situs est Vesuvius mons, agris cinctus optimis; dempto vertice, qui magna sui parte planus, totus sterilis est, adspectu sinereus, cavernasque ostendens fistularum plenas et lapidum colore fuliginoso, utpote ab igni exesorum. Ut conjectarum facere possis, ista loca quondam arsisse et crateras ignis habuisse, deinde materia deficiente restricta fuisse."--_Rer. Geog._, lib. v. [4] A tablet over the entrance records this act of pious liberality, and is given by Phillips, _loc. cit._, p. 12. [5] The stone pine, _Pinus pinea_, which Turner knew how to use with so much effect in his Italian landscapes. [6] Bulwer Lytton's _Last Days of Pompeii_ presents to the reader a graphic picture of the terrible event here referred to:--"The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld with ineffable dismay a vast vapour shooting from the summit of Vesuvius, in the form of a gigantic pine tree; the trunk--blackness, the branches--fire! A fire that shifted and wavered in its hues with every moment--now fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying red that again blazed terrifically forth with intolerable glare!... Then there arose on high the shrieks of women; the men stared at each other, but were speechless. At that moment they felt the earth shake beneath their feet; the walls of the theatre trembled; and beyond, in the distance, they heard the crash of falling roofs; an instant more and the mountain-cloud seemed to roll towards them, dark and rapid; at the same time it cast forth from its bosom a shower of ashes mixed with vast fragments of burning stone. Over the crushing vines--over the desolate streets--over the amphitheatre itself--far and wide, with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea, fell that awful shower." A visit to the disinterred city will probably produce on the mind a still more lasting and vivid impression of the swift destruction which overtook this city. [7] Quoted by Phillips, _loc. cit._, p. 45. [8] _Vesuvius_, p. 72 _et seq._ [9] Johnston-Lavis, "On the Geology of Monti Somma and Vesuvius," _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. 40 (1884). [10] Palmieri, _Eruption of Vesuvius in 1872_, with notes, etc., by Robert Mallet, F.R.S. London, 1873. [11] Those who lost their lives were medical students, and an Assistant Professor in the University, Antonio Giannone by name. [12] Involving, as Mr. Mallet calculates, an initial velocity of projection of above 600 feet per second. [13] Such as that given by Professor Phillips in his _Vesuvius_. CHAPTER II. ETNA. (_a._) _Structure of the Mountain._--Etna, unlike Vesuvius, has ever been a burning mountain; hence it was well known as such to classic writers before the Christian era. The structure and features of this magnificent mountain have been abundantly illustrated by Elie de Beaumont,[1] Daubeny,[2] Baron von Waltershausen,[3] and Lyell,[4] of whose writings I shall freely avail myself in the following account, not having had the advantage of a personal examination of this region. _Structure of Etna._--So large is Etna that it would enclose within its ample skirts several cones of the size of Vesuvius. It rises to a height of nearly 11,000 feet above the waters of the Mediterranean,[5] and is planted on a floor consisting of stratified marine volcanic matter, with clays, sands, and limestones of newer Pliocene age. Its base is nearly circular, and has a circumference of 87 English miles. In ascending its flanks we pass successively over three well-defined physical zones: the lowest, or fertile zone, comprising the tract around the skirts of the mountain up to a level of about 2500 feet, being well cultivated and covered by dwellings surrounded by olive groves, fields, vineyards, and fruit-trees; the second, or forest zone, extending to a level of about 6270 feet, clothed with chestnut, oak, beech, and cork trees, giving place to pines; and the third, extending to the summit and called "the desert region," a waste of black lava and scoriæ with mighty crags and precipices, terminating in a snow-clad tableland, from which rises the central cone, 1100 feet high, emitting continually steam and sulphurous vapours, and in the course of almost every century sending forth streams of molten lava. The forest zone is remarkable for the great number of minor craters which rise up from the midst of the foliage, and are themselves clothed with trees. Sartorius von Waltershausen has laid down on his map of Etna about 200 of these cones and craters, some of which, like those of Auvergne, have been broken down on one side. Many of these volcanoes of second or third magnitude lie outside the forest zone, both above and below it; such as the double hill of Monti Rossi, near Nicolosi, formed in 1659, which is 450 feet in height, and two miles in circumference at its base. Sir C. Lyell observes that these minor crater-cones present us with one of the most delightful and characteristic scenes in Europe. They occur of every variety of height and size, and are arranged in picturesque groups. However uniform they may appear when seen from the sea or the plains below, nothing can be more diversified than their shape when we look from above into their ruptured craters. The cones situated in the higher parts of the forest zone are chiefly clothed with lofty pines; while those at a lower elevation are adorned with chestnuts, oaks, and beech trees. These cones have from time to time been buried amidst fresh lava-streams descending from the great crater, and thus often become obliterated. [Illustration: Fig. 10.--Ideal Section through Etna. (After Lyell.)--A. Axis of present cone of eruption; B. Axis of extinct cone of eruption; _a._ Older lavas, chiefly trachytic; _b._ Newer lavas, erupted (with _a_) before origin of the Val del Bove; _c._ Scoria and lava of recent age; T. Tertiary strata forming the foundation to the volcanic rocks. The position of the Val del Bove before its formation is shown by the lightly-shaded portion above B.] (_b._) _Val del Bove._--The most wonderful feature of Mount Etna is the celebrated Val del Bove (Valle del Bue), of which S. von Waltershausen has furnished a very beautiful plate[6]--a vast amphitheatre hewn out of the eastern flank of the mountain, just below the snow-mantled platform. It is a physical feature somewhat after the fashion of Monte Somma in Vesuvius, but exceeds it in magnitude as Etna exceeds Vesuvius. The Val del Bove is about five miles in diameter, bounded throughout three-fourths of its circumference by precipitous walls of ashes, scoriæ, and lava, traversed by innumerable dykes, and rising inwards to a height of between 3000 and 4000 feet. Towards the east the cliffs gradually fall to a height of about 500 feet, and at this side the vast chasm opens out upon the slope of the mountain. At the head of the Val del Bove rises the platform, surmounted by the great cone and crater. It will thus be seen that by means of this hollow we have access almost to the very heart of the mountain. What is very remarkable about the structure of this valley is that the beds exhibit "the _quâ-quâ_ versal dip"--in other words, they dip away on all sides from the centre--which has led to the conclusion that in the centre is a focus of eruption which had become closed up antecedently to the formation of the valley itself. Lyell has explained this point very clearly by showing that this focus had ceased to eject matter at some distant period, and that the existing crater at the summit of the mountain had poured out its lavas over those of the extinct orifice. This was prior to the formation of the Val del Bove itself; and the question remains for consideration how this vast natural amphitheatre came to be hollowed out; for its structure shows unquestionably that it owes its form to some process of excavation. In the first place, it is certainly not the work of running water, as in the case of the cañons of Colorado; the porous matter of which the mountain is formed is quite incapable of originating and supporting a stream of sufficient volume to excavate and carry away such enormous masses of matter within the period required for the purpose. We must therefore have recourse to some other agency. Numerous illustrations are to be found of the explosive action of volcanoes in blowing off either the summits of mountains, or portions of their sides. For example, there is reason for believing that the first result of the renewed energy of Vesuvius was to blow into the air the upper surface of the mountain. Again, so late as 1822, during a violent earthquake in Java, a country which has been repeatedly devastated by earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the mountain of Galongoon, which was covered by a dense forest, and situated in a fertile and thickly-peopled region, and had never within the period of tradition been in activity, was thus ruptured by internal forces. In the month of July 1822, after a terrible earthquake, an explosion was heard, and immense columns of boiling water, mixed with mud and stones, were projected from the mountain like a water-spout, and in falling filled up the valleys, and covered the country with a thick deposit for many miles, burying villages and their inhabitants. During a subsequent eruption great blocks of basalt were thrown to a distance of seven miles; the result of all being that an enormous semicircular gulf was formed between the summit and the plain, bounded by steep cliffs, and bearing considerable resemblance to the Val del Bove. Other examples of the power of volcanic explosions might be cited; but the above are sufficient to show that great hollows may thus be formed either on the summits or flanks of volcanic mountains. Chasms may also be formed by the falling in of the solidified crust, owing to the extrusion of molten matter from some neighbouring vent of eruption; and it is conceivable that by one or other of these processes the vast chasm of the Val del Bove on the flanks of Etna may have been produced. (_c._) _The Physical History of Etna._--The physical history of Etna seems to be somewhat as follows:-- _First Stage._--Somewhere towards the close of the Tertiary period--perhaps early Pliocene or late Miocene--a vent of eruption opened on the floor of the Mediterranean Sea, from which sheets of lava were poured forth, and ashes mingled with clays and sands, brought down from the neighbouring lands, were strewn over the sea-bed. During a pause in volcanic activity, beds of limestone with marine shells were deposited. _Second Stage._--This sea-bed was gradually upraised into the air, while fresh sheets of lava and other _ejecta_ were accumulated round the vents of eruption, of which there were two principal ones--the older under the present Val del Bove, the newer under the summit of the principal cone. Thus was the mountain gradually piled up. _Third Stage._--The vent under the Val del Bove ceased to extrude more matter, and became extinct. Meanwhile the second vent continued active, and, piling up more and more matter round the central crater, surmounted the former vent, and covered its _ejecta_ with newer sheets of lava, ashes, and lapilli, while numerous smaller vents, scattered all over the sides of the mountain, gave rise to smaller cones and craters. _Fourth Stage._--This stage is signalised by the formation of the Val del Bove through some grand explosion, or series of explosions, by which this vast chasm was opened in the side of the mountain, as already explained. _Fifth Stage._--This represents the present condition of the mountain, whose height above the sea is due, not only to accumulation of volcanic materials round the central cone, but to elevation of the whole island, as evinced by numerous raised beaches of gravel and sand, containing shells and other forms of marine species now living in the waters of the Mediterranean.[7] Since then the condition and form of the mountain has remained very much the same, varied only by the results of occasional eruptions. (_d._) _Dissimilarity in the Constitution of the Lavas of Etna and Vesuvius._--Before leaving the subject we have been considering, it is necessary that I should mention one remarkable fact connected with the origin of the lavas of Etna and Vesuvius respectively; I refer to their essential differences in mineral composition. It might at first sight have been supposed that the lavas of these two volcanic mountains--situated at such a short distance from each other, and evidently along the same line of fracture in the crust--would be of the same general composition; but such is not the case. In the lava of Vesuvius leucite is an essential, and perhaps the most abundant mineral. It is called by Zirkel _Sanidin-Leucitgestein_. (See Plate IV.) But in that of Etna this mineral is (as far as I am aware) altogether absent. We have fortunately abundant means of comparison, as the lavas of these two mountains have been submitted to close examination by petrologists. In the case of the Vesuvian lavas, an elaborate series of chemical analyses and microscopical observations have been made by the Rev. Professor Haughton, of Dublin University, and the author,[8] from specimens collected by Professor Guiscardi from the lava-flows extending from 1631 to 1868, in every one of which leucite occurs, generally as the most abundant mineral, always as an essential constituent. On the other hand, the composition of the lavas of Etna, determined by Professor A. von Lasaulx, from specimens taken from the oldest (vorätnäischen) sheets of lava down to those of the present day, indicates a rock of remarkable uniformity of composition, in which the components are plagioclase felspar, augite, olivine, magnetite, and sometimes apatite; but of leucite we have no trace.[9] In fact, the lavas of Etna are very much the same in composition as the ordinary basalts of the British Isles, while those of Vesuvius are of a different type. This seems to suggest an origin of the two sets of lavas from a different deep-seated magma; the presence of leucite in such large quantity requiring a magma in which soda is in excess, as compared with that from which the lavas of Etna have been derived.[10] [1] _Mémoires pour Servir_, etc., vol. ii. [2] Daubeny, _Volcanoes_, p. 270. [3] Von Waltershausen, _Der Ætna_, edited by A. von Lasaulx. [4] Lyell, _Principles of Geology_, vol. ii., edition 1872. [5] Its height, as determined by Captain Smyth in 1875 trigonometrically, was 10,874 feet, and afterwards by Sir J. Herschel barometrically, 10,872 feet. [6] _Atlas des Ætna_ (Weimar, 1858), in which the different lava-streams of 1688, 1802, 1809, 1811, 1819, 1824, and 1838 are delineated. [7] Sir William Hamilton observes that history is silent regarding the first eruptions of Etna. It was in activity before the Trojan War, and even before the arrival of the "Sizilien" settlers. Diodorus and Thucydides notice the earliest recorded eruptions, those from 772 to 388 B.C., during which time the mountain was thrice in eruption. Later eruptions took place in the year 140, 135, 125, 122 B.C. In the year 44 B.C., in the reign of Julius Cæsar, there was a very violent outburst of volcanic activity.--_Neuere Beobachtungen über die Vulkane Italiens und am Rhein_, p. 173, Frankfurt (1784). [8] "Report on the Chemical and Mineralogical Characters of the Lavas of Vesuvius from 1631 to 1868," _Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy_, vol. xxvi. (1876). In the lava of 1848 leucite was found to reach 44.9 per cent. of the whole mass. In that of Granatello, 1631, it reaches its lowest proportion--viz., 3.37 per cent. [9] A. von Lasaulx, in Von Waltershausen's _Der Ætna_, Book II., x. 423. [10] The view of Professor Judd, that leucite easily changes into felspar, and that some ancient igneous rocks which now contain felspar were originally leucitic, does not seem to be borne out by the above facts. In such cases the felspar crystals ought to retain the forms of leucite. See _Volcanoes_, 4th edition, p. 268. CHAPTER III. THE LIPARI ISLANDS, STROMBOLI. (_a._) A brief account of this remarkable group of volcanic islands must here be given, inasmuch as they seem to be representatives of a stage of volcanic action in which the igneous forces are gradually losing their energy. According to Daubeny, the volcanic action in these islands seems to be developed along two lines, nearly at right angles to each other, one parallel to that of the Apennines, beginning with Stromboli, intersecting Panaria, Lipari, and Vulcano; the other extending from Panaria to Salina, Alicudi, and Felicudi, and again visible in the volcanic products which make their appearance at Ustica. (See Map, Fig. 11.) The islands lie between the north coast of Sicily and that of Italy, and from their position seem to connect Etna with Vesuvius; but this is very problematical, as would appear from the difference of their lavas. The principal islands are those of Stromboli, Panaria, Lipari, Vulcano, Salina, Felicudi, and Alicudi. These three last are extinct or dormant, but Salina contains a crater, rising, according to Daubeny, not less than 3500 feet above the sea.[1] Vulcano (referred to by Strabo under the name of Hiera) consists of a crater which constantly emits large quantities of sulphurous vapours, but was in a state of activity in the year 1786, when, after frequent earthquake shocks and subterranean noises, it vomited forth during fifteen days showers of sand, together with clouds of smoke and flame, altering materially the shape of the crater from which they proceeded. [Illustration: LIPARI ISLANDS. Fig. 11.--Map to show the position of these islands, showing the branching lines of volcanic action--one parallel to that of the Apennines, the other stretching westwards at right angles thereto.] The islands of Lipari are formed of beds of tuff, penetrated by numerous dykes of lava, from which uprise two or three craters, formed of pumice and obsidian passing into trachyte. Volcanic operations might have here been said to be extinct, were it not that their continuance is manifested by the existence of hot springs and "stufes," or vapour baths, at St. Calogero, about four miles from the town of Lipari. Daubeny considers it not improbable that this island may have had an active volcano even within the historical period, a view which is borne out by the statement of Strabo.[2] [Illustration: Fig. 12.--Island of Vulcano, one of the Lipari Group, in eruption.--(After Sir W. Hamilton.)] (_b._) But by far the most remarkable island of the group, as regards its present volcanic condition, is Stromboli, which has ever been in active eruption from the commencement of history down to the present day. Professor Judd, who visited this island in 1874, and has produced a striking representation of its aspect,[3] gives an account of which I shall here avail myself.[4] The island is of rudely circular outline, and rises into a cone, the summit of which is 3090 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. From a point on the side of the mountain masses of vapour are seen to issue, and these unite to form a cloud over the summit; the outline of this vapour-cloud varying continually according to the hygrometric state of the atmosphere, and the direction and force of the wind. At the time of Professor Judd's visit, the vapour-cloud was spread in a great horizontal stratum overshadowing the whole island; but it was clearly seen to be made up of a number of globular masses, each of which is a product of a distinct outburst of volcanic forces. Viewed at night-time, Stromboli presents a far more striking and singular spectacle. When watched from the deck of a vessel, a glow of red light is seen to make its appearance from time to time above the summit of the mountain; it may be observed to increase gradually in intensity, and then as gradually to die away. After a short interval the same appearances are repeated, and this goes on till the increasing light of dawn causes the phenomenon to be no longer visible. The resemblance presented by Stromboli to a "flashing light" on a most gigantic scale is very striking, and the mountain has long been known as "the lighthouse of the Mediterranean." The mountain is built up of ashes, slag, and scoriæ, to a height of (as already stated) over 3000 feet above the surface of the sea; but, as Professor Judd observes, this by no means gives a just idea of its vast bulk. Soundings in the sea surrounding the island show that the bottom gradually shelves around the shores to a depth of nearly 600 fathoms, so that Stromboli is a great conical mass of cinders and slaggy materials, having a height above its floor of about 6600 feet, and a base the diameter of which exceeds four miles. The crater of Stromboli is situated, not at the apex of the cone, but at a distance of 1000 feet below it. The explosions of steam, accompanied by the roaring as of a smelting furnace, or of a railway engine when blowing off its steam, are said by Judd to take place at very irregular intervals of time, "varying from less than one minute to twenty minutes, or even more." On the other hand, Hoffmann describes them as occurring at "perfectly regular intervals," so that, perhaps, some variation has taken place within the interval of about forty years between each observation. Both observers agree in stating that lava is to be seen welling up from some of the apertures within the crater, and pouring down the slope towards the sea, which it seldom or never reaches.[5] The intermittent character of these eruptions appears to be due, as Mr. Scrope has suggested, to the exact proportion between the expansive and repressive forces; the expansive force arising from the generation of a certain amount of aqueous vapour and of elastic gas; the repressive, from the pressure of the atmosphere and from the weight of the superincumbent volcanic products. Steam is here, as in a steam-engine, not the originating agent in the phenomena recorded; but the result of water coming in contact with molten lava constantly welling up from the interior, by which it is converted into steam, which from time to time acquires sufficient elastic force to produce the eruptions; the water being obviously derived from the surrounding sea, which finds its way by filtration through fissures, or through the porous mass of which the mountain is formed. Were it not for the access of water this volcano would probably appear as a fissure-cone extruding a small and continuous stream of molten lava. The adventitious access of the sea water gives rise to the phenomena of intermittent explosions. The vitality of the volcano is therefore due, not to the presence of water, but to the welling up of matter from the internal reservoir through the throat of the volcano. _Pantelleria._--This island, lying between the coast of Sicily and Cape Bon in Africa, is wholly volcanic. It has a circumference of thirty miles, and from its centre rises an extinct crater-cone to a height of about 3000 feet. The flanks of this volcano are diversified by several fresh craters and lava-streams, while hot springs burst out with a hissing noise on its southern flank, showing that molten matter lies below at no very great depth. This island probably lies along the dividing line between the non-volcanic and volcanic region of the Mediterranean, and is consequently liable to intermittent eruptions. It was at a short distance from this island that the remarkable submarine outburst of volcanic forces took place on October 17th, 1891, for an account of which we are indebted to Colonel J. C. Mackowen.[6] On that day, after a succession of earthquake shocks, the inhabitants were startled by observing a column of "smoke" rising out of the sea at a distance of three miles, in a north-westerly direction. The Governor, Francesco Valenza, having manned a boat, rowed out towards the fiery column, and on arriving found it to consist of black scoriaceous bombs, which were being hurled into the air to a height of nearly thirty yards; some of them burst in the air, others, discharging steam, ran hissing over the water; many of them were very hot, some even red-hot. One of these bombs, measuring two feet in diameter, was captured and brought to shore. It was observed that after the eruption the earthquake shocks ceased. A vast amount of material was cast out of the submarine crater, forming an island 500 yards in length and rising up to nine feet above the surface, but after a few days it was broken up and dispersed over the sea-bed by the action of the waves. [1] _Volcanoes_, p. 262. These islands are described by Hoffmann, _Poggendorf Annal._, vol. xxvi. (1832); also by Lyell, _Principles of Geology_, vol. ii., and by Judd, who personally visited them, and gives a very vivid account of their appearance and structure. [2] Strabo, lib. vi. [3] Judd, _Volcanoes_, p. 8. [4] Stromboli has also been described by Spallanzani, Hoffmann, Daubeny, and others. The account of Judd is the most recent. Of this island Strabo says, "Strongyle a rotundate figuræ sic dicta, ignita ipsa quoque, violentia flammarum minor, fulgore excellens; ibi habitasse Æcolum ajunt."--Lib. vi. [5] _Poggend. Annal._, vol. xxvi., quoted by Daubeny. [6] Communicated by Captain Petrie to the Victoria Institute, 1st February 1892. See also a detailed and illustrated account of the eruption communicated by A. Ricco to the _Annali dell' Ufficio centrale Meteorologico e Geodonamico_, Ser. ii., Parte 3, vol. xi. Summarised by Mr. Butler in _Nature_, April 21, 1892. CHAPTER IV. THE SANTORIN GROUP. [Illustration: Fig. 13.--Ideal Section through the Gulf of Santorin, to show the structure of the submerged volcano.--_a._ Island of Aspronisi; _b._ Island of Thera; 1. Old Kaimeni Island; 2. New Kaimeni Island; 3. Little Kaimeni Island.] (_a._) Before leaving the subject of European active volcanoes, it is necessary to give some account of the remarkable volcanic island of Santorin, in the Grecian archipelago. This island for 2000 years has been the scene of active volcanic operations, and in its outline and configuration, both below and above the surface of the Mediterranean, presents the aspect of a partially submerged volcanic mountain. (See Section, Fig. 13.) If, for example, we can imagine the waters of the sea to rise around the flanks of Vesuvius until they have entered and overflowed to some depth the interior caldron of Somma, thus converting the old crater into a crescent-shaped island, and the cone of Vesuvius into an island--or group of islands--within the caldron, then we shall form some idea of the appearance and structure of the Santorin group. _Form of the Group._--The principal island, Thera, has somewhat the shape of a crescent, breaking off in a precipitous cliff on the inner side, but on the outer side sloping at an angle of about fifteen degrees into deep water. Continuing the curvature of the crescent, but separated by a channel, is the island of Therasia; and between this and the southern promontory of Thera is another island called Aspronisi. All these islands, if united, would form the rim of a crater, in which the volcanic matter slopes outward into deep water, descending at a short distance to a depth of 200 fathoms and upwards. In the centre of the gulf thus formed rise three islands, called the Old, New, and Little Kaimenis. These may be regarded as cones of eruption, which history records as having been thrown up at successive intervals. According to Pliny, the year 186 B.C. gave birth to Old Kaimeni, also called Hiera, or the Sacred Isle; and in the first year of our era Thera (the Divine) made its appearance above the water, and was soon joined to the older island by subsequent eruptions. Old Kaimeni also increased in size by the eruptions of 726 and 1427. A century and a half later, in 1573, another eruption produced the cone and crater called Micra-Kaimeni. Thus were formed, or rather were rendered visible above the water, the central craters of eruption; and between these and the inner cliff of Thera and Therasia is a ring of deep water, descending to a depth of over 200 fathoms. So that, were these islands raised out of the sea, we should have presented to our view a magnificent circular crater about six miles in diameter, bounded by nearly vertical walls of rock from 1000 to 1500 feet in height, and ruptured at one point, from the centre of which would rise two volcanic cones--namely, the Kaimenis--one with a double crater, still foci of eruption, and from time to time bursting forth in paroxysms of volcanic energy, of which those of 1650, 1707, and 1866 were the most violent and destructive.[1] Of this last I give a bird's-eye view (Fig. 14). The only rock of non-volcanic origin in these islands consists of granular limestone and clay slate forming the ridge of Mount St. Elias, which rises to a height of 1887 feet at the south-eastern side of the island of Thera, crossing the island from its outer margin nearly to the interior cliff, so that the volcanic materials have been piled up along its sides. The rocks of St. Elias are much more ancient than any of the volcanic materials around; and, as Bory St. Vincent has shown, have been subjected to the same flexures, dip and strike, as those sedimentary rocks which go to form the non-volcanic islands of the Grecian archipelago. [Illustration: Fig. 14.--Bird's-eye View of the Gulf of Santorin during the volcanic eruption of February 1866.--(After Lyell.)] [Illustration: _Ground Plan of Rocca Monfina_ Fig. 15.--Rocca Monfina, in Southern Italy, showing a crater-ring of trachytic tuffs, from the midst of which, according to Judd, an andesite lava-cone has been built up. Compare with the Santorin Group.] (_b._) _Origin of the Santorin Group._--In reference to the origin of the Santorin group, Lyell regards it as a remnant of a great volcanic mountain which possessed a focus of eruption rising in the position of the present foci, but afterwards partially destroyed and the whole submerged to a depth of over 1000 feet. But another explanation is open to us, and one not inconsistent with what we now know of the physical changes to which the Mediterranean has been subjected since early Tertiary times. To my mind it is difficult to conceive how such a volcanic mountain as that of Santorin could have been formed under water; while, on the other hand, its physical structure and contour bear so striking a resemblance (as already observed) to those of Vesuvius and Rocca Monfina that we are much tempted to infer that it had a somewhat similar origin. Now we know that Vesuvius was built up by means of successive eruptions taking place under the air; and the question arises whether it could be possible that Santorin had a similar origin owing to the waters of the Mediterranean having been temporally lowered at a later Tertiary epoch. It has been stated by M. Fouqué that the age of the more ancient volcanic beds of Santorin belong, as shown by the included fossils, to the newer Pliocene epoch. These are of course the unsubmerged, and therefore more recent strata, and may have been recently upheaved during one or more of the outbursts of volcanic energy. But it seems an impossibility that the Gulf of Santorin, with its precipitous walls and deep circular interior channel, as shown by the Ideal Section (Fig. 13), could have been formed otherwise than under the air. We are led, therefore, to inquire whether there was a time in the history of the Mediterranean, since the Eocene period, when the waters were lower than at present. That this was the case we have clear evidence. The remains of elephants, hippopotami, and other animals, which have been discovered in great numbers in the Maltese caves, show that this island was united to Sicily, and this again to Europe, during the later Pliocene epoch, so as to have become the abode of an Europasian fauna. According to Dr. Wallace, a causeway of dry land existed, stretching from Italy to Tunis in North Africa through the Maltese Islands--an inference involving the lowering of the waters of the Mediterranean by several hundred feet.[2] There is every reason for supposing that the old volcano of Santorin was in active eruption at this period; and its history may be considered to be similar to that of Vesuvius until, at the rising of the waters during the Pluvial (or Post-Pliocene) epoch, during which they rose higher than at present, Santorin was converted into a group of islands, slightly differing in form from those of the present day. This view seems to meet the difficulties regarding the origin of this group, difficulties which Lyell had long since clearly recognised. (_c._) _Limit of the Mediterranean Volcanic Region._--With the Santorin group we conclude our account of the active European volcanoes. It may be observed, however, that from some cause not ascertained the volcanic districts of the Mediterranean and its shores are confined to the north side of that great inland sea; so that as regards vulcanicity the African coast presents a striking contrast to that of the opposite side. If we draw a line from the shores of the Levant to the Straits of Gibraltar, by Candia, Malta, and to the south of Pantelleria and Sardinia, we shall find that the volcanic islands and districts of the mainland lie to the north of it.[3] This has doubtless some connection with the internal geological structure. The immunity of the Libyan desert from volcanic irruptions is in keeping with the remarkably undisturbed condition of the Secondary strata, which seldom depart much from the horizontal position; while the igneous rocks of the Atlas mountains are probably of great geological antiquity. On the other hand, the Secondary and Tertiary formations of the northern shores and islands of the Mediterranean are generally characterised by the highly-inclined, flexured, and folded position of the strata. Hence we may suppose that the crust over the region lying to the north of the volcanic line, owing to its broken and ruptured condition, was less able to resist the pressure of the internal forces of eruption than that lying to the south of it; and that, in consequence, vents and fissures of eruption were established over the former of these regions, while they are absent in the latter. [1] Fuller details will be found in Daubeny's _Volcanoes_, chap. xviii., and Lyell's _Principles of Geology_, vol. ii. p. 65 (edition 1872). The bird's-eye view is taken from this latter work by kind permission of the publisher, Mr. J. Murray, as also the accompanying Ideal Section, Fig. 13. [2] Wallace, _Geographical Distribution of Animals_ (1876). The author's _Sketch of Geological History_, p. 130 (Deacon & Co., 1887). [3] The _volcanic area_ lying to the north of this line will include Sardinia, Sicily, Pantelleria, the Grecian Archipelago, Asia Minor, and Syria; the _non-volcanic area_ lying to the south of this line will include the African coast, Malta, Isles of Crete and Cyprus. The Isle of Pantelleria is apparently just on the line, which, continued eastward, probably follows the north coast of Cyprus, parallel to the strike of the strata and of the central axis of that island.--See "Carte Géologique de l'île de Chypre, par MM. Albert Gaudry et Amedée Damour" (1860). CHAPTER V. EUROPEAN EXTINCT OR DORMANT VOLCANOES. We are naturally led on from a consideration of the active volcanoes of Europe to that of volcanoes which are either dormant or extinct in the same region. Such are to be found in Italy, Central France, both banks of the Rhine and Moselle, the Westerwald, Vogelsgebirge, and other districts of Germany; in Hungary, Styria, and the borders of the Grecian archipelago. But the subject is too large to be treated here in detail; and I propose to confine my observations to some selected cases which are to be found in Southern Italy, Central France, and the Rhenish districts, where the volcanic features are of so recent an age as to preserve their outward form and structure almost intact. (_a._) _Southern Italy._--Extinct volcanoes and volcanic rocks occupy considerable tracts between the western flanks of the Apennines and the Mediterranean coast in the Neapolitan and Roman States, forming the remarkable group of the Phlegræan fields (Campi Phlegræi), with the adjoining islands of Ischia, Procida, Nisida, Vandolena, Ponza, and Palmarola; at Melfi and Avellino. All the region around Rome extending along the western slopes of the Apennines from Velletri to Orvieto, together with Mount Annato in Tuscany, is formed of volcanic material, and the same may be said of a large part of the island of Sardinia. From these districts I shall select some points which seem to be of special interest. _Monte Nuovo and the Phlegræan Fields._--The tract of which this celebrated district forms a part lies as it were in a bay of the Apennine limestone of Jurassic age. The floor of this bay is composed of puzzolana, a name given to beds of volcanic tuff of great thickness, and rising into considerable hills in the vicinity of the city of Naples, such as that of St. Elmo. Its composition is peculiar, as it is chiefly formed of small pieces of pumice, obsidian, and trachyte, in beds alternating with loam, ferriferous sand, and fragments of limestone. It is evidently of marine formation, as Sir William Hamilton, Professor Pilla, and others have detected sea-shells therein, of the genera _Ostræa_, _Cardium_, _Pecten_ and _Pectunculus_, _Buccinum_, etc. It is generally of a greyish colour, and sometimes sufficiently firm to be used as a building stone. The Roman Campagna is largely formed of similar materials, which were deposited at a time when the districts in question were submerged, and matter was being erupted from volcanic vents at various points around, and spread over the sea-bed. Such is the character of the general floor on which the more recent crater-cones of this district have been built. These are numerous, and all extinct with the exception of the Solfatara, near Puzzuoli, from which gases mixed with aqueous vapour are continually being exhaled. The gases consist of sulphuretted hydrogen mixed with a minute quantity of muriatic acid.[1] This district is also remarkable for containing several lakes occupying the interiors of extinct craters; amongst others, Lake Avernus, which, owing to its surface having been darkened by forests, and in consequence of the effluvia arising from its stagnant waters, has had imparted to it a character of gloom and terror, so that Homer in the _Odyssey_ makes it the entrance to hell, and describes the visit of Ulysses to it. Virgil follows in his steps. Another lake of similar origin is Lake Agnano. Here also is the Grotto del Cane, a cavern from which are constantly issuing volumes of carbonic acid gas combined with much aqueous vapour, which is condensed by the coldness of the external air, thus proving the high temperature of the ground from which the gaseous vapour issues. This whole volcanic region, so replete with objects of interest,[2] may be considered, as regards its volcanic character, in a moribund condition; but that it is still capable of spasmodic movement is evinced by the origin of Monte Nuovo, the most recent of the crater-cones of the district. This mountain, rising from the shore of the Bay of Baiæ, was suddenly formed in September 29th, 1538, and rises to a height of 440 feet above the sea-level. It is a crater-cone, and the depth of the crater has been determined by the Italian mineralogist Pini to be 421 English feet; its bottom is thus only 19 feet above the sea-level. A portion of the base of the cone is considered partly to occupy the site of the Lucrine Lake, which was itself nothing more than the crater of a pre-existent volcano, and was almost entirely filled up during the explosion of 1538. Monte Nuovo is composed of ashes, lapilli, and pumice-stones; and its sudden formation, heralded by earthquakes, and accompanied by the ejection of volcanic matter mixed with fire and water, is recorded by Falconi, who vividly depicts the terror and consternation of the inhabitants of the surrounding country produced by this sudden and terrible outburst of volcanic forces.[3] (_b._) _Central Italy and the Roman States._--The tract bordering the western slopes of the Apennines northward from Naples into Tuscany, and including the Roman States, is characterised by volcanic rocks and physical features of remarkable interest and variety. These occur in the form of extinct craters, sometimes filled with water, and thus converted into circular lakes; or of extensive sheets and conical hills of tuff; or, finally, of old necks and masses of trachyte and basalt, sometimes exhibiting the columnar structure. The Eternal City itself is built on hills of volcanic material which some observers have supposed to be the crater of a great volcano; but Ponzi, Brocchi, and Daubeny all concur in the opinion that this is not the case, as will clearly appear from the following account. The geological structure of the valley of the Tiber at Rome is very clearly described by Professor Ponzi in a memoir published in 1850, from which the accompanying section is taken.[4] (Fig. 16.) From this it will be seen that "the Seven-hilled City" is built upon promontories of stratified volcanic tuff, of which the Campagna is formed, breaking off along the banks of the Tiber, the hills being the result of the erosion, or denudation, of the strata along the side of the river valley. As the strata dip from west to east across the course of the river, it follows that those on the western banks are below those on the opposite side; and thus the marine sands and marls which underlie the volcanic tuff, and are concealed by it along the eastern side of the valley, emerge on the west, and form the range of hills on that side. Such being the structure of the formations under Rome, it is evident that it is not "built on a volcano." [Illustration: Fig. 16.--Geological Section across the Valley of the Tiber at Rome. 1. Alluvium of the Tiber; 2. Diluvium; 3. Volcanic tuff (recent deposits); 4. Sands, etc.; 5. Blue marl (sub-Apennine deposits).] The tuff contains fragments of lava and pebbles of Apennine limestone, and was deposited under the waters of an extensive lake at a time when volcanic action was rife amidst the Alban Hills. This lacustrine formation rests in turn on deposits of marine origin, containing oysters, patellæ, and other sea-shells, of which the chain of hills on the right bank of the Tiber is chiefly formed. The district around Albano lying to the south of Rome is of peculiar interest from the assemblage of old crater-lakes which it contains; as, for instance, those of Albano, Vallariccia, Nemi, Juturna, and the lake of Gabii. The lake of Albano, one of the most beautiful sheets of water in the world, is about six miles in circumference, and surrounded by beds of peperino, a variety of tuff presenting a bright, undecomposed aspect when newly broken. The level of this lake was lowered by the Romans during the siege of Veii by means of a tunnel, so that the waters are 200 feet lower than the level at which they originally stood. In the same district is the lake of Nemi, very regular in its circular outline; that of Juturna lying near the foot of the Alban Hills, and that of Ariccia lying in a deep hollow eight miles in circumference;--all may be supposed to have been the craters of extinct volcanoes, both by reason of their shape and of the materials of which they are formed. All these old craters are, however, according to Daubeny, "only the dependencies and offshoots, as it were, of the great extinct volcano, the traces of which still remain upon the summit of the Alban Hills, and which is comparable in its form to that of Vesuvius, as it is surrounded by an outer circle of volcanic rock comparable to that of Somma."[5] To the north of the city of Rome are several crateriform lakes, some of which are of great size, such as that of Bolsena, over twenty miles in circumference, and the Lago di Bracciano, almost as large, and lying about twelve miles from the city. These extensive sheets of water are surrounded by banks of tuff and volcanic sand, in which fragments of augite, leucite, and crystals of titanite are distributed. The town of Viterbo is built up at the foot of a steep hill called Monte Cimini, the lower part of which is composed of trachyte; this is surmounted by tuff, which appears to have been ejected from an extinct crater occupying the summit of the mountain, and now converted into a lake called the Lake of Vico. This crater is perfectly circular, and from its centre rises a little conical hill covered by trees. (_c._) _Physical History._--Space does not permit of a fuller description of the remarkable volcanic features of the tract lying along the western slope of the Apennines; but from what has been stated it will be clear that volcanic forces have been in operation at one time on a grand scale in the Roman States and the South of Tuscany, over a tract extending from Mount Annato to Velletri and Segni. This tract was separated from that of the Neapolitan volcanic region by a range of limestone hills of Jurassic age between Segni and Gaeta, a protrusion of the Alban Hills westward; but the general structure and physical history of both regions are probably very similar, with the exception that the igneous forces still retain their vitality in the more southerly region. In the case of the Roman volcanic district, a bay seems to have been formed about the close of the Miocene period, bounded on all sides but the west by hills of limestone, over whose bed strata of marl, sandstone, and conglomerate were deposited. This tract was converted by subsequent movements into a fresh-water lake, and contemporaneously volcanic operations commenced over the whole region, and beds of tuff, often containing blocks of rock ejected from neighbouring craters, were deposited over those of marine origin. Meanwhile numerous crater-cones were thrown up; and, as the land gradually rose, the waters of the lake were drained off, leaving dry the Campagna and plain of the Tiber. Ultimately the volcanic fires smouldered down and died out, whether within the historic epoch or not is uncertain; lakes were formed within the now dormant craters, and the face of nature gradually assumed a more placid and less forbidding aspect over this memorable region, destined to be the site of Rome, the Mistress of the World. [1] As determined by Daubeny in 1825. [2] Including the ruins of the Temple of Serapis, whose pillars are perforated by marine boring shells up to a height of about 16 feet from their base; indicating that the land had sunk down beneath the sea, and afterwards been elevated to its present level. [3] The account of Falconi, and another by Pietro Giacomo di Toledo, are given by Sir W. Hamilton, _op. cit._, p. 198, and also reproduced by Sir C. Lyell, _Principles_, vol. i. p. 608. [4] Guiseppe Ponzi, "Sulla storia fisica del Bacino di Roma," _Annali di Scienze Fisiche_ (Roma, 1850). [5] Daubeny, _Volcanoes_, p. 171. CHAPTER VI. EXTINCT VOLCANOES OF CENTRAL FRANCE. (_a._) _General Structure of the Auvergne District._--From a granitic and gneissose platform situated near the centre of France, and separated from the western spurs of the Alps by the wide valley of the Rhone, there rises a group of volcanic mountains surpassing in variety of form and structure any similar mountain group in Europe, and belonging to an epoch ranging from the Middle Tertiary down almost to the present day. This volcanic group of mountains gives rise to several important rivers, such as the Loire, the Allier, the Soule (a branch of the Loire), the Creuse, the Dordogne, and the Lot; and in the Plomb du Cantal attains an elevation of 6130 feet above the sea. Its southern section, that of Mont Dore, the Cantal, and the Haute Loire, is characterised by magnificent valleys, traversing plateaux of volcanic lava, and exhibiting the results of river erosion on a grand scale; while its northern section, that of the Puy de Dôme, presents to us a varied succession of volcanic crater-cones and domes, with their extruded lava-streams, almost as fresh and unchanged in form as if they had only yesterday become extinct. A somewhat similar, but less important, chain of extinct volcanoes also occurs in the Velay and Vivarais, between the upper waters of the Loire and the Allier, in the vicinity of the town of Le Puy.[1] The principal city in this region is Clermont-Ferrand, lying near the base of the Puy de Dôme, and ever memorable as the birthplace of Blaise Pascal.[2] [Illustration: Fig. 17.--Generalised Section through the Puy de Dôme and Vale of Clermont, distance about ten miles. The general floor formed of granite and gneiss (G); D. Domite-lava of the Puy de Dôme; Sc. Cones of ashes and scoriæ; L. Lava-sheets; A. Alluvium of the Vale of Clermont and Lake deposits.] The physical structure of this region is on the whole very simple. The fundamental rocks consist of granite and gneiss passing into schist, all of extreme geological antiquity, forming a vast platform gradually rising in a southerly direction towards the head waters of the Loire and the Allier in the Departments of Haute Loire, Lozère, and Ardèche. On this platform are planted the whole of the volcanic mountains. (See Fig. 17.) The granitic plateau is bounded on the east, throughout a distance of about 50 miles, by the wide and fertile plain of Clermont, watered by the Allier and its numerous branches descending from the volcanic mountains, and is about 25 miles in width from east to west in the parallel of Clermont, but gradually narrowing in a southerly direction, till at Brioude it becomes an ordinary mountain ravine. The eastern margin of the plain is formed by another granitic ridge expanding into a plateau towards the south, and joining in with that already described; but towards the north and directly east of Clermont it forms a high ridge traversed by the railway to St. Étienne and Lyons, and descending towards the east into the valley of the Loire. No more impressive view is to be obtained of the volcanic region than that from the summit of this second ridge, on arriving there towards evening from the city of Lyons. At your feet lies the richly-cultivated plain of Clermont, dotted with towns, villages, and hamlets, and decorated with pastures, orchards, vineyards, and numerous trees; while beyond rises the granitic plateau, breaking off abruptly along the margin of the plain, and deeply indented by the valleys and gorges along which the streams descend to join the Allier. But the chief point of interest is the chain of volcanic crater-cones and dome-shaped eminences which rise from the plateau, amongst which the Puy de Dôme towers supreme. Their individual forms stand out in clear and sharp relief against the western sky, and gradually fade away towards the south into the serried masses of Mont Dore and Cantal, around whose summits the evening mists are gathering. Except the first view of the Mont Blanc range from the crest of the Jura, there is no scene perhaps which is calculated to impress itself more vividly on the memory than that here faintly described.[3] [Illustration: Fig. 18.--Transverse view of the Puy de Dôme and neighbouring volcanoes from the Puy de Chopine.--(After Scrope.)] (_b._) _The Vale of Clermont._--The plain upon which we look down was once the floor of an extensive lake, for it is composed of various strata of sand, clay, marl, and limestone, containing various genera and species of fresh-water shells. These strata are of great thickness, perhaps a thousand feet in some places; and along with such shells as _Paludina_, _Planorbis_, and _Limnæa_ are also found remains of various other animals, such as fish, serpents, batrachians, crocodiles, ruminants, and those of huge pachyderms, as _Rhinoceros_, _Dinotherium_, and _Cænotherium_. This great lake, occupying a hollow in the old granitic platform of Central France, must have been in existence for an extensive period, which MM. Pomel, Aymard, and Lyell all unite in referring to that of the Lower Miocene. But what is to us of special interest is the fact that, in the deposits of this lake of the Haute Loire, with the exception of the very latest, there is no intermixture of volcanic products such as might have been expected to occur if the neighbouring volcanoes had been in activity during its existence. Hence it may be supposed that, as Scrope suggested, the waters of the lake were drained off owing to the disturbance in the levels of the country caused by the first explosions of the Auvergne volcanoes.[4] If this be so, then we possess a key by which to determine the period of the first formation of volcanoes in Central France; for, as the animal remains enclosed in the lacustrine deposits of the Vale of Clermont belong to the early Miocene stage, and the earliest traces of contemporaneous volcanic _ejecta_ are found only in the uppermost deposits, we may conclude that the first outburst of volcanic action occurred towards the close of the Miocene period--a period remarkable for similar exhibitions of internal igneous action in other parts of the world. (_c._) _Successive Stages of Volcanic Action in Auvergne._--The volcanic region here described, which has an area of about one hundred square miles, does not appear to have been at one and the same period of time the theatre of volcanic action over its whole extent. On the contrary, this action appears to have commenced at the southern border of the region in the Cantal, and travelling northwards, to have broken out in the Mont Dore region; finally terminating its outward manifestations among the craters and domes of the Puy de Dôme. In a similar manner the volcanic eruptions of the Haute Loire and Ardèche, lying to the eastward, and separated from those of the Cantal by the granitoid ridge of the Montagnes de Margeride, belong to two successive periods referable very closely to those of the Mont Dore and the Puy de Dôme groups.[5] The evidence in support of this view is very clear and conclusive; for, while the volcanic craters formed of ash, lapilli, and scoriæ, together with the rounded domes of trachytic rock of which the Puy de Dôme group is composed, preserve the form and surface indications of recently extinguished volcanoes, those which we may assume to have been piled up in the region of Mont Dore and Cantal have been entirely swept away by prolonged rain and river action, and the sites of the ancient craters and cones of eruption are only to be determined by tracing the great sheets of lava up the sides of the valleys to their sources, generally situated at the culminating points of their respective groups. Other points of evidence of the great antiquity of the latter groups might be adduced from the extent of the erosion which has taken place in the sheets of lava having their sources in the vents of the Plomb du Cantal and of Mont Dore, owing to which, magnificent valleys, many miles in length and hundreds of feet in depth, have been cut out of these sheets of lava and their supporting rocks, whether granitic or lacustrine, and the materials carried away by the streams which flow along their beds. These points will be better understood when I come to give an account of the several groups; and in doing so I will commence with that of the Cantal.[6] (_d._) _The Volcanoes of the Cantal._--The original crater-cones of this group have entirely disappeared throughout the long ages which have elapsed since the lava-streams issued forth from their internal reservoirs. The general figure of this group of volcanic mountains is that of a depressed cone, whose sides slope away in all directions from the central heights, which are deeply eroded by streams rising near the apex and flowing downwards in all directions towards the circumference of the mountain, where they enter the Lot, the Dordogne, and the Allier. The orifice of eruption was situated at the Plomb du Cantal, formed of solid masses of trachyte, which, owing, as Mr. Scrope supposes, to a high degree of fluidity, were able to extend to great distances in extensive sheets, and were afterwards covered by repeated and widely-spread flows of basalt; so that the trachyte towards the margin of the volcanic area becomes less conspicuous than the basalt by which it is more or less concealed from view, or overlapped. Extensive beds of tuff and breccia accompany the trachytic masses. Magnificent sections of the rocks are laid open to view along the sides of the valleys, which are steep and rock-bound. Except towards the south-west, about Aurillac, where lacustrine strata overlie the granite, the platform from which rises the volcanic dome is composed of granitic or gneissose rocks. Accompanying the lava-streams are great beds of volcanic agglomerate, which Mr. Scrope considers to have been formed contemporaneously with the lava which they envelop, and to be due to torrents of water tumultuously descending the sides of the volcano at periods of eruption, and bearing down immense volumes of its fragmental _ejecta_ in company with its lava-streams.[7] Nowhere throughout this region do beds of trachyte and basalt alternate with one another; in all cases the basalt is the newer of the two varieties of rock, and this is generally the case throughout the region here described. (_e._) _Volcanoes of Mont Dore._--This mountain lies to the north of that of Cantal, and somewhat resembles it in general structure and configuration. Like Cantal, it is destitute of any distinct crater; all that is left of the central focus of eruption being the solidified matter which filled the throat of the original volcano, and which forms a rocky mass of lava, rising in its highest point, the Pic de Saucy, to an elevation (as given by Ramond) of 6258 feet above the level of the sea, thus exceeding that of the Plomb du Cantal by 128 feet. Its figure will be best understood by supposing seven or eight rocky summits grouped together within a circle of about a mile in diameter, from whence, as from the apex of an irregular and flattened cone, all the sides slope more or less rapidly downwards, until their inclination is gradually lost in the plain around. This dome-shaped mass has been deeply eroded on opposite sides by the valleys of the Dordogne and Chambon; while it is further furrowed by numerous minor streams.[8] The great beds of volcanic rock, disposed as above stated, consist of prodigious layers of scoriæ, pumice-stones, and detritus, alternating with beds of trachyte and basalt, which often descend in uninterrupted currents till they reach the granite platform, and then spread themselves for miles around. The sheets of basalt are found to stretch to greater distances than those of trachyte, and have flowed as far as 15 or 20 miles from their orifices of eruption; while in some cases, on the east and north sides, they have extended as far as 25 or 30 miles from the central height. On the other hand, a radius of about ten miles from the centre would probably include all the streams of trachyte;--so much greater has been the viscosity of the basalt over the latter rock. Some portions of these great sheets of lava, cut off by river valleys or eroded areas from the main mass of which they once formed a part, are found forming isolated terraces and plateaux either on the granitic platform, or resting on the fresh-water strata of the valley of the Allier, while in a northern direction they overspread a large portion of the granitic plateau from which rise the Puy de Dôme and associated volcanic mountains. Still more remarkable are the cases in which these lava-streams have descended into the old river channels which drained the granitic plateau. Thus the current which took its origin in the Puy Gros descended into the valley of the Dordogne, while another stream invaded the gorge of Champeix on the eastern side. The more ancient lava-streams just described are invaded by currents and surmounted by cones of eruption of more recent date, similar to those of the Puy de Dôme group lying to the northward. Such cones and currents, amongst which are the Puy de Tartaret and that of Montenard, present exactly the same characters as those of this group, to which we shall return further on. (_f._) _Volcanoes of the Haute Loire and Ardèche._--Separated by the valley of the Allier and the granitic ridge of La Margeride from the volcanic regions of Cantal and Mont Dore is another volcanic region of great extent, which reaches its highest elevation in the central points of Mont Mezen, attaining an elevation (according to Cordier) of 5820 feet, and formed of "clinkstone." The volcanic products of Mezen have been erupted from one central orifice of vast size, and consist mainly of extensive sheets of "clinkstone," a variety of trachytic lava, which have taken courses mainly towards the north-west and south-east. These great sheets, one of which appears to have covered a space more than 26 miles in length with an average breadth of 6 miles, thus overspreading an estimated area of 156 square miles, has been deeply eroded by streams draining into the Loire, along whose banks the rocks tower in lofty cliffs; while it has also suffered enormous denudation, by which outlying fragments are disconnected from the main mass, and form flat-topped hills and plateaux as far distant as Roche en Reigner and Beauzac, at the extreme distance (as stated above) of 26 miles from the source of eruption. But even more remarkable than the above are the vast basaltic sheets which stretch away for a distance of 30 miles by Privas almost to the banks of the Rhône, opposite Montlimart. These have their origin amongst the clinkstone heights of Mont Mezen, and taking their course along the granitic plateau in a south-easterly direction, ultimately pass over on to the Jurassic and Cretaceous formations composing the plateau of the Coiron, which break off in vertical cliffs from 300 to 400 feet in height, surmounting the slopes that rise from the banks of the Ardèche and Escourtais rivers near Villeneuve de Bere. This is probably one of the most extensive sheets of basalt with which we are acquainted in the European area, and it is only a remnant of a vastly greater original sheet.[9] [Illustration: Fig. 19.--Mont Demise, near Le Puy, seen from the S.E. (After Scrope.)--1. Building standing on old breccia, rocks of the Col; 2. Road to Brioude; 3. Croix de la Paille; 4. Orgue d'Expailly (basalt); 5. Spot where human bones were found.] (_g._) _Newer Volcanoes of the Haute Loire (the Velay and Vivarais)._--Subsequently to the formation of the lava-streams above described, and probably after the lapse of a lengthened period, the region of the Haute Loire and Ardèche became the scene of a fresh outburst of volcanic action, during which the surface of the older lavas, or of the fundamental granite, was covered by numerous crater-cones and lava-streams strewn along the banks of the Allier and of the Loire for many miles. These cones and craters are not quite so fresh as those of the Mont Dôme group; those of the Haute Loire being slightly earlier in point of time, and, as Daubeny shows, belonging to a different system. So numerous are these more recent cones and craters that Scrope counted more than 150 of them, and probably omitted many. The volcanic phenomena now described have a special interest as bearing on the question whether man was an inhabitant of this region at the time of these later eruptions. The question seems to be answered in the affirmative by the discovery of a human skull and several bones in the volcanic breccia of Mont Demise, in company with remains of the elephant (_E. primigenius_), rhinoceros (_R. tichorhinus_), stag, and other large mammifers. The discovery of these remains was made in the year 1844, and the circumstances were fully investigated and reported upon by M. Aymard, and afterwards by Mr. Poulett Scrope, upon whose mind no possible doubt of the fact remained. From what we now know of the occurrence of human remains and works of art in other parts of France and Europe, no surprise need be felt at the occurrence of human remains in company with some extinct mammalia in these volcanic tuffs, which belong to the Post-Pliocene or superficial alluvia antecedent to the historic period.[10] (_h._) _Mont Dôme Chain._--We now come to the consideration of the most recent of all the volcanic mountain groups of the region of Central France, that of the Puy de Dôme, lying to the north of Mont Dore and Cantal. We have seen that there is almost conclusive evidence that man was a witness to the later volcanic outbursts of the Vivarais, and as these craters seem to be of somewhat earlier date than those of the Puy de Dôme group, we cannot doubt that they were in active eruption when human beings inhabited the country, and not improbably within what is known as the _Historic Period_. No mention, however, is made either by Cæsar, Pliny, or other Roman writers of the existence of active volcanoes in this region. Cæsar, who was a close observer, and who carried the Roman arms into Auvergne, makes no mention of such; nor yet does the elder Pliny, who enumerated the known burning mountains of his day all over the Roman Empire. It is not till we come down to the fifth century of our era that we find any notices which might lead us to infer the existence of volcanic action in Central France. This is the well-known letter written by Sidonius Apollonarius, bishop of Auvergne, to Alcinus Avitus, bishop of Vienne, in which the former refers to certain terrific terrestrial manifestations which had occurred in the diocese of the latter. But, as Dr. Daubeny observes, this is no evidence of volcanic action in Auvergne, where Sidonius himself resided; the terrestrial disturbances above referred to may have been earthquake shocks of extreme severity.[11] But although we have no reliably historical record of volcanic action amongst the mountains of the Mont Dôme group, the fact that these are, comparatively, extremely recent will be evident to an observer visiting this district, and this conclusion is based on three principal grounds: first, because of the well-preserved forms of the original craters, though generally composed of very loose material, such as ashes, lapilli, and slag; secondly, because of the freshness of the lava-streams over whose rugged surfaces even a scanty herbage has in some places scarcely found a footing;[12] and thirdly, because the lava from the crater-cones has invaded channels previously occupied by the earlier lavas, or those which had been eroded since the overflow of the great basaltic sheets of Mont Dore. Still, as in the case of the valleys of Lake Aidot, of Channonat, and of Royat, these streams are sufficiently ancient to have given time for the existing rivers to have worn out in them channels of some depth, but bearing no comparison to the great valleys which had been eroded out of the more ancient lavas, such as those of the Coiron, of the Ardèche, and of the Dordogne and Chambon in the district of Mont Dore. (_i._) _Dome-shaped Volcanic Hills._--I have previously (page 15) referred to the two classes of volcanic eminences to be found in the chain of the Puy de Dôme; one indicated by the name itself, formed of a variety of trachytic lava called "domite," and of the form of a dome; the other, composed of fragmental matter piled up in the form of a crater or cup, often ruptured on one side by a stream of lava which has burst through the side, owing to its superior density. Of the former class the Puy de Dôme and the Grand Sarcoui (see Fig. 18) are the most striking examples out of the five enumerated by Scrope, while there is a large number, altogether sixty-one, belonging to the latter class. These domes and crater-cones, as already stated, rise from a platform of granite, either directly or from one formed of the lava-sheets of the Mont Dore region, which in turn overlies the granitic platform. Of the nearly perfect craters there are the Petit Puy de Dôme, lying partially against the northern flank of the greater eminence; the Puy de Cone, remarkable for the symmetry of its conical form, rising to a height of 900 feet from the plain; and the Puys de Chaumont and Thiolet lying to the north of the Puy de Dôme. Of those to the south of this mount, two out of the three craters of the Puy de Barme and the Puy de Vichatel are perfect; but most of the crater-cones south of the Puy de Dôme are breached. Some of the lava streams by which these craters were broken down flowed for long distances. That the lava followed the showers of ashes and lapilli forming the walls of the craters is rendered very evident in the case of the Puy de la Vache, whose lava-stream coalescing with those from the Puy de la Solas and Puy Noir, deluged the surrounding tracts and flowed down the Channonat Valley as far as La Roche Blanc in the Vale of Clermont. In the interior of the upper part of the crater still remaining may be seen the level (so to speak) to which the molten lava rose before it burst its barrier. This level is marked by a projecting platform of reddish or yellow material, rich in specular iron, apparently part of the frothy scum which formed on the surface of the lava and adhered to the side of the basin at the moment of its being emptied. Space does not permit a fuller description of this remarkable assemblage of extinct volcanoes, and the reader must be referred for further details to the work of Mr. Scrope. I shall content myself with some further reference to the central figure in this grand chain, the Puy de Dôme itself. _Ascent of the Puy de Dôme._--On ascending by the winding path up the steep side of the mount, and on reaching the somewhat flattened summit, the first objects which strike the eye are the massive foundations of the Roman temple of Mercury; they are hewn out of solid grey lava, altogether different from the rock of the Puy de Dôme itself, which must have been obtained from one of the lava-sheets of the Mont Dore group. To have carried these large blocks to their present resting-place must have cost no little labour and effort. The temple is supposed to have been surmounted by a colossal statue of the winged deity, visible from all parts of the surrounding country which was dedicated to his honour, and the foundations were only discovered a few years ago when excavating for the foundation of the observatory, which stands a little further on under the charge of Professor Janssen. On proceeding to the northern crest of the platform a wonderful view of the extinct craters and domes--about forty in number, and terminating in the Puy de Beauny, the most northerly member of the chain--is presented to the spectator. To the right is the Vale of Clermont and the rich valley of the Allier merging into the great plain of Central France. On the south side of the platform a no less remarkable spectacle meets the eye. The chain of Puys and broken craters stretches away southwards for a distance of nearly ten miles, while the horizon is bounded in that direction by the lofty masses of the Mont Dore, Cantal, and Le Puy ranges. Nor does it require much effort of the imagination to restore the character of the region when these now dormant volcanoes were in full activity, projecting showers of ashes and stones high into the air amidst flames of fire and vast clouds of incandescent gas and steam. The material of which the Puy de Dôme is formed consists of a light grey, nearly white, soft felsitic lava, containing crystals of mica, hornblende, and specular iron-ore. It is highly vesicular, and was probably extruded in a pasty condition from a throat piercing the granitic plateau and the overlying sheet of ancient lava of Mont Dore. It has been suggested that such highly felsitic and acid lavas as that of which the Puy de Dôme, the Grand Sarcoui, and Cliersou are composed, may have had their origin in the granite itself, melted and rendered viscous by intense heat. Dr. E. Gordon Hull has suggested that the domite hills (owing to their low specific gravity) may have filled up pre-existing craters of ashes and scoriæ without rupturing them, as in the case of the heavier basaltic lavas, and then still continuing to be extruded, may have entirely enveloped them in its mass; so that each domite hill encloses within its interior a crater formed of ashes, stones, and scoriæ. In the case of the Puy de Dôme there is some evidence that the domite matter rests on a basis of ashes and scoriæ, which may be seen in a few places around the base of the cone. It is difficult without some such theory as this to explain how a viscous mass was able to raise mountains some 2000 or 3000 feet above the surrounding plain.[13] (_j._) _Sketch of the Volcanic History of Central France._--It now only remains to give a brief _resumé_ of the volcanic history of this region as it may be gathered from the relations of the rocks and strata to the volcanic products, and of these latter to each other. _1st Stage._--It would appear that at the close of the Eocene period great terrestrial changes occurred. The bed of the sea was converted into dry land, the strata were flexured and denuded, and a depression was formed in the granitic floor of Central France, which, in the succeeding Miocene period, was converted into an extensive lake peopled by molluscs, fishes, reptiles, and pachyderms of the period. _2nd Stage._--Towards the close of the Miocene epoch volcanic eruptions commenced on a grand scale over the granitic platform in the districts now called Mont Dore, Cantal, and the Vivarais. Vast sheets of trachytic and basaltic lavas successively invaded the tracts surrounding the central orifices of eruption, now constituting the more ancient of the lava-sheets of the Auvergne region, and, invading the waters of the neighbouring lake, overspread the lacustrine deposits which were being accumulated therein. These volcanic eruptions probably continued throughout the Pliocene period, interrupted by occasional intervals of inactivity, and ultimately altogether ceased. _3rd Stage._--Towards the close of the Pliocene period terrestrial movements took place, owing to which the waters of the lake began to fall away, and the sheets of lava were subjected to great denudation. This process, probably accelerated by excessive rainfall during the succeeding Post-Pliocene and Pluvial periods, was continued until plains and extensive river-valleys were eroded out of the sheets of lava and their supporting granitic rocks and the adjoining lacustrine strata. _4th Stage._--A new outburst of volcanic forces marks this stage, during which the chain of the Puy de Dôme was thrown up on the west, and that of the newer cones of the Vivarais on the south-east of the lacustrine tract. The waters of the lake were now completely drained away through the channel of the Allier, and denudation, extending down to the present day, began over the area now forming the Vale of Clermont and adjoining districts. The volcanic action ultimately spent its force; and somewhere about the time of the appearance of man, the mammoth, rhinoceros, stag, and reindeer on the scene, eruptions entirely ceased, and gradually the region assumed those conditions of repose by which it is now physically characterised. [1] The literature referring to this region is very extensive. Guettard in 1775, afterwards Faujas, published descriptions of the rocks of the Vivarais and Velay; and Desmarest's geological map, published in 1779, is a work of great merit. The district was afterwards described by Daubeny, Lyell, Von Buch, and others; but by far the most complete work is that of Scrope, entitled _Volcanoes of Central France_, containing maps and numerous illustrations, published in 1826, and republished in a more extended form in 1858; to this I am largely indebted. [2] A monument to Pascal, erected by the citizens, occupies the centre of the square in Clermont. It will be remembered that Pascal verified the conclusions arrived at by Torricelli regarding the pressure of the atmosphere, by carrying a Torricellian tube to the summit of the Puy de Dôme, and recording how the mercury continually fell during the ascent, and rose as he descended. This experiment was made in 1645. [3] In this visit to Auvergne in the summer of 1880, the author was accompanied by his son, Dr. E. Gordon Hull, and Sir Robert S. Ball. On reaching the station at the summit of the ridge it seemed as if the volcanic fires had again been lighted, for the whole sky was aglow with the rays of the western sun. [4] On the other hand, certain beds of ash and other volcanic _ejecta_ occur in _the uppermost_ strata of lake deposits of Limagne, so that these may indicate the commencement of the period of eruption, as suggested further on. [5] Only very closely; for Mr. Scrope considers that the crater-cones of the chain of the Haute Loire give evidence of a somewhat earlier epoch of activity than those of the Puy de Dôme, as they have undergone a greater amount of subaerial erosion. [6] The extent of this river erosion has been clearly brought out by Scrope, and is admirably illustrated by several of his panoramic views, such as that in Plate IX. of his work. [7] Scrope, _loc. cit._, p. 147. [8] Scrope, _loc. cit._, p. 144. [9] Scrope gives a view of these remarkable basaltic cliffs in Plate XII. of his work, from which the above account is taken. At one spot near the village of Le Gua there is a break in the continuity of the sheet. [10] See Scrope, _loc. cit._, p. 181; also Appendix, p. 228. While there is no _primâ facie_ reason for questioning the origin of the Demise skull, yet from what Lyell states in his _Antiquity of Man_, p. 196, it will be seen that he found it impossible to identify its position, or to determine beyond question that its interment was due to natural causes. But assuming this to be the case, he shows how the individual to whom it belonged might have been enveloped in volcanic tuff or mud showered down during the final eruption of the volcano of Demise. MM. Hébert and Lartet, on visiting the locality, also failed to find _in situ_ any exact counterpart of the stone now in the museum of Le Puy. [11] See Daubeny, _Volcanoes_, p. 31. [12] That is to say, the surfaces of the lava-streams are not at all, or only slightly, decomposed into soil suitable for the growth of plants, except in rare instances. [13] E. G. Hull, "On the Domite Mountains of Central France," _Scien. Proc. Roy. Dublin Society_, July 1881, p. 145. Dr. Hull determined the density of the domite of the Puy de Dôme to be 2.5, while that of lava is about 3.0. CHAPTER VII. THE VOLCANIC DISTRICT OF THE RHINE VALLEY. The region bordering the Rhine along both its banks above Bonn, and extending thence along the valley of the Moselle and into the Eifel, has been the theatre of active volcanic phenomena down into recent times, but at the present day the volcanoes are dormant or extinct. (_a._) _Geological Structure._--The fundamental rocks of this region belong to the Silurian, Devonian, and Carboniferous systems, consisting of schists, grits, and limestones, with occasional horizontal beds of Miocene sandstone and shale with lignite, resting on the upturned edges of the older rocks. Scattered over the greater part of the district here referred to are a number of conical eminences, often with craters, the bottoms of which are usually sunk much below the present level of the country, and thus receiving the surface drainage, have been converted into little lakes called "maars," differing from ordinary lakes by their circular form and the absence of any _apparent_ outlet for their waters.[1] But before entering into details, it may be desirable to present the reader with a short outline of the physical history of the region (which has been ably done by Dr. Hibbert in his treatise, to which I have already referred), so as to enable him better to understand the succession of physical events in its volcanic history. [Illustration: Fig. 20.--Sketch Map to show the physical condition of the Rhenish area in the Miocene epoch.--(After Hibbert.)] (_b._) _Physical History._--From the wide distribution of stratified deposits of sand and clay at high levels on both banks of the Rhine north of the Moselle, it would appear that an extensive fresh-water basin, which Dr. Hibbert calls "The Basin of Neuwied," occupied a considerable tract on both banks, in the centre of which the present city of Neuwied stands. This basin was bounded towards the south by the slopes of the Hündsruck and Taunus, which at the time here referred to formed a continuous chain of mountains. (Fig. 20.) To the south of this chain lay the Tertiary basin of Mayence, which was connected at an early period--that of the Miocene--with the waters of the ocean, as shown by the fact that the lower strata contain marine shells; these afterwards gave place to fresh-water conditions. The basin of Neuwied was bounded towards the north by a ridge of Devonian strata which extended across the present gorge of the Rhine between Andernach and Linz, and to the north of this barrier lay another more extensive fresh-water basin, that of Cologne. From this it will be seen that the Rhine, as we now find it, had then only an infantile existence; in fact, its waters to the south of the Hündsruck ridge drained away towards the south. But towards the commencement of the Pliocene period the barriers of the Hündsruck and Taunus, as also that of the Linz, were broken through, and the course of the waters was changed; and thus gradually, as the river deepened its bed, the waters were drained off from the great lakes.[2] This rupture of the barriers may have been due, in the first instance, to the terrestrial disturbances accompanying the volcanic eruptions of the Eifel and Siebengebirge, though the erosion of the gorges at Bingen and at Linz to their present depth and dimensions is of course due to prolonged river action. It was about the epoch we have now arrived at--viz., the close of the Miocene--that volcanic action burst forth in the region of the Lower Rhine. It is probable that this action commenced in the district of the Siebengebirge, and afterwards extended into that of the Moselle and the Eifel, the volcanoes of which bear evidence of recent date. Layers of trachytic tuff are interstratified with the deposits of sand, clay, and lignite of the formation known as that of the Brown Coal--of Miocene age--which underlies nearly the whole of the volcanic district on both sides of the Rhine near Bonn,[3] thus showing that volcanic action had already commenced in that part to some extent; but it does not appear from Dr. Hibbert's statement that any such fragments of eruptive rock are to be found in the strata which were deposited over the floor of the Neuwied basin.[4] It will be recollected that the epoch assigned for the earliest volcanic eruptions of Auvergne was that here inferred for those of the Lower Rhine--viz., the close of the Miocene stage--and from evidence subsequently to be adduced from other European districts, it will be found that there was a very widely spread outburst of volcanic action at this epoch. (_c._) _The Range of the Siebengebirge._--This range of hills--formed of the older volcanic rocks of the Lower Rhine--rises along the right bank of this noble river opposite Bonn, where it leaves the narrow gorge which it traverses all the way from Bingen, and opens out on the broad plain of Northern Germany. The range consists of a succession of conical hills sometimes flat-topped--as in the case of Petersberg; and at the Drachenfels, near the centre of the range it presents to the river a bold front of precipitous cliffs of trachyte porphyry. The sketch (Fig. 21) here presented was taken by the author in 1857 from the old extinct volcano of Roderberg, and will convey, perhaps, a better idea of the character of this picturesque range than a description. The Siebengebirge, although appearing as an isolated group of hills, is in reality an offshoot from the range of the Westerwald, which is connected with another volcanic district of Central Germany known as the Vogelsgebirge. The highest point in the range is attained in the Lohrberg, which rises 1355 feet above the sea; the next, the Great Tränkeberg, 1330 feet; and the next, Great Oelberg, 1296 feet. [Illustration: Fig. 21.--The Volcanic Range of the Siebengebirge, seen from the left bank of the Rhine, above Bonn.--(Original.)] The range consists mainly of trachytic rocks--namely, trachyte-conglomerate, and solid trachyte, of which H. von Dechen makes two varieties--that of the Drachenfels, and that of the Wolkenburg. But associated with these highly-silicated varieties of lava--and generally, if not always, of later date--are basaltic rocks which cap the hills of Petersberg, Nonnenstrom, Gr. and Ll. Oelberg, Gr. Weilberg, and Ober Dollendorfer Hardt. The question whether there is a transition from the one variety of volcanic rock into the other, or whether each belongs to a distinct and separate epoch of eruption, does not seem to be very clearly determined. Mr. Leonard Horner states that it would be easy to form a suite of specimens showing a gradation from a white trachyte to a black basalt;[5] but we must recollect that when Mr. Horner wrote, the microscopic examination of rocks by means of thin sections was not known or practised, and an examination by this process might have proved that this apparent transition is unreal. According to H. von Dechen, there are sheets of basalt older than the greater mass of the brown coal formation, and others newer than the trachyte;[6] while dykes of basalt traversing the trachytic lavas are not uncommon.[7] The trachyte-conglomerate--which seems to be associated with the upper beds of the brown coal strata--is traversed by dykes of trachyte of later date; and though it is difficult to trace the line between the two varieties of this rock on the ground, Dr. von Rath has recognised the general distinction between them, which consists in the greater abundance of hornblende and mica in the trachyte of the Wolkenburg than in that of the Drachenfels. The trachyte of the Drachenfels was probably the neck of a volcano which burst through the fundamental schists of the Devonian period. It is remarkable for the large crystals of sanidine (glassy felspar) which it contains, and has a rude columnar structure. The absence of any clearly-defined craters of eruption, such as are to be found in the Eifel district and on the left bank of the Rhine--as, for example, in the case of the Roderberg--may be regarded as sufficient evidence that this range is of comparatively high antiquity. It seems to bear the same relation to the more modern craters of the Eifel and Moselle that the Mont Dore and Cantal volcanoes do to those of the Puy de Dôme. In both cases, denudation carried on throughout perhaps the Pliocene and Post-Pliocene periods down to the present day has had the effect of demolishing the original craters; so that what we now observe as forming these ranges are the consolidated columns of original molten matter which filled the throats of the old volcanoes, or the sheets of lava which were extruded from them, but are now probably much reduced in size and extent. Having thus given a description of the older volcanic range on the right bank of the Rhine, we shall cross the river in search of some details regarding the more recent group of Rhenish volcanoes, commencing with that of the Roderberg, a remarkable hill a few miles south of Bonn, from which the view of the Seven Mountains was taken. [Illustration: Fig. 22.--Section of the extinct crater of the Roderberg on the bank of the Rhine, above Bonn.--(Original.)] (_d._) _The Roderberg._--This crater, which was visited by the author in 1857, is about one-fourth of a mile in diameter, and is in the form of a cup with gentle slopes on all sides. In its centre is a farmhouse surrounded by corn-fields. The general section through the hill is represented above (Fig. 22). The flanks on the north side are composed of loose quartzose gravel (gerolle), a remnant of the deposits formed around the margin of the "Basin of Neuwied" described above (p. 114). This gravel is found covering the terraces of the brown coal formation several hundred feet above the Rhine. Besides quartz-pebbles, the deposit contains others of slate, grit, and volcanic rock. On reaching the edge of the crater we find the gravel covered over by black and purple scoria or slag the superposition of the scoria on the gravel being visible in several places, showing that the former is of more recent origin. On the opposite side of the crater, overlooking the Rhine, we find the cliff of Rolandsec composed of hard vesicular lava, rudely prismatic, and extending from the summit of the hill to its base, about 250 feet below. This is the most northerly of the group of the Eifel volcanoes. (_e._) _District of the Rivers Brühl and Nette._--The volcanic region of the Lower Eifel, drained by these two principal streams which flow into the Rhine, will amply repay exploration by the student of volcanic phenomena, owing to the variety of forms and conditions under which these present themselves within a small space. The fundamental rock is slate or grit of Devonian age, furrowed by numerous valleys, often richly wooded, and diversified by conical hills of trachyte; or by crater-cones, formed of basalt or ashes, sometimes ruptured on one side, and occasionally sending forth streams of lava, as in the cases of the Perlinkopf, the Bausenberg, and the Engelerkopf. The district attains its greatest altitude in the High Acht (Der Hohe Acht), an isolated cone of slate capped by basalt with olivine, and reaching a level of 2434 Rhenish feet.[8] (_f._) _The Laacher See._--It would be impossible in a work of this kind to attempt a detailed description of the Eifel volcanoes, often of a very complex character and obscure physical history, as in the case of the basin of Rieden, where tufaceous deposits, trachytic and basaltic lavas and crater-cones, are confusedly intermingled, so that I shall confine my remarks to the deservedly famous district of the Laacher See, which I had an opportunity of personally visiting some years since.[9] [Illustration: Fig. 23.--Plan and Section of the Laacher See, a lake on the borders of the Eifel, occupying the crater of an old volcano.--G. Gravel and volcanic sand forming banks of the lake and rim of old crater; L. Sheet of trachytic lava with columnar structure; B. Basaltic dyke; S. Devonian slate, etc.] The Laacher See is a lake of an oval form, over an English mile in the shorter diameter, and surrounded by high banks of volcanic sand, gravel, and scoriæ, except on the east side, where cliffs of clay-slate, in a nearly vertical position, and striking nearly E.W., may be observed. Its depth from the surface of the water is 214 feet.[10] The ashes of the encircling banks contain blocks of slate and lava which have been torn from the sides of the orifice or neck of the volcano and blown into the air; and there can be no doubt that the ashes and volcanic gravel is the result of very recent eruptions. At the east side of the lake we find a stream of scoriaceous lava of a purple or reddish colour, highly vesicular, and containing crystals of mica; but the most important lava-stream is that which has taken a southerly direction from the crater of the Laacher See towards Nieder Mendig and Mayen, for a distance of about six miles. This great stream is covered throughout half its distance by beds of volcanic ash and lapilli, but emerges into the air at a distance of about two miles from the edge of the crater (see Fig. 23), and was formerly extensively quarried in underground caverns for millstones. Here the rock is a vesicular trachyte, of a greyish colour, solidified in vertical columns of hexagonal form, about four feet in diameter, and traversed by transverse joint planes. These quarries have been worked from the time of the Roman occupation of the country; and, before the introduction of iron or steel rollers for grinding corn, millstones were exported to all parts of Europe and the British Isles from this quarry.[11] The district around the Laacher See is covered by laminated _ejecta_ of the old volcano, probably of subaërial origin, through which bosses of the fundamental slate peer up at intervals, while the surface is diversified by several truncated cones. (_g._) _Trass of the Brühl Valley._--The Brühl Valley, which unites with that of the Rhine at the town of that name, and drains the northern side of the volcanic region, has always been regarded with much interest by travellers for the presence of a deposit of "trass" with which it is partially filled. The origin of this valley was pre-volcanic, as it is hewn out of the slaty rocks of the district. But at a later period it became filled with volcanic mud (tuffstein), out of which the stream has made for itself a fresh channel. The source of this mud is considered by Hibbert[12] to have been the old volcano of the Lummerfeld, which, after becoming dormant, was filled with water, and thus became a lake. At a subsequent period, however, a fresh eruption took place near the edge of the lake, resulting in the remarkable ruptured crater known as the Kunksköpfe, which rises about four miles to the north of the Laacher See. The eruptions of this volcano appear to have displaced the mud of the Lummerfeld, causing it to flow down into the deep gorge of the Brühl, which it completely filled, as stated above. On walking down the valley one may sometimes see the junction of the tuff with the slate-rock which enfolds it. The tuff consists of white felspathic mud, with fragments of slate and lava, reaching a depth in some places of 150 feet. After it has been quarried it is ground in mills, and used for cement stone under the name of _trass_. It is said to resemble the volcanic mud by which Herculaneum was overwhelmed during the first eruption of Vesuvius, and which was produced by the torrents of rain mixing with the ashes as they were blown out of the volcano. Sufficient has probably now been written regarding the dormant, or recently extinct, volcanic districts of Europe to give the reader a clear idea regarding their nature and physical structure. Other districts might be added, such as those of Central Germany, Hungary, Transylvania, and Styria; but to do so would be to exceed the proposed limits of this work; and we may therefore pass on to the consideration of the volcanic region of Syria and Palestine, which adjoins the Mediterranean district we have considered in a former page. [1] Daubeny, _loc. cit._, p. 71. The geology of this region has had many investigators, of whom the chief are Steininger, _Erloschenen Vulkane in der Eifel_ (1820); Hibbert, _Extinct Volcanoes of the Basin of Neuwied_, 1832; Nöggerath, _Das Gebirge im Rheinland_, etc., 4 vols.; Horner, "On the Geology of Bonn," _Transactions of the Geological Society, London_, vol. iv. [2] The views of Dr. Hibbert are not inconsistent with those of the late Sir A. Ramsay, on "The Physical History of the Valley of the Rhine," _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxx. (1874). [3] Von Dechen, _Geog. Beschreib. des Siebengebirges am Rhein_ (Bonn, 1852). [4] Hibbert, _loc. cit._, p. 18. [5] Horner, "Geology of Environs of Bonn," _Transactions of the Geological Society_, vol. iv., new series. [6] H. von Dechen, _Geog. Führer in das Siebengebirge am Rhein_ (Bonn, 1861). [7] _Ibid._, p. 191. [8] Dr. Hibbert's work is illustrated by very carefully drawn and accurate views of some of the old cones and craters of this district, accompanied by detailed descriptions. [9] The lava of Schorenberg, near Rieden, is interesting from the fact, stated by Zirkel, that it contains leucite, nosean, and nephelin.--_Die Mikros. Beschaf. d. Miner. u. Gesteine_, p. 154 (1873). [10] Hibbert, _loc. cit._, p. 23. [11] At the time of the author's visit the underground caverns, which are deliciously cool in summer, were used for the storage of the celebrated beer brewed by the Moravians of Neuwied. [12] Hibbert, _loc. cit._, p. 129. PART III. DORMANT OR MORIBUND VOLCANOES OF OTHER PARTS OF THE WORLD. CHAPTER I. DORMANT VOLCANOES OF PALESTINE AND ARABIA. (_a._) _Region east of the Jordan and Dead Sea._--The remarkable line of country lying along the valley of the Jordan, and extending into the great Arabian Desert, has been the seat of extensive volcanic action in prehistoric times. The specially volcanic region seems to be bounded by the depression of the Jordan, the Dead Sea, and the Arabah as far south as the Gulf of Akabah; for, although Safed, lying at the head of the Sea of Galilee on the west of the Jordan valley, is built on a basaltic sheet, and is in proximity to an extinct crater, its position is exceptional to the general arrangement of the volcanic products which may be traced at intervals from the base of Hermon into Central Arabia, a distance of about 1000 miles.[1] The tract referred to has been described at intervals by several authors, of whom G. Schumacher,[2] L. Lartet,[3] Canon Tristram,[4] M. Niebuhr,[5] and C. M. Doughty[6] may be specially mentioned in this connection. The most extensive manifestations of volcanic energy throughout this long tract of country appear to be concentrated at its extreme limits. At the northern extremity the generally wild and rugged tract of the Jaulân and Haurân, called in the Bible _Trachonitis_, and still farther to the eastward the plateau of the Lejah, with its row of volcanic peaks sloping down to the vast level of Bashan, is covered throughout nearly its whole extent by great sheets of basaltic lava, above which rise at intervals, and in very perfect form, the old crater-cones of eruption. A similar group of extinct craters with lava-flows has been described and figured by a recent traveller, Mr. C. M. Doughty, in parts of Central Arabia. The general resemblance of these Arabian volcanoes to those of the Jaulân is unquestionable; and as they are connected with each other by sheets of basaltic lava at intervals throughout the land of Moab, it is tolerably certain that the volcanoes lying at either end of the chain belong to one system, and were contemporaneously in a state of activity. (_b._) _Geological Conditions._--Before entering any further into particulars regarding the volcanic phenomena of this region, it may be desirable to give a short account of its geological structure, and the physical conditions amongst which the igneous eruptions were developed. Down to the close of the Eocene period the whole region now under consideration was occupied by the waters of the ocean. The mountains of Sinai were islands in this ocean, which had a very wide range over parts of Asia, Africa, and Europe. But at the commencement of the succeeding Miocene stage the crust was subjected to lateral contraction, owing to which the ocean bed was upraised. The strata were flexured, folded, and often faulted and fissured along lines ranging north and south, the great fault of the Jordan-Arabah valley being the most important. At this period the mountains of the Lebanon, the table-lands of Judæa and of Arabia, formed of limestone, previously constituting the bed of the ocean during the Eocene and Cretaceous periods, were converted into land surfaces. Along with this upheaval of the sea-bed there was extensive denudation and erosion of the strata, so that valleys were eroded over the subaërial tracts, and the Jordan-Arabah valley received its primary form and outline. Up to this time there does not appear to have been any outbreak of volcanic forces; but with the succeeding Pliocene period these came into play, and eruptions of basaltic lava took place along rents and fissures in the strata, while craters and cones of slag, scoriæ, and ashes were thrown up over the region lying to the east of the Sea of Galilee and the sources of the Jordan on the one hand, and the central parts of the great Arabian Desert on the other. These eruptions, probably intermittent, continued into the succeeding Glacial or Pluvial period, and only died out about the time that the earliest inhabitants appeared on the scene. (_c._) _The Jaulân and Haurân._--This tract is bounded by the valley of the Jordan and the Sea of Galilee on the west, from which it rises by steep and rocky declivities into an elevated table-land, drained by the Yarmûk (Hieromax), the Nahr er Rukkâd, and other streams, which flow westwards into the Jordan along deep channels in which the basaltic sheets and underlying limestone strata are well laid open to view. On consideration it seems improbable that the great sheets of augitic lava, such as cover the surface of the land of Bashan, are altogether the product of the volcanic mountains which appear to be confined to special districts in this wide area. Some of the craters do indeed send forth visible lava-streams, but they are insignificant as compared with the general mass of the plateau-basalts; and the crater-cones themselves appear in some cases to be posterior to the platforms of basalt from which they rise. It is very probable, therefore, that the lavas of this region have, in the main, been extruded from fissures of eruption at an early period, and spread over the surface of the country in the same manner as those of the Snake River region, and the borders of the Pacific Ocean of North America, and possibly of the Antrim Plateau in Ireland, afterwards to be described. The volcanic hills which rise above the plateau are described in detail by Schumacher. Of these, Tell Abû Nedîr is the largest in the Jaulân. It reaches an elevation of 4132 feet above the Mediterranean Sea, and 1710 feet above the plain from which it rises; the circumference of its base is three miles, and the rim of the crater itself, which is oval in form, is 1331 yards in its larger diameter. The interior is cultivated by Circassians, and is very fruitful; the walls descend at an angle of about 30° on the inside, the exterior slope of the mountain being about 22°. The cone seems to be formed chiefly of scoriæ, and the lava-stream, which issues forth from the interior, forms a frightfully stony and lacerated district.[7] [Illustration: Fig. 24.--Extinct Craters in the Jaulân, north-east from the Sea of Galilee, called Tell Abû en Nedâ and Tell el Urâm, with a central cone.--(After Schumacher.)] Another remarkable volcano is the Tell Abû en Nedâ (Fig. 24). This is a double crater, with a cone (probably of cinders) rising from the interior of one of them. The highest point of the rim of one of the craters reaches a level of 4042 feet above the sea. A lava-stream issues forth from Abû en Nedâ, and unites with another from a neighbouring volcano. Tell el Ahmâr is a ruptured crater of imposing aspect, reaching an elevation of 4060 feet, and sending forth a lava-current, which falls in regular terraces from the outlet towards the west and north. The ruptured crater of Tell el Akkasheh, which reaches a height of 3400 feet, has a less forbidding aspect than the greater number of the extinct volcanoes of this region, owing to the fact that its sides are covered by oaks, which attain to magnificent proportions along the summit. Numerous other volcanic hills occur in this district, but the most remarkable is that called Tell el Farras (the Hill of the Horse). It is an isolated mountain, visible from afar, and reaches an elevation of 3110 feet, or nearly 800 feet above the surrounding plain. The oval crater of this volcano opens towards the north, and has a depth of 108 feet below the edge, with moderately steep sloping sides (17°-32°), while the slope of the exterior, at first steep, gradually lessens to 20°-21°. These slopes are covered with reddish or yellowish slag. The above examples will probably suffice to afford the reader a general idea of the size and form of the volcanoes in this little known region. It has been stated above that the great lava-floods have probably been poured forth intermittently. The statement receives confirmation from the observations of Canon Tristram, made in the valley of the Yarmûk.[8] This impetuous torrent rushes down a gorge, sometimes having limestone on one side and a wall of basalt on the other. This is due to the fact that the river channel had been eroded before the volcanic eruptions had commenced; but on the lava-stream reaching the channel, it naturally descended towards the valley of the Jordan along its bed, displacing the river, or converting it into clouds of steam. Subsequently the river again hewed out its channel, sometimes in the lava, sometimes between this rock and the chalky limestone. But, in addition to this, it has been observed that there is a bed of river gravel interposed between two sheets of basalt in the Yarmûk ravine; showing that after the first flow of that molten rock the river reoccupied its channel, which was afterwards invaded by another molten lava-stream, into which the waters have again furrowed the channel which they now occupy. The basaltic sheets descend under the waters of the Sea of Galilee on the east side, and were probably connected with those of Safed, crossing the Jordan valley north of that lake; owing to this the waters of the Lake of Merom (Huleh) were pent up, and formerly covered an extensive tract, now formed of alluvial deposits. (_d._) _Land of Moab._--Proceeding southwards into the Land of Moab, the volcanic phenomena are here of great interest. Extensive sheets of basaltic lava, described as far back as 1807 by Seetzen, and more recently by Lartet and Tristram, are found at intervals between the Wâdies Mojib (Arnon) and Haidan. On either side of the Mojib, cliffs of columnar basalt are seen capping the beds of white Cretaceous limestone, while a large mass has descended into the W. Haidan between cliffs of limestone and marl on either hand. Around Jebel Attarus--a dome-shaped hill of limestone--a sheet of basaltic lava has been poured, and has descended the deep gorge of the Zerka Maïn, which enters the Dead Sea some 2000 feet below. This gorge had been eroded before the basaltic eruption, so that the stream of molten lava took its course down the bed of this stream to the water's edge, and grand sections have been laid bare by subsequent erosion along the banks. Pentagonal columns of black basalt form perpendicular walls, first on one side, then on the other; while considerable masses of scoriæ, peperino, and breccia appear at the head of the glen, probably marking the orifice of eruption. Other eruptions of basalt occur, one at Mountar ez Zara, to the south of Zerka Maïn, and another at Wady Ghuweir, near the north-eastern end of the Dead Sea. There are no lava-streams on the western side of the Ghor, or of the Dead Sea.[9] The outburst of the celebrated thermal springs of Callirrhoë, together with nine or ten others, along the channel of the Zerka Maïn, is a circumstance which cannot be dissociated from the occurrence of basaltic lava at this spot. In a reach of three miles, according to Tristram, there are ten principal springs, of which the fifth in descent is the largest; but the seventh and eighth, about half a mile lower down, are the most remarkable, giving forth large supplies of sulphurous water. The tenth and last is the hottest of all, indicating a temperature of 143° Fahr. Thus it would appear that the heat increases with the depth from the upper surface of the table-land; a result which might be expected, supposing the heated volcanic rocks to be themselves the source of the high temperature. To a similar cause may be attributed the hot-springs of Hammath, near Tiberias, and those of the Yarmûk near its confluence with the Jordan. Some of these and other springs break out along, or near, the line of the great Jordan-Arabah fault which ranges throughout the whole extent of this depression, from the base of Hermon to the Gulf of Akabah, generally keeping close to the eastern margin of the valley. (_e._) _The Arabian Desert._--The basaltic lava-floods occupy a very large extent of the Arabian Desert, from El Hisma (lat. 27° 35' N.) to the neighbourhood of Mecca on the south, a distance of about 440 miles, with occasional intervals. The lava-sheets are called "Harras" (or "Harrat"), one of which, Harrat Sfeina, terminates about ten miles north of Mecca. The lava-sheets rest sometimes on the red sandstone, at other times, on the granite and other crystalline rocks of great geological antiquity. In addition to the sheets of basalt, numerous crater-cones rise from the basaltic platform at a level of 5000 feet above the sea, and two volcanic mountains, rising far to the west of the principal range, called respectively Harrât Jeheyma and H. Rodwa, almost overlook the coast of the Red Sea.[10] (_f._) _Age of the Volcanic Eruptions._--It is very clear that the first eruptions, producing the great basaltic sheets of Moab and Arabia, occurred after the principal features of the country had been developed. The depression of the Jordan-Arabah valley, the elevation of the eastern side of this valley along the great fault line, and the channels of the principal tributary streams, such as those of the Yarmûk and Zerka Maïn, all these had been eroded out before they were invaded by the molten streams of lava. Now, as these physical features were developed and sculptured out during the Miocene period, as I have elsewhere shown to be the case,[11] we may with great probability refer the volcanic eruptions to the geological epoch following--namely, the Pliocene. How far downwards towards the historic period the eruptions continued is not so certain. Dr. Daubeny, quoting several passages from the Old Testament prophets,[12] says it might be inferred that volcanoes were in activity even so late as to admit of their being included within the limits of authentic history. The poetic language and imagery used in these passages by the prophets certainly lends a probability to this view, but nothing more. On the other hand, these regions have suffered through many centuries from the secondary effects of seismic action and subterranean forces, and earthquake shocks have laid in ruins the great temples and palaces of Palmyra, Baalbec, and other cities of antiquity. The same uncertainty regarding the time at which volcanic action died out, with reference to the appearance of man on the scene, hangs over the region of Arabia and Syria, as we have seen to be the case in reference to the extinct volcanoes of Auvergne, the Eifel, and the Lower Rhine. In all these cases the commencement and close of eruptive action appear to have been very much about the same period--namely, the Miocene period on the one hand, and that at which man entered upon the scene on the other; but in the case of Syria and Western Palestine, the close of the volcanic period may have been somewhat more than 2000 B.C. [1] Lake Phiala, near the Lake of Huleh, is also situated to the west of the Jordan valley. Its origin, according to Tristram, is volcanic. [2] Schumacher, "The Jaulân," _Quarterly Statement of the Palestine Exploration Fund_, 1886 and 1888; and _Across the Jordan_, London, 1886. [3] Lartet, _Voyage d'Exploration de la mer Morte_ (Géologie), Paris, 1880. [4] Tristram, _Land of Moab_, London, 1873; and _Land of Israel_, 1866. [5] Niebuhr, _Beschreibung von Arabien_, 1773. [6] C. M. Doughty, _Arabia Deserta_, 2 vols., 1888. A generalised account of this volcanic region by the author will be found in the "Memoir on the Physical Geology of Arabia Petræa, and Palestine," _Palestine Exploration Fund_, 1887. [7] Schumacher, _loc. cit._, p. 248. [8] _Land of Israel_, p. 461. [9] "Geology of Arabia Petræa, and Palestine," _Memoirs of the Palestine Exploration Fund_, p. 95. [10] Doughty, _loc. cit._, vol. i., plate vi., p. 416. An excellent geological sketch map accompanies this work. [11] "Memoir of the Geology of Arabia Petræa, and Palestine," chap. vi. p. 67. [12] Nahum, i. 5, 6; Micah, i. 3, 4; Isaiah, lxiv. 1-3; Jeremiah, l. 25. CHAPTER II. THE VOLCANIC REGIONS OF NORTH AMERICA. (_a._) _Contrast between the Eastern and Western Regions._--In no point is there a more remarkable contrast between the physical structure of Eastern and Western America than in the absence of volcanic phenomena in the former and their prodigious development in the latter. The great valley of the Mississippi and its tributaries forms the dividing territory between the volcanic and non-volcanic areas; so that on crossing the high ridges in which the western tributaries of America's greatest river have their sources, and to which the name of the "Rocky Mountains" more properly belongs, we find ourselves in a region which, throughout the later Tertiary times down almost to the present day, has been the scene of volcanic operations on the grandest scale; where lava-floods have been poured over the country through thousands of square miles, and where volcanic cones, vying in magnitude with those of Etna, Vesuvius, or Hecla, have established themselves. This region, generally known as "The Great Basin," is bounded on the west by the "Pacific Range" of mountains, and includes portions of New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Idaho, Oregon, Wyoming, Montana, and Washington. To the south it passes into the mountainous region of Mexico, also highly volcanic; and thence into the ridge of Panama and the Andes. It cannot be questioned but that the volcanic nature of the Great Basin is due to the same causes which have originated the volcanic outbursts of the Andes; but, from whatever cause, the volcanic forces have here entered upon their secondary or moribund stage. In the Yellowstone Valley, geysers, hot springs, and fumaroles give evidence of this condition. In other districts the lava-streams are so fresh and unweathered as to suggest that they had been erupted only a few hundred years ago; but no active vent or crater is to be found over the whole of this wide region. A few special districts only can here be selected by way of illustration of its special features in connection with its volcanic history. (_b._) _The Plateau Country of Utah and Arizona._--This tract, which is drained by the Colorado River and its tributaries, is bounded on the north by the Wahsatch range, and extends eastwards to the base of the Sierra Nevada. Round its margin extensive volcanic tracts are to be found, with numerous peaks and truncated cones--the ancient craters of eruption--of which Mount San Francisco is the culminating eminence. South of the Wahsatch, and occupying the high plateaux of Utah, enormous masses of volcanic products have been spread over an area of 9000 square miles, attaining a thickness of between 3000 and 4000 feet. The earlier of these great lava-floods appear to have been trachytic, but the later basaltic; and in the opinion of Captain Dutton, who has described them, they range in point of time from the Middle Tertiary (Miocene) down to comparatively recent times. (_c._) _The Grand Cañon._--To the south of the high plateaux of Utah are many minor volcanic mountains, now extinct; and as we descend towards the Grand Cañon of Colorado we find numerous cinder-cones scattered about at intervals near the cliffs.[1] Extensive lava-fields, surmounted by cinder-cones, occupy the plateau on the western side of the Grand Cañon; and, according to Dutton, the great sheets of basaltic lava, of very recent age, which occupy many hundred square miles of desert, have had their sources in these cones of eruption.[2] Crossing to the east of the Grand Cañon, we find other lava-floods poured over the country at intervals, surmounted by San Francisco--a volcanic mountain of the first magnitude--which reaches an elevation, according to Wheeler, of 12,562 feet above the ocean. It has long been extinct, and its summit and flanks are covered with snow-fields and glaciers. Other parts of Arizona are overspread by sheets of basaltic lava, through which old "necks" of eruption, formed of more solid lava than the sheets, rise occasionally above the surface, and are prominent features in the landscape. Further to the eastward in New Mexico, and near the margin of the volcanic region, is another volcanic mountain little less lofty than San Francisco, called Mount Taylor, which, according to Dutton, rises to an elevation of 11,390 feet above the ocean, and 8200 feet above the general level of the surrounding plateau of lava. This mountain forms the culminating point of a wide volcanic tract, over which are distributed numberless vents of eruption. Scores of such vents--generally cinder-cones--are visible in every part of the plateau, and always in a more or less dilapidated condition.[3] Mount Taylor is a volcano, with a central pipe terminating in a large crater, the wall of which was broken down on the east side in the later stage of its history. [Illustration: Fig. 25.--Mount Shasta (14,511 feet), a snow-clad volcanic cone in California, with Mount Shastina, a secondary crater, on the right; the valley between is filled with glacier-ice.--(After Dutton).] (_d._) _California._--Proceeding westwards into California, we are again confronted with volcanic phenomena on a stupendous scale. The coast range of mountains, which branches off from the Sierra Nevada at Mount Pinos, on the south, is terminated near the northern extremity of the State by a very lofty mountain of volcanic origin, called Mount Shasta, which attains an elevation of 14,511 feet (see Fig. 25). This mountain was first ascended by Clarence King in 1870,[4] and although forming, as it were, a portion of the Pacific Coast Range, it really rises from the plain in solitary grandeur, its summit covered by snow, and originating several fine glaciers. The summit of Mount Shasta is a nearly perfect cone, but from its north-west side there juts out a large crater-cone just below the snow-line, between which and the main mass of the mountain there exists a deep depression filled with glacier ice. This secondary crater-cone has been named Mount Shastina, and round its inner side the stream of glacier ice winds itself, sometimes surmounting the rim of the crater, and shooting down masses of ice into the great caldron. The length of this glacier is about three miles, and its breadth about 4000 feet. Another very lofty volcanic mountain is Mount Rainier, in the Washington territory, consisting of three peaks of which the eastern possesses a crater very perfect throughout its entire circumference. This mountain appears to be formed mainly of trachytic matter. Proceeding further north into British territory, several volcanic mountains near the Pacific Coast are said to exhibit evidence of activity. Of these may be mentioned Mount Edgecombe, in lat. 57°.3; Mount Fairweather, lat. 57°.20 which rises to a height of 14,932 feet; and Mount St. Elias, lat. 60°.5, just within the divisional line between British and Russian territory, and reaching an altitude of 16,860 feet. This, the loftiest of all the volcanoes of the North American continent, except those of Mexico, may be considered as the connecting link in the volcanic chain between the continent and the Aleutian Islands.[5] (_e._) _Lake Bonneville._--Returning to Utah we are brought into contact with phenomena of special interest, owing to the inter-relations of volcanic and lacustrine conditions which once prevailed over large tracts of that territory. The present Great Salt Lake, and the smaller neighbouring lakes, those called Utah and Sevier, are but remnants of an originally far greater expanse of inland water, the boundaries of which have been traced out by Mr. C. K. Gilbert, and described under the name of Lake Bonneville.[6] The waters of this lake appear to have reached their highest level at the period of maximum cold of the Post-Pliocene period, when the glaciers descended to its margin, and large streams of glacier water were poured into it. Eruptions of basaltic lava from successive craters appear to have gone on before, during, and after the lacustrine epochs; and the drying up of the waters over the greater extent of their original area, now converted into the Sevier Desert, and their concentration into their present comparatively narrow basins, appears to have proceeded _pari passu_ with the gradual extinction of the volcanic outbursts. Two successive epochs of eruption of basalt appear to have been clearly established--an earlier one of the "Provo Age," when the lava was extruded from the Tabernacle craters, and a later epoch, when the eruptions took place from the Ice Spring craters. The oldest volcanic rock appears to be rhyolite, which peers up in two small hills almost smothered beneath the lake deposits. Its eruption was long anterior to the lake period. On the other hand, the cessation of the eruptions of the later basaltic sheets is evidently an event of such recent date that Mr. Gilbert is led to look forward to their resumption at some future, but not distant, epoch. As he truly observes, we are not to infer that, because the outward manifestations of volcanic action have ceased, the internal causes of those manifestations have passed away. These are still in operation, and must make themselves felt when the internal forces have recovered their exhausted energies; but perhaps not to the same extent as before. (_f._) _Region of the Snake River._--The tract of country bordering the Snake River in Idaho and Washington is remarkable for the vast sheets of plateau-basalt with which it is overspread, extending sometimes in one great flood farther than the eye can reach, and what is still more remarkable, they are often unaccompanied by any visible craters or vents of eruption. In Oregon the plateau-basalt is at least 2,000 feet in thickness, and where traversed by the Columbia River it reaches a thickness of about 3,000 feet. The Snake and Columbia rivers are lined by walls of volcanic rock, basaltic above, trachytic below, for a distance of, in the former, one hundred, in the latter, two hundred, miles. Captain Dutton, in describing the High Plateau of Utah, observes that the lavas appear to have welled up in mighty floods without any of that explosive violence generally characteristic of volcanic action. This extravasated matter has spread over wide fields, deluging the surrounding country like a tide in a bay, and overflowing all inequalities. Here also we have evidence of older volcanic cones buried beneath seas of lava subsequently extruded. (_g._) _Fissures of Eruption._--The absence, or rarity, of volcanic craters or cones of eruption in the neighbourhood of these great sheets has led American geologists to the conclusion that the lavas were in many cases extruded from fissures in the earth's crust rather than from ordinary craters.[7] This view is also urged by Sir A. Geikie, who visited the Utah region of the Snake River in 1880, and has vividly described the impression produced by the sight of these vast fields of basaltic lava. He says, "We found that the older trachytic lavas of the hills had been deeply trenched by the lateral valleys, and that all these valleys had a floor of black basalt that had been poured out as the last of the molten materials from the now extinct volcanoes. There were no visible cones or vents from which these floods of basalt could have proceeded. We rode for hours by the margin of a vast plain of basalt stretching southward and westward as far as the eye could reach.... I realised the truth of an assertion made first by Richthofen,[8] that our modern volcanoes, such as Vesuvius and Etna, present us with by no means the grandest type of volcanic action, but rather belong to a time of failing activity. There have been periods of tremendous volcanic energy, when instead of escaping from a local vent, like a Vesuvian cone, the lava has found its way to the surface by innumerable fissures opened for it in the solid crust of the globe over thousands of square miles."[9] (_h._) _Volcanic History of Western America._--The general succession of volcanic events throughout the region of Western America appears to have been somewhat as follows:--[10] The earliest volcanic eruptions occurred in the later Eocene epoch and were continued into the succeeding Miocene stage. These consisted of rocks moderately rich in silica, and are grouped under the heads of propylite and andesite. To these succeeded during the Pliocene epoch still more highly silicated rocks of trachytic type, consisting of sanidine and oligoclase trachytes. Then came eruptions of rhyolite during the later Pliocene and Pleistocene epochs; and lastly, after a period of cessation, during which the rocks just described were greatly eroded, came the great eruptions of basaltic lava, deluging the plains, winding round the cones or plateaux of the older lavas, descending into the river valleys and flooding the lake beds, issuing forth from both vents and fissures, and continuing intermittently down almost into the present day--certainly into the period of man's appearance on the scene. Thus the volcanic history of Western America corresponds remarkably to that of the European regions with which we have previously dealt, both as regards the succession of the various lavas and the epochs of their eruption. (_i._) _The Yellowstone Park._--The geysers and hot springs of the Yellowstone Park, like those in Iceland and New Zealand, are special manifestations of volcanic action, generally in its secondary or moribund stage. The geysers of the Yellowstone occur on a grand scale; the eruptions are frequent, and the water is projected into the air to a height of over 200 feet. Most of these are intermittent, like the remarkable one known as Old Faithful, the Castle Geyser, and the Giantess Geyser described by Dr. Hayden, which ejects the water to a height of 250 feet. The geyser-waters hold large quantities of silica and sulphur in solution, owing to their high temperature under great pressure, and these minerals are precipitated upon the cooling of the waters in the air, and form circular basins, often gorgeously tinted with red and yellow colours.[11] [1] J. W. Powell, _Exploration of the Cañons of the Colorado_, pp. 114, 196. Major Powell describes a fault or fissure through which floods of lava have been forced up from beneath and have been poured over the surface. Many cinder-cones are planted along the line of this fissure. [2] Capt. C. E. Dutton. _Sixth Ann. Rep. U.S. Geol. Survey_, 1884-85. [3] Dutton, _loc. cit._, chap. iv. p. 165. [4] _Amer. Jour. Science_, vol. 3., ser. (1871). A beautiful map of this mountain is given in the _Fifth Annual Report, U.S. Geol. Survey_, 1883-84. Plate 44. [5] Daubeny, _loc. cit._, p. 474. [6] Gilbert, _Monograph U.S. Geol. Survey_, vol. i. (1890). [7] Powell, _Exploration of the Colorado River_, p. 177, etc. (1875). Hayden, _Rep. U.S. Geol. Survey of the Colorado, etc._ (1871-80). [8] Richthofen, _Natural System of Volcanic Rocks_, Mem. California Acad. Sciences, vol. i. (1868). [9] Geikie, _Geological Sketches at Home and Abroad_, p. 271 (1882). [10] Prestwich, _Geology_, vol. i. p. 370, quoting from Richthofen. [11] The origin of geysers is variously explained; see Prestwich, _Geology_, vol. i. p. 170. They are probably due to heated waters suddenly converted into steam by contact with rock at a high temperature. CHAPTER III. VOLCANOES OF NEW ZEALAND. One other region of volcanic action remains to be noticed before passing on to the consideration of those of less recent age. New Zealand is an island wherein seem to be concentrated all the phenomena of volcanic action of past and present time. Though it is doubtful if the term "active," in its full sense, can be applied to any of the existing craters (with two or three exceptions, such as Tongariro and Whakari Island), we find craters and cones in great numbers in perfectly fresh condition, extensive sheets of trachytic and basaltic lavas, ashes, and agglomerates; lava-floods descending from the ruptured craters of ashes and scoriæ; old crater-basins converted into lakes; geysers, hot springs and fumaroles which may be counted by hundreds, and cataracts breaking over barriers of siliceous sinter; and, lastly, lofty volcanic mountains vying in magnitude with Vesuvius and Etna. All these wonderful exhibitions of moribund volcanic action seem to be concentrated in the northern island of Auckland. The southern island, which is the larger, also has its natural attractions, but they are of a different kind; chief of all is the grand range of mountains called, not inappropriately, the "Southern Alps," vying with its European representative in the loftiness of its peaks and the splendour of its snowfields and glaciers, but formed of more ancient and solid rocks than those of the northern island. (_a._) _Auckland District._--We are indebted to several naturalists for our knowledge of the volcanic regions of New Zealand, but chiefly to Ferdinand von Hochstetter, whose beautiful maps and graphic descriptions leave nothing to be desired.[1] In this work Hochstetter was assisted by Julius Haast and Sir J. Hector. From their account we learn that the Isthmus of Auckland is one of the most remarkable volcanic districts in the world. It is characterised by a large number of extinct cinder-cones, in a greater or less perfect state of preservation, and giving origin to lava-streams which have poured down the sides of the hills on to the plains. Besides these are others formed of stratified tuff, with interior craters, surrounding in mural cliffs eruptive cones of scoriæ, ashes, and lapilli; these cones are scattered over the isthmus and shores of Waitemata and Manukau. The tuff cones and craters rise from a floor of Tertiary sandstone and shale, the horizontal strata of which are laid open in the precipitous bluffs of Waitemata and Manukau harbours; they sometimes contain fossil shells of the genera _Pecten_, _Nucula_, _Cardium_, _Turbo_, and _Neritæ_. As the volcanic tuff-beds are intermingled with the Upper Tertiary strata, it is inferred that the first outbursts of volcanic forces occurred when the region was still beneath the waters of the ocean. Cross-sections show that the different layers slope both outwards (parallel to the sides) and inwards towards the bottom of the craters. Sometimes these craters have been converted into lakes, as in the case of those of the Eifel; but generally they are dry or have a floor of morass. Of the crater-lakes, those of Kohuora, five in number, are perhaps the most remarkable; and in the case of two of these the central cones of slag appear as islets rising from the surface of the waters. The fresh-water lake Pupuka has a depth of twenty-eight fathoms. To the north of Auckland Harbour rises out of the waters of the Hauraki Gulf the cone of Rangitoto, 920 feet high, the flanks formed of rugged streams of basalt, and the summit crowned by a circular crater of slag and ash, out of the centre of which rises a second cone with the vent of eruption. This is the largest and newest of the Auckland volcanoes, and appears to have been built up by successive outpourings of basaltic lava from the central orifice, after the general elevation of the island. [Illustration: Fig. 26.--Forms of volcanic tuff cones, with their cross-sections, in the Province of Auckland.--No. 1. Simple tuff cone with central crater; No. 2. Outer tuff cone with interior cinder cone and crater; No. 3. The same with lava-stream issuing from the interior cone.--(After Hochstetter.)] Before leaving the description of the tuff-cones, which are a peculiar feature in the volcanic phenomena of New Zealand, and are of many forms and varieties, we must refer to that of Mount Wellington (Maunga Rei). This is a compound volcano, in which the oldest and smallest of the group is a tuff-crater-cone, exhibiting very beautifully the outward slope of its beds. Within this crater arise two cones of cinders, each with small craters. It would appear that after a long interval the larger of the two principal cones, formed of cinders and known as Mount Wellington, burst forth from the southern margin of the older tuff-cone, and, being built up to a height of 850 feet, gradually overspread the sides of its older neighbour. Mount Wellington itself has three craters, and from these large streams of basaltic lava have issued forth in a westerly direction, while a branch entered and partially filled the old tuff-crater to the northwards. Southwards from Manukau Harbour, and extending a short distance from the coast-line to Taranaki Point, there occurs a plateau of basalt-conglomerate (_Basaltkonglomerat_), with sheets of basaltic lava overspreading the Tertiary strata. These plateau-basalts are intersected by eruptive masses in the form of dykes, but still there are no craters or cones of eruption to be seen; so that we may infer that the sheets, at least, were extruded from fissures in the manner of those of the Colorado or Idaho regions of America. Proceeding still further south into the interior of the island, we here find a lofty plateau of an average elevation of 2,000 feet, interposed between the Tertiary beds of the Upper and Middle Waikato, and formed of trachytic and pitch-stone tuff, amongst which arise old extinct volcanic cones, such as those of Karioi, Pirongia, Kakepuku, Maunga Tautari, Aroha, and many others. These trachytic lavas would seem to be more ancient than the basaltic, previously described. (_b._) _Taupo Lake, and surrounding district._--But of all these volcanic districts, none is more remarkable than that surrounding the Taupo Lake, which lies amidst the Tertiary strata of the Upper Waikato Basin. The surface of this lake is 1,250 feet above that of the ocean, and its margin is enclosed within a border of rhyolite and pitchstone--rising into a mass of the same material 1,800 feet high on the eastern side. The form of the lake does not suggest that it is itself the crater of a volcano, but rather that it was originated by subsidence. On all sides, however, trachytic cones arise, of which the most remarkable group lies to the south of the lake, just in front of the two giant trachytic cones, the loftiest in New Zealand, one called Tongariro, rising about 6,500 feet, and the other Ruapahu, which attains an elevation of over 9,000 feet, with the summit capped by snow. These two lofty cones, standing side by side, are supposed by the Maoris to be the husband and wife to whom were born the group of smaller cones above referred to as occupying the southern shore of Taupo Lake. The volcano of Tongariro may still be considered as in a state of activity, as its two craters (Ngauruhoe and Ketetahi) constantly emit steam, and several solfataras break out on its flanks.[2] (_c._) _Roto Mahana._--In a northerly direction from Tongariro, and distant from the coast by a few miles, lies in the Bay of Plenty the second of the active volcanoes of New Zealand, the volcanic island of Whakari (White Island), from the crater of which are constantly erupted vast masses of steam clouds. The distance between these two active craters is 120 nautical miles; and along the tract joining them steam-jets and geysers issue forth from the deep fissures through which the lava sheets have formerly been extruded. Numerous lakes also occupy the larger cavities in the ground; and hot-springs, steam-fumaroles and solfataras burst out in great numbers along the banks of the Roto Mahana Lake and the Kaiwaka River by which it is drained. Amongst such eruptions of hot-water and steam we might expect the formation of siliceous sinter, and the deposition of sulphur and other minerals; nor will our expectations be disappointed. For here we have the wonderful terraces of siliceous sinter deposited by the waters entering Roto Mahana as they descend from the numerous hot-springs or pools near its margin. All travellers concur in describing these terraces as the most wonderful of all the wonders of the Lake district of New Zealand--so great is their extent, and so rich and varied is their colouring. The beautiful map of Roto Mahana on an enlarged scale by Hochstetter shows no fewer than ten large sinter terraces descending towards the margin of this lake, besides several mud-springs, fumaroles, and solfataras. But the largest and most celebrated of all the sinter terraces has within the last few years been buried from view beneath a flood of volcanic trass, or mud, an event which was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. In May, 1887, the mountain of Tarawera, which rises to the north-east of Roto Mahana, and on the line of eruption above described, suddenly burst forth into violent activity, covering the country for miles around with clouds of ashes, and, pouring down torrents of mud, completely enveloped the beautiful terrace of sinter which had previously been one of the wonders of New Zealand. By the same eruption several human beings were entombed, and their residences destroyed. The waters of Roto Mahana, together with the hot-springs and fountains are fed from rain, and from the waters of Taupo Lake, which, sinking through fissures in the ground, come in contact with the interior heated matter, and thus steam at high temperature and pressure is generated.[3] (_d._) _Moribund condition of New Zealand Volcanoes._--From what has been said, it will be inferred that in the case of New Zealand, as in those of Auvergne, the Eifel and Lower Rhine, Arabia, and Western America, we have an example of a region wherein the volcanic forces are well-nigh spent, but in which they were in a state of extraordinary activity throughout the later Tertiary, down to the commencement of the present epoch. In most of these cases the secondary phenomena of vulcanicity are abundantly manifest; but the great exhibitions of igneous action, when the plains were devastated by sheets of lava, and cones and craters were piled up through hundreds and thousands of feet, have for the present, at least, passed away. [1] _Geol.-topographischer Atlas von Neu-Seeland_, von Dr. Ferd. von Hochstetter und Dr. A. Petermann. Gotha: Justus Perthes (1863). Also _New Zealand_, trans. by E. Sauter, Stuttgart (1867). [2] Tongariro was visited in 1851 by Mr. H. Dyson, who describes the eruption of steam. [3] Mr. Froude figures and describes the two terraces, the "White" and "Pink," in _Oceana_, 2nd edition, pp. 285-291. PART IV. TERTIARY VOLCANIC DISTRICTS OF THE BRITISH ISLES. CHAPTER I. ANTRIM. It is an easy transition to pass from the consideration of European and other dormant, or extinct, volcanic regions to those of the British Isles, though the volcanic forces may have become in this latter instance quiescent for a somewhat longer period. In all the cases we have been considering, whether those of Central Italy, of the Rhine and Moselle, of Auvergne, or of Syria and Arabia, the cones and craters of eruption are generally present entire, or but slightly modified in form and size by the effects of time. But in the case of the Tertiary volcanic districts of the British Isles this is not so. On the contrary, these more prominent features of vulcanicity over the surface of the ground have been removed by the agents of denudation, and our observations are confined to the phenomena presented by extensive sheets of lava and beds of ash, or the stumps and necks of former vents of eruption, together with dykes of trap by which the plateau-lavas are everywhere traversed or intersected. The volcanic region of the British Isles extends at intervals from the North-east of Ireland through the Island of Mull and adjoining districts on the mainland of Morvern and Ardnamurchan into the Isle of Skye, and comprises several smaller islets; the whole being included in the general name of the Inner Hebrides. It is doubtful if the volcanic lavas of Co. Antrim were ever physically connected with those of the west of Scotland, though they may be considered as contemporary with them; and in all cases the existing tracts of volcanic rock are mere fragments of those originally formed by the extrusion of lavas from vents of eruption. In addition to these, there are large areas of volcanic rock overspread by the waters of the ocean. (_a._) _Geological Age._--The British volcanic eruptions now under consideration are all later than the Cretaceous period. Throughout Antrim, and in parts of Mull, the lavas are found resting on highly eroded faces either of the Upper Chalk (Fig. 27), or, where it has been altogether denuded away, on still older Mesozoic strata. From the relations of the basaltic sheets of Antrim to the Upper Chalk, it is clear that the latter formation, after its deposition beneath the waters of the Cretaceous seas, was elevated into dry land and exposed to a long period of subaërial erosion before the first sheets of lava invaded the surface of the ground. We are, therefore, tolerably safe in considering the first eruptions to belong to the Tertiary period; but the evidence, derived as it is exclusively from plant remains, is somewhat conflicting as to the precise epoch to which the lavas and beds of tuff containing the plant-remains are to be referred. The probabilities appear to be that they are of Miocene age; and if so, the trachytic lavas, which in Antrim are older than those containing plants, may be referred to a still earlier epoch--namely, that of the Eocene.[1] As plant remains are not very distinctive, the question regarding the exact time of the first volcanic eruptions will probably remain for ever undecided; but we are not likely to be much in error if we consider the entire volcanic period to range from the close of the Eocene to that of the Miocene; by far the greater mass of the volcanic rocks being referable to the latter epoch. In describing the British volcanic districts it will be most convenient to deal with them in three divisions--viz., those of Antrim, Mull, and Skye, commencing with Antrim.[2] (_b._) _Volcanic Area._--The great sheets of basalt and other volcanic products of the North-east of Ireland overspread almost the whole of the County Antrim, and adjoining districts of Londonderry and Tyrone, breaking off in a fine mural escarpment along the northern shore of Belfast Lough and the sea coast throughout the whole of its range from Larne Harbour to Lough Foyle; the only direction in which these features subside into the general level of the country being around the shores of Lough Neagh. Several outliers of the volcanic sheets are to be found at intervals around the great central plateau; such as those of Rathlin Island, Island Magee, and Scrabo Hill in Co. Down. The area of the basaltic plateau may be roughly estimated at 2,000 square miles. [Illustration: Fig. 27.--"The White Rocks," Portrush, Co. Antrim, showing the plateau-basalt resting on an eroded surface of the Upper Chalk, with bands of flint.--(From a photograph.)] The truncated edges of this marginal escarpment rising to levels of 1,000 to 1,260 feet, as in the case of Benevenagh in Co. Derry, and 1,825 feet at Mullaghmore, attest an originally greatly more extended range of the basaltic sheets; and it is not improbable that at the close of the Miocene epoch they extended right across the present estuary of Lough Foyle to the flanks of the mountains of Inishowen in Donegal in one direction, and to those of Slieve Croob in the other. In the direction of Scotland the promontories of Kintyre and Islay doubtless formed a part of the original margin. Throughout this vast area the volcanic lavas rest on an exceedingly varied rocky floor, both as regards composition and geological age. (See Fig. 28.) Throughout the central, southern, eastern, and northern parts of their extent, the Chalk formation may be considered to form this floor; but in the direction of Armagh and Tyrone, towards the southwestern margin, the basaltic sheets are found resting indiscriminately on Silurian, Carboniferous, and Triassic strata. The general relations of the plateau-basalts to the underlying formations show, that at the close of the Cretaceous period there had been considerable terrestrial disturbances and great subaërial denudation, resulting in some cases in the complete destruction of the whole of the Cretaceous strata, before the lava floods were poured out; owing to which, these latter are found resting on formations of older date than the Cretaceous.[3] [Illustration: Fig. 28.--Section across the volcanic plateau of Antrim, from the Highlands of Inishowen, Co. Donegal, on the N.W., to Belfast Lough on the S.E., to show the relations of the volcanic rocks to the older formations.--B. Basaltic sheets breaking off in high escarpments; T. Trachyte porphyry of Tardree mountain rising from below the newer plateau-basalts; C. Upper Chalk with flints; N.R. New Red marl and sandstone (Trias); M. Metamorphic beds of quartzite, various schists and crystalline limestone; F. Large fault.] [1] Mr. J. Starkie Gardner, from a recent comparison of the plant-remains of Antrim and Mull, concludes that "that they might belong to any age between the beginning and the end of the warmer Eocene period; and that they cannot be of earlier, and are unlikely to be of later, date."--_Trans. Palæont. Soc._, vol. xxxvii. (1883). [2] Having dealt with this district rather fully in _The Physical Geology and Geography of Ireland_ (Edit. 1891, p. 81), and also in my Presidential Address (Section C.) at the meeting of the British Association, 1874, a brief review of the subject will be sufficient here, the reader being referred to the former treatises for fuller details. The following should also be consulted: Gen. Portlock, _Geology of Londonderry and Tyrone_ (1843); Sir A. Geikie, "History of Volcanic Action during the Tertiary Period in the British Isles," _Trans. Roy. Soc. Edinburgh_, 1888; and the _Descriptive Memoirs_ of the Geological Survey relating to this tract of country. [3] Owing to the superposition of the basaltic masses on beds of chalk throughout a long line of coast, we are presented with the curious spectacle of the whitest rocks in nature overlain by the blackest, as may be seen in the cliffs at Larne, Glenarm, Kinbane and Portrush. (See Fig. 27.) CHAPTER II. SUCCESSION OF VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS. (_c._) _First Stage._--The earliest eruptions of lava in the North-east of Ireland belonged to the highly acid varieties, consisting of quartz-trachyte with tridymite.[1] This rock rises to the surface at Tardree and Brown Dod hills and Templepatrick. It consists of a light-greyish felsitic paste enclosing grains of smoke-quartz, crystals of sanidine, plagioclase and biotite, with a little magnetite and apatite. It is a rock of peculiar interest from the fact that it is almost unique in the British Islands, and has its petrological counterpart rather amongst the volcanic hills of the Siebengebirge than elsewhere. It is generally consolidated with the columnar structure. [Illustration: Fig. 29.--Part of the section shown in the quarry at Templepatrick, showing the superposition of the basalt (_d_) to the trachyte (_b_), with the intervening bed of flint gravel (_c_). All these rocks are seen to rest upon an eroded surface of the Chalk formation (_a_).] The trachyte appears to have been extruded from one or more vents in a viscous condition, the principal vent being probably situated under Tardree mountain, where the rock occurs in greatest mass, and it probably arose as a dome-shaped mass, with a somewhat extended margin, above the floor of Chalk which formed the surface of the ground.[2] (Fig. 27.) At Templepatrick the columnar trachyte may be observed resting on the Chalk, or upon a layer of flint gravel interposed between the two rocks, and which has been thrust out of position by a later intrusion of basalt coming in from the side.[3] It is to be observed, however, that the trachytic lavas nowhere appear cropping out along with the sheets of basalt around the escarpments overlooking the sea, or inland; showing that they did not spread very far from their vents of eruption; a fact illustrating the lower viscosity, or fluidity, of the acid lavas as compared with those of the basic type. (_d._) _Second Stage._--After an interval, probably of long duration, a second eruption of volcanic matter took place over the entire area; but now the acid lavas of the first stage are replaced by basic lavas. Now, for the first time, vast masses of basalt and dolerite are extruded both from vents of eruption and fissures; and, owing to their extreme viscosity, spread themselves far and wide until they reach the margin of some uprising ground of old Palæozoic or Metamorphic rocks by which the volcanic plain is almost surrounded. The great lava sheets thus produced are generally more or less amorphous, vesicular and amygdaloidal, often exhibiting the globular concentric structure, and weathering rapidly to a kind of ferruginous sand or clay under the influence of the atmosphere. Successive extrusions of these lavas produce successive beds, which are piled one over the other in some places to a depth of 600 feet; and at the close of the stage, when the volcanic forces had for the time exhausted themselves, the whole of the North-east of Ireland must have presented an aspect not unlike that of one of those great tracts of similar lava in the region of Idaho and the Snake River in Western America, described in a previous chapter. (_e._) _Third Stage (Inter-volcanic)._--The third stage may be described as inter-volcanic. Owing to the formation of a basin, probably not deep, and with gently sloping sides, a large lake was formed over the centre of the area above described. Its floor was basalt, and the streams from the surrounding uplands carried down leaves and stems of trees, strewing them over its bed. Occasionally eruptions of ash took place from small vents, forming the ash-beds with plants found at Ballypallidy, Glenarm, and along the coast as at Carrick-a-raide. The streams also brought down sand and gravel from the uprising domes of trachyte, and deposited them over the lake-bed along with the erupted ashes.[4] The epoch we are now referring to was one of economic importance; as, towards its close, there was an extensive deposition of pisolitic iron-ore over the floor of the lake, sometimes to the depth of two or three feet. This ore has been extensively worked in recent years. [Illustration: Fig. 30.--Cliff section above the Giant's Causeway, coast of Co. Antrim, showing successive tiers of basaltic lava, with intervening bands of bole.] (_f._) _Fourth Stage (Volcanic)._--The last stage described was brought to a termination by a second outburst of basic lavas on a scale probably even grander than the preceding. These lavas consisting of basalt and dolerite, with their varieties, and extruded from vents and fissures, spread themselves in all directions over the pre-existing lake deposits or the older sheets of augitic lava, and probably entirely buried the trachytic hills. These later sheets solidified into more solid masses than those of the second stage. They form successive terraces with columnar structure, each terrace differing from that above and below it in the size and length of the columns, and separated by thin bands of "bole" (decomposed lava), often reddish in colour, clearly defining the limits of the successive lava-flows. Nowhere throughout the entire volcanic area are these successive terraces so finely laid open to view as along the north coast of Antrim, where the lofty mural cliffs, worn back into successive bays with intervening headlands by the irresistible force of the Atlantic waves, present to the spectator a vertical section from 300 to 400 feet in height, in which the successive tiers of columnar basalt, separated by thin bands of bole, are seen to rise one above the other from the water's edge to the summit of the cliff, as shown in Fig. 30. Here, also, at the western extremity of the line of cliffs we find that remarkable group of vertical basaltic columns, stretching from the base of the cliff into the Atlantic, and known far and wide by the name of "The Giant's Causeway," the upper ends of the columns forming a tolerably level surface, gently sloping seawards, and having very much the aspect of an artificial tesselated pavement on a huge scale. A portion of the Causeway, with the cliff in the background, is shown in the figure (Fig. 31). The columns are remarkable for their symmetry, being generally hexagonal, though occasionally they are pentagons, and each column is horizontally traversed by joints of the ball-and-socket form, thus dividing them into distinct courses of natural masonry. These are very well shown in the accompanying view of the remarkable basaltic pillars known as "The Chimneys," which stand up from the margin of the headland adjoining the Causeway, monuments of past denudation, as they originally formed individuals amongst the group belonging to one of the terraces in the adjoining coast.[5] (Fig. 32). [Illustration: Fig. 31.--The Giant's Causeway, formed of basaltic columns in a vertical position, and of pentagonal or hexagonal section; above the Causeway is seen a portion of the cliff composed of tiers of lava with intervening bands of bole, etc.--(From a photograph.)] [Illustration: Fig. 32.--"The Chimneys," columns of basalt on slope of cliff overlooking the Atlantic, north coast of Co. Antrim. The horizontal segments, or cup-and-ball joints, of the columns are well shown in this figure. (From a photograph.)] (_g._) _Original Thickness of the Antrim Lavas._--It is impossible to determine with certainty what may have been the original thickness of the accumulated sheets of basic lavas with their associated beds of ash and bole. The greatest known thickness of the lower zone of lavas is, as I have already stated, about 600 feet. The intermediate beds of ash and bole sometimes attain a thickness of 40 feet, and the upper group of basalt about 400 feet; these together would constitute a series of over 1,000 feet in thickness. But this amount, great as it is, is undoubtedly below the original maximum, as the uppermost sheets have been removed by denuding agencies, we know not to what extent. Nor is it of any great importance. Sufficient remains to enable us to form a just conception of the magnitude both as regards thickness and extent of the erupted matter of the Miocene period over the North-east of Ireland and adjoining submerged tracts, and of the magnitude of the volcanic operations necessary for the production of such masses. (_h._) _Volcanic Necks._--As already remarked, no craters of eruption survive throughout the volcanic region of the North-east of Ireland, owing to the enormous extent of the denudation which this region has undergone since the Miocene Epoch; but the old "necks" of such craters--in other words, the pipes filled with either solid basalt, or basalt and ashes--are still to be found at intervals over the whole area. Owing to the greater solidity of the lava which filled up these "necks" over the plateau-basaltic sheets which surround them, they appear as bosses or hills rising above the general level of the ground. One of these bosses of highly columnar basalt occurs between Portrush and Bushmills, not far from Dunluce Castle, another at Scawt Hill, near Glenarm, and a third at Carmoney Hill above Belfast Lough. But by far the most prominent of these old solidified vents of eruption is that of Sleamish, a conspicuous mountain which rises above the general level of the plateau near Ballymena, and attains an elevation of 1,437 feet above the sea. Seen from the west, the mountain has the appearance of a round-topped cone; but on examination it is found to be in reality a huge dyke, breaking off abruptly towards the north-west, in which direction it reaches its greatest height, then sloping downwards towards the east. This form suggests that Sleamish is in reality one of the fissure-vents of eruption rather than the neck of an old volcano. The rock of which it is formed consists of exceedingly massive, coarsely-crystalline dolerite, rich in olivine, and divided into large quadrangular blocks by parallel joint planes. Its junction with the plateau-basalt from which it rises can nowhere be seen; but at the nearest point where the two rocks are traceable the plateau-basalt appears to be somewhat indurated; breaking with a splintery fracture and a sharp ring under the hammer, suggesting that the lava of Sleamish had been extruded through the horizontal sheets, and had considerably indurated the portions in contact with, or in proximity to, it.[6] Amongst the vents filled with ash and agglomerate, the most remarkable is that of Carrick-a-raide, near Ballycastle. It forms this rocky island and a portion of the adjoining coast, where the beds of ash are finely displayed; consisting of fragments and bombs of basalt, with pieces of chalk, flint, and peperino, which is irregularly bedded. These ash-beds attain a thickness of about 120 feet just below the road to Ballycastle, but rapidly tail out in both directions from the locality of the vent. Just below the ash-beds, the white chalk with flints may be seen extending down into the sea-bed. Nowhere in Antrim is there such a display of volcanic ash and agglomerate as at this spot.[7] (_i._) _Dykes: Conditions under which they were Erupted._--No one can visit the geological sections in Co. Antrim and the adjoining districts of Down, Armagh, Derry, and Tyrone, without being struck by the great number and variety of the igneous dykes by which the rocks are traversed. The great majority of these dykes are basaltic, and they are found traversing all the formations, including the Cretaceous and Tertiary basaltic sheets. The Carlingford and Mourne Mountains are seamed with such dykes, and they are splendidly laid open to view along the coast south of Newcastle in Co. Down, as also along the Antrim coast from Belfast to Larne. The fine old castle of Carrickfergus has its foundations on one of those dyke-like intrusions, but one of greater size than ordinary. All the dykes here referred to are not, however, of the same age, as is conclusively proved by sections amongst the Mourne Mountains where cliffs of Lower Silurian strata, superimposed on the intrusive granite of the district, exhibit two sets of basaltic dykes--one (the older) abruptly terminated at the granite margin, the other and newer penetrating the granite and Silurian rocks alike. It is not improbable that the older dykes belong to the Carboniferous or Permian age, while the newer are with equal probability of Tertiary age. Sir A. Geikie has shown that the Tertiary dykes of the North of Ireland are representatives of others occurring at intervals over the North of England, and Central and Western Scotland, all pointing towards the central region of volcanic activity; or in a parallel direction thereto, approximating to the N.W. in Ireland, the Island of Islay, and East Argyleshire, but in the centre of Scotland generally ranging from east to west.[8] The area affected by the dykes of undoubted Tertiary age Geikie estimates at no less than 40,000 square miles--a territory greater than either Scotland or Ireland, and equal to more than a third of the total land-surface of the British Isles;[9] and he regards them as posterior "to the rest of the geological structures of the regions which they traverse." It is clear that the dykes referred to belong to one great system of eruption or intrusion; and they may be regarded as the manifestation of the final effort of internal forces over this region of the British Isles. They testify to the existence of a continuous _magma_ (or shell) of augitic lava beneath the crust; and as the aggregate horizontal extent of all these dykes, or of the fissures which they fill, must be very considerable, it is clear that the crust through which they have been extruded has received an accession of horizontal space, and has been fissured by forces acting from beneath, as the late Mr. Hopkins, of Cambridge, had explained on mechanical grounds in his elaborate essay many years ago.[10] This view occurred to myself when examining the region of the North-east of Ireland, but I was not then aware that it had been dealt with on mathematical principles by so eminent a mathematician. The bulging of the crust is a necessary consequence of the absence of plication of the strata due to the extrusion of this enormous quantity of molten lava; and the intrusion of thousands of dykes over the North-east of Ireland, unaccompanied by foldings of the strata, must have added a horizontal space of several thousand feet to that region.[11] [1] A peculiar form of crystalline quartz first recognized in this rock by a distinguished German petrologist, the late Prof. A. von Lasaulx, who visited the district in 1876. [2] Sir A. Geikie has disputed the correctness of the view, which I advocated as far back as 1874, that the trachytic lavas of Antrim are the earliest products of volcanic action; but at the time he wrote his paper on the volcanic history of these islands, it was not known that pebbles of this trachyte are largely distributed amongst the ash-beds which occur in the very midst of the overlying basaltic sheets, as I shall have to explain later on. This discovery puts the question at rest as regards the relations of the two sets of rocks. [3] This remarkable section at the chalk quarries of Templepatrick the author has figured and described in the _Physical Geology and Geography of Ireland_, p. 99, 2nd edit. (1891), where the reader will find the subject discussed more fully than can be done here. [4] These pebbles were first noticed by Mr. McHenry, of the Irish Geological Survey, in 1890. [5] The vertical position of the columns of the Giant's Causeway is rather enigmatical. The Causeway cannot be a dyke, as has often been supposed, otherwise the columns would have been horizontal, _i.e._, at right angles to the sides of the dyke. Mr. R. G. Symes, of the Geological Survey, has suggested that the Causeway columns have been vertically lowered between two lines of fault, and that originally they formed a portion of the tier of beautiful columns seen in the cliff above, and known as "The Organ." [6] Sleamish and several other of the Antrim vents are described by Sir A. Geikie in the monograph already referred to, _loc. cit._, p. 101, _et seq._ Also in the _Expl. Memoirs of the Geological Survey of Ireland_. [7] A diagrammatised section of the Carrick-a-raide volcanic neck is given by Sir A. Geikie, _loc. cit._, p. 105. [8] Geikie, _loc. cit._, p. 29, _et seq._ [9] P. 32. The view that the crust of the earth has been horizontally extended by the intrusion of dykes is noticed by McCulloch in reference to the dykes of Skye. [10] Hopkins, _Cambridge Phil. Trans._, vol. vi. p. 1 (1836). [11] As suggested in my Presidential Address to Section C. of the British Association at Belfast, 1874. CHAPTER III. ISLAND OF MULL AND ADJOINING COAST. The Island of Mull, with the adjoining districts of Morvern and Ardnamurchan, forms the more southern of the two chief centres of Tertiary volcanic eruptions in the West of Scotland, that of Skye being the more northern. These districts have been the subject of critical and detailed study by several geologists, from McCulloch down to the present day; and amongst the more recent, Sir Archibald Geikie and Professor Judd hold the chief place. Unfortunately, the interpretation of the volcanic phenomena by these two accomplished observers has led them to very different conclusions as regards several important points in the volcanic history of these groups of islands; as, for example, regarding the relative ages of the plateau-basalts and the acid rocks, such as the trachytes and granophyres; again as regards the presence of distinct centres of eruption; and also as regards the relations of the gabbros of Skye to the basaltic sheets. Such being the case, it would appear the height of rashness on the part of the writer, especially in the absence of a detailed examination of the sections over the whole region, to venture on a statement of opinion regarding the points at issue; and he must, therefore, content himself with a brief account of the phenomena as gathered from a perusal of the writings of these and other observers,[1] guided also to some extent by the analogous phenomena presented by the volcanic region of the North-east of Ireland. (_a._) _General Features._--As in the case of the Antrim district, the Island of Mull and adjoining tracts present us with the spectacle of a vast accumulation of basaltic lava-flows, piled layer upon layer, with intervening beds of bole and tuff, up to a thickness, according to Geikie, of about 3,500 feet. At the grand headland of Gribon, on the west coast, the basaltic sheets are seen to rise in one sheer sweep to a height of 1,600 feet, and then to stretch away with a slight easterly dip under Ben More at a distance of some eight miles. This mountain, the upper part of which is formed of beds of ashes, reaches an elevation of 3,169 feet, so that the accumulated thickness of the beds of basalt under the higher part of the mountain must be at least equal to the amount stated above--that is, twice as great as the representative masses of Antrim. The base of the volcanic series is seen at Carsaig and Gribon to rest on Cretaceous and Jurassic rocks, like those of Antrim; hence the Tertiary age is fully established by the evidence of superposition. This was further confirmed by the discovery by the Duke of Argyll,[2] some years ago (1850), of bands of flint-gravel and tuff, with dicotyledonous leaves amongst the basalts of Ardtun Head. The basement beds of tuff and gravel contain, besides pebbles of flint and chalk, others of sanidine trachyte, showing that highly acid lavas had been extruded and consolidated before the first eruption of the plateau-basalts; another point of analogy between the volcanic phenomenon of Antrim and the Inner Hebrides. These great sheets of augitic lava extend over the whole of the northern tract of Mull, the Isles of Ulva and Staffa, and for a distance of several miles inwards from the northern shore of the Sound of Mull, covering the wild moorlands of Morvern and Ardnamurchan, where they terminate in escarpments and outlying masses, indicating an originally much more extended range than at the present day. The summits of Ben More and its neighbouring height, Ben Buy, are formed of beds of ash and tuff. The volcanic plateau is, according to Judd, abruptly terminated along the southern side by a large vault, bringing the basalt in contact with Palæozoic rocks.[3] (_b._) _Granophyres._--The greater part of the tract lying to the south of Loch na Keal, which almost divides Mull into two islands, and extending southwards and eastwards to the shores of the Firth of Lorn and the Sound of Mull, is formed of a peculiar group of acid (or highly silicated) rocks, classed under the general term of "Granophyres." These rocks approach towards true granites in one direction, and through quartz-porphyry and felsite to rhyolite in another--probably depending upon the conditions of cooling and consolidation. In their mode of weathering and general appearance on a large scale, they present a marked contrast to the basic lavas with which they are in contact from the coast of L. na Keal to that of L. Buy. The nature of this contact, whether indicating the priority of the granophyres to the plateau-basalts or otherwise, is a matter of dispute between the two observers above named; but the circumstantial account given by Sir A. Geikie,[4] accompanied by drawings of special sections showing this contact, appears to prove that the granophyre is the newer of the two masses of volcanic rock, and that it has been intruded amongst the basaltic-lavas at a late period in the volcanic history of these islands. A copy of one of these sketches is here given (Fig. 33), according to which the felsite is shown to penetrate the basaltic sheets at Alt na Searmoin in Mull; other sections seen at Cruach Torr an Lochain, and on the south side of Beinn Fada, appear to lead to similar conclusions. These rocks are penetrated by numerous basaltic dykes. [Illustration: Fig. 33.--Section at Alt na Searmoin, Mull, to show the intrusion of felsite (or granophyre) (_b_) into basalt and dolerite (_a_) of the plateau-basalt series.--(Geikie.)] (_c._) _Representative Rocks of Mourne and Carlingford, Ireland._--Assuming Sir A. Geikie's view to be correct, it is possible that we may have in the granite and quartz-porphyries of Mourne and Carlingford representatives of the granites, granophyres, and other acid rocks of the later period of Mull. The granite of Mourne is peculiar in structure, and differs from the ordinary type of that rock in which the silica forms the ground mass. In the case of the granite of the Mourne Mountains, the rock consists of a crystalline granular aggregate of orthoclase, albite, smoke-quartz, and mica; it is also full of drusy cavities, in which the various minerals crystallise out in very perfect form. As far as regards direct evidence, the age of this rock can only be stated to be post-Carboniferous, and earlier than certain Tertiary basaltic dykes by which it is traversed. The granophyres of Mull are traversed by similar dykes, which are representatives of the very latest stage of volcanic action in the British Islands. The author is therefore inclined to concur with Sir A. Geikie in assigning to the granite of the Mourne Mountains, and the representative felsitic rocks of the Carlingford Mountains, a Tertiary age--in which case the analogy between the volcanic phenomena of the Inner Hebrides and of the North-east of Ireland would seem to be complete.[5] [1] Geikie, _Proc. Roy. Soc. Edinburgh_ (1867); _Brit. Assoc. Rep._ (Dundee, 1867); "Tertiary Volcanic Rocks of the British Isles," _Quart. Journ. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxvii. p. 279; also, "History of Volcanic Action in British Isles," _Trans. Roy. Soc. Edin._ (1888); Judd, "On the Ancient Volcanoes of the Highlands," etc., _Quart. Journ. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxx. p. 233; and _Volcanoes_, p. 139. [2] _Brit. Assoc. Rep._ for 1850, p. 70. [3] Judd, _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxx. p. 242. [4] _History of Volcanic Action, etc._, _loc. cit._ p. 153, _et seq._ The "Granophyres" of Geikie come under the head of "Felsites," passing into "granite" in one direction and quartz-trachyte in another, according to Judd; the proportion of silica from 69 to 75 per cent.--_Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxx. p. 235. [5] This view the author has expressed in a recent edition of _The Physical Geology of Ireland_, p. 177 (1891). CHAPTER IV. ISLE OF SKYE. This is the largest and most important of all the Tertiary volcanic districts, but owing to the extensive denudation to which, in common with other Tertiary volcanic regions of the British Isles, it has been subjected, its present limits are very restricted comparatively to its original extent. Not only is this evident from the manner in which the basaltic sheets terminate along the sea-coast in grand mural cliffs, as opposite "Macleod's Maidens," and at the entrance to Lough Bracadale on the western coast, but the evidence is, according to Sir A. Geikie, still more striking along the eastern coast; showing that the Jurassic, and other older rocks there visible, were originally buried deep under the basaltic sheets which have been stripped from off that part of the country. These great plateau-basalts occupy about three-fourths of the entire island along the western and northern areas, rising into terraced mountains over 2,000 feet in height, and are deeply furrowed by glens and arms of the sea, along which the general structure of the tableland is laid open, sometimes for leagues at a time. It is towards the south-eastern part of the island that the most interesting and important phenomena are centred; for here we meet with representatives of the acid (or highly silicated) group of rocks, and of remarkable beds of gabbro, which have long attracted the attention of petrologists. These latter beds, throughout a considerable distance round the flanks of the Cuillin Hills, are interposed between the acid rocks and the plateau-basalts; but towards the north, on approaching Lough Sligahan, the acid rocks, consisting of granophyres, quartz-porphyries, and hornblendic-granitites, are in direct contact with the plateau-basalts; and, according to the very circumstantial account of Sir A. Geikie, are intrusive into them; not only sending veins into the basaltic sheets, but also producing a marked alteration in their structure where they approach the newer intrusive mass. Equally circumstantial is the same author's account of the relations of the granophyres to the gabbros,[1] as seen at Meall Dearg and the western border of the Cuillin Hills--where the former rock may be seen to send numerous veins into the latter. Not only is this so, but the granophyre is frequently seen to truncate, and abruptly terminate some of the basaltic dykes by which the basic sheets are traversed--as in the neighbourhood of Beinn na Dubhaic. All these phenomena strongly remind us of the conditions of similar rocks amongst the mountains of Mourne and Carlingford in Ireland; where, at Barnaveve, the syenite (or hornblendic quartz-felsite) is seen to break through the masses of olivine gabbro, and send numerous veins into this latter rock.[2] The interpretation here briefly sketched differs widely from that arrived at by Professor Judd. The granitoid masses of the Red Mountains (Beinn Dearg) and the neighbouring heights are, in his view, the roots of the great volcano from which were erupted the various lavas; the earlier eruptions producing the acid lavas, to be followed by the gabbros, and these by the plateau-basaltic sheets, which stretch away towards the north and west into several peninsulas. Thus he holds that "the rocks of basic composition were ejected subsequently to those of the acid variety," and appeals to various sections in confirmation of this view.[3] To reconcile these views is at present impossible; but as the controversy between these two observers is probably not yet closed, there is room for hope that the true interpretation of the relations of these rocks to each other will ere long be fully established. [1] Geikie, _loc. cit._, p. 161, etc. [2] _Physical Geology of Ireland_, 2nd edition, p. 174 (Fig. 21). Professor Judd has also come to the conclusion that the granite of Mourne is of Tertiary age, _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxx. p. 275. [3] Judd, _loc. cit._, p. 254. CHAPTER V. THE SCUIR OF EIGG. Amongst the more remarkable of the smaller islets are those of Eigg, Rum, Canna, and Muck, lying between Mull on the south and Skye on the north, and undoubtedly at one time physically connected together. The Island of Eigg is especially remarkable for the fact, as stated by Geikie, that here we have the one solitary case of "a true superficial stream of acid lava--that of the Scuir of Eigg."[1] (Fig. 34.) This forms a sinuous ridge, composed of pitchstone of several kinds, of over two miles in length, rising from the midst of a tableland of bedded basalt and tuff to a height of 1,289 feet above the ocean; the plateau-basalt is traversed by basaltic dykes, ranging in a N.W.-S.E. direction. But what is specially remarkable is the evidence afforded by an examination of the course of the Scuir, that it follows the channel of an ancient river-valley, which has been hollowed out in the surface of the plateau. The course of this channel is indicated by the presence of a deposit of river-gravel, which in some places forms a sort of cushion between the base of the Scuir and the side of the channel. Over this gravel-bed the viscous pitchstone-lava appears to have flowed, taking possession of the river-channel, and also of the beds of several small tributary streams which flowed into the channel of the Scuir. The recent date of the pitchstone forming this remarkable mural ridge, once occupying the bed of a river-channel, is shown by the fact that the basaltic dykes which traverse the plateau-basalts are truncated by the river-gravel, which is, therefore, more recent; and, as we have seen, the pitchstone stream is more recent than the river-gravel. But at the time when this last volcanic eruption took place, the physical geography of the whole region must have been very different from that of the present time. From the character and composition of the pebbles in the old river-bed, amongst which are Cambrian sandstone, quartzite, clay-slate, and white Jurassic limestone, Sir A. Geikie concludes that when the river was flowing, the island must have been connected with the mainland to the east where the parent masses of these pebbles are found. [Illustration: Fig. 34.--View of the Scuir of Eigg from the east. The lower portion of the mountain is formed of bedded basalt, or dolerite with numerous dykes and veins of basalt, felstone, and pitchstone; the upper cliff, or Scuir, is composed of pitchstone of newer age, the remnant of a lava flow which once filled a river channel in the basaltic sheets. A dyke, or sheet, of porphyry is seen to be interposed between the Scuir and the basaltic sheets.--(After Geikie.)] _Effects of Denudation._--The position of the Scuir of Eigg and its relations to the basaltic sheets show the enormous amount of denudation which these latter have undergone since the stream of pitchstone-lava filled the old river channel. The walls, or banks, of the channel have been denuded away, thus converting the pitchstone casting into a projecting wall of rock. That it originally extended outwards into the ocean to a far greater distance than at present is evident from the abruptly truncated face of the cliff; and yet this remarkable volcanic mass seems to have been, perhaps, the most recent exhibition of volcanic action to be found in the British Isles. It is perhaps, on this account, the most striking of the numerous examples exhibited throughout the West of Scotland and the North-east of Ireland of the enormous amount of denudation to which these districts have been subjected since the extinction of the volcanic fires; and this at a period to which we cannot assign a date more ancient than that of the Pliocene. Yet, let us consider for a moment to what physical vicissitudes these districts have been subjected since that epoch. Assuming, as we may with confidence, that the volcanic eruptions were subaërial, and that the tracts covered by the plateau-basalts were in the condition of dry land when the eruptions commenced, in this condition they continued in the main throughout the period of volcanic activity. But the eruptions had scarcely ceased, and the lava floods and dykes become consolidated, before the succeeding glacial epoch set in; when the snows and glaciers of the Scottish Highlands gradually descending from their original mountain heights, and spreading outwards in all directions, ultimately enveloped the whole of the region we are now considering until it was entirely concealed beneath a mantle of ice moving slowly, but irresistibly, outwards towards the Atlantic, crossing the deep channels, such as the Sound of Mull and the Minch, climbing up the sides of opposing rocks and islands until even the Outer Hebrides and the North-east of Ireland were covered by one vast mantle of ice and snow. The movement of such a body of ice over the land must have been attended with a large amount of abrasion of the rocky floor; nor have the evidences of that abrasion entirely disappeared even at the present day. We still detect the grooves and scorings on the rock-surfaces where they have been protected by a coating of boulder clay; and we still find the surface strewn with the blocks and _débris_ of that mighty ice-flood. But whatever may have been the amount of erosion caused by the great ice-sheet, it was chiefly confined to the more or less horizontal surface-planes. Erosion of another kind was to succeed, and to produce more lasting effects on the configuration of the surface. On the disappearance of the ice-sheet, an epoch characterised by milder conditions of climate set in. This was accompanied by subsidence and submersion of large tracts of the land during the Interglacial stage; so that the sea rose to heights of several hundred feet above the present level, and has left behind stratified gravels with shells at these elevations in protected places. During this period of depression and of subsequent re-emergence the wave-action of the Atlantic waters must have told severely on the coast and islands, wearing them into cliffs and escarpments, furrowing out channels and levelling obstructions. Such action has gone on down to the present day. The North-west of Scotland and of Ireland has been subjected throughout a very lengthened period to the wear and tear of the Atlantic billows. In the case of the former, the remarkable breakwater which nature has thrown athwart the North-west Highlands in the direction of the waves, forming the chain of islands constituting the Outer Hebrides, and composed of very tough Archæan gneiss and schist, has done much to retard the inroads which the waves might otherwise have made on the Isle of Skye; while Coll and Tiree, composed of similar materials, have acted with similar beneficent effect for Mull and the adjoining coasts. But such is the tremendous power of the Atlantic billows when impelled by westerly winds, that to their agency must be mainly attributed the small size of the volcanic land-surfaces as compared with their original extent, and the formation of those grand headlands which are presented by the igneous masses of Skye, Ardnamurchan, and Mull towards the west. Rain and river action, supplemented by that of glaciers, have also had a share in eroding channels and wearing down the upper surface of the ground, with the result we at present behold in the wild and broken scenery of the Inner Hebrides and adjoining coast. [1] Geikie, _loc. cit._, p. 178; also _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. xxvii. p. 303. CHAPTER VI. ISLE OF STAFFA. Reference has been made to this remarkable island in a former page, but some more extended notice is desirable before leaving the region of the Inner Hebrides. Along with the islands of Pladda, Treshnish, and Blackmore, Staffa is one of the outlying volcanic islands of the group, being distant about six miles from the coast of Mull, and indicates the minimum distance to which the plateau-basaltic sheets originally extended in the direction of the old marginal lands of Tiree and Coll. The island consists of successive sheets of bedded basaltic lava, with partings of tuff, one of which of considerable thickness is shown to lie at the base of the cliff on the south-west side of the island.[1] The successive lava-sheets present great varieties of structure, like those on the north coast of Antrim; some being amorphous, others columnar, with either straight or bent columns. The lava-sheet out of which Fingal's Cave is excavated consists of vertical prisms, beautifully formed, and surmounted by an amorphous mass of the same material. At the entrance of the Boat Cave we have a somewhat similar arrangement of the columns;[2] but at the Clam-shell Cave the prisms are curved, indicating some movement in the viscous mass before they had been fully consolidated. Fingal's Cave is called after the celebrated prince of Morvern (or Morven), a province of ancient Caledonia. He is supposed to have been the father of Ossian, the Celtic bard rendered famous by Macpherson. The cave, one of many which pierce the coast-cliffs of Western Scotland, is 227 feet in length, 166 feet in height, and 40 feet in width. On all sides regular columns of basalt, some entire, others broken, rise out of the water and support the roof. The cave is only accessible in calm weather. [1] A drawing of this cliff is given by Geikie in the _Manual of Geology_ (Jukes and Geikie), 3rd edition, p. 277. [2] Prestwich, _Geology_, vol. i. p. 281, where a view of this cave is given. PART V. PRE-TERTIARY VOLCANIC ROCKS. CHAPTER I. THE DECCAN TRAP-SERIES OF INDIA. The great outpourings of augitic lava of Tertiary and recent times which we have been considering appear to have been anticipated in several parts of the world, more especially in Peninsular India and in Africa, and it is desirable that we should devote a few pages to the description of these remarkable volcanic formations, as they resemble, both in their mode of occurrence and general structure, some of the great lava-floods of a more recent period we have been considering. Of the districts to be described, the first which claims our notice is the Deccan. (_a._) _Extent of the Volcanic Plateau._--The volcanic plateau of the Deccan stretches from the borders of the Western Ghats and the sea-coast near Bombay inland to Amarantak, at the head of the Narbudda River (long. 82° E.), and from Belgaum (lat. 15° 31' N.) to near Goona (lat. 24° 30'). The vast area thus circumscribed is far from representing the original extent of the tract overspread by the lava-floods, as outlying fragments of these lavas are found as far east as long. 84° E. in one direction, and at Kattiwar and Cutch in another. The present area, however, is estimated to be not less than 200,000 square miles.[1] (_b._) _Nature and Thickness of the Lava-flows._--This tract is overspread almost continuously by sheets of basaltic lava, with occasional bands of fresh-water strata containing numerous shells, figured and described by Hislop, and believed by him to be of Lower Eocene age. The lava-sheets vary considerably in character, ranging from finest compact basalt to coarsely crystalline dolerite, in which olivine is abundant. The columnar structure is not prevalent, the rock being either amorphous, or weathering into concentric shells. Volcanic ash, or bole, is frequently found separating the different lava-flows; and in the upper amygdaloidal sheets numerous secondary minerals are found, such as quartz, agate and jasper, stilbite and chlorite. The total thickness of the whole series, where complete, is about 6,000 feet, divided as follows: 1. Upper trap; with ash and inter-trappean beds 1,500 feet 2. Middle trap; sheets of basalt and ash 4,000 " 3. Lower trap; basalt with inter-trappean beds 500 " -------- 6,000 " ======== Throughout the region here described these great sheets of volcanic rock are everywhere approximately horizontal, and constitute a table-land of 3,000 to 4,000 feet in elevation, breaking off in terraced escarpments, and penetrated by deep river-valleys, of which the Narbudda is the most important. The foundation rock is sometimes metamorphic schist, or gneiss, at other times sandstone referred by Hislop to Jurassic age; and in no single instance has a volcanic crater or focus of eruption been observed. But outside the central trappean area volcanic foci are numerous, as in Cutch, the Rajhipla Hills and the Lower Narbudda valley. The original excessive fluidity of the Deccan trap is proved by the remarkable horizontality of the beds over large areas, and the extensive regions covered by very thin sheets of basalt or dolerite. (_c._) _Geological Age._--As regards the geological age of this great volcanic series much uncertainty exists, owing to the absence of marine forms in the inter-trappean beds. One single species, _Cardita variabilis_, has been observed as occurring in these beds, and in the limestone below the base of the trap at Dudukur. The _facies_ of the forms in this limestone is Tertiary; but there is a remarkable absence of characteristic genera. On the other hand, Mr. Blanford states that the bedded traps are seen to underlie the Eocene Tertiary strata with _Nummulites_ in Guzerat and Cutch,[2] which would appear to determine the limit of their age in one direction. On balancing the evidence, however, it is tolerably clear that the volcanic eruptions commenced towards the close of the Cretaceous period, and continued into the commencement of the Tertiary, thus bridging over the interval between the two epochs; and since the greater sheets have been exposed throughout the whole of the Tertiary and Quarternary periods, it is not surprising if they have suffered enormously from denuding agencies, and that any craters or cones of eruption that may once have existed have disappeared. [1] The Deccan Traps have been described by Sykes, _Geol. Trans._, 2nd Series, vol. iv.; also Rev. S. Hislop, "On the Geology of the Neighbourhood of Nagpur, Central India," _Quart. Journ. Geol. Soc._, vol. x. p. 274; and _Ibid._, vol. xvi. p. 154. Also, H. B. Medlicott and W. T. Blanford, _Manual of the Geology of India_, vol. i. (1879). [2] Blanford, _Geology of Abyssinia_, p. 185. CHAPTER II. ABYSSINIAN TABLE-LANDS. Another region in which the volcanic phenomena bear a remarkable analogy to those of Central India, just described, is that of Abyssinia. Nor are these tracts so widely separated that they may not be considered as portions of one great volcanic area extending from Abyssinia, through Southern Arabia, into Cutch and the Deccan, in the one direction, while the great volcanic cones of Kenia and Kilimanjaro, with their surrounding tracts of volcanic matter, may be the extreme prolongations in the other. Along this tract volcanic operations are still active in the Gulf of Aden; and cones quite unchanged in form, and evidently of very recent date, abound in many places along the coast both of Arabia and Africa. The volcanic formations of this tract are, however, much more recent than those which occupy the high plateaux of Central and Southern Abyssinia of which we are about to speak. (_a._) _Physical Features._--Abyssinia forms a compact region of lofty plateaux intersected by deep valleys, interposed between the basin of the Nile on the west, and the low-lying tract bordering the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean on the east. The plateaux are deeply intersected by valleys and ravines, giving birth to streams which feed the head waters of the Blue Nile (Bahr el Arak) and the Atbara. Several fine lakes lie in the lap of the mountains, of which the Zana, or Dembia, is the largest, and next Ashangi, visited by the British army on its march to Magdala in 1868, and which, from its form and the volcanic nature of the surrounding hills, appears to occupy the hollow of an extinct crater. The table-land of Abyssinia reaches its highest elevation along the eastern and southern margin, where its average height may be 8,000 to 10,000 feet; but some peaks rise to a height of 12,000 to 15,000 feet in Shoa and Ankobar.[1] (_b._) _Basaltic Lava Sheets._--An enormous area of this country seems to be composed of volcanic rocks chiefly in the form of sheets of basaltic lava, which rise into high plateaux, and break off in steep--sometimes precipitous--mural escarpments along the sides of the valleys. These are divisible into the following series:-- (1) _The Ashangi Volcanic Series._--The earliest forerunners of the more recent lavas seem to have been erupted in Jurassic times, in the form of sheets of contemporaneous basalt or dolerite amongst the Antola limestones which are of this period. But the great mass of the volcanic rocks are much more recent, and may be confidently referred to the late Cretaceous or early Tertiary epochs. Their resemblance to the great trappean series of Western India, even in minute particulars, is referred to by Mr. Blanford, who suggests the view that they belong to one and the same great series of lava-flows extruded over the surface of this part of the globe. This view is inherently probable. They consist of basalts and dolerites, generally amygdaloidal, with nodules of agate and zeolite, and are frequently coated with green-earth (chlorite). Beds of volcanic ash or breccia also frequently occur, and often contain augite crystals. At Senafé, hills of trachyte passing into claystone and basalt were observed by Mr. Blanford, but it is not clear what are their relations to the plateau-basaltic sheets.[2] (2) _Magdala Volcanic Series._--This is a more recent group of volcanic lavas, chiefly distinguished from the lower, or Ashangi, group, by the occurrence of thick beds of trachyte, usually more or less crystalline, and containing beautiful crystals of sanidine. The beds of trachyte break off in precipitous scarps, and being of great thickness and perfectly horizontal, are unusually conspicuous. Mr. Blanford says, with regard to this group, that there is a remarkable resemblance in its physical aspect to the scenery of the Deccan and the higher valleys of the Western Ghats of India, but the peculiarities of the landscape are exaggerated in Abyssinia. Many of the trachytic beds are brecciated and highly columnar; sedimentary beds are also interstratified with those of volcanic origin. The Magdala group is unconformable to that of Ashangi in some places. A still more recent group of volcanic rocks appears to occur in the neighbourhood of Senafé, consisting of amorphous masses of trachyte, often so fine-grained and compact as to pass into claystone and to resemble sandstone. At Akub Teriki the rocks appear to be in the immediate vicinity of an ancient vent of eruption. From what has been said, it will be apparent that Abyssinia offers volcanic phenomena of great interest for the observer. There is considerable variety in the rock masses, in their mode of distribution, and in the scenery which they produce. The extensive horizontal sheets of lava are suggestive of fissure-eruption rather than of eruption through volcanic craters; and although these may have once been in existence, denudation has left no vestiges of them at the present day. In all these respects the resemblance of the volcanic phenomena to those of Peninsular India is remarkably striking; it suggests the view that they are contemporaneous as regards the time of their eruption, and similar as regards their mode of formation. [1] W. T. Blanford, _Geology of Abyssinia_, pp. 151-2. [2] Blanford, _loc. cit._, p. 182. CHAPTER III. CAPE COLONY. _Basalt of the Plateau._--The extensive sheets of plateau-basalt forming portions of the Neuweld range and the elevated table-land of Cape Colony, may be regarded as forerunners of those just described, and possibly contemporaneous with the Ashangi volcanic series of Abyssinia. The great basaltic sheets of the Cape Colony are found capping the highest elevations of the Camderboo and Stormberg ranges, as well as overspreading immense areas of less elevated land, to an extent, according to Professor A. H. Green, of at least 120,000 square miles.[1] Amongst these sheets, innumerable dykes, and masses of solid lava which filled the old vents of eruption, are to be observed. The floor upon which the lava-floods have been poured out generally consists of the "Cave Sandstone," the uppermost of a series of deposits which had previously been laid down over the bed of an extensive lake which occupied this part of Africa during the Mesozoic period. After the deposition of this sandstone, the volcanic forces appear to have burst through the crust, and from vents and fissures great floods of augitic lava, with beds of tuff, invaded the region occupied by the waters of the lake. The lava-sheets have since undergone extensive denudation, and are intersected by valleys and depressions eroded down through them into the sandstone floor beneath; and though the precise geological period at which they were extruded must remain in doubt, it appears probable that they may be referred to that of the Trias.[2] [1] Green. "On the Geology of the Cape Colony," _Quart. Jour. Geol. Soc._, vol. xliv. (1888). [2] The district lying along the south coast of Africa is described by Andrew G. Bain, in the _Trans. Geol. Soc._, vol. vii. (1845); but there is little information regarding the volcanic region here referred to. CHAPTER IV. VOLCANIC ROCKS OF PAST GEOLOGICAL PERIODS OF THE BRITISH ISLES. It is beyond the scope of this work to describe the volcanic rocks of pre-Tertiary times over various parts of the globe. The subject is far too large to be treated otherwise than in a distinct and separate essay. I will therefore content myself with a brief enumeration of the formations of the British Isles in which contemporaneous volcanic action has been recognised.[1] There is little evidence of volcanic action throughout the long lapse of time extending backwards from the Cretaceous to the Triassic epochs, that is to say, throughout the Mesozoic or Secondary period, and it is not till we reach the Palæozoic strata that evidence of volcanic action unmistakably presents itself. _Permian Period._--In Ayrshire, and in the western parts of Devonshire, beds of felspathic porphyry, felstone and ash are interstratified with strata believed to be of Permian age. In Devonshire these have only recently been recognised by Dr. Irving and the author as of Permian age, the strata consisting of beds of breccia, lying at the base of the New Red Sandstone. Those of Ayrshire have long been recognised as of the same period; as they rest unconformably on the coal measures, and consist of porphyrites, melaphyres, and tuffs of volcanic origin. _Carboniferous Period._--Volcanic rocks occur amongst the coal-measures of England and Scotland, while they are also found interbedded with the Carboniferous Limestone series in Derbyshire, Scotland, and Co. Limerick in Ireland. The rocks consist chiefly of basalt, dolerite, melaphyre and felstone. _Devonian Period._--Volcanic rocks of Devonian age occur in the South of Scotland, consisting of felstone-porphyries and melaphyres; also at Boyle, in Roscommon, and amongst the Glengariff beds near Killarney in Ireland. _Upper Silurian Period._--Volcanic rocks of this stage are only known in Ireland, on the borders of Cos. Mayo and Galway, west of Lough Mask, and at the extreme headland of the Dingle Promontory in Co. Kerry. They consist of porphyrites, felstones and tuffs, or breccias, contemporaneously erupted during the Wenlock and Ludlow stages. Around the flanks of Muilrea, beds of purple quartz-felstone with tuff are interstratified with the Upper Silurian grits and slates. _Lower Silurian Period._--Volcanic action was developed on a grand scale during the Arenig and Caradoc-Bala stages, both in Wales and the Lake district, and in the Llandeilo stage in the South of Scotland. The felspathic lavas, with their associated beds of tuff and breccia, rise into some of the grandest mountain crests of North Wales, such as those of Cader Idris, Aran Mowddwy, Arenig and Moel Wyn. A similar series is also represented in Ireland, ranging from Wicklow to Waterford, forming a double group of felstones, porphyries, breccias, and ash-beds, with dykes of basalt and dolerite. The same series again appears amidst the Lower Silurian beds of Co. Louth, near Drogheda. _Metamorphic Series presumably of Lower Silurian Age._--If, as seems highly probable, the great metamorphic series of Donegal and Derry are the representatives in time of the Lower Silurian series, some of the great sheets of felspathic and hornblendic trap which they contain are referable to this epoch. These rocks have undergone a change in structure along with the sedimentary strata of which they were originally formed, so that the sheets of (presumably) augitic lava have been converted into hornblende-rock and schist. Similar masses occur in North Mayo, south of Belderg Harbour. _Cambrian Period._--In the Pass of Llanberis, along the banks of Llyn Padarn, masses of quartz-porphyry, felsite and agglomerate, or breccia, indicate volcanic action during this stage. These rocks underlie beds of conglomerate, slate and grit of the Lower Cambrian epoch, and, as Mr. Blake has shown, are clearly of volcanic origin, and pass upwards into the sedimentary strata of the period. A similar group, first recognised by Professor Sedgwick, stretches southwards from Bangor along the southern shore of the Menai Straits. Again, we find the volcanic eruptions of this epoch at St. David's, consisting of diabasic and felsitic lava, with beds of ash; and in the centre of England, amongst the grits and slates of Charnwood Forest presumably of Cambrian age, various felstones, porphyries, and volcanic breccias are found. Thus it will be seen that every epoch, from the earliest stage of the Cambrian to the Permian, in the British Isles, gives evidence of the existence of volcanic action; from which we may infer that the originating cause, whatever it may be, has been in operation throughout all past geological time represented by living forms. The question of the condition of our globe in Archæan times, and earlier, is one which only can be discussed on theoretic ground, and is beyond the scope of this work. [1] The reader is referred to Sir A. Geikie's Presidential Address to the Geological Society (1891) for the latest view of this subject. [Illustration: VOLCANIC BAND OF THE MOLUCCAS. Map showing the volcanic belt to which Krakatoa belongs. The shaded portion is volcanic.] PART VI. SPECIAL VOLCANIC AND SEISMIC PHENOMENA. CHAPTER I. THE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA IN 1883. I propose to introduce here some account of one of the most terrible outbursts of volcanic action that have taken place in modern times; namely, the eruption of the volcano of Krakatoa (a corruption of Rakata) in the strait of Sunda, between the islands of Sumatra and Java, in the year 1883. The Malay Archipelago, of which this island once formed a member, is a region where volcanic action is constant, and where the outbursts are exceptionally violent. With the great island of Borneo as a solid, non-volcanic central core, a line of volcanic islands extends from Chedooba off the coast of Pegu through Sumatra, Java, Sumbawa, Flores, and, reaching the Moluccas, stretches northwards through the Philippines into Japan and Kamtschatka. This is probably the most active volcanic belt in the world, and the recent terrible earthquake and eruption in Japan (November, 1891) gives proof that the volcanic forces are as powerful and destructive as ever.[1] (_a._) _Dormant Condition down to 1680._--Down to the year 1680, this island, although from its form and structure evidently volcanic, appears to have been in a dormant state; its sides were covered with luxuriant forests, and numerous habitations dotted its shore. But in May of that year an eruption occurred, owing to which the aspect of Krakatoa as described by Vogel was entirely changed; the surface of the island when this writer passed on his voyage to Sumatra appeared burnt up and arid, while blocks of incandescent rock were being hurled into the air from four distinct points. After this first recorded eruption the island relapsed into a state of repose, and except for a stream of molten lava which issued from the northern extremity, there was no evidence of its dangerous condition. The luxuriant vegetation of the tropics speedily re-established itself, and the volcano was generally regarded as "extinct."[2] History repeats itself; and the history of Vesuvius was repeated in the case of Krakatoa. [Illustration: Fig. 35.--Map Of The Krakatoa Group Of Islands Before The Eruption Of August 1883 (From Admiralty Chart)] (_b._) _Eruption of May, 1883._[3]--On the morning of May 20, 1883, the inhabitants of Batavia, of Buitenzorg, and neighbouring localities, were surprised by a confused noise, mingled with detonations resembling the firing of artillery. The phenomena commenced between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning, and soon acquired such intensity as to cause general alarm. The detonations were accompanied by tremblings of the ground, of buildings and various objects contained in dwellings; but it was generally admitted that these did not proceed from earthquake shocks, but from atmospheric vibrations. No deviation of the magnetic needle was observed at the Meteorological Institute of Batavia; but a vertical oscillation was apparent, and persons who listened with the ear placed on the ground, even during the most violent detonations, could hear no subterranean noise whatever. It became clear that the sounds came from some volcano burst into activity; but it is strange that for two whole days it remained uncertain what was the particular volcano to which the phenomena were to be referred. The detonations appeared, indeed, to come from the direction of Krakatoa; but from Serang, Anjer, and Merak, localities situated much nearer Krakatoa than Batavia, the telegraph announced that neither detonations nor atmospheric vibrations had been perceived. The distance between Batavia and Krakatoa is ninety-three English miles. The doubts thus experienced were, however, soon put to rest by the arrival of an American vessel under the command of A. R. Thomas, and of other ships which hailed from the straits of Sunda. From their accounts it was ascertained that in the direction of Krakatoa the heavens were clouded with ashes, and that a grand column of smoke, illumined from time to time by flashes of flame, arose from above the island. Thus after a repose of more than two hundred years, "the peaceable isle of Krakatoa, inhabited, and covered by thick forests, was suddenly awakened from its condition of fancied security." [Illustration: Fig. 36.--Section from Verlaten Island through Krakatoa, to show the outline before and after the eruption of August, 1888. The continuous line shows the former; the dotted line and shading, the latter; from which it will be observed that the original island has to a large extent disappeared. The line of section is shown in Fig. 35.] (_c._) _Form and Appearance of the Island before the Eruption of 1883._--From surveys made in 1849 and 1881, it would appear that the island of Krakatoa consisted of three mountains or groups of mountains (Figs. 35, 36); the southern formed by the cone of Rakata (properly so called), rising with a scarped face above the sea to a height of over 800 mètres (2,622 feet). Adjoining this cone, and rising from the centre of the island, came the group of Danan, composed of many summits, probably forming part of the _enceinte annulaire_ of a crater. And near the northern extremity of the isle, a third group of mammelated heights could be recognised under the general name of Perboewatan, from which issued several obsidian lava-flows, with a steep slope; these dated back perhaps to the period of the first known eruption of 1680. This large and mountainous island as it existed at the beginning of May, 1883, has been entirely destroyed by the terrible eruptions of that year, with the exception of the peripheric rim (composed of the most ancient of the volcanic rocks, andesite), of which Verlaten Island and Rakata formed a part, and one very small islet, which is noted on the maps as "rots" (rock), and on the new map of the Straits of Sunda of the Dutch Navy as that of "Bootsmansrots."[4] As shown by the map in the Report of the Royal Society, the group of islands which existed previous to 1883 were but the unsubmerged portions of one vast volcanic crater, built up of a remarkable variety of lava allied to the andesite of the Java volcanoes, but having a larger percentage of silica, and hence falling under the head of "enstatite-dacite."[5] That these volcanic rocks are of very recent origin is shown by the fact, ascertained by Verbeek, that beneath them occur deposits of Post-Tertiary age, and that these in turn rest on the Tertiary strata which are widely distributed through Sumatra, Java, and the adjoining islands. According to the reasoning of Professor Judd, the Krakatoa group at an early period of its history presented the form of a magnificent crater-cone, several miles in circumference at the base, which subsequent eruptions shattered into fragments or blew into the air in the form of dust, ashes, and blocks of lava, while the central part collapsed and fell in, leaving a vast circular ring like the ancient crater of Somma (see Fig. 6, p. 43), and he supposes the former eruptions to have been on a scale exceeding in magnificence those which have caused such world-wide interest within the last few years. (_d._) _Eruption of 26th to 28th of August._--It was, as we have seen, in the month of May that, in the language of Chev. Verbeek, "the volcano of Krakatoa chose to announce in a high voice to the inhabitants of the Archipelago that, although almost nothing amongst the many colossal volcanic mountains of the Indies, it yielded to none of them in regard to its power." These eruptions were, however, only premonitory of the tremendous and terrible explosion which was to commence on Sunday, the 26th of August, and which continued for several days subsequently. A little after noon of that day, a rumbling noise accompanied by short and feeble explosions was heard at Buitenzorg, coming from the direction of Krakatoa; and similar sounds were heard at Anjer and Batavia a little later. Soon these detonations augmented in intensity, especially about five o'clock in the evening; and news was afterwards received that the sounds had been heard in the isle of Java. These sounds increased still more during the night, so that few persons living on the west side of the isle of Java were able to sleep. At seven in the morning there came a crash so formidable, that those who had hoped for a little sleep at Buitenzorg leaped from their beds. Meanwhile the sky, which had up to this time been clear, became overcast, so that by ten o'clock it became necessary to have recourse to lamps, and the air became charged with vapour. Occasional shocks of earthquake were now felt. Darkness became general all over the straits and the bordering coasts. Showers of ashes began to fall. The repeated shocks of earthquake, and the rapid discharges of subterranean artillery, all combined to show that an eruption of even greater violence than that of May was in progress at the isle of Krakatoa. But the most interested witnesses to this terrible outburst were those on board the ships plying through the straits. Amongst these was the _Charles Bal_, a British vessel under the command of Captain Watson. This ship was ten miles south of the volcano on Sunday afternoon, and therefore well in sight of the island at the time when the volcano had entered upon its paroxysmal state of action. Captain Watson describes the island as being covered by a dense black cloud, while sounds like the discharges of artillery occurred at intervals of a second of time; and a crackling noise (probably arising from the impact of fragments of rock ascending and descending in the atmosphere) was heard by those on board. These appearances became so threatening towards five o'clock in the evening, that the commander feared to continue his voyage and began to shorten sail. From five to six o'clock a rain of pumice in large pieces, quite warm, fell upon the ship, which was one of those that escaped destruction during this terrible night.[6] (_e._) _Electrical Phenomena._--During this eruption, electrical phenomena of great splendour were observed. Captain Wooldbridge, viewing the eruption in the afternoon of the 26th from a distance of forty miles, speaks of a great vapour-cloud looking like an immense wall being momentarily lighted up "by bursts of forked lightning like large serpents rushing through the air. After sunset this dark wall resembled a blood-red curtain, with edges of all shades of yellow, the whole of a murky tinge, through which gleamed fierce flashes of lightning." As Professor Judd observes, the abundant generation of atmospheric electricity is a familiar phenomenon in all volcanic eruptions on a grand scale. The steam-jets rushing through the orifices of the earth's crust constitute an enormous hydro-electrical engine, and the friction of the ejected materials striking against one another in their ascent and descent also does much in the way of generating electricity.[7] It has been estimated by several observers that the column of watery vapour ascended to a height of from twelve to seventeen and even twenty-three miles; and on reaching the upper strata of the atmosphere, it spread itself out in a vast canopy resembling "the pine-tree" form of Vesuvian eruptions; and throughout the long night of the 27th this canopy continued to extend laterally, and the particles of dust which it enclosed began to descend slowly through the air. (_f._) _Formation of Waves._--This tremendous outburst of volcanic forces, which to a greater or less extent influenced the entire surface of the globe, gave rise to waves which traversed both air and ocean; and in consequence of the large number of observatories scattered all over the globe, and the excellence and delicacy of the instruments of observation, we are put in possession of the remarkable results which have been obtained from the collection of the observations in the hands of competent specialists. The results are related _in extenso_ in the Report of the Royal Society, illustrated by maps and diagrams, and are worthy of careful study by those interested in terrestrial phenomena. A brief summary is all that can be given here, but it will probably suffice to bring home to the reader the magnitude and grandeur of the eruption. The vibrations or waves generated in August, 1883, at Krakatoa may be arranged under three heads: (1) Atmospheric Waves; (2) Sound Waves; and (3) Oceanic Waves; which I will touch upon in the order here stated. (1) _Atmospheric Waves._--These phenomena have been ably handled by General Strachey,[8] from a large number of observations extending all over the globe. From these it has been clearly established that an atmospheric wave, originating at Krakatoa as a centre, expanded outwards in a circular form and travelled onwards till it became a great circle at a distance of 180 degrees from its point of origin, after which it still advanced, but now gradually contracting to a node at the antipodes of Krakatoa; that is to say, at a point over the surface of North America, situated in lat. 6° N. and long. 72° W. (or thereabout). Having attained this position, the wave was reflected or reproduced, expanding outwards for 180 degrees and travelling backwards again to Krakatoa, from which it again started, and returning to its original form again overspread the globe. This wonderful repetition, due to the spherical form of the earth, was observed no fewer than seven times, though with such diminished force as ultimately to be outside the range of observation by the most sensitive instruments. It is one of the triumphs of modern scientific appliances that the course of such a wave, generated in a fluid surrounding a globe, which might be demonstrated on mathematical principles, has been actually determined by experiments carried on over so great an area. (2) _Sound Waves._--If the sound-waves produced at the time of maximum eruption were not quite as far-reaching as those of the air, they were certainly sufficiently surprising to be almost incredible, were it not that they rest, both as regards time and character, upon incontestible authority. The sound of the eruption, resembling that of the discharge of artillery, was heard not only over nearly all parts of Sumatra, Java, and the coast of Borneo opposite the Straits of Sunda, but at places over two thousand miles distant from the scene of the explosions. Detailed accounts, collected with great care, are given in the Report of the Royal Society, from which the following are selected as examples:-- 1. At the port of Acheen, at the northern extremity of Sumatra, distant 1,073 miles, it was supposed that the port was being attacked, and the troops were put under arms. 2. At Singapore, distant 522 miles, two steamers were dispatched to look out for the vessel which was supposed to be firing guns as signals of distress. 3. At Bankok, in Siam, distant 1,413 miles, the report was heard on the 27th; as also at Labuan, in Borneo, distant 1,037 miles. 4. At places in the Philippine Islands, distant about 1,450 miles, detonations were heard on the 27th, at the time of the eruption. The above places lie northwards of Krakatoa. In the opposite direction, we have the following examples:-- 5. At Perth, in Western Australia, distant 1,092 miles, sounds as of guns firing at sea were heard; and at the Victorian Plains, distant about 1,700 miles, similar sounds were heard. 6. In South Australia, at Alice's Springs, Undoolga, and other places at distances of over 2,000 miles, the sounds of the eruption were also heard. 7. In a westerly direction at Dutch Bay, Ceylon, distant 2,058 miles, the sounds were heard between 7 a.m. and 10 a.m. on the morning of the 27th of August. 8. Lastly, at the Chagos Islands, distant 2,267 miles, the detonations were audible between 10 and 11 a.m. of the same day. Some of the above distances are so great that we may fail to realise them; but they will be more easily appreciated, perhaps, if we change the localities to our own side of the globe, and take two or three cases with similar distances. Then, if the eruption had taken place amongst the volcanoes of the Canaries, the detonations would have been heard at Gibraltar, at Lisbon, at Portsmouth, Southampton, Cork, and probably at Dublin and Liverpool; or, again, supposing the eruption had taken place on the coast of Iceland, the report would have been heard all over the western and northern coasts of the British Isles, as well as at Amsterdam and the Hague. The enormous distance to which the sound travelled in the case of Krakatoa was greatly due to the fact that the explosions took place at the surface of the sea, and the sound was carried along that surface uninterruptedly to the localities recorded; a range of mountains intervening would have cut off the sound-wave at a comparatively short distance from its source. (3) _Oceanic Waves._--As may be supposed, the eruption gave rise to great agitation of the ocean waters with various degrees of vertical oscillation; but according to the conclusions of Captain Wharton, founded on numerous data, the greatest wave seems to have originated at Krakatoa about 10 a.m. on the 27th of August, rising on the coasts of the Straits of Sunda to a height of fifty feet above the ordinary sea-level. This wave appears to have been observed over at least half the globe. It travelled westwards to the coast of Hindostan and Southern Arabia, ultimately reaching the coasts of France and England. Eastwards it struck the coast of Australia, New Zealand, the Sandwich Islands, Alaska, and the western coast of North America; so that it was only the continent of North and South America which formed a barrier (and that not absolute) to the circulation of this oceanic wave all over the globe. The destruction to life and property caused by this wave along the coasts of Sunda was very great. Combined with the earthquake shocks (which, however, were not very severe), the tremendous storm of wind, the fall of ashes and cinders, and the changes in the sea-bed, it produced in the Straits of Sunda for some time after the eruption a disastrous transformation. Lighthouses had been swept away; all the old familiar landmarks on the shore were obscured by a vast deposit of volcanic dust; the sea itself was encumbered with enormous quantities of floating pumice, in many places of such thickness that no vessel could force its way through them; and for months after the eruption one of the principal channels was greatly obstructed by two islands which had arisen in its midst. The Sebesi channel was completely blocked by banks composed of volcanic materials, and two portions of these banks rose above the sea as islands, which received the name of "Steers Island" and "Calmeyer Island"; but these, by the action of the waves, have since been completely swept away, and the materials strewn over the bed of the sea.[9] (_g._) _Atmospheric Effects._--But the face of nature, even in her most terrific and repulsive aspect, is seldom altogether unrelieved by some traces of beauty. In contrast to the fearful and disastrous phenomena just described, is to be placed the splendour of the heavens, witnessed all over the central regions of the globe throughout a period of several months after the eruption of 1883, which has been ably treated by the Hon. Rollo Russell and Mr. C. D. Archibald, in the Royal Society's Report. When the particles of lava and ashes mingled with vapour were projected into the air with a velocity greater than that of a ball discharged from the largest Armstrong gun, these materials were carried by the prevalent trade-winds in a westerly direction, and some of them fell on the deck of ships sailing in the Indian Ocean as far as long. 80° E., as in the case of the _British Empire_--on which the particles fell on the 29th of August, at a distance of 1,600 miles from Krakatoa. But far beyond this limit, the finer particles of dust (or rather minute crystals of felspar and other minerals), mingled with vapour of water, were carried by the higher currents of the air as far as the Seychelles and Africa,--not only the East coast, but also the West, as Cape Coast Castle on the Gold Coast; to Paramaribo, Trinidad, Panama, the Sandwich Isles, Ceylon and British India, at all of which places during the month of September the sun assumed tints of blue or green, as did also the moon just before and after the appearance of the stars;[10] and from the latter end of September and for several months, the sky was remarkable for its magnificent coloration; passing from crimson through purple to yellow, and melting away in azure tints which were visible in Europe and the British Isles; while a large corona was observed round both the sun and moon. These beautiful sky effects were objects of general observation throughout the latter part of the year 1883 and commencement of the following year. The explanation of these phenomena may be briefly stated. The fine particles, consisting for the most part of translucent crystals, or fragments of crystals, formed a canopy high up in the atmosphere, being gradually spread over both sides of the equator till it formed a broad belt, through which the rays of the sun and moon were refracted. Towards dawn and sunset they were refracted and reflected from the facets of the crystal, and thus underwent decomposition into the prismatic colours; as do the rays of the sun when refracted and reflected from the particles of moisture in a rain-cloud. The subject is one which cannot be fully dealt with here, and is rather outside the scope of this work. (_h._) _Origin of the Eruption._--The ultimate cause of volcanic eruptions is treated in a subsequent chapter, nor is that of Krakatoa essentially different from others. It was remarkable, however, both for the magnitude of the forces evoked and the stupendous scale of the resulting phenomena. It is evident that water played an important part in these phenomena, though not as the prime mover;--any more than water in the boiler of a locomotive is the prime mover in the generation of the steam. Without the fuel in the furnace the steam would not be produced; and the amount of steam generated will be proportional to the quantity and heat of the fuel in the furnace and the quantity of water in the boiler. In the case of Krakatoa, both these elements were enormous and inexhaustible. The volcanic chimney (or system of chimneys), being situated on an island, was readily accessible to the waters of the ocean when fissures gave them access to the interior molten matter. That such fissures were opened we may well believe. The earthquakes which occurred at the beginning of May, and later on, on the 27th of that month, may indicate movements of the crust by which water gained access. It appears that in May the only crater in a state of activity was that of Perboewatan; in June another crater came into action, connected with Danan in the centre of the island, and in August a third burst forth. Thus there was progressive activity up to the commencement of the grand eruption of the 26th of that month.[11] During this last paroxysmal stage, the centre of the island gave way and sunk down, when the waters of the ocean gained free access, and meeting with the columns of molten matter rising from below originated the prodigious masses of steam which rose into the air. (_i._) _Cause of the Detonations._--The detonations which accompanied the last great eruption are repeatedly referred to in all the accounts. These may have been due, not only to the sudden explosions of steam directly produced by the ocean water coming in contact with the molten lava, but by dissociation of the vapour of water at the critical point of temperature into its elements of oxygen and hydrogen; the reunion of these elements at the required temperature would also result in explosions. The phenomena attending this great volcanic eruption, so carefully tabulated and critically examined, will henceforth be referred to as constituting an epoch in the history of volcanic action over the globe, and be of immense value for reference and comparison. [1] The eruption of Krakatoa has been the subject of an elaborate Report published by the Royal Society, and is also described in a work by Chevalier R. D. M. Verbeek, Ingenieur en Chef des Mines, and published by order of the Governor-General of the Netherland Indies (1886). See also an Article by Sir R. S. Ball in the _Contemporary Review_ for November, 1888. [2] Verbeek, _loc. cit._, p. 4. [3] The account of this eruption is a free translation from Verbeek. [4] Verbeek, _loc. cit._, p. 160. [5] Judd, _Rep. R. S._ [6] A fuller account by Prof. Judd will be found in the _Report of the Royal Society_, p. 14. Several vessels at anchor were driven ashore on the straits owing to the strong wind which arose. [7] Judd, _Report_, p. 21. [8] _Report_, Part ii. [9] In this eruption, 36,380 human beings perished, of whom 37 were Europeans; 163 villages (_kampoengs_) were entirely, and 132 partially, destroyed.--Verbeek, _loc. cit._, p. 79. [10] Verbeek, _loc. cit._, p. 144-5. The dust put a girdle round the earth in thirteen days. [11] Verbeek, _loc. cit._, p. 30. CHAPTER II. EARTHQUAKES. _Connection of Earthquakes with Volcanic Action._--The connection between earthquake shocks and volcanic eruptions is now so generally recognised that it is unnecessary to insist upon it here. All volcanic districts over the globe are specially liable to vibrations of the crust; but at the same time it is to be recollected that these movements visit countries occasionally from which volcanoes, either recent or extinct, are absent; in which cases we may consider earthquake shocks to be abortive attempts to originate volcanic action. (_a._) _Origin._--From the numerous observations which have been made regarding the nature of these phenomena by Hopkins, Lyell, and others, it seems clearly established that earthquakes have their origin in some sudden impact of gas, steam, or molten matter impelled by gas or steam under high pressure, beneath the solid crust.[1] How such impact originates we need not stop to inquire, as the cause is closely connected with that which produces volcanic eruptions. The effect, however, of such impact is to originate a wave of translation through the crust, travelling outwards from the point, or focus, on the surface immediately over the point of impact.[2] These waves of translation can in some cases be laid down on a map, and are called "isoseismal curves," each curve representing approximately an equal degree of seismal intensity; as shown on the chart of a part of North America affected by the great Charleston earthquake. (Fig. 37.) Mr. Hopkins has shown that the earthquake-wave, when it passes through rocks differing in density and elasticity, changes in some degree not only its velocity, but its direction; being both refracted and reflected in a manner analogous to that of light when it passes from one medium to another of different density.[3] When a shock traverses the crust through a thickness of several miles it will meet with various kinds of rock as well as with fissures and plications of the strata, owing to which its course will be more or less modified. (_b._) _Formation of Fissures._--During earthquake movements, fissures may be formed in the crust, and filled with gaseous or melted matter which may not in all cases reach the surface; and, on the principle that volcanoes are safety-valves for regions beyond their immediate influence, we may infer that the earthquake shock, which generally precedes the outburst of a volcano long dormant, finds relief by the eruption which follows; so that whatever may be the extent of the disastrous results of such an eruption, they would be still more disastrous if there had been no such safety-valve as that afforded by a volcanic vent. Thus, probably, owing to the extinction of volcanic activity in Syria, the earthquakes in that region have been peculiarly destructive. For example, on January 1, 1837, the town of Safed west of the Jordan valley was completely destroyed by an earthquake in which most of the inhabitants perished. The great earthquakes of Aleppo in the present century, and of Syria in the middle of the eighteenth, were of exceptional severity. In that of Syria, which took place in 1759, and which was protracted during a period of three months, an area of 10,000 square leagues was affected. Accon, Saphat, Baalbeck, Damascus, Sidon, Tripoli, and other places were almost entirely levelled to the ground; many thousands of human beings lost their lives.[4] Other examples might be cited. (_c._) _Earthquake Waves._--We have now to return to the phenomena connected with the transmission of earthquake-waves. The velocity of transmission through the earth is very great, and several attempts have been made to measure this velocity with accuracy. The most valuable of such attempts are those connected with the Charleston and Riviera shocks. Fortunately, owing to the perfection of modern appliances, and the number of observers all over the globe, these results are entitled to great confidence. The phenomena connected with the Charleston earthquake, which took place on the 31st of August, 1886, are described in great detail by Captain Clarence E. Dutton, of the U.S. Ordnance Corps.[5] The conclusions arrived at are;--that as regards the depth of the focal point, this is estimated at twelve miles, with a probable error of less than two miles; while, as regards the rate of travel of the earthquake-wave, the estimate is (in one case) about 3.236 miles per second; and in another about 3.226 miles per second. On the other hand, in the case of the earthquake of the Riviera, which took place on the 23rd of February, 1887, at 5.30 a.m. (local time), the vibrations of which appear to have extended across the Atlantic, and to have sensibly affected the seismograph in the Government Signal Office at Washington, the rate of travel was calculated at about 500 miles per hour, less than one-half that determined in the case of Charleston; but Captain Dutton claims, and probably with justice, that the results obtained in the latter case are far more reliable than any hitherto arrived at. (_d._) _Oceanic Waves._--When the originating impact takes place under the bed of the ocean--either by a sudden up-thrust of the crust to the extent, let us suppose, of two or three feet, or by an explosion from a submarine volcano--a double wave is formed, one travelling through the crust, the other through the ocean; and as the rate of velocity of the former is greatly in excess of that of the latter, the results on their reaching the land are often disastrous in the extreme. It is the ocean-wave, however, which is the more important, and calls for special consideration. If the impact takes place in very deep water, the whole mass of the water is raised in the form of a low dome, sloping equally away in all directions; and it commences to travel outwards as a wave with an advancing crest until it approaches the coast and enters shallow water. The wave then increases in height, and the water in front is drawn in and relatively lowered; so that on reaching a coast with a shelving shore the form of the surface consists of a trough in front followed by an advancing crest. These effects may be observed on a small scale in the case of a steamship advancing up a river, or into a harbour with a narrow channel, but are inappreciable in deep water, or along a precipitous open coast. (_e._) _The Earthquake of Lisbon, 1755._--The disastrous results of a submarine earthquake upon the coast have never been more terribly illustrated than in the case of the earthquake of Lisbon which took place on November 1, 1755. The inhabitants had no warning of the coming danger, when a sound like that of thunder was heard underground, and immediately afterwards a violent shock threw down the greater part of their city; this was the land-wave. In the course of about six minutes, sixty thousand persons perished. The sea first retired and left the harbour dry, so forming the trough in front of the crest; immediately after the water rolled in with a lofty crest, some 50 feet above the ordinary level, flooding the harbour and portions of the city bordering the shore. The mountains of Arrabida, Estrella, Julio, Marvan, and Cintra, were impetuously shaken, as it were, from their very foundations; and according to the computation of Humboldt, a portion of the earth's surface four times the extent of Europe felt the effects of this great seismic shock, which extended to the Alps, the shores of the Baltic, the lakes of Scotland, the great lakes of North America, and the West Indian Islands. The velocity of the sea-wave was estimated at about 20 miles per minute. (_f._) _Earthquake of Lima and Callao, 28th October, 1746._--Of somewhat similar character was the terrible catastrophe with which the cities of Lima and Callao were visited in the middle of the last century,[6] in which the former city, then one of great magnificence, was overthrown; and Callao was inundated by a sea-wave, in which out of 23 ships of all sizes in the harbour the greater number foundered; several, including a man-of-war, were lifted bodily and stranded, and all the inhabitants with the exception of about two hundred were drowned. A volcano in Lucanas burst forth the same night, and such quantities of water descended from the cone that the whole country was overflowed; and in the mountain near Pataz, called Conversiones de Caxamarquilla, three other volcanoes burst forth, and torrents of water swept down their sides. In the case of these cities, the land-wave, or shock, preceded the sea-wave, which of course only reached the port of Callao. [Illustration: Fig. 37.--The lines represent isoseismal curves, or curves of equal intensity, the force decreasing outwards from the focus at Charleston, No. 10.] (_g._) _Earthquake of Charleston, 31st August, 1886._--I shall close this account of some remarkable earthquakes with a few facts regarding that of Charleston, on the Atlantic seaboard of Carolina.[7] At 9.51 a.m. of this day, the inhabitants engaged in their ordinary occupations were startled by the sound of a distant roar, which speedily deepened in volume so as to resemble the noise of cannon rattling along the road, "spreading into an awful noise, that seemed to pervade at once the troubled earth below and the still air above." At the same time the floors began to heave underfoot, the walls visibly swayed to and fro, and the crash of falling masonry was heard on all sides, while universal terror took possession of the populace, who rushed into the streets, the black portion of the community being the most demonstrative of their terror. Such was the commencement of the earthquake, by which nearly all the houses of Charleston were damaged or destroyed, many of the public buildings seriously injured or partially demolished. The effects were felt all over the States as far as the great lakes of Canada and the borders of the Rocky Mountains. Two epicentral _foci_ appear to have been established; one lying about 15 miles to the N.W. of Charleston, called the _Woodstock focus_; the other about 14 miles due west of Charleston, called the _Rantowles focus_; around each of these _foci_ the isoseismic curves concentrated,[8] but in the map (Fig. 37) are combined into the area of one curve. The position of these _foci_ clearly shows that the origin of the Charleston earthquake was not submarine, though occurring within a short distance of the Atlantic border; the curves of equal intensity (isoseismals) are drawn all over the area influenced by the shock. As a general result of these detailed observations, Captain Dutton states that there is a remarkable coincidence in the phenomena with those indicated by the theory of wave-motion as the proper one for an elastic, nearly homogeneous, solid medium, composed of such materials as we know to constitute the rocks of the outer portions of the earth; but on the other hand he states that nothing has been disclosed which seems to bring us any nearer to the precise nature of the forces which generated the disturbance.[9] [1] The views of Mr. R. Mallet, briefly stated, are somewhat as follows:--Owing to the secular cooling of the earth, and the consequent lateral crushing of the surface, this crushing from time to time overcomes the resistance; in which case shocks are experienced along the lines of fracture and faulting by which the crust is intersected. These shocks give rise to earthquake waves, and as the crushing of the walls of the fissure developes heat, we have here the _vera causa_ both of volcanic eruptions and earthquake shocks--the former intensified into explosions by access of water through the fissures.--"On the Dynamics of Earthquakes," _Trans. Roy. Irish Acad._, vol. xxi. [2] Illustration of the mode of propagation of earthquake shocks will be found in Lyell's _Principles of Geology_, vol. ii. p. 136, or in the author's _Physiography_, p. 76, after Hopkins. [3] "Rep. on Theories of Elevation and Earthquakes," _Brit. Ass. Rep._ 1847, p. 33. In the map prepared by Prof. J. Milne and Mr. W. K. Burton to show the range of the great earthquake of Japan (1891), similar isoseismal lines are laid down. [4] Lyell, _loc. cit._, p. 163. Two Catalogues of Earthquakes have been drawn up by Prof. O'Reilly, and are published in the _Trans. Roy. Irish Academy_, vol. xxviii. (1884 and 1886). [5] _Ninth Annual Report, U.S. Geological Survey_ (1888). [6] _A True and Particular Account of the Dreadful Earthquake_, 2nd edit. The original published at Lima by command of the Viceroy. London, 1748. Translated from the Spanish. [7] I take the account from that of Capt. Dutton above cited, p. 220. [8] Dutton, _Report_, Plate xxvi., p. 308. [9] _Ibid._, p. 211. On the connection between the moon's position and earthquake shocks, see Mr. Richardson's paper on Scottish earthquakes, _Trans. Edin. Geol. Soc._, vol. vi. p. 194 (1892). PART VII. VOLCANIC AND SEISMIC PROBLEMS. CHAPTER I. THE ULTIMATE CAUSE OF VOLCANIC ACTION. Volcanic phenomena are the outward manifestations of forces deep-seated beneath the crust of the globe; and in seeking for the causes of such phenomena we must be guided by observation of their nature and mode of action. The universality of these phenomena all over the surface of our globe, in past or present times, indicates the existence of a general cause beneath the crust. It is true that there are to be found large tracts from which volcanic rocks (except those of great geological antiquity) are absent, such as Central Russia, the Nubian Desert, and the Central States of North America; but such absence by no means implies the non-existence of the forces which give rise to volcanic action beneath those regions, but only that the forces have not been sufficiently powerful to overcome the resistance offered by the crust over those particular tracts. On the other hand, the similarity of volcanic lavas over wide regions is strong evidence that they are drawn from one continuous magma, consisting of molten matter beneath the solid exterior crust. (_a._) _Lines of Volcanic Action._--It has been shown in a previous page that volcanic action of recent or Tertiary times has taken place mainly along certain lines which may be traced on the surface of a map or globe. One of these lines girdles the whole globe, while others lie in certain directions more or less coincident with lines of flexure, plication or faulting. The Isle of Sumatra offers a remarkable example of the coincidence of such lines with those of volcanic vents. Not only the great volcanic cones, but also the smaller ones, are disposed in chains which run parallel to the longitudinal axis of the island (N.W.-S.E.). The sedimentary rocks are bent and faulted in lines parallel to the main axis, and also to the chains of volcanic mountains, and the observation holds good with regard to different geological periods.[1] Another remarkable case is that of the Jordan Valley. Nowhere can the existence of a great fracture and vertical displacement of the strata be more clearly determined than along this remarkable line of depression; and it is one which is also coincident with a zone of earthquake and volcanic disturbances. (_b._) _Such Lines generally lie along the Borders of the Ocean._--But even where, from some special cause, actual observation on the relations of the strata are precluded, the general configuration of the ground and the relations of the boundaries between land and sea to those of volcanic chains, evidently point in many cases to their mutual interdependence. The remarkable straightness of the coast of Western America, and of the parallel chain of the Andes, affords presumptive evidence that this line is coincident with a fracture or system of faults, along which the continent has been bodily raised out of the waters of the ocean. Of this elevation within very recent times we have abundant evidence in the existence of raised coral-reefs and oceanic shell-beds at intervals all along the coast; rising in Peru to a level of no less than 3,000 feet above the ocean, as shown by Alexander Agassiz.[2] Such elevations probably occurred at a time when the volcanoes of the Andes were much more active than at present. Considered as a whole, these great volcanic mountains may be regarded as in a dormant, or partially moribund, condition; and if the volcanic forces have to some extent lost their strength, so it would appear have those of elevation. (_c._) _Areas of Volcanic Action in the British Isles._--In the case of the British Islands it may be observed that the later Tertiary volcanic districts lie along very ancient depressions, which may indicate zones of weakness in the crust. Thus the Antrim plateau, as originally constituted, lay in the lap of a range of hills formed of crystalline, or Lower Silurian, rocks; while the volcanic isles of the Inner Hebrides were enclosed between the solid range of the Archæan rocks of the Outer Hebrides on the one side, and the Silurian and Archæan ranges of the mainland on the other. And if we go back to the Carboniferous period, we find that the volcanic district of the centre of Scotland was bounded by ranges of solid strata both to the north and south, where the resistance to interior pressure from molten matter would have been greater than in the Carboniferous hollow-ground, where such molten matter has been abundantly extruded. In all these cases, the outflow of molten matter was in a direction somewhat parallel to the plications of the strata. (_d._) _Special Conditions under which the Volcanic Action operates._--Assuming, then, that the molten matter, forming an interior magma or shell, is constantly exerting pressure against the inner surface of the solid crust, and can only escape where the crust is too weak (owing to faults, plications, or fissures) to resist the pressure, we have to inquire what are the special conditions under which outbursts of volcanic matter take place, and what are the general results as regards the nature of the _ejecta_ dependent on those conditions. (_e._) _Effect of the Presence or Absence of Water._--The two chief conditions determining the nature of volcanic products, considered in the mass, are the presence or absence of water. Such presence or absence does not of course affect the essential chemical composition of the _ejecta_, but it materially influences the form in which the matter is erupted. The agency of water in volcanic eruptions is a very interesting and important subject in connection with the history of volcanic action, and has been ably treated by Professor Prestwich.[3] At one time it was considered that water was essential to volcanic activity; and the fact that the great majority of volcanic cones are situated in the vicinity of the oceanic waters, or of inland seas, was pointed to in confirmation of this theory. But the existence in Western America and other volcanic countries of fissures of eruption along which molten lava has been extruded without explosions of steam, shows that water is not an essential factor in the production of volcanic phenomena; and, as Professor Prestwich has clearly demonstrated, it is to be regarded as an element in volcanic explosions, rather than as a prime cause of volcanic action. The main difficulty he shows to be thermo-dynamical; and calculating the rate of increase in the elastic force of steam on descending to greater and greater depths and reaching strata of higher and higher temperatures, as compared with the force of capillarity, he comes to the conclusion that water cannot penetrate to depths of more than seven or eight miles, and therefore cannot reach the seat of the eruptive forces. Professor Prestwich also points out that if the extrusion of lava were due to the elastic force of vapour of water there should be a distinct relation between the discharge of the lava and of the vapour; whereas the result of an examination of a number of well-recorded eruptions shows that the two operations are not related, and are, in fact, perfectly independent. Sometimes there has been a large discharge of lava, and little or no escape of steam; at other times there have been paroxysmal explosive eruptions with little discharge of lava. Even in the case of Vesuvius, which is close to the sea, there have been instances when the lava has welled out almost with the tranquillity of a water-spring. (_f._) _Access of Surface Water to Molten Lava during Eruptions._--The existence of water during certain stages in eruptions is too frequent a phenomena to be lost sight of; but its presence may be accounted for in other ways, besides proximity to the sea or ocean. Certain volcanic mountains, such as Etna and Vesuvius, are built upon water-bearing strata, receiving their supplies from the rainfall of the surrounding country, or perhaps partly from the sea. In addition to this the ashes and scoriæ of the mountain sides are highly porous, and rain or snow can penetrate and settle downwards around the pipe or throat through which molten lava wells up from beneath. In such cases it is easy to understand how, at the commencement of a period of activity, molten lava ascending through one or more fissures, and meeting with water-charged strata or scoriæ, will convert the water into steam at high pressure, resulting in explosions more or less violent and prolonged, in proportion to the quantity of water and the depth to which it has penetrated. In this manner we may suppose that ashes, scoriæ, and blocks of rock torn from the sides of the crater-throat, and hurled into the air, are piled around the vent, and accumulate into hills or mountains of conical form. After the explosion has exhausted itself, the molten lava quietly wells up and fills the crater, as in the cases of those of Auvergne and Syria, and other places. We may, therefore, adopt the general principle that in volcanic eruptions _where water in large quantities is present, we shall have crater-cones built up of ashes, scoriæ, and pumice; but where absent, the lava will be extravasated in sheets to greater or less distances without the formation of such cones; or if cones are fanned, they will be composed of solidified lava only, easily distinguishable from crater-cones of the first class_. (_g._) _Nature of the Interior Reservoir from which Lavas are derived._--We have now to consider the nature of the interior reservoir from which lavas are derived, and the physical conditions necessary for their eruption at the surface. Without going back to the question of the original condition of our globe, we may safely hold the view that at a very early period of geological history it consisted of a solidified crust at a high temperature, enfolding a globe of molten matter at a still higher temperature. As time went on, and the heat radiated into space from the surface of the globe, while at the same time slowly ascending from the interior by conduction, the crust necessarily contracted, and pressing more and more on the interior molten magma, this latter was forced from time to time to break through the contracting crust along zones of weakness or fissures. (_h._) _The Earth's Crust in a State of both Exterior Thrust and of Interior Tension._--As has been shown by Hopkins,[4] and more recently by Mr. Davison,[5] an exterior crust in such a condition must eventually result in being under a state of horizontal thrust towards the exterior and of tension towards the interior surface. For the exterior portion, having cooled down, and consequently contracted to its normal state, will remain rigid up to a certain point of resistance; but the interior portion still continuing to contract, owing to the conduction of the heat towards the exterior, would tend to enter upon a condition of tension, as becoming too small for the interior molten magma; and such a state of tension would tend to produce rupture of the interior part. In this manner fissures would be formed into which the molten matter would enter; and if the fissures happened to extend to the surface, owing to weakness of the crust or flexuring of the strata, or other cause, the molten matter would be extruded either in the form of dykes or volcanic vents. In this way we may account for the numerous dykes of trap by which some volcanic districts are intersected, such as those of the north of Ireland and centre of Scotland. From the above considerations, it follows that the earth's crust must be in a condition both of pressure (or lateral thrust) towards the exterior portion, and of tension towards the interior, the former condition resulting in faulting and flexuring of the rocks, the latter in the formation of open fissures, through which lava can ascend under high pressure. These operations are of course the attempt of the natural forces to arrive at a condition of equilibrium, which is never attained because the processes are never completed; in other words, radiation and convection of heat are constantly proceeding, giving rise to new forces of thrust and tension. It now remains for us to consider what may be the condition of the interior molten magma; and in doing so we must be guided to a large extent by considerations regarding the nature of the extruded matter at the surface. (_i._) _Relative Densities of Lavas._--Now, observation shows that, as bearing on the subject under consideration, lavas occur mainly under two classes as regards their density. The most dense (or basic) are those in which silica is deficient, but iron is abundant; the least dense (or acid) are those which are rich in silica, but in which iron occurs in small quantity. This division corresponds with that proposed by Bunsen and Durocher[6] for volcanic rocks, upon the results of analyses of a large number of specimens from various districts. Rocks may be thus arranged in groups: (1) _The Basic_ (Heavier)--poor in silica, rich in iron; containing silica 45-58 per cent. Examples: Basalt, Dolerite, Hornblende rock, Diorite, Diabase, Gabbro, Melaphyre, and Leucite lava. (2) _The Acid_ (Lighter)--rich in silica, poor in iron; containing silica 62-78 per cent. Examples: Trachyte, Rhyolite, Obsidian, Domite, Felsite, Quartz-porphyry, Granite. The Andesite group forms a connecting link between the highly acid and the basic groups, and there are many varieties of the above which it is not necessary to enumerate. Durocher supposes that the molten magmas of these various rocks are arranged in concentric shells within the solid crust in order of their respective densities, those of the lighter density, namely the acid magmas, being outside those of greater density, namely the basic; and this is a view which seems not improbable from a consideration not only of the principle itself, but of the succession of the varieties of lava in many districts. Thus we find that acid lavas have been generally extruded first, and basic afterwards--as in the cases of Western America, of Antrim, the Rhine and Central France. And if the interior of our globe had been in a condition of equilibrium from the time of the consolidation of the crust to the present, reason would induce us to conclude that the lavas would ultimately have arranged themselves in accordance with the conditions of density beneath that crust. But the state of equilibrium has been constantly disturbed. Every fresh outburst of volcanic force, and every fresh extrusion of lava, tends to disturb it, and to alter the relations of the interior viscous or molten magmas. Owing to this it happens, as we may suppose, that the order of eruption according to density is sometimes broken, and we find such rocks as granophyre (a variety of andesite) breaking through the plateau-basalts of Mull and Skye, as explained in a former chapter. Notwithstanding such variations, however, the view of Durocher may be considered as the most reasonable we can arrive at on a subject which is confessedly highly conjectural. (_j._) _Conclusion as regards the Ultimate Cause of Volcanic Action_.--Notwithstanding, however, the complexity of the subject, and the uncertainties which must attend an inquiry where some of the data are outside the range of our observation, sufficient evidence can be adduced to enable us to arrive at a tolerably clear view of the ultimate cause of volcanic action. So tempting a subject was sure to evoke numerous essays, some of great ingenuity, such as that of Mr. Mallet; others of great complexity, such as that of Dr. Daubeny. But more recent consideration and wider observation have tended to lead us to the conclusion that the ultimate cause is the most simple, the most powerful, and the most general which can be suggested; namely, _the contraction of the crust due to secular cooling of the more deeply seated parts by conduction and radiation of heat into space_. Owing to this cause, the enclosed molten matter is more or less abundantly extruded from time to time along the lines and vents of eruption, so as to accommodate itself to the ever-contracting crust. Nor can we doubt that this process has been going on from the very earliest period of the earth's history, and formerly at a greater rate than at present. When the crust was more highly heated, the radiation and conduction must have been proportionately more rapid. Owing to this cause also the contraction of the crust was accelerated. To such irresistible force we owe the wonderful flexuring, folding, and horizontal overthrusting which the rocks have undergone in some portions of the globe--such as in the Alps, the Highlands of Scotland and of Ireland, and the Alleghannies of America. It is easy to show that the acceleration of the earth's rotation must be a consequence of such contraction; but, after all, this is but one of those compensatory forces of which we see several examples in the world around us. It can also be confidently inferred that at an early period of the earth's history, when the moon was nearer to our planet than at present, the tides were far more powerful, and their effect in retarding the earth's rotation was consequently greater. During this period the acceleration due to contraction was also greater; and the two forces probably very nearly balanced each other. Both these forces (those of acceleration and retardation) have been growing weaker down to the present day, though there appears to have been a slight advantage on the side of the retarding force.[7] [1] R. D. M. Verbeek, _Krakatau_, p. 105 (1886); also, J. Milne, _The Great Earthquake of Japan_, 1891. [2] _Bull. Mus. Comp. Zool._, vol. iii. [3] _Proc. Roy. Soc._, No. 237 (1885); also, _Rep. Brit. Assoc._ (1881). [4] Hopkins, _supra cit._, p. 218. [5] C. Davison and G. H. Darwin, _Phil. Trans._, vol. 178, p; 241. [6] Durocher, _Ann. des Mines_, vol. ii. (1857). [7] See on this subject the author's _Textbook of Physiography_ (Deacon and Co., 1888), pp. 56 and 122. CHAPTER II. LUNAR VOLCANOES. The surface of the moon presented to our view affords such remarkable indications of volcanic phenomena of a special kind, that we are justified in devoting a chapter to their consideration. It is very tantalising that our beautiful satellite only permits us to look at and admire one half of her sphere; but it is not a very far-fetched inference if we feel satisfied that the other half bears a general resemblance to that which is presented to the earth. It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader why it is that we never see but one face; still, for the sake of those who have not thought out the subject I may state that it is because the moon rotates on her axis exactly in the time that she performs a revolution round the earth. If this should not be sufficiently clear, let the reader perform a very simple experiment for himself, which will probably bring conviction to his mind that the explanation here given is correct. Let him place an orange in the centre of a round table, and then let him move round the table from a starting-point sideways, ever keeping his face directed towards the orange; and when he has reached his starting-point, he will find that he has rotated once round while he has performed one revolution round the table. In this case the performer represents the moon and the orange the earth. Now this connection between the earth and her satellite is sufficiently close to be used as an argument (if not as actual demonstration) that the earth and the moon were originally portions of the same mass, and that during some very early stage in the development of the solar system these bodies parted company, to assume for ever after the relations of planet and satellite. At the epoch referred to, we may also suppose that these two masses of matter were in a highly incandescent, if not even gaseous, state; and we conclude, therefore, that having been once portions of the same mass, they are composed of similar materials. This conclusion is of great importance in enabling us to reason from analogy regarding the origin of the physical features on the moon's surface, and for the purpose of comparison with those which we find on the surface of our globe; because it is evident that, if the composition of the moon were essentially different from that of our earth, we should have no basis whatever for a comparison of their physical features. When the moon started on her career of revolution round the earth, we may well suppose that her orbit was much smaller than at present. She was influenced by counteracting forces, those of gravitation drawing her towards the centre of gravity of the earth,[1] and the centrifugal force, which in the first instance was the stronger, so that her orbit for a lengthened period gradually increased until the two forces, those of attraction and repulsion, came into a condition of equilibrium, and she now performs her revolution round the earth at a mean distance of 240,000 miles, in an orbit which is only very slightly elliptical.[2] How the period of the moon's rotation is regulated by the earth's attraction on her molten lava-sheets, first at the surface, and now probably below the outer crust, has been graphically shown by Sir Robert Ball,[3] but it cannot be doubted that once the moon was appreciably nearer to our globe than at present. The attraction of her mass produced tides in the ocean of correspondingly greater magnitude, and capable of effecting results, both in eroding the surface and in transporting masses of rock, far beyond the bounds of our every-day experience. Of all the heavenly bodies, the sun excepted, the moon is the most impressive and beautiful. As we catch her form, rising as a fair crescent in the western sky after sunset, gradually increasing in size and brilliancy night after night till from her circular disk she throws a full flood of light on our world and then passes through her decreasing phases, we recognise her as "the Governor of the night," or in the words of our own poet, when in her crescent phase, "the Diadem of night." Seen through a good binocular glass, her form gains in rotundity; but under an ordinary telescope with a four-inch objective, she appears like a globe of molten gold. Yet all this light is derivative, and is only a small portion of that she receives from the sun. That her surface is a mass of rigid matter destitute of any inherent brilliancy, appears plain enough when we view a portion of her disk through a very large telescope. It was the good fortune of the author to have an opportunity for such a view through one of the largest telescopes in the world. The 27-inch refractor manufactured by Sir Howard Grubb of Dublin, for the Vienna observatory, a few years ago, was turned on a portion of the moon's disk before being finally sent off to its destination; and seen by the aid of such enormous magnifying power, nothing could be more disappointing as regards the appearance of our satellite. The sheen and lustre of the surface was now observed no longer; the mountains and valleys, the circular ridges and hollows were, indeed, wonderfully defined and magnified, but the matter of which they seemed to be constituted resembled nothing so much as the pale plaster of a model. One could thus fully realise the fact that the moon's light is only derivative. Still we must recollect that the most powerful telescope can only bring the surface of the moon to a distance from us of about 250 miles; and it need not be said that objects seen at such a distance on our earth present very deceptive appearances; so that we gain little information regarding the composition of the moon's crust, or exterior surface, simply from observation by the aid of large telescopes. Reasoning from analogy with our globe, we may infer that the exterior shell of the moon consists of crystalline volcanic matter of the highly silicated, or acid, varieties resting upon another of a denser description, rich in iron, and resembling basalt. This hypothesis is hazarded on the supposition that the composition of the matter of the moon's mass resembles in the main that of our globe. During the process of cooling from a molten condition, the heavier lavas would tend to fall inwards, and allow the lighter to come to the surface, and form the outer shell in both cases. Thus, the outer crust would resemble the trachytic lavas of our globe, and their pale colour would enable the sun's rays to be reflected to a greater extent than if the material were of the blackness of basalt.[4] So much for the material. We have now to consider the structure of the moon's surface, and here we find ourselves treading on less speculative and safer ground. All astronomers since the time of Schroter seem to be of accord in the opinion that the remarkable features of the moon's surface are in some measure of volcanic origin, and we shall presently proceed to consider the character of these forms more in detail. But first, and as leading up to the discussion of these physical features, we must notice one essential difference between the constitution of the moon and of the earth; namely, the absence of water and of an atmosphere in the case of the moon. The sudden and complete occultation of the stars when the moon's disk passes between them and the place of the observer on the earth's surface, is sufficient evidence of the absence of air; and, as no cloud has ever been noticed to veil even for a moment any part of our satellite's face, we are pretty safe in concluding that there is no water; or at least, if there be any, that it is inappreciable in quantity.[5] Hence we infer that there is no animal or vegetable life on the moon's surface; neither are there oceans, lakes or rivers, snowfields or glaciers, river-valleys or cañons, islands, stratified rocks, nor volcanoes of the kind most prevalent on our own globe. [Illustration: Fig. 38.--Photograph of the moon's surface (in part) showing the illuminated "spots," and ridges, and the deep hollows. The position of "Tycho" is shown near the upper edge, and some of the volcanic craters are very clearly seen near the margin.] Now on looking at a photographic picture of the moon's surface (Fig. 38), we observe that there are enormous dark spaces, irregular in outline, but more or less approaching the circular form, surrounded by steep and precipitous declivities, but with sides sloping outwards. These were supposed at one time to be seas; and they retain the name, though it is universally admitted that they contain no water. Some of these hollows are four English miles in depth. The largest of these, situated near the north pole of the moon, is called _Mare Imbrium_; next to it is _Mare Serenitatis_; next, _Mare Tranquilitatis_, with several others.[6] Mare Imbrium is of great depth, and from its floor rise several conical mountains with circular craters, the largest of which, _Archimedes_, is fifty miles in diameter; its vast smooth interior being divided into seven distinct zones running east and west. There is no central mountain or other obvious internal sign of former volcanic activity, but its irregular wall rises into abrupt towers, and is marked outside by decided terraces.[7] The Mare Imbrium is bounded along the east by a range of mountains called the _Apennines_, and towards the north by another range called the _Alps_; while a third range, that of the _Caucasus_, strikes northward from the junction of the two former ranges. Several circular or oval craters are situated on, and near to, the crest of these ridges. [Illustration: Fig. 39.--A magnified portion of the moon's surface, showing the forms of the great craters with their outer ramparts. The white spot with shadow is a cone rising from the centre of one of the larger craters to a great height and thus becoming illuminated by the sun's light.] But the greater part of the moon's hemisphere is dotted over by almost innumerable circular crater-like hollows; sometimes conspicuously surmounting lofty conical mountains, at other times only sinking below the general outer surface of the lunar sphere. On approaching the margin, these circular hollows appear oval in shape owing to their position on the sphere; and the general aspect of those that are visible leads to the conclusion that there are large numbers of smaller craters too small to be seen by the most powerful telescopes. These cones and craters are the most characteristic objects on the whole of the visible surface, and when highly magnified present very rugged outlines, suggestive of slag, or lava, which has consolidated on cooling, as in the case of most solidified lava-streams on our earth.[8] One of the most remarkable of these crateriform mountains is that named _Copernicus_, situated in a line with the southern prolongation of the Apennines. Of this mountain Sir R. Ball says: "It is particularly well known through Sir John Herschel's drawing, so beautifully reproduced in the many editions of the _Outlines of Astronomy_. The region to the west is dotted over with innumerable minute craterlets. It has a central, many-peaked mountain about 2,400 feet in height. There is good reason to believe that the terracing shown in its interior is mainly due to the repeated alternate rise, partial congealation and retreat of a vast sea of lava. At full moon it is surrounded by radiating streaks."[9] The view regarding the structure of Copernicus here expressed is of importance, as it is probably applicable to all the craters of our satellite. "When the moon is five or six days old," says Sir Robert Ball, "a beautiful group of three craters will be readily found on the boundary line between night and day. These are _Catharina_, _Cyrillus_, and _Theophilus_. Catharina is the most southerly of the group, and is more than 16,000 feet deep and connected to Cyrillus by a wide valley; but between Cyrillus and Theophilus there is no such connection. Indeed Cyrillus looks as if its huge surrounding ramparts, as high as Mont Blanc, had been completely finished when the volcanic forces commenced the formation of Theophilus, the rampart of which encroaches considerably on its older neighbour. Theophilus stands as a well-defined round crater, about 64 miles in diameter, with an internal depth of 14,000 to 18,000 feet, and a beautiful central group of mountains, one-third of that height, on its floor. This proves that the last eruptive efforts in this part of the moon fully equalled in intensity those that had preceded them. Although Theophilus is on the whole the deepest crater we can see in the moon, it has received little or no deformation by secondary eruptions." But perhaps the most remarkable object on the whole hemisphere of the moon is "the majestic Tycho," which rises from the surface near the south pole, and at a distance of about 1/6th of the diameter of the sphere from its margin. Its depth is stated by Ball to be 17,000 feet, and its diameter 50 miles. But its special distinction amongst the other volcanic craters lies in the streaks of light which radiate from it in all directions for hundreds and even thousands of miles, stretching with superb indifference across vast plains, into the deepest craters, and over the highest opposing ridges. When the sun rises on Tycho these streaks are invisible, but as soon as it has reached a height of 25° to 30° above the horizon, the rays emerge from their obscurity, and gradually increase in brightness until full moon, when they become the most conspicuous objects on her surface. As yet no satisfactory explanation has been given of the origin of these illuminated rays,[10] but I may be permitted to add that their form and mode of occurrence are eminently suggestive of gaseous exhalations from the volcano illumined by the sun's rays; and owing to the absence of an atmosphere, spreading themselves out in all directions and becoming more and more attenuated until they cease to be visible. The above account will probably suffice to give the reader a general idea of the features and inferential structure of the moon's surface. That she was once a molten mass is inferred from her globular form; but, according to G. F. Chambers, the most delicate measurements indicate no compression at the poles.[11] That her surface has cooled and become rigid is also a necessary inference; though Sir J. Herschel considered that the surface still retains a temperature _possibly_ exceeding that of boiling water.[12] However this may be, it is pretty certain that whatever changes may occur upon her surface are not due to present volcanic action, all evidence of such action being admittedly absent. If, when the earth and moon parted company, their respective temperatures were equal, the moon being so much the smaller of the two would have cooled more rapidly, and the surface may have been covered by a rigid crust when as yet that of the earth may have been molten from heat. Hence the rigidity of the moon's surface may date back to an immensely distant period, but she may still retain a high temperature within this crust. Having arrived at this stage of our narrative, we are in a position to consider by what means, and under what conditions, the cones and craters which diversify the lunar surface have been developed. In doing so it may be desirable, in the first place, to determine what form of crater on our earth's surface those of the moon do not represent; and we are guided in our inquiry by the consideration of the absence of water on the lunar surface. Now there are large numbers of crateriform mountains on our globe in the formation of which water has played an important, indeed essential, part. As we have already seen, water, though not the ultimate cause of volcanic eruptions, has been the chief agent, when in the form of steam at high pressure, in producing the explosions which accompany these eruptions, and in tearing up and hurling into the air the masses of rock, scoriæ, and ashes, which are piled around the vents of eruption in the form of craters during periods of activity. To this class of craters those of Etna, Vesuvius, and Auvergne belong. These mountains and conical hills (the domes excepted) are all built up of accumulations of fragmental material, with occasional sheets and dykes of lava intervening; and where eruptions have taken place in recent times, observation has shown that they are accompanied by outbursts of vast quantities of aqueous vapour, which has been the chief agent (along with various gases) in piling up the circular walls of the crater. It has also been shown that in many instances these crater-walls have been breached on one side, and that streams of molten lava which once occupied the cup to a greater or less height, have poured down the mountain side. Hence the form or outline of many of these fragmental craters is crescent-shaped. Such breached craters are to be found in all parts of the world, and are not confined to any one district, or even continent, so that they may be considered as characteristic of the class of volcanic crater-cones to which I am now referring. In the case of the moon, however, we fail to observe any decided instances of breached craters, with lava-streams, such as those I have described.[13] In nearly all cases the ramparts appear to extend continuously round the enclosed depression, solid and unbroken; or at least with no large gap occupying a very considerable section of the circumference. (See Fig. 38.) Hence we are led to suspect that there is some essential distinction between the craters on the surface of the moon and the greater number of those on the surface of our earth. It is scarcely necessary to add that the volcanic mountains of the moon offer no resemblance whatever to the dome-shaped volcanic mountains of our globe. If it were otherwise, the lunar mountains would appear as simple luminous points rising from a dark floor, over which they would cast a conical shadow. But the form of the lunar volcanic mountains is essentially different; as already observed, they consist in general of a circular rampart enclosing a depressed floor, sometimes terraced as in the case of Copernicus, from which rise one or more conical mountains, which are in effect the later vents of eruption. In our search, therefore, for analogous forms on our own earth, we must leave out the craters and domes of the type furnished by the European volcanoes and their representatives abroad, and have recourse to others of a different type. Is there then, we may ask, any type of volcanic mountain on our globe comparable with those on the moon? In all probability there is. If the reader will turn to the description of the volcanoes of the Hawaiian group in the Pacific, especially that of Mauna Loa, as given by Professor Dana and others, and compare it with that of Copernicus, he will find that in both cases we have a circular rampart of solid lava enclosing a vast plain of the same material from which rise one or more lava-cones. The interiors in both cases are terraced. So that, allowing for differences in magnitude, it would seem that there is no essential distinction between lunar craters and terrestrial craters of the type of Mauna Loa. Dana calls these Hawaiian volcanoes "basaltic," basalt being the prevalent material of which they are formed. Those of the moon may be composed of similar material, or otherwise; but in either case we may suppose they are built up of lava, erupted from vents connected with the molten reservoirs of the interior. Thus we conclude that they belong to an entirely different type, and have been built up in a different manner, from those represented by Etna, Vesuvius, and most of the extinct volcanoes of Auvergne, the Eifel, and of other districts considered in these pages. Let us now endeavour to picture to ourselves the stages through which the moon may be supposed to have passed from the time her surface began to consolidate owing to the radiation of her heat into space; for there is every probability that some of the craters now visible on her disk were formed at a very early period of her physical history. When the surface began to consolidate, it must also have contracted; and the interior molten matter, pressed out by the contracting crust, must have been over and over again extruded through fissures produced over the solidified surface, until the solid crust extended over the whole lunar surface, and became of considerable thickness. It is from this epoch that, in all probability, we should date the commencement of what may be termed "the volcanic history" of the moon. We must bear in mind that although the moon's surface had become solid, its temperature may have remained high for a very long period. But the continuous radiation of the surface-heat into space would produce continuous contraction, while the convection of the interior heat would tend to increase the thickness of the outer solid shell; and this, ever pressing with increasing force on the interior molten mass, would result in frequent ruptures of the shell, and the extrusion of molten lava rising from below. Hence we may suppose the fissure-eruptions of lava were of frequent occurrence for a lengthened period during the early stage of consolidation of the lunar crust; but afterwards these may be supposed to have given place to eruptions through pipes or vents, resulting in the formation of the circular craters which form such striking and characteristic objects in the physical aspect of our satellite.[14] It is not to be supposed that the various physical features on the lunar surface have all originated in the same way. The great ranges of mountains previously described may have originated by a process of piling up of immense masses of molten lava extruded from the interior through vents or fissures; while the great hollows (or "seas") are probably due to the falling inwards of large spaces owing to the escape of the interior lava. But it is with the circular craters that we are most concerned. Judging from analogy with the lava-craters present on our globe, we must suppose them to be due to the extrusion, and piling up, of lava through central pipes, followed in some cases by the subsidence of the floor of the crater. It seems not improbable that it was in this way the greater number of the circular craters lying around Tycho, and dotting so large a space round the margin of the moon, were constructed. (See Fig. 38.) In general they appear to consist of an elevated rim, enclosing a depressed plain, out of which a central cone arises. The rim may be supposed to have been piled up by successive discharges of lava from a central orifice; and after the subsidence of the paroxysm the lava still in a molten condition may have sunk down, forming a seething lake within the vast circular rampart, as in the case of the Hawaiian volcanoes. The terraces observable within the craters in some instances have probably been left by subsequent eruptions which have not attained to the level of preceding ones; and where a central crater-cone is seen to rise within the caldron, we may suppose this to have been built up by a later series of eruptions of lava through the original pipe after the consolidation of the interior sea of lava. The mamelons of the Isle of Bourbon,[15] and some of the lava-cones of Hawaii, appear to offer examples on our earth's surface of these peculiar forms. Such are the views of the origin of the physical features of our satellite which their form and inferred constitution appear to suggest. They are not offered with any intention of dogmatising on a subject which is admittedly obscure, and regarding which we have by no means all the necessary data for coming to a clear conclusion. All that can be affirmed is, that there is a great deal to be said in support of them, and that they are to some extent in harmony with phenomena within range of observation on the surface of our earth. The far greater effects of lunar vulcanicity, as compared with those of our globe, may be accounted for to some extent by the consideration that the force of gravity on the surface of the moon is only one-sixth of that on the surface of the earth. Hence the eruptive forces of the interior of our satellite have had less resistance to overcome than in the case of our planet; and the erupted materials have been shot forth to greater distances, and piled up in greater magnitude, than with us. We have also to recollect that the abrading action of water has been absent from the moon; so that, while accumulations of matter had been proceeding throughout a prolonged period over its surface, there was no counteracting agency of denudation at work to modify or lessen the effects of the ruptive forces. [1] Correctly speaking, each attracts the other towards its centre of gravity with a force proportionate to its mass, and inversely as the square of the distance; but the earth being by much the larger body, its attraction is far greater than that of the moon. [2] The variation in the distance is only under rare circumstances 40,000 miles, but ordinarily about 13,000 miles. [3] _Story of the Heavens_, 2nd edition, p. 525, _et seq._ [4] A series of researches made by Zöllner, of Leipzig, led him to assign to the light-reflecting capacity of the full-moon a result intermediate between that obtained by Bouguer, which gave a brightness equal to 1/300000 part of that of the sun, and of Wollaston, which gave 1/801070 part. We may accept 1/618000 of Zöllner as sufficiently close; so that it would require 600,000 full moons to give the same amount of light as that of the sun. [5] Schroter, however, came to the conclusion that the moon has an atmosphere. [6] A chart of the moon's surface, with the names of the principal physical features, will be found in Ball's _Story of the Heavens_, 2nd edit., p. 60. It must be remembered that the moon as seen through a telescope appears in reversed position. [7] _Ibid._, p. 66. [8] As represented by Nasmyth's models in plaster. [9] Ball, _loc. cit._, p. 67. [10] Ball, _loc. cit._, p. 69. [11] _Astronomy_, p. 78. [12] _Outlines of Astronomy_, p. 285. [13] At rare intervals a few crescent-shaped ridges are discernible on the lunar sphere, but it is very doubtful if they are to be regarded as breached craters. [14] The number of "spots" on the moon was considered to be 244 until Schroter increased it to 6,000, and accurately described many of them. Schroter seems to have been the earliest observer who identified the circular hollows on the moon's surface as volcanic craters. [15] Drawings of these very curious forms are given by Judd, _Volcanoes_, p. 127. CHAPTER III. ARE WE LIVING IN AN EPOCH OF SPECIAL VOLCANIC ACTIVITY? The question which we are about to discuss in the concluding chapter of this volume is one to which we ought to be able to offer a definite answer. This can only be arrived at by a comparison of the violence and extent of volcanic and seismic phenomena within the period of history with those of pre-historic periods. At first sight we might be disposed to give to the question an affirmative reply when we remember the eruptions of the last few years, and add to these the volcanic outbursts and earthquake shocks which history records. The cases of the earthquake and eruption in Japan of November, 1891, where in one province alone two thousand people lost their lives and many thousand houses were levelled[1]; that of Krakatoa, in 1883; of Vesuvius, in 1872; and many others of recent date which might be named, added to those which history records;--the recollection of such cases might lead us to conclude that our epoch is one in which the subterranean volcanic forces had broken out with extraordinary energy over the earth's surface. Still, when we come to examine into the cases of recorded eruptions--especially those of great violence--we find that they are limited to very special districts; and even if we extend our retrospect into the later centuries of our era, we shall find that the exceptionally great eruptions have been confined to certain permanently volcanic regions, such as the chain of the Andes, that of the Aleutian, Kurile, Japanese, and Philippine and Sunda Islands, lying for the most part along the remarkable volcanic girdle of the world to which I have referred in a previous page. Add to these the cases of Iceland and the volcanic islands of the Pacific, and we have almost the whole of the very active volcanoes of the world. Then for the purposes of our inquiry we have to ascertain how these active vents of eruption compare, as regards the magnitude of their operations, with those of the pre-historic and later Tertiary times. But before entering into this question it maybe observed, in the first place, that a large number of the vents of eruption, even along the chain of the earth's volcanic girdle, are dormant or extinct. This observation applies to many of the great cones and domes of the Andes, including Chimborazo and other colossal mountains in Ecuador, Columbia, Chili, Peru, and Mexico. The region between the eastern Rocky Mountains and the western coast of North America was, as we have seen, one over which volcanic eruptions took place on a vast scale in later Tertiary times; but one in which only the after-effects of volcanic action are at present in operation. We have also seen that the chain of volcanoes of Japan and of the Kurile Islands are only active to a slight extent as compared with former times, and the same observation applies to those of New Zealand. Out of 130 volcanoes in the Japanese islands, only 48 are now believed to be active. Again, if we turn to other districts we have been considering, we find that in the Indian Peninsula, in Arabia, in Syria and the Holy Land, in Persia, in Abyssinia and Asia Minor--regions where volcanic operations were exhibited on a grand scale throughout the Tertiary period, and in some cases almost down into recent times--we are met by similar evidences either of decaying volcanic energy, or of an energy which, as far as surface phenomena are concerned, is a thing of the past. Lastly, turning our attention to the European area, notwithstanding the still active condition of Etna, Vesuvius, and a few adjoining islands, we see in all directions throughout Southern Italy evidences of volcanic operations of a past time,--such as extinct crater-cones, lakes occupying the craters of former volcanoes, and extensive deposits of tuff or streams of lava--all concurring in giving evidence of a period now past, when vulcanicity was widespread over regions where its presence is now never felt except when some earthquake shock, like that of the Riviera, brings home to our minds the fact that the motive force is still beneath our feet, though under restrained conditions as compared with a former period. Similar conclusions are applicable with even greater force to other parts of the European area. The region of the Lower Rhine and Moselle, of Hungary and the Carpathians, of Central France, of the North of Ireland and the Inner Hebrides, all afford evidence of volcanic operations at a former period on an extensive scale; and the contrast between the present physically silent and peaceful condition of these regions, as regards any outward manifestations of sub-terrestrial forces, compared with those which were formerly prevalent, cannot fail to impress our minds irresistibly with the idea that volcanic energy has well-nigh exhausted itself over these tracts of the earth's surface. From this general survey of the present condition of the earth's surface, as regards the volcanic operations going on over it, and a comparison with those of a preceding period, we are driven to the conclusion that, however violent and often disastrous are the volcanic and seismic phenomena of the present day, they are restricted to comparatively narrow limits; and that even within these limits the volcanic forces are less powerful than they were in pre-historic times. The middle part of the Tertiary period appears, in fact, to have been one of extraordinary volcanic activity, whether we regard the wide area over which this activity manifested itself, or the results as shown by the great amount of the erupted materials. Many of the still active volcanic chains, or groups, probably had their first beginnings at the period referred to; but in the majority of cases the eruptive forces have become dormant or extinct. With the exception of the lavas of the Indian-Peninsular area, which appear, at least partially, to belong to the close of the Cretaceous epoch, the specially volcanic period may be considered to extend from the beginning of the Miocene down to the close of the Pliocene stage. During the Eocene stage, volcanic energy appears to have been to a great degree dormant; but plutonic energy was gathering strength for the great effort of the Miocene epoch, when the volcanic forces broke out with extraordinary violence over Europe, the British Isles, and other regions, and continued to develop throughout the succeeding Pliocene epoch, until the whole globe was surrounded by a girdle of fire. * * * * * The reply, therefore, to the question with which we set out is very plain; and is to the effect that the present epoch is one of comparatively low volcanic activity. The further question suggests itself, whether the volcanic phenomena of the middle Tertiary period bear any comparison with those of past geological times. This, though a question of great interest, is one which is far too large to be discussed here; and it is doubtful if we have materials available upon which to base a conclusion. But it may be stated with some confidence, in general terms, that the history of the earth appears to show that, throughout all geological time, our world has been the theatre of intermittent geological activity, periods of rest succeeding those of action; and if we are to draw a conclusion regarding the present and future, it would be that, owing to the lower rate of secular cooling of the crust, volcanic action ought to become less powerful as the world grows older. [1] Admirably illustrated in Prof. J. Milne's recently published work, _The Great Earthquake of Japan, 1891_. APPENDIX. A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE PRINCIPAL VARIETIES OF VOLCANIC ROCKS. The text-books on this subject are so numerous and accessible, that a very brief account of the volcanic rocks is all that need be given here for the purposes of reference by readers not familiar with petrological details. Let it be observed, in the first place, that there is no hard and fast line between the varieties of igneous and volcanic rocks. In this as in other parts of creation--_natura nil facit per saltum_; there are gradations from one variety to the other. At the same time a systematic arrangement is not only desirable, but necessary; and the most important basis of arrangement is that founded on the proportion of _silica_ (or quartz) in the various rocks, as first demonstrated by Durocher and Bunsen, who showed that silica plays the same part in the inorganic kingdom that carbon does in the organic. Upon this hypothesis, which is a very useful one to work with, these authors separated all igneous and volcanic rocks into two classes, viz., the Basic and the Acid; the former containing from 45-58 per cent., the latter 62-78 per cent. of that mineral. But there are a few intermediate varieties which serve to bridge over the space between the Basic and Acid Groups. The following is a generalised arrangement of the most important rocks under the above heads:-- _Tabular View of Chief Igneous and Volcanic Rocks._ BASIC GROUP. 1. Basalt and Dolerite. 2. Gabbro. 3. Diorite. 4. Diabase and Melaphyre. 5. Porphyrite. INTERMEDIATE GROUP. 6. Syenite. 7. Mica-trap, or Lampophyre. 8. Andesite. ACID GROUP. 9. Trachyte, Domite, and Phonolite. 10. Rhyolite and Obsidian. 11. Granophyre. 12. Granite. In the above grouping, and in the following definitions, I have not been able to follow any special authority. But the most serviceable text-books are those of Mr. Frank Rutley, _Study of Rocks_, and Dr. Hatch, _Petrology_; also H. Rosenbusch, _Mikroskopische Physiographie der Mineralien_, and F. Zirkel's _Untersuchungen über mikroskopische Structur der Basaltgesteine_. We shall consider these in the order above indicated:-- 1. BASALT.--The most extensively distributed of all volcanic rocks. It is a dense, dark rock of high specific gravity (2.4-2.8), consisting of plagioclase felspar (Labradorite or anorthite), augite, and titano-ferrite (titaniferous magnetite). Olivine is often present; and when abundant the rock is called "olivine-basalt." In the older rocks, basalt has often undergone decomposition into melaphyre; and amongst the metamorphic rocks it has been changed into diorite or hornblende rock; the augite having been converted into hornblende. When leucite or nepheline replaces plagioclase, the rock becomes a leucite-basalt,[1] or nepheline-basalt. Some basalts have a glass paste, or "ground-mass," in which the minerals are enclosed. The lava of Vesuvius may be regarded as a variety of basalt in which leucite replaces plagioclase, although this latter mineral is also present. Zirkel calls it "Sanidin-leucitgestein," as both the macroscopic and microscopic structure reveal the presence of leucite, sanidine, plagioclase, nephiline, augite, mica, olivine, apatite, and magnetite.[2] _Dolerite_ does not differ essentially from basalt in composition or structure, but is a largely crystalline-granular variety, occurring more abundantly than basalt amongst the more ancient rocks, and the different minerals are distinctly visible to the naked eye. A remarkable variety of this rock occurs at Slieve Gullion in Ireland, in which mica is so abundant as to constitute the rock a "micaceous dolerite." 2. GABBRO.--A rather wide group of volcanic rocks with variable composition. Essentially it is a crystalline-granular compound of plagioclase, generally Labradorite and diallage. Sometimes the pyroxenic mineral becomes hypersthene, giving rise to _hypersthene-gabbro_; or when hornblende is present, to _hornblende-gabbro_; when olivine, to _olivine-gabbro_. Magnetite is always present. These rocks occur in the Carlingford district in Ireland, in the Lizard district of Cornwall, the Inner Hebrides (Mull, Skye, etc.) of Scotland, and in Saxony. 3. DIORITE.--A crystalline-granular compound of plagioclase and hornblende with magnetite. When quartz is present it becomes (according to the usual British acceptation) a _syenite_; but this view is gradually giving place to the German definition of syenite, which is a compound of orthoclase and hornblende; and it may be better to denominate the variety as _quartz-diorite_. The diorites are abundant as sheets and dykes amongst the older palæozoic and metamorphic rocks, and are sometimes exceedingly rich in magnetite. Mica, epidote, and chlorite are also present as accessories. The rock occurs in North Wales, Charnwood Forest, Wicklow, Galway, and Donegal, and the Highlands of Scotland. There can be little doubt that amongst the metamorphic rocks of Galway, Mayo, and Donegal the great beds of (often columnar) diorite were originally augitic lavas, which have since undergone transformation. 4. DIABASE.--It is very doubtful if "Diabase" ought to be regarded as a distinct species of igneous rock, as it seems to be simply an altered variety of basalt or dolerite, in which chlorite, a secondary alteration-product, has been developed by the decomposition of the pyroxene or olivine of the original rock. It is a convenient name for use in the field when doubt occurs as to the real nature of an igneous rock. Melaphyre is a name given to the very dark varieties of altered augitic lavas, rich in magnetite and chlorite. 5. PORPHYRITE (or quartzless porphyry).--A basic variety of felstone-porphyry, consisting of a felspathic base with distinct crystals of felspar, with which there may be others of hornblende, mica, or augite. The colour is generally red or purple, and it weathers into red clay, in contrast to the highly acid or silicated felsites which weather into whitish sand. 6. SYENITE.--As stated above, this name has been variously applied. Its derivation is from Syene (Assouan) in Egypt, and the granitic rocks of that district were called "syenites," under the supposition (now known to be erroneous) that they differ from ordinary granites in that they were supposed to be composed of quartz, felspar, and hornblende, instead of quartz, felspar, and mica. From this it arose that syenite was regarded as a variety of granite in which the mica is replaced by hornblende, and this has generally been the British view of the question. But the German definition is applied to an entirely different rock, belonging to the felstone family; and according to this classification syenite consists of a crystalline-granular compound of orthoclase and hornblende, in which quartz may or may not be present. From this it will be seen that, according to Zirkel, syenite is essentially distinct from diorite in the species of its felspar.[3] It seems desirable to adopt the German view; and as regards diorites containing quartz as an accessory, to apply to them the name of _quartz-diorite_, as stated above, the name syenite as used by British geologists having arisen from a misconception. 7. MICA-TRAP (LAMPOPHYRE).--A rock, allied to the felstone family, in which mica is an abundant and essential constituent, thus consisting of plagioclase and mica, with a little magnetite. Quartz may be an accessory. This rock occurs amongst the Lower Silurian strata of Ireland, Cumberland, and the South of Scotland; it is not volcanic in the ordinary acceptation of that term. The term _lampophyre_ was introduced by Gümbel in describing the mica-traps of Fichtelgebirge. 8. ANDESITE.--This is a dark-coloured, compact or vesicular, semi-vitreous group of volcanic rocks, composed essentially of a glassy plagioclase felspar, and a ferro-magnesian constituent enclosed in a glassy base. According to the nature of the ferro-magnesian constituent, the group may be divided into _hornblende-andesite_, _biotite-andesite_, and _augite-andesite_. Quartz is sometimes present, and when this mineral becomes an essential it gives rise to a variety called _quartz-andesite_ or _dacite_. These rocks are the principal constituents of the lavas of the Andes, and the name was first applied to them by Leopold von Buch; but their representatives also occur in the British Isles, Germany, and elsewhere. Dacite is the lava of Krakatoa and some of the volcanoes of Japan. 9, 10. TRACHYTE and DOMITE, etc.--These names include very numerous varieties of highly silicated volcanic rock, and in their general form consist of a white felsitic paste with distinct crystals of sanidine, together with plagioclase, augite, biotite, hornblende, and accessories. When crystalline grains or blebs of quartz occur, we have a quartz-trachyte; when tridymite is abundant, as in the trachyte of Co. Antrim, we have "tridymite-trachyte." The trachytes occupy a position between the pitchstone lavas on the one hand, and the andesites and granophyres on the other. (_b._) _Domite_ is the name applied to the trachytic rocks of the Auvergne district and the Puy de Dôme particularly. They do not contain free quartz, though they are highly acid rocks, containing sometimes as much as 68 per cent. of silica. (_c._) _Phonolite (Clinkstone)_ is a trachytic rock, composed essentially of sanidine, nepheline, and augite or hornblende. It is usually of a greenish colour, hard and compact, so as to ring under the hammer; hence the name. The Wolf Rock is composed of phonolite, and it occurs largely in Auvergne. (_d._) _Rhyolites_ are closely connected with the _quartz-trachytes_, but present a marked fluidal, spherulitic, or perlitic structure. They consist of a trachytic ground-mass in which grains or crystals of quartz and sanidine, with other accessory minerals, are imbedded. They occur amongst the volcanic rocks of the British Isles, Hungary, and the Lipari Islands, from which the name _Liparite_ has been derived. (_e._) _Obsidian (Pitchstone)._--This is a vitreous, highly acid rock, which has become a volcanic glass in consequence of rapid cooling, distinct minerals not having had time to form. It has a conchoidal fracture, various shades of colour from grey to black; and under the microscope is seen to contain crystallites or microliths, often beautifully arranged in stellate or feathery groups. Spherulitic structure is not infrequent; and occasionally a few crystals of sanidine, augite, or hornblende are to be seen imbedded in the glassy ground-mass. The rock occurs in dykes and veins in the Western Isles of Scotland, in Antrim, and on the borders of the Mourne Mountains, near Newry, in Ireland. 11. GRANOPHYRE.--This term, according to Geikie, embraces the greater portion of the acid volcanic rocks of the Inner Hebrides. They are closely allied to the quartz-porphyries, and vary in texture from a fine felsitic or crystalline-granular quartz-porphyry, in the ground-mass of which porphyritic turbid felspar and quartz may generally be detected, to a granitoid rock of medium grain, in which the component dull felspar and clear quartz can be readily distinguished by the naked eye. Throughout all the varieties of texture there is a strong tendency to the development of minute irregularly-shaped cavities, inside of which quartz or felspar has crystallised out--a feature characteristic of the granites of Arran and of the Mourne Mountains. 12. GRANITE.--A true granite consists of a crystalline-granular rock consisting of quartz, felspar (orthoclase), and mica; the quartz is the paste or ground-mass in which the felspar and mica crystals are enclosed. This is the essential distinction between a granite and a quartz-porphyry or a granophyre. Owing to the presence of highly-heated steam under pressure in the body of the mass when in a molten condition, the quartz has been the last of the minerals to crystallise out, and hence does not itself occur with the crystalline form. True granite is not a volcanic rock, and its representatives amongst volcanic ejecta are to be found in the granophyres, quartz-porphyries, felsites, trachytes, and rhyolites so abundant in most volcanic countries, and to one or other of these the so-called granites of the Mourne Mountains, of Arran Island, and of Skye are to be referred. Granite is a rock which has been intruded in a molten condition amongst the deep-seated parts of the crust, and has consolidated under great pressure in presence of aqueous vapour and with extreme slowness, resulting in the formation of a rock which is largely crystalline-granular. Its presence at the surface is due to denudation of the masses by which it was originally overspread. [Illustration: Plate I.] EXPLANATION OF PLATE I. MAGNIFIED SECTIONS OF VESUVIAN MINERALS. Fig. 1. Section of leucite crystal from the lava of 1868, with fluid cavities. Mag., 350 diams. " 2, 3, 4, and 5. Sections of nepheline crystals from the lava of 1767, 1834, and 1854. " 6. Section of sodalite crystal from the lava of 1794, with belonites and crystals of magnetite enclosed. " 7, 8, 9. Crystals of leucite with microliths and cavities darkened by magnetite dust; also, containing crystals of magnetite. " 10. Group of leucite crystals of irregular form from the lava of 1855, congregated around a nucleus of crystals of plagioclase and magnetite. [Illustration: Plate II.] EXPLANATION OF PLATE II. MAGNIFIED SECTIONS OF VESUVIAN MINERALS. Fig. 1. Section of augite crystal from the lava of 1794, with numerous gas cells and delicately banded walls. The interior contains two long prisms, probably of apatite. " 2. Crystal of augite with banded walls, and indented by leucite crystals, from the lava of 1794. Mag., 40 diams. " 3, 4, 5. Sections of augite crystals from the lavas of 1794 and 1820. " 6. Group of augite crystals from the lava of 1835. " 7. Ditto from the lava of 1822, with encluded mica-flake (_a_) and portion of the glass paste, or ground-mass, of the rock (_b_), containing microliths and grains of magnetite. Fig. 8. Two crystals of olivine from the lava of 1855; they are intersected on one side by the plane of the thin section, and are remarkable for showing lines of gas cells, and bands of growth sometimes cellular. Mag., 40 diams. " 9. Section of rock-crystal (quartz), with double terminal pyramids, from the lava of 1850. " 10. Twin crystal of sanidine from the lava of 1858. Mag., 40 diams. " 11, 12, 13. Sections of plagioclase crystals (probably labradorite) from the lava of 1855. Mag., 100 diams. " 14. Section of olivine crystal from the lava of 1631--imperfectly formed. Mag., 30 diams. " 15. Section of mica-flake from the lava of 1822. Mag., 30 diams. [Illustration: Plate III.] EXPLANATION OF PLATE III. MAGNIFIED SECTIONS OF VOLCANIC ROCKS. 1. Diorite dyke, traversing Assynt limestone, North Highlands. 2. Basalt from upper beds, near Giant's Causeway, County Antrim. 3. Hornblende-hypersthene-augite Andesite, from Pichupichu, Andes. 4. Augite-Andesite from Pichupichu, Andes. 5. Olivine dolerite, with hornblende and biotite, Madagascar. 6. Leucite basalt, with mellilite, Capo di Bove, Italy. [Illustration: Plate IV.] EXPLANATION OF PLATE IV. MAGNIFIED SECTIONS OF VOLCANIC ROCKS. 1. Vesuvian lava, glass paste with numerous crystals of leucite; others of augite and nepheline porphyritically developed; also small grains of magnetite. 2. Vesuvian lava, glass paste with numerous crystals of leucite; others of olivine, hornblende, and sanidine, porphyritically developed; small grains of magnetite. 3. Trachyte from Hungary; felsitic paste with crystals of hornblende and sanidine, and a little magnetite. 4. Gabbro, from Carlingford Hill, Ireland, consisting of anorthite, augite, a little olivine, and magnetite. 5. Dolerite, from old volcanic neck, Scalot Hill, near Lame, consisting of labradorite, augite, olivine, and magnetite. 6. Dolerite, Ballintoy, County Antrim, showing ophetic structure, consisting of augite, labradorite, and magnetite. [1] Mr. S. Allport has discovered this in the rock called the "Wolf Rock" off the coast of Cornwall. The most important work on basalt is that by F. Zirkel, _Unters. über mikros. Zusammensetzung und Structur der Basaltgesteine_. Bonn (1870). [2] Zirkel, _Die mikroskopische Beschaffenheit der Mineralien und Gesteine_, p. 153. Leipsig (1873). [3] Zirkel, _Petrog._, i. 578; B. von Cotta, p. 178 (Eng. Trans.). INDEX. INDEX. Abyssinian table-lands, 190 _et seq._ Albano, Lake, 89 America, volcanic regions of North, 136 _et seq._; of Western, 144 Andes, 18, 27, 227, 254 Andesite, 263 Antrim, 154 _et seq._ Arabia, dormant volcanoes of, 126-135 Arabian desert, 134 Archibald, C. D., 213 Arizona, volcanoes of, 137 Argyll, Duke of, 173 Ascension, 36 Ashangi, volcanic series of, 192 Atmospheric effects of Krakatoa eruption, 213-214 Auckland district, volcanoes of, 147 Auvergne, volcanic regions of, 14, 16, 92 _et seq._ Azores, 32 Ball, Sir R. S., 242, 244 Basalt, 260 Blanford, W. T., 188, 189 Bonneville, Lake, 141-142 British Isles, Tertiary volcanic districts of, 154 _et seq._, 227; pre-Tertiary volcanic districts of, 196 _et seq._ Buch, L. von, 6, 11, 24 California, volcanoes of, 140 Callirrhoë, springs of, 133 Cañon, the Grand, 138 Cantal, volcanoes of the, 99-101 Cape Colony, Basalts of, 194 Charleston earthquake, 218, 222, 224 Chambers, G. F., 246 Charnwood Forest, 198 Chimborazo, 18 Clermont, vale of, 96-97 Clinkstone, 263 Cordilleras of Quito, 25 Cotopaxi, 16-18, 24, 26 Crater-cones, Lava, 19 Crateriform cones, 13 Craterless domes, 15 Dana, Prof. J. D., 19, 39, 249 Darwin, 28, 30 Darwin, Prof. G. H., 9, 231 Daubeny, 7, 61, 69 Davison, C., 9, 231 Davy, Sir H., 11 Deccan trap-series, 187 _et seq._ Demavend, Mount, 24 Diabase, 262 Diorite, 261 Dolerite, 261 Domite, 263 Dore, volcanoes of Mont, 100-101 Doughty, C. M., 127 Durocher, 232 Dutton, Capt. C. E., 9, 220, 222 Dykes in Ireland, 169-170 Earthquakes, 217 _et seq._ Errigal, 10 Etna, 14, 61 _et seq._, 229 Fingal's Cave, 185 Forbes, D., 27 France, extinct volcanoes of, 92 _et seq._ Gabbro, 261 Gardner, J. S., 156 Geikie, Sir A., 8, 29, 143, 156, 160, 169, 172, 176, 177, 196 Giant's Causeway, 165-166 Granite, 264 Granophyre, 264; of Mull, 174 Green, Prof. A. H., 194 Hatch, Dr., 260 Haughton, Prof., 68 Haurân, volcanoes of the, 22, 129 Haute Loire, volcanic districts of, 101-105 Hawaii, volcanoes of, 39, 249, 251 Hecla, 32 Herschel, Sir J., 244 Hibbert, Dr. S., 6, 114, 124 Hochstetter, F. von, 147 Hopkins, 171, 217 Hull, Dr. E. G., 110 Humboldt, A. von, 20, 25 Hutton, James, 5 Iceland, volcanoes of, 30-32 Ireland, volcanic Tertiary rocks of, 154 _et seq._ Jaulân, 129 Johnston-Lavis, 52 Jordan valley, 126 _et seq._, 226 Jorullo, 24 Judd, Prof., 8, 68, 69, 71, 172, 178, 208 Krakatoa, eruption of, 206 _et seq._ Kurile Islands, volcanoes of, 28 Laacher See, 121-123 Lampophyre, 262 Lancerote, 34 Lasaulx, Prof. von, 68 Lavas, relative density of, 232-234 Lima in 1746, earthquake of, 222 Lipari Islands, volcanoes of, 69 _et seq._ Lisbon, earthquake of, 221 Lister, J. J., 38 Lunar volcanoes, 236 _et seq._ Lyell, Sir C., 30, 62, 78, 217 Mackowen, Col., 74 Magdala, volcanic series of, 192-193 Mallet, R., 9, 217 Mauna Loa, 19, 39, 249 Mica-trap, 262 Milne, Prof., 28, 218, 253 Moab, volcanic regions of, 132 Moon, volcanoes of, 236 _et seq._ Monte Nuovo, 85 Mull, 172 _et seq._ Neapolitan group of volcanoes, 28 New Zealand, volcanoes of, 146 Obsidian, 264 Ocean waves of seismic origin, 208, 220 O'Reilly, Prof., 9, 219 Orizaba, 21 Ovid, 3 Pacific, volcanic islands of, 37 Palestine, dormant volcanoes of, 126-135 Palmieri, Prof., 55 Pantelleria, 74 Phlegræan fields, 85 Phonolite, 263 Pitchstone, 264 Pliny, 2, 4 Porphyrite, 262 Powell, Major, 138 Pre-Tertiary volcanic rocks, 187 _et seq._; of British Isles, 196 _et seq._ Puy de Dôme, 105-110 Pythagoreans on volcanoes, 2-3 Quito, Cordilleras of, 25 Rangitoto, 19, 149 Reyer, Dr. E., 17 Rhine valley, volcanoes of, 113 _et seq._ Rhyolite, 263 Riviera in 1887, earthquake of, 219 Rocca Monfina, 80 Roderberg, 119, 120 Rome, 88-89 Rosenbusch, H., 260 Roto Mahana, 151 Ruapahu, 151 Russell, Hon. Rollo, 213 Rutley, F., 260 St. Helena, 37 San Francisco, Mount, 138 Santorin, 76-83 Schehallion, 10 Schumacher, 127 Scotland, volcanic districts of, 172 _et seq._ Scrope, Poulett, 5, 73, 93, 98 Scuir of Eigg, 180-184 Seismic phenomena, special, 201 _et seq._, 217 _et seq._ Shasta, Mount, 140 Siebengebirge, 116-120 Skye, 177-179 Sleamish, 168 Smyth, Piazzi, 33 Snake River, volcanoes of, 142 Staffa, 185-186 Strabo on volcanoes, 3 Stromboli, 71-73 Sumatra, volcanic action in, 226 Syenite, 262 Symes, R. G., 167 Syria, earthquakes in, 219 Taupo Lake, 150 Taylor, Mount, 138 Tell el Ahmâr, 131 Tell el Akkasheh, 131 Tell el Farras, 131 Tell Abû en Nedâ, 130 Tell Abû Nedîr, 129 Templepatrick, quarry at, 160 Teneriffe, 33 Tertiary period, volcanic activity of, 255 Thucydides, 2 Tonga Islands, volcanoes of, 38 Tongariro, 151 Trachyte, 263 Trass of Brühl Valley, 123-125 Tristan da Cunha, 37 Tristram, Canon, 127, 131 Utah, volcanoes of, 137 Verbeek, R. D. M., 202 Vesuvius, 4, 14, 41-60, 67, 229 Volcanoes, historic notices of, 1-5; form, structure, and composition of, 10-19; lines and groups of active, 20-29; of mid-ocean, 30-40; extinct or dormant, 84 _et seq._; special volcanic and seismic phenomena, 201 _et seq._; the ultimate cause of volcanic action, 225 _et seq._; whether we are living in an epoch of special volcanic activity, 253-256; brief account of volcanic rocks, 259-265 Vulcanists, 5 Vulcano, 69, 71 Wallace, A. R., 81 Waltershausen, W. S. von, 7, 61 Wellington, Mount, 149 Wharton, Capt., 212 Whymper, E., 18 Yarmûk, valley of the, 129, 131 Yellowstone Park, 145 Zirkel, F., 260 Zöllner, 240 THE WALTER SCOTT PRESS, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. The Contemporary Science Series. EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS. * * * * * Crown 8vo, Cloth, 3s. 6d. per vol.; Half Morocco, 6s. 6d. I. THE EVOLUTION OF SEX. By Professor PATRICK GEDDES and J. ARTHUR THOMSON. With 90 Illustrations. Second Edition. "The authors have brought to the task--as indeed their names guarantee--a wealth of knowledge, a lucid and attractive method of treatment, and a rich vein of picturesque language."--_Nature._ II. ELECTRICITY IN MODERN LIFE. By G. W. DE TUNZELMANN. With 88 Illustrations. "A clearly-written and connected sketch of what is known about electricity and magnetism, the more prominent modern applications, and the principles on which they are based."--_Saturday Review._ III. THE ORIGIN OF THE ARYANS. By Dr. ISAAC TAYLOR. Illustrated. Second Edition. "Canon Taylor is probably the most encyclopædic all-round scholar now living. His new volume on the Origin of the Aryans is a first-rate example of the excellent account to which he can turn his exceptionally wide and varied information.... Masterly and exhaustive."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ IV. PHYSIOGNOMY AND EXPRESSION. By P. MANTEGAZZA. Illustrated. "Professor Mantegazza is a writer full of life and spirit, and the natural attractiveness of his subject is not destroyed by his scientific handling of it."--_Literary World_ (Boston). V. EVOLUTION AND DISEASE. By J. B. SUTTON, F.R.C.S. With 135 Illustrations. "The work is of special value to professional men, yet educated persons generally will find much in it which it is both interesting and important to know."--_The Scottish Weekly._ VI. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY. By G. L. GOMME. Illustrated. "His book will probably remain for some time the best work of reference for facts bearing on those traces of the village community which have not been effaced by conquest, encroachment, and the heavy hand of Roman law."--_Scottish Leader._ VII. THE CRIMINAL. By HAVELOCK ELLIS. Illustrated. "An ably written, an instructive, and a most entertaining book."--_Law Quarterly Review._ * * * * * London: WALTER SCOTT, LIMITED, 24 Warwick Lane. The Contemporary Science Series--continued. VIII. SANITY AND INSANITY. By Dr. CHARLES MERCIER. Illustrated. "Taken as a whole, it is the brightest book on the physical side of mental science published in our time."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ IX. HYPNOTISM. By Dr. ALBERT MOLL. Second Edition. "Marks a step of some importance in the study of some difficult physiological and psychological problems which have not yet received much attention in the scientific world of England."--_Nature._ X. MANUAL TRAINING. By Dr. C. M. WOODWARD, Director of the Manual Training School, St. Louis. Illustrated. "There is no greater authority on the subject than Professor Woodward."--_Manchester Guardian._ XI. THE SCIENCE OF FAIRY TALES. By E. SIDNEY HARTLAND. "Mr. Hartland's book will win the sympathy of all earnest students, both by the knowledge it displays, and by a thorough love and appreciation of his subject, which is evident throughout."--_Spectator._ XII. PRIMITIVE FOLK. By ELIE RECLUS. "For an introduction to the study of the questions of property, marriage, government, religion,--in a word, to the evolution of society,--this little volume will be found most convenient."--_Scottish Leader._ XIII. THE EVOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. By Professor LETOURNEAU. "Among the distinguished French students of sociology, Professor Letourneau has long stood in the first rank. He approaches the great study of man free from bias and shy of generalisations. To collect, scrutinise, and appraise facts is his chief business."--_Science._ XIV. BACTERIA AND THEIR PRODUCTS. By Dr. G. SIMS WOODHEAD. Illustrated. "An excellent summary of the present state of knowledge of the subject."--_Lancet._ XV. EDUCATION AND HEREDITY. By J. M. GUYAU. "It is a sign of the value of this book that the natural impulse on arriving at its last page is to turn again to the first, and try to gather up and coordinate some of the many admirable truths it presents."--_Anti-Jacobin._ XVI. THE MAN OF GENIUS. By Professor LOMBROSO. Illustrated. "By far the most comprehensive and fascinating collection of facts and generalisations concerning genius which has yet been brought together."--_Journal of Mental Science._ XVII. THE GRAMMAR OF SCIENCE. By Professor KARL PEARSON. Illustrated. XVIII. PROPERTY: ITS ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT. By CH. LETOURNEAU, General Secretary to the Anthropological Society, Paris, and Professor in the School of Anthropology, Paris. An ethnological account of the beginnings of property among animals, of its communistic stages among primitive races, and of its later individualistic developments, together with a brief sketch of its probable evolution in the future. * * * * * London: WALTER SCOTT, LIMITED, 24 Warwick Lane. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Changed 'Kilarrea' to 'Kilauea' on page 19: Mauna Loa and Kilarrea. Changed 'Kilanea' to 'Kilauea' on page 39: Kilanea, 4158 feet. Made punctuation (semi-colons) consistent in caption to figure 16. Changed 'Brionde' to 'Brioude' on page 94: till at Brionde it becomes. Changed 'occuping' to 'occupying' on page 96: occuping a hollow. Changed 'Rodesberg' to 'Roderberg' on page 118: old extinct volcano of Rodesberg. Changed 'Wolkenberg' to 'Wolkenburg' on page 118: and that of the Wolkenberg. Left the reference to Jeremiah, l. 25. in footnote to Part III Chapter I, although Jeremiah, li. 25. seems more appropriate. Changed 'fumarols' to 'fumaroles' on page 137: fumarols give evidence. Removed extra comma on page 153: of the present, epoch. Changed 'columnal' to 'columnar' on page 176: the columnal structure. Changed 'groves' to 'grooves' on page 183: the groves and scorings. Changed 'Angust' to 'August' on page 212: the 27th of Angust. Changed 'mikroskopischen' to 'mikroskopische' on page 260: über mikroskopischen Structur. Changed 'become' to 'becomes' on page 260: the rock become a leucite-basalt. Left inconsistent spellings of 'Baalbec' and 'Baalbeck'; 'Harrat' and 'Harrât'; 'mètres' and 'metres'; 'pitchstone' and 'pitch-stone'; 'prehistoric' and 'pre-historic'; 'Rhône' and 'Rhone'; 'sub-aerial', 'subaërial' and 'subaerial'; 'tableland' and 'table-land'. Greek words were replaced with their transliterations: 'meson pyr' and 'Peri kosmou'. The oe-ligature was expanded to the two separate characters: 'Euboea' and 'Boeotia'. Left the list numbering as is at the beginning of Chapter II of Part IV, even though the list begins at item c, as if it continues the list which began in the previous chapter. 
34744	----	http://www.freeliterature.org THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. BY GRANT ALLEN, AUTHOR OF "BABYLON," "IN ALL SHADES," ETC., ETC. _WITH SEVENTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. FINNEMORE._ LONDON: HATCHARDS, PICCADILLY, W. 1888. RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY. [Illustration: 'BOWING DOWN TOWARDS THE MOUTH OF THE CRATER, THEY SEEMED TO SALUTE THE GODDESS OF THE VOLCANO.'] DEDICATION. TO JERRARD GRANT ALLEN, _THE ONLY BEGETTER OF THESE ENSUING ADVENTURES._ My Dear Grantie, From the following pages, written with a single eye to your own personal tastes and predilections, you may, I trust, learn three Great Moral Lessons. First, never to approach too near the edge of an active volcano. Second, never to continue your intimacy with a man who deliberately and wickedly declines to pull you out of a burning crater. And third, never to intrust the care of youth to a cannibal heathen South Sea Islander. With the trifling exception of these three now enumerated, I am not aware that you can extract any Great Moral Lesson whatsoever from the hairbreadth escapes of Kea and her associates. Having thus almost entirely satisfied your expressed wishes in this matter--for "a story without a moral"--I subscribe myself, with pride, Your obedient servant and very loving father, G.A. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. "BOWING DOWN TOWARDS THE MOUTH OF THE CRATER, THEY SEEMED TO SALUTE THE GODDESS OF THE VOLCANO" _Frontispiece._ "IT'S MORE THAN DANGEROUS. IT'S ALMOST CERTAINLY FATAL" "ALL AT ONCE A GREAT BODY OF GAS WAS EJECTED INTO THE AIR, IN A BLAZE OF LIGHT" "'YOUNG MAN,' HE CRIED, '...I WARN YOU NOT TO TRIFLE WITH THE BURNING MOUNTAIN'" "I ROLLED DOWN RAPIDLY TO THE VERY BOTTOM" "I LAY THERE HORROR-STRICKEN, AND GAZED IDLY DOWN" "I CLUTCHED THE CRUMBLING PEAK WITH MY HOOKED FINGERS" "SHE CARRIED ME SLOWLY UP THE ZIG-ZAG PATH" "'IF YOU KNEW ALL,' SHE ANSWERED, 'HOW YOU WOULD PITY ME!'" "'EVERYTHING IS CORRECT,' HE WHISPERED" "SHE LOOKED UP IN AN AGONY OF SUSPENSE" "KEA TRIED ON ALL HER THINGS" "A STRANGE PROCESSION BEGAN SLOWLY TO DESCEND" "THE BAMBOO BENT OMINOUSLY DOWN" "WE RODE AT FULL SPEED IN BREATHLESS HASTE" THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. CHAPTER I My brother Frank is a most practical boy. I may be prejudiced, but it seems to me somehow there's nothing like close personal contact with active volcanoes to teach a young fellow prudence, coolness, and adaptability to circumstances. "Tom," said he to me, as we stood and watched the queer party on deck, devouring taro-paste as a Neapolitan swallows down long strings of macaroni: "don't you think, if we've got to live so long in a native hut, and feed on this port of thing, we may as well use ourselves to their manners and customs, whatever they may be, at the pearliest convenient opportunity?" "Haven't you heard, my dear boy," said I, "what the naval officer wrote when he was asked to report to the Admiralty on that very subject of the manners and customs of the South Sea Islanders? 'Manners they have none,' he replied with Spartan brevity, 'and their customs are beastly.'" "Not a bit of it," Frank answered quickly in his jolly way. "For my part I think this sticky, pasty stuff they're eating with their fingers, though it's a bit stodgy, looks like real jam, and I'd much rather take my lunch off things like that up here on deck, out of a native calabash, than go down and eat a civilized meal with a knife and fork in that hoky-poky, stuffy little cabin there." I confess, for myself, I didn't exactly like the look of it. Cosmopolitan as I am, I object to fingers as a substitute for spoons. We were on board the Royal Hawaiian mail steamer _Liké Liké_, 500 tons registered burden, from Honolulu for Hilo, in the island of Hawaii; and a quainter group than the natives on deck I'm bound to admit, in all my wanderings, by sea or by land, I had never set eyes on. The tiny steamer was built in fact on purpose to accommodate all tastes alike, be the same savage or civilized. Down stairs was a saloon where regular meals in the European fashion were well served by a dusky Polynesian steward in a white linen jacket, to such luxurious persons as preferred to take them in that orthodox manner. But the unsophisticated natives, in their picturesque dress, believing firmly in the truth of the proverb that fingers were made before forks, liked better to carry their own simple provisions in their baskets with them. They picnicked on deck in merry little circles, laughing and talking at the top of their voices (when they weren't sea-sick) as they squatted on their mats of woven grass round the family taro-bowl. From this common dish, parents and children, young men and maidens, fed all alike, each dipping his forefinger dexterously into the sticky mess, and then twisting it round, as one might twist a lot of half-boiled toffee, till they landed it safely with a sudden twirl in their appreciative mouths. "It must be awfully good," Frank went on meditatively, eyeing the doubtful mixture with a hungry look. "They seem to enjoy it so, or else of course they wouldn't lick their fingers! I wish we could strike up a friendship now with some of these amiable light-coloured natives, and get them to share their lunch with us off-hand. I wonder what they call this precious stuff of theirs?" "We call it taro," one of the nearest group answered, greatly to our surprise, in perfectly good and clear English. "Would you like to taste some? It's very nice. We shall be delighted if you'll try it. Hawaiians are always proud indeed to show any hospitality in their power to friendly strangers." She was a pretty young girl of eighteen who spoke, lighter a good deal in complexion than most of the other natives around, and she was seated with a tall, dark, serious-looking old Hawaiian at a calabashful of the strange pasty mixture the appearance of which had so attracted Frank's favourable attention. As she spoke, she moved a little aside to make room for us on her mat, as if they were all playing Hunt-the-Slipper; and Frank, whose fault, I'm bound to admit, was never shyness, squatted down at once, nothing loth, tailor-fashion, on the deck by her side, and with many thanks accepted the courteous offer of a dip in the taro-bowl. "Upon my word, Tom," he said, twirling a great dab of the queer-looking paste awkwardly into his mouth, "it's first-rate grub when you come to taste it. A little sour to be sure, but as good as pancakes. If you're going to feed us like this on the islands, sir," he added, turning to the stern old man, "I don't think we'll be in any hurry to run away again." "Bring out some more food, Kea," the dark old Hawaiian half whispered to the girl politely, in English not quite so good as her own, but still very fluent, "and ask the gentleman," with a slight bow towards me, "if he won't be good enough to join us in our simple luncheon." "I shall be only too glad," I answered, immensely surprised, and with some qualms of conscience about my unfortunate remark as to the manners and customs, which I never expected any native on board to understand. "It will be much more pleasant, I'm sure, to take my meals up here on deck than to go down to that hot and stuffy little saloon below." As I seated myself, the girl Kea took up from her side a pretty basket of plaited palm-leaves, and produced from it a few pieces of dried fish, some cold roast pork, a stick or two of sugar-cane, several fresh oranges just picked from the tree, and a tempting display of bananas and bread-fruits. Frank and I were old enough sailors and old enough travellers to fare sumptuously off such excellent food stuffs; indeed we had just arrived in the Islands from San Francisco by the last mail steamer, and fresh fruit was a great luxury to us; while after so long a voyage on the open Pacific we thought nothing of this pleasant little summer cruise between the beautiful members of that volcanic archipelago. A meal together is a capital introduction. In the course of ten minutes we were all four of us on excellent terms with one another. Kea had introduced to us the dark old man as her Uncle Kalaua, a Hawaiian chief of the old stock of some distinction, whose house was remarkable for being situated higher up the slopes of the great volcano, Mauna Loa, than any other on the entire island. She herself, she let us know by casual side-glimpses, was a half-caste by birth, though she hardly looked as dark as many Europeans; her mother had been Kalaua's only sister, and her father the captain of an English whaling-ship; but both were dead, she added with a sigh, and she lived now with her grim old uncle near the very summit of the great burning mountain. She told us a vast deal about herself, in fact, by way of introduction, with the usual frankness of the simple, unsophisticated children of nature, and she asked us a lot of questions in return, being anxious to learn, as we were neither missionaries, nor whalers, nor sugar-planters, nor merchants, what on earth our business could be in Hawaii. "Well," said I, with a smile of amusement, "you'll think it a very funny one indeed when I tell you what it is. We've come to make observations on Mauna Loa." "To make observations!" Kea answered with a faint thrill of solemn awe in her hushed voice. "Oh, don't say that. It's--it's so very dangerous." And she glanced aside timidly at her uncle. Kalaua looked up at us quickly with a suspicious glance. "Observations on Mauna Loa?" he cried in a very stern tone. "On our great volcano? Scientific observations? The man is ill advised in truth who tries to go poking and prying too much about Mauna Loa!" "Oh, you needn't be afraid," Frank answered laughing; "need they, Tom? It's not by any means our first experience of eruptions. My brother's an awful dab at volcanoes, you know. He's seen dozens; and he's been sent out to examine this one in particular by the British Association for the Advancement of Science. I'm his assistant-examiner, without salary. Sounds awfully grand that, doesn't it? But we mean to have a jolly lark in Hawaii for all that. Expenses paid, and all found; and nothing to do but to go down the crater and look about us. We expect to have a splendid time. There's nothing I love like a really good volcano." But in spite of Frank's enthusiastic way of looking at the matter I could see at a glance that the mention of our object in visiting Hawaii had cast a shade of gloom at once over both Kea and her uncle. The old man seemed to grow moody and sullen; Kea was rather grieved and saddened. The rest of our meal passed off less pleasantly. It was not till we began to chew green sugar-cane together by way of dessert, that Kea's spirits at all returned. She laughed and talked then once more with native good-humour, showing us how to strip and peel the fresh cane, and making fun of us merrily because in our English awkwardness we got pieces of the fibre wedged hopelessly in between our front teeth. Yet even so I couldn't help suspecting that something was weighing upon her mind a little. Evidently they were either hurt or distressed that we should think of scientifically observing Mauna Loa. I wondered much whether they held the mountain too sacred a thing for inquisitive science to poke its nose into, or whether they only considered it too dangerous a crater for the bold explorer to meddle with carelessly. If it was merely the last, I didn't much mind. Frank and I were thoroughly at home with nasty-tempered volcanoes, and knew their tricks and their manners down to the ground far too well to be in the least afraid of them. I had been engaged in studying their manifestations indeed for the last six years; and Frank, who was born to face danger, had joined me in all my expeditions and explorations ever since he'd been big enough to carry a knapsack. In the course of the afternoon however I happened to be standing with pretty little Kea near the bow of the steamer, while her uncle was slowly pacing the quarterdeck, immersed in conversation with a Hawaiian acquaintance. She was a graceful young girl, with a wreath of yellow flowers twined, Pacific fashion, round her broad straw hat, and another garland of crimson hibiscus thrown lightly like a scarf like one well-shaped shoulder. She glanced timidly round to see if Kalaua was well out of earshot; then, seeing herself safe, she said to me in a low, half-whispered voice, "If I were you, Mr. Hesselgrave, I'd give up the idea of exploring Mauna Loa." "Give it up!" I cried. "Why, really, you know, that would be quite impossible! I've come all the way from England on purpose to visit it. Is the mountain so very dangerous then?" [Illustration: "IT'S MORE THAN DANGEROUS, IT'S ALMOST CERTAINLY FATAL."] Kea's voice dropped a tone lower still. "It's more than dangerous," she said very nervously. "It's almost certainly fatal." "How so?" I asked. I was not easily frightened. She hesitated a moment. Then she answered with a pained and half-terrified air, "Nobody in Hawaii will give you any assistance." "Why not?" I inquired. "Are they all so dreadfully afraid of the volcano?" "Not of the volcano," Kea replied with evident awe in her tone, "but of Pélé, of Pélé.----I suppose you've never even heard about Pélé, though!" "Never!" I repeated, laughing unconcernedly. "Enlighten my darkness. Who is he, or what is it?" "It's neither _he_ nor _it_," the Hawaiian girl answered in a hushed voice. "It's _she_, if it's anybody. Pélé's the goddess who lives, as our people used once to believe, in a fiery cave at the bottom of Mauna Loa!" "Nonsense!" I replied, amused at the girl's apparent superstition. "I thought you were all converted here long ago. You don't mean to say your people go on believing still in such childish nonsense as gods and goddesses?" Kea's voice sank lower than ever, and she glanced around her with a frightened little gaze. "We don't _worship_ them, you know," she answered apologetically, under her breath almost; "but we can't help believing there's somebody there, of course, some super-natural being, when we hear Pélé groaning and moaning and sobbing in the dead of night, or see her casting up huge red-hot stones and showers of lava, whenever she's angry." She paused a moment: then she added mysteriously in a solemn undertone. "There must be something in it. My father knew that. He was one of the bravest and most skilful whalers in the whole Pacific, and he always said there was something in it." I hadn't the heart to answer her back. I didn't consider the captain of a whaling ship a conclusive authority on such a point of science; but I couldn't bear to interfere with the poor girl's touching belief in her dead father's supreme wisdom; so I abstained humanely from adverse criticism. "And your uncle?" I asked after a brief interval. Kea seemed almost terrified at the question. "My uncle," she said, in a shuffling way, "knows one thing well--that, according to the firm tradition of our ancestors, if the White Man's Foot ever treads the inner floor of Pélé's home, the White Man himself must foil a victim that day to the anger of the goddess. It may be true, or it may be false: but at any rate, that was what our fathers told us." I laughed again. She was so absurdly and profoundly in earnest about it all. "In that case." I said with a little bow, "I may as well make my will at once, and leave my property to my nearest relations, for it's all up with me. I mean to explore the crater myself, and, I need hardly tell you, Frank will accompany me. We'll call in some morning at the front door, and drop a card on this terrible Pélé. I hope the lady will have the politeness to be at home to receive visitors." The girl shuddered. "Hush," she cried, with a terrified face. "Don't talk like that. Don't talk any more about the matter at all. You don't know what you're saying. My uncle is coming. I wouldn't for worlds he should overhear us. We don't believe in Pélé any longer, of course. But I hope for all that you'll never try to explore the crater." At that very moment the old chief Kalaua, who had long been deeply immersed in talk with his friend at the stern, apparently discussing some serious subject, strolled up and joined us. He bowed once more as he approached, with the strange old savage Hawaiian politeness; for in courtesy of manner these Pacific Islanders could give points to most educated Englishmen. "I was thinking," he said, withdrawing his cigar and addressing me, "that if you and your brother really want to make explorations in Mauna Loa you couldn't do better than come up and stop at my house on the top of the mountain. It's nearest the summit of any in the island, and it would be a convenient place for you always to start from on your exploring expeditions. You'd save the long ride up the slopes. May I venture to offer you the hospitality of a humble Hawaiian roof? It's a nice warm house, European built--it was put up by my English brother-in-law, Kea's father; and I think we could manage to make you as comfortable as anybody in Hawaii. Is it agreed? What say you?" "You would allow me to pay for our board and lodging, of course?" I answered interrogatively. "Otherwise I mustn't trespass so far as that on your kind indulgence." The old native drew himself up at once with offended dignity. "I'm a chief," he replied with quiet emphasis. "The blood of the great Kamehameha the First flows in my veins. When I ask you to my house, I ask you as my guest. Don't offend me, I beg of you, by offering me money!" I felt I had really hurt the old chief's pride and wounded his feelings, so I hastened to apologize with the best expressions I could summon up, and to protest that I hadn't the remotest intention of slighting in any way his generous offer. "In England," I continued, "we are not accustomed to be received by perfect strangers in such a princely style of open-handed hospitality." Kalaua bowed. "It is well," he answered with stately dignity. "Come to my house, and you shall have all that my house affords freely. May we expect you to stop with us then? It will give myself and my niece the greatest pleasure in life, I assure you, to receive you." Kea from behind framed her lips, to my surprise, into an emphatic "No." I saw it and smiled. She uttered no sound, but the old man seemed instinctively to recognize the fact that she was making signs to me. He turned round, half-angrily, though with perfect composure, and said something to her in Hawaiian, which I did not then fully understand, though I had been studying the language hard, with dictionary and grammar, all the way out on my voyage from England. Kea looked frightened and held her tongue at once. The old chief glanced back at me for a decisive answer. In spite of Kea's warning I thought the opportunity too good to be missed. "I shall be delighted," I answered with my warmest manner. "I'm sure it's most kind of you. How can I thank you enough? I had no idea you Hawaiians were so generously hospitable." When I told Frank of it that young rascal remarked with a solemn grin, "Of course they're hospitable! Why, didn't they take in Captain Cook, and roast him and eat him, they were so very fond of him? I expect that's what this sober old fellow of yours means to do with us. He'll give a dinner-party in our honour when we get there, no doubt, and you and I will be the joints for the occasion. That's the Pacific way of welcoming a stranger." CHAPTER II. "When we reached Hilo, I went ashore in a boat through the dangerous surf, and before arranging to go up the mountain with my host and his niece, I called first on an English merchant in the little palm-girt town, to whom we had letters of introduction from friends in Liverpool. "Going to stop with Kalaua, eh?" the merchant said, as soon as we had named our particular business. "A very good house, too! You couldn't do better. Quite close to the very mouth of the crater, and right in the track of the great red-hot lava streams. You'll see Pélé kicking up a shindy there simply to perfection. Her majesty's been getting precious uneasy of late--rumbling and growling I shouldn't be surprised if you're just in the nick of time for a first-rate eruption." "And what sort of person is my host?" I asked curiously. "He seems a very stern, old-fashioned cannibal." Our new acquaintance laughed. "You may well say that," he answered smiling. "In the good old days--or the bad old days, whichever of the two you prefer to call them--you pays your money and you takes your choice--Kalaua, they say, was the hereditary priest of that grim goddess, Pélé. His house was built on the highest habitable point of the mountain where Pélé dwells, that he might be close at hand to appease the angry spirit of the great crater whenever she began to pour down lava over the banana-grounds and cocoanut plantations at the foot of the volcano. Many a fat pig, and many a basketful of prime taro that hard-looking old man has offered up in his time to Pélé--ay, and I dare say many a human victim, too, if we only knew it. But all that's over long ago, thank goodness. He's a Christian now, of course, like all the rest of them; a very respectable old fellow in his way, with a keen eye of his own to business, and a thorough comprehension of the state of the sugar market. He keeps a good house. You've fallen on your feet, I can tell you, for Hawaii, if you've got an invitation to stop for an indefinite time as a guest at Kalaua's." I was glad to hear we had happened by chance upon such comfortable quarters. We slept that night at a little Hawaiian inn at Hilo, where we dined most sumptuously off roast pig and baked plantains; and at six next morning, Kalaua himself wakened us up to start on our long ride up the great lone mountain. When we sallied forth, four sure-footed ponies stood saddled at the door, and Kalaua, Kea, Frank, and myself, mounting our careering steeds (only they didn't career), began our ascent to the cloud-capped summit. Mauna Loa, that bald cone, is almost as high as any peak in the Alps, rising some 14,000 feet above sea level; but the ascent over the lava plains is gentle and gradual, and the top, in this warm and delicious climate, still remains far below the level of perpetual snow. Nevertheless it is a long and tedious ride, some thirty miles, from Hilo to the top; and our sure-footed little ponies clambered slowly on, planting their hoofs with the utmost deliberation on the treacherous surface of the rugged and honey-combed masses of lava. Frank and I were both quite tired out with their camel-like pace when we reached the summit. Kea and Kalaua, more accustomed to the ascent, were as fresh as daisies, and Kea, in particular, laughed and talked incessantly, though I fancied, she was ill at ease somehow, in spite of all her apparent merriment. At last, after crossing a wide expanse of broken blocks of black basalt, as big as the largest squares of freestone used in architecture, and then sliding and gliding over a hideous expanse of slippery, smooth lava, like ice for glassiness, we pulled up, wearied, at a house built close on the very summit, European or rather American, in its style and arrangements, but comfortable and even wealthy-looking in all its appointments. It was composed of solid volcanic stone, cut into large square masses, and round it ran a pleasant wooden verandah, with rocking-chairs temptingly displayed in a row under its broad canopy. An oleander blossomed profusely by the side, and tropical creepers of wonderful beauty festooned the posts and balconies with their hanging verdure and their trumpet-shaped flower-bells. "Come in," Kea cried, leaping down with ease from her mountain pony, which a native boy seized at once and took away to the stables. "Come in, and make yourselves at home in our house. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes." "I should hope so," Frank answered, with his free-and-easy manner; "for I'm free to confess I want my grub awfully after such a long ride. And then I shall go out and inspect this precious volcano we hear so much about." Kalaua's brow darkened somewhat, as if he didn't like to hear Mauna Loa so cavalierly described, and he murmured a few words in Hawaiian to Kea, in which I could only catch the name of Pélé, repeated very earnestly several times over. The house was large, roomy, and well furnished, with bamboo chairs and neat native bedsteads; and the dinner, to which Frank at least did full justice, seemed to promise well for our future treatment under the old chief's hospitable roof. Kalaua himself grew somewhat less grim, too, as the meal progressed. Nothing thaws the soul like dinner. He warmed by degrees, and told us several amusing stories of the old heathen days, delighting Frank's heart by narrating, in glowing language, how, in his youth, he had charged, a naked warrior at the head of his naked troops, when Kamehameha the Second attacked the island. Frank was charmed to find himself so nearly face to face with aboriginal savagery. "And what did you do with the prisoners?" he asked inauspiciously. The old man smiled a grimly terrible smile. "The less said about the prisoners the better," he answered at last, with some faint show of conventional reluctance. "Remember, we were heathens then, and knew no better. The English have come since and taught us our duty. We no longer fight; we are civilized now; we buy horses, and cultivate yam and bread-fruit and sugar-cane." And he helped himself as he spoke to another piece of fresh ginger. I don't think Frank quite saw what he meant; but I confess a shudder passed through my own frame as I realized exactly what the old chief was driving at. It was strange to stand so very close to the lowest barbarism known to humanity. They had eaten the prisoners. After dinner we strolled out, in the beautiful, clear, tropical evening, to the edge of the crater. Accustomed as I was to volcanoes everywhere, I never beheld a more grand or beautiful sight than that first glimpse of Mauna Loa in all its glory. We looked over the edge of the great ring of basalt, and saw below us, down three successive ledges of rock, seething and tossing, a vast and liquid sea of fire. Here and there the lava boiled and bubbled into huge, inflated, balloon-like crests; here and there it rose into monstrous black stacks and irregular chimneys, from whose fiery mouths belched forth great columns of red flame, interspersed with dark wreaths of smoke and sulphur. It was the wildest, noblest, and most awful volcano I had ever yet visited--and my acquaintance with the family was by no means superficial. Frank stood aghast with awe and wonder for a moment by my side. "Why, Vesuvius is nothing to it!" he cried, astonished, "and Etna's just nowhere in the matter of craters! I say, Tom, how I should love to see it in a good tip-top blazing eruption!" As he spoke Kea, who had come out with us, clad from head to foot in her simple, long Hawaiian robe, gazed steadily over the brink, and looked down with a familiar glance into the gigantic crater. For a minute or two she kept her eyes fixed on a certain jagged peak or furnace of lava, round whose base the sea of liquid fire was surging and falling, like water in a saucepan on a kitchen stove. At last she broke out into sudden surprise, "Why, it's rising!" she cried breathlessly. "It's rising! It's rising!" "How jolly!" Frank called out from a few yards down, where he had clambered to get a better view of the inner crater. "I hope that fellow in the town was right after all, and that we're going to come in at the very right point for a regular good eruptive outburst!" Kea's face grew pale with terror. "You are," she answered, "I can see it rise. The bubbles are bursting; the steam's crackling. It always does so before it begins to flow out upon the slopes of the mountain." She was quite right. It was clearly rising. I was overjoyed. Nothing could have happened more neatly or opportunely for the interests of science. Our arrival at Mauna Loa seemed to prove, as it were, the signal for the mountain to burst out at once into full activity. We were in luck's way. We had come on the very eve of an eruption. Kea ran down to fetch her uncle. The old man came up, and peered over cautiously into the depths of the crater. Then he called aloud in Hawaiian to his trembling niece. I couldn't catch all the words he said, but I caught one sentence twice repeated, "Pélé ké loa," and a single word that recurred over and over again in his frantic outbursts, "Areoi," "Areoi." I had brought my Hawaiian-English pocket dictionary with me from Hilo, and I turned up the words in their places one by one, to see if I could understand them. To my great surprise I found I had heard them quite aright; it's so hard to catch any part of an unknown language when rapidly spoken between natives. "Pélé ké loa," I discovered, meant in English, "Pélé is angry," and "areoi" was defined by my book as "a stranger, a foreigner, especially a white man, a European or American." We stood long on the brink of the crater and watched it rising slowly before our very eyes. Kea pointed out to us with demonstrative finger the various floors or ledges on the inner wall. "That first," she said with an awestruck face, "is the Floor of the Strangers; as far as that everybody may go; it is as it were the mere threshold, or outer vestibule, of the volcano. The second, that you see further down below, in the dark glare, is the Floor of the Hawaiians; as far as that, by the rule of our fathers, only natives may dare to penetrate. If a white man's foot ever treads that floor, our people used to say, Pélé will surely claim him for her victim. The third, that you can just distinguish down there in the bright light, where the fiery lava is this moment rising--that's the Floor of Pélé: none but the priests of Pélé might venture in the old days to tread its precincts. If any other man or woman were to dream of descending upon it, in the twinkling of an eye, like a feather in the flame, our fathers said, Pélé would surely shrivel him to ashes." "And you believe all that nonsense?" I cried incredulously. Kea turned towards me with a very grave face. "It isn't nonsense," she answered, in her most serious manner. "It's perfectly true. As true as anything. Of course I don't believe the superstition, but whoever falls into that third abyss is burnt to a cinder before aid can arrive, by the wrath of the volcano." "I dare say," I answered carelessly. "It looks quite hot enough to frizzle up anything. Whoever falls into an ordinary blast furnace (if it comes to that) is burnt to a cinder before aid can arrive, by the unconscious wrath of the molten metal." "Don't talk so!" Kea cried, with a terrified face. "You distress me. You frighten me." The volcano meanwhile rose faster and faster. The gray evening began to close in. A deep red glow spread over the open mouth of the crater. The clouds above reflected and repeated the lurid light. Every moment the glare grew deeper and yet deeper. As night came on, it seemed to rain fire. I saw at once that we were in for a good thing. We had hit on the exact moment of a first-class eruption. A more awful or grander night than that I never remember. I'm a scientific man, and my business is to watch and report upon volcanoes; but that night, I confess, was every bit as hot as I care to have it. Anything hotter than that, indeed, would fry one like a herring. By nine o'clock, the mountain was in full glare; by ten, it was pouring out red fragments of stone and showers of ashes; by eleven, a stream of white glowing lava was pushing its way in one desolating flood down the ravines on the southern slope of the mountain. Before the final outburst, light curling wreaths of vapour ascended from fissures in the wall of the crater, and hung like a huge umbrella over the mountain top. The red glare, reflected from this strange cloud-like canopy, gave the whole scene for many miles around the appearance of being lighted up by giants at play with some vast and colossal Bengal fires. We looked on awestruck. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, a sound reached our ears, a terrific sound, as of ten thousand engines blowing off steam; and all at once a great body of gas was ejected into the air, in a blaze of light, while huge fragments of rock were hurled violently upward, only to fall again in fiery heat upon the naked slopes of the cone and shoulders. All night long we were positively bombarded with these aërial shells; they fell in thousands round us on every side, though fortunately none of them happened to touch either the house itself or any one of its inhabitants. Not a living soul remained upon the spot save Frank and myself, and Kea and her uncle. All the rest of the natives fled headlong down in wild panic and terror to the sea at Hilo. A man of science, however, like a soldier on the battle-field, must know how to take his life in his hand. I got out my pencil, my sketch-book and my colours, and, true to the orders of the Association in whose interest I was travelling, I endeavoured to reproduce, as well as I could, in a spirited sketch, the whole awful scene as it unfolded itself in vivid hues before us. Frank, who is certainly the most intrepid boy of my acquaintance, ably seconded me in my difficult task. Kea looked on at us in speechless amazement. "Aren't you afraid?" she asked at last, in a hushed voice. [Illustration: "ALL AT ONCE A GREAT BODY OF GAS WAS EJECTED INTO THE AIR, IN A BLAZE OF LIGHT."] "Yes," I answered boldly, telling the plain truth, "if you will allow me to say so, I'm very much afraid indeed. But I'm a man of science; I've got to do it; and I shall do it still till the lava comes down and drives us away bodily. And you? Aren't you afraid, too, of the stones and ashes?" "No," she replied, though her tone belied her. "The eruptions never hurt my uncle nor me. You see, he's been accustomed to them from his childhood upward. In the old days, he was taught to think he was under Pélé's protection." Frank looked up, imperturbable as ever. "For my part," he said, tossing the curls from his forehead, "I'm not a man of science, like Tom, you know; and I'm not under the protection of a heathen goddess, like you and your uncle, Kea; but I call it the grandest set of fireworks I ever saw in all my life--beats the Crystal Palace hollow--and I wouldn't have missed it for fifty pounds, I can tell you." As for Kalaua, he stood sombre, alone, with folded arms and tight-pressed lips, looking down unmoved into the depths of the crater. CHAPTER III. All night long we remained outside on the platform of the summit, watching and sketching that terrific convulsion. The mountain poured forth endless floods of lava. Heaven and earth were lighted up with its awful glow. Kalaua stood by us still, erect and grim, like one conscious that the fiery hail and the red-hot boulders had no terrors for him, and could not harm him. Kea, pale and tremulous, yet too brave at heart to flinch ever so, crouched by his side, too awestruck to speak in mute expectation. Frank alone seemed undisturbed by the appalling commotion going on around him. Boy enough to feel nothing of the terror of the moment, he was simply excited by the grandeur and magnificence of that wonderful pyrotechnic display. "It's the jolliest sight I ever saw, Tom," he exclaimed with delight more than once during the evening. "Why, to live here would be almost as good as to have a season-ticket all the year round for all the _fêtes_ and gala-days in England!" By morning however the eruption slackened; the internal fires had worn themselves out. "Pélé has grown tired of kicking up such a rumpus," Frank remarked cheerfully; and as he himself was tired of watching her, too, he proposed we should go in and rest ourselves a little after our arduous labours. Indeed, the lava was now almost ceasing to flow, and the bombardment of pumice-stone and fiery cinders had intermitted a little. We returned to the house, and flung ourselves down on our beds in the clothes we wore, too fatigued after our long and sleepless watch to trouble ourselves with the needless bother of undressing. When you've sat up all night observing an eruption, you don't much care about such luxuries of an advanced civilization as nightshirts. Before we retired however Kea brought us in a big bowl of fresh taro-paste, and on this simple food we made a most excellent and substantial breakfast. In ten minutes we were snoring so hard on our bamboo beds that I don't believe even another eruption would have roused us up, if it had thundered at our doors with one of its monstrous subterranean boulders. It was five in the evening before we woke again. Frank stretched himself with a yawn. "I don't know how _you_ feel, Tom," he cried as he jumped out of bed, "but _I_ feel as if that extinct instrument, the rack, had been invented over again for my special benefit. There's not a bone in my body that isn't aching." "What does that matter," I answered, "if science is satisfied? I've got the very finest sketch of a first-class eruption that ever was taken since seismology became a separate study." "Bother seismology!" Frank exclaimed with a snort. "What a jolly long word for such a simple thing! As if one couldn't say straight out, earthquakes. For my part, what I want satisfied isn't science at all, but an internal yearning for some breakfast or some supper, whichever you choose to call it." The supper was soon upon the board (for by this time the native servants had returned), and as soon as it was finished, we sallied forth, all four together, to inspect the changes wrought in the mountain by last night's events. The effects of the eruption were indeed prodigious. Great streams of fresh lava still lay dull and half-hot along the fertile valleys of the mountain side; and the ground about the house was strewn thick and deep with a white coat of powdery ashes. "This is splendid!" I said. "I shall have my work cut out for me now for several weeks. Nobody had ever a better chance afforded him of observing in detail the effects of a great volcanic effort." Kalaua glanced grimly across at me as I spoke. "I wonder," he murmured, with a sort of sphinx-like sardonic smile, "you have escaped so safe to observe and report upon them." "Ah, you see, chief," Frank answered carelessly, "he was under your protection. Pélé wouldn't hurt us, you know, as we were guests of a friend of hers. That was awfully nice of her. She's a perfect lady, as volcanoes go. I call her a most polite and obliging goddess." Kalaua turned away with a half angry look. It was clear that, converted or unconverted, he considered the terrible deity of his fathers no proper subject for light chaff or jesting. We spent the next six weeks pleasantly enough in the old man's house, observing and making notes upon the curious facts connected with the crater and its recent outbreak. I will not narrate my results here at full for fear of boring you--the more so, as I have already devoted two large volumes to the subject in the British Association _Reports_, Manchester Meeting. It will be enough for the present to mention that Frank and I thoroughly explored the whole top of the crater, as far as the first floor, which Kea had described to us as the Floor of the Strangers. We measured and mapped it out in every direction with theodolite and chain, and we made numerous interesting, and, I venture to add, important observations upon the most disputed points in the phenomena of eruptions. We knew our way about the Floor of the Strangers, in fact, as well as we knew our way down from our own home at Hampstead Heath to Charing Cross Station. Kalaua and Kea were surprised to find how accurately we had learnt the whole geography of the district; and Kalaua in particular seemed far from pleased at our perfect familiarity with the mountain and its ways, though he was much too polite ever to say so openly, holding his peace on the matter, at least to our faces, with true antique Hawaiian courtesy. For bland courtesy of demeanour, commend me to a cannibal. One morning however about six weeks after our first arrival, I had occasion to send Frank by himself down to Hilo, on one of the sure-footed little mountain ponies, to fetch up some ropes and other articles we needed for our exploration from the stores in the town; and I said good-bye to him just outside the house, where Kalaua was seated, smoking a cigarette, and wrapped up as usual in his own stern and sombre reveries. "Good-bye, old fellow,"' Frank cried in farewell, as he mounted his horse and cantered gaily off. "Mind you take care of yourself while I'm away. Give the crater a wide berth. Don't try to go exploring any further without me!" "All right," I shouted back. "I won't get into mischief. Trust me for saving my own skin. I shall just potter about a bit to amuse myself alone on the outer edge of the Floor of the Strangers." "What do you want the rope for?" Kalaua asked moodily, looking up from his cigarette as Frank rode away. "Better not go trusting yourself with any rope too far in the crater of Mauna Loa." "I'm not afraid," I answered, with a short little laugh. "I want the rope to let myself down to the lower levels." "What, the Floor of the Hawaiians?" the old chief cried with flashing eyes. "Well, yes," I answered; "that first, of course, and then, after that, the Floor of Pélé." If I had dropped a bomb-shell right in front of his house, the stern old chief could not have looked that moment more appalled and horrified. "Young man," he cried, rising hastily to his feet and standing like a messenger of fate before me, "I warn you not to trifle with the burning mountain. Tread the Floor of the Strangers as much as you like, but the lower ledges of the crater are very dangerous. You're my guest, and I advise you. For unskilled feet to approach those levels is almost certain death. In the dark old days when we were all heathen, we used to say in our folly that the wrath of Pélé would burn you up like a leaf if you ventured to touch them. We no longer say that: we know better now. But we still say to all who would tamper with them that the mouth of the crater is most treacherous and perilous." "Oh," I answered lightly, turning on my heel, "don't trouble for me. I'm accustomed to volcanoes. I don't object I think no more of them than a sailor thinks of chapters of a storm at sea. Let them boil and seethe as much as they like. They're nothing after all, when a fellow's used to them." [Illustration: "'YOUNG MAN,' HE CRIED, '...I WARN YOU NOT TO TRIFLE WITH THE BURNING MOUNTAIN.'"] The old man answered me never a word. He rose, and with a gesture of solemn dissent wrapped his native cloak severely round him; then he walked in grim and gloomy silence back by himself into his own chamber. As for me, I strolled off quietly, sketch-book in hand, up to the broken brink of the great crater. I had nothing in particular to do that morning, having in fact by this time quite exhausted the first ledge or Floor of the Strangers: and I could accomplish no work, now I had finished there, till Frank returned from town with the rope to lower us down to the Floor of the Hawaiians, the next ledge that I thought of mapping. So I sat myself down on a jagged peak of hardened cinders, cemented together by molten volcanic matter, and began in a lazy, idle, half-sleepy kind of way to sketch a distant point of the interior crater. I had sat there listlessly, sketching and musing, for about twenty minutes, when I saw a sight I can never resist. A beautiful butterfly, of a species quite new to me, attracted my attention on the side of the crater-wall over which my legs were carelessly dangling. Now, though I am by trade (saving your presence) a seismologist and vulcanologist--no offence meant by those awesome words--I've always had a sneaking kindness in an underhand way for other departments of natural science, especially zoology; and a new butterfly, with a red spot on its tail, is a severe temptation that my utmost philosophy can never induce me to disregard under any circumstances. There are some scientific men, I know, who seem to think science ought to be made as dull and as dry and as fusty as possible: for my own part, I never could take that eminently correct and respectable view: I like my science as amusing as I can get it, with a considerable spice of adventure thrown in; and I prefer specimen-hunting among the Pacific Islands to name-hunting among the prodigiously learned and stupid memoirs of the British Museum. Between ourselves, too (but I wouldn't like this to reach the ears of the Royal Society), I regard a man as much more useful to science when engaged in catching birds or insects in the Malay Archipelago or the African mountains than when inventing names for them out of his own head in a fusty, dusty, musty room in the museum at South Kensington. Have the kindness to keep this dark however if you ever go to a British Association Meeting: for if it reached the ears of the Committee, they might think me an unfit person to entrust with any further volcanic investigations. Well, my butterfly was resting, poised like a statue, on a pretty flowering plant that grew out of a cranny in the sheer wall of rock, a yard or two below the precise point where I was then sitting. Said I to myself, with an eager dart forward, "I shall nab that specimen;" and laying aside my pencil and drawing-pad at once, I proceeded forthwith, at the top of my speed, incontinently to nab him. It was with great difficulty however that I clambered down the side of the crag, for the lava just there was porous and bubbly. It crumbled and broke like thin ice under my feet; and wherever I thought I had just secured myself a firm foothold it gave way after a moment, bit by bit, with the force of my pressure. Nevertheless I managed somehow, to my great delight, to reach the plant that sprouted from the cranny without at all disturbing my friend the butterfly, who, engrossed on his dinner, was hardly expecting an attack from the rear; and clapping my hand upon him before he could say Jack Robinson, I popped him, triumphant, into my pocket collecting case. Then, with a light heart, and the proud consciousness of a duty performed, I turned once more to climb up the cliff again. But that, I found, was by no means so easy a matter as descending. I had got down partly by the mean and illegitimate device of letting my feet slide; to get back I must somehow secure a firm and certain foothold in the loose lava. To my surprise and horror there was none to be found. The soft and creamy pumice-stone seemed nowhere to afford a single solid point of support. I struggled in vain to recover my balance; at last, to my dismay, I stumbled and fell--fell, as I feared, towards the Floor of the Hawaiians, that yawned a full hundred and twenty feet of sheer depth in the crater below me. With a wild lunge I clutched for support at the plant in the cranny. It broke short in my hand, and my one chance gone, I rolled down rapidly to the very bottom. I didn't exactly tumble down the entire sheer height in a single fall; if I had I shouldn't be here to tell you. I broke the force of the descent somewhat by digging my hands and feet with frantic efforts into the loose wall of rotten lava. But before I could realize precisely what was happening I lost my head. The world reeled round me; my eyes closed. Next moment I was aware of a horrid thud, and a fierce blow against some hard surface. I knew then just where I had landed. I had fallen or rolled by stages the whole way down the crag, and was lying on my side on the Floor of the Hawaiians! [Illustration: "I ROLLED DOWN RAPIDLY TO THE VERY BOTTOM."] CHAPTER IV. My first thought, as I lay half-stunned and almost unconscious upon that naked bed of hard black rock, was that at any rate I had caught and fairly boxed my butterfly. My second, a much less agreeable one to encounter, was that I had certainly broken my leg in my full to the bottom. I was conscious, in fact, of a dull but very deep-seated pain in my right thigh. I tried to move it. The agony was intense. It threw me back into my momentary faint again. For a minute or two I could hardly realize my position. Then it slowly came home to me by gradual stages that I was lying helpless, with a broken leg, unseen and unattended, on the Floor of the Hawaiians, a hundred and twenty feet down the gap of the crater. Would anybody come to help me? I wondered. That was more than doubtful. As a rule, the whole day passed on those lonely heights without anybody approaching the mouth of the volcano, let alone climbing down by the zig-zag path into the floor above me. Kalaua's household were the sole frequenters of that solitary spot. However, Frank would at least be back from Hilo by six o'clock, or thereabouts, and then he would be sure to come up and look for me, when he missed me from my accustomed place on the verandah. I took out my watch, in order to see how long I might have to lie there in frightful pain, waiting for my brother's return to save me. We had learnt early rising with a vengeance since we came to the islands--breakfast at Kalaua's was at six sharp--to my horror, I found it was even now only half-past seven! More than ten weary, dreary hours to watch and wait, with my broken leg, in that dismal crater! It was an unpleasant outlook. I gazed around and tried to take in the situation. Above me, a steep black wall of granite rose sheer and straight towards the open heaven. Below me, I could hear, though I could not see, the lake of liquid fire hissing and bubbling with horrible noises in its eternal cauldron. Around, the floor was composed of solid dark green obsidian, as hard and transparent and sharp as bottle-glass. I must lie as best I could, on my uneasy bed, and brave it out for ten hours somehow. Fortunately, I soon discovered that as long as I lay quite still, the pain of my leg was comparatively trifling. It was only when I moved or stirred restlessly that it hurt me much, and then, the agony was enough to drive one frantic. I laid down my watch, to mark the time, on the rock in front of me. Happily, being a good naval chronometer, it had not been injured in the shock of my fall. I had nothing to do now but to count the hours till Frank could come up and relieve me at last from my awkward and even dangerous situation. Ten hours is a very long time, with a broken leg, in the crater of Mauna Loa. The floor of the ledge, I observed, as I gazed around, was covered with long strings of dark thread-like lava--as thin and delicate as a spun-glass tissue. These strings are a well-known product of the volcanic action of Mauna Loa, and the natives call them "Pélé's hair." They look upon them as the veritable tresses of the goddess. Having nothing else to do, I picked some up and examined it closely. No wonder the superstitious old Hawaiians took it in their time for the actual combings of their dread goddess's hair! I never in my life saw anything so exactly resembling human locks, at a first rough glance: and I was not surprised that even Kea herself should regard it as a token of the presence of that mysterious being who dwelt, as she still half believed, all alone among the eternal fires of the great crater. Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock, passed, and I began by that time to get most unfeignedly weary of my enforced imprisonment. It was impossible to lie in one position all the time; and whenever I turned, or even moved, my leg gave me the most excruciating jerks of pain and agony. I was heartily sick now of the crater and all that belonged to it. What on earth, I thought, made me ever take to such a trade as vulcanology? I said to myself more than once in my despair that henceforth I'd give up volcanoes for ever, and go in for some safe and honest trade--like a light-house-man's or an inspector of mines--for a livelihood. About half-past ten however, as I lay half dozing with fatigue and pain, an incident occurred which broke the monotony of the situation: my attention was suddenly and vividly aroused by a noise that sounded like the report of a pistol. What on earth could it be? I raised myself on my arms and gazed all round. The crater of Mauna Loa was a queer place indeed for even the most enthusiastic sportsman to come shooting in. The only game he could expect to find in such a spot would be surely salamanders. But firing was without doubt going on in the crater, not indeed on the floor on which I myself lay, but strange to say, on the other and still deeper ledges below me. As I strained my ear to listen, I heard frequent reports of pistols, one after another, in all directions down the hollow of the crater. Then, with a sudden flash of recollection it burst in upon my memory that Frank and I had heard similar reports the year before on the slopes of Hecla, just on the eve of a serious eruption, when we were engaged in investigating the volcanoes of Iceland. In a second, the appalling and terrible truth came home to me in all its ghastly awfulness. The lava in the crater must be rising explosively! I was never much frightened of a volcano before, but that moment, I confess, I felt distinctly nervous. From where I lay, I couldn't see over into the lake of liquid fire below, and my broken leg made it almost impossible for me to move or even to drag myself towards the steep edge, where I could gaze down into the abyss and make sure whether the lava was really rising. But such suspense was more than one could bear. With a supreme effort I raised myself a second time, very cautiously, upon my two hands and my left knee, and, trailing my right leg with difficulty behind me, I crawled or crept with unspeakable pain over yards of rough rock to the brink of the precipice. An ineffable sight there met my eye. The black slaggy bottom of the huge crater, which generally reposed in tranquil peace like a calm sea, just broken here and there by fiery fissures, was now transformed into one bubbling mass of flame and vapour, all alive with a horrible livid glare, that lit up its seething and blazing billows with an awful distinctness. Loud, snorting puffs of steam burst thick and fast from the gaping fissures, and from many of the chinks great jets of molten material were willing out in huge floods, and rising gradually towards the Floor of Pélé, the third and last ledge immediately below me. If the eruption continued for two hours longer at its present rate, by half-past twelve, I felt fully convinced, the sea of lava would be wildly surging and roaring above the very spot whence I now surveyed it. What was to be done? I lay and pondered. Unless somebody came to my rescue meanwhile, I had only two hours more to live on earth; and then inch by inch I would be scorched to death, in unspeakable agony, before an advancing tide of liquid fire, by the most awful fate ever known to humanity! It was ghastly; it was horrible: but I had to face it. I peered over the edge, and watched with eager and tremulous awe the gradual approach of the devouring fire-flood. Slowly, slowly, foot by foot, and yard by yard, my inanimate enemy rose and rose, and rose again, by constant, cruel, crawling stages. Not always regularly, but in fluctuating billows. At times the molten sea leapt upward with a bound; at times it fell again, in a vast sink-hole, like some huge collapsing bubble of metal; but all the while, in spite of every apparent fluctuation, it mounted steadily in the long run up the black wall of rock, as the tide rises over a shelving beach, with its hideous gas jets hissing and groaning, and its angry flames drawing nearer and nearer each moment to devour me. I lay there horror-stricken, and gazed idly down. [Illustration: "I LAY THERE HORROR-STRICKEN, AND GAZED IDLY DOWN."] Nothing on earth that I myself could do would now avail me in any way to escape my destiny. I tried to turn and attempt the wall behind me. I might as well have tried to scale the naked side of a smooth and polished granite monument. The crag was like glass. There was nothing for it but to lie back in quiet and await my death as a brave man should await it. Science had had many martyrs before. I felt sure, as I lay there, that I too was to be numbered upon the increasing roll-call of its illustrious victims. It is easy enough to fight and die; but to lie still and be slowly roasted to death--that, I take it, is quite a different matter. Eleven o'clock went past on my watch. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty minutes. The fire had mounted half way up the side of the ledge on which I lay. I could feel its hot breath borne fiercely towards me. A jet of steam raised itself now and then to the level of my own floor. Ashes and cinders were falling freely around. The eruption was gathering strength as it went. It was dangerous any longer to lie so close to the broken edge. I must drag myself away, near the further precipice. Frank would not return from town much before six, I felt sure. He always loitered when he got down to Hilo. Unless somebody came to relieve me soon I must surely be killed by slow torture. I gazed all around me with a last despairing glance. As I did so, a cry of relief burst on a sudden from my parched throat. On the precipice above, leaning over the edge of the Floor of the Strangers, I saw distinctly a man's face--a man's face, a Hawaiian's as I thought, peering down curiously into the depths of the crater. If only I could attract that man's attention I felt there might yet be some small chance for me. CHAPTER V. The man was looking the other way. I must somehow manage to make him turn round to me. I raised myself on my knees, put my hands to my mouth, and shouted aloud at the top of my voice, with the utmost force of which my lungs were capable. You never know how hard you can shout, till you've had to shout for dear life through a storm at sea, or some other terrible natural convulsion. Could I make myself heard, I wondered to myself, above the constant hiss and roar and din of that volcanic outburst? Thank Heaven, yes! The man turned and heard me. I could see him start and look sharply in the direction where I lay on the ledge. By the movement of his face I felt sure he observed me. He saw me and jumped back. He recognized the deadly peril in which I lay. "Help! help!" I shouted with terrific energy. "Quick! quick! a rope! The fire is almost upon me!" The man rose and stood close to the brink. I could see by his dress quite clearly now that he was a native Hawaiian. Awe and surprise were visible on his face. He understood and drank in the full horror of my situation. Surely, surely, he would make haste to help me! To my utter horror he did nothing of the sort. He stood still as if rooted to the spot in superstitious fear, and gazed down on my face with his own like a statue's. I never saw anything more stolid than his features, or the pose of his limbs. I flung up my arms appealingly for aid: I pointed with every gesture of pain and helplessness to my broken limb: I tried to express to him by natural pantomime the absolute necessity for immediate assistance. The native folded his arms in front and gazed placidly down with horrible unconcern in spite of my cries and shrieks and signs of agony. I knew now what it was to be a savage. He seemed utterly careless whether I lived or died. If I had been a worm or a scorpion or a venomous reptile he couldn't more wholly and totally have disregarded my obvious suffering. At last, with the same look of indifference, he turned on his heel slowly, without one sign of encouragement, and disappeared from my sight towards the lip of the crater. Had he gone to seek aid on my behalf, I wondered? Had he gone to call other natives to his assistance, and to bring ropes and ladders to haul me up from that unearthly crater? I could not say, but I hardly dared hope it. And all the while those billows of molten lava in the lake below surged madly on, rising and rising, and ever rising, tossing the wild fire-spray upon their angry crests, and making ready their greedy jagged teeth of flame as if on purpose to close on me and devour me piecemeal. The volcano seemed indeed to be really alive. I didn't wonder the natives once saw in it a horrible, hungry, implacable goddess. For ten minutes more I lay there still, half smothered by the sulphurous fumes of the rising gases, and whitened with a powdery shower of gray dust, waiting in agony for the inevitable end to arrive and stifle me. Then I looked up again, and saw to my surprise the native had come back to his former station. But not alone. Nor yet to save me. Three other Hawaiians, tall and shapely men, stood silent and moody by the first-comer's side, and gazed down as he had done, unmoved and unhorrified, upon myself and the crater. Above the roar and crackling of the unquenchable fire, my ear, quickened by the straits in which I lay, caught just once the sound of the words they were saying. I had learnt a fair amount of Hawaiian since my arrival, and I could tell that in their talk "the anger of Pélé," "victim" and "stranger," occurred frequently. Could it be that they meant deliberately to leave me there unaided to die? Were they afraid to meddle with the prisoners of the goddess? Christianized and civilized as they were in name, I knew too well then how deeply the old heathen superstitions must still be ingrained in the very core and fibre of their inmost being, not to fear that this might really be their hideous intention. The worship of Pélé might be dead, indeed, as a direct religion, but the awe and terror of Pélé's power I had long observed was as vivid and real in their hearts as ever. Even Kea herself, English as she was on her fathers side, half feared and propitiated that blood-thirsty goddess. The four men drew slowly to the edge of the precipice. I couldn't hear, but I could see by their actions they were consulting together very earnestly. The heat by this time was growing intensely painful. I lifted up my hands and clasped them as if in prayer. After all, they were human. I trusted they might still be inclined to help me. To my unspeakable terror, alarm, and dismay, the men shook their heads grimly in concert. Then all four of them, bowing down as if in worship towards the mouth of the crater, with their hands spread open in solemn accord, seemed to salute and adore the goddess of the volcano. I knew what it meant. I understood their gestures. Converts by profession as I doubt not they were, in their secret souls they were votaries of Pélé! At that sight, I flung myself down on my side and gave up all for lost for ever. I thought of those who were nearest and dearest to me at home, and who would never behold my face again. I must die where I lay, unaided and unpitied. When Frank returned to Kalaua's that night he would find no trace of me left on earth--not even a charred and blackened skeleton! The fire would have burnt me to fine gray ashes. Presently, as I looked, a fifth man joined the group above--a man dressed as I had never before beheld any one. His head was covered with a huge shapeless mask, which seemed to me to represent a cruel grinning lace, with teeth and eyes of white mother-of-pearl, that glistened hideously in the ruddy glare of the fierce volcano. I had seen such a mask once in my life, I remembered well, before leaving England--in the ethnological room at the British Museum. That one, I knew, was made of rare Hawaiian red and yellow feathers, and was said to be used by the old heathen priests of cannibal days in offering up sacrifices to their blood-thirsty idols. The new-comer was further draped from head to foot in a long mantle of the same costly plumes, which concealed his limbs from view altogether. I don't know how, but I felt sure by the very way he moved across the ledge that the man with the mask was none other than Kalaua! He was a priest of Pélé, then, to this very day! In spite of his outer veneer of civilization, in spite of his pretended conversion to a gentler creed, he still believed at heart in the vindictive and cruel goddess of the crater. The man in the mask, walking slowly as in a solemn dance, approached the edge of the beetling precipice. The other four men grouped themselves around in set attitudes, two and two on either side of him. Their looks were impressive. The priest lifted up his hands slowly. His action as he lifted them, graceful yet majestic, convinced me more than ever that it was really Kalaua, I recognized the old chief's grim and stately statuesque air--the air as of a last surviving scion of the old man-eating Hawaiian nobility. The priest stood still with his hands erect. The four others, in pairs on either side, bowed down their faces in awe to the ground. It was growing every moment more intolerably hot. I could scarcely watch them. The priest lifted up his voice aloud. I could catch not one word or syllable of what he said, but I was dimly aware in my intervals of pain that he was chanting some sort of measured savage litany. Every now and again he paused a moment, and then I could hear that his four companions answered him back in a solemn but loud response, in which I frequently fancied I caught the name of Pélé. At that awful moment Kea's words came back distinctly to my mind. "The second ledge that you see down below there, in the dark glow, is the Floor of the Hawaiians: as far as that, only natives may penetrate. If a white man's foot ever treads that floor, Pélé will surely claim him for her victim. In the twinkling of an eye, like a feather in the flame, Pélé will shrivel him in her wrath to ashes." I knew then what was happening up above. The priest of Pélé had come forth to the crater in his sacrificial garb, attended by his acolytes, and was performing a sort of dedicator death-service over Pélé's own chosen victim, before the flames rose up to embrace and devour me! In spite of the heat, in spite of the pain, in spite of the bodily terror in which I lay and writhed, I remembered, too, what Kea had once told me--how in the old days when men sacrificed to Pélé they never burnt their offerings with earthly fire, but flung them whole, a living gift, into the cracks and fissures of the burning lava, that the goddess might consume her own victims for herself in her own unearthly subterranean furnaces! It was an awful ceremony, yet surely an appropriate one. The flames were rising nearer and nearer now. These cruel and hard-hearted men would do nothing to save me. I could see great jets of burning gas rise from time to time above the wall of the crater. I could hear the loud hiss and shiver of the unearthly steam. I could feel the hideous heat baking me slowly to death where I lay. I crossed my arms resignedly, and gave up all for lost. I would die at least at the post of honour, as an Englishman ought to die, without fear and without flinching. I only waited for the merciful flames to come and put me out of my lingering misery. It could not be long now I felt sure. The lava would soon flow fast all round me. And above there, on the jagged edge of the precipice, the priest was still droning his terrible death-song, and the four tall men, bowed down to the ground almost, were still crying aloud in a strange monotone their hideous responses. As the first few bubbles of boiling lava rose level at last with the top of the Floor of the Hawaiians, I caught the final words of their triumphant song. I knew what they meant; they were simple and easy. "Pélé has avenged herself on the WHITE MAN'S FOOT; the White Man's Foot that trod her floor; we offer up the white man's body in expiation to Pélé." CHAPTER VI. While the ring of their heathen death-song still echoed in my ear, and the hiss and roar of the volcanic fires still boomed and resounded wildly around me, I was dimly conscious in an interval of heat that the lava-flood fell back for a few moments, and that a lull had intervened in that surging tide of fiery liquid. I was sorry for that. It would do nothing now but needlessly prolong my horrible torture. When once one has made up one's mind to face death, in whatever form, the sooner one can get the wrench over the better. To be roasted alive is bad enough in all conscience; but to be roasted alive by intermittent stages is a thing to make even a soldier or a man of science shrink back appalled from the ghastly prospect. In my agony, I looked up once more at the sheer precipice. As I looked, I saw yet another person had come down to join the group by the edge. My heart bounded with a faint throb of hope. It was Kea, Kea, pretty, gentle Kea. "Surely," I said to myself in my own soul, "Kea at least will not desert me. Kea will try her very best to save me." The light of the volcano lit up the faces of the men and the girl with a ruddy glow. I could see every movement of their muscles distinctly. Kea came down with clasped hands, and blanched lips, like one frantic with terror, and seemed to beg and implore the man in the mask to aid or assist her in some projected undertaking. The man in the mask shook his head sternly. It was clear he was adamant. Kea redoubled her prayers and entreaties. The priest rejected her petition with his hands outspread, and turned once more as if in blind worship toward the mouth of the crater. I knew that Kea was begging hard for my life, and that Kalaua, sternly refusing her prayer, was devoting me as a victim to his unspeakable goddess. There are moments that seem as long as years. This was one of them. Presently, Kea seemed to ask some favour, some last favour. The stern old priest made answer slowly. I fancied he was relenting. She turned to the men, as if to ask a question. The men in return assented with a solemn movement of their awestruck bodies. Then Kea looked up at her uncle again imploringly. She spoke with fervour, I could see it was some sort of compact or bargain between them she was trying to negotiate. At last the man in the mask gave in. He nodded his head and folded his arms. He appeared to look on like a passive spectator. I imagined somehow, quickened as my senses were by the extremity of the moment, that he had entered into an agreement with her, not indeed to save me, but to abstain from active interference with Kea's movements if she wished herself to assist me in any way. I breathed more freely. As soon as their hasty conference was over, the girl drew near to the brink of the precipice. She raised her hands as if pulling at an invisible rope: then she made signs to me to wait patiently, if wait I could, for that help was going to arrive shortly. After that, she broke eagerly away with a gesture of sympathy, and ran off in hot haste towards the winding path that led from the floor to the summit of the crater. I lay there some minutes more in an agony of suspense. Would she come back in time, or would the fiery flood burst up once more to the level where I lay before she had time to arrive with assistance? The man in the mask, whom I took to be Kalaua, and the four natives who stood by his side, still watched me, unmoved, with stolid indifference, from the jagged brink of that high granite precipice. By and by, they looked down with deeper attention still. I could tell by their gestures and their excited manner that the lava, after its lull, had begun to ascend afresh. The man in the mask advanced and prostrated himself. He quivered with emotion. He flung his arms up wildly. His limbs shook. He seemed as if in the bodily presence of Pélé. Next moment, a roar like the roar of thunder, or the discharge of a volley of heavy artillery, boomed forth from the crater, loud and sharp, with explosive violence. The ledge about me began to gape with chinks. Fissures opened up in the solid rock by my side with a crackling noise. The Floor of the Hawaiians sweated fire. Liquid lava oozed forth from a huge rent not three hundred yards away from the place where I lay, and flowing in a stream over the bed inward, fell back again in a surging cataract of fire into the central hollow. I wondered I was not scorched to death outright, so near was the lava-flood. But the place where I lay still remained solid. How long it would remain so, I did not even dare to speculate. At that instant, as I looked up in my agony of suspense towards the brink of the precipice, with the liquid fire rising apace to seize me, I saw Kea, all breathless with haste, rush eagerly up to the edge and lean over towards me. In her hands, O joy, she held a large coil or ring of something. Thank heaven! Thank heaven! My heart bounded with delight. Saved! saved! It was rope she was carrying! She flung it down in a curl, sailor-fashion, towards the spot where I lay. I saw as it fell it was of different sizes, and knotted together with big rude knots in many places. Clearly she had not been able to find a single rope long enough for her purpose. She had made up this length as well as she was able out of different pieces hunted up by hazard in odd corners at Kalaua's on the spur of the moment. It was a giddy height to which to trust one's self, even with the stoutest and strongest cable ever woven on earth. But with that weak and patched-up line of rotten old cords? Impossible! Impossible! If one of the knots were to give way with my weight, if one of the pieces were to break in the middle, I should be hurled down again a second time, yet more helpless than ever, and dashed into little pieces in an instant on that sharp and stubborn granite platform! But drowning men clutch at straws. This was no moment to deliberate or reason. I would have trusted myself just then, broken leg and all, to a line of whipcord, if nothing else came handy. The rope descended in a whirl through the air. It fell taut--plumb to the bottom. A fresh disappointment! To my utter horror, the end still dangled some ten feet above me! I couldn't possibly jump up to reach it. With a loud cry of distress Kea saw it was too short. In a moment without stopping to think or hesitate, she had torn the lower part of her long native dress into strips and shreds, and lengthened the frail cord by this insecure addition just far enough to reach me as I stood on tip-toe. I clutched it at last with both my hands, and threw back my head as a signal to Kea that all was right, and she might begin pulling. Never shall I forget the awful sensations that coursed through my body as I dangled there, half-way in air, while that delicate young girl, thin and graceful, but strong of limb, with the inherited strength of her savage country-women, hauled me slowly up by main force of struggling nerve and sinew, past all possible conception of her natural powers. She hauled me up by first passing the rope round a jagged peak of lava, which thus acted as a sort of rude natural pulley, enabling her to get rid of the direct strain, and to throw the weight in part on the edge of the precipice, and then by winding it round her own waist as a living windlass. Slowly, slowly, clinging by my hands to the hard rope, that cut and bruised my poor bleeding fingers, and with my broken leg dangling painfully in mid-air with excruciating twitches, I rose by degrees towards the brink of the abyss. How Kea had ever strength to raise me I do not know to this very day. I only know that as each knot on the rope grated and jerked round the edge of the peak that served for pulley it sent a thrill of incredible and unutterable pain through my injured limb, and almost made me let go my hands off the hard rope they were grasping and clutching with all their energy. Meanwhile, the man in the feather mask and the natives by his side stood stolidly by, neither helping nor hindering, but gazing at me as I dangled in mid-air with sublime indifference, as one might gaze at a spider running up his own web with practised feet towards his nest on the ceiling. It was clear my life was no more to them than that. If the rope had given way, if the crumbling peak of honey-combed lava had broken short with the weight, and precipitated me, a mangled mass, to the bottom, they would have stood there as stolidly, and smiled as imperturbably at my shattered limbs in the awful embrace of their fiery goddess. Truly, truly, the dark places of the earth are full of cruelty. [Illustration: "I CLUTCHED THE CRUMBLING PEAK WITH MY HOOKED FINGERS."] As I rose in the air the lava, now belching forth with renewed vigour, followed me fast up the mouth of the crater. It followed me fast, like a living creature. One might almost have fancied that Pélé, disappointed of her victim, made haste in her frantic efforts to snatch him from the hands of that frail mortal maiden who strove almost in vain to rescue him in time by violent means from her cruel clutches. I didn't wonder any longer that those ignorant and superstitious natives should picture the volcano to themselves in their own souls as a living will. I almost felt it alive myself, so wildly and eagerly did the tongues of flame seem to dart forth towards me with their forked and vibrating tips, as if thirsting to lick me up and swallow me down in their hungry lunges. The time I took in rising was endless. Could I hold on till the end? that was the question. At last, after long intervals of giddy suspense, I reached the top, or almost reached it; I clutched the crumbling peak with my hooked fingers. Kea still wound the rope round and round her body, as she approached to help me. She held out her hand. I grasped it eagerly. "You must jump," she cried: and all wounded as I was, I jumped with wild force on to the solid floor of the upper platform. My broken leg thrilled through with pain. But I was safe--safe. I was standing by her side on the Floor of the Strangers. The lava sank down again with a hideous sob, as if disappointed of its living prey. I gazed around me for the priest and his acolytes. Not a sign or a mark of them anywhere was to be seen. I stood alone with Kea by the brink of the precipice. The rest had melted away to their hidden lairs as if by magic. I was rescued, indeed, but by the skin of my teeth. Such peril leaves one unmanned as one escapes it. CHAPTER VII. I couldn't walk with my broken leg. My gentle preserver took me up in her arms with tender care, and lifted me, strong man as I am, bodily from the ground as if I had been a week-old baby. It was partly her powerful Hawaiian limbs and sinews that did it no doubt, but still more, I believe, that wonderful nervous energy with which Nature supplies even the weakest of our kind when they stand face to face at last in some painful crisis with a great emergency. She carried me slowly up the zig-zag path, and over the lip of the crater to Kalaua's house. Then she laid me down to rest upon a bamboo bed, and went out to fetch me food and water. What happened next I hardly knew, for once on the bed, I fainted immediately with pain and exhaustion. When I next felt conscious, it was well on in the night. I found myself stretched at full length on the bed, with Frank leaning over me in brotherly affection, and an American doctor, hastily summoned from Hilo, endeavouring to restore me by all the means in his power. At the foot stood Kalaua, no longer grim and severe as formerly, but, much to my surprise, the very picture of intelligent and friendly sympathy. "How did you get here so soon?" I asked the doctor, when I was first able to converse with him rationally. "You must have hurried up very fast from Hilo." "I did," he answered, going on with his work uninterruptedly. "Your friend Kalaua fetched me up. "He happened to be here when that brave girl rescued you from the crater, and he rode down on one of his little mountain ponies in the quickest time I ever remember to have known made between Hilo and the summit. He was extremely anxious I should get back quickly to see you at once, and we cantered up on the return journey as I never before cantered in the whole course of my life. I've nearly broken my own bones, I can tell you, in my haste and anxiety to set yours right for you." "That's very good of you," I answered gratefully. "Oh! you needn't thank me for it," he replied, with a laugh. "It was all our good friend Kalaua's doing. He wouldn't even allow me to draw rein for a moment till I halted at last beside his own verandah." I gazed at Kalaua in the blankest astonishment. Could it really be he who had stood so stolidly by in the feather mask and devoted my head with awful rites to the nether gods while I lay helpless on the Floor of the Hawaiians? My confidence in his identity began distinctly to waver. After all, I hadn't seen the features of that grim heathen priest while I lay at the bottom. Perhaps I was mistaken. He was Kea's uncle. For Kea's sake, I ardently hoped so. [Illustration: "SHE CARRIED ME SLOWLY UP THE ZIG-ZAG PATH."] They set my leg that very night, and Frank and Kalaua in turns sat up to nurse me. I can hardly say which of the two was kinder or tenderer. Kalaua watched me, indeed, as a woman watches by her son's bedside. He was ready with drink, or food, or medicine, whenever I wanted it. His wakeful eyelids never closed for a moment. No mother could have tended her own child more patiently. "Is the volcano still at work, Frank?" I asked once, in a painless interval. I could never forget, even on a sick bed, that I was by trade a man of science. "No, my dear old fellow," Frank answered affectionately. "The volcano, finding you were no longer in a fit condition to observe it, has politely retired to the deepest recesses of its own home till you're in a proper state to continue your investigations. The moment you were safely out of the hole, Kea tells me, it sank back like a calm sea to its usual level." "Pélé is satisfied," the old man muttered to himself in Hawaiian from the bottom of the bed, not thinking I understood him. "She has given up her claim to the victim who offered himself of his own accord upon her living altar." It was not till next morning that I saw Kea again. The poor girl was pale and evidently troubled. She received all my expressions of gratitude with a distracted air, and she hardly appeared at times to be quite conscious of what was passing around her. But she was gentle and considerate and kind as ever--even more kind, I fancied, than we had yet known her. For the next week, Frank, Kalaua, and Kea in turn each bore their fair share in nursing and watching me. I wondered to myself, after all that had happened, that I wasn't afraid of stopping any longer under the old chief's roof; yet now that it was all over, my staying there for the time seemed somehow quite natural. Indeed, it would have been impossible to carry me further along the rugged road that led down the mountain, with my leg in splints, and my general health in a most enfeebled condition. And I wasn't in the least afraid, either that Kalaua would cut my throat in his own house, or otherwise offer me personal violence. Nothing could possibly exceed his personal kindness to me now: and I felt as safe in the old chief's hands as I did in his niece's, or in my own brother's. My conversations with the American doctor too reassured me greatly in this curious matter. A day or two later, I told him the whole strange and romantic story, in far fuller detail than I have told it here (for all the incidents were then fresh in my memory), and he listened with the air of a man to whom such marvellous recitals of savage superstition were hardly anything out of the common. "I shouldn't be surprised if it really _was_ Kalaua," he said to me confidentially, when I had finished my narrative. "The fact is, the old man has always been more or less suspected of persistent Pélé worship. Beliefs like that don't die out in a single generation. But you needn't be afraid on that account that he'll do you any bodily harm now. Pélé cares nothing for unwilling victims. She takes those only who go to her willingly. You fell in of yourself, and therefore Kalaua wouldn't pull you out. To have done so would have been to incur the severest wrath of Pélé. But now that you've once got safe out again, every good old-fashioned heathen Hawaiian will hold to it as a cardinal article of faith, that you're absolutely inviolable. The goddess had you once in her power, and of her own free will she has let you go again. If she liked, she might have eaten you, but she let you go. That shows you are one for whom she has a special concern and regard. The moment you got up in safety to the brink once more, the lava fell back. To Kalaua, that would be a certain sign and token that Pélé relinquished all claim upon your body. She may take some other victim, unawares, in your stead: but you yourself, the Hawaiians believe, are henceforth and for ever next door to invulnerable. You are Taboo to Pélé. "Well, I've been very nearly dipped in Styx," I answered, smiling, "so I ought to be inviolable. But you don't think, then, I run any risk by remaining under this roof till my leg gets well again?" "Quite the contrary," the doctor replied with perfect confidence. "I should think you would nowhere be treated with greater care, consideration, and courtesy than here at Kalaua's. Whatever it may have been a very few days ago, these people regard you now as Pélé's favourite. If you were to ask politely for a White Elephant, they'd import one for you direct, I verily believe, by the first mail steamer in from Burmah." "That's lucky," I said, "though after what I saw in the crater the other day, I confess I feel a little nervous at times about our personal safety." As the doctor was just taking his leave, he turned and said to me in a very serious tone, "If I were you, do you know, Mr. Hesselgrave, I think I wouldn't say anything at all in public while you remain in Hawaii about the scene in the crater." "No?" I said interrogatively. "No," he answered. "You see, it's impossible to _prove_ anything. After all, when one looks the thing squarely in the face, what did you really see and feel sure of? Why, just five natives looking down at you in the crater, on the very eve of a serious outbreak of the volcano. Well, nobody's bound to risk his life to rescue a stranger from the jaws of an eruption. As to the mask, the less said about that the better. People won't believe you: they'll say it's impossible. _I_ believe you, because I understand Hawaiians down to the very ground: I know how skin-deep their civilization goes: but folks who don't, will think you're romancing. Besides, Kalaua wouldn't like it, of course. It's _bad form_ to be a heathen in Hawaii. Whatever the natives may be in their own hearts, in their outer lives they prefer to be considered civilized Christians. There's nothing riles your true-born Hawaiian like a public imputation of cannibalism or heathendom." "All right," I answered. "You may depend upon my discretion," For Kea's sake indeed I should have been sorry to bring disgrace upon her stern old uncle, however richly the old chief might have merited it. I was profoundly grateful to her for her gallant rescue; it would have been an ill reward indeed to repay her kindness by betraying the terrible secret of her family. CHAPTER VIII. All that night Kea sat up with me; and somewhat to my surprise she occupied herself for most of the time in working at a great white veil of very fine material. "That looks like a bridal veil, Kea," I said at last, regarding it curiously in an interval of sleeplessness. Kea laughed, not merrily as heretofore, but a very sad laugh. "It _is_ a bridal veil," she answered, blushing and stammering. "I--I'm working at it at present for--for one of my family." I saw she was embarrassed, so I asked her no further questions about it. Perhaps, I thought, she's going to be married. Even in Polynesia, young girls are naturally reticent upon that subject. And Kea was hardly a Polynesian at all: on her father's side she was an English lady. So I turned on my back and dismissed the matter for the moment from my consideration. For eight long weary weeks I lay there on my bed, or on the adjoining sofa, with my leg slowly and tediously healing, and my head much bothered by such long inaction. What made me more impatient still of my enforced idleness was the fact that, according to Frank's continuous report, Mauna Loa was now rumbling, and grumbling, and mumbling away in a more persistently threatening style than ever. I was afraid there was going to be a really grand eruption on the large scale--and that I wouldn't be well enough to be there to observe it. It would be ignominious indeed for the accredited representative of the British Association for the Advancement of Science to be carried down the mountain on a hospital stretcher at the very moment when perhaps the finest volcanic display of the present century was just about to inaugurate its arrival by a magnificent outburst of lava and ashes. I should feel like a soldier who turned his back upon the field of battle: like a sailor who went below to the ladies' cabin at the first approach of a West Indian hurricane. The idea distressed me and gnawed my heart out. If you are a man of science you will understand and sympathize with me. If you are not, you will perhaps consider me a donkey. Kalaua meanwhile remained as courteous and attentive as ever. But he often came in from the mountain much perturbed in soul, as I could see by his manner, and as I gathered, also, from his remarks to Kea. I understood Hawaiian pretty well by this time. I'm naturally quick at languages, I believe, and I've travelled about the world so much, in search of the playful and pensive volcano, that a new idiom comes to me readily: and besides, I had nothing to do while I lay idle on my bed but to take lessons in the native dialect from Kea. Now a pretty girl, it is well known, is the best possible teacher of languages. You understand at once from her mouth what you would only vaguely guess at on a man and a brother's. You read from her eyes what her lips are saying. "Pélé's uneasy again, my niece," the old man would murmur often as he entered. "I never knew the crater more disturbed. Pélé is angry. She will flood Hawaii. She will drown the people. We must try to quiet her." Kea looked down always when he spoke like that with a guilty look upon her poor young face. I understood that look. I knew she considered she had cheated the goddess by rescuing me from the flames, and I grieved to think that I should cause her unhappiness. "Kea," I said to her one day, as she sat still sewing away at a pure white dress in the room by my side, "do you know anything of your English relations--your father's people?" Kea burst suddenly into a flood of tears. "I wish I did!" she cried earnestly. "I wish I could go to them. I wish I could get away from Hawaii for ever. I'm tired of this terrible, terrible island. It wears my heart out." And she flung away the dress from her in an agony of horror, and fled from the room, still crying bitterly. "I see what it is," I said to myself pityingly. "They want to marry that helpless young girl to somebody or other she doesn't like. Probably a fat old native with a good thing in cocoa-nuts and sugar-plantations. Poor child! I can easily understand her feelings. She, an English girl almost, in blood and sentiment, to be tied to some wretched old Hawaiian ex-cannibal--some creature incapable of appreciating or sympathizing with her! I don't wonder she shrinks from the horrid prospect. She's a great deal too good and too sweet for any of them." I may mention however, to prevent misconception, that I was not myself the least little bit in the world in love with Kea. I merely regarded her from a brotherly point of view, with friendship and gratitude. The fact is, a certain young lady in a remote English country rectory, who received a letter from me by every Honolulu mail regularly, might have had just ground of complaint against me had I harboured any trace of such a feeling in my heart towards the gentle little Hawaiian maiden. It was the thought of that particular English lady that caused me so much agony as I lay on the floor of Mauna Loa that awful morning. Nothing else could have made me cling to the last chance of life with so fierce a clinging. For my own part, as a man of science, I have rather a contempt for any fellow who will not willingly risk his own neck, under ordinary circumstances, for any great or noble cause on which he may be occupied: and among such great and noble causes I venture to hold the pursuit of truth and natural knowledge by no means inferior to the pursuit of liberty or of material welfare. But when there's a lady in the case--why, then, of course, the case is altered. A man must then, to some extent, consult his own personal safety. His life is not entirely his own to lose: he has mortgaged it as it were on behalf of another. This however is a pure digression, for which I must apologize, on the ground that it is needful to prevent misapprehension of the relation in which I stood to Kea. Forgive me for thus for a moment dragging in my own private and domestic feelings. In a few minutes Kea returned again. She had an envelope with a name and address on it in her hand. She gave it to me simply. Her eyes were still red with crying. "That's where my father's people live," she said quietly. "I wish I was with them. My father wanted me to return to them when he died. But I was afraid to go, because--because, though they asked me after his death, they never wrote to me while he was alive--they never wrote to _him_ either--They were angry with him for marrying my mother." She said it with infinite tenderness and regret. I glanced at the address Kea had given me, and saw to my surprise the name of her father's brother, he was a clergyman in Kent, well known, as it happened, to my own family in England. "I wish you could go to them, Kea," I cried earnestly. "Whatever they think and feel now, they couldn't help liking you and loving you when they saw you. I wish you could get away from this dreadful Hawaii!" "I wish I could," Kea answered in a hopeless voice. "But--" she paused for a moment. "I must stop here now; I must stop here--till my marriage!" She pointed to the white dress that lay huddled upon the floor; and, with the tears welling up into her eyes once more, rushed madly and desperately out of the room like one distracted. I couldn't help contrasting the life of that peaceful Kentish rectory with the awful surroundings of the priest of Pélé, and wishing I could rescue that gentle girl from so terrible a place, as she herself had rescued me from the floor of Mauna Loa. And I wondered to myself to whom on earth they could ever mean against her will to marry her. Meanwhile, in spite of my broken leg, the volcano itself attracted no little share of my distinguished attention. I couldn't go out to call on it in person, to be sure; but I had in Frank an acute and well-trained assistant, who could be trusted to keep a steady eye upon its daily proceedings, and who knew exactly what traits in its character I wished him to report to me. In order that I might the more fully be kept informed from time to time of the state of the crater, and the momentary changes taking place in its temper and the lava level, I taught Frank in his leisure moments how to work a heliograph. For that purpose I fastened a slanting piece of looking-glass to my own bed-head, and stationed my brother with a second mirror on the summit of the mountain, in a good position for observing the lake of fire and the smoke-stacks in its centre. On this simple form of telegraphic arrangement Frank flashed me news by the Morse code; so many long and short flashes in certain fixed and regular orders standing each for a certain letter: and I flashed him back by the same method my directions and remarks on his own despatches. In this way we constantly kept up quite a brisk conversation by means of the mirrors. "Lava now rising in the main basin;" Frank would flash over to me. "Any fissures?" I would ask. In a minute the answer came promptly back, "Yes, two, in the black basalt." "Steam issuing from them?" "None at present, but clouds of dense smoke forming slowly in the second cavern." "All right: then note its volume and direction." And so forth for an hour at a time together. It relieved the monotony of my existence on my sick bed thus to carry on by proxy my accustomed avocations: and I was glad to feel I wasn't quite useless, even with my broken leg to weigh me down, but was honestly earning my bread (or at least my taro-paste) from the subscribers to the British Association Seismological Committee Fund. One evening, towards the end of my convalescence, Frank came in in very high spirits (for Mauna Loa had been smoking like a German student that day) and found Kea busy as usual at her endless task of making her own very extensive trousseau. She was at work now on a long white satin train, which certainly seemed to me far more expensive and handsome in texture and quality than I should ever have expected a Hawaiian half caste girl to wear for her wedding. "What a swell you are, Kea!" Frank cried, half chaffingly. "I wonder what sort of a match you expect to make, that you're getting yourself up so smart for the occasion?" Kea glanced back at him with a painfully sad and serious face. "I'm going to marry a very important personage indeed," she said solemnly. "A chief, perhaps?" Frank suggested laughing, and peeling a banana. The tears stood in poor Kea's eyes, though Frank did not notice them. "Higher than a chief," she answered slowly, with a deep-drawn sigh. "A prince of the blood-royal of Hawaii, then," Frank went on, boy-like, without observing how serious and painful the conversation seemed to the poor little half-caste. "Higher than a prince," Kea replied once more almost reverently. "What! Not the King!" Frank exclaimed in astonishment. "The King is married already," Kea replied with dignity, the tears trickling one by one down her cheeks, unseen by Frank, who, busy with his banana, couldn't observe her downcast face as well as I could from my place on the pillow. "Higher than a chief! Higher than a prince! Higher than the King!" Frank cried incredulously. "Hang it all, Kea; why, then, you must be going to marry the captain of an American whaler!" I laughed in spite of myself. Hawaiian royalty, to say the truth, when you see it on the spot (as we had done at Honolulu) is such a very cheap sort of imitation kingship! But Kea, instead of laughing, burst suddenly into tears, and flung down her work on the floor in an agony of despondency. "Frank," I cried, "how on earth can you tease her so? Don't you see poor Kea's dreadfully distressed? It's downright cruelty to chaff on such a subject." [Illustration: "'IF YOU KNEW ALL,' SHE ANSWERED,--'HOW YOU WOULD PITY ME!'"] Kea turned her big brown eyes full upon me, all tearful as they were. "If you knew all," she answered, "you would say so indeed. You would pity me, both of you--oh, how you would pity me!" And without another word, she rose like a queen and glided from the room, muttering to herself some inaudible sentence in Hawaiian as she retreated. When she had left us alone, Frank turned to me, abashed, with unusual earnestness and wonder in his voice. "Tom," said he impressively, "does it ever strike you there's something very mysterious indeed about this marriage of Kea's?" "How so?" I asked; though in fact I felt it quite as much as he did, but I wanted to hear Frank's own unadulterated idea about the matter. "Why, you see," he answered, "they're getting ready for a wedding: but where's the bridegroom? A marriage is never quite complete without a man in the proceedings. Now, we've never seen any young man come courting around; especially not any one so very important as Kea makes her future husband out to be. A bridegroom, I take it, is an indispensable sort of accompaniment to every respectable civilized wedding. You can't very well get on without him. But he's not forthcoming here. It seems to me there's something awfully uncanny about it all." "I often hear them speak among themselves," I said, "about somebody called Maloka. I wonder who on earth this Maloka is? I expect it's Maloka she's going to marry." "I'll make inquiries," Frank answered decisively. "We must get to the bottom of it. For my part, Tom I don't half like the look of it." CHAPTER IX. That night I hardly closed my eyes in sleep. My leg, which for several days had scarcely pained me, became troublesome once more with a sort of violent twitching neuralgic rheumatism. Never before had I felt anything so curiously spasmodic. I had tossed about during the evening indeed a great deal more than usual, and Kalaua, who noted my discomfort with his keen and observant Hawaiian glance, asked me more than once how I felt, with apparent kindliness. I told him my symptoms in perfect frankness. "Aha," he cried grimly, looking back at me with a smile. "That settles the matter. We shall have an eruption then. The old-time folk in heathen days always noticed that all neuralgic and rheumatic pains became far more severe when an eruption was brewing." "Did they?" I answered languidly; "that was no doubt a mere heathen superstition on their part." "Oh, no," he retorted with flashing eyes: "it was no superstition. It was solemn fact. Wounds would never heal at such times, and broken limbs would set with difficulty. You see, in the old clays, we knew a good deal about wounds, of course--far more than nowadays. We were all warriors then. We fought and hacked each other. We were often liable to get severely injured. Stone hatchets cut a man up so awkwardly." "Why," I cried, "now you come to mention it, I remember the year I was working at Etna, the Sicilians at Catania all declared that sprains and cuts and rheumatic affections would never get well before or during eruptive periods. I hardly believed them at the time, I confess; but if two people so widely apart in race and space as you and the Sicilians both say so, I dare say there may really be something in it." "There _is_ something in it," Kalaua echoed gravely. "I know it by experience." "An atmospheric or electric condition, no doubt," I said, lighting a cigarette. "Our fathers used to think," Kalaua corrected slowly, "that Pélé's daughter was the goddess of disease; and when Pélé was angrily searching for a victim, or when Pélé's son, the humpbacked god, who lives with his mother among the ashes of the crater, was in search of a fresh wife among the daughters of men, then, our heathen forefathers used to say, the goddess of disease went forth through the land to prick the people with the goads and thorns that she pushed into their flesh and their veins and their marrow. Pélé had many sons and daughters; all of them worked the will of their mother. The goddess of disease was the eldest and noblest--she searched everywhere for a victim for her mother." "And did she ever get one?" I asked with curdling blood. "Yes," Kalaua answered. "The Hawaiians are brave. Sometimes the people would suffer so much from Pélé's daughter that some one among them, a noble-minded youth, would willingly offer himself up as a propitiation to Pélé. Then Pélé's wrath would be appeased for the time, and the eruptions would cease, and the land would have slumber. But those, we know, were only foolish old heathen ideas. Nowadays of course the Hawaiians are wiser. "Yes," I replied, smiling and withdrawing my cigarette. "The Hawaiians nowadays are nominally Christian." The phrase seemed to excite Kalaua's suspicions. "We know now," he went on more quietly, with a searching look, "that eruptions are due to purely natural causes." "I hope," I said, "if an eruption's coming, I shall be well enough anyhow to get out and watch it. The doctor promised soon to let me have a pair of crutches." Kalaua smiled. "If an eruption comes at all," he answered, with the air of a man who speaks of what he knows, "it'll come, I take it, on Saturday next, and you won't be well enough to get out by then. The moon will be full on Saturday at midnight. Eruptions come oftenest at the full moon. Our fathers had a foolish old reason for that, they said that Pélé and her son had a grudge against the moon, and strove always to put it out with their belching fire, for eclipses, they thought in their ignorance and folly, were caused by Pélé's humpbacked son trying to strangle the moon in its cradle." "Why," I said, "that's likely enough, when one comes to think of it." Kalaua gazed at me in speechless amazement. "That Pélé's son is the cause of eclipses!" he cried, astonished. "No, no," I answered. "No such nonsense as that. But the connection may be real between phases of the moon and volcanic phenomena. The moon's attraction must be just as powerful on the lava in a volcano as on the water in the sea. There may be a sort of spring-tide tendency towards eruptions so to speak. And curiously enough, since you mention eclipses, there's going to be an eclipse of the moon on Saturday." Kalaua's face changed suddenly at the word. "An eclipse!" he cried, with intense solemnity. "An eclipse of the moon! On Saturday!--impossible!" "No, not impossible," I said. "I see it by the almanac." "Not total?" Kalaua asked excitedly. "Yes, total." I answered, amused at his excitement. "You think that will bring an eruption in its train?" "Eclipses always bring eruptions," Kalaua said solemnly. "Our fathers told us so, and we ourselves have proved it." "Well, you may be right:" I replied smiling; "we really know so little about these things as yet that it's impossible to dogmatize in any particular instance. But for my own part, I believe there's no counting upon eruptions. Sometimes they come and sometimes they don't! They're like the weather--exactly like the weather--products of pure law, yet wholly unaccountable." Kalaua rose width great resolution. "An eclipse of the moon!" he repeated to himself aloud in Hawaiian. "Kea, Kea, come here and listen! An eclipse on Saturday! How very strange, Kea! That's earlier than any of us at all expected. How lucky we made our arrangements so well beforehand, or else this thing might have taken us all quite unprepared. There'll be an eruption. We must look out for that! I must go at once and tell Maloka!" Maloka, then, the mysterious bridegroom, lived quite near! Kalaua could go out at a minute's notice, and speak to him easily. I longed to ask him who Maloka was, where he lived, and what he did, but a certain sense of shame and propriety restrained me. After all, Kalaua was my host. I had no business to go prying into the private affairs of a native family who had been kind enough to extend to me their friendly hospitality. Kalaua left the room and went out hurriedly. I turned on my bed and tried to sleep. But try as I would, my leg still kept me persistently awake. Frank was soon snoring soundly in his own room next door. I envied him his rest, and gave myself up to a sleepless night with what resignation I could manage to summon. Gradually, as the night wore on I began to doze. A numb drowsiness stole slowly over me. I almost slept, I fancy; at any rate, I closed my eyes and ceased to think about anything in particular. For half an hour I was practically unconscious. Then on a sudden, as I lay there dozing, a slight noise attracted my attention. I opened my eyes and stared out silently. The door of my bedroom was pushed gently open. A hand held it gingerly ajar for a while. A brown head was thrust in at the slit, and then another. "Softly!" a voice murmured low in Hawaiian. I lay still, and never moved a thread or muscle of my face, but gazing across dimly through my closed eyelids I could see that one of the men was Kalaua; the other, I imagined, was a perfect stranger. My heart beat fast. Strange thoughts thronged me. "Surely," I said to myself, "this must be Maloka." I was dying with curiosity to learn something more about that unknown bridegroom. But I dared not move. I dared not speak. A solemn awe seemed to thrill and overcome me. "Is he asleep?" the stranger asked in a low voice. "Yes, fast asleep," Kalaua replied in Hawaiian. "Can he understand if he hears?" the stranger said again. "Not much, if anything," Kalaua answered. "He has only been such a short time in Hawaii." I was glad they under-estimated my knowledge of their language. It enabled me to learn what they were talking about. "Then we can speak with safety," the stranger went on. Kalaua nodded, went out once more, and closed the door softly behind him. They both seated themselves as far as I could guess, on chairs in the sitting-room. Oh, how I longed to hear the rest of their conversation! It was quite irresistible. Curiosity got the better of my native prudence. I couldn't catch a word of what they were saying with any distinctness where I lay on the bed. I must rise and listen. I undid the splints that bound up my leg; crawled carefully across the room without jerking or hurting it; and throwing myself down at the bedroom door, bent eagerly though cautiously down to the key-hole. Even so, I could catch but little. Kalaua and the stranger were conversing in low and earnest tones in their native language. Though I could understand Hawaiian pretty well by this time, I found it hard to follow so rapid and familiar a colloquy between two Hawaiians in half-whispered accents. They spoke of many things I didn't understand. But one thing I was sure I caught from time to time quite distinctly, and that was the oft-repeated name, Maloka. They were talking of Maloka, Maloka, Maloka. Was this Maloka? I asked myself more than once. If so, I should like to take a good look at the man who has to be Kea's future husband. Why all this mystery? This midnight meeting? Why couldn't Kea be quietly married like any one else? Why couldn't Kea's lover come to the house at a reasonable hour, like all the rest of humanity? I must clear up this question, one way or the other. It was very wrong of me, no doubt; but in my anxiety to learn the whole truth of the case, I held my eye for a second to the key-hole. The stranger's face was turned towards me now. I recognized him in a moment. He was one of the four tall, stately natives who had stood by Kalaua's side on the brink of the precipice that awful day when Kea rescued me. This, then, was Maloka! My blood ran cold. Kea married to this cold stern creature! But no. A minute later I caught their words once more. The stranger himself was speaking this time. "And you went down and told Maloka exactly when and where to expect her?" he asked seriously. "Yes," Kalaua answered. "It's all arranged. I told Maloka. I went out at once to see him and to tell him." A sudden thrill passed through me irresistibly. Wrong again. This, then, was not Maloka after all! But Maloka, whoever he was, lived quite near. It had taken Kalaua only half an hour or so apparently to go to his house and tell him the story of the expected eruption. "She may well be honoured," the stranger murmured. "So great a marriage is indeed an honour to any girl in Hawaii." They whispered together for a few minutes longer in a lower voice, even more mysteriously, but I could catch very little of all they said, except that now and then the words "marriage," "bridegroom," "bride," and "distinction" fell upon my ears quite unmistakably. Once, to my surprise, my own name, too, came into their colloquy. I strained my ears to catch the meaning. They repeated it once more. Strange! I couldn't quite understand what they meant, but I seemed to be somehow mixed up with the mystery. Was this--could it be, some wonderful heathen plot or contrivance to carry me off and marry me perforce against my will to Kea? "She rescued him," I heard Kalaua say in a very stern tone: the next words I couldn't quite catch, then he added more distinctly, "and she must marry him." "It is the law of our forefathers," the strange Hawaiian repeated. "Life for life. Bride for husband." "For fifty years have I served faithfully," Kalaua said, "and now I may surely be honoured in the marriages of my family." "Good," the other man answered. "You will see to the bride; and I for my part will take every care that the bridegroom is ready." "Don't fear for me," Kalaua replied. "The daughters of the Hawaiians shrink not from their duty." He rose, and walked across the room in the opposite direction from that of the door where I still sat crouching on the ground in my night-shirt, with my broken leg extended sideways in front of me. He went up to the wall and pushed aside a picture that hung from a nail near the ceiling before me. Behind it was a small brass knob. He took a little key from his pocket, which he fitted into the midst of the knob, and suddenly, with a spring a door opened. It was the door of a cupboard or small recess let into the wall, and in it I saw for the twinkling of an eye an apparition of something brilliantly red and yellow. I knew in a second what that thing was. It was the royal robe of sacred feathers that Kalaua had worn as his priest's costume when he solemnly dedicated me to the anger of Pélé. Behind it, two horrible goggle eyes shone forth with lurid gleams into the blank room. I knew those too, they were the eyes of the mask--that grinning mask that Kalaua wore as the sign of his priestship. Hideous, barbaric, staring things; but Kalaua regarded them with the utmost veneration. "Everything is correct," he whispered, looking over the strange paraphernalia with a stern look of content and handling them reverently. "The wedding shall come off, then, duly as arranged. We know the place, the day, and the hour. I answer for the bride: you answer for the bridegroom. All is well. It is an auspicious marriage. May they live happily ever after!" "Such is the prayer of all the Hawaiians," the stranger answered, with the air of a man who recites some liturgy. [Illustration: "'EVERYTHING IS CORRECT,' HE WHISPERED."] Kalaua bowed his head solemnly. "Among the faithless," he said, "we at least are faithful." He shut the door once more, and locked it securely. Then he turned towards the room where I was eagerly watching him through that narrow key-hole. How I knew what was coming next I can never tell, but I _did_ know somehow that they were moving across once more to my hiding place. Fear supplied me with strength and agility. Dragging my leg after me again with breathless haste, I managed to scramble back into my bed somehow, and, pulling the sheet over me, to feign sleep, before those two savage devotees of a dead religion were once more leaning over the pillow beside me. Next instant, I heard the door pushed cautiously open a second time; and peering afresh through my closed eyelids, I saw Kalaua and his nameless satellite steal over softly to where I lay half dead with terror and excitement. I closed my eyes and waited, awestruck. Were they really come to murder me or to carry me off by force? Were they going to marry me against my will to Kea? Did Kalaua mean to put me there and then through some hideous and inhuman wedding ceremony? Was I the bridegroom for whom the stranger was to answer? Was this the secret of their sudden kindness to me? Was I bound to atone for the saving of my life by accepting in wedlock the last daughter and heiress of the priests of Pélé? But no! My suspicions must surely be wrong. It was Maloka, Maloka, that unknown Maloka, who was destined to be the simple little brown maiden's hated bridegroom. I must find out soon who Maloka was; but for the moment, fear got the better of curiosity. The two Hawaiians approached on tiptoe to my side. My heart beat hard, but I gave no token. I lay as still as death, and breathed heavily. I felt rather than heard them stoop down and look at me. "Asleep?" asked the stranger. "Asleep!" Kalaua answered. "Let us see!" the stranger said, and moved his robe a little. I knew he had drawn a knife from his girdle. I felt him raise it but I never cringed. There was a moment's suspense--an awful suspense, for I didn't feel sure they hadn't come to murder me--and then, apparently satisfied, the men withdrew; the footsteps retreated as stealthily as they had approached; and the door was closed again noiselessly behind them. They had only come, after all, to make sure I was asleep and had heard nothing. Whatever this business might be on which they were engaged, they evidently meant to conduct it with the utmost secrecy. Whatever these things meant, they did not mean murder. CHAPTER X. Next morning, as I lay on the sofa in the verandah, humming and idling, with Kea still stitching away at the very last touches on her wedding garments beside me, I saw by a sudden glitter in my mirror that Frank was anxious to heliograph me a message. Pulling the cord that moved my looking-glass, I flashed back "Well?" Frank answered by signal, "Big ship off Hilo. Gunboat apparently. Flying British colours. A party is landing." I signalled back by code, "Try to attract their attention if possible, and ask them what's their business in Hawaii." For a few minutes Frank seemed engaged in establishing communications with the newly-arrived gunboat, and made me no reply; but I soon saw he had succeeded in forcing himself upon their notice at last, for he was flashing back question and answer rapidly now, as I judged by the frequent and hasty movements of his dancing mirror. By and by he turned the ray upon my sofa again. "Gunboat _Hornet_," he signalled in swift flashes, "Pacific squadron: party of twenty men sent ashore by admiral's orders to make arrangements for observing total eclipse of the moon on Saturday evening." I was glad to hear it, for we began to feel the want of civilized society. That same morning the doctor rode up to see me again, and brought me a very welcome present--a pair of crutches. On these I was now to be permitted to hobble about, and I took advantage of my liberty that very afternoon by stumping up, with Frank's aid, to the mouth of the crater. While I stood there, supported on my two sticks, and watching the lava still grunting and grumbling as uneasily as ever--for it was clear that Pélé was in a grumpy mood and a big eruption was slowly brewing--we were joined by the officers and doctor of the _Hornet_ on their eclipse observation expedition, accompanied by several sailors and natives, with ponies, tents, and other necessaries for camping out on the very summit, high above the level of the ordinary cloud-veil. The new-comers were surprised to find a scientific man already on the spot, in possession as it were, and gladly availed themselves of my knowledge of the mountain in choosing a good and suitable station for their tents and instruments. I confess, after the terrors by which I had lately been surrounded, it was no small relief to me to find ourselves reinforced as it were by a strong and armed body of our own fellow-countrymen. I breathed a little more freely when I knew at least that help was at hand should we ever chance to stand in need of it. I sent off Frank at once to show the naval men what seemed to me the best position on the whole mountain for pitching their tents and setting up their observatory, and, under my directions, he led them straight to a low peak on the right of Kalaua's, over-looking the crater and the Floor of the Hawaiians. It was a jutting point with a good open platform on the very summit, composed of rock a good deal softer than the mass of basaltic lava which makes up in great part the cone of that vast and seething volcano. The men of the _Hornet_ were delighted with my selection, which combined all the advantages of shelter and position, and began forthwith to unpack their belongings and settle themselves down in their new quarters. For myself. I hobbled back after a while to the house to rest and observe their actions through a field-glass from a distance. Now, at any rate, we should be quite safe from any machinations of our Hawaiian entertainers. As I reached the door Kalaua came out, his face all livid with anger and excitement. Evidently the new turn of affairs had greatly displeased him. He had been away all the morning, and had only just returned. His eyes were fixed now on the party on the summit, and some strange passion seemed to be agitating his soul as he watched their preparations for camping on the platform. "Who are all these people here?" he cried out to me in English, flinging up his hand as soon as I was well within speaking distance, "and what do they want with their tents and their instruments here on the open top of Mauna Loa?" "They're a party of English naval officers," I answered, "from a gunboat that has just steamed into the harbour, and they've come up by order of the admiral to observe the eclipse of the moon on Saturday." Kalaua's countenance was an awful sight to look upon. Never before or since has it been my lot to behold a human face so horribly distorted with terror and indignation as his was that moment. His features were ghastly. They reminded me of the mask of his heathen ancestors. It seemed as if some cherished hope of his life was frustrated and disappointed, dashed to the ground at once by some wholly unexpected and untoward incident. "Kea," he cried aloud in Hawaiian to his niece within, "this is awful! This is unendurable! Come out and see! The English are camping on the Platform of Observation." At the words, Kea sprang out upon the balcony from the room within where she had been sitting alone, and shaded her eyes with her hands as she looked up in an agony of suspense and expectation towards the distant peak. In a moment some sudden passion thrilled her. Then she clasped her fingers hard and tight in front of her, as it seemed to me with some internal spasm of joy and satisfaction. "I see them," she cried, "I see them! I see them." "They shall never remain there!" Kalaua shouted again, stamping his foot on the ground with resolute determination. "If they stop there till Saturday, it will spoil all! I won't permit it! I can't permit it!" Then he turned to me more calmly, and went on in English, "I know a much better place than that, up on the left yonder, less exposed a great deal to the open wind and the glare of the volcano." He pointed as he spoke to another peak, away off to the west; a peak that did not look down nearly so sheer into the hollow of the crater and the sea of fire. I had thought of that place too, and rejected it at once, as being in fact far more exposed and windy than the other. [Illustration: "SHE LOOKED UP IN AN AGONY OF SUSPENSE."] I shook my head. "Oh, no," I said, "the peak they've chosen is by far the best one." "You think so?" "I am sure of it." Kalaua turned away with an angry gesture. "Better or worse, they shall never camp there!" he exclaimed with warmth. "The Hawaiians are masters still in Hawaii. Whether they will or whether they won't, the Englishmen shall move their tents from that peak there. We will never allow them to occupy that spot. We will make them shift from the Platform of Observation." "I don't think you'll find it easy to turn away an English detachment," I observed quietly. Kalaua clenched his fist hard, and ground his teeth. "Anywhere but there," he muttered, "and there, never!" He stalked away angrily with long hurried strides towards the point where Frank and the sailors, all unconscious, were pegging their tents and staking out their encampment with a merry hubbub. What happened next I could only observe vaguely at a distance through the medium of my glass; I learned the details afterwards more fully from Frank and the officers. But what I could notice for myself most clearly nearer home was this--that all the time while Kalaua was parleying with the Englishmen on the mountain, Kea stood still quite breathless on the verandah, watching the result of her uncle's action with the keenest interest and the wildest emotion. She watched so closely that I couldn't help feeling the result was a matter of life and death to her, and it somehow seemed to me that her hopes were now fixed entirely on the white men's resolve to maintain the position they had first taken up on the point of the mountain. It was clear from what we saw that the Englishmen insisted on maintaining their position. In about an hour, Kalaua returned, trembling with rage. "It's no use," he cried, "I can't turn them off. They _will_ camp there. I've said my best, but I can't dislodge them: they must take their lives in their own hands." And he flung himself like a sulky child into an American rocking-chair on the broad verandah. As for Kea, I saw her look up suddenly, with a wild flash of relief coming over her white face. Next moment, a fixed despair succeeded it. "No use, no use," she seemed to say to herself. "They will have to go yet. A respite, perhaps, but not a rescue." Kalaua sat and rocked himself moodily up and down like one who resolves some desperate adventure. When Frank returned late at night to Kalaua's, he told me the full story of that hasty interview. The old Hawaiian had gone up to the mountain determined to put a stop to the camp on the platform at all hazards. At first, his manner was all politeness and sweet reasonableness. He offered them water from the well at his own house, and he had come, he said, with the utmost suavity, to save them from choosing an unsuitable spot, and putting themselves in the end to immense inconvenience by having to move to some better position. He pointed out a thousand imaginary disadvantages in their present site, and a thousand equally imaginary points of superiority in the one he himself had selected for them. He knew the mountain from top to bottom: no one could choose as well as he could. But the officers stuck to their point steadily. This was the place to observe the eclipse from, and here they meant to camp out accordingly. Wouldn't they at least sleep down at his house? No, thanks, they p>referred to camp out by themselves, according to orders, here on the open. Then Kalaua began to lose his temper. What right had they, he asked in a threatening voice, to come trespassing there on private property? The first lieutenant responded promptly by showing a letter from the King at Honolulu, authorizing the officers and men of the _Hornet_ to choose a place for themselves anywhere on the open summit of Mauna Loa, all of which was Government demesne, with the solitary exception of Kalaua's garden. The old native's anger grew hotter and hotter. They couldn't say why, but it was quite clear that some private end of his own would be interfered with if the officers were allowed to camp out within view of the crater and the Floor of the Hawaiians. I had very little doubt myself, from what Frank told me, that some native superstition was at the bottom of his objection. I thought it probable there was a taboo upon the place--it was in all likelihood a seared spot of Pélé's. I remembered the fate of the man who trod the Floor of Pélé and I wondered what would happen to our friends from the _Hornet_. However, in the end, as the naval men refused to be moved by either threats or entreaties, Kalaua retired at last in silent wrath, muttering to himself some unintelligible words about the folly of white men and the might of the volcano. "Take care," he cried, as he turned on his heel, flinging back his last words at them. "You've chosen the most dangerous spot on the whole mountain. It reeks with fire. The rock about there is all inflammable. Mauna Loa will take care of itself. If you drop a match upon it, it'll burn like sulphur." The officers laughed and took no more notice. They didn't know as well as I did how deep and fierce a hold heathendom still exercised over the minds and actions of these half-savage natives. When Frank told me all this in the silence of our own rooms by ourselves that evening, my heart somehow sank ominously within me. "Frank," I said, "I don't know why, but I'm sure there's mischief brewing somewhere for us and for Kea. I wish we knew something more about this man Maloka they're always talking about. I feel that some terrible plan is on foot for that poor girl's marriage. The mystery darkens everywhere around us. Thank heaven, the English sailors have come to protect us." "I asked several natives about Maloka to-day," Frank replied quietly; "but though they all knew the name, they only laughed, and refused to answer. They seemed to think it an excellent joke. One of them said he didn't trouble himself at all about people like Maloka. And then they all looked very serious, and glanced around as if they thought he might possibly hear them. But when I asked if Maloka lived near by, behind the peaks, they burst into roars of laughter again, and advised me not to be too inquisitive." "Strange," I answered. "He seems to live close here upon the summit, and yet we never happen to come across him." "Where's Kalaua now?" Frank asked. "Gone out," I answered. "He went away early in the evening. Perhaps he's visiting his friend Maloka." "I wish I could follow him," Frank cried eagerly. "I'd like to catch this Maloka by the throat, whoever he is, and I'll bet you sixpence, if I once caught him he'd be pretty well choked before I let him go again." "Did the _Hornet's_ men send down for water to Kalaua's well?" I asked. "Oh, yes," Frank answered. "They took up some pailfuls." "Humph!" I said. "I hope Kalaua hasn't put anything ugly into it." CHAPTER XI That night, like the nights before, I tossed and turned on my bed incessantly. The pain in my leg had come back once more. It was long before I dropped asleep by degrees. When I did sleep, I slept very heavily, almost as if some one had drugged or tampered with my drink at dinner. In the stillness of the night, a sound again awoke me. I raised my head and gazed up suddenly. Could this be Kalaua and his friend again? No, not this time. A red glare poured in at the window. And it was Frank who stood with a warning finger uplifted close by my bedside in the glow of Mauna Loa. "Tom," he whispered in a hoarse, low voice, "there's foul play going on, I'm certain. I see nobody in Kalaua's room, and just look how red it all is to eastward." At the word, I jumped out of bed awkwardly, and crept to the window as well as my injured limb would permit me. Sure enough, a lurid light hung over the peak where the sailors were encamped: "Give me the glass!" I cried. Frank handed it to me hastily. I looked and saw a great glare of fire surrounding the tents with their white awnings. At first my eyes told me no more than that: after a while, as I grew more and more accustomed to the gloom, I could see that a dozen little points of fire were blazing away around the frail canvas shelters. "There's something up on Mauna Loa," I cried. "An eruption!" Frank inquired with bated breath. "No, no," I answered. "Not a mere eruption. Worse than that--a fire, an incendiary fire. The ground around them seems to be all one blaze." "Kalaua said it was inflammable, you remember," Frank cried. "But sulphur would never burn like that," I answered. "I fancy he must mean to turn them out by fair means or foul; and as far as I can see he's succeeding in his object." "You think it's he who's set it on fire then?" Frank asked curiously. "Run up and see," I answered. "The sailors are awake and moving about hastily; but perhaps you may yet be of some use to them." "All right," Frank answered, "I'll be with them like wildfire." In a minute he had tumbled into his coat and trousers, pulled on his boots, clapped his hat on his head, and run out lightly up the road to the encampment. By the time he reached the burning summit, I could see with the glass that the whole camp was in a perfect turmoil of wild confusion. The sailors were rapidly unpegging the tents and carrying away the instruments from the burning patch to a place of safety lower down the mountain. I could make out Frank joining eagerly in the task; he was helping them now with all his heart and soul. I only wished I too was there to second him. In this struggle of science against savage malignancy, my indignant sympathy went fiercely out on the side of knowledge. But my lame leg kept me painfully inactive. Presently, in the dim light, far nearer home, I saw two men creep slowly down the crater path from the summit: two skulking men, with native scarves tied loosely round their waists; tall and erect, lithe and cautious. I recognized them at once; one was Kalaua, the other was his visitor of the preceding evening. They crept down with the air of men engaged on some criminal undertaking. In their hands they bore two empty tin kegs: I knew the shape well; they were American petroleum cans! Like lightning the truth flashed through my startled brain. For some reason or other best known to themselves, these two secret votaries of an almost extinct faith desired to dislodge the eclipse-observing party from the peak that overhung and commanded the crater. They feared perhaps the wrath of their hideous goddess. Unable to move the Englishmen by force of reasoning, they had tried to drive them out from this sacred site by means of fire. They had saturated the porous and sulphurous soil here and there with petroleum. No pity, no remorse; they must have meant to burn them as they lay, for then, applying a match to it quietly, they had stolen away, leaving the flames to fight the battle in their absence against the sleeping white men, whom they had perhaps supplied with drugged water from the well in the garden. At the gate they separated. It was a weird sight. Neither spoke, but both together bowed down thrice in the direction of the steaming crater. After that each placed his palms against his neighbour's. Then Kalaua stalked silently on towards his own house; his companion descended the zig-zag path that led right down to the Floor of the Strangers. Could Maloka live in some cave of the platform? It was terrible to dwell in an atmosphere like this--an atmosphere of doubt, suspicion, and heathen treachery. Save for Kea's sake I would have left it at once. But Kea's fate bound me still to the spot. I must learn the truth about this terrible marriage. For half an hour I sat and watched, while the observers on the hill-top ran to and fro in their eager desire to save their tents and baggage from the menaced destruction. Happily, they had waked before the fire reached them. At the end of that time, Frank and the first lieutenant came down with news. "How goes the fire?" I asked in breathless eagerness. "Almost under now," the officer answered cheerily. "We've managed to put it out somehow for the present. But what can you do in the way of putting out fire when the very earth under your feet's inflammable! I never saw stuff burn like that. The flames spread at first on every side with just wonderful rapidity." "Ah," I put in as carelessly as I could. "Lava, I suppose, and sulphur, and so forth?" "H'm," the lieutenant answered with a dubious sniff. "_You_ may call it sulphur and lava if you like; but for my part, I think it smelt precious like petroleum." "You don't mean to say so!" I cried, astonished at this independent confirmation of my worst suspicions. "Yes, I do," he answered. "That's just about the name of it. And petroleum doesn't grow of itself in Hawaii." "Tom," my brother said, coming up to me quietly, and speaking in a very unwonted whisper; "this is not the place to discuss all these things. The sooner you and I can get out of it the better. It's my belief Kalaua has saturated the ground with something and set it on fire." "I don't know what particular heathen did it," the officer put in with a confident tone; "but of this I'm sure, that somebody's poured coal oil all over the place. I smelt it distinctly. Now, I don't mind camping out on volcanoes or craters when they're left to themselves, but I'm hanged if I like them when they're stirred up with coal oil to go burning down the tent over a fellow's head. It's clear these Sandwich Islanders are inhospitable folk; they don't mean to let us pitch our tents on that particular spot; and if they can't turn us out one way, why then they'll turn us out in another. As it is, we've lost already two of our tents, and it was a blessing we didn't lose the whole lot together, not to mention the lives of Her Majesty's lieges to our care committed, for we were snoring most peacefully when the fire began." "How did it all happen?" I asked with interest. "Why, just like this. We were lying asleep, like warriors taking their rest, on our own mattresses--sound asleep, every man Jack of us--when I saw a glare shining under the tent, which I suppose would never have woke me if a spark hadn't happened to fall on my forehead. My first idea was that the volcano had got up an eruption on purpose in our honour: but when I got outside and looked at the ground, I came to the conclusion it couldn't be that for various reasons, and I set it down to your friend the native. For one thing, the place just reeked of petroleum, and for another, it was only alight on the surface, in half-a-dozen different places at once, exactly as if somebody had set a match to it." "And what did you do then?" I inquired. "Oh, I waked the men--and I never knew men so hard to waken. By dint of care however we've put it out, and I've come down here to talk the thing over with you." "Well, what do you think you'll do now?" I asked. "Why, the British tar doesn't like to be beaten," my new friend answered, "but I'm shot if I'm going to lie still and be roasted alive in my bed like a salamander. These fellows seem too shifty for us to deal with. Open fighting I don't object to, mind you, but I do object to baking a man to death unawares while he's sleeping. It's distinctly caddish. The other place seems a very decent one. It's not so good as this in some ways, I admit, but it'll do anyhow better than a baking. And as soon as we can get away down to Honolulu, we shall have the law against these petroleum-spilling brown fellows." "You will get no redress," I said. "No Hawaiian will believe any story against Pélé. But at any rate you had better move for the present. Some evil will befall you if you stop where you are. Kalaua sticks neither at fire nor poison." And sure enough, they were forced to shift their quarters next day to the place Kalaua had at first pointed out to them. By this time indeed I will frankly confess, it was beginning to strike me that Kalaua's was not a safe place to live in. We had almost made up our minds indeed that as soon as the eclipse was well over, we would return on the _Hornet_ to Honolulu. Kea's wedding alone could detain us longer: but my curiosity on that point was so strong and vivid that I determined to ask our new friends to wait till it was over, and then to take us with them to the neighbouring island. I couldn't bear to abandon her to Kalaua's mercy. Meanwhile, the sailors were busy with their own preparations, for the eclipse arrangements took up their whole time. For the next few days accordingly Frank was all agog with this new excitement. He was running about all over the summit from morning till night, deeply engaged in the mysteries of tent-pegging, and absorbed in discussions of level, theodolite, telescope, and spectrum analysis. He was proud to display his knowledge of the volcano to his new friends. He showed the first lieutenant every path and gully round that terrific crater: leaped horrible fissures, yawning over abysses of liquid flame, with the junior midshipman; and made the good-humoured and easy-going sailors teach him marvellous knots, or instruct him in the art and science of splicing. As for me, I hobbled about lamely on my crutches as well as I could, envying him the ease with which he did it all, and longing for the time when I too might get about up and down the crater on my own two legs, without let or hindrance. "Sailors are awfully jolly fellows," Frank confided to me one evening, after a day spent in exploring and setting up instruments. "Upon my word, do you know, Tom, if I wasn't so awfully gone on volcanoes, I think I'd really run away to sea and be a gallant midshipmite." "For my part I don't care for such dangerous occupations," I answered prudently, gazing down with pensive regret into the slumbering crater, that heaved now and then uncomfortably in its sleep with the most enticing motion. "A storm at sea's an unpleasant sort of thing. I don't like all that tossing and plunging. Give me the peace and quiet of dry land, with no more excitement than one gets afforded one by an occasional eruption or a stray earth-quake, just to diversify the monotony of every-day existence." And indeed I could never understand myself why anybody should want any more adventurous life than that of a sober scientific man, with a taste for volcanoes. None of your hurricanes and tornadoes for me. A good eruption's fun enough for anybody. The point finally selected by the naval men for their camp and observatory lay at some considerable distance from Kalaua's house, but full in view from the open verandah. It was difficult of access however in spite of its position, because a huge gully or rent in the mountain-side, descending to several hundred feet below, intervened to separate us; and the interval could therefore only be covered by something like half an hour's hard riding. I was not able myself accordingly to assist at any of their preparations; I could only sit on the verandah like an idle man, and watch them through a good field-glass, which enabled me to follow all their movements intelligibly, and to interest myself to some small extent in the details and difficulties of their extensive arrangements. During these few remaining days, before the expected eclipse, Kea sat with me often on the verandah doing nothing, for her work on her trousseau was now all finished; but she seemed more pre-occupied and self-centred than usual, as if dreading and hating her expected marriage. I felt sure she disliked the husband they had chosen for her. Often when I spoke to her she brought her eyes back suddenly, as if from a great distance, and sighed before she answered me, like one whose mind has been fully engaged upon some very different and unpleasant subject. She asked me much too, at times, about her father's brother and friends in England, about the life in our quiet home country, about people and places she had heard her father talk about in her early childhood. She knew them all well by name; her father, she said, had loved to speak of them to her. Evidently he had been one of those wild younger sons of a good family, who had left home early and gone to sea, and taking to a roving Pacific life had fallen in love with some young Hawaiian girl, Kalaua's sister and Kea's mother, for whose sake at last he had made his home for life upon a lofty peak of these remote islands. His family, displeased at his marriage, no doubt, had all but cast him off; and even if they invited Kea to come home to them in England after his early death, they would have had no great affection, one may easily believe, for their little unknown half-caste kinswoman. Yet I felt sure if only they could once have really seen Kea they must have loved her dearly, for there was something so sweetly pathetic and winsome in her child-like manner that no one who saw her could help, in spite of himself, sympathizing with her and liking her. "Are there any volcanoes in England?" Kea asked me once, after a long pause, with sudden energy. "Unhappily, no," I answered, with a quiet sigh of professional regret. "That's my one solitary cause of complaint against my native country. It's disgustingly free from volcanic disturbances. Britain is much too solid indeed for my private taste. It affords no scope for an enterprising seismologist. There were some good craters once, to be sure, in geological times, at Mull and Cader Idris, but they're all extinct long since. We haven't a volcano, good, bad, or indifferent, anywhere nearer us than Hecla or Vesuvius." "Then I should love England," Kea replied very quietly. "Oh, Mr. Hesselgrave, if that's so, what on earth made you ever leave England to come to such a country as Hawaii?" She spoke so earnestly, that I hardly liked to tell her in cold blood, I came just for the sake of those very volcanoes which seemed to impress her own private fancy so very unfavourably. There's no accounting for tastes. I've known people who loved yachting and didn't mind a bear hunt, yet wouldn't go near an eruption for a thousand pounds, and could hardly even be induced by the most glowing descriptions to look over the edge of a sheer precipice into the smoking crater of an active volcano. Some folk's prejudices are really astonishing! As if volcanoes weren't at bottom the merest safety-valves to the internal fires of our earth's centre! The few remaining days before the date of the eclipse passed by, I am happy to say, uneventfully. I was grateful for that. Excitements indeed had come so thick and fast during these late weeks that a little quiet was a welcome novelty. And the presence of our English friends from the gunboat gave us further a sense of confidence and security to which we had far too long been strangers. We knew now, at least, that a British war-vessel lay moored in the harbour below to watch over our safety. On one of the intervening evenings, as I sat in the verandah smoking a cigarette alone in the pleasant cool of tropical twilight, I heard two natives, hangers-on of Kalaua's, talking together in the garden, where they were busy picking fruit and flowers for the use of the house on the grand occasion. At first I paid little heed to their conversation: but presently I thought I overheard among their talk the mysterious name of that strange Maloka. I pricked up my ears at the sound. How very curious! Then they too were busy with the great event. I listened eagerly for the rest of their colloquy. "What are the flowers for?" the younger man asked, as he laid some roses and a great bunch of plumbago into a palm-leaf basket. "Garlands and wreaths for Maloka's wedding," the elder answered in a hushed and lowered voice. "It will be a very grand affair, no doubt," the younger went on quietly. "They've made great preparations. I saw the dress that Kea is to wear, and the bridesmaids' veils. Very fine, all of them. Quite a festival! Shall you go and see it?" "If Kalaua allows me," the other answered. "She's a pretty young girl," the younger man continued in an unconcerned voice, still filling his basket. "A great deal too good to my mind for a wretched creature like Maloka. What does an ugly fellow such as that want with a young and beautiful wife like Kea? I'd give him some ugly old crone to match himself, I can tell you, if only I had my way about it." "Hush," the elder answered with a certain solemn tone of awe in his voice I had often noticed the natives used when they talked together about this unknown bridegroom. "Maloka may be ugly and dark if you will, but he is a grand husband for any girl to light upon. You young men nowadays have no respect for family or greatness. It is a proud thing for a girl to marry such a bridegroom as Maloka." "Well, as far as I'm concerned," the young native answered, with a slight toss of his head, "I don't think so much as you do of the whole lot of them. The family's all very well in its way, but an ugly girl would be quite good enough for a fellow of that sort. What's the use of throwing away beauty like hers upon Maloka? Nicely he'll treat her. However, it's no affair of mine, of course; her uncle and herself have settled the wedding. All I shall do is to go and look on. It'll be worth seeing. They say it's going to be the grandest wedding that ever was made in all Hawaii since King Kamehameha's daughter was married long ago to another member of the same family." The old man laughed at this, as if it were a joke: but somehow his laughter sounded painfully grim. I felt that whatever Maloka's family might happen to be--and it was clear that the natives thought it a very distinguished one--it was not famous for kind treatment of the unhappy women it took as brides to its illustrious bosom. My heart was sore for poor little Kea. To be sure, she acquiesced in the marriage, no doubt, but then girls will sometimes acquiesce in anything. It was painful to think she was going to marry a native whom even coarse, common natives like these regarded as unworthy of her on any ground except that of family connection. But the Hawaiians, I knew, have still to the full all the old barbaric love of aristocratic descent and distinguished ancestry. "A good match" would atone for anything. At last the Saturday of the expected eclipse arrived in due time, and all the day was occupied by Frank and the naval officers in final arrangements for their scientific observations. At Kalaua's house, too, great preparations seemed to be going on; it was clear some important event was at hand: we almost suspected that Kea's wedding must be fixed for the Sunday, or at least the Monday morning following. Kea tried on all her things early in the day, I believe; and many Hawaiian girls came in to help her and to admire the effect of the veil and trimmings. But a less merry wedding-party I never heard in my life before. A cloud seemed to hang over the entire proceeding. Instead of laughing and talking, as the natives generally do on the slightest provocation, we could hear them whispering below their breath in solemn tones in Kea's room, and though lots of flowers had been picked and arranged for the occasion in long wreaths and garlands, the girls didn't make sport, as usual, out of their self-imposed task, but went through with it all with profound and most unwonted sombreness of look and movement. Kea had said her betrothed was somebody of very great importance. I began to think he must be some one so awfully important that nobody dare even smile when they thought or spoke of him! I had never heard of any one quite so important as that before, except the head master of a public school; and it seemed in the highest degree improbable that Kea should be going to marry the Provost of Eton, or the Principal of Clifton or Cheltenham College. [Illustration: "KEA TRIED ON ALL HER THINGS."] When evening drew on, we all had supper together at Kalaua's--the naval officers, Frank, and myself--and then the eclipse observation committee went off under Frank's efficient guidance round the long gully to their chosen station. I meant to observe them there through my field-glass myself, and see what sort of scientific success was likely to attend their arduous labours. For a while I sat and mused in silence. The house seemed unusually still and lonely after Frank left. Kalaua, Kea, and the native servants were none of them loitering about on the verandah or in the sitting-room, where they generally lounged. I seemed to be in sole possession of the establishment, and I hobbled out by myself a little way on to the platform in front of the house, wondering what on earth could have become of all the inhabitants in a body together. My leg was nearly well now, I could get along nicely with the aid of the crutches. I was almost sorry indeed I hadn't tried to ride a horse, game leg and all, and go round with the eclipse party to the camp of observation. Yet somehow I felt uneasy, too, at Kea's absence, and my uneasiness was increased, I don't know why, by the constant glare that overhung the crater. The lava was unusually red-hot to-night; the great eruption we had long expected must surely be coming. I hoped it would wait till my leg was quite well; a lame foot is more than enough to spoil the whole pleasure of the best and finest volcanic outburst to an enthusiastic amateur. I went back to the house and called twice for Kea. Nobody answered. My suspicions were quickened. I ventured to open the door of her bedroom. It was empty--empty! All the wedding-dresses and wreaths and veils were gone from their places, where I had often observed them when the door stood ajar in the course of the morning. A vague sense of terror fell upon my soul. What could all this mean? Where was Kea? and why was she out at this time of night, with all her friends, and in her wedding garments? I called a third time, and nobody answered. But out on the platform in front of the house I saw an aged Hawaiian hag, a witch-like old woman who hung about the place and lighted the fires, sitting crouched on the ground with her arms round her knees, and grinning hideously at my obvious discomfiture. "Where's Kea, old lady?" I cried to her in Hawaiian, as well as I could manage it. The horrible old woman grinned still more odiously and maliciously in reply. "Gone out," she answered, mumbling her words in her toothless mouth so that I could hardly make them out or understand them. "Where to?" I asked angrily, for I was ill at ease. "How should I know?" the old woman growled back. "I suppose to the festival." "The festival! Where? What? When? Whose festival?" "The festival of Maloka," the old hag mumbled with a cunning smile. With a sudden horror I remembered then that Maloka was the mysterious person to whom, as I concluded, Kea was engaged--the person whom she and Kalaua had so often mentioned in their low and whispered talk with one another. "Who's Maloka?" I cried, sternly laying my hand upon her withered shoulder, "Quick! tell me at once, or it will be the worse for you." "He's Pélé's son," the old hag answered, chuckling to herself with a horrible chuckle. "He lives with his mother, his angry mother, away, away, down in the depths of Mauna Loa. He's Pélé's favourite. She loves him dearly: and she often asks for a wife for Maloka." In an instant the whole hideous, incredible truth flashed wildly across my bewildered brain. They were going to sacrifice Kea to this hateful god! They were going to fling her into the mouth of the crater! They were going to offer her up in marriage to the son of Pélé! CHAPTER XII. "Which way have they gone, you hag?" I cried, shaking her in my fierce anger. The old woman raised one skinny brown finger, and pointed with a grin in the direction of a zig-zag path which lay to the left of Kalaua's roadway. Without waiting one second to deliberate, or question her, I set off at once upon my crutches, bounding and scurrying over the ground like a kangaroo by successive leaps, and hastening forward at a brisk rate which I should have thought beforehand no crutches on earth would possibly have compassed. I reached the path, and turned hastily down it. The track was rough and difficult to traverse, even for an active man with both his legs to go upon; but for me, in my present halt and maimed condition, it was terribly hard and all but impracticable. Nevertheless, impelled by horror and fear for poor Kea's safety, T hurried along at a mad rate down the steep zig-zag, careless whether I fell or not in my wild haste, but eager only to prevent I knew not what awful heathenish catastrophe. I only prayed I might yet be in time to save her life. After many stumbles and hairbreadth escapes, rolling over and over with my crutches by my side, I found myself at last on the Floor of the Strangers, not far from the spot from which I had fallen before, but separated from it by a narrow chasm in the black basalt--a chasm, riven deep in the solid rock, and filled below, as I saw at once, with a fiery strait of white-hot lava. It was full moonlight. Away off to the left, on the summit of the mountains, I saw the camp-fires of the naval eclipse parties. They were standing there, etched out distinctly against the pale sky-line; and I could recognize every one of their faces with ease through that clear air in the bright light of a tropical moon. But not a sign of Kea was to be seen anywhere. I looked anxiously round for her, and met no token anywhere. The old woman must surely have misdirected me on purpose. Fool that I was to have believed that hag! Kea and her party could hot have come this way at all towards the crater. I saw my mistake. They had sent me wrong by deliberate design! At this supreme moment Kalaua had intentionally attempted to escape my notice. Suddenly, as I looked and wondered in awe, a strange procession began slowly to descend the mountain side opposite, beyond the chasm, into the mouth of the crater. At its head came the man in the feather mask whom I had seen that day that I broke my leg on the edge of the precipice, and whom I now more distinctly than ever recognized as indeed Kalaua. There was no mistaking his gait and carriage. He stalked on proudly in front of the procession. Next after him, bearing rods with bunches of feathers fluttering in the breeze from their tops, came the four acolytes who had stood by his side that awful morning when he solemnly devoted me to the devouring volcano. Then four Hawaiian girls in white bridesmaids' dresses, with long garlands of oleanders strung round their necks, followed in order, two by two, waving their hands slowly above their heads, and chanting native _himenés_, as they call their long monotonous wails and dirges. My heart stood still as I saw with horror that Kea walked last, with downcast eyes, habited in her full bridal dress, and with the white veil falling round her in folds almost to her ankles. Behind her straggled a few hushed and awe-smitten spectators, half friendly assistants at this ghastly ceremony. I saw them all clearly but two hundred yards off, though the chasm in the rock with its red mass of molten lava below separated me from them far more effectually than a mile of intervening distance could possibly have done. [Illustration: "A STRANGE PROCESSION BEGAN SLOWLY TO DESCEND."] My first impulse was to cry aloud with indignation and horror. My next, for Kea's sake, was to hide myself at once behind a black jagged pinnacle of hardened lava before they caught sight of me. I did so almost as soon as the procession began to file slowly past the turn of the road; and it was by peering with caution round the corner of the pinnacle that I had observed them all as they descended two by two along the narrow foot-path. Step after step they moved gradually down, to the long-drawn music of those unearthly _himenés_. Kea, in particular, glided on like a ghost, with downcast eyes and shrinking demeanour, yet not so much in the manner of a victim as of one who willingly and heroically devotes herself to some terrible end for the good of her country. I knew she believed she was averting the wrath of Pélé, and I gasped with horror at her awful resolution. Presently, the procession reached the Floor of the Strangers, on whose platform I myself was already crouched flat, though always separated from me by that terrific chasm; and advancing still to the lugubrious sound of these doleful _himenés_. Kalaua placed himself on the edge of the precipice, at the very spot where I myself had fallen over in pursuit of the butterfly. Kea, moving forward with slow and solemn steps, stood at his right hand, in her bridal dress, with her bloodless fingers clasped downward in front of her. Then Kalaua began, in a strange cramped voice, to drone out some horrible dedicatory service. It sounded like the service he had droned out over myself on the morning of my accident: but I understood Hawaiian much better now, and could follow the words of his frightful litany with very little difficulty. Crouching behind the shadow of my broken lava pinnacle, I saw and heard the whole savage orgy like some unseen presence in that vast and self-lighted natural cathedral. "Great Mother Pélé," Kalaua began, intoning his words on a single note and dividing his address into curious irregular verses--"Great Mother Pélé, who dwellest in the fire-lake, Queen of the Hawaiians, we, thy children, bow ourselves down in worship before thee. "We assemble in thy temple, oh, thou, that delightest in the flesh of white-skinned chickens: we come into the outer threshold of thy house, oh, thou, that ridest on the red flaming surges. "Sugar-cane, and tappa-cloth we offer to thy children: a bride, a wife, to thy favourite, to Maloka. "Five sons thou hast borne in thy home, below; and one is humpbacked; thy favourite Maloka. "A white man came from the lands beyond the sea: a pale-faced stranger; a wanderer to Hawaii. "Of thy own accord thou chosest him a victim for thyself. He fell into thy trap. The white man's foot trod forbidden ground: the Floor of thy children, of thy children, the Hawaiians. "In thy wrath, thou rosest to crumple him to ashes: thy flames soared upward like tongues of fire; dancing and surf-riding on the billows of flame, didst thou put forth thy red right hand to seize him. "Come forward, Kea!" The trembling girl came forward timidly. Kalaua continued his awful chant once more, shaking his robe, and slowly dancing. "A maiden rescued him: a mortal maiden. She stole the victim from the clutches of Pélé. "No hand might save him against thy will: the force of a mortal avails not against the fiery might of a living goddess. "Thou, Pélé, lettest him go for very contempt; thou gavest up the prey from thy fingers willingly. "For such as her, a law is laid down. "Victim for victim: life for life: whoever snatches an offering from Pélé, himself must satisfy the wrath of the goddess. "Were it not so, thou wouldst deluge the land with lava; thou wouldst swallow the towns in the jaws of earthquakes: thou wouldst lick up the cane-fields with red tongues of fire. "Thy son, Maloka, thy favourite, the humpbacked, he cried aloud to his mother for the maiden in marriage. "'Give me this girl, he cried aloud, Oh Pélé: give me this maiden who snatched away thy victim.' "Thou, Pélé, madest answer: 'My son, I give her thee.' Thou didst turn uneasily in thy flaming home, and threaten the Hawaiians with a deadly vengeance. "See, we bring her: and we give her to Maloka; willingly, of her own accord, the maiden comes: on Maloka's night, arrayed as a bride in snow-white raiment, eager for her fate. "Come forward, attendants!" The bridesmaids, in their wreaths and garlands, stepped forward. I listened, horror-struck. "Kea, do you take this god, Maloka, for your wedded lord?" In a stifled voice, tremulous but firm, Kea answered aloud in her soft Hawaiian, "Kalaua, I take him." "Maloka, do you take this girl, Kea, for your wedded wife?" And even as he spoke Kalaua cast something invisible from his hand with a dexterous throw, into the yawning abyss of lava below him. I then observed, for the very first time, that while the ceremony went on, the lake of fire had risen by slow degrees in the crater, and stood flush now with the Floor of the Hawaiians. The volcano, as if in response to his direct question, gave a hideous roar, excited, I suppose, into some minor eruptive effort by the object he cast into it, which seemed to crash down and break upon a smouldering smoke-stack. It was as though the mountain had answered back in words, "Oh, priest, I take her." Kalaua leaned forward, shaking and agitating his sacrificial robes. "At the stroke of midnight," he went on solemnly, "at the actual moment when Maloka the humpbacked climbs aloft to put out the moon, we will take the bride into the bridegroom's chamber. When Maloka the humpbacked puts out the moon, then leap, Kea, into the arms of your husband. See, see, how lovingly he stretches out his fiery arms for you in his chamber below there! When he rises in his might to put out the lamp that rides in heaven, then leap into his embrace. 'Tis the signal he gives you! Till then, sit still, and await your husband!" Kea sat down by the edge of the precipice, on an isolated block of black basalt, and leaning her little chin on her small white hand, gazed below in awe and silent expectation on the flood of lava. I knew, then, exactly what Kalaua meant. At the precise moment of the total eclipse, Kea was to leap into the abyss of the volcano. I took out my watch, and consulted it anxiously, It wanted more than half-an-hour still to the actual point of absolute totality. I had that half-hour only to save Kea in. I saw her there seated on the edge of the abyss. I knew that the moment the moon was finally obscured, she would rise from her place, and leap madly forward of her own accord, into that sea of lava. She thought it her duty to appease the goddess. How to rescue her I could form no plan. Even if I rushed forth in my horror and managed by some miracle to span with a leap that yawning chasm that spread so wide between us, what was one lame white man among so many wild and heathenish Hawaiians? I could do nothing. I was helpless, powerless. If I set out to call the naval officers to my aid, long before I reached them, Kea's charred and mangled corpse would be floating, a mass of blackened ashes, on the fiery flood in the still rising crater. I trembled with horror. And yet--and yet-- And yet I must do _something_ to rescue Kea! CHAPTER XIII. On the summit above, all unconscious of this ghastly and incredible tragedy taking place within a stone's throw of where they stood, I could see Frank and the men from the gunboat, busying themselves quietly with their eclipse arrangements, as if nothing more terrible than an ordinary volcanic outburst were proceeding anywhere in their immediate neighbourhood. The bright tropical moonlight revealed their forms and faces to me almost as clearly as the noonday sun: I could even distinguish the play of their features, and notice how Frank was laughing and talking, with his usual good-humoured boyish merriment, to the officers and sailors. The contrast was nothing short of appalling. On one side, those easy-going sea-faring men, with their finished instruments of modern science, calmly engaged in observing and noting down the face of our distant satellite: on the other side, that group of stern and sombre half-heathen Hawaiians, occupied in the horrible and cruel rites of an effete and proscribed barbaric religion. Never, I thought to myself, did civilization and savagery stand closer together, cheek by jowl: never did the two extremes of human thought and human sentiment come in nearer contact, all unconscious and heedless one of the other. For neither party could see round the corner of jagged rock that overhung and divided them; I alone, looking either way up and down the crater, could take in both groups at a single glance--the scientific observers and the wild heathen priests of that human sacrifice. But how to attract the notice of the Englishmen! If only I could manage to catch Frank's face! If only I could fling up my arms and sign to him to come! But he _would_ not look! It was terrible! It was agonizing! Suddenly, an inspiration seized me unawares. The heliograph to the rescue! I might signal to him by the moonlight. One chance yet left! My mirror! My mirror! I felt for it in my pocket with trembling fingers. One moment of hope. Then an abyss of despair. I had left it at home by the sofa at Kalaua's. That chance was fruitless. To have made my way back for it would have been of little avail. I could not fail in that case to attract Kalaua's keen attention, as I hobbled painfully in the broad moonlight up the zig-zag path: and to attract attention under existing circumstances would probably mean all the sooner to hasten poor trembling Kea's impending fate. I must think of some other means of communicating with Frank. I must find some less obtrusive and dangerous way of calling the sailors and officers to our assistance. How short a time still remained to us! I took out my watch and gazed at it hopelessly. In another burst of inspiration, then, I saw my way clear. A mirror! A mirror! all ready to hand! I could signal still! I could call their attention! My watch was a gold one--a naval chronometer: the inside of the case was burnished and bright. I held it up straight in the bright beams of the moon, and as Frank's face turned for a moment in the direction where I stood, or rather crouched under cover of the pinnacle, I flashed the light full in his eyes from the reflecting surface. Thank heaven! Thank heaven! he started and observed it. I signalled three rapid flashes for attention. Frank flashed me back, yes, from his own pocket mirror. My hands shook so that I could hardly hold the watch aright: but with tremulous fingers I managed somehow to spell out the words, "Come quick. Bring sailors. Steal cautiously round the dark corner. There's foul play on. Kalaua means to make Kea leap into the crater as a bride to Pélé's son at the moment of totality." In a second, I saw that Frank and the officers had taken it all in in its full ghastliness, and that, if time enough remained, Kea might yet be saved from that awful death in the fiery abysses. Without one moment's delay their men seized the horses, and leaving one or two, officers alone to continue the observations, dashed wildly down the ravine, and into the gloom of the gully. Then, for a few minutes more, I lost sight of them entirely. When they emerged again to view, on the Floor of the Strangers, they had left their horses, and, headed by Frank in his white jacket, were creeping cautiously, unperceived, under cover of the broken masses of lava, round the sharp corner of the jutting platform. My heart bounded as I saw them approach. There was still some chance, then, of saving Kea! Had she been my own sister I could not have felt the suspense more awful. As we gazed below we saw, to our dismay, that the lake of fire was still tossing and rolling with wild wreathing billows, and that it had risen visibly several feet in the last few minutes. While we still looked, the moon's face began slowly to darken. The eclipse had commenced. We had only a quarter of an hour yet to the period of totality. In a few short words, I explained to Frank and the sailors he had brought with him the entire situation in all its gravity. I told them all I had seen and heard; and their own eyes confirmed my report: for there stood Kea full in view, round the corner of the pinnacle, beyond the open chasm, in her white dress, with her hands clasped in inarticulate prayer, and her pale face turned up appealingly towards the cold moonlight. She had but a quarter of an hour left to live. Yet near as we were to her, it would have taken us more than fifty minutes to ride round the crater by the outer rim to the only practicable path on the other side of the chasm. "What are we to do?" I cried, in my horror, though in a low voice, for it was necessary above all things not to arouse the Hawaiians' quick attention. "We must cross the chasm somehow," the eldest officer of the party answered at once. "We can't let the poor girl be sacrificed before our very eyes." "If we only had a rope, and could once get it fastened on the other side, we might sling ourselves across, hand over hand," Frank suggested eagerly. "We have rope, lots of it, on my saddle over yonder," the officer answered. "But we can't get it fastened. If only the chasm were narrow enough to leap! But it's quite impossible. No athlete on earth could ever jump it." "Stop!" Frank cried. "The bamboo! The bamboo!--I had a big bamboo down here the other day, stirring up lava in a liquid pool in the small craters. There it is--over yonder. I think with that--" He said no more, but creeping over for the bamboo, crawled noiselessly on with it to the edge of the chasm. We all followed him on our hands and knees, skulking behind the pinnacles, and concealed from the Hawaiians by the rough lava-masses. I seemed to forget my half-mended leg in the excitement of the moment, and to crawl along as easily and as quickly as any of them. On the very edge of the deep fissure, now boiling below with liquid fire, Frank laid across the bamboo from cliff to cliff, so that it hung, a frail bridge, across that yawning abyss of sulphurous vapour. With great difficulty, he thrust it home on the far side into a honey-combed mass of crumbling scoriae lava. "Now stand, you fellows, on the end," he said, "to give it weight and keep me from slipping. I'm the lightest of the lot: it'll bear me, I suppose, if it'll bear anybody. I'm going to cross it, hand over hand, and take a rope with me for you others to come over by. If it breaks, I shall fall into the lava below. No matter: it's jolly white hot down there now; it'd frizzle me up, if it came to the worst, before I could feel it." The sailors brought all their weight to bear upon the loose end. I knelt by myself, breathless with suspense, to see the result of this mad experiment. The bamboo was frail and supple indeed: if it broke, as Frank said, all would be up with him. But Frank was too brave to heed much for that. He tied the rope round his waist in a running noose, caught hold of the bamboo with both his hands, and swinging himself off the edge with a quiet and gentle swaying motion, so as to lessen as far as possible the strain of that slender bridge, hung one moment like a gymnast, from a trapeze, suspended between the sky and the gulf of liquid lava. It was a terrible moment. All eager with excitement, we leaned over the abyss, and watched him rapidly but quietly passing hand over hand across that frightful chasm. As he reached the middle, the bamboo for one indivisible second of time bent ominously down under his light weight. Would it yield? Would it crack? If so, the next instant we should see him falling, a lost life, into that hideous strait of liquid fire. For half a throb of the heart, our agony of doubt and suspense was unspeakable. Next instant, he had passed in safety the central point; the weight was easier; the faithful bamboo curved slowly up again. We breathed more freely. He had reached the far end; he was grasping the cliff, the further cliff, in eager confidence, with that brave young hand of his. The lava was loose; all bubbly with holes like a piece of rotten pumice-stone. "Frank, Frank," I cried in a low voice, but beside myself with terror, "take care how you trust it. The stuff's all dry. It never can bear you. Don't try to grasp it!" [Illustration: "THE BAMBOO BENT OMINOUSLY DOWN."] "All right," Frank answered low, as he struggled on. "There's no foothold anywhere near the edge. I must go in for a somersault. Thank goodness that gymnasium work I used to hate so has done something for me unexpectedly at last." As he spoke, he vaulted with a light leap on his hands up the edge of the precipice. The next thing we knew, he was standing, safe and sound, with the rope round his waist, a living soul, on the further brink beyond the chasm. A sigh of relief burst simultaneously from all our lips. "Now, quick!" the officer cried. "Not a moment to be lost! Swing yourselves over, men, and make haste about it!" Frank held the end of rope in both hands firmly, twisting it for greater security twice round his body: and the slenderest of the sailors, trusting himself the first to this safer bridge, crossed over the chasm with the ease and rapidity due to long practice on the masts and rigging. As soon as he had landed unhurt on the far side, he helped Frank to hold the end of the rope; and one by one his five companions and the officer last of all made good their passage in the self-same manner. I alone was left to keep up touch and facilitate their return to the hither side; for we felt we must probably fight for Kea. Our plan was to seize her by main force, before the natives were aware, retire with her to our horses, and ride down at all speed to the _Hornet_ at Hilo. "Now, look sharp: make a dash for it!" the officer said, in a muffled voice. "Out into the open, and seize the girl at once! Never mind the men. Carry her off in your arms before they know what's happening, and back here again to the rope immediately." I stood and watched on the further bank of that fiery strait. The moon's light meanwhile had been growing each instant dimmer and dimmer. The greater part of the orb was already obscured. The moment of totality was rapidly approaching. Kea, warned by a word from her uncle, stood up in her bridal dress and faced the awful flood of surging lava. Kalaua, by her side, began once more to drone out in long notes his monotonous chant. He flung a handful of taro, with a solemn incantation, into the mouth of the volcano. "See, Pélé," he cried, "we bring thee thy daughter-in-law. See, Maloka, we bring thee thy chosen bride. At the stroke of midnight, at the appointed hour, thou hast put out the lamp in heaven, the moon. This is thy signal: we mortals obey it. O humpbacked favourite of Pélé the long-haired, the bride will go into the bridegroom's chamber.--Maloka, hold up thy hands for thy handmaid! leap, Kea, leap, into the arms of your husband!" I looked and trembled. Kea stepped forward with marvellous courage. Through the dim light of the ruddy volcanic fires I could see her draw back her white veil from her face, and make as though she would meet some lovers embraces. Then the last corner of the moon disappeared all at once in darkness from my sight, and for half a moment, at that critical point, I saw and heard nothing with distinctness or certainty. Next instant, as if by magic, a weird red glare illumined the scene. Great arms of fire lunged forth spasmodically from the open crater. Maloka had leaped forward with his scorching hands, to claim his bride in fiery wedlock. The eruption had at last begun in real earnest. Huge volumes of flame darted up with commingled black smoke towards the vault of heaven. A lurid light hung upon the massive clouds overhead. Stones and ashes and cinders fell wildly around us. The crater had broken loose in its fiercest might. The rivers of liquid fire were welling up all round and bursting their bounds with majestic grandeur. And in the midst of all, by the uncertain light of that deep red glare, I could just see Frank and the friendly sailors bearing off Kea in her bridal robe, half fainting, half unwilling, before the very eyes of the astonished and amazed Hawaiians. Our party had rushed upon them from behind, unawares, at the very first instant of total eclipse, and seized her in their arms, in the act to jump, from the circling ring of baffled natives. Thank heaven, then, they had been in time; in time to save her from the cruel volcano and the crueller superstition of her heathen ancestors. "Back, now, back, to the chasm and your horses!" the officer cried in a tune of command, at the top of his voice, as Kalaua and the natives, recovering after a moment from their first shock of surprise, and gathering together into an angry knot, began to show signs of attempting an organized resistance. "Carry off the girl between you, there, at the top of your speed. No time to lose! The lava's rising." He pointed his revolver. "And if one of you heathen brown fellows come a single step nearer," he added with a menace, "I'll put a bullet through his ugly black head, as soon as look at him." Kalaua leaped forward with a wild and almost inarticulate cry of rage and disappointment. "Seize them, friends," he shrieked aloud in his hoarse Hawaiian. "Kill them! Tear them to pieces! How dare they interfere with the bridals of Maloka?" Bat even as he spoke, a river of lava burst suddenly forth from the mouth of the seething crater, and spread a broad stream of liquid fire between the infuriated natives and the little band of Kea's gallant protectors. "Run, run," Kalaua cried. "Down the other road! By the black rocks! Intercept them at the gulley. Kill them! kill them! They're Pélé's enemies! However you do it, kill them, kill them!" The officer, unheeding their savage threats, stalked on to the chasm, and pointed firmly but quietly to the rope that still spanned it. Kea, dazed and frightened, yet graceful and light of limb as ever, clasping it hard in her small fair hands, swung herself across to my side with native ease, while the sailors held the ends of the cable on the bank opposite. Then one by one the others followed swiftly in turn, with admirable discipline, in spite of the shower of ashes, till only Frank was left by himself beyond the deep abyss of boiling lava. "How will he ever get over?" I cried, looking across at him in alarm and terror. "Oh, don't be afraid, old fellow!" Frank shouted back cheerily. "Leave that to me! I'm as right as ninepence. Thank goodness, I can hang from a rope like a monkey!" And with a hasty movement, he began to roll the end of the cable tight around his waist and to tie it firmly in a slip-knot to his sturdy shoulders. How he could ever drop himself down so steep an abyss with flame below, I had no notion. On the other hand, I knew he dared not trust the bamboo again. It had bent already too severely with his weight, almost indeed to the point of breaking; and half charred as it now was with the constant heat ascending for ever from that subterranean furnace, it would no doubt have snapped short in the middle by this time, if he had been foolish enough to attempt crossing by its aid a second time over the few yards of chasm that intervened to divide us. Frank however had a device of his own. Planting his feet hard against the edge of the precipice, he swung himself off like a monkey, with the rope grasped hard in his two hands; and even as he fell, kicking off from the side, he gripped it quickly hand over hand, till he brought himself up with wonderful agility level with the opposite side where we were all standing. Half a dozen stout arms were extended at once to pull him safe to solid land; and in another moment we all stood secure, with Kea in our midst, a recovered party, on the brink of the crater, undeterred by anything more serious in its way than an ordinary everyday volcanic outburst. "Off to the horses!" the officer cried aloud; and before I knew what was happening, two of the sailors had seized me in their arms, and were hurrying me away at a break-neck pace up the steep zig-zag to the level of the summit. In the ravine, we came, sure enough, upon the horses, tethered and guarded by a couple of sailors. "Mount," the officer cried with military promptitude: and the men mounted, not exactly, I must confess, with the ease or grace of cavalry orderlies. I mounted myself, too, with what skill I could command, taking into consideration that broken leg of mine; and giving the trusty little ponies their heads, we rode at full speed in breathless haste, but in long Indian file down the narrow bridle path to the base of the mountain. I knew well the gully where the two roads joined, and where Kalaua had threatened to meet us in hostile array with his proscribed band of heathen followers. It was an ugly spot, with great overhanging rocks to defend the pass, and if they got there first, I knew we should have to fight them for possession of Kea. All depended now upon the swiftness and sureness of foot of our ponies. To be sure, we were mounted, while Kalaua and his party were all on foot; but then, most of us had been greatly delayed by the necessity for recrossing the chasm on the rope bridge in order to get at our path and our horses; and even apart from this unavoidable stoppage, very few ponies, at the best of times, can cover the ground faster than an unimpeded Hawaiian. Those fellows can run like a deer or greyhound. I trembled for the result if they held the rocks above the fort in full force. They could hurl down stones upon us from the heights with infinite ease, crush us like locusts as we passed beneath them: even fire-arms there would be useless against a party that held the pass in any numbers. [Illustration: "WE RODE AT FULL SPEED IN BREATHLESS HASTE."] On, on, we rode, in fear and trembling. The volcano now was all in full blast. Ashes and pumice stone kept falling around us. Smoke and steam obscured our way. But the dangers of nature frightened us little in comparison; what we dreaded most was the desperate onslaught of the enraged Hawaiians. As we drew near the fort however I breathed again more freely. Not a sign of Kalaua was anywhere to be seen. We rode along, cautiously, under the overhanging rocks. No Hawaiian showed his grim black head above or below us. Then Kea, with a shriek, guessed in a moment exactly what had happened. "The lava has overwhelmed them!" she cried, clasping her hands together in girlish trepidation. "They are dead! They are dead! My uncle! My people! Pélé will not be robbed of her victim at any rate. The lava has burst forth in one great flood and swallowed them." And indeed, when we reached a turn in the bridle path, and looked up the ravine down whose rugged centre the other road descended tortuously, a terrible sight met our astonished eyes. The summit of the mountain was now one red and lurid mass of living fire. Through the gully along whose course Kalaua and his followers had plunged in the first darkness of the total eclipse to cut off our retreat, a vast river of red-hot lava was pouring onward resistlessly in huge fiery cataracts. We could see the fierce stream descending apace over ledges of rock like a flood of molten metal poured forth from the smelting-bowl; we could see it engulfing trees and shrubs and stumps and boulders in its plastic mass; we could see it overwhelming the whole green ravine with one desolating inundation of fire and ashes. "Quick, quick," I cried; "ride, ride for your lives. You may think volcanoes are nothing much to be frightened of; but, I tell you, a volcano in such a temper as that is not by any means a thing to be trifled with. She's mad with rage. The stream's coming down the valley straight for the fork; take at once to the ridge, and ride on for your lives. Ride, ride across country, anyhow, to the _Hornet_ at Hilo!" "And me!" Kea cried, looking back at me appealingly, for she headed our little hasty procession. "What's to become of me? Of me, who have brought it all by my sin upon you! Of me, for whose sake Pélé is so angry! Of me, who roused her wrath by stealing away her victim! Leave me here to die! Kalaua is dead! My people are swallowed! I meant myself to die in their place, but you wouldn't let me! Leave me here to perish! If you don't leave me, Pélé in her anger will pursue you on your way to the sea itself, to the foot of the mountain!" "Ride on!" I answered. "Ride on to Hilo. Is this a time to make plans for the future? We'll discuss all that, Kea, on the deck of the _Hornet_." That evening, on board the British gunboat, lighted up by the terrific glare overhead, we had time to reflect what it all meant, and to feel ourselves free to think and speak again. "What will you do now, Kea?" I asked the poor girl, as she sat there, trembling, in a small cabin chair, while the red flames still illumined for miles and miles the summit and flanks of Mauna Loa. "Do you wish to stop here in your own island?" Kea looked up at me with a half terrified glance. "I wish," she said in a low voice, "to be as far away from Pélé and Maloka as possible..... Kalaua is dead. Pélé has devoured him..... I will leave my husband on my wedding night. I will go home to my father's people." "That is best so," I answered quietly. "Hawaii is no place for such as you. I don't think Maloka will ever miss you. We will go on the _Hornet_ away to Honolulu. There you can take passage with Frank and me on the next steamer for San Francisco, on your way home to dear, peaceful England." "Why," Frank exclaimed, with a look of immense surprise, "you don't mean to say, Tom, you're going to turn your back upon a volcano--and in actual eruption, too, into the bargain!" "Bother volcanoes!" I answered testily. "One may have too much of a good thing. I don't care if I never set eyes on another eruption as long as I live. So that's flat for you." "Nonsense!" Frank promptly replied with spirit, refusing to desert an old friend in a moment of vexation. "That's all very well now, when you're annoyed with Pélé for misbehaving herself; but I'll bet you sixpence, in spite of that, you'll be off again before twelve months are over, exploring some other jolly crater in Sumatra or Teneriffe, or the Antarctic regions." And sure enough, as I put the last finishing touches to these lines for press, the post brings me in a letter in an official envelope, "On Her Majesty's Service," informing me that the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty have been graciously pleased to accept my suggested appointment for three years on a scientific mission to investigate the volcanic phenomena of Cotopaxi and other craters in the chain of the Andes. By the same post, I have also received a note from my sister, who is now stopping down at the Kentish rectory where Kea lives with her English relations, and who says, among sundry other pieces of domestic criticism, "What a dainty, charming, lovable girl your pretty little Hawaiian really is, Tom! So gentle and good-natured, and so sweetly pensive! I can hardly believe, myself, there's anything of the cannibal Sandwich Islander in her! She's as fair as I am, and quite as European in all her ideas and thoughts and sentiments. When she doesn't talk nonsense about Pélé, in fact, I almost forget she isn't one of ourselves, she's so perfectly English. But the rector says he can't allow her to teach in the Sunday school till she's quite got over that heathenish rubbish. By the way, I shouldn't be surprised if she and her Cousin Hugh were some day to make a nice little match of it, if only Hugh can ever persuade her that it wouldn't be bigamy, and that she isn't already duly married to some ugly, mythical, humpbacked creature of the name of Maloka." 
35433	----	images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) OBSERVATIONS ON MOUNT VESUVIUS, MOUNT ETNA, AND OTHER VOLCANOS: IN A SERIES OF LETTERS, Addressed to THE ROYAL SOCIETY, From the Honourable Sir W. HAMILTON, K.B. F.R.S. His Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary at the Court of NAPLES. To which are added, Explanatory NOTES by the AUTHOR, hitherto unpublished. A NEW EDITION. LONDON, Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand. M DCC LXXIV. THE EDITOR TO THE PUBLIC. Having mentioned to Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON the general Desire of all Lovers of Natural History, that his Letters upon the Subject of VOLCANOS should be collected together in one Volume, particularly for the Convenience of such as may have an Opportunity of visiting the curious Spots described in them: He was not only pleased to approve of my having undertaken this Publication, but has likewise favoured with the additional explanatory Notes and Drawings, The PUBLIC's most obliged, and devoted humble Servant, T. CADELL. May 30, 1772. OBSERVATIONS ON MOUNT VESUVIUS, &c. LETTER I. To the Right Honourable the Earl of MORTON, President of the Royal Society. Naples, June 10, 1766. My LORD, As I have attended particularly to the various changes of Mount Vesuvius, from the 17th of November 1764, the day of my arrival at this capital; I flatter myself, that my observations will not be unacceptable to your Lordship, especially as this Volcano has lately made a very considerable eruption. I shall confine myself merely to the many extraordinary appearances that have come under my own inspection, and leave their explanation to the more learned in Natural Philosophy. During the first twelvemonth of my being here, I did not perceive any remarkable alteration in the mountain; but I observed, the smoke from the Volcano was much more considerable in bad weather than when it was fair[1]; and I often heard (even at Naples, six miles from Vesuvius) in bad weather, the inward explosions of the mountain. When I have been at the top of Mount Vesuvius in fair weather, I have sometimes found so little smoke, that I have been able to see far down the mouth of the Volcano; the sides of which were incrusted with salts and mineral of various colors, white, green, deep and pale yellow. The smoke that issued from the mouth of the Volcano in bad weather was white, very moist, and not near so offensive as the sulphureous steams from various cracks on the sides of the mountain. Towards the month of September last, I perceived the smoke to be more considerable, and to continue even in fair weather; and in October I perceived sometimes a puff of black smoke shoot up a considerable height in the midst of the white, which symptom of an approaching eruption grew more frequent daily; and soon after, these puffs of smoke appeared in the night tinged like clouds with the setting sun. About the beginning of November, I went up the mountain: it was then covered with snow; and I perceived a little hillock of sulphur had been thrown up, since my last visit there, within about forty yards of the mouth of the Volcano; it was near six feet high, and a light blue flame issued constantly from its top. As I was examining this phænomenon, I heard a violent report; and saw a column of black smoke, followed by a reddish flame, shoot up with violence from the mouth of the Volcano; and presently fell a shower of stones, one of which, falling near me, made me retire with some precipitation, and also rendered me more cautious of approaching too near, in my subsequent journies to Vesuvius. From November to the 28th of March, the date of the beginning of this eruption, the smoke increased, and was mixed with ashes, which fell, and did great damage to the vineyards in the neighbourhood of the mountain[2]. A few days before the eruption I saw (what Pliny the younger mentions having seen, before that eruption of Vesuvius which proved fatal to his uncle) the black smoke take the form of a pine-tree. The smoke, that appeared black in the day-time, for near two months before the eruption, had the appearance of flame in the night. On Good Friday, the 28th of March, at 7 o'clock at night, the lava began to boil over the mouth of the Volcano, at first in one stream; and soon after, dividing itself into two, it took its course towards Portici. It was preceded by a violent explosion, which caused a partial earthquake in the neighbourhood of the mountain; and a shower of red hot stones and cinders were thrown up to a considerable height. Immediately upon sight of the lava, I left Naples, with a party of my countrymen, whom I found as impatient as myself to satisfy their curiosity in examining so curious an operation of nature. I passed the whole night upon the mountain; and observed that, though the red hot stones were thrown up in much greater number and to a more considerable height than before the appearance of the lava, yet the report was much less considerable than some days before the eruption. The lava ran near a mile in an hour's time, when the two branches joined in a hollow on the side of the mountain, without proceeding farther. I approached the mouth of the Volcano, as near as I could with prudence; the lava had the appearance of a river of red hot and liquid metal, such as we see in the glass-houses, on which were large floating cinders, half lighted, and rolling one over another with great precipitation down the side of the mountain, forming a most beautiful and uncommon cascade; the color of the fire was much paler and more bright the first night than the subsequent nights, when it became of a deep red, probably owing to its having been more impregnated with sulphur at first than afterwards. In the day-time, unless you are quite close, the lava has no appearance of fire; but a thick white smoke marks its course. The 29th, the mountain was very quiet, and the lava did not continue. The 30th, it began to flow again in the same direction, whilst the mouth of the Volcano threw up every minute a girandole of red hot stones, to an immense height. The 31st, I passed the night upon the mountain: the lava was not so considerable as the first night; but the red hot stones were perfectly transparent, some of which, I dare say of a ton weight, mounted at least two hundred feet perpendicular, and fell in, or near, the mouth of a little mountain, that was now formed by the quantity of ashes and stones, within the great mouth of the Volcano, and which made the approach much safer than it had been some days before, when the mouth was near half a mile in circumference, and the stones took every direction. Mr. Hervey, brother to the Earl of Bristol, was very much wounded in the arm some days before the eruption, having approached too near; and two English gentlemen with him were also hurt. It is impossible to describe the beautiful appearance of these girandoles of red hot stones, far surpassing the most astonishing artificial fire-work. From the 31st of March to the 9th of April, the lava continued on the same side of the mountain, in two, three, and sometimes four branches, without descending much lower than the first night. I remarked a kind of intermission in the fever of the mountain[3], which seemed to return with violence every other night. On the 10th of April, at night, the lava disappeared on the side of the mountain towards Naples, and broke out with much more violence on the side next the _Torre dell' Annunciata_. I passed the whole day and the night of the twelfth upon the mountain, and followed the course of the lava to its very source: it burst out of the side of the mountain, within about half a mile of the mouth of the Volcano, like a torrent, attended with violent explosions, which threw up inflamed matter to a considerable height, the adjacent ground quivering like the timbers of a water-mill; the heat of the lava was so great, as not to suffer me to approach nearer than within ten feet of the stream, and of such a consistency (though it appeared liquid as water) as almost to resist the impression of a long stick, with which I made the experiment; large stones thrown on it with all my force did not sink, but, making a slight impression, floated on the surface, and were carried out of sight in a short time; for, notwithstanding the consistency of the lava, it ran with amazing velocity; I am sure, the first mile with a rapidity equal to that of the river Severn, at the passage near Bristol. The stream at its source was about ten feet wide, but soon extended itself, and divided into three branches; so that these rivers of fire, communicating their heat to the cinders of former lavas, between one branch and the other, had the appearance at night of a continued sheet of fire, four miles in length, and in some parts near two in breadth. Your Lordship may imagine the glorious appearance of this uncommon scene, such as passes all description. The lava, after having run pure for about a hundred yards, began to collect cinders, stones, &c.; and a scum was formed on its surface, which in the day-time had the appearance of the river Thames, as I have seen it after a hard frost and great fall of snow, when beginning to thaw, carrying down vast masses of snow and ice. In two places the liquid lava totally disappeared, and ran in a subterraneous passage for some paces; then came out again pure, having left the scum behind. In this manner it advanced to the cultivated parts of the mountain; and I saw it, the same night of the 12th, unmercifully destroy a poor man's vineyard, and surround his cottage, notwithstanding the opposition of many images of St. Januarius, that were placed upon the cottage, and tied to almost every vine. The lava, at the farthest extremity from its source, did not appear liquid, but like a heap of red hot coals, forming a wall in some places ten or twelve feet high, which rolling from the top soon formed another wall, and so on, advancing slowly, not more than about thirty feet in an hour[4]. The mouth of the Volcano has not thrown up any large stones since the second eruption of lava on the 10th of April; but has thrown up quantities of small ashes and pumice stones, that have greatly damaged the neighbouring vineyards. I have been several times at the mountain since the 12th; but, as the eruption was in its greatest vigour at that time, I have ventured to dwell on, and I fear tire your Lordship with, the observations of that day. In my last visit to Mount Vesuvius, the 3d of June, I still found that the lava continued; but the rivers were become rivulets, and had lost much of their rapidity. The quantity of matter thrown out by this eruption is greater than that of the last in the year 1760; but the damage to the cultivated lands is not so considerable, owing to its having spread itself much more, and its source being at least three miles higher up. This eruption seems now to have exhausted itself; and I expect in a few days to see Vesuvius restored to its former tranquillity. Mount Etna in Sicily broke out on the 27th of April; and made a lava, in two branches, at least six miles in length, and a mile in breadth; and, according to the description given me by Mr. Wilbraham, (who was there, after having seen with me part of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius) resembles it in every respect, except that Mount Etna, at the place from whence the lava flowed (which was twelve miles from the mouth of the Volcano), threw up a fountain of liquid inflamed matter to a considerable height; which, I am told, Mount Vesuvius has done in former eruptions. I beg pardon for having taken up so much of your time; and yet I flatter myself, that my description, which I assure your Lordship is not exaggerated, will have afforded you some amusement. I have the honour to be, My LORD, Your Lordship's Most obedient and most humble servant, WILLIAM HAMILTON. * * * * * Naples, February 3, 1767. Since the account of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which I had the honour of giving to your Lordship, in my letter of the 10th of June last; I have only to add, that the lava continued till about the end of November, without doing any great damage, having taken its course over antient lavas. Since the cessation of this eruption, I have examined the crater, and the crack on the side of the mountain towards _Torre dell' Annunciata_, about a hundred yards from the crater from whence this lava issued: and I found therein some very curious salts and sulphurs; a specimen of each sort I have put into bottles myself, even upon the mountain, that they might not lose any of their force, and have sent them in a box directed to your Lordship, as you will see, by the bill of lading: I am sure, you will have a pleasure in seeing them analyzed[5]. I have also packed in the same box some lava, and cinders, of the last eruption; there is one piece in particular very curious, having the exact appearance of a cable petrified. I shall be very happy if these trifles should afford your Lordship a moment's amusement. It is very extraordinary, that I cannot find, that any chemist here has ever been at the trouble of analyzing the productions of Vesuvius. The deep yellow, or orange-color salts, of which there are two bottles, I fetched out of the very crater of the mountain, in a crevice that was indeed very hot. It seems to me to be powerful, as it turns silver black in an instant, but has no effect upon gold. If your Lordship pleases, I will send you by another opportunity specimens of the sulphurs and salts of the Solfa terra, which seem to be very different from these. Within these three days, the fire has appeared again on the top of Vesuvius, and earthquakes have been felt in the neighbourhood of the mountain. I was there on Saturday with my nephew Lord Greville; we heard most dreadful inward grumblings, rattling of stones, and hissing; and were obliged to leave the crater very soon, on account of the emission of stones. The black smoak arose, as before the last eruption; and I saw every symptom of a new eruption, of which I shall not fail to give your Lordship an exact account. LETTER II. To the Right Honourable the Earl of MORTON, President of the Royal Society. Naples, December 29, 1767. My LORD, The favourable reception, which my account of last year's eruption of Mount Vesuvius met with from your Lordship; the approbation which the Royal Society was pleased to shew, by having ordered the same to be printed in their Philosophical Transactions; and your Lordship's commands, in your letter of the 3d instant; encourage me to trouble you with a plain narrative of what came immediately under my observation, during the late violent eruption, which began October 19, 1767, and is reckoned to be the twenty-seventh since that, which, in the time of Titus, destroyed Herculaneum and Pompeii. The eruption of 1766 continued in some degree till the 10th of December, about nine months in all[6]; yet in that space of time the mountain did not cast up a third of the quantity of lava, which it disgorged in only seven days, the term of this last eruption. On the 15th of December, last year, within the ancient crater of Mount Vesuvius, and about twenty feet deep, there was a crust, which formed a plain, not unlike the Solfa terra in miniature; in the midst of this plain was a little mountain, whose top did not rise so high as the rim of the ancient crater. I went into this plain, and up the little mountain, which was perforated, and served as the principal chimney to the Volcano: when I threw down large stones, I could hear that they met with many obstructions in their way, and could count a hundred moderately before they reached the bottom. Vesuvius was quiet till March 1767, when it began to throw up stones from time to time; in April, the throws were more frequent, and at night fire was visible on top of the mountain, or, more properly speaking, the smoak, which hung over the crater, was tinged by the reflection of the fire within the Volcano. These repeated throws of cinders, ashes, and pumice stones, increased the little mountain so much, that in May the top was visible above the rim of the ancient crater. The 7th of August, there issued a small stream of lava, from a breach in the side of this little mountain, which gradually filled the valley between it and the ancient crater; so that, the 12th of September, the lava overflowed the ancient crater, and took its course down the sides of the great mountain; by this time, the throws were much more frequent, and the red hot stones went so high as to take up ten seconds in their fall. Padre Torre, a great observer of Mount Vesuvius, says they went up above a thousand feet. The 15th of October, the height of the little mountain (formed in about eight months) was measured by Don Andrea Pigonati, a very ingenious young man, in his Sicilian Majesty's service, who assured me that its height was 185 French feet. From my villa, situated between Herculaneum and Pompeii, near the convent of the Calmaldolese (marked 7 in Plate I.) I had watched the growing of this little mountain; and, by taking drawings of it from time to time, I could perceive its increase most minutely. I make no doubt but that the whole of Mount Vesuvius has been formed in the same manner; and as these observations seem to me to account for the various irregular strata, which are met with in the neighbourhood of Volcanos, I have ventured to inclose, for your Lordship's inspection, a copy of the abovementioned drawings. (Plate III.) The lava continued to run over the ancient crater in small streams, sometimes on one side, and sometimes on another, till the 18th of October, when I took particular notice that there was not the least lava to be seen; owing, I imagine, to its being employed in forcing its way towards the place where it burst out the following day. As I had, contrary to the opinion of most people here, foretold the approaching eruption[7], and had observed a great fermentation in the mountain after the heavy rains which fell the 13th and 14th of October; I was not surprized, on the 19th following, at seven of the clock in the morning, to perceive from my villa every symptom of the eruption being just at hand. From the top of the little mountain issued a thick black smoak, so thick that it seemed to have difficulty in forcing its way out; cloud after cloud mounted with a hasty spiral motion, and every minute a volley of great stones were shot up to an immense height in the midst of these clouds; by degrees, the smoak took the exact shape of a huge pine-tree, such as Pliny the younger described in his letter to Tacitus, where he gives an account of the fatal eruption in which his uncle perished[8]. This column of black smoak, after having mounted an extraordinary height, bent with the wind towards Caprea, and actually reached over that island, which is not less than twenty-eight miles from Vesuvius. I warned my family, not to be alarmed, as I expected there would be an earthquake at the moment of the lava's bursting out; but before eight of the clock in the morning I perceived that the mountain had opened a mouth, without noise, about a hundred yards lower than the ancient crater, on the side towards the Monte di Somma; and I plainly perceived, by a white smoak, which always accompanies the lava, that it had forced its way out: as soon as it had vent, the smoak no longer came out with that violence from the top. As I imagined that there would be no danger in approaching the mountain when the lava had vent, I went up immediately, accompanied by one peasant only. I passed the hermitage (3. in Plate I.), and proceeded as far as the spot marked (X), in the valley between the mountain of Somma and that of Vesuvius, which is called Atrio di Cavallo. I was making my observations upon the lava, which had already, from the spot (E) where it first broke out, reached the valley; when, on a sudden, about noon, I heard a violent noise within the mountain, and at the spot (C), about a quarter of a mile off the place where I stood, the mountain split; and, with much noise, from this new mouth, a fountain of liquid fire shot up many feet high, and then, like a torrent, rolled on directly towards us. The earth shook, at the same time that a volley of pumice stones fell thick upon us; in an instant, clouds of black smoak and ashes caused almost a total darkness; the explosions from the top of the mountain were much louder than any thunder I ever heard, and the smell of the sulphur was very offensive. My guide, alarmed, took to his heels; and I must confess, that I was not at my ease. I followed close, and we ran near three miles without stopping; as the earth continued to shake under our feet, I was apprehensive of the opening of a fresh mouth, which might have cut off our retreat. I also feared that the violent explosions would detach some of the rocks off the mountain Somma, under which we were obliged to pass; besides, the pumice-stones, falling upon us like hail, were of such a size as to cause a disagreeable sensation upon the part where they fell. After having taken breath, as the earth still trembled greatly, I thought it most prudent to leave the mountain, and return to my villa; where I found my family in a great alarm, at the continual and violent explosions of the Volcano, which shook our house to its very foundation, the doors and windows swinging upon their hinges. About two of the clock in the afternoon another lava forced its way out of the same place from whence came the lava last year, at the spot marked B (in Plate II.); so that the conflagration was soon as great on this side of the mountain, as on the other which I had just left. The noise and smell of sulphur increasing, we removed from our villa to Naples; and I thought proper, as I passed by Portici, to inform the Court of what I had seen; and humbly offered it as my opinion, that his Sicilian Majesty should leave the neighbourhood of the threatening mountain. However, the Court did not leave Portici till about twelve of the clock, when the lava had reached as far as (4. in Plate I.)--I observed, in my way to Naples, which was in less than two hours after I had left the mountain, that the lava had actually covered three miles of the very road through which we had retreated. It is astonishing that it should have run so fast; as I have since seen, that the river of lava, in the Atrio di Cavallo, was sixty and seventy feet deep, and in some places near two miles broad. When his Sicilian Majesty quitted Portici, the noise was greatly increased; and the concussion of the air from the explosions was so violent, that, in the King's palace, doors and windows were forced open; and even one door there, which was locked, was nevertheless burst open. At Naples, the same night, many windows and doors flew open; in my house, which is not on the side of the town next Vesuvius, I tried the experiment of unbolting my windows[9], when they flew wide open upon every explosion of the mountain. Besides these explosions, which were very frequent, there was a continued subterraneous and violent rumbling noise, which lasted this night about five hours. I have imagined, that this extraordinary noise might be owing to the lava in the bowels of the mountain having met with a deposition of rain water; and that the conflict between the fire and the water may, in some measure, account for so extraordinary a crackling and hissing noise. Padre Torre, who has wrote so much and so well upon the subject of Mount Vesuvius, is also of my opinion. And indeed it is natural to imagine, that there may be rain-water lodged in many of the caverns of the mountain; as, in the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 1631, it is well attested, that several towns, among which Portici and Torre del Greco, were destroyed, by a torrent of boiling water having burst out of the mountain with the lava, by which thousands of lives were lost. About four years ago, Mount Etna in Sicily threw up hot water also, during an eruption. The confusion at Naples this night cannot be described; his Sicilian Majesty's hasty retreat from Portici added to the alarm; all the churches were opened and filled; the streets were thronged with processions of saints: but I shall avoid entering upon a description of the various ceremonies that were performed in this capital, to quell the fury of the turbulent mountain. Tuesday the 20th, it was impossible to judge of the situation of Vesuvius, on account of the smoak and ashes, which covered it entirely, and spread over Naples also, the sun appearing as through a thick London fog, or a smoaked glass; small ashes fell all this day at Naples. The lavas on both sides of the mountain ran violently; but there was little or no noise till about nine o'clock at night, when the same uncommon rumbling began again, accompanied with explosions as before, which lasted about four hours: it seemed as if the mountain would split in pieces; and, indeed, it opened this night almost from the spot E to C (in Plate I.). The annexed plans were taken upon the spot at this time, when the lavas were at their height; and I do not think them exaggerated. The Parisian barometer was, as yesterday, at 279, and Fahrenheit's thermometer at 70 degrees; whereas, for some days preceding the eruption, it had been at 65 and 66. During the confusion of this night, the prisoners in the public jail attempted to escape, having wounded the jailer; but were prevented by the troops. The mob also set fire to the Cardinal Archbishop's gate, because he refused to bring out the relicks of Saint Januarius. Wednesday 21st, was more quiet than the preceding days, though the lavas ran briskly. Portici was once in some danger, had not the lava taken a different course when it was only a mile and a half from it; towards night, the lava slackened. Thursday 22d, about ten of the clock in the morning, the same thundering noise began again, but with more violence than the preceding days; the oldest men declared, they had never heard the like; and, indeed, it was very alarming: we were in expectation every moment of some dire calamity. The ashes, or rather small cinders, showered down so fast, that the people in the streets were obliged to use umbrellas, or flap their hats; these ashes being very offensive to the eyes. The tops of the houses, and the balconies, were covered above an inch thick with these cinders[10]. Ships at sea, twenty leagues from Naples, were also covered with them, to the great astonishment of the sailors. In the midst of these horrors, the mob, growing tumultuous and impatient, obliged the Cardinal to bring out the head of Saint Januarius, and go with it in procession to the Ponte Maddalena, at the extremity of Naples, towards Vesuvius; and it is well attested here, that the eruption ceased the moment the Saint came in sight of the mountain; it is true, the noise ceased about that time, after having lasted five hours, as it had done the preceding days. Friday 23d, the lavas still ran, and the mountain continued to throw up quantities of stones from its crater; there was no noise heard at Naples this day, and but little ashes fell there. Saturday 24th, the lava ceased running; the extent of the lava, from the spot C (Plate I.), where I saw it break out, to its extremity F, where it surrounded the chapel of Saint Vito, is above six miles. In the Atrio di Cavallo, and in a deep valley that lies between Vesuvius (1.) and the hermitage (3.), the lava is in some places near two miles broad, and in most places from sixty to seventy feet deep; at (4.), the lava ran down a hollow way, called Fossa grande, made by the currents of rain water; it is not less than two hundred feet deep, and a hundred broad; yet the lava in one place has filled it up. I could not have believed that so great a quantity of matter could have been thrown out in so short a time, if I had not since examined the whole course of the lava myself. This great compact body will certainly retain some heat many months[11]; at this time, much rain having fallen for some days past, the lava smoaks, as if it ran afresh: and about ten days ago, when I was up the mountain with Lord Stormont, we thrust sticks into the crevices of the lava, which took fire immediately: But to proceed with my journal. The 24th, Vesuvius continued to throw up stones as on the preceding days: during the whole of this eruption, it had differed in this circumstance from the eruption of 1766, when no stones were thrown out of the crater from the moment the lava ran freely. Sunday 25th, small ashes fell all day at Naples; they issued from the crater of the Volcano, and formed a vast column, as black as the mountain itself, so that the shadow of it was marked out on the surface of the sea; continual flashes of forked or zig-zag lightning shot from this black column, the thunder of which was heard in the neighbourhood of the mountain, but not at Naples: there were no clouds in the sky at this time, except those of smoak issuing from the crater of Vesuvius. I was much pleased with this phænomenon, which I had not seen before in that perfection[12]. Monday 26th, the smoak continued, but not so thick, neither were there any flashes of the mountain lightning. As no lava has appeared after this column of black smoak, which must have been occasioned by some inward operation of fire; I am apt to think, that the lava, which should naturally have followed this symptom, has broke its way into some deeper cavern, where it is silently brooding future mischief; and I shall be much mistaken if it does not break out a few months hence. Tuesday 27th, no more black smoak, nor any signs of eruption. Thus, my Lord, I have had the honor of giving your Lordship a faithful narrative of my observations during this eruption, which is universally allowed to have been the most violent of this century; and I shall be happy, if it should meet with your approbation, and that of the Royal Society, if your Lordship should think it worthy of being communicated to so respectable a body. I have just sent a present to the British Museum of a complete collection of every sort of matter produced by Mount Vesuvius, which I have been collecting with some pains for these three years past; and it will be a great satisfaction to me, if, by the means of this collection, some of my countrymen, learned in natural history, may be enabled to make some useful discoveries relative to Volcanos[13]. I have also accompanied that collection with a view of a current of lava from Mount Vesuvius; it is painted with transparent colours, and, when lighted up with lamps behind it, gives a much better idea of Vesuvius, than is possible to be given by any other sort of painting. I have the honor to be, My LORD, Your Lordship's Most obedient and most humble servant, WILLIAM HAMILTON. [Illustration: _Plate I._ View of the GREAT ERUPTION of VESUVIUS 1767 from Portici.] PLATE I. A. Crater of Mount Vesuvius. B. Mouth from whence came the lava of 1766; and which opened afresh, October 19, 1767, and produced the conflagration represented in Plate II. C. The mouth which opened at 12 o'clock, October 19, 1767, whilst I was at the spot marked X; from thence came all the lava represented in Plate I. D. The lava. E. Mouth from whence the lava flowed at eight o'clock, October 19, when the eruption began first. F. Chapel of Saint Vito, surrounded with lava. 1. Vesuvius. 2. Mountain of Somma. 3. Hermitage, between which and Vesuvius there is a deep valley two miles broad. 4. The Fossa Grande. 5. His Sicilian Majesty's Palace at Portici. 6. Church of Pugliano. 7. Calmaldolese Convent, near which is my Villa. 8. Saint Jorio. 9. Barra. 10. Spot, under which lies Herculaneum. [Illustration: _Plate II._ View of the GREAT ERUPTION of VESUVIUS 1767, from Torre dell' Annunziata.] PLATE II. A. Crater of Vesuvius. B. Mouth, from whence came the lava of 1766, and which opened afresh at two o'clock, October 19, 1767, and caused the conflagration on this side of the mountain. C. Mouth which opened at 12 o'clock, October 19, 1767, whilst I was at the spot X, and which produced all the lava represented in Plate I. D. Rivulets of lava, which flowed from the crater, and united with the great river E. F. Extremities of the lava, about five miles from B. 1. Mountain of Somma. 2. Mount Vesuvius. 3. Montagna di Trecase. 4. Trecase. 5. Oratorio di Bosco. 6. Ottaiano. [Illustration: _Plate III._ _The ancient Crater of Mount Vesuvius._ _With the gradual increase of the little Mountain within the Crater._ _The exteriour black line marks each increase & the interiour dotted line shews the state of the little Mountain before that increase, so that the dotted line in the Drawing of Oct 18.^{th} shews the Size of the little Mountain July 8.^{th} the little spot A. marks where the lava came out some days before the great Eruption. B. C. D. mark the ancient Crater & E. the little Mountain the day before the Eruption. F. G. is the present Crater, & the exteriour black line H. F. G. the present shape of the top of Mount Vesuvius. Since May last the Mountain is increased from B. to F. which is near 200 feet._] PLATE III. Views of the gradual increase of the little mountain within the ancient crater; and of the present shape of Mount Vesuvius. LETTER III. To MATHEW MATY, M. D. Secretary to the Royal SOCIETY. Villa Angelica, near Mount Vesuvius, October 4, 1768. SIR, I have but very lately received your last obliging letter, of the 5th of July, with the volume of Philosophical Transactions. I must beg of you to express my satisfaction at the notice which the Royal Society hath been pleased to take of my accounts of the two last eruptions of Mount Vesuvius. Since I have been at my villa here, I have enquired of the inhabitants of the mountain, after what they had seen during the last eruption. In my letter to Lord Morton, I mentioned nothing but what came immediately under my own observation: but as all the peasants here agree in their account of the terrible thunder and lightning, which lasted almost the whole time of the eruption, upon the mountain only; I think it a circumstance worth attending to. Besides the lightning, which perfectly resembled the common forked lightning, there were many meteors, like what are vulgarly called _falling stars_. A peasant, in my neighbourhood, lost eight hogs, by the ashes falling into the trough with their food: they grew giddy, and died in a few hours. The last day of the eruption, the ashes, which fell abundantly upon the mountain, were as white almost as snow[14]; and the old people here assure me, that is a sure symptom of the eruption being at an end. These circumstances, being well attested, I thought worth relating. It would require many years close application, to give a proper and truly philosophical account of the Volcanos in the neighbourhood of Naples; but I am sure such a history might be given, supported by demonstration, as would destroy every system hitherto given upon this subject. We have here an opportunity of seeing Volcanos in all their states. I have been this summer in the island of Ischia; it is about eighteen miles round, and its whole basis is lava. The great mountain in it, near as high as Vesuvius, formerly called Epomeus, and now San Nicolo, I am convinced, was thrown up by degrees; and I have no doubt in my own mind, but that the island itself rose out of the sea in the same manner as some of the Azores. I am of the same opinion with respect to Mount Vesuvius, and all the high grounds near Naples; as having not yet seen, in any one place, what can be called virgin earth. I had the pleasure of seeing a well sunk, a few days ago, near my villa, which is, as you know, at the foot of Vesuvius, and close by the sea-side. At twenty-five feet below the level of the sea, they came to a stratum of lava, and God knows how much deeper they might have still found other lavas. The soil all round the mountain, which is so fertile, consists of stratas of lavas, ashes, pumice, and now-and-then a thin stratum of good earth, which good earth is produced by the surface mouldering, and the rotting of the roots of plants, vines, &c. This is plainly to be seen at Pompeii, where they are now digging into the ruins of that ancient city; the houses are covered about ten or fifteen feet, with pumice and fragments of lava, some of which weigh three pounds (which last circumstance I mention, to shew, that, in a great eruption, Vesuvius has thrown stones of this weight six miles[15], which is its distance from Pompeii, in a direct line); upon this stratum of pumice, or _rapilli_, as they call them here, is a stratum of excellent mould, about two feet thick, on which grow large trees, and excellent grapes. We have then the Solfaterra, which was certainly a Volcano, and has ceased erupting, for want of metallic particles, and over-abounding with sulphur. You may trace its lavas into the sea. We have the Lago d'Averno and the Lago d'Agnano, both of which were formerly Volcanos; and Astroni, which still retains its form more than any of these. Its crater is walled round, and his Sicilian Majesty takes the diversion of boar-hunting in this Volcano; and neither his Majesty nor any one of his Court ever dreamt of its former state. We have then that curious mountain, called Montagno Nuovo, near Puzzole, which rose, in one night, out of the Lucrine Lake; it is about a hundred and fifty feet high, and three miles round. I do not think it more extraordinary, that Mount Vesuvius, in many ages, should rise above two thousand feet; when this mountain, as is well attested, rose in one night, no longer ago than the year 1538. I have a project, next spring, of passing some days at Puzzole, and of dissecting this mountain, taking its measures, and making drawings of its stratas; for, I perceive, it is composed of stratas, like Mount Vesuvius, but without lavas. As this mountain is so undoubtedly formed intirely from a plain, I should think my project may give light into the formation of many other mountains, that are at present thought to have been original, and are certainly not so, if their strata correspond with those of the Montagno Nuovo. I should be glad to know whether you think this project of mine will be useful; and, if you do, the result of my observations may be the subject of another letter[16]. I cannot have a greater pleasure than to employ my leisure hours in what may be of some little use to mankind; and my lot has carried me into a country, which affords an ample field for observation. Upon the whole, if I was to establish a system, it would be, that _Mountains are produced by Volcanos, and not Volcanos by Mountains_. I fear I have tired you; but the subject of Volcanos is so favourite a one with me, that it has led me on I know not how: I shall only add, that Vesuvius is quiet at present, though very hot at top, where there is a deposition of boiling sulphur. The lava that ran in the Fossa Grande during the last eruption, and is at least two hundred feet thick, is not yet cool; a stick, put into its crevices, takes fire immediately. On the sides of the crevices are fine crystalline salts: as they are the pure salts, which exhale from the lava that has no communication with the interiour of the mountain, they may perhaps indicate the composition of the lava. I have done. Let me only thank you for the kind offers and expressions in your letter, and for the care you have had in setting off my present to the Museum to the best advantage; of which I have been told from many quarters. I am, SIR, Your most obedient humble servant, W. HAMILTON. LETTER IV. To MATHEW MATY, M. D. Secretary to the Royal SOCIETY. An Account of a Journey to MOUNT ETNA. "Artificis naturæ ingens opus aspice, nulla "Tu tanta humanis rebus spectacula cernes." P. CORNELII SEVERI _Ætna_. Naples, Oct. 17, 1769. SIR, Encouraged by the assurances you give me, in your last obliging letter of the 15th of June, that any new communication upon the subject of Volcano's would be received with satisfaction by the Royal Society; I venture to send you the following account of my late observations upon Mount Etna, which you are at liberty to lay before our respectable Society, should you think it worth its notice. [See Plate IV.] [Illustration: _Plate IV._ A View of MOUNT ÆTNA from Taormina.] After having examined with much attention the operations of Mount Vesuvius, during the five years that I have had the honour of residing as his Majesty's Minister at this Court, and after having carefully remarked the nature of the soil for fifteen miles round this capital; I am, in my own mind, well convinced that the whole of it has been formed by explosion. Many of the craters, from whence this matter has issued, are still visible; such as the Solfaterra near Puzzole, the lake of Agnano, and near this lake a mountain composed of burnt matter, that has a very large crater surrounded with a wall, to inclose the wild boars and deer, that are kept there for the diversion of his Sicilian Majesty; it is called Astruni: the Monte Nuovo, thrown up from the bottom of the Lucrine lake[17] in the year 1538, which has likewise its crater; and the lake of Averno. The islands of Nisida and Procida are entirely composed of burnt matter; the island of Ischia is likewise composed of lava, pumice, and burnt matter; and there are in that island several visible craters, from one of which, no longer ago than the year 1303, there issued a lava, which ran into the sea, and is still in the same barren state as the modern lavas of Vesuvius. After having, I say, been accustomed to these observations, I was well prepared to visit the most ancient, and perhaps the most considerable, Volcano that exists; and I had the satisfaction of being thoroughly convinced there, of the formation of very considerable mountains by meer explosion, having seen many such on the sides of Etna, as will be related hereafter. On the 24th of June last, in the afternoon, I left Catania, a town situated at the foot of Mount Etna, or, as it is now called, Mon-Gibello, in company with Lord Fortrose and the Canonico Recupero, an ingenious priest of Catania, who is the only person there that is acquainted with the mountain: he is actually employed in writing its natural history; but, I fear, will not be able to compass so great and useful an undertaking, for want of proper encouragement. We passed through the inferior district of the mountain, called by its inhabitants La Regione Piemontese. It is well watered, exceedingly fertile, and abounding with vines and other fruit trees, where the lava, or, as it is called there, the _sciara_, has had time to soften, and gather soil sufficient for vegetation, which, I am convinced from many observations, unless assisted by art, does not come to pass for many ages[18], perhaps a thousand years or more; the circuit of this lower region, forming the basis of the great Volcano, is upwards of one hundred Italian miles. The vines of Etna are kept low, quite the reverse of those on the borders of Vesuvius; and they produce a stronger wine, but not in so great abundance. The Piemontese district is covered with towns, villages, monasteries, &c. and is well peopled, notwithstanding the danger of such a situation. Catania, so often destroyed by eruptions of Etna, and totally overthrown by an earthquake towards the end of the last century[19], has been re-built within these fifty years, and is now a considerable town, with at least thirty-five thousand inhabitants. I do not wonder at the seeming security with which these parts are inhabited, having been so long witness to the same near Mount Vesuvius. The operations of Nature are slow: great eruptions do not frequently happen; each flatters himself it will not happen in his time, or, if it should, that his tutelar saint will turn away the destructive lava from his grounds; and indeed the great fertility in the neighbourhoods of Volcanos tempts people to inhabit them. In about four hours of gradual ascent, we arrived at a little convent of Benedictine monks, called St. Nicolo dell' Arena, about thirteen miles from Catania, and within a mile of the Volcano from whence issued the last very great eruption in the year 1669; a circumstantial account of which was sent to our court by a Lord Winchelsea, who happened to be then at Catania in his way home, from his embassy at Constantinople. His Lordship's account is curious, and was printed in London soon after; I saw a copy of it at Palermo, in the library of the Prince Torremuzzo[20]. We slept in the Benedictines convent the night of the 24th, and passed the next morning in observing the ravage made by the abovementioned terrible eruption, over the rich country of the Piemontese. The lava burst out of a vineyard within a mile of St. Nicolo, and, by frequent explosions of stones and ashes, raised there a mountain, which, as near as I can judge, having ascended it, is not less than half a mile perpendicular in height, and is certainly at least three miles in circumference at its basis. The lava that ran from it, and on which there are as yet no signs of vegetation, is fourteen miles in length, and in many parts six in breadth; it reached Catania, and destroyed part of its walls, buried an amphitheatre, an aqueduct, and many other monuments of its ancient grandeur, which till then had resisted the hand of Time, and ran a considerable length into the sea, so as to have once formed a beautiful and safe harbour; but it was soon after filled up by a fresh torrent of the same inflamed matter: a circumstance the Catanians lament to this day, as they are without a port. There has been no such eruption since, though there are signs of many, more terrible, that have preceded it. For two or three miles round the mountain raised by this eruption, all is barren, and covered with ashes; this ground, as well as the mountain itself, will in time certainly be as fertile as many other mountains in its neighbourhood, that have been likewise formed by explosion. If the dates of these explosions could be ascertained, it would be very curious, and mark the progress of time with respect to the return of vegetation, as the mountains raised by them are in different states; those which I imagine to be the most modern are covered with ashes only; others of an older date, with small plants and herbs; and the most ancient, with the largest timber-trees I ever saw: but I believe the latter are so very ancient, as to be far out of the reach of history. At the foot of the mountain, raised by the eruption of the year 1669, there is a hole, through which, by means of a rope, we descended into several subterraneous caverns, branching out and extending much farther and deeper than we chose to venture; the cold there being excessive, and a violent wind frequently extinguishing some of our torches. These caverns undoubtedly contained the lava that issued forth, and extended, as I said before, quite to Catania. There are many of these subterraneous cavities known, on other parts of Etna; such as that called by the peasants La Baracca Vecchia, another La Spelonca della Palomba (from the wild pigeons building their nests therein), and the cavern Thalia, mentioned by Boccaccio. Some of them are made use of as magazines for snow; the whole island of Sicily and Malta being supplied with this essential article (in a hot climate) from Mount Etna. Many more would be found, I dare say, if searched for, particularly near and under the craters from whence great lavas have issued, as the immense quantities of such matter we see above ground, must necessarily suppose very great hollows underneath. After having passed the morning of the 25th in these observations, we proceeded through the second or middle region of Etna, called La Selvosa, _the woody_, than which nothing can be more beautiful. On every side are mountains, or fragments of mountains, that have been thrown up by various ancient explosions; there are some near as high as Mount Vesuvius; one in particular (as the Canon our guide assured me, having measured it) is little less than one mile in perpendicular height, and five in circumference at its basis. They are all more or less covered, even within their craters, as well as the rich vallies between them, with the largest oak, chesnut, and firr trees, I ever saw any where; and indeed it is from hence chiefly, that his Sicilian Majesty's dockyards are supplied with timber. As this part of Etna was famous for its timber in the time of the Tyrants of Syracusa, and as it requires the great length of time I have already mentioned before the matter is fit for vegetation, we may conceive the great age of this respectable Volcano. The chesnut-trees predominated in the parts through which we passed, and, though of a very great size, are not to be compared to some on another part of the Regione Selvosa, called Carpinetto. I have been told by many, and particularly by our guide, who had measured the largest there, called La Castagna Cento Cavalli, that it is upwards of twenty-eight Neapolitan canes in circumference. Now as a Neapolitan cane is two yards and half a quarter, English measure, you may judge, Sir, of the immense size of this famous tree[21]. It is hollow from age, but there is another near it almost as large and sound. As it would have required a journey of two days to have visited this extraordinary tree, and the weather being already very hot, I did not see it. It is amazing to me, that trees should flourish in so shallow a soil; for they cannot penetrate deep without meeting with a rock of lava; and indeed great part of the roots of the large trees we passed by are above ground, and have acquired, by the impression of the air, a bark like that of their branches. In this part of the mountain, are the finest horned cattle in Sicily; we remarked in general, that the horns of the Sicilian cattle are near twice the size of any we had ever seen; the cattle themselves are of the common size. We passed by the lava of the last eruption in the year 1766, which has destroyed above four miles square of the beautiful wood abovementioned. The mountain raised by this eruption abounds with sulphur and salts, exactly resembling those of Vesuvius; specimens of which I sent some time ago to the late Lord Morton. In about five hours from the time we had left the convent of St. Nicolo dell' Arena, we arrived at the borders of the third region, called La Netta, or Scoperta, _clean_ or _uncovered_, where we found a very sharp air indeed; so that, in the same day, the four seasons of the year were sensibly felt by us, on this mountain; excessive summer heats in the Piemontese, spring and autumn temperature in the middle, and extreme cold of winter in the upper region. I could perceive, as we approached the latter, a gradual decrease of vegetation; and from large timber trees we came to the small shrubs and plants of the northern climates: I observed quantities of juniper and tanzey; our guide told us that later in the season there are numberless curious plants here, and that in some parts there are rhubarb and saffron in plenty. In Carrera's History of Catania, there is a list of all the plants and herbs of Etna in alphabetical order. Night coming on, we here pitched a tent, and made a good fire, which was very necessary; for without it, and very warm cloathing, we should surely have perished with cold; and at one of the clock in the morning of the 26th, we pursued our journey towards the great crater. We passed over vallies of snow, that never melts, except there is an eruption of lava from the upper crater, which scarcely ever happens; the great eruptions are usually from the middle region, the inflamed matter finding (as I suppose) its passage through some weak part, long before it can rise to the excessive height of the upper region, the great mouth on the summit only serving as a common chimney to the Volcano. In many places the snow is covered with a bed of ashes, thrown out of the crater, and the sun melting it in some parts makes this ground treacherous; but as we had with us, besides our guide, a peasant well accustomed to these vallies, we arrived safe at the foot of the little mountain of ashes that crowns Etna, about an hour before the rising of the sun. This mountain is situated in a gently inclining plain of about nine miles in circumference; it is about a quarter of a mile perpendicular in height, very steep, but not quite so steep as Vesuvius; it has been thrown up within these twenty-five or thirty years, as many people at Catania have told me they remembered when there was only a large chasm or crater, in the midst of the abovementioned plain. Till now, the ascent had been so gradual (for the top of Etna is not less than thirty miles from Catania, from whence the ascent begins) as not to have been the least fatiguing; and if it had not been for the snow, we might have rode upon our mules to the very foot of the little mountain, higher than which the Canon our guide had never been: but as I saw that this little mountain was composed in the same manner as the top of Vesuvius, which, notwithstanding the smoak issuing from every pore, is solid and firm, I made no scruple of going up to the edge of the crater; and my companions followed. The steep ascent, the keenness of the air, the vapours of the sulphur, and the violence of the wind, which obliged us several times to throw ourselves flat upon our faces to avoid being overturned by it, made this latter part of our expedition rather inconvenient and disagreeable. Our guide, by way of comfort, assured us, that there was generally much more wind in the upper region at this time. Soon after we had seated ourselves on the highest point of Etna, the sun arose, and displayed a scene that indeed passes all description. The horizon lighting up by degrees, we discovered the greatest part of Calabria, and the sea on the other side of it; the Phare of Messina, the Lipari Islands; Stromboli, with its smoaking top, though at above seventy miles distance, seemed to be just under our feet; we saw the whole island of Sicily, its rivers, towns, harbours, &c. as if we had been looking on a map. The island of Malta is low ground, and there was a haziness in that part of the horizon, so that we could not discern it; our guide assured us, he had seen it distinctly at other times, which I can believe, as in other parts of the horizon, that were not hazy, we saw to a much greater distance; besides, we had a clear view of Etna's top from our ship, as we were going into the mouth of the harbour of Malta some weeks before; in short, as I have since measured on a good chart, we took in at one view a circle of above nine hundred English miles. The pyramidal shadow of the mountain reached across the whole island, and far into the sea on the other side. I counted from hence forty-four little mountains (little I call them in comparison of their mother Etna, though they would appear great any where else) in the middle region on the Catania side, and many others on the other side of the mountain, all of a conical form, and each having its crater; many with timber trees flourishing both within and without their craters. The points of those mountains that I imagine to be the most ancient are blunted, and the craters of course more extensive and less deep than those of the mountains formed by explosions of a later date, and which preserve their pyramidal form entire. Some have been so far mouldered down by time, as to have no other appearance of a crater than a sort of dimple or hollow on their rounded tops, others with only half or a third part of their cone standing; the parts that are wanting having mouldered down, or perhaps been detached from them by earthquakes, which are here very frequent. All however have been evidently raised by explosion; and I believe, upon examination, many of the whimsical shapes of mountains in other parts of the world would prove to have been occasioned by the same natural operations. I observed that these mountains were generally in lines or ridges; they have mostly a fracture on one side, the same as in the little mountains raised by explosion on the sides of Vesuvius, of which there are eight or nine. This fracture is occasioned by the lava's forcing its way out, which operation I have described in my account of the last eruption of Vesuvius. Whenever I shall meet with a mountain, in any part of the world, whose form is regularly conical, with a hollow crater on its top, and one side broken, I shall be apt to decide such a mountain's having been formed by an eruption; as both on Etna and Vesuvius the mountains formed by explosion are without exception according to this description. But to return to my narrative. After having feasted our eyes with the glorious prospect above-mentioned (for which, as Spartian tells us, the Emperor Adrian was at the trouble of ascending Etna), we looked into the great crater, which, as near as we could judge, is about two miles and a half in circumference; we did not think it safe to go round and measure it, as some parts seemed to be very tender ground. The inside of the crater, which is incrusted with salts and sulphurs like that of Vesuvius, is in the form of an inverted hollow cone, and its depth nearly answers to the height of the little mountain that crowns the great Volcano. The smoak, issuing abundantly from the sides and bottom, prevented our seeing quite down; but the wind clearing away the smoak from time to time, I saw this inverted cone contracted almost to a point; and, from repeated observations, I dare say, that in all Volcanos, the depth of the craters will be found to correspond nearly to the height of the conical mountains of cinders which usually crown them; in short, I look upon the craters as a sort of suspended funnels, under which are vast caverns and abysses. The formation of such conical mountains with their craters are easily accounted for, by the fall of the stones, cinders, and ashes, emitted at the time of an eruption. The smoak of Etna, though very sulphureous, did not appear to me so fetid and disagreeable as that of Vesuvius; but our guide told me, that its quality varies, as I know that of Vesuvius does, according to the quality of the matter then in motion within. The air was so very pure and keen in the whole upper region of Etna, and particularly in the most elevated parts of it, that we had a difficulty in respiration, and that, independent of the sulphureous vapour. I brought two barometers and a thermometer with me from Naples, intending to have left one with a person at the foot of the mountain, whilst we made our observation with the other, at sun-rising, on the summit; but one barometer was unluckily spoilt at sea, and I could find no one expert enough at Catania to repair it: what is extraordinary, I do not recollect having seen a barometer in any part of Sicily. At the foot of Etna, the 24th, when we made our first observation, the quicksilver stood at 27 degrees 4 lines; and the 26th, at the most elevated point of the Volcano, it was at 18 degrees 10 lines. The thermometer, on the first observation at the foot of the mountain was at 84 degrees, and on the second at the crater at 56[22]. The weather had not changed in any respect, and was equally fine and clear, the 24th and 26th. We found it difficult to manage our barometer in the extreme cold and high wind on the top of Etna; but, from the most exact observations we could make in our circumstances, the result was as abovementioned. The Canon assured me, that the perpendicular height of Mount Etna is something more than three Italian miles, and I verily believe it is so. After having passed at least three hours on the crater, we descended, and went to a rising ground, about a mile distant from the upper mountain we had just left, and saw there some remains of the foundation of an ancient building; it is of brick, and seems to have been ornamented with white marble, many fragments of which are scattered about. It is called the Philosopher's Tower, and is said to have been inhabited by Empedocles. As the ancients used to sacrifice to the celestial gods on the top of Etna[23], it may very well be the ruin of a temple that served for that purpose. From hence we went a little further over the inclined plain abovementioned, and saw the evident marks of a dreadful torrent of hot water, that came out of the great crater at the time of an eruption of lava in the year 1755, and upon which phænomenon the Canonico Recupero, our guide, has published a dissertation. Luckily this torrent did not take its course over the inhabited parts of the mountain; as a like accident on Mount Vesuvius in 1631 swept away some towns and villages in its neighbourhood, with thousands of their inhabitants. The common received opinion is, that these eruptions of water proceed from the Volcanos having a communication with the sea; but I rather believe them to proceed merely from depositions of rain water in some of the inward cavities of them. We likewise saw from hence the whole course of ancient lava, the most considerable as to its extent of any known here; it ran into the sea near Taormina, which is not less than thirty miles from the crater whence it issued, and is in many parts fifteen miles in breadth. As the lavas of Etna are very commonly fifteen and twenty miles in length, six or seven in breadth, and fifty feet or more in depth; you may judge, Sir, of the prodigious quantities of matter emitted in a great eruption of this mountain, and of the vast cavities there must necessarily be within its bowels. The most extensive lavas of Vesuvius do not exceed seven miles in length. The operations of nature on the one mountain and the other are certainly the same; but on Mount Etna, all are upon a great scale. As to the nature and quality of their lavas, they are much the same; but I think those of Etna rather blacker, and in general more porous, than those of Vesuvius. In the parts of Etna that we went over, I saw no stratas of pumice stones, which are frequent near Vesuvius, and cover the ancient city of Pompeii; but our guide told us, that there are such in other parts of the mountain. I saw some stratas of what is called here _tufa_; it is the same that covers Herculaneum, and that composes most of the high grounds about Naples; it is, upon examination, a mixture of small pumice stones, ashes, and fragments of lava, which is by time hardened into a sort of stone[24]. In short, I found, with respect to the matter erupted, nothing on Mount Etna that Vesuvius does not produce; and there certainly is a much greater variety in the erupted matter and lavas of the latter, than of the former; both abound with pyrites and crystallizations, or rather vitrifications. The sea shore at the foot of Etna, indeed, abounds with amber, of which there is none found at the foot of Vesuvius. At present there is a much greater quantity of sulphur and salts on the top of Vesuvius than on that of Etna; but this circumstance varies according to the degree of fermentation within; and our guide assured me, he had seen greater quantities on Etna at other times. In our way back to Catania, the Canon shewed me a little hill, covered with vines, which belonged to the Jesuits, and, as is well attested, was undermined by the lava in the year 1669, and transported half a mile from the place where it stood, without having damaged the vines. In great eruptions of Etna, the same sort of lightning, as described in my account of the last eruption of Vesuvius, has been frequently seen to issue from the smoak of its great crater. The antients took notice of the same phænomenon; for Seneca (lib. ii. Nat. Quæst.) says,--"Ætna aliquando multo igne abundavit, ingentem vim arenæ urentis effudit, involutus est dies pulvere, populosque subita nox terruit, _illo tempore aiunt plurima fuisse tonitrua et fulmina_." Till the year 252 of Christ, the chronological accounts of the eruptions of Etna are very imperfect: but as the veil of St. Agatha was in that year first opposed to check the violence of the torrents of lava, and has ever since been produced at the time of great eruptions; the miracles attributed to its influence, having been carefully recorded by the priests, have at least preserved the dates of such eruptions. The relicks of St. Januarius have rendered the same service to the lovers of natural history, by recording the great eruptions of Vesuvius. I find, by the dates of the eruptions of Etna, that it is as irregular and uncertain in its operations as Vesuvius[25]. The last eruption was in 1766. On our return from Messina to Naples, we were becalmed three days in the midst of the Lipari islands, by which we had an opportunity of seeing that they have all been evidently formed by explosion[26]; one of them, called Vulcano, is in the same state as the Solfaterra. Stromboli is a Volcano, existing in all its force, and, in its form of course, is the most pyramidal of all the Lipari Islands; we saw it throw up red hot stones from its crater frequently, and some small streams of lava issued from its side, and ran into the sea[27]. This Volcano differs from Etna and Vesuvius, by its continually emitting fire, and seldom any lava; notwithstanding its continual explosions, this island is inhabited, on one side, by about an hundred families. [Illustration: _Plate V._ STROMBOLI, one of the LIPARI ISLANDS.] These, as well as I can recollect, are all the observations that I made with respect to Volcanos, in may late curious tour of Sicily; and I shall be very happy should the communication of them afford you, or any of our countrymen (lovers of natural history) satisfaction or entertainment. I am, SIR, With great regard and esteem, Your most obedient humble servant, W. HAMILTON. LETTER V. To MATHEW MATY, M. D. Secretary to the Royal SOCIETY. REMARKS upon the NATURE of the SOIL of NAPLES, and its Neighbourhood. "Mille miracula movet saciemque mutat locis, et defert montes, subrigit plana, valles extuberat novas, in profundo insulas eregit." SENECA, De Terra-motu. Naples, Oct. 16, 1770. SIR, According to your desire, I lose no time in sending you such further remarks as I have been making with some diligence, for six years past, in the compass of twenty miles, or more, round this capital. By accompanying these remarks with a map of the country I describe [Plate VI.], and with the specimens of different matters that compose the most remarkable spots of it, I do not doubt but that I shall convince you, as I am myself convinced, that the whole circuit (so far as I have examined) within the boundaries marked in the map is wholly and totally the production of subterraneous fires; and that most probably the sea formerly reached the mountains that lie behind Capua and Caserta, and are a continuation of the Appenines. If I may be allowed to compare small things with great, I imagine the subterraneous fires to have worked in this country, under the bottom of the sea, as moles in a field, throwing up here and there a hillock; and that the matter thrown out of some of these hillocks, formed into settled Volcanos, filling up the space between one and the other, has composed this part of the continent, and many of the islands adjoining. From the observations I have made upon Mount Etna, Vesuvius, and its neighbourhood, I dare say, that, after a careful examination, most mountains, that are or have been Volcanos, would be found to owe their existence to subterraneous fire; the direct reverse of what I find the commonly received opinion. Nature, though varied, is certainly in general uniform in her operations; and I cannot conceive that two such considerable Volcanos as Etna and Vesuvius should have been formed otherwise than every other considerable Volcano of the known world. I do not wonder that so little progress has been made in the improvement of natural history, and particularly in that branch of it which regards the theory of earth; Nature acts slowly, it is difficult to catch her in the fact. Those who have made this subject their study have, without scruple, undertaken at once to write the natural history of a whole province, or of an entire continent; not reflecting, that the longest life of man scarcely affords him time to give a perfect one of the smallest insect. I am sensible of what I undertake in giving you, Sir, even a very imperfect account of the nature of the soil of a little more than twenty miles round Naples: yet I flatter myself that my remarks, such as they are, may be of some use to any one hereafter, who may have leisure and inclination to follow them up. The kingdom of the Two Sicilies offers certainly the fairest field for observations of this kind, of any in the whole world; here are Volcanos existing in their full force, some on their decline, and others totally extinct. To begin with some degree of order, which is really difficult in the variety of matter that occurs to my mind, I will first mention the basis on which I found all my conjectures. It is the nature of the soil that covers the antient towns of Herculaneum and Pompeii, and the interior and exterior form of the new mountain, near Puzzole, with the sort of materials of which it is composed. It cannot be denied, that Herculaneum and Pompeii stood once above ground; though now, the former is in no part less than seventy feet, and in some parts one hundred and twelve feet, below the present surface of the earth; and the latter is buried ten or twelve feet deep, more or less. As we know from the very accurate account given by Pliny the younger to Tacitus, and from the accounts of other contemporary authors, that these towns were buried by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in the time of Titus; it must be allowed, that whatever matter lies between these cities and the present surface of the earth over them, must have been produced since the year 79 of the Christian æra, the date of that formidable eruption. Pompeii, which is situated at a much greater distance from the Volcano than Herculaneum, has felt the effects of a single eruption only; it is covered with white pumice stones, mixed with fragments of lava and burnt matter, large and small: the pumice is very light; but I have found some of the fragments of lava and cinders there, weighing eight pounds. I have often wondered, that such weighty bodies could have been carried to such a distance (for Pompeii cannot be less than five miles, in a strait line, from the mouth of Vesuvius). Every observation confirms the fall of this horrid shower over the unfortunate city of Pompeii, and that few of its inhabitants had dared to venture out of their houses; for in many of those which have been already cleared, skeletons have been found, some with gold rings, ear rings, and bracelets. I have been present at the discovery of several human skeletons myself; and under a vaulted arch, about two years ago, at Pompeii, I saw the bones of a man and a horse taken up, with the fragments of the horse's furniture, which had been ornamented with false gems set in bronze. The skulls of some of the skeletons found in the streets had been evidently fractured by the fall of the stones. His Sicilian Majesty's excavations are confined to this spot at present; and the curious in antiquity may expect hereafter, from so rich a mine, ample matter for their dissertations: but I will confine myself to such observations only as relate to my present subject. Over the stratum of pumice and burnt matter that covers Pompeii, there is a stratum of good mould, of the thickness of about two feet and more in some parts, in which vines flourish, except in some particular spots of this vineyard, where they are subject to be blasted by a foul vapour, or _mofete_, as it is called here, that rises from beneath the burnt matter. The abovementioned shower of pumice stones, according to my observations, extended beyond Castel-a-mare (near which spot the ancient town of Stabia also lies buried under them) and covered a tract of country not less than thirty miles in circumference. It was at Stabia that Pliny the elder lost his life, and this shower of pumice stones is well described in the younger Pliny's letter. Little of the matter that has issued from Vesuvius since that time, has reached these parts: but I must observe, that the pavement of the streets of Pompeii is of lava; nay, under the foundation of the town, there is a deep stratum of lava and burnt matter. These circumstances, with many others that will be related hereafter, prove, beyond a doubt, that there have been eruptions of Vesuvius previous to that of the year 79, which is the first recorded by history. The growth of soil by time is easily accounted for; and who, that has visited ruins of ancient edifices, has not often seen a flourishing shrub, in a good soil, upon the top of an old wall? I have remarked many such on the most considerable ruins at Rome and elsewhere. But from the soil which has grown over the barren pumice that covers Pompeii, I was enabled to make a curious observation. Upon examining the cuts and hollow ways made by currents of water in the neighbourhood of Vesuvius and of other Volcanos, I had remarked that there lay frequently a stratum of rich soil, of more or less depth, between the matter produced by the explosion of succeeding eruptions[28]; and I was naturally led to think, that such a stratum had grown in the same manner as the one abovementioned over the pumice of Pompeii. Where the stratum of good soil was thick, it was evident to me that many years had elapsed between one eruption and that which succeeded it. I do not pretend to say, that a just estimate can be formed of the great age of Volcanos from this observation; but some sort of calculation might be made: for instance, should an explosion of pumice cover again the spot under which Pompeii is buried, the stratum of rich soil abovementioned would certainly lie between two beds of pumice; and if a like accident had happened a thousand years ago, the stratum of rich soil would as certainly have wanted much of its present thickness, as the rotting of vegetables, manure, &c. is ever increasing a cultivated soil. Whenever I find then a succession of different strata of pumice and burnt matter, like that which covers Pompeii, intermixed with strata of rich soil, of greater or less depth, I hope I may be allowed reasonably to conclude, that the whole has been the production of a long series of eruptions, occasioned by subterraneous fire. By the size and weight of the pumice, and fragments of burnt erupted matter in these strata, it is easy to trace them up to their source, which I have done more than once in the neighbourhood of Puzzole, where explosions have been frequent. The gradual decrease in the size and quantity of the erupted matter in the stratum abovementioned, from Pompeii to Castle-a-Mare, is very visible: at Pompeii, as I said before, I have found them of eight pounds weight, when at Castle-a-Mare the largest do not weigh an ounce. The matter which covers the ancient town of Herculaneum is not the produce of one eruption only; for there are evident marks that the matter of six eruptions has taken its course over that which lies immediately above the town, and was the cause of its destruction. These strata are either of lava or burnt matter, with veins of good soil between them. The stratum of erupted matter that immediately covers the town, and with which the theatre and most of the houses were filled, is not of that foul vitrified matter, called lava, but of a sort of soft stone, composed of pumice, ashes, and burnt matter. It is exactly of the same nature with what is called here the Naples stone; the Italians distinguish it by the name of _tufa_, and it is in general use for building. Its colour is usually that of our free stone, but sometimes tinged with grey, green, and yellow; and the pumice stones, with which it ever abounds, are sometimes large, and sometimes small: it varies likewise in its degree of solidity. The chief article in the composition of _tufa_ seems to me to be, that fine burnt material, which is called _puzzolane_, whose binding quality and utility by way of cement are mentioned by Vitruvius[29], and which is to be met with only in countries that have been subject to subterraneous fires. It is, I believe, a sort of lime prepared by nature. This, mixed with water, great or small pumice stones, fragments of lava, and burnt matter, may naturally be supposed to harden into a stone of this kind[30]; and, as water frequently attends eruptions of fire, as will be seen in the accounts I shall give of the formation of the new mountain near Puzzole, I am convinced the first matter that issued from Vesuvius, and covered Herculaneum, was in the state of liquid mud. A circumstance strongly favouring my opinion is, that, about two years ago, I saw the head of an antique statue dug out of this matter within the theatre of Herculaneum; the impression of its face remains to this day in the _tufa_, and might serve as a mould for a cast in plaister of Paris, being as perfect as any mould I ever saw. As much may be inferred from the exact resemblance of this matter, or _tufa_, which immediately covers Herculaneum, to all the _tufas_ of which the high grounds of Naples and its neighbourhood are composed. I detached a piece of it sticking to, and incorporated with, the painted stucco of the inside of the theatre of Herculaneum, and shall send it for your inspection[31]. It is very different, as you will see, from the vitrified matter called lava, by which it has been generally thought that Herculaneum was destroyed. The village of Resina and some villas stand at present above this unfortunate town. To account for the very great difference of the matters that cover Herculaneum and Pompeii, I have often thought that, in the eruption of 79, the mountain must have been open in more than one place. A passage in Pliny's letter to Tacitus seems to say as much: "Interim è Vesuvio monte pluribus locis latissimæ flammæ, atque incendia relucebant, quorum fulgor et claritas tenebras noctis pellebat:" so that very probably the matter that covers Pompeii proceeded from a mouth, or crater, much nearer to it than is the great mouth of the Volcano, from whence came the matter that covers Herculaneum. This matter might nevertheless be said to have proceeded from Vesuvius, just as the eruption in the year 1760, which was quite independent of the great crater (being four miles from it), is properly called an eruption of Vesuvius. In the beginning of eruptions, Volcanos frequently throw up water mixed with the ashes. Vesuvius did so in the eruption of 1631, according to the testimony of many contemporary writers. The same circumstance happened in 1669, according to the account of Ignazzio Sorrentino, who, by his history of Mount Vesuvius, printed at Naples in 1734, has shewn himself to have been a very accurate observer of the phænomena of the Volcano, for many years that he lived at Torre del Greco, situated at the foot of it. At the beginning of the formation of the new mountain, near Puzzole, water was mixed with the ashes thrown up, as will be seen in two very curious and particular accounts of the formation of that mountain, which I shall have the pleasure of communicating to you presently; and in 1755, Etna threw up a quantity of water in the beginning of an eruption, as is mentioned in the letter I sent you last year upon the subject of that magnificent Volcano[32]. Ulloa likewise mentions this circumstance of water attending the eruptions of Volcanos in America. Whenever therefore I find a _tufa_ composed exactly like that which immediately covers Herculaneum, and undoubtedly proceeded from Vesuvius, I conclude such a _tufa_ to have been produced by water mixing with the erupted matter at the time of an explosion occasioned by subterraneous fire; and this observation, I believe, will be of more use than any other, in pointing out those parts of the present _terra firma_, that have been formed by explosion. I am convinced, it has often happened that subterraneous fires and exhalations, after having been pent up and confined for some time, and been the cause of earthquakes, have forced their passage, and in venting themselves formed mountains of the matter that confined them, as you will see was the case near Puzzole in the year 1538, and by evident signs has been so before, in many parts of the neighbourhood of Puzzole; without creating a regular Volcano. The materials of such mountains will have but little appearance of having been produced by fire, to any one unaccustomed to make observations upon the different nature of Volcanos. If it were allowed to make a comparison between the earth and a human body, one might consider a country replete with combustibles occasioning explosions (which is surely the case here) to be like a body full of humours. When these humours concentre in one part, and form a great tumour out of which they are discharged freely, the body is less agitated; but when, by any accident, the humours are checked, and do not find free passage through their usual channel, the body is agitated, and tumours appear in other parts of that body, but soon after the humours return again to their former channel. In a similar manner one may conceive Vesuvius to be the present great channel, through which nature discharges some of the foul humours of the earth: when these humours are checked by any accident or stoppage in this channel for any considerable time, earthquakes will be frequent in its neighbourhood, and explosions may be apprehended even at some distance from it. This was the case in the year 1538, Vesuvius having been quiet for near 400 years. There was no eruption from its great crater, from the year 1139 to the great eruption of 1631, and the top of the mountain began to lose all signs of fire. As it is not foreign to my purpose, and will serve to shew how greatly they are mistaken, who place the seat of the fire in the centre, or towards the top, of a Volcano; I will give you a curious description of the state of the crater of Vesuvius, after having been free from eruption 492 years, as related by Bracini, who descended into it not long before the eruption of 1631: "The crater was five miles in circumference, and about a thousand paces deep; its sides were covered with brush wood, and at the bottom there was a plain on which cattle grazed. In the woody parts, boars frequently harboured; in the midst of the plain, within the crater, was a narrow passage, through which, by a winding path, you could descend about a mile amongst rocks and stones, till you came to another more spacious plain covered with ashes: in this plain were three little pools, placed in a triangular form, one towards the East, of hot water, corrosive and bitter beyond measure; another towards the West, of water salter than that of the sea; the third of hot water, that had no particular taste." The great increase of the cone of Vesuvius, from that time to this, naturally induces one to conclude, that the whole of the cone was raised in the like manner; and that the part of Vesuvius, called Somma, which is now considered as a distinct mountain from it, was composed in the same manner. This may plainly be perceived, by examining its interior and exterior form, and the strata of lava and burnt matter of which it is composed. The ancients, in describing Vesuvius, never mention two mountains. Strabo, Dio, Vitruvius, all agree, that Vesuvius, in their time, shewed signs of having formerly erupted[33], and the first compares the crater on its top to an amphitheatre. The mountain now called Somma was, I believe, that which the ancients called Vesuvius: its outside form is conical; its inside, instead of an amphitheatre, is now like a great theatre. I suppose the eruption in Pliny's time to have thrown down that part of the cone next the sea, which would naturally have left it in its present state; and that the conical mountain, or existing Vesuvius, has been raised by the succeeding eruptions: all my observations confirm this opinion. I have seen antient lavas in the plain on the other side of Somma, which could never have proceeded from the present Vesuvius. Serao, a celebrated physician now living at Naples, in the introduction of his account of the eruption of Vesuvius in 1737 (in which account many of the phænomena of the Volcano are recorded and very well accounted for), says, that at the convent of Dominican Fryars, called the Madona del Arco, some years ago, in sinking a well, at a hundred feet depth, a lava was discovered, and soon after another; so that, in less than three hundred feet depth, the lavas of four eruptions were found. From the situation of this convent, it is clear beyond a doubt, that these lavas proceeded from the mountain called Somma, as they are quite out of the reach of the existing Volcano. From these circumstances, and from repeated observations I have made in the neighbourhood of Vesuvius, I am sure that no virgin soil is to be found there, and that all is composed of different strata of erupted matter, even to a great depth below the level of the sea. In short, I have not any doubt in my own mind, but that this Volcano took its rise from the bottom of the sea; and as the whole plain between Vesuvius and the mountains behind Caserta, which is the best part of the Campagna Felice, is (under its good soil) composed of burnt matter, I imagine the sea to have washed the feet of those mountains, until the subterraneous fires began to operate, at a period certainly of a most remote antiquity. The soil of the Campagna Felice is very fertile; I saw the earth opened in many places last year in the midst of that plain, when they were seeking for materials to mend the road from Naples to Caserta. The stratum of good soil was in general four or five feet thick; under which was a deep stratum of cinders, pumice, fragments of lava, and such burnt matter as abounds near Vesuvius and all Volcanos. The mountains at the back of Caserta are mostly of a sort of lime-stone, and very different from those formed by fire; though Signior Van Vitelli, the celebrated architect, has assured me, that, in the cutting of the famous aqueduct of Caserta through these mountains, he met with some soils, that had been evidently formed by subterraneous fire. The high grounds, which extend from Castel-a-Mare, to the point of Minerva towards the island of Caprea, and from the promontory that divides the bay of Naples from that of Salerno, are of lime-stone. The plain of Sorrento, that is bounded by these high grounds, beginning at the village of Vico, and ending at that of Massa, is wholly composed of the same sort of _tufa_ as that about Naples, except that the cinders or pumice stones intermixed in it are larger than in the Naples _tufa_. I conceive then that there has been an explosion in this spot from the bottom of the sea. This plain, as I have remarked to be the case with all soils produced by subterraneous fire, is extremely fertile; whilst the ground about it, being of another nature, is not so. The island of Caprea does not shew any signs of having been formed by subterraneous fire; but is of the same nature as the high grounds last mentioned, from which it has been probably detached by earthquakes, or the violence of the waves. Rovigliano, an island, or rather a rock, in the bay of Castel-a-Mare, is likewise of lime-stone, and seems to have belonged to the original mountains in its neighbourhood: in some of these mountains there are also petrified fish and fossil shells, which I never have found in the mountains which I suppose to have been formed by explosion[34]. You have now, Sir, before you the nature of the soil, from Caprea to Naples. The soil on which this great metropolis stands has been evidently produced by explosions, some of which seem to have been upon the very spot on which this city is built; all the high grounds round Naples, Pausilipo, Puzzole, Baïa, Misenum, the islands of Procita and Ischia, appear to have been raised by explosion. You can trace still in many of these heights the conical shape that was naturally given them at first, and even the craters out of which the matter issued, though to be sure others of these heights have suffered such changes by the hand of time, that you can only conjecture that they were raised in the like manner, by their composition being exactly the same as that of those mountains which still retain their conical form and craters entire. A _tufa_, exactly resembling the specimen I took from the inside of the theatre of Herculaneum, layers of pumice intermixed with layers of good soil, just like those over Pompeii, and lavas like those of Vesuvius, compose the whole soil of the country that remains to be described. The famous grotto anciently cut through the mountain of Pausilipo, to make a road from Naples to Puzzole, gives you an opportunity of seeing that the whole of that mountain is _tufa_. The first evident crater you meet with, after you have passed the grotto of Pausilipo, is now the lake of Agnano; a small remain of the subterraneous fire (which must probably have made the bason for the lake, and raised the high grounds which form a sort of amphitheatre round it) serves to heat rooms, which the Neapolitans make great use of in summer, for carrying off diverse disorders, by a strong perspiration. This place is called the Sudatorio di San Germano; near the present bagnios, which are but poor little hovels, there are the ruins of a magnificent ancient bath. About an hundred paces from hence is the Grotto del Cane; I shall only mention, as a further proof of the probability that the lake of Agnano was a Volcano, that vapours of a pernicious quality, as that in the Grotto del Cane, are frequently met with in the neighbourhood of Etna and Vesuvius, particularly at the time of, before, and after, great eruptions. The noxious vapour having continued in the same force constantly so many ages, as it has done in the Grotto del Cane (for Pliny mentions this Grotto[35]), is indeed a circumstance in which it differs from the vapours near Vesuvius and Etna, which are not constant. The cone forming the outside of this supposed Volcano is still perfect in many parts. Opposite to the Grotto del Cane, and immediately joining to the lake, rises the mountain called Astruni, which, having, as I imagine, been thrown up by an explosion of a much later date, retains the conical shape and every symptom of a Volcano in much greater perfection than that I have been describing. The crater of Astruni is surrounded with a wall, to confine boars and deers (this Volcano having been for many years converted to a royal chace). It may be about six miles or more in circumference: in the plain at the bottom of the crater are two lakes; and in some books there is mention made of a hot spring, which I never have been able to find. There are many huge rocks of lava within the crater of Astruni, and some I have met with also in that of Agnano; the cones of both these supposed Volcanos are composed of _tufa_ and strata of loose pumice, fragments of lava and other burnt matter, exactly resembling the strata of Vesuvius. Bartholomeus Fatius, who wrote of the actions of King Alphonso the First (before the new mountain had been formed near Puzzole), conjectured that Astruni had been a Volcano. These are his words: "Locus Neapoli quatuor millia passuum proximus, quem vulgo Listrones vocant, nos unum è Phlegræis Campis ab ardore nuncupandum putamus." There is no entrance into the crater of either Astruni or Agnano, except one, evidently made by art, and they both exactly correspond with Strabo's description of Avernus; the same may be said of the Solfaterra and the Monte Gauro, or Barbaro as it is sometimes called, which I shall describe presently. Near Astruni and towards the sea rises the Solfaterra, which not only retains its cone and crater, but much of its former heat. In the plain within the crater, smoak issues from many parts, as also from its sides; here, by means of stones and tiles heaped over the crevices through which the smoak passes, they collect in an aukward manner what they call _sale armoniaco_; and from the sand of the plain they extract sulphur and alum. This spot, well attended to, might certainly produce a good revenue, whereas I doubt if they have hitherto ever cleared 200_l._ a year by it. The hollow sound produced by throwing a heavy stone on the plain of the crater of the Solfaterra seems to indicate, that it is supported by a sort of arched natural vault; and one is induced to think that there is a pool of water beneath this vault (which boils by the heat of a subterraneous fire still deeper), by the very moist steam that issues from the cracks in the plain of the Solfaterra, which, like that of boiling water, runs off a sword or knife, presented to it, in great drops. On the outside, and at the foot of the cone of the Solfaterra, towards the lake of Agnano, water rushes out of the rocks, so hot, as to raise the quicksilver in Fahrenheit's thermometer to the degree of boiling water[36], a fact of which I was myself an eye-witness. This place, well worthy the observation of the curious, has been taken little notice of; it is called the _Pisciarelli_. The common people of Naples have great faith in the efficacy of this water; and make much use of it in all cutaneous disorders, as well as for another disorder that prevails here. It seems to be impregnated chiefly with sulphur and alum. When you approach your ear to the rocks of the Pisciarelli, from whence this water ouzes, you hear a horrid boiling noise, which seems to proceed from the huge cauldron, that may be supposed to be under the plain of the Solfaterra. On the other side of the Solfaterra, next the sea, there is a rock, which has communicated with the sea, till part of it was cut away to make the road to Puzzole; this was undoubtedly a considerable lava, that ran from the Solfaterra when it was an active Volcano. Under this rock of lava, which is more than seventy feet high, there is a stratum of pumice and ashes. This ancient lava is about a quarter of a mile broad; you meet with it abruptly before you come in sight of Puzzole, and it finishes as abruptly within about an hundred paces of the town. I have often thought that many quarries of stone, upon examination, would be found to owe their origin to the same cause, though time may have effaced all signs of the Volcano from whence they proceeded. Except this rock, which is evidently lava and full of vitrifications like that of Vesuvius, all the rocks upon the coast of Baïa are of _tufa_. I have observed in the lava of Vesuvius and Etna, as in this, that the bottom, as well as the surface of it, was rough and porous, like the cinders or scoriæ from an iron foundery; and that for about a foot from the surface and from the bottom, they were not near so solid and compact as towards the centre; which must undoubtedly proceed from the impression of the air upon the vitrified matter whilst in fusion. I mention this circumstance, as it may serve to point out true lavas with more certainty. The ancient name of the Solfaterra was, _Forum Vulcani_; a strong proof of its origin from subterraneous fire. The degree of heat, that the Solfaterra has preserved for so many ages, seems to have calcined the stones upon its cone, and in its crater, as they are very white, and crumble easily in the hottest parts. We come next to the new mountain near Puzzole, which, being of so very late a formation, preserves its conical shape entire, and produces as yet but a very slender vegetation. It has a crater almost as deep as the cone is high, which may be near a quarter of a mile perpendicular, and is in shape a regular inverted cone. At the basis of this new mountain (which is more than three miles in circumference), the sand upon the sea shore, and even that which is washed by the sea itself, is burning hot for above the space of an hundred yards; if you take up a handful of the sand below water, you are obliged to get rid of it directly, on account of its intense heat. I had been long very desirous of meeting with a good account of the formation of this new mountain, because, proving this mountain to have been raised by mere explosion in a plain, would prove at the same time, that all the neighbouring mountains, which are composed of the same materials, and have exactly or in part the same form, were raised in the like manner; and that the seat of fire, the cause of these explosions, lies deep; which I have every reason to think. Fortunately, I lately found two very good accounts of the phænomena that attended the explosion, which formed the new mountain, published a few months after the event. As I think them very curious, and greatly to my purpose, and as they are rare, I will give you a literal translation of such extracts as relate to the formation of the Monte Nuovo. They are bound in one volume[37]. The title of the first is, _Dell Incendio di Pozzuolo, Marco Antonio delli Falconi all Illustrissima Signiora Marchesa della Padula nel MDXXXVIII_. At the head of the second is, _Ragionamento del Terremoto, del Nuovo Monte, del Aprimento di Terra in Pozzuolo nell' Anno 1538, é della significatione d'essi. Per Piero Giacomo da Toledo_; and at the end of the book, _Stampata in Nap. per Giovanni Sulztbach Alemano, a 22di Genaro 1539, con gratia, é privilegio_. "First then (says Marco Antonio delli Falconi), will I relate simply and exactly the operations of nature, of which I was either myself an eye-witness, or as they were related to me by those who had been witnesses of them. It is now two years that there have been frequent earthquakes at Pozzuolo, at Naples, and the neighbouring parts; on the day and in the night before the appearance of this eruption, above twenty shocks great and small were felt at the abovementioned places. The eruption made its appearance the 29th of September 1538, the feast of St. Michael the angel; it was on a Sunday, about an hour in the night; and, as I have been informed, they began to see on that spot, between the hot baths or sweating rooms, and Trepergule, flames of fire, which first made their appearance at the baths, then extended towards Trepergule, and fixing in the little valley that lies between the Monte Barbaro and the hillock called del Pericolo (which was the road to the lake of Avernus and the baths), in a short time the fire increased to such a degree, that it burst open the earth in this place, and threw up so great a quantity of ashes and pumice stones mixed with water, as covered the whole country; and in Naples a shower of these ashes and water fell a great part of the night. The next morning, which was Monday, and the last of the month, the poor inhabitants of Pozzuolo, struck with so horrible a sight, quitted their habitations, covered with that muddy and black shower, which continued in that country the whole day, flying death, but with faces painted with its colours; some with their children in their arms, some with sacks full of their goods; others leading an ass, loaded with their frightened family, towards Naples; others carrying quantities of birds of various sorts, that had fallen dead at the time the eruption began; others again with fish which they had found, and were to be met with in plenty upon the shore, the sea having been at that time considerably dried up. Don Pedro di Toledo, Viceroy of the kingdom, with many gentlemen, went to see so wonderful an appearance; I also, having met with the most honourable and incomparable gentleman, Signior Fabritio Moramaldo, on the road, went and saw the eruption and the many wonderful effects of it. The sea towards Baïa had retired a considerable way; though, from the quantity of ashes and broken pumice stones thrown up by the eruption, it appeared almost totally dry. I saw likewise two springs in those lately-discovered ruins, one before the house that was the Queen's, of hot and salt water; the other of fresh and cold water, on the shore, about 250 paces nearer to the eruption: some say, that, still nearer to the spot where the eruption happened, a stream of fresh water issued forth like a little river. Turning towards the place of the eruption, you saw mountains of smoak, part of which was very black and part very white, rise up to a great height; and in the midst of the smoak, at times, deep-coloured flames burst forth with huge stones and ashes, and you heard a noise like the discharge of a number of great artillery. It appeared to me as if Typheus and Enceladus from Ischia and Etna with innumerable giants, or those from the Campi Phlegrei (which, according to the opinions of some, were situated in this neighbourhood), were come to wage war again with Jupiter. The natural historians may perhaps reasonably say, that the wise poets meant no more by giants, than exhalations, shut up in the bowels of the earth, which, not finding a free passage, open one by their own force and impulse, and form mountains, as those which occasioned this eruption have been seen to do; and methought I saw those torrents of burning smoak that Pindar describes in an eruption of Etna, now called Mon Gibello, in Sicily; in imitation of which, as some say, Virgil wrote these lines: "Ipse sed horrificis juxta tonat Ætna ruinis, &c. "After the stones and ashes with clouds of thick smoak had been sent up, by the impulse of the fire and windy exhalation (as you see in a great cauldron that boils), into the middle region of the air, overcome by their own natural weight, when from distance the strength they had received from impulse was spent, rejected likewise by the cold and unfriendly region, you saw them fall thick, and, by degrees, the condensed smoak clear away, raining ashes with water and stones of different sizes, according to the distance from the place: then, by degrees, with the same noise and smoak, it threw out stones and ashes again, and so on by fits. This continued two days and nights, when the smoak and force of the fire began to abate. The fourth day, which was Thursday, at 22 o'clock, there was so great an eruption, that, as I was in the gulph of Puzzole, coming from Ischia, and not far from Misenum, I saw, in a short time, many columns of smoak shoot up, with the most terrible noise I ever heard, and, bending over the sea, came near our boat, which was four miles or more from the place of their birth; and the quantity of ashes, stones, and smoak, seemed as if they would cover the whole earth and sea. Stones, great and small, and ashes more or less, according to the impulse of the fire and exhalations, began to fall, so that a great part of this country was covered with ashes; and many, that have seen it, say, they reached the vale of Diana, and some parts of Calabria, which are more than 150 miles from Pozzuolo. The Friday and Saturday nothing but a little smoak appeared; so that many, taking courage, went upon the spot, and say, that with the stones and ashes thrown up, a mountain has been formed in that valley, not less than three miles in circumference, and almost as high as the Monte Barbaro, which is near it, covering the Canettaria, the castle of Trepergule, all those buildings and the greatest part of the baths that were about them; extending South towards the sea, North as far as the lake of Avernus, West to the Sudatory, and joining East to the foot of the Monte Barbaro; so that this place has changed its form and face in such a manner as not to be known again: a thing almost incredible, to those who have not seen it, that in so short a time so considerable a mountain could have been formed. On its summit there is a mouth in the form of a cup, which may be a quarter of a mile in circumference, though some say it is as large as our market-place at Naples, from which there issues a constant smoak; and though I have seen it only at a distance, it appears very great. The Sunday following, which was the 6th of October, many people going to see this phænomenon, and some having ascended half the mountain, others more, about 22 o'clock there happened so sudden and horrid an eruption, with so great a smoak, that many of these people were stifled, some of which could never be found. I have been told, that the number of the dead or lost amounted to twenty-four. From that time to this, nothing remarkable happened; it seems as if the eruption returned periodically, like the ague or gout. I believe henceforward it will not have such force, though the eruption of the Sunday was accompanied with showers of ashes and water, which fell at Naples, and were seen to extend as far as the mountain of Somma, called Vesuvius by the ancients; and, as I have often remarked, the clouds of smoak proceeding from the eruption moved in a direct line towards that mountain, as if these places had a correspondence and connection one with the other. In the night, many beams and columns of fire were seen to proceed from this eruption, and some like flashes of lightning[38]. We have then, many circumstances for our observation, the earthquakes, the eruption, the drying up of the sea, the quantity of dead fish and birds, the birth of springs, the shower of ashes with water and without water, the innumerable trees in that whole country, as far as the Grotto of Lucullus, torn from their roots, thrown down, and covered with ashes, that it gave one pain to see them: and as all these effects were produced by the same cause that produces earthquakes; let us first enquire how earthquakes are produced, and from thence we may easily comprehend the cause of the abovementioned events." Then follows a dissertation on earthquakes, and some curious conjectures relative to the phænomena which attended this eruption, clearly and well expressed, considering, as the author himself apologizes, that at that time the Italian language had been little employed on such subjects. The account of the formation of the Monte Nuovo, by Pietro Giacomo di Toledo, is given in a dialogue between the feigned personages of Peregrino and Svessano; the former of which says, "It is now two years that this province of Campagna has been afflicted with earthquakes, the country about Pozzuolo much more so than any other parts; but the 27th and the 28th of the month of September last, the earthquakes did not cease day or night, in the abovementioned city of Pozzuolo; that plain, which lies between the lake of Averno, the Monte Barbaro, and the sea, was raised a little, and many cracks were made in it, from some of which issued water; and at the same time the sea, which was very near the plain, dried up about two hundred paces, so that the fish were left on the sand, a prey to the inhabitants of Pozzuolo. At last, on the 29th of the said month, about two hours in the night, the earth opened near the lake, and discovered a horrid mouth, from which were vomited furiously, smoak, fire, stones, and mud composed of ashes; making, at the time of its opening, a noise like very loud thunder: the fire, that issued from this mouth, went towards the walls of the unfortunate city; the smoak was partly black and partly white; the black was darker than darkness itself, and the white was like the whitest cotton: these smoaks, rising in the air, seemed as if they would touch the vault of heaven; the stones that followed were, by the devouring flames, converted to pumice, the size of which (of some I say) were much larger than an ox. The stones went about as high as a cross-bow can carry, and then fell down, sometimes on the edge, and sometimes into the mouth itself. It is very true that many of them in going up could not be seen, on account of the dark smoak; but, when they returned from the smoaky heat, they shewed plainly where they had been, by their strong smell of fetid sulphur, just like stones that have been thrown out of a mortar, and have passed through the smoak of inflamed gunpowder. The mud was of the colour of ashes, and at first very liquid, then by degrees less so; and in such quantities, that in less than twelve hours, with the help of the abovementioned stones, a mountain was raised of a thousand paces in height. Not only Pozzuolo and the neighbouring country was full of this mud, but the city of Naples also, the beauty of whose palaces were, in a great measure, spoiled by it. The ashes were carried as far as Calabria by the force of the winds, burning up in their passage the grass and high trees, many of which were borne down by the weight of them. An infinity of birds also, and numberless animals of various kinds, covered with this sulphureous mud, gave themselves up a prey to man. Now this eruption lasted two nights and two days without intermission, though, it is true, not always with the same force, but more or less: when it was at its greatest height, even at Naples you heard a noise or thundering like heavy artillery when two armies are engaged. The third day the eruption ceased, so that the mountain made its appearance uncovered, to the no small astonishment of every one who saw it. On this day, when I went up with many people to the top of this mountain; I saw down into its mouth, which was a round concavity of about a quarter of a mile in circumference, in the middle of which the stones that had fallen were boiling up, just as in a great cauldron of water that boils on the fire. The fourth day it began to throw up again, and the seventh much more, but still with less violence than the first night; it was at this time that many people, who were unfortunately on the mountain, were either suddenly covered with ashes, smothered with smoak, or, knocked down by stones, burnt by the flame, and left dead on the spot. The smoak continues to this day[39], and you often see in the night-time fire in the midst of it. Finally, to complete the history of this new and unforeseen event, in many parts of the new-made mountain, sulphur begins to be generated." Giacomo di Toledo, towards the end of his dissertation upon the phænomena attending this eruption, says, that the lake of Avernus had a communication with the sea, before the time of the eruption; and that he apprehended that the air of Puzzole might come to be affected in summer time, by the vapours from the stagnated waters of the lake; which is actually the case. You have, Sir, from these accounts, an instance of a mountain, of a considerable height and dimensions, formed in a plain, by mere explosion, in the space of forty-eight hours. The earthquakes having been sensibly felt at a great distance from the spot where the opening was made, proves clearly, that the subterraneous fire was at a great depth below the surface of the plain; it is as clear that those earthquakes, and the explosion, proceeded from the same cause, the former having ceased upon the appearance of the latter. Does not this circumstance evidently contradict the system of M. Buffon, and of all the natural historians, who have placed the seat of the fire of Volcanos towards the center, or near the summit of the mountains, which they suppose to furnish the matter emitted? Did the matter which proceeds from a Volcano in an eruption come from so inconsiderable a depth as they imagine, that part of the mountain situated above their supposed seat of the fire must necessarily be destroyed, or dissipated in a very short time: on the contrary, an eruption usually adds to the height and bulk of a Volcano; and who, that has had an opportunity of making observations on Volcanos, does not know, that the matter they have emitted for many ages, in lavas, ashes, smoak, &c. could it be collected together, would more than suffice to form three such mountains as the simple cone or mountain of the existing Volcano? With respect to Vesuvius, this could be plainly proved; and I refer to my letter upon the subject of Etna, to shew the quantity of matter thrown up in one single eruption, by that terrible Volcano. Another proof, that the real seat of the fire of Volcanos lies even greatly below the general level of the country whence the mountain springs, is, that was it only at an inconsiderable depth below the basis of the mountain, the quantity of matter thrown up would soon leave so great a void immediately under it, that the mountain itself must undoubtedly sink and disappear after a few eruptions. In the above accounts of the formation of the new mountain, we are told that the matter first thrown up, was mud composed of water and ashes, mixed with pumice stones and other burnt matter: on the road leading from Puzzole to Cuma, part of the cone of this mountain has been cut away, to widen the road. I have there seen that its composition is a _tufa_ intermixed with pumice, some of which are really of the size of an ox, as mentioned in Toledo's account, and exactly of the same nature as the _tufa_ of which every other high ground in its neighbourhood is composed; similar also to that which covers Herculaneum. According to the above accounts, after the muddy shower ceased, it rained dry ashes: this circumstance will account for the strata of loose pumice and ashes, that are generally upon the surface of all the _tufas_ in this country, and which were most probably thrown up in the same manner. At the first opening of the earth, in the plain near Puzzole, both accounts say, that springs of water burst forth; this water, mixing with the ashes, certainly occasioned the muddy shower; when the springs were exhausted, there must naturally have ensued a shower of dry ashes and pumice, of which we have been likewise assured. I own, I was greatly pleased at being in this manner enabled to account so well for the formation of these _tufa_ stones and the veins of dry and loose burnt matter above them, of which the soil of almost the whole country I am describing is composed; and I do not know that any one has ever attended to this circumstance, though I find that many authors, who have described this country, have suspected that parts of it were formed by explosion. Wherever then this sort of _tufa_ is found, there is certainly good authority to suspect its having been formed in the same manner as the _tufa_ of this new mountain, for, as I said before, Nature is generally uniform in all her operations. It is commonly imagined that the new mountain rose out of the Lucrine lake, which was destroyed by it; but in the above account, no mention is made of the Lucrine lake; it may be supposed then, that the famous dam, which Strabo and many other ancient authors mention to have separated that lake from the sea, had been ruined by time or accident, and that the lake became a part of the sea before the explosion of 1538. If the above-described eruption was terrible, that which formed the Monte Barbaro (or Gauro, as it was formerly called), must have been dreadful indeed. It joins immediately to the new mountain, which in shape and composition it exactly resembles; but it is at least three times as considerable. Its crater cannot be less than six miles in circumference; the plain within the crater, one of the most fertile spots I ever saw, is about four miles in circumference: there is no entrance to this plain, but one on the East side of the mountain, made evidently by art; in this section you have an opportunity of seeing that the matter of which the mountain is composed is exactly similar to that of the Monte Nuovo. It was this mountain that produced (as some authors have supposed) the celebrated Falernian wine of the ancients. Cuma, allowed to have been the most ancient city of Italy, was built on an eminence, which is likewise composed of _tufa_, and may be naturally supposed a section of the cone formed by a very ancient explosion. The lake of Avernus fills the bottom of the crater of a mountain, undoubtedly produced by explosion, and whose interior and exterior form, as well as the matter of which it is composed, exactly resemble the Monte Barbaro and Monte Nuovo. At that part of the basis of this mountain which is washed by the sea of the bay of Puzzole, the sand is still very hot, though constantly washed by the waves; and into the cone of the mountain, near this hot sand, a narrow passage of about 100 paces in length is cut, and leads to a fountain of boiling water, which, though brackish, boils fish and flesh without giving them any bad taste or quality, as I have experienced more than once. This place is called Nero's bath, and is still made use of for a sudatory, as it was by the ancients; the steam that rises from the hot fountain abovementioned, confined in the narrow subterraneous passage, soon produces a violent perspiration upon the patient who sits therein. This bath is reckoned a great specifick in that distemper which is supposed to have made its appearance at Naples before it spread its contagion over the other parts of Europe. Virgil and other ancient authors say, that birds could not fly with safety over the lake of Avernus, but that they fell therein; a circumstance favouring my opinion, that this was once the mouth of a Volcano. The vapour of the sulphur and other minerals must undoubtedly have been more powerful, the nearer we go back to the time of the explosion of the Volcano; and I am convinced that there are still some remains of those vapours upon this lake, as I have observed there are very seldom any water-fowl upon it; and that when they do go there, it is but for a short time; whilst all the other lakes in the neighbourhood are constantly covered with them, in the winter season. Upon Mount Vesuvius, in the year 1766, during an eruption, when the air was impregnated with noxious vapours, I have myself picked up dead birds frequently. The castle of Baïa stands upon a considerable eminence, composed of the usual _tufa_ and strata of pumice and ashes; from which I concluded I should find some remains of the craters from whence the matter issued: accordingly, having ascended the hill, I soon discovered two very visible craters, just behind the castle. The lake called the Mare-morto was also, most probably, the crater, from whence issued the materials which formed the Promontory of Misenum, and the high grounds around this lake. Under the ruins of an ancient building, near the point of Misenum, in a vault, there is a vapour, or _mofete_, exactly similar in its effects to that of the Grotto del Cane, as I have often experienced. The form of the little island of Nisida shews plainly its origin[40]. It is half a hollow cone of a Volcano cut perpendicularly; the half crater forms a little harbour called the Porto Pavone; I suppose the other half of the cone to have been detached into the sea by earthquakes, or perhaps by the violence of the waves, as the part that is wanting is the side next to the open sea. The fertile and pleasant island of Procita shews also most evident signs of its production by explosion, the nature of its soil being directly similar to that of Baïa and Puzzole; this island seems really, as was imagined by the ancients, to have been detached from the neighbouring island of Ischia. There is no spot, I believe, that could afford a more ample field for curious observations, than the island of Ischia, called Enaria, Inarime, and Pithecusa, by the ancients. I have visited it three times; and this summer passed three weeks there, during which time I examined, with attention, every part of it. Ischia is eighteen miles in circumference: the whole of its soil is the same as that near Vesuvius, Naples, and Puzzole. There are numberless springs, hot, warm, and cold[41], dispersed over the whole island, the waters of which are impregnated with minerals of various sorts; so that, if you give credit to the inhabitants of the country, there is no disorder but what finds its remedy here. In the hot months (the season for making use of these baths), those who have occasion for them flock hither from Naples. A charitable institution sends and maintains three hundred poor patients at the baths of Gurgitelli every season. By what I could learn of these poor patients, those baths have really done wonders, in cases attended with obstinate tumours, and in contractions of the tendons and muscles. The patient begins by bathing, and then is buried in the hot sand near the sea. In many parts of the island, the sand is burning hot, even under water. The sand on some parts of the shore is almost entirely composed of particles of iron ore; at least they are attracted by the load-stone, as I have experienced. Near that part of the island called Lacco, there is a rock of an ancient lava, forming a small cavern, which is shut up with a door; this cavern is made use of to cool liquors and fruit, which it does in a short time as effectually as ice. Before the door was opened, I felt the cold to my legs very sensibly; but when it was opened, the cold rushed out so as to give me pain; and within the grotto it was intolerable. I was not sensible of wind attending this cold; though upon Mount Etna and Mount Vesuvius, where there are caverns of this kind, the cold is evidently occasioned by a subterraneous wind: the natives call such places _ventaroli_. May not the quantity of nitre, with which all these places abound, account in some measure for such extreme cold? My thermometer was unluckily broken, or I would have informed you of the exact degree of the cold in this _ventaroli_ of Ischia, which is by much the strongest in its effects I ever felt. The ancient lavas of Ischia shew, that the eruptions there have been very formidable; and history informs us, that its first inhabitants were driven out of the island by the frequency and the violence of them. There are some of these ancient lavas not less than two hundred feet in depth. The mountain of St. Nicola, on which there is at present a convent of hermits, was called by the ancients Epomeus; it is as high, if not higher, than Vesuvius, and appears to me to be a section of the cone of the ancient and principal Volcano of the island, its composition being all _tufa_ or lava. The cells of the convent abovementioned are cut out of the mountain itself; and there you see plainly that its composition no way differs from the matter that covers Herculaneum, and forms the Monte Nuovo. There is no sign of a crater on the top of this mountain, which rises almost to a sharp point: time, and other accidents, may be reasonably supposed to have worn away this distinctive mark of its having been formed by explosion, as I have seen to be the case in other mountains, formed evidently by explosion, on the flanks of Etna and Vesuvius. Strabo, in his 5th book, upon the subject of this island, quotes Timæus, as having said, that, a little before his time, a mountain in the middle of Pithecusa, called Epomeus, was shook by an earthquake, and vomited flames. There are many other rising grounds in this island, that, from the nature of their composition, must lead one to think the same as to their origin. Near the village of Castiglione, there is a mountain formed surely by an explosion of a much later date, having preserved its conical form and crater entire, and producing as yet but a slender vegetation: there is no account, however, of the date of this eruption. Nearer the town of Ischia, which is on the sea shore, at a place called _Le Cremate_, there is a crater, from which, in the year 1301 or 1302, a lava ran quite into the sea; there is not the least vegetation on this lava, but it is nearly in the same state as the modern lavas of Vesuvius. Pontano, Maranti, and D. Francesco Lombardi, have recorded this eruption; the latter of whom says, that it lasted two months; that many men and beasts were killed by the explosion; and that a number of the inhabitants were obliged to seek for refuge at Naples and in the neighbouring islands. In short, according to my idea, the island of Ischia must have taken its rise from the bottom of the sea, and been increased to its present size by divers later explosions. This is not extraordinary, when history tells us (and from my own observation I have reason to believe) that the Lipari islands were formed in the like manner. There has been no eruption in Ischia since that just mentioned, but earthquakes are very frequent there; two years ago, as I was told, they had a very considerable shock of an earthquake in this island. Father Goree's account of the formation of the new island in the Archipelago (situated between the two islands called Kammeni, and near that of Santorini) of which he was an eye-witness, strongly confirms the probability of the conjectures I venture to send you, relative to the formation of those islands and that part of the continent above described: it seems likewise to confirm the accounts given by Strabo, Pliny, Justin, and other ancient authors, of many islands in the Archipelago, formerly called the Ciclades, having sprung up from the bottom of the sea[42] in the like manner. According to Pliny, in the 4th year of the CXXXVth Olympiad, 237 years before the Christian æra, the island of Thera (now Santorini) and Theresia were formed by explosion; and, 130 years later, the island Hiera (now called the great Kammeni) rose up. Strabo describes the birth of this island in these words: "In the middle space between Thera and Theresia flames burst out of the sea for four days, which, by degrees, throwing up great masses, as if they had been raised by machines, they formed an island of twelve stadia in circuit." And Justin says of the same island, "Eodem anno inter insulas Theramenem et Theresiam, medio utriusque ripæ et maris spatio, terræ motus fuit: in quo, cum admiratione navigantium, repente ex profundo cum calidis aquis Insula emersit." Pliny mentions also the formation of Aspronisi, or the White Island, by explosion, in the time of Vespasian. It is known, likewise, that in the year 1628, one of the islands of the Azores, near the island of St. Michael, rose up from the bottom of the sea, which was in that place 160 fathoms deep; and that this island, which was raised in fifteen days, is three leagues long, a league and a half broad, and rises three hundred and sixty feet above water. Father Goree, in his account of the formation of the new island in the Archipelago, mentions two distinct matters that entered into the composition of this island, the one black, the other white. Aspronisi, probably from its very name, is composed of the white matter, which if, upon examination, it proves to be a _tufa_, as I strongly suspect, I should think myself still more grounded in my conjectures; though I must confess, as it is, I have scarcely a doubt left with respect to the country I have been describing having been thrown up in a long series of ages by various explosions from subterraneous fire. Surely there are at present many existing Volcanos in the known world; and the memory of many others have been handed down to us by history. May there not therefore have been many others, of such ancient dates as to be out of the reach of history[43]? Such wonderful operations of Nature are certainly intended by all-wise Providence for some great purpose. They are not confined to any one part of the globe, for there are Volcanos existing in the four quarters of it. We see the great fertility of the soil thrown up by explosion, in part of the country I have described, which on that account was called by the ancients _Campania Felix_. The same circumstance is evident in Sicily, justly esteemed one of the most fertile spots in the world, and the granary of Italy. May not subterraneous fire be considered as the great plough (if I may be allowed the expression), which Nature makes use of to turn up the bowels of the earth, and afford us fresh fields to work upon, whilst we are exhausting those we are actually in possession of, by the frequent crops we draw from them? Would it not be found, upon enquiry, that many precious minerals must have remained far out of our reach, had it not been for such operations of Nature? It is evidently so in this country. But such great enquiries would lead me far indeed. I will only add a reflection, which my little experience in this branch of natural history furnishes me with. It is, that we are apt to judge of the great operations of Nature on too confined a plan. When first I came to Naples, my whole attention, with respect to natural history, was confined to Mount Vesuvius, and the wonderful phænomena attending a burning mountain: but, in proportion as I began to perceive the evident marks of the same operation having been carried on in the different parts above described, and likewise in Sicily in a greater degree, I looked upon Mount Vesuvius only as a spot on which Nature was at present active; and thought myself fortunate in having an opportunity of seeing the manner in which one of her great operations (an operation, I believe, much less out of her common course than is generally imagined) was effected. Such remarks as I have made on the eruptions of Mount Vesuvius, during my residence at Naples, have been transmitted to the Royal Society, who have done them more honour than they deserved. Many more might be made upon this active Volcano, by a person who had leisure, a previous knowledge of the natural history of the earth, a knowledge of chemistry, and was practised in physical experiments, particularly those of electricity[44]. I am convinced, that the smoak of Volcanos contains always a portion of electrical matter; which is manifest at the time of great eruptions, as is mentioned in my account of the great eruption of Vesuvius in 1767. The peasants in the neighbourhood of my villa, situated at the foot of Vesuvius, have assured me, that, during the eruption last mentioned, they were more alarmed by the lightning and balls of fire that fell about them with a crackling noise, than by the lava and the usual attendants of an eruption. I find in all the accounts of great eruptions mention made of this sort of lightning, which is distinguished here by the name of _Ferilli_. Bracini, in his account of the great one of Vesuvius in 1631, says, that the column of smoak, which issued from its crater, went over near an hundred miles of country, and that several men and beasts were struck dead by lightning, issuing from this smoak in its course. The nature of the noxious vapours, called here _mofete_, that are usually set in motion by an eruption of the Volcano, and are then manifest in the wells and subterraneous parts of its neighbourhood, seem likewise to be little understood. From some experiments very lately made, by the ingenious Dr. Nooth, on the _mofete_ of the Grotto del Cane, it appears that all its known qualities and effects correspond with those attributed to fixed air. Just before the eruption of 1767, a vapour of this kind broke into the King's chapel at Portici, by which a servant, opening the door of it, was struck down. About the same time, as his Sicilian Majesty was shooting in a paddock near the palace, a dog dropped down, as was supposed, in a fit; a boy going to take him up dropped likewise; a person present, suspecting the accident to have proceeded from a _mofete_, immediately dragged them both from the spot where they lay, in doing which, he was himself sensible of the vapour; the boy and the dog soon recovered. His Sicilian Majesty did me the honour of informing me himself of this accident soon after it had happened. I have met with these _mofetes_ often, when I have been making my observations on the borders of Mount Vesuvius, particularly in caverns, and once on the Solfaterra. The vapour affects the nostrils, throat, and stomach, just as the spirit of hartshorn, or any strong volatile salts; and would soon prove fatal, if you did not immediately remove from it. Under the ancient city of Pompeii, the _mofetes_ are very frequent and powerful, so that the excavations that are carrying on there are often interrupted by them; at all times _mofetes_ are to be met with under ancient lavas of Vesuvius, particularly those of the great eruption of 1631. In Serao's account of the eruption of 1737, and in the chapter upon _mofetes_, he has recorded several curious experiments relative to this phænomenon. The Canonico Recupero, who, as I mentioned to you in a former letter, is watching the operations of Mount Etna, has just informed me, that a very powerful _mofete_ has lately manifested itself in the neighbourhood of Etna; and that he found, near the spot from whence it rises, animals, birds, and insects, dead, and the stronger sort of shrubs blasted, whilst the grass and the tenderer plants did not seem to be affected. The circumstance of this _mofete_, added to that of the frequent earthquakes felt lately at Rhegio and Messina, makes it probable that an eruption of Mount Etna is at hand. I am alarmed at the length of this letter. By endeavouring to make myself clearly understood, I have been led to make, what I thought, necessary digressions. I must therefore beg of your goodness, that, should you find this memoir, in its present state, too tedious (which I greatly apprehend) to be presented to our respectable Society, you will make only such extracts from it as you shall think will be most agreeable and interesting. I am, SIR, With great truth and regard, Your most obedient humble servant, W. HAMILTON. [Illustration: _Plate VI._] REFERENCES to the MAP, [Plate VI.] 1. Naples. 2. Portici. 3. Resina, under which Herculaneum is buried. 4. Torre del Greco. 5. Hermitage, at which travellers usually rest, in their way up Mount Vesuvius. 6. St. Angelo, a convent of Calmaldolese, situated upon a cone of a mountain formed by an ancient explosion. 7. Cones formed by the eruption of 1760, and lava that ran from them almost into the sea. 8. Mount Vesuvius and Somma. 9. Village of Somma. 10. The convent of the Madona del Arco, under which lavas have been found at 300 feet depth, and which must have proceeded from the mountain of Somma, when an active Volcano. 11. Ottaiano. 12. Torre del Annunziata. 13. Castel a Mare, near which the ancient town of Stabia is buried, and where Pliny the elder lost his life. 14. Vico. 15. Sorrento, and the plain formed evidently by subterraneous fire. 16. Massa. 17. Island of Caprea. 18. The Grotto of Pausilipo, cut through the mountain anciently, to make a road from Naples to Puzzole. 19. Point of Pausilipo. 20. The Gaiola, where there are ruins of ancient buildings, supposed to have belonged to Lucullus. 21. The island of Nisida, evidently formed by explosion. 22. The Lazaret. 23. The Bagnoli. 24. Puzzole, or Pozzuolo. 25. The Solfaterra, anciently called Forum Vulcani: between the Solfaterra and the lake of Agnano, are the boiling waters of the Pisciarelli. 26. The New Mountain, formed by explosion in the year 1538; the sand of the sea shore at its basis burning hot. 27. The lake of Agnano, supposed the crater of an ancient Volcano: here are the baths called St. Germano, and the famous Grotto del Cane. 28. Astruni, which has been evidently a Volcano, and is now a Royal Chace, the crater being surrounded with a wall. 29. The Monte Gauro or Barbaro, anciently a Volcano. 30. The lake of Avernus, evidently the crater of an ancient Volcano. 31. Lake of Fusaro. 32. Point of Misenum, from whence Pliny the elder discovered the eruption of Vesuvius that proved fatal to him; near this place, in a vault of an ancient building, is a constant vapour, or _mofete_, of the same quality with that of the Grotto del Cane. 33. The Mare Morto, the ancient Roman Harbour. 34. Baïa; behind the castle are two evident craters of ancient Volcanos. 35. Island of Procita. 36. A perfect cone and crater of a Volcano near Castiglione in the island of Ischia. 37. Lava that ran into the sea in the last eruption on this island, in the year 1301, or 1302: the place now called Le Cremate. 38. Town of Ischia and castle. 39. Lake of Licola. 40. Lake of Patria. 41. The river Volturnus. 42. Capua. 43. Caserta. 44. Aversa. 45. Mataloni. 46. Acerra. 47. Island of Ischia, anciently called Ænaria, Inarime, and Pithecusa. 48. The mountain of St. Nicola, anciently called Mons Epomeus, supposed the remains of the principal Volcano of the island. 49. Castiglione, near which are the baths of Gurgitelli. 50. Lacco, near which is that very cold vapour called by the natives _ventarole_. 51. Ancient city of Pompeii, where his Sicilian Majesty's excavations are carrying on at present. 52. Rovigliano. 53. River of Sarno. 54. Cuma. 55. Hot sands and sudatory, called Nero's baths. 56. The Lucrine lake, supposed to have been here, and of which there is still some little remain. 57. Villa Angelica, Sir William Hamilton's villa, from whence he has made many of his observations upon Mount Vesuvius. 58. Cones formed by an ancient eruption called _viuli_; here are likewise cold vapours called _ventaroli_. 59. High grounds, probably sections of cones of ancient Volcanos, being all composed of _tufa_ and strata of loose pumice and burnt matter. 60. Plain of the Campagna Felice, four or five feet of excellent soil, under which are strata of burnt and erupted matter. ...... Marks the boundary of Sir William Hamilton's observations. LETTER VI.[45] To MATHEW MATY, M. D. Secretary to the Royal SOCIETY. Naples, March 5, 1771. Since I had the pleasure of sending you my letter, in which the nature of the soil of more than twenty miles round this capital is described; examining a deep hollow way cut by the rain waters into the outside cone of the Solfaterra, I discovered, that a great part of the cone of that ancient Volcano has been calcined by the hot vapours above described. Pumice calcined seems to be the chief ingredient, of which several specimens of (as I suppose) variegated unformed marble are composed, and the beautiful variegations in them may have probably been occasioned by the mineral vapours. As these specimens are now sent to the Royal Society, you will see that these variegations are exactly of the same pattern and colours as are met in many marbles and flowered alabasters; and I cannot help thinking that they are marble or alabaster in its infant state. What a proof we have here of the great changes the earth we inhabit is subject to! What is now the Solfaterra, we have every reason to suppose to have been originally thrown up by a subterraneous explosion from the bottom of the sea. That it was long an existing Volcano, is plain, from the ancient currents of lava, that are still to be traced from its crater to the sea, from the strata of pumice and erupted matter, of which its cone, in common with those of other Volcanos, is composed, and from the testimony of many ancient authors. Its cone in many parts has been calcined, and is still calcining, by the hot vapours that are continually issuing forth through its pores; and its nature is totally changed by this chemical process of Nature. In the hollow way, where I made these remarks, you see the different strata of erupted matter, that compose the cone, in some places perfectly calcined, in others not, according as the vapours have found means to insinuate themselves more or less. A hollow way, cut by the rains on the back of the mountain on which part of Naples is situated, towards Capo di China, shews that the mountain is composed of strata of erupted matter, among which are large masses of bitumen, in which its former state of fluidity is very visible. Here it was I discovered that pumice stone is produced from bitumen, which I believe has not yet been remarked. Some specimens shew evidently the gradual process from bitumen to pumice: and you will observe that the crystalline vitrifications, which are visible in the bitumen, suffer no alteration, but remain in the same state in the perfect pumice as in the bitumen. In a piece of stratum, calcined from the outside of the Solfaterra, the form and texture of the pumice stones is very discernible. In several parts of the outside cone, this calcining operation is still carried on, by the exhalation of constant very hot and damp vapours, impregnated with salts, sulphur, alum, &c. Where the abovementioned vapours have not operated, the strata of pumice and erupted matter, that compose the cone of the Solfaterra, are like those of all the high grounds in its neighbourhood, which I suppose to have been thrown up likewise by explosion. I have seen here, half of a large piece of lava perfectly calcined, whilst the other half out of the reach of the vapours has been untouched; and in some pieces the centre seems to be already converted into true marble. The variegated specimens then, above described, are nothing more than pumice and erupted matter, after having been acted upon in this manner by the hot vapours; and if you consider the process, as I have traced it, from bitumen to pumice, and from pumice to marble, you will think with me, that it is difficult to determine the primitive state of the many wonderful productions we see in Nature. I found, in the _tufa_ of the mountain of Pausilipo, a fragment of lava: one side I polished, to shew it to be true lava; the other shews the signs of the _tufa_, with which it is incorporated. It has evidently been rounded by friction, and most probably by rolling in the sea. Is it not natural then to imagine that there must have been Volcanos near this spot, long before the formation of the mountain of Pausilipo? This little stone may perhaps raise in your mind such reflections as it did in mine, relative to the great changes our globe suffers, and the probability of its great antiquity. FOOTNOTES: [1] Having reflected since upon this circumstance, I rather believe that the weight of the atmosphere in bad weather, preventing the free dissipation of the smoke, and collecting it over the crater, gives it the appearance of being more considerable; whereas in fine weather the smoke is dispersed soon after its emission. It is, however, the common-received opinion at Naples (and from my own observation is, I believe, well founded), that when Vesuvius grumbles, bad weather is at hand. The sea of the Bay of Naples, being particularly agitated, and swelling some hours before the arrival of a storm, may very probably force itself into crevices, leading to the bowels of the Volcano, and, by causing a new fermentation, produce those explosions and grumblings. [2] These ashes destroy the leaves and fruit, and are greatly detrimental to vegetation for a year or two; but are certainly of great service to the land in general, and are among the principal causes of that very great fertility which is remarkable in the neighbourhood of Volcano's. [3] In the subsequent eruptions of Vesuvius, I have constantly remarked something of the same nature, as appears in my account of the great eruption of 1767. I have found the same remark in many accounts of former eruptions of Vesuvius: in the very curious one of the formation of a new mountain near Puzzole, in 1538, (as may be seen in my letter to Dr. Maty, Oct. 16, 1770[46],) the same observation is made. This phænomenon, is well worthy of a curious inquiry, which might give some light into the theory of the earth, of which, I believe, we are very ignorant. [4] I am convinced, that it might be very practicable to divert the course of a lava when in this state, by preparing a new bed for it, as is practised with rivers. I was mentioning this idea at Catania in Sicily, when I was assured, that it had been done with success during the great eruption of Etna, in 1669; that the lava was directing its course towards the walls of Catania, and advancing slowly like the abovementioned, when they prepared a channel for it round the walls of the town, and turned it into the sea; that a succession of men, covered with sheep-skins wetted, were employed to cut through the tough flanks of the lava, till they made a passage for that in the centre (which was in perfect fusion) to disgorge itself into the channel prepared for it. A book I have since met with gives the same account of this curious operation; it is intituled, _Relatione del nuovo incendio fatto da Mongibello 1669. Messina, Giuseppe Bisagni, 1670_. His Sicilian Majesty's palace at Portici, and the valuable collection of antiquities that have been recovered from beneath the destructive lava's of Vesuvius, are in imminent danger of being overwhelmed again by the next that shall take its course that way; whereas, by taking a level, cutting away and raising ground, as occasion might require, the palace and museum would, in all probability, be insured, at least against one eruption; and, indeed, I once took the liberty of communicating this idea to the King of Naples, who seemed to approve of it. [5] The late Lord Morton was pleased to give these specimens to Dr. Morris, who has made several chemical experiments on them, the result of which will be communicated to the Royal Society. [6] From what I have seen and read of eruptions of Vesuvius and Etna, I am convinced that Volcano's lie dormant for several years, nay even for centuries, as probably was the case of Vesuvius before its eruption in the reign of Titus, and certainly was so before that of the year 1631. When I arrived at Naples in 1764, Vesuvius was quiet, very seldom smoak was visible on its top; in the year 1766, it seemed to take fire, and has never since been three months without either throwing up red hot stones, or disgorging streams of lava, nor has its crater been ever free from smoak. At Naples, when a lava appears, and not till then, it is styled an eruption; whereas I look upon the five nominal eruptions I have been witness to, from March 1766 to May 1771, as, in effect, but one continued eruption. [7] It is certain, that, by constant attention to the smoak that issues from the crater, a very good guess may be given as to the degree of fermentation within the Volcano. By this alone I foretold[47] the two last eruptions, and, by another very simple observation, I pointed out, some time before, the very spot from whence the lava has issued. When the cone of Vesuvius was covered with snow, I had remarked a spot on which it would not lie: concluding very naturally that this was the weakest part of the cone, and that the heat from within prevented the snow from lying; it was as natural to imagine that the lava, seeking a vent, would force this passage sooner than another; and so indeed it came to pass. [8] These are his words: "Nubes (incertum procul intuentibus ex quo monte Vesuvium fuisse postea cognitum est) oriebatur, cujus similitudinem & formam, non alia magis arbor, quam pinus expresserit. Nam longissimo veluti trunco elata in altum, quibusdam ramis diffundebatur, credo quia recenti spiritu evecta, dein senescente eo destituta, aut etiam pondere suo victa, in latitudinem evanescebat: candida interdum, interdum sordida & maculosa, prout terram cineremve sustulerat." Plin. lib. vi. ep. 16. [9] The windows at Naples open like folding-doors. [10] In several accounts of former eruptions of Vesuvius, I have found mention of the ashes falling at a much greater distance; that, in the year 472 and 473, they had reached Constantinople: Dio says, that during the eruption of Vesuvius in the time of Titus--"tantus fuit pulvis ut ab eo loco in Africam et Syriam et Ægyptum penetraverit." A book printed at Lecce, in the kingdom of Naples, in MDCXXXII, and intituled, _Discorso sopra l'origine de fuochi gettati dal Monte Vesuvio di Gio Francesco Sorrata Spinola Galateo_, says, that the 16th of December, 1631, the very day of the great eruption of Vesuvius (though perfectly calm), it rained ashes at Lecce, which is nine days journey from the mountain: that the day was darkened by them, and that they covered the ground three inches deep; that ashes of a different quality fell at Bari the same day; and that at both these places the inhabitants were very greatly alarmed, not being able to conceive the occasion of such a phænomenon. Antonio Bulifon, in his account of the same eruption, says, that the ashes fell, and lay several inches deep at Ariano in Puglia; and I have been assured, by many persons of credit at Naples, that they have been sensible of the fall of ashes, during an eruption, at above two hundred miles distance from Vesuvius. The Abbate Giulio Cesare Bracini, in his account of the eruption of Vesuvius, in 1631, says, that the height of the column of smoak and ashes, taken from Naples by a quadrant, was upwards of thirty miles. Though such uncertain calculations demand but little attention; yet, by what I have seen, I am convinced, that in great eruptions the ashes are sent up to so great a height as to meet with extraordinary currents of air, which is the most probable way of accounting for their having been carried to so great a distance in a few hours. In a book, intituled, _Salvatoris Varonis Vesuviani incendii Libri tres: Neapoli_, MDCXXXIV, I found a very poetical description of the ashes that lay in the neighbourhood of Vesuvius, after the eruption of 1631, in depth, from twenty to a hundred palms: "Quare," says this author, "multi patrio in solo requirunt patriam, et vix ibi se credunt vivere ubi certo sciant sese natos, adeo totam loci speciem tempestas vertit." [11] This conjecture has proved true; for, even in the month of April 1771, I again thrust sticks into some crevices of this lava, and they immediately took fire. On Mount Etna, in 1769, I observed the lava, that had been disgorged in 1766, smoak in many parts. [12] In all accounts of great eruptions of Mount Etna and Mount Vesuvius, I have found mention of this sort of lightning. Pliny the younger, in his second letter to Tacitus upon the eruption of Vesuvius in the time of Titus, says, that a black and horrible cloud covered them at Misenum (which is above fifteen miles from the Volcano), and that flashes of zig-zag fire, like lightning, but stronger, burst from it; these are his words: "ab altero latere nubes atra et horrenda ignei spiritus tortis vibratisque discursibus rupta, in longas flammarum figuras dehiscebat; fulgoribus illæ et similes et majores erant." This was evidently the same electrical fire, and with which I am convinced that the smoak of all Volcanos is pregnant. In several accounts of the great eruption of Vesuvius in 1631, mention is made of damage done by the lightning that issued from the column of smoak. Bulifon, in particular, says, that, in the neighbourhood of the Volcano, people were struck dead in the same manner as if by lightning, without having their cloaths singed. Pliny mentions a like instance, which shews that the ancients had observed this phænomenon; for he says, that at Pompeii, the day being fair, Marcus Herennius was struck dead by lightning. These are his words; "In Catilianis prodigiis, Pompeiano ex municipio M. Herennius Decurio _serena die_, fulmine ictus est." Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. II. cap. LI. The learned and ingenious Father Beccaria, at Turin, assured me, that he had been greatly pleased with my observations on this species of lightning, as coinciding perfectly with several of his electrical experiments. [13] "I am well convinced, by this collection, that many variegated marbles, and many precious stones, are the produce of Volcanos; and that there have been Volcanos in many parts of the world, where at present there are no traces of them visible." This is taken from a prior letter to Lord Morton, dated April 7, 1767. [14] In some accounts of an eruption of Vesuvius in 1660, I find mention made of ashes which fell in the shape of crosses, and were looked upon as highly miraculous; but in one book upon this subject, intituled, _Athanasii Kircheri Soc. Jes. De prodigiosis crucibus, &c. Romæ_, MDCLXI, a very philosophical account is given of this phænomenon; he says, that, in 1660, from the 16th of August to the 15th of October, Vesuvius cast up ashes, impregnated with nitrous, saline, and bituminous sulphur, which upon linen garments took the form of crosses, probably directed by the cross-threads in the linen, and therefore that the salts did not shoot into such a shape when they fell upon garments of woollen; a very particular description of these crosses may be found in page 38, of the abovementioned book. [15] I have since found in this stratum of erupted matter at Pompeii, stones weighing eight pounds: but many accounts of the great eruption of Vesuvius, particularly that of Antonio Bulifon, mention that a stone like a bomb was thrown from the crater of Vesuvius in 1631; and fell upon the Marquis of Lauro's house at Nola, which it set on fire. As Nola is twelve miles from Vesuvius, this circumstance seems rather extraordinary: however, I have seen stones of an enormous size shot up to a very great height by Mount Vesuvius. In May 1771, having a stop watch in my hand, I observed that one of these stones was eleven seconds falling from its greatest height, into the crater from whence it had been ejected. In 1767, a solid stone, measuring twelve feet in height, and forty-five in circumference, was thrown a quarter of a mile from the crater; the eruption of 1767, though by much the most violent of this century, was, comparatively to those of the year 79 and 1631, very mild. [16] See Letter V. in this collection. [17] It is the common received opinion, that this mountain rose from the bottom of the Lucrine lake. I had not seen the very curious and particular account of its formation (which account is in my next letter) when I wrote this, and was therefore in the same error. [18] This must depend greatly upon the quality of the lava's; some have been in a more perfect state of vitrification than others, and are consequently less liable to the impressions of time. I have often observed on Mount Vesuvius, when I have been close to the mouth from whence a lava was disgorging itself, that the quality of it varied greatly from time to time: I have seen it as fluid and coherent as glass when in fusion: and I have seen it farinacious, the particles separating as they forced their way out, just like meal coming from under the grindstones. A stream of lava of this sort, being less compact, and continuing more earthy particles, would certainly be much sooner fit for vegetation, than one composed of the more perfect vitrified matter. [19] This earthquake happened in the year 1693, and destroyed forty-nine towns and villages, nine hundred and twenty-two churches, colleges, and convents; and near one hundred thousand persons were buried in their ruin. [20] It is intituled, "A true and exact relation of the late prodigious earthquake and eruption of Mount Ætna, or Monte Gibello; as it came in a letter written to his Majesty from Naples, by the Right Honourable the Earl of Winchelsea, his Majesty's late Embassador at Constantinople, who, in his return from thence, visiting Catania in the island of Sicily, was an eye-witness of that dreadful spectacle; together with a more particular narrative of the same, as it is collected out of the several relations sent from Catania; published by authority. Printed by T. Newcomb, in the Savoy, 1669." "I accepted, says the author, p. 38, the invitation of the Bishop of Catania, to stay a day with him, that so I might be the better able to inform your Majesty of that extraordinary fire, which comes from Mount Gibel, fifteen miles distant from that city, which, for its horridness in the aspect, for the vast quantity thereof (for it is fifteen miles in length, and seven in breadth), for its monstrous devastation and quick progress, may be termed an inundation of fire, a flood of fire, cinders, and burning stones, burning with that rage as to advance into the sea six hundred yards, and that to a mile in breadth, which I saw; and that which did augment my admiration was, to see in the sea this matter like ragged rocks, burning in four fathom water, two fathom higher than the sea itself, some parts liquid, and throwing off, not with great violence, the stones about it, which, like a crust of a vast bigness, and red hot, fell into the sea every moment, in some place or other, causing a great and horrible noise, smoak, and hissing in the sea; and that more and more coming after it, making a firm foundation in the sea itself. I stayed there from nine a clock on Saturday morning, to seven next morning;" (this must have been towards the middle or latter end of April;) "and this mountain of fire and stones with cinders had advanced into the sea twenty yards at least, in several places; in the middle of this fire, which burnt in the sea, it hath formed like to a river, with its banks on each side very steep and craggy; and in this channel moves the greatest quantity of this fire, which is the most liquid, with stones of the same composition, and cinders all red hot, swimming upon the fire of a great magnitude; from this a river of fire doth proceed under the great mass of the stones, which are generally three fathoms high all over the country, where it burns, and in other places much more. There are secret conduits or rivulets of the liquid matter, which communicates fire and heat into all parts more or less, and melts the stones and cinders by fits in those places where it toucheth them, over and over again; where it meets with rocks or houses of the same matter (as many are), they melt and go away with the fire; where they find other compositions, they turn them to lime or ashes (as I am informed). The composition of this fire, stones, and cinders, are sulphur, nitre, quicksilver, sal ammoniac, lead, iron, brass, and all other metals. It moves not regularly, nor constantly down hill[48]; in some places it hath made the vallies hills, and the hills that are not high are now vallies. When it was night, I went upon two towers, in divers places; and could plainly see at ten miles distance, as we judged, the fire to begin to run from the mountain in a direct line, the flame to ascend as high and as big as one of the greatest steeples in your Majesty's kingdoms, and to throw up great stones into the air; I could discern the river of fire to descend the mountain of a terrible fiery or red colour, and stones of a paler red to swim thereon, and to be some as big as an ordinary table. We could see this fire to move in several other places, and all the country covered with fire, ascending with great flames[49], in many places, smoaking like to a violent furnace of iron melted, making a noise with the great pieces that fell, especially those which fell into the sea. A Cavalier of Malta, who lives there, and attended me, told me, that the river was as liquid where it issues out of the mountain, as water, and came out like a torrent with great violence, and is five or six fathom deep, and as broad, and that no stones sink therein. I assure your Majesty, no pen can express how terrible it is, nor can all the art and industry of the world quench or divert that which is burning in the country. In forty days time, it hath destroyed the habitations of 27,000 persons; made two hills of one, 1000 paces high apiece, and one is four miles in compass; of 20,000 persons, which inhabit Catania, 3000 did only remain; all their goods are carried away, the cannons of brass are removed out of the castle, some great bells taken down, the city-gates walled up next the fire, and preparations made to abandon the city. "That night which I lay there, it rained ashes all over the city, and ten miles at sea it troubled my eyes. This fire in its progress met with a lake of four miles in compass; and it was not only satisfied to fill it up, though it was four fathom deep, but hath made of it a mountain." [21] I have heard since, from some of our countrymen who have measured this tree, that its dimensions are actually as abovementioned, but that they could perceive some signs of four stems having grown together, and formed one tree. [22] No great stress should be laid upon these observations, as the many inconveniences we laboured under, and the little practice we had in such nice operations, must necessarily have rendered them very inaccurate. The Canon Recupero, who was our guide, attended Mess. Glover, Fullerton, and Brydone, up Mount Etna in June 1770. The latter is a very ingenious and accurate observer, and has taken the height of many of the highest mountains in the Alps. His observations, as the Canon informed me, were as follows: At the top of the mountain the quicksilver in the thermometer was 9 degrees below freezing point, when at the foot of the mountain it rose to 76. At the foot of the little mountain that crowns the Volcano the barometer stood at 20° 4-2/3', half way up this little mountain it was at 19° 6'; but the wind was too violent for them to attempt any more observations. The barometer and thermometer were of Fahrenheit's. Mr. Brydone remarked, as he went up in the night, that he could distinguish the stars in the milky way with wonderful clearness, and that the cold was much more intense than he had ever felt upon the highest mountains of the Alps. [23] This passage, in Cornelius Severus's poem upon Etna, seems to confirm my opinion: "Placantesque etiam cælestia numina thure "Summo cerne jugo, vel quâ liberrimus Ætna "Improspectus hiat; tantarum semina rerum "Si nihil irritet flammas, stupeatque profundum." [24] A better account of the formation of _tufa_ will be seen in my next letter. [25] The dates of the eruptions of Mount Etna, recorded by history, are as follows: Before the Christian æra four, in the years 3525. 3538. 3554. 3843. After Christ, twenty-seven have been recorded, 1175. 1285. 1321. 1323. 1329. 1408. 1530. 1536. 1537. 1540. 1545. 1554. 1556. 1566. 1579. 1614. 1634. 1636. 1643. 1669. 1682. 1689. 1692. 1702. 1747. 1755. 1766. The dates of the eruptions of Vesuvius are as follows: After Christ--79. 203. 472. 512. 685. 993. 1036. 1043. 1048. 1136. 1506. [1538, the eruption at Puzzole.] 1631. 1660. 1682. 1694. 1701. 1704. 1712. 1717. 1730. 1737. 1751. 1754. 1760. 1766. 1767. 1770. 1771. [26] Pliny, in his account of these islands, in the IX chapter of the third book of his Natural History, seems to confirm this opinion. "Lipara cum civium Romanorum oppido, dicta à Liparo rege, qui successit Æolo, antea Melogonis vel Meliganis vocitata, abest XII millia pass. ab Italia, ipsa circuitu paulo minori. Inter hanc et Siciliam altera, antea Therasia appellata, nunc Hiera; qui sacra Vulcano est, colle in ea nocturnas evomente flammas. Tertia Strongyle, a Lipara millia passuum ad exortum solis vergens, in qua regnavit Æolus, quæ à Lipara liquidiore flamma tantum differt: e cujus fumo equinam flaturi sint venti, in triduum prædicere incolæ traduntur; unde ventos Æolo paruisse existimatum. Quarta Didyme, minor quam Lipara. Quinta Ericusa; sexta Phoenicusa; pabulo proximarum relicta. NOVISSIMA, eademque Minima, Evonymos." [27] See Plate V. [28] The Abate Giulio Cesare Bruccini describes very elegantly, in his account of the eruption of Vesuvius in 1631, his having made an observation of the like nature--his words are (after having particularized the different strata of erupted matter lying one over another)--"parendo appunto che la natura ci abbia voluto lasciare scritto in questa terra tutti gli incendii memorabili raccontati delli autori." [29] These are his words, book II. chap. vi. "De Pulvere Puteolano. "Est etiam genus pulveris, quod efficit naturaliter res admirandas. Nascitur in regionibus Baïanis, et in agris municipiorum, quæ sunt circa Vesuvium montem, quod commixtum cum calce et cæmento non modo cæteris ædificiis præstat firmitates, sed etiam moles, quæ construuntur in mari, sub aqua solidescunt. Hoc autem fieri hac ratione videtur, quod sub his montibus et terra ferventes sunt fontes crebri, qui non essent, si non in imo haberent, aut de sulfure, aut alumine, aut bitumine ardentes maximos ignes: igitur penitus ignis, et flammæ vapor per intervenia permanans et ardens, efficet levem eam terram, et ibi, qui nascitur tophus, exugens est, et sine liquore. Ergo cum tres res consimili ratione, ignis vehementia formatæ in unam pervenerint mixtionem, repente recepto liquore una cohærescunt, et celeriter humore duratæ solidantur, neque eas fluctus, neque vis aquæ potest dissolvere." About Baïa, Puzzole, and Naples, we have an opportunity of remarking the truth of these last words. Several of the piers of the ancient harbour of Puzzole, vulgarly called Caligula's bridge, and which are composed of bricks joined with this sort of cement, are still standing in the sea, though much exposed to the waves; and upon every part of the shore you find large masses of brick-walls rounded and polished by friction in the sea, the brick and mortar making one body, and appearing like a variegated stone. Large pieces of old walls are likewise often cut out into square pieces, and made use of in modern buildings instead of stone. Soon after the first quotation, Pliny says, "Si ergo in his locis aquarum ferventes inveniuntur fontes, et in montibus excavatis calidi vapores, ipsaque loca ab antiquis memorantur pervagantes in agris habuisse ardores, videtur esse certum ab ignis vehementia ex topho terraque, quemadmodum in fornacibus et a calce, ita ex his ereptum esse liquorem. Igitur dissimilibus, et disparibus rebus correptis, et in unam potestatem collatis, callida humoris jejunitas aqua repente satiata, communibus corporibus latenti calore confervescit et vehementer effecit ea coire, celeriterque una soliditatis percipere virtutem." [30] Scipione Falcone, a very good observer, in his _Discorso naturale delli cause et effetti del Vesuvio_, says, that he saw, after the eruption of Vesuvius in 1631 (which was attended with hot water), the mud harden almost to a stone in a few days; his words are these--"fatta dura a modo di calcina e di pietra non altrimenti di cenere, perché dopò alcuni giorni vi ci e caminato per sopra e si e conosciuta durissima che ci vogliono li picconi per romperla." This account, with other circumstances mentioned in this letter, make it highly probable, that all the _tufas_ in the neighbourhood of Vesuvius have been formed by a like operation. [31] This piece is now in the Museum of the Royal Society, together with other specimens, mentioned in this and in the following letter. M. M. [32] Letter IV. [33] Strabo, in his fifth book of Geography, says, "Supra hæc loca situs est Vesuvius mons agris cinctus optimis: dempto vertice, qui magna sui parte planus, totus sterilis est, adspectu cinæreus, cavernasque ostendens fistularum plenas et lapidum colore fuliginoso, utpote ab igni exesorum, ut conjecturam facere possit ista loca quondam arsisse, et crateras ignis habuisse, deinde materia deficiente restincta fuisse." Diodorus Siculus, in his fourth book, describing the voyage of Hercules into Italy, says, "Phlegræus quoque campus is locus appellatur a colle nimirum, qui Ætnæ instar Siculæ magnam vim ignis eructabat; nunc Vesuvius nominatur, multa inflammationis pristinæ vestigia reservans." And Vitruvius, in the sixth chapter of the second book, says, "Non minus etiam memoratur antiquitus crevisse ardores et abundasse sub Vesuvio monte et inde evomuisse circa agros flammas." Tacitus, mentioning the eruption of Vesuvius in the reign of Titus, seems to hint likewise at former eruptions, in these words: "Jam verò novis cladibus, vel post longam sæculorum repetitis afflictæ, haustæ aut abrutæ fecundissima Campaniæ ora et urbs incendiis vastata." [34] Bracini, in his account of the eruption of 1613, says, that he found many sorts of sea shells on Vesuvius after that eruption; and P. Ignatio, in his account of the same eruption, says, that he and his companions picked up many shells likewise at that time upon the mountain: this circumstance would induce one to believe, that the water thrown out of Vesuvius, during that formidable eruption, came from the sea. [35] In book xi. c. 93. he observes, that about Sinuessa and Puteoli, "Spiracula vocant--alii Caroneas scrobes, mortiferum spiritum exhalantes." And Seneca, Nat. Quæst. lib. vi. cap. 28. "Pluribus Italiæ locis per quædam foramina pestilens exhalatur vapor, quem non homini ducere, non feræ tutum est. Aves quoque si in illum inciderint, antequam coelo meliore leniatur, in ipso volatu cadunt, liventque corpora, et non aliter quam per vim elisæ fauces tument." [36] I have remarked, that, after a great fall of rain, the degree of heat in this water is much less, which will account for what the Padre Torre says (in his book, entituled, _Histoire et Phenomenes du Vesuve_), that, when he tried it in company with Monsieur de la Condamine, the degree of heat, upon Reaumur's thermometer, was 68°. [37] This very scarce volume has been presented by Sir William Hamilton to the British Museum. M. M. [38] Here again we have an example of the electrical fire attending a great eruption. [39] The cup, or crater, on the top of the new mountain is now covered with shrubs; but I discovered at the bottom of it, in the year 1770, amidst the bushes, a small hole, which exhales a constant hot and damp vapour, just such as proceeds from boiling water, and with as little smell; the drops of this steam hang upon the neighbouring bushes. [40] The noxious vapours which Lucan mentions to have prevailed at Nisida, favour my opinion as to its origin: "--Tali spiramine Nesis "Emittit stygium nebulosis aëra saxis." Lucan. lib. vi. [41] Giulio Cesare Capaccio, in his account of this island, says, that there are eleven springs of cold water, and thirty-five of hot and mineral waters. [42] By having remarked, that all the implements of stone brought by Mess. Banks and Solander from the new-discovered islands in the South-Seas, are evidently of such a nature as are only produced by Volcanos; and as these gentlemen have assured me, that no other kind of stone is to be met with in the islands; I am induced to think, that these islands (at so great a distance from any continent) may have likewise been pushed up from the bottom of the sea by like explosions. [43] Any one, the least conversant in Volcanos, must be struck with the numberless evident marks of them the whole road from the lake of Albano to Radicofani, between Naples and Florence; and yet, though this soil bears such fresh and undoubted marks of its origin, no history reaches the date of any one eruption in these parts. [44] May not the air in countries replete with sulphur be more impregnated with electrical matter than the air of other soils? and may not the sort of lightning, which is mentioned by several ancient authors to have fallen in a serene day, and was considered as an omen, have proceeded from such a cause? Horace says, Ode xxxiv. "--Namque Diespeter "Igni corusco nubila dividens "Plerumque per purum tonantes "Egit equos volucremque currum." "Non alias coelo ceciderunt plura sereno "Fulgura----" Virgil. Georgic. i. "Aut cum terribili perculsus fulmine civis "Luce serenanti vitalia lumina liquit." Cic. i. de Divin. n. 18. "--Sabinos petit aliquanto tristior, quod sacrificanti hostia aufugerat: quodque tempestate serena tonuerat." Sueton. _Tit._ cap. 10. [45] This letter was not received by Dr. Maty in its present form: and is rather the substance of an explanatory catalogue, which was sent to that gentleman with sundry specimens of the different materials that compose the soil described in the preceding letter; which catalogue remains, with the specimens, in the Museum of the Royal Society, for the inspection, and, I flatter myself, the satisfaction, of the curious in natural history. [46] See p. 103 of this collection. [47] See Letter I. p. 18. [48] Having heard the same remark with respect to the lava's of Vesuvius, I determined, during an eruption of that Volcano, to watch the progress of a current of lava, and I was soon enabled to comprehend this seeming phænomenon; though it is, I fear, very difficult to explain. Certain it is, that the lava's, whilst in their most fluid state, follow always the law of other fluids; but when at a great distance from their source, and consequently incumbered with scoriæ and cinders, the air likewise having rendered their outward coat tough, they will sometimes (as I have seen) be forced up a short ascent, the fresh matter pushing forward that which went before it, and the exterior parts of the lava acting always as conductors (or pipes, if I may be allowed the expression), for the interior parts, that have retained their fluidity by not having been exposed to the air. [49] The flames Lord Winchelsea mentions, were certainly produced by the lava having met with trees in the way; or perhaps his Lordship may have mistaken the white smoak which constantly rises from a lava (and in the night is tinged by the reflection of the red hot matter), for flame, of which indeed it has greatly the appearance at a distance. I have observed upon Mount Vesuvius, that, soon after a lava has borne down and burned a tree, a bright flame issues from its surface; otherwise I have never seen any flame attending an eruption. THE END. IMPORTED from NAPLES, By T. CADELL, in the Strand. A Collection of Etruscan, Greek, and Roman Antiquities, from the Cabinet of the Hon. Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON, K.B. F.R.S. His Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary at the Court of Naples. The Whole to be comprised in four Volumes Folio. The Plates finely coloured. The Price to Subscribers 9l. 9s. in Sheets; Six Guineas of which is to be paid on the Delivery of the first and second Volumes, and the remaining Three Guineas upon the Delivery of the third and fourth. After the Subscription is closed, the Price will be considerably raised. Specimens of all the Plates of the third Volume are arrived, and the fourth and last Volume is now doing; so that the Public may be assured the Whole of this elegant Work will be finished with all possible Expedition. ** Those Noblemen and Gentlemen who subscribed for the first Volume may have the second upon paying 2l. 2s. Transcriber's Notes This document was taken from hand-written letters in the eighteenth century, and also contains quotes from other authors. As such, it's no surprise that there are many spelling and punctuation irregularities. Except where explicitly noted below, these were kept as is. Spelling variants that were preserved include: "Abbate" and "Abate;" "abovementioned" and "above-mentioned;" "Ænaria" and "Enaria;" "ancient" and "antient" (and derivatives); "Astruni" and "Astroni;" "Averno" and "Avernus;" "Giulio Cesare Bracini" and "Giulio Cesare Bruccini;" "Castel-a-Mare," "Castel-a-mare," "Castel a Mare" and "Castle-a-Mare;" "centre" and "center;" "colour" and "color" (and derivatives); "deer" and "deers" (for the plural of "deer"); "enquiry" and "inquiry;" "entirely" and "intirely;" "entituled" and "intituled;" "exteriour" and "exterior;" "honour" and "honor;" "interiour" and "interior;" "lavas" and "lava's" (for the plural of "lava"); "Mare-morto" and "Mare Morto;" "mere" and "meer;" "Mon-Gibello," "Mongibello," "Mon Gibello," "Monte Gibello" and "Mount Gibel;" "o'clock" and "a clock;" "Procida" and "Procita;" "rain water" and "rain-water;" "smoke" and "smoak" (and derivatives); "Solfaterra" and "Solfa terra;" "strata" and "stratas" (for the plural of "stratum"); "Torre dell' Annunciata," "Torre dell' Annunziata" and "Torre del Annunziata;" "Volcanos" and "Volcano's" (for the plural of "Volcano"); "Volcano's" and "Volcanos" (for the possessive of "Volcano"). Changed "that" to "than" on page 85: "on the top of Vesuvius than on that of Etna." Changed "thermomether" to "thermometer" on page 122: "Fahrenheit's thermometer." Inserted missing word "a" on page 129: "fell a great part of the night." A small right-pointing hand appeared at the beginning of the last line of the advertisement. It was replaced by two asterisks. In the text version of this book, the oe-ligature character was replaced by the separate characters, "oe." 
46658	----	"STERMINATOR VESEVO" MATILDE SERAO "STERMINATOR VESEVO" (Vesuvius the great Exterminator) Diary of the eruption of April 1906. [Illustration: LOGO] NAPLES FRANCESCO PERRELLA, EDITOR 1907 (_Copyright_) Naples--Print A. TRANI. _In translating this book by Matilde Serao, I have felt as if none of its beautiful local colour, of its warmly felt and vivid description should be altered by an attempt on my part to give to its pages a perfect English intonation. One thing would have been, unavoidably, the loss of the other, as no language can render in all its truth and form, the warm and deep expression of southern Italian imagination and sentiment. Thus, this diary retains the deep impression of the moment in which it was written, while the bold strokes of colour and the tender pathos of some of its pages, bring, once more forward to public admiration, the brilliant name of Italy foremost woman writer, Matilde Serao_ _the translator_ L. H. Friend and reader, Do not ask of these pages the prestige of art or the fascination of stile. They were written day by day, with a trembling heart, and with an emotion that often caused the pen to drop from the hand of the tired and distressed writer. They were written, each night on returning from the country where the exterminating fury of the mountain had destroyed men and things, and while still under the horror of the terrible vision. Thus, rather than a cold literary dissertation, my reader, you will find in these pages, the simple, deep and tragic story of the eruption, witnessed by my own mortal eyes. You will find tales of heroic people, and noble deeds which deserve to be recalled and exalted. My friend and reader, these are pages of sorrow and distress, and they are written with a sincere heart. Nothing else. Naples--May 1906. MATILDE SERAO QUIA PULVIS ES ... [Illustration: DECORATION] It all happened very suddenly, just about half past two, while the last smart equipages were hurriedly driving to the Campo di Marte. In a moment a huge brownish cloud, pushed by the wind, arose from Vesuvius, spreading all over the sky, hiding the white light of the day, darkening the sun. An immense cloud which wrapped all the mountain in a black thick smutty shade, and fell dark and menacing on the green carpet of the race-ground, and on the brilliant gathered crowd. A strange curious, indescribable spectacle it was indeed, bringing to mind, as through an extraordinary vision, the feast-day when Pompei was destroyed and the people were crowding at the Circus. A spectacle both powerful and mysterious, with the strange contrasting effect of the select and gay crowd merrily circulating, on the spacious grounds. Then, all at once, to everybody's wonder, cinders began to fall, quite a rain of fine dusty ashes, gradually increasing into a regular shower. A whole array of elegant sun-shades were soon spread-open, and a general transformation took place all around. Ladies' white dresses became grayish almost black, dark clothes took instead a lighter almost whitish hue, white hats looked as if powdered all over, while all the roses, the innumerable roses on the hats were thickly spread with ashes, as if the «memento homo quia pulvis es», had been pronounced on them. Tears brought on by the caustic rain were in everybody's eyes, though, all smiled fearlessly and gayly. The Duchess of Aosta's black dress looked as if a gray gauze had been spread over it; every man, every officer, the most elegant young men, the smartest sportsmen were not to be recognised. As for the beaver hats, their condition was indescribable. And ashes, ashes on the coaches, on the autos, on the houses, ashes everywhere! At a certain moment however, the wind changed, the heavy cloud became lighter, the sun took leave from the dying day, and the pale azure sky smiled again on us. And nothing could be then more curious to look at, than all those people, all those equipages, all that scenery, bearing the signs of a strange and rare telluric phenomena. Yet, with the exception of servants, chambermaids, and coachmen, who naturally had hard work on hand brushing, washing and cleaning everything, nobody seemed preoccupied. As for the undersigned, a victim of her duty, while she is writing, ashes are falling thickly over her hair, shoulders, paper, and every object around her. April 1906. TOWARDS THE CITY OF FIRE All night long, hour after hour, we have had more and more alarming news from Vesuvius, and a rain of cinders in the late night, has increased the terror in everybody's mind and heart. The morning is profoundly sad with its still dark sea, with all the streets so black, with that strange sense of anxiety and surprise, among those we meet. The duke of Aosta has set off for Boscotrecase, Cardinal Prisco has gone also there, and later, the duchess of Aosta has followed. It looks as though a whole crowd was starting out for that town. All carriages seem to go in the same direction, towards the Circumvesuviana station. The tramways are loaded! What are we doing here, why don't we start like all the others? Let us go, and see these deserted, and destroyed countries, let us go and see Boscotrecase threatened by the monstruous lava ready to burn it up. Let us run to see Torre Annunziata threatened by the same, let us go to hear the desperate weeping of women, the screams of children, the moans of the old people. In the train, in the train, for it is too slow going by carriage. Let us go like thousand of people have gone, in the train, since we don't possess an automobile which could help us to fly on the main roads, way up yonder, where destruction takes place. In the train, in the train! It is easier said, than done. An immense crowd of people anxious to start, are seiging the station of the Circumvesuviana, and the most extraordinary scenes naturally happen, since, if this beautiful and fine railroad, girdling Vesuvius, carries generally about a thousand persons a day, it cannot transport to-day fifty thousand. And really it has already worked wonders, due of course, to the energy, calm, and tact of Mr. E. Rocco, and director Ingarami. It has worked wonders, doubling and multiplying its trains from dawn to mid-night, each of them starting with their platforms packed, with their cars jammed with people, standing the most impetuous assaults at every small, intermediate station. For whole bands of foreigners, are waiting in these small stations, and they rush in to take whatever seat they may find. Here all species of Neapolitans are coming, the best known as the least: groups, coteries, families, parties of friends, who like an immense human legion intend to go to Boscotrecase. And little by little, with the young foreign girls attired in their short excursion dresses, their hats covered with large white veils, with the elegant and loquacious Neapolitan ladies, with the friends and acquaintances which one meets, with the continuous screaming and yelling, now stronger, now softer, with the most extraordinary buzz of conversation, the sense of fright and anguish gradually dies away. The big cloud of ashes which wrapped us up in the beginning of the trip, disappears after Bellavista, the sky is getting clearer, and of a delicate azure colour. In the train people begin to joke, and at S. Giorgio a Cremano, a whole company of young girls, jesting and laughing, gets up in our train. And now this immense torrent of humanity running towards Boscotrecase, looks almost like a large pleasure excursion. One would think that merry and thoughtless life had had the best of fright. And what fright! The main-road going from Torre Annunziata to Boscotrecase, is getting dark, almost black with carriages and automobiles. One of these is coming down from Boscotrecase. There are friends in it, and the train having stopped, we ask them what is the latest news. "The lava has stopped", they cry, shaking their heads and shoulders as if disappointed. In the train people are getting altogether merry. A big crowd of people coming down, meets at Boscotrecase a still bigger crowd going up, with a confusion of carriages, wagons, automobiles, byciclets, all moving towards that fine country, so richly surrounded, by farms, vines, gardens, and which seems still so calm under the grasp of its terrible enemy. And the people coming down describe with gesticulations, and impressive words, what they have seen not very far off, and they look all excited as though they had witnessed a grand and incomparable spectacle! The crowd moves on, then stands still for some time, for there is no place for it, in the beautiful little town. The peasants of Boscotrecase stand around the tourists, silent and still. Nobody is crying, no sad faces are to be seen, no complaints are to be heard, nobody asks or pretends to ask for anything. A liturgic sound reaches our ears at a cross path off the road, and a general silence is made in the thick crowd. A rough wooden cross appears, and behind it, over the heads of the people, an ancient statue of S. Anne, the protectress of Boscotrecase, the Madonna's mother. S. Anne, the powerful old woman, as these southern people call her, is seen. This statue must be very ancient. It has a thin face, crowned by locks of white hair, the thoughtful face of an old woman bending down on the fresh and young face of a little girl. The statue moving on, waves over the crowd. It was taken out yesterday from the church of the Oratorio, which is near B. quite close to the lava, and it has been left there, on the very extreme spot where the lava was rapidly advancing, in the direction of Boscotrecase. This morning, at ten o'clock, this first lava has stopped ten meters from the statue of S. Anne, while the other branch on the right, stopped half an hour later. Far away in the country, five or six farm houses, abandoned two days before, have been surrounded by it, fortunately they were empty, without even furniture in them. But Boscotrecase is safe, and S. Anne carried in triumphal procession, enters the town. The women sing softly some religious verses while walking behind the statue. There is a certain sadness in their voices. Many kneel down and pray, men lift their hats. The old statue of the thoughtful woman, looking calmly to her daughter, is above the crowd. Foreigners look with interest, and the sceptic, and those who have no faith dare say nothing, for really, the lava has stopped this morning, at a certain distance from S. Anne, and if this fact is due to nature, these people don't care, all they want to know is that they have been saved once more, by the prayers of the Protectress. Now, a priest speaks to the people, begging them to be calm and hope in God's help. This priest is very fervent, he has been preaching and speaking for two days, advising his people to be calm! This morning he has spoken before the lava. The statue descends slowly towards its church, having done its work of charity. Automobiles are rushing every where, whips are cracking, torrents of people push on. Bosco is black, the country is black all around, swarms of men and women rush down, while others come up. We pass by a mound of earth accumulated there for the purpose of deviating, if possible, the lava. Near this mound the houses are empty, and the doors open. Perhaps this same night, their owners, eluding the watch, will return to sleep in them. I have seen some mattresses brought in these abandoned houses. * * * * * But while we climb up towards the lava, the mouth of Vesuvius above our heads, roars and thunders. A great column of white, gray, and black smoke stands erect on the cone, and notwithstanding the full day light, we see through those dark and light clouds, long flames arising as through a veil, and showers of sparkles fall in a mass of fire around the mouth, towards our right. The mountain thunders, and breathes as a colossus, it sparkles terribly, dashing stones of fire, masses of fire, rocks of fire every where. The merriness of the trip seems subdued, and the frivolous chattering is hushed altogether. People going towards the lava walk in awe, and silent wonder. Every path either steep or easy, is now getting black with people. But in the great silence of this crowd, in that immense silence, only the roaring of the Vulcano tells the story of this great telluric cataclism. Are we not feeling, perhaps, the earth trembling under our steps? The mountain lightens in flames, getting redder and redder, more brilliant and dazzling every moment. Here in this great valley, once formed by another eruption, here were vines, and olives grew on old lavas of remote times, here is the lava of yesterday. Amazing spectacle! The gigantic black mass rises powerful and straight, quite at a few steps from us, and it looks like a dark sea petrified in its foaming waves, a stormy black sea, magically transformed in stone or rocky substance, a hardened, dead sea. Ah! why isn't it dead? Fire and flames are still living within, and now and then it blazes, burns out, shows its incandescence. Under our feet the earth is warm, but a little further it is burning. On the right, the other branch of the lava, the one which has still an imperceptible movement, shows a burning furnace under its black and rough stratus, from which masses of fire detach themselves rolling down at our feet, while all around it, large drops of fire fall on the ground, and gradually melt away. Wonderful sight! Little by little, the fascination of this tremendous thing, of this black and stony sea which once was fire and lava, which is now rock, but still is lava, still is fire inside, seems to fascinate all of us, even the most timid. Women, old people, children draw imprudently near, bend over, plunge theirs sticks, their umbrellas in the furnace, with a daring and audacity nearing madness. And Vesuvius continues to roar quite over us. Way up go the flames of the crater, while night falls. Before us the brown and monstruous mass of the two still lavas, rises frightful and menacing. Terror seems now to take hold of peasants, gentlemen, indigens, Neapolitans, foreigners. A hush of tragedy is over that country of tragedy, with the hardly conjured danger of this night, and the imminent danger of to-morrow. April 8 1906. A PRAYER Surely, there does not live a pious and tender soul who, in these days of anguish, has not pronounced with intimate ardour, with intimate impulse, some sacred words, imploring the mercy of God on a population struck by such terrible calamity. There lives not a warm soul who, under the shock of this terrible pang, has not felt the need of appealing to a divine power of kindness and mercy. There lives not a cold soul who has not been moved and, has not silently asked for peace, in such a tragic misfortune. Oh! yes. Let all tender and fervid hearts, all humble and brotherly spirits, all creatures strong with faith and hope, firm in an undoubtful promise, let them ask to the Lord, in every conceivable form, the end of this tremendous punishment. It has fallen on too many people, it has devastated too many countries, it frightens now the most sceptic, and the most audacious. Let all those who know, who will, who can pray, in the secret of their consciences, of their houses, in the shadow of the churches, all, even those who never pray, those who will not pray, let them ask of God the end of this horrible calamity. It now weighs too heavily, with its terrible unforeseen, with its funestous surprises, with its more and more frightful forms, not only, on those picturesque and thriving villages, extending from the cone down to the sea, but it weighs on Naples, on its six hundred thousand inhabitants, and on all the southern region. All Italy is trembling with sorrow, listening to the fabulous and yet real story of such a great catastrophe. God of mercy listen, listen to the prayer of all those who pour out their soul to you, who raise their hands to you. Listen God of goodness, father of the unfortunate, of the miserable, of the poor, of those who are running away, grant the desolate, desperate, hopeful trusting prayers of those who ask of you the end of this terrible cataclysm. Sinners and innocents are begging you oh Lord of all Charities, children, women, old people, men who have lived too much, and young ones who have not lived enough, and together they implore you to let this tremendous sea of fire, stones, lapillus, and ashes be stopped. They implore you to let this lightning and thunder, these roars, these terrible convulsions of the mountain be ended, oh Lord, ended! Thousands, hundred of thousands of persons ask for the end of this dream of devastation and ruin! Cries, tears, sobs reach your throne oh! Lord, do grant the supreme grace, let this terrible destruction end. Man is only a poor being of flesh and blood, he is weak, and his mind wonders, and his conscience sinks. Oh Lord! oh Lord! what is happening is much stronger than our courage and patience so unexpected and unheard as it is, so monstrously sad, and irreparable, alas! If you don't help us, oh Lord, your children will perish of grief, or will end in untold anguish of despair while those who know, who want, who can pray implore your divine mercy on Naples on this splendid coast, and on this sublime gulf. Let all those who can think and act fight against this destruction, let them try to master it and to render it less terrible than it is, let the people go not only through frivolous curiosity to the places where the scenes of the Vesuvian catastrophe in all their horror are going on, but let them go with eyes of compassion, and earth souls full of charity. Do not let this visit to the squalid and deserted villages, to the places where the black mountain of lava is advancing in waves of stone, and in waves of fire, be a sport. Don't let it be a diversion or a pastime to relate among friends the sensational scenes which have been witnessed. Men of good will, women of good will, each as one may, as one knows, as one must, put your energy, your patience and all your virtues in a sublime effort to mitigate this calamity, to fight it, and, at last, with the help of God and that of men, to conquer it. Let every man find all his strength, forgetting himself and his own small, and perhaps miserable interests, and let the sense of charity become heroic in all those who have some will, strength, courage, and valor. Let everybody do his own duty and even beyond his duty, and to this terrible catastrophe will then be opposed another amount of will, of thinking and reasoning will. Let this panic of the more cultured classes be conquered by influential words, and by the example of all the directing classes; let everybody sacrifice himself, from the prince to the civil functioneer, and let each of them perform those acts of abnegation which are the seal of human fraternity. Let cold blood and the stubborn decision to fight the conflagration triumph, and victory will be man's. Let this folly of lies, inventions, and exaggerations end, and with it, this infamy of false news printed in some papers with the sole intent to sell them. Let those who have some heart show it by advising others to be calm, by consoling the afflicted and the poor, and providing to their material and moral needs! Let this heart be demonstrated by all the civic virtue which are necessary in these terrible crisis, and this will be another way to show that they are men, christians, and that they are all bound in a same part of joy and sorrow. 9th April 1906. IN THE DEAD TOWNS To day, our trip towards the countries where destruction goes on, is much sadder and silent. Whilst on every side, from every person, from every telephonic communication, from every telegram, the most distracting news reach us, whilst the first impulse is that of starting, of running there where people are suffering, where they are agonizing with fright and sorrow, we all know that the Circumvesuviana railway is interrupted, and we understand how difficult it is to go there quickly, or in any useful way. A secret rage is in our heart against this blind and brutal power on which all our arms of civilisation fall and break, and we unwillingly resign ourselves to go as we can, just where the lava permits us, where the eruption allows us, where Vesuvius wishes, and no further. We leave Naples by carriage, in the afternoon. The city has a depressed look, and is unusually quiet. While we cross from Ponte della Maddalena to S. Giovanni a Teduccio, the last people on the road disappear. Only now and then an automobile passes us, but the people inside are quite hidden under their wraps and masks. Then an old dirty char-banc rolls by, then again a loaded tram, but nobody is laughing, nobody is speaking. All along the streets, on the sidewalks, in the shops, silence is getting deeper, and more intense. True it is Sunday, it is four o'clock, the hour when people here rest, but the silence is still more intense at Portici, and its closed villas, its closed shops, have a singular aspect. Now and then something moving comes towards us, directed to Naples. It is a little cart, two little carts, several carts, all loaded with furniture, especially with mattresses. A silent driver leads the wagon, and we turn round to look at these last people escaping, for in these last fifteen hours everybody has been running away with his furniture, in all directions, especially towards Naples. These whom we meet must have been delayed in their flight, they are worn out from exertion, and almost prostrated. Portici is deserted and solitary, not a single woman at the window, not a person before the houses. Hall doors and shutters are locked, and the most absolute emptiness and desertion reigns every where. Our mind is getting depressed, and our sadness increases when we see the complete solitude of Resina and Torre del Greco, the lovely little towns layed between gardens of orange trees, and the sea. It is indeed a heart-rending squallor! The charming towns of Portici, Resina, Torre del Greco, are now completely abandoned, not a soul is left there. They look as dead towns, quite as if dead and deserted since many and many years--Nobody is there to tell us the panic, the terrible panic that has set these people flying for safety, but we know it, we can easily imagine it since we see with our mortal eyes, abandon and death every where. But did Resina, Portici, and Torre del Greco, ever live? Did these windows, these doors ever open? Were there ever people in these houses, in these streets? Like an immense colossus the pine of smoke rises on the mountain, and everything is shut out from our sight on account of the ashes, clouds, and vapors filling the air. Only the lightning is visible, the thousand flashes cutting the livid and opaque gray. And life is only there on the mountain of horrors, whilst here nothing more is living. * * * We now wonder whether we shall still find Torre Annunziata the same thriving town, full of energy, work, and action, Torre Annunziata of which we are so proud, which is a glory of ours, since its life has a great importance, and its population is good active; and very laborious. This is our hope as we enter it. Alas! Here are some wagons coming with furniture, and there is a sick man, an old man on a mattress, laying in a small carriage. They are all slowly moving towards Naples. Yes also Torre Annunziata is dead! All the houses are closed, all the working shops are deserted. Foundries, manufactures, establishments, all is closed. Never could we have believed that in a single hour, in a short hour of desperate panic, all this could have happened, and that this town this magnificent instrument of work and industry, should be stopped and destroyed like the pines up yonder, in the great valley of the Oratorio at Boscotrecase. At mid-night, the nine tenth of the population, at the terrible cry that the lava is advancing towards the city, begin to escape. In one single night 30,000 people have abandoned their roof, have gathered their dear ones, their goods, and have fled to Nocera, Castellamare, Sarno, Salerno, Naples, Calabria, Basilicata. All have fled in one single night. But why? And how has this possibly happened? Men of the people in silent groups, hardly answer our queries; they simply point to a street towards which people, alighting from carriages and autos, direct their steps. The lava is there, much nearer than that which stopped outside Boscotrecase the other night, and which invaded it altogether later in the night. The lava is yonder, on the livid background, darkened by the clouds wrapping up the mountain, there where a large white smoke arises, pushed by the wind. It is the road which leads to Boscotrecase, the same road which day before yesterday, while laughing and jesting, we saw full of carriages, cabs, and merry people. Now, all is changed. From that road the lava has come down. The great white smoke leads us, while the wind blows harder. We see trees bending down, they are cypress, the rich cypress of the cemetery of Torre Annunziata, one of the neatest, most poetical cemeteries I ever saw. And the monster is here, quite near. The lava is here, its scorching monstruosity is here, in front of the cemetery, but somehow it has branched out, it has not touched the ground sacred to the dead. It comes down in deformed and grotesque waves, wide, high, incandescent on the sides and on the edges, it has unwalled a house, it has destroyed the railway of the Circumvesuviana but, happily, it has not touched the cemetery. A dead silence reigns among the people grouped on the low walls, on stone piles, behind the gates, and all gaze at the lava, at the monster, but thank heaven, the picturesque cemetery is still untouched. But what will happen in the night what will happen to-morrow? Can't the dead rest even under the ground, and they who will want to pray to-morrow on the tombs of their dear ones, will they be obliged to realize that a new mound of earth, and this time of fire, has buried them, and their graves, for the second time. IN THE COUNTRY OF DEATH GOING TOWARDS SOMMA While we run at all speed with the elegant automobile a kind friend has lent us towards the other Vesuvian countries not touched by the lava, but about which all kind of sad reports reach us, we hear on all sides the same selfish expressions, the same striking, and wounding words. Where are you going? Where do you wish to go? Are you mad? You cannot go any farther up, there is lava, there are stones, lapillus, ashes! That country is destroyed! The other side is surrounded! You are mad! But though irritated, annoyed, offended by this superficial and selfish talk, we go on, we advance towards Cercola, Sant'Anastasia, the Madonna dell'Arco, following the tracks of the Royal Automobile, as the king and queen have climbed up there before us, and have already come back. We cannot believe that we may not reach Somma, or that Somma is destroyed; we do not believe that one cannot get to Ottaiano by some means at least, even if this pretty and rich little town is destroyed as people with a half ironical, half resigned smile, tell us, unwilling as they are to go, and give their help. Ah! sure, we poor writers of human troubles can do but very little, but we want to see this sorrow with our own eyes, we want to relate it that it might touch the heart of people to heroism and pity, and we want to relate it just as it is, just as it exists, by personally witnessing everything, as we have always done. On this road that goes to Somma, other people have passed an hour ago, and we also want to go over it all, even through ashes and lapillus, over the stones, just as we can, by carriage, on foot, any-way. As we advance we begin to see all over the country around us, something like a mantle of snow. Has it snowed on the fields, on the trees? No, the Vesuvian ashes, with the rain and the dew, have already changed into chlorate of ammonia, and all is now white and brilliant under the pale rays of the sun. Here on the right, behind the mountain of Somma, things have taken a dark, livid aspect. An immense cloud of ashes and smoke is bending down over the hidden cone in the direction of Torre Annunziata, Resina Portici, and night seems to reign there. Here instead, all is clear, all is candidly white. Our automobile is now going slower, it cracks between two deep sinks of ashes and lapillus. The wheels are now beginning to sink, and at the first little houses of Somma Vesuviana we stop, and ask the people if the king has passed. Yes, yes, the king has reached Somma Vesuviana with his automobile, and has insisted on continuing to Ottaiano, but the automobile having been caught and sunk in the ashes and lapillus, it has been impossible to advance. He has insisted on going on foot, but it would have been at least a four hours' journey. The carabineers have tried to push, the royal automobile with their arms, but without success. Then the king has decided to go back. And now, in the great solitude of this grand landscape, in the silence of things, we are really struck by the idea that something terrible must have happened up there, and that the disaster may come near being, what it was one day at Pompei! AT SOMMA VESUVIANA We leave our automobile. Two other large empty ones watched by a chauffeur, are here. One belongs to the duke of Aosta, who has come here this afternoon with count d'Aglié and lieutenant Gaston Pagliano proceeding with them on horseback or on foot to Ottaiano or S. Giuseppe di Ottaiano, knee deep through ashes, stones, and lava. The other automobile belongs to the duchess or Aosta. This brave and courageous woman has reached this place a little later, and has gone to Ottaiano on foot, not caring for the enormous difficulties and fatigue she would encounter. While we are trying to imitate her, here is all the population of pretty Somma Vesuviana around us: men, women, children, crowding, and putting to us a thousand questions, while we, answering, address just as many to them. Digging up the earth they show us the three stratus forming the mound that has covered their little homes and fields. Three stratus, a reddish one, a blackish one, and one of stones, alas! just like Pompei. Women with babies in their arms speak slow and low, and mournfully complain of their fate. They have, had, as they say, three nights of hell: the first all lightning and flashes, when their terror has been terrible, though they thought they were protected by the great mountain of Somma, and no lava would run down on their side. The second a night full of fright and ruination, and the third, the one between Saturday and Sunday, when the terrible rain of ashes, lapillus, and stones, began. They have fled terrified through their farthest fields, way down as possible. The most courageous have past the night in the open air, with their children around them, trembling with fear praying, and weeping. Next day they have been wandering around their houses, trying to free them from the weight of the cinders and stones, helping each other, simply resigned and abandoned to their fate, trying all the means to conquer it. The third night, the last one, they have all slept with their poor little ones, clasped in their arms, on the straw, in the fields, not daring to go back into the houses. Men and women are now looking at their buried fields, their destroyed harvest, the heavy cinders, the heavy rocks. They look at the work of this night which throws them in the most abject poverty and starvation, they look over it all with eyes of calm despair, and it seem to me a shame for the human heart that they hope nothing, and ask nothing from the men of Naples, their brothers in God, their brothers in Jesus. They ask nothing, because they know of obtaining nothing. At Somma Vesuviana one man has died in Margarita street. An old man by the name of Raffaele, known as Tuppete, He died in his bed, crushed under the fall of his roof. Twenty or thirty houses have tumbled down at Somma Vesuviana, one church is in great danger, the walls of another are cracked. Men bend their heads and are silent, others sadly admit that their misery is nothing compared to the destruction of Ottaiano where more than one hundred and fifty people have died. Has Ottaiano then been destroyed only by the fall of lapillus and stones? Surely the lava cannot run on it, as the town is placed on the opposite side of the eruption.--Have really so many people perished under this heavy and fiery rain, while not one has perished under the lava? Is it Pompei again? Let us go there then, if it is true. AT OTTAIANO Here we are on the road of the Croce, going step by step, with the slowness of death, sinking deep in the ashes, and looking in vain for a safer path. We go over it with a sense of immense oppression, not knowing when or whether we will arrive, not knowing if our strength will last until we get there. We meet a cart coming down. The poor horse is already tired. It would take at least three horses to drag a carriage through these roads now made of ashes and stones. The cart driver tells us about the many people who have perished at Ottaiano and shakes his head when we ask him the number. It is large, many people were killed while praying in the Oratorio of San Giuseppe! Crushed under the weight of our sorrow, we resume our walk on the road of the Croce, where so few people have passed before. Only a prince of Casa Savoia, only a daughter of the house of France and the soldiers of Italy, the brave soldiers the good soldiers, have come this way. What time is it when we reach Ottaiano? Who knows? Who knows anything more about the hour, about time, about life, in these last four days? We feel as if we had been walking for centuries in this hard, rough, horrible street: we feel as if we had to stop at every step and rest; at last, we reach the new Pompei, Ottaiano. An untold horror of devastation is around us. The most beautiful as well as the poorest houses have tumbled down under the weight of the cinders and stones, and everywhere you see a precipice of bricks, beams, and rocks: it is the death-like solitude of the places where death has passed. A gentleman from Ottaiano, who has just returned here to give some help, tells us all about the catastrophe. It seems that the cinders have begun to fall thickly during the second night from Saturday to Sunday, and it was then that the people, getting alarmed, have left their houses, the exodus having started about dawn. But in the following morning, the stones have come down thicker and larger, rebounding and accumulating, and, at the remembrance of the horrible scene, and the flight from Ottaiano, poor M. Cola's voice trembles. He however, with the help of his brothers, managed to save his mother, carrying her in his arms to Sarno where she is now, he told us, perfectly safe. It seems that in a few minutes all the panes of the windows were broken, people running away with chairs and tables on their heads, to protect themselves from the rocks, others with folded covers and pillows, shielding their heads, and shoulders. And while they fled on every side, falling down in their haste, wounding their hands and knees under the infernal shower of hissing rocks, the houses at Ottaiano, were tumbling down. Poor baroness Scudieri, while running away, must have heard the crash of her palace, and of the whole manufacture Scudieri falling in ruins, while in the same moment on the other side Ateneo Chierchia, and the house belonging to the brothers Cola, just then remoderned, were falling in a heap. What struck us as strange was how, in the midst of so great a ruination, the grand palace of Prince Ottaiano remained untouched, standing alone and erect as if in mute contemplation of this immense destruction. To Nola, Sarno, Castellamare, Marigliano, people fled from Ottaiano, and the poorest, finding no shelter, ran about the fields, and over the whole country, as far as possible from the place of the disaster. There must be dead people under these stones. In a house seven persons have been buried, a whole family, and through the door we see the half bust of a man, dead, a poor wretch who must have tried to open it, and escape, just as many did in the catastrophe of Pompei! Beautiful Ottaiano, the finest place in the Vesuvian comunes is, sadly to say, destroyed for four fifth, and what remains will have to be demolished, being quite in a dangerous condition. Poor abandoned, isolated country, helped by nobody, left to its fate for a whole day and a half. But for the duke of Aosta, who went there with his troops, it would have remained in this condition with its dead and wounded for eight days longer. And yet people are returning here and they even dare to go over the road of the Croce. Here comes a family of peasants on an old broken down char-à banc. The poor mother has a child clasped in her arms, she is as pale as death! The father holds another child, four larger ones are laying on some straw, a real human pile, sad and deserted. We tell them not to return to Ottaiano, for their house will surely fall on their heads. But they protest, and declare that they will sleep in the open air, that they want to return among the ruins. The woman is terribly pale, and the children are terrorised. Here is a tall thin old man, coming on foot. Ah! how he weeps, how he weeps! How sad it is to see an old man weeping. We tell him not to venture in Ottaiano, we beg him not to go, and he excitedly exclaims: I want to see, I want to see whether anything has remained of our country, and, he goes in almost stumbling, disappearing into the new Pompei. DEATH Only this formidable name can be given to Ottaiano. From that terrible Saturday night, till the following Sunday when the first threatening signs appeared, the church bells have been ringing madly and everybody has started to pray. The fall of ashes increasing and getting quite menacing, Rev. parson Luigi d'Ambrosio has requested the population to meet in the church of the Oratorio of San Giuseppe. How many were they? Three-hundred? Yes, perhaps three-hundred. The bells continued to ring desperately, as in a frantic appeal, the ashes fell thicker and thicker, down bounded the stones accumulating heavily everywhere, and crushing every thing. All at once, with a tremendous roar, down comes the roof of the church crushing and killing all those who were under it praying. Perhaps hundred or eighty people have escaped, running away mad with terror, and among these, fortunately, the Rev. parson d'Ambrosio has saved his life. But from one hundred to one hundred and twenty persons have been crushed and asphyxiated under the rocks and beams of the old church, and by the enormous quantity of ashes which have buried them. And yet, while they are taken out by our brave and intrepid soldiers, we realize that most of these poor victims, have really died from suffocation. The women are many, and many are the children. But behold! Here comes the woman of all goodness and tenderness, here comes the Duchess of Aosta, led by her tender heart to this country of death. She bends over the corpses and is piously praying over them. Then she goes towards a tent where the wounded people have been taken, and speaks kindly to them, encouraging and helping them. How many are the corpses already drawn out from the ruins at S. Giuseppe of Ottaiano? Sixty? There are some more. How many are the wounded? Twenty, thirty? The soldiers are still searching and more will be found. As for the people remaining, they are frightened to death from the shock, we must give them bread, and shelter. This, this is really the country of death! There, where the lava has passed, people have fled, where showers of mud have fallen, people have been able to escape, where there has been great danger, help has been brought, like at Boscotrecase, Torre Annunziata, Resina, Torre del Greco, but here, at Ottaiano, at S. Giuseppe, in this great solitude and abandon, the terrible host, death, has passed. April 10th 1906. THE HEROES We shall see, we must see, it is our duty to see later, but not too late, who have been the cowards, the depraved, the stupid men who have dishonored humanity with their cowardice, with their vileness, with their stupidity, in this horrible catastrophe. More especially those who have been discharging public and administrative duties, and have abandoned their posts even when there was no danger. Those cowards who did not go where their functions called them, giving all kind of pretexts or excuses, and prudently locking themselves up in their houses. Those cowards who, having the greatest duties of civic courage to fulfil, have tried to blame others' courage and valor in order to retain the respect of the public. Let all these, and the soonest possible, that is, as soon as this devastation is finished, let all these cowards be denounced to public opinion! We have already heard many of their names, later on more will be called out, and every body will know who are those who muffled their conscience in this terrible plight, and neglected their duties. And we shall also speak of those who have been so degenerated as to turn to their advantage this calamity unexpectedly fallen on an innocent people, and among these speculators of all kind, we shall also place those newspaper men who have set the greatest panic among the people, printing continually false news, increasing (and there was no need of it!) the proportions of this tremendous catastrophe, simply for the greed of selling their papers, the consequences of which have been of the greatest damage to the poor people of those communities, not only, but have made a terrible impression on Naples especially, destroying its very life! We shall not spare either those foolish individuals who seem to add to all calamities by their stupidity, who fall among us like a punishment of God, nor those who prevent willing people from working, or acting, in fact who are a real disaster to humanity. And yet it looks as if, of disasters, we had had more than our share! We will speak of all this but not just now, it is not quite time to settle our accounts, we must wait for this terrible conflagration to end! Then all those who have been miserably vile, who have been mercenary and stupid, all these people, real calamity of calamities, must be called before a moral tribunal, and must be branded forever before the public. Not now! The moment of their judgement will come, must come! * * * But what must not be delayed another moment, is the proclamation, before our whole country, before the world, of those who have been the heroes of this scene of horror and despair. The soldiers have been the heroes, the soldiers are the heroes! From the first of them, Emanuele Filiberto of Savoia, high minded, noble hearted man, from this duke of Aosta to whom is due all the organization of rescue, and of forder, from this worthy nephew of Victor Emanuel the great king, from this very worthy nephew of Umberto of Savoia, who twenty-two years ago, in the hospitals of Naples, helped and tendered the people dying from cholera, from this Emanuele Filiberto, who is tenderly loved and admired, to the humblest, to the most modest of soldiers, they only and alone have been the heroes of this terrible eruption. Not only heroes of courage, but of untiring activity, not only of impulse but of faithfujness, not only heroes before danger, but before fatigue, privations and sacrifice. Everything has been done by these brave soldiers in these last five days, beginning with the duke of Aosta, who has had no rest, going every where calm and silent, without pomp, without blague, without any useless talking, giving the most efficacious orders with the kindest manners, resolution, and firmness, to general Tarditi the illustrious man, the great soul of soldier, full of talent, culture, and valor, down to all the other officers to all the other soldiers. They have defied and conquered the lava, and lapillus, going always ahead there where duty called them. They have looked for the dead and the wounded among the ruins, and they have buried the corpses with their own hands. They have demolished the tumbling houses and built straw-huts for those who were running away: they have divided their bread, yes, their bread, these dear soldiers, with the peasants and women, with the children: they have kept long watches in the most dangerous places; they have given the greatest help there where destruction seemed worse, and all this has been truly heroic! Who has gone to Boscotrecase surrounded by fire, but the soldiers? Who, has gone to Ottaiano and to S. Giuseppe, from the very first day, when nobody had dared go there, but the soldiers, from the duke of Aosta, the majors, the captains, the lieutenants, to the last soldier? Who has brought bread to the hungry, and water to the thirsty? Who has tried to free the streets, the houses from the ashes and stones? At Ottaiano, the sister of one of our newspaper men owes her children's life to the soldiers, who, after having saved them, have fed them, taking the bread from their very own mouths. At Torre Annunziata, in a desperate moment, when the lava was almost touching the cemetery, I bent over the opening of a wooden fence which closed a large field on which the lava was advancing, and before this great black and red monster, the field seemed deserted! Only a soldier, a simple soldier was there in a solitary corner. There he stood before the lava advancing near him: he was there alone, perhaps to keep the little fence from being broken down by the frivolous curiosity of the crowd. Here in the barracks the soldiers are sheltering those who are running away, giving them food and courage, and with the same courage and heart, they gather to them all lost children. Oh unknown heroes! oh our own heroic brothers! oh! our heroic own sons, here through you, the honor of humanity is saved. For you we are still left to believe that the most admirable virtues can still live in the heart of men. Oh you heroes before life and death, heroes for valor and for goodness, you great heroes from your young leader to the generals and officers, all of you martyrs and heroes, our own salvation, our own strength, our own glory, our soldiers! 11th April 1906. LET US SPEAK TO THE PEOPLE Very Eminent Prisco, archbishop of Naples, sitting on the mystic throne where the great pious soul of Sisto Riario Sforza shone of deepest faith, where the simple and kind soul of Guglielmo Sanfelice shone with the tenderest religious charity, you, whose loving heart as a minister is certainly aching, you who have already spoken to the people and to the clergy in the name of Christ, you who have already helped and promoted help, look very Eminent Prisco, our archbishop of Naples, look at the despair of the people of Naples. The calamity which strikes us all, more or less, is indeed tremendous! But its aspect above all has something so dreadfully threatening, to fill even the coldest and most courageous, with a sense of apprehension and awe. These immense clouds now gray, now livid, now reddish now black, towering over our heads, stretching from Vesuvius till here, covering the sea, the city, hiding the sun, darkening the air, these clouds, which will later fall in a long and heavy shower of cinders, these clouds which science and experience declares perfectly innocent it is true, and which enfold the whole city, oppressing it, and giving it such gloomy look, are terrifying, and frightening every body. In the first days of the disaster, Neapolitans have maintained their usual calm and serenity, but now terror has stricken the most, and has almost grown into a frenzy. We know, of course, that all these phenomena are more terrible in their appearance than in their substance, but the lower classes don't know this, and don't wish to know it, and their fear assumes now a furious dangerous character. Through the papers we can do nothing, as the people don't read us, and generally do not know how to read us, neither can Government notices stuck on the city walls have any effect on them, since they cannot read them. And yet they seem to go mad, to lose complete control of themselves, they cry, scream, run madly, they yell, they don't pray anymore before the images of saints and madonnas. They have the despair of the child, of the savage, and this very frenzy is a rapid contagion rendering life more desolate and difficult before this calamity. All the most terrible instincts give way before this mad terror. We tremble at this new coming danger, and see no way to conquer it. * * * You, our dear bishop must conquer it. You must speak to the people once more, and with a calm and firm word, tell them that their life is in no danger, that they have nothing to fear from these black clouds sent by the eruption, from the ashes which fall on the streets and on the houses. Call your clergy, and tell them to speak to the people, in the churches, in the chapels, in the congregations, in the sacristies. The priests of Naples are all very kind, they are quite near to the people for their virtues of Christian simplicity, and humility: they know how to make the people love them by the gentleness of their manners, and by that fatherly familiarity which is such treasure among us. Set these priests, rectors, parsons, speak to the people, especially in this holy week, when sacred services are so frequent, when, oftener than ever, people go to church. Let the rectors, the parsons and all these men of holy moral authority, say to them that they must be calm, and serene, that there is no fear of death, that nobody will die under the lapillus, under the ashes, and that all these screams and moans are not acceptable to God, nor to his saints. Let those who always speak to the people from the altar, from the pulpit, from, the confessional, from the sacristies, speak now, using all that influence they possess to control the soul of the most ignorant obscure. Let religion glorify itself in this civilised work of peace in the minds of this population. Let yourself and your clergy have the merit as Christian and as Neapolitan citizen, to calm this delirium of fright and give back tranquillity to all this population in confusion. Repeat, repeat to these poor people, that for them and their families no danger is to be feared, and people will believe it. Let this noble and great, work be one of those beautiful and glorious social events, of which religion has always been and is always capable when any misfortune has befallen to this city. Neapolitan people are accused of being superstitious and are despised for this: Be it your work and that of the clergy to demonstrate that only faith in its civil form, in its form of high moral beauty, can accomplish certain moral miracles where no other power of mind can reach. April 12th 1906. TO THE WOMEN OF NAPLES Women of Naples whose heart knows how to beat for all great, noble, beautiful things, oh! women of Naples, possessing fervently and efficaciously the great virtue of piety, women of Naples, always kind and tender, whatever be your condition, either brilliant or obscure, whatever be your fortune, great or modest, whether God has granted you the supreme goods of life, or whether your life runs its simple and shaded course, you to whom the unfortunate ones never turn in vain, to whom the words of Christ, "who gathers to him a poor man, gathers me", are a law of the heart, oh! women of Naples, look around you, and see how thousands and thousands of poor unfortunate beings, men, women, and children, your own brethren in Christ, have been stricken down by this tremendous calamity. They had a home and they have been obliged to flee from it not to remain buried under its ruins: they had an orchard and it is gone, they had a field and it is all buried under the stones, they had work and they cannot work anymore, they had some kind of industry, and all this is gone! They are poor, exiled people, escaping for life, and notwithstanding all help, notwithstanding the great impulse of charity, they are too many, they are all a population of poor people, of starving people of naked people, and more must be done for them. Each of you women, either rich or poor, must open her arms and heart to these poor miserable creatures. For even if they have a shelter, they are often without any bed; if they have a bed, they are perhaps without bread or without clothes. Women, Neapolitan women, let your help be given in all the possible forms and ways, gather up to your heart these poor unfortunate beings, just as if they represented the figure of Christ, and be generous to them in the kindest and noblest of charities. Look after these poor people, they are everywhere, in every public institution, at Granilis, barracks at the Albergo dei Poveri, and we cannot do all for them, if you Neapolitan women don't give your part in bread, in clothes, in all that is needed to feed a poor man, and to shelter him from cold. Neapolitan women, good Christians, in these days of mourning, be a heavenly smile to these poor unfortunate ones. Good Christian women celebrate this Easter in the closest brotherhood with those who suffer. * * * Have you heard? In Granilis barracks from three thousand to three hundred people from the Vesuvian comunes, have been sheltered, and among them there is an immense number of terrified and sorrowful women, and little children. There are a great many, perhaps thousand poor little creatures escaped from death in their mothers' arms, in the terrible nights when the storm of cinders, stones, and fire was at its worst.--The noble impulse of the soldiers there, works wonders, and the 19th infantry is certainly first in this noble and generous hospitality.--In this barrack, the people who escaped from the conflagration have shelter and food, and colonel Belluzzi, and his officers are entirely given to this high work of charity. But these poor people have no clothes to change, and the children especially are almost in a naked condition. What can these poor soldiers and officers do to clothe these destitute children? It is your task, Neapolitan women, now that you know it to gather up from your house all the coats, dresses, linen covers, all that is superfluous, and send it to the miserable people at Granilis barracks. You all have girls and boys, and your children have plenty of clothes they don't wear any more. Give them to these unfortunate ones, to these babies who are dear to their mothers as yours are to you! Gather up everything you can, bundle it up and send it all to the barracks. All will be useful, everything is useful. Also they who have no money to give, have a dress, a shift, a pair of shoes to dispose of, and thus you also, if you are not rich, can show your heart in this useful and simple way. Great committees are a great thing, but their work is too slow for too many reasons! Without committees, without signing subscriptions, give your motherly charity, give bread and clothes, let it go from your hand to other hands, from heart to heart, at once, just as Christ has prescribed. And in doing this noble work, you Neapolitan women, will feel your soul expand with emotion and tenderness thinking that each of those little creatures you will dress with your own children's clothes is a little unknown brother to them, and you will bless God to have been able to perform one of the noblest and highest works, one of the highest duties which belongs to our soul. April 12th 1906. EASTER OF RESURRECTION A few hours after this paper will have reached your hands, my readers, you will hear, in the morning air a sound from afar, or perhaps near, a light and touching sound. And even if in that moment you are quite taken up by thoughts of interest and pleasure, by the cares of a long day, you will start, and a whole crowd of remembrances, perhaps of hopes, will spring out from your heart living in the past, and filled with illusions. Thus the Easter bells, those which Wolfgang Goethe, the poet of poets loved and exalted, those which touched the heart of old Faust, the Easter bells, grave and soft at the same time, will tell you that a whole anniversary of sorrow has started and closed, and that a new spring, spring of triumph has appeared in a glory of light and perfumes, in the large and pure horizons where the spirits live. Never before as in this year did the holy week look so dark and sad to all hearts, for it was marred by the desperate cry of those who ran away under the shower of burning stones, by the missing of many frightened children, under the black threatening sky full of flashes and lightnings. Never before as in this week, the ancient prodigies which surrounded with their frightful expression the death of Christ, the flaming sky, the trembling earth, the torn veil from the Temple, seemed to repeat themselves in all their terrible truth. And never before as in this year, the heart of all Christians wished ardently, through their warmest prayers, that these sad days should pass quickly away, and that resurrection of life, peace, serenity and joy should console human beings from the deep and terrible things they had experienced. How much sweeter, this morning, in the distance, will these Easter bells ring for us all, announcing to us, as a particular grace, the end of a conflagration that has troubled us so much, and brought so many bitter tears to our eyes. Resurrection to-day will mean also in its symbolic and yet real language, the end of a week of passion and death, the end of a spiritual and material tragedy which has twice oppressed our tired and worn out souls: resurrection to-day with its slow and subtle bell-sound will mean, to those who were agonising with dread the return of life. * * * Well let us live again! Let this palpitating city undertake once more its works, its fatigues, its industries, all kind of business, all light-houses of progress: and from its hills, green in their spring dress, not withstanding its Vesuvian cinders to its sea so wonderfully calm, in these days let Naples live again its magnificent life!--In every order of things let the almost dead organism resuscitate: from the offices to the theatres, from the churches to the schools from the banks to the tribunals, from art places to worldly centers, let Naples resuscitate from its week of passion and death. Let the existence of six hundred thousand inhabitants proclaim its rights, reacting against a mortal depression, and let, in fact, existence conquer in a better way the incommensurable damages of this week of passion and death. Ah no! don't let us forget from one day to the other this terrible cataclysm which only yesterday made us tremble, and the traces of which will never, be effaced again. Don't let us forget the dead who slept in that tremendous night, and the living who were deprived of their roofs, bread and clothes.--But in order to exercise the most efficacious discipline in order to be of some relief to the hundred and fifty thousand unfortunate ones of the Vesuvian communities, let us live again, let us think, let us wish, act, and work. Let the authorities help with wisdom and generosity this new life of Naples, making away with all prohibitions, making easy all difficulties of this crisis; untangling one by one, all the knots which obstructed our movements; and let every single citizen develope all their activity, without obstacles, without any stumbling stones. Let beautiful Naples resuscitate from this day, in all its beauty, goodness, and strength, this unfortunate city which has had its night of Chetsemane, sweating blood, but is now a stronger, younger and greater conqueror. Let us live again for our country for our families, and for ourselves. Let us live again that we may help all our unfortunate brothers to live anew: let us live again in the fervor of actions in the ardor of will towards a great good, not only in ourselves not around us only, but beside ourselves and much farther, towards all those who suffered unjustly and cruelly. The sad trial is finished: the hour of suffering is gone! our soul has been soothed. Let us all live again: let us each live for the other! and all for all. April 14th 1906. FOUR-THOUSAND LITTLE BOXES How great the irony of things is! Since last Thursday the fifth of April, when the cinders began to fall from Vesuvius, indeed, while they were having the races at the Campo di Marte, and Naples was gay and merry, for the last eight days our post-offices have shipped more than four thousand wooden boxes. At first all this lot of small and curious boxes, carefully sealed, some registered as samples of no valour, others as postal-parcels, seemed to greatly puzzle the postal officers. After a little the strange mystery was revealed, by opening eight or ten of them, as they were not well closed nor well sealed. These singular little boxes contained ashes from Vesuvius. More than four-thousand boxes of Vesuvian dust have gone and are still going. Irony of things! These little boxes are sent as a strange and rare thing, to the farthest parts of the world, even to Australia, that the people from every part of the world, may see the Vesuvius ashes fallen over Naples. Till Australia! But especially to England and America: And by investigating the matter it has been seen that nearly all those who had shipped the boxes were foreigners. Which means that all the foreigners passing through here or established in Naples, or who had come here to see the eruption had immediately thought of gathering this dust, put it in little boxes, and send it to their relations, friends, lovers, and flirts. And this has been one of the most interesting points of this sad period: it has been a proof of the coldblood of these foreigners who in a conflagration like this see but the curious side of things. Four-thousand little boxes and perhaps more! And we here, feel sad and oppressed by these cinders burying us! How much better it would have been if the little boxes instead of four thousand had been forty thousand! it might have been the means of lessening this danger. April 1906. A WOMAN Monday April 9 This has been one of the worst and saddest of the five days of tragic anguish of things, and men. I reached Somma Vesuviana at half past three, and the automobile which was carrying me, was obliged to stop quite outside the town closed, and over-powered as it was by the new strata of dust and lappillus. Then with the companions of this sad but dutiful excursion we have gone on on foot, sinking so deeply at every step, that fatigue seemed and was almost umbearable.--Few people peeped out of the doors of their country houses, nearly all covered and hidden under the ashes and lappillus, and spoke of two towns not very near, but not far, quite destroyed; S. Giuseppe and Ottaiano. These people told us of the dead of the many dead and wounded that were there and insisted before our incredulity. We thought that those poor peasants lied or exaggerated, we did not really believe it, but we hoped it! But alas! they were right and nothing of all that had happened there had been known, till the morning in Naples, and we ourselves, had climbed the sad calvary, only through vague presentiment of misfortune. It was quite true that more than three-hundred people lay dead between Ottaiano and S. Giuseppe. We walked dumb and trembling with deep sorrow, among stones and lappillus stopping now and then as if exhausted. An automobile had stopped in the midst of Somma Vesuviana, it had found it impossible to proceed, and was guarded by a chauffeur only. Two brave carabineers roamed sadly about, and when we asked them whose the automobile was, I was informed it belonged to the Duchess of Aosta, who having taken her leave from their Majesties about twelve o'clock, had gone up to Somma Vesuviana a little after mid-day. Not having been able to proceed towards Ottaiano either by the automobile or by carriage or horses since there were none to be had, and quite decided to reach Ottaiano, she had started on foot, on a road buried under ashes and lappillus, a road, which in ordinary times can be run over in two hours, and over which she had walked at least for four painful ones. Calm and resolute she had not hesitated a moment to undertake that difficult walk, but had gone through the whole way in a simple and silent manner reaching Ottaiano all alone on monday 9th of April, where pale with emotion she had witnessed the unburying of the first fifty dead. Then she had given all her cares and attendance to each of the bodies, with her own charitable hands with her kind and sweet words, with the tenderest encouragement to the most unfortunate. And till sun-set in that terrible day in which all the horror of the conflagration seemed worst, since the catastrophe of Pompei seemed to be renewed in Ottaiano and in S. Giuseppe, there among the dead and the wounded stood the Duchess of Aosta helping the work of the doctors, giving orders, and providing for all. And when night fell covering so many funestous things, she got up on a horse, a simple carabineer's horse and sinking deep in rocks, and stones she reached at night Somma Vesuviana and returned to the Royal house of Capodimonte, letting nobody know what her day and her work had been. * * * I relate this fact in its high simplicity since it does not only testify to the goodness of this woman but to her incomparable moral valour, since it is not only an act of charity, but from a woman, from a lady, from a princess it is an act of heroism. And of these deeds Elena of Aosta the daughter of the king of France, has accomplished a great many every day in this terrible week. She has gone all about the places where it is difficult and dangerous to go, in every place worthy of a great soul and fibre like hers is; where men, and especially men, have been afraid to go, she has gone bravely several times where need was most urgent, and where storm seemed stronger, there she has gone: and every where her steps have been usefully taken, her vivid strength has been used for the good, her hands have helped and consoled, her will has accomplished miracles. And do you know in what manner? Without official notices, without any pomp, without anybody knowing it, almost as if in secrecy. Often people have not known her, and many don't know now that she, who has quenched the thirst and hunger of so many, she who has helped the dying in the ruins and fire, is the descendant of S. Louis. She has hidden herself when meeting people who could notice her, she has always worn modest and dark clothes, and her face has been hidden by veils, and she has withdrawn when frivolous and curious people have tried to observe her doings. This noble woman has not found any rest before this terrible misfortune of ours, and her work has been a high spiritual beauty, and the modesty and silence with which she has surrounded herself has been really sublime. And I stamp here her moral image with humble admiration and proud to know she is a woman as I am; and I am happy not to have to write down only in the daily news the Duchess of Aosta wore on her white satin waist a magnificent emerald pin; I am happy that a feminine soul in a vigorous fibre should show the world what is the power of virtue in a woman and in a christian. And for all those whom she has conforted really, in the terrible hour not caring herself for dangers and unconforts, for all the wounded and agonizing ones, for all those who weep, and were consoled by her, I implore on her all God's blessings and may her life be sowed with all goods, and may her children be blessed through her. LET THE GUILTY ONES BE PUNISHED The night before Easter has been full of fright and confusion for the people already prostrated by so many emotions. This ringing of telephones, this continued and sudden ringing, in the depth of night, repeated every where, in military offices, government offices, newspaper offices, this anxious running to the telephones, this news given with trembling voice, these brief dialogues sometimes impetuous, sometimes sad, have been, and still are an incubus on us all, from the general to the reporter, from the Prefect to the municipal usher, from the director of a railway station to the firemen! Indeed, this ringing which makes our nerves thrill in the most painful way, the exhausted nerves of all those who have been obliged to suffer for the last ten days, and think, and act, in the mean time, this terrible, continued noise has not permitted us to sleep in this night before Easter. We all have been the victims of a deathly joke, invented by a man who, mad with terror, has made himself guilty of the lowest of deeds. But obeying to our rigorous duty as publishers, also in this night before Easter, and in this very Easter morning we have given, in a very brief and simple form, without clamour or exaggeration, without lugubrious inventions, the news which the idleness of this M. Fedele had changed in a tolling of bells, and in a breath of death. It is natural that Prefects, under Prefects, Commissaries of Prefecture, should have been more than concerned, and that at head quarters they should have kept watch all night, giving orders on all the lines, awakening every body, and mobilitating every thing. Has not our M. Fedele spread terror every where? Later on in that same Easter morning, while our hearts rejoicing, especially this year when the day had brought peace and resurrection, every body was suddenly saddened by the spreading of this false news, not given by us, but thrown among us in the most emphatic and cruel way, spreading sorrow in the hardly revived spirits of the people, announcing that there were dead and wounded, even among the officers and the soldiers. Oh! poor mothers of officers and soldiers near and far away, you must have been the first to get the sad news, this low lying news, and your poor heart must have been broken before you were able to know that this news it was false. * * * If an example is not given, if cowardice, lying, and foolishness are not punished, life will become even more difficult and complicated than it is for all those who have duties and responsibilities, and for the mass of citizens who need to rebuild for themselves a quiet and laborious life. We want to know who must do it, whether this M. Fedele has been or has not been punished, he who has not only deserted his place, but who has upset this whole region through his fright? Will he be punished? Will all those functioneers, who believed this foolish news, and have called for help before knowing the truth, will they be called and invited to show some courage, some cold blood, and equilibrium? As for the Agenzia Stefani which has covered itself with ridicule during all the period of the eruption, telegraphing all over the world, that the Vesuvian Observatory had been destroyed, while the news was false, and which has been obliged to contradict the news that it had given half an hour before, it has already been justly and severely upbraided and censured by our Prefect who will write to Rome to the central Government, that the director may be called, and an investigation made. Let the culprits be punished, and let none of them have the chance to escape, or to invent any thing more. Let nobody throw panic among those who have duties to fulfil in these sad and trying moments. Let nobody start panic in Naples, in this city which must revive and begin again its work and energy. If a whole city like ours, a whole region, a whole population, from a prince of the House of Savoia to the humblest of soldiers must fall at the mercy of a frightened panic-stricken man, of an official whose business is to be forever mistaken, we would like to know if such absurd thing must be tolerated, if such thing has to continue. Let all those who have any fault in the panic of last night, be punished, and let military power interfere where it must, and government one where it wants and can, provided this dangerous and annoying scandal should not be repeated. Let the Neapolitan public, the great punisher, act as it knows how to act when needed, and let it severely punish those newspapers that have printed false news exagrerating ruin and death. LET THE LAND BE SAVED For the present every thing is satisfactory. The Government could not, and cannot do more or better than it has done, to organise ready help through all the vast zone of the Vesuvian country stricken by this dreadful conflagration. The life of one hundred and fifty thousand people running away, has been guarded and protected with energy and wisdom, and the deserted towns, those less damaged, have been in the quickest possible way set again to their own normal life. The streets quite destroyed have been rebuilt, at least in those parts where circulation is more necessary, and with the return of the many fugitives to the towns where the dreadful shower was worse, they have managed to start again a life, abnormal perhaps, but at least a life. You need only go over this long, fatiguing, hard pilgrimage, in these countries stricken by the terrible disaster, to realize the extraordinary new start to life, the work of reparation, the rebuilding of everything, where nothing more had been left. All has been made anew, from the bread for the famished, to the medical assistance to the sick, from the first work in removing cinders and lappillus, to the building of wooden barracks, from the trains already running through the high piles of rocks, to the tearing down of tumbling roofs, from the free dinners distributed all around, to the Serino water brought here from Naples every day. All has sprung to a new life. To say who has done all this is easy: The Government has had this simple, happy idea. It has trusted two men of intelligence, two men of will, the Duke of Aosta and General Tarditi; it has put its trust in the obedience, abnegation, heroism of the chiefs and of the soldiers; it has added to this sane, serious, and practical civil element, and has given much money, it has adhered to all requests, it has answered to all demands. Ready help is active, there where life is. How long will all this last? And can it last? And must it last? The salvation of to day is done! Man has saved man! Those who had power, intellect, good will, ardor, enthusiasm have given it all! The history of these days will remain memorable in the pages of human help! And I would like to have the vigour and the time to write it up myself, as an homage to the ideal which binds men. But what, and who will save to-morrow man and his house, man and his descendence, man and his bread, man and his field? Who and what will create a new life firm, continued, of constant evolution? One is the secret: this country must be saved. Oh men! who are tenderly concerned over the despair of nearly ten thousand people, oh! men of heart and mind, give, give food to all these unfortunate beings, to these poor people who have nothing to do, to the women, to the old people, to the children! Alas! you will not be able to do it always! Build, rebuild roofs and hearths that they may find a shelter, but the house will perhaps be empty, and the hearth fireless. Have the streets cleared free from the rocks, lapillus, and cinders which the fury of the vulcano has brought down, but these streets will be deserted and sad. Reform the social life with its laws and regulations, but all that will be a dead letter. Ah! all is useless if the country is not saved. The land which gives bread and fire, the land which gives life must be saved in all its region so terribly damaged. This land alone knows the secret of its resurrection. Save the land, you men of good will. Save it in all its modest and imposing forms: save the little orchard, and the small tract, the garden, the humble edge which closes the large field, save the land of the poor farmer, of the modest peasant, of the small land-owner, fertil or steril as it may be. Modest peasant, save the land, no matter how it is, rich or poor; the land is always the land, the spring of life, the earth which is flour, vegetables, the earth which is life itself! From the miserable little grass, to the highest of trees, the earth which enriches man, warms him up, lights up his nights. The earth which gives food to the tired limbs, wood to the hearth, oil to the lamp. Save this land! You cannot help these people beyond a certain length of time, your money would not be enough, your charitable impulse would not last, and of these charities people, after all, will get tired. And so it will be, for the necessity of human conscience, for the dignity of man, even if marked by misfortune. No alms any longer, but some means by which everybody may rise again, take up again his modest and laborious round of existence, support himself and his family, and close every day, with a blessing to God. Some means by which he may end his mortal pilgrimage having accomplished his work among men, as a worker, and head of a family. Save the earth, save the wheat and the vine, the oil and the oak, save every inch of land around the silent country homes. Save the land which slopes down over the cruel and fatal mountain, just as that, farther off, which cannot fear its tragic explosion. Ah, those poor lands ascending up to S. Anastasia all covered and buried, but still trying to emerge, those poor country lands around beautiful Somma Vesuviana cut out of existence, smothered and gone! Ah! that silent and deserted grave which is now the country between Somma and Ottaiano, dead, under half a meter of stones and cinders, everything dead, the grass, the plants, the bushes, the trees! Who will forget, who will ever forget that incomparable vision of death? Call men of science, those who study science to better life, and tell them to get together, to observe, to notice, to reveal to the ignorant the secret to save this dead land. Call men of finances, not those who understand it as a mere dance of cyphers, but those who know what it means to life, and let them form a great project, by which the land may be saved. Money will come, people are already giving it, and more will still be given, especially if people know that it is not only used for charities but for the redemption of work, not only used for provisory help, but for a larger, wiser, and more austere aid. The Government will give now or later all that is necessary, and perhaps beyond what is necessary. Form a great, serious practical project, based on strong views, an agrary and financial project, which may teach, guide, advise! Give little or much money, as needed or where it is needed, in order that every farmer may get back his little tract of land, that every peasant may rebuild his field, and every owner may redeem his property. Give your advice and take the easiest means to have it fulfilled. Let money be given, not lent to he who has cleared and redeemed his field. If the money has to be lent, let it be on long time, and let the Government pay a strong part of the interest on the agrary loan, just as was done at the time of the earthquake in Ligury. Let the cheapest and most efficacious advice be given, that every man may start with his own hands and the help of his people, to free his land from its funeral shroud, and let help be given as a prize to will, and tenacity. Let it be a civil help to honest citizens, that their small destroyed fortune may be rebuilt for their children. This, at least, you must do, men of good will. Let all the land around be delivered from the heavy mantle which wraps and smothers it, let it be free, and from one season to another, let the grass, plants, trees, flowers and fruits grow up again. May the waving crops spring up again, in the devastated fields, and the olive and vines grow there anew. May the almond tree bloom once more with red flowers there where the storm has passed, leaving death behind. Oh men of good will if you will know how to do this, you will have saved your country, and in renewing life where death has reigned, you will have come as near to God as anybody ever did before. April 21, 1906. EVERY DAY HAS ITS MORROW It is not certainly through cold blooded and cruel newspaper work, that I, with some strong and faithful collaborators of the "Giorno" have gone in the places which have been more severely stricken by the furies of Vesuvius; nor have I gone there through any stupid and vain curiosity. We had all gone before, when the tremendous eruption was at its worst and we went trembling with anxiety and we saw and felt all the horror of that storm in its terrific aspect. We returned home every evening, every night in a real convulsion of anguish. Every day has its morrow, and to a period of great emotion, when all your soul rebels and rises against a misfortune which nothing can fight, another long and slow period follows, full of mortal sadness. The period of the morrow of a catastrophe when your spirit calmed down, and clear in its sadness, measures silently all the damage that people and things have suffered. For the journalistic sportsman, Ottaiano, S. Giuseppe, Boscotrecase, Torre Annunziata, Somma Vesuviana don't hold now any more the necessary interest to suggest terrorising news, nor does the frivolous curiosity of the frivolous reader find any interest in these exausted subjects. But for me every day has its morrow, and so it is for all those who have a heart, who feel to be citizens of a great country rather than newspaper men; who feel the voice of their conscience before that of their fancy. Every day has its morrow and it is this morrow that we sadly and simply have gone to seek there where the ruins of country and villages have been left. Another sentiment has urged me and the other pilgrims of this humble duty, the thought that now, little by little, the violent crisis being calmed down and passed, people may forget all this great trouble! We are so willingly careless here when deep sorrow has passed, and the sun shines on human misfortunes. We forget so easily the pains and troubles of others, when the pang of their sorrow is ended. But we should not forget; we must not stop having pity, we must not stop giving our cares and help, we must continue! So we have gone every where it seemed necessary, stopping first at Ottaiano, and we have seen and inquired of the people, and things have told us their secret. April 22, 1906. THE NEW POMPEI Between two edges of lapillus which have formed on the right and left of the rails, among mountains of ashes accumulated here and there in order to free the way, that the trains might get as far as Ottaiano, the little station is crowded with different and strange people. Here are dark faced peasants, silently advancing from the villages where they have been sheltered, and now looking for the little home which once was theirs. Civil functioneers who come here perhaps to try and, doubtless in vain, to rebuild some kind of social life among the ruins of this new Pompei. Small proprietors have climbed up here just through that sad curiosity some people, seem to feel who know they are ruined: rich proprietors of lands and houses, who come to calculate how much of their fortunes has been lost, and consider whether it is worth the while to fight for the future; some weeping woman of the people, a few but rare ladies who have come through a spirit of charity. Many soldiers, many officers, all covered with dust, and not brilliant looking certainly, but fulfilling the most constant and patient duty, a duty always greater and more complex. Here is their general in the midst of a group of persons, who draw close to him, wishing for something, (every body wishes for something), and general Durelli has an answer for everyone, a brief but kind answer. He has a word for everybody, and promises only what he can keep. He is the soul, the breath, the mind, of this new Pompei. I know all this, and I simply bow to him, as I don't want to make him lose any of his precious time. But later when all interrogatories, with every distinguished or obscure person, peasants, gentlemen, poor traders or proprietors of Ottaiano is over, every one declares to me that in this incomparable trouble, in this ruination of the prettiest of towns, the choice of General Durelli, as a reorganiser, could not be better. He occupies one of the few standing houses left inhabited by the parson, and he sleeps there a few hours, and takes his meals, but he is always on his feet, always around, plunging his high boots deep in a meter of lapillus, going to and fro, watching every thing, providing promptly to all with clear and efficacious orders. Around him, groups of bare-footed women, with half naked children in their arms, push and press, while new people coming from the different main roads, arrive, urging him with demands and requests. The women, especially the poorest of them, with sad looking faces relate to him their misfortune, and general Durelli always kind and patient tries to console them and give them what they ask. He begs them to be quiet and wait, hoping for better times. They draw slowly away, sitting in groups on the ground or on the accumulated ashes, forming thus a strange and never to be forgotten picture. Their clothes are gray with ashes and dust, whilst their babies with smutty faces and hair, lay quietly in their arms, watching eagerly around. They wait there in silence. Perhaps better hours will come. UNDER THE NATIVE ROOF. In the long, hard fatiguing pilgrimage where every step costs untold pain, where every look sees a precipice, a young peasant accompanies us as a guide. One reads trouble and misery in his dark eyes, his voice is low and dragging, almost complaining. Are you from Ottaiano, I ask him, while going up the steep road. --Yes, I and my family are from that place. --Did you run away from there in that terrible night? --Yes, we fled just about dawn when the fall of stones was at its worst. --And how long did this last? --Fully twenty four hours madam, from ten o'clock on Saturday night, till ten o'clock on Palm Sunday. A whole day, yes, a whole day. He doesn't lie nor exaggerate. If he did, how could all this ruin be around us? --Did your house fall down? I inquire. --Yes, he answers sadly. There it stands on that height yonder. Look at it! look at it! All I possessed is buried there! My bed, my poor furniture, all. Tears gather in his eyes. At least have you saved your family? --Yes, he murmurs, they are at Sarno. But I have lost all. I was supporting them, and have lost my wagon and my two mules, for I was a driver. --Are they buried? --The wagon can be seen under the stones; and as he speaks he seems to take heart all at once, It can be seen! perhaps I shall be able to drag it out. But the mules! The mules are dead. How shall I manage? A deep sigh heaves his broad chest. --And you have come back here, I ask him? Many of you have come back? --I have come back. This is my country. I have come to try to save my wagon and those poor animals, Nothing, nothing! --Will you remain here? --I shall! Where could I go? This is my country. I will also make my family return from Sarno. If you knew how many have returned! --How many? How many? --At least three thousand. Many have come back the following day. You see, we could not stay away. --And where do they live? --Nearly all sleep out in the fields under straw sheds, and the others in the few houses that remain standing now. --They are building cabins, and little by little you will see every body, coming back to their own country. --Was this place, fine? I ask him quite touched. --The finest of all, and our country is fine! And he utters these words enthusiastically, but again he looks down sighing, and is silent. AMONG THE RUINS. Of course the farther we get from the station, from Municipio square, the fewer people we see, and the more we advance towards Scudieri's house, Ateneo Chierchia, and the feudal palace of Ottaiano, where the ruins take a more imposing and solemn aspect, the greater the solitude. But while we stop at every step, to look from the top of the mountains of stones and ashes, on which we climb and descend, while we look at the piled up ceilings, shutters, stones, furniture, pictures, and utensils all in demolition, now and then, we see somebody coming out of a small lane closed by a small gate. Here is an old woman, she looks to be seventy years old, she is thin, wrinkled, but quite straight. I speak to her, I ask her all about that dreadful night. --I was sleeping, madam, I was sleeping. I woke up and heard screams: "The mountain, the mountain!" Who could believe that a disaster was on us? What was there to be done? I turn entreating God, but I see death coming. My lady! What noise, what darkness, what flashes! The door could not be opened. I just jumped out of the window. --Out of the window? at your age? --The window was low and I fell on the ashes. I began to run madly, I don't know where. I protected my head with my arm! Look how wounded it is by a stone falling on me! And she shows me her fore-arm. It has a long wound, a torn place which is beginning to heal. --And where did you go? --Where could I go? Old as I am? In the country towards Somma; there I spent the night. I said, this is the hour of my death! Let your will be done my Lord! --And you have come back? --I have come back. What could I do in another country? Who wants an old woman? If I have to die, I want to die here. Here is a man of the people coming from a street. He bends over a mattress, tucks it up and lays it on a cart which is in a corner, where he has already layed other things. --Have you found your things again? I ask him. --I have found some of them, he tells me readily, with a rather excited tone. I am taking these things to Sarno where my wife and children are. They have no place where to sleep. But I am coming back at once. I am a man, I can work. I am coming back day after to-morrow. I want to work here. --And what will you do? --What they'll give me to do? Have you seen all those men on the square? They are not from Ottaiano, they are from Marigliano, Pomigliano, and other countries, all people coming here to seek work. They take away the stones and cinders, and ask a great amount of money. Well, this must be done by us, from Ottaiano. Also gratis, even if they don't give us for it but the soldiers' ranch. The country is ours, the trouble is ours, we must repair it. And he ties with a rope his few things, loads them on the cart with a firm and decided air. THE BABIES Speaking with people, I find that the most touching episodes are those concerning the babies. How heart-rending the cry and screams must have been of the parents and relatives who were trying to gather them, that they might take them away, lifting in their arms the youngest, tying to their clothes the largest, what a tearing cry must have been heard under the terrible shower of burning stones, lappillus, and ashes! Many of these children, got lost through the country in that dark night, their parents, not finding them, but after three days at long distances, while for three days, they believed them dead and wept desperately over them! The boarders of Ateneo Chierchia ran out helping the younger ones, and carried them on their shoulders wrapped in blankets that they might not be wounded, and in these conditions they fled through the terrible night. The soldiers who had come from Nola during the day gathered a number of other children, and fed them, keeping them with them till the following days, when they could be returned to their parents. As for mothers, in that terrible flight, half wild with despair, they wrapped the little ones in their dresses and shawls thus repairing them from certain death. A poor lady, who had a four months old baby, hid it under her arms, covered it with a basket, and thus carried it for eleven miles, on foot, at night, the baby however quietly sleeping under its shelter. The children of one of the teachers in Ottaiano, took their father who was very ill, closed him in a kind of covered box, and carried him so, on their shoulders till Caserta. The poor man naturally died there of his former trouble, but his children can say that they have saved him from dying under the stones of Ottaiano. Strange to say in this flight of fourteen thousand persons, not one single baby has died, and the people from Ottaiano say, that this is a miracle of the Madonna, a true, real miracle, and every mother clasping her child alive in her arms, has been obliged to believe in this miracle. A WITNESS. From the ruins of his beautiful house, from the flowered terrace, covered for one meter with vulcanic stones and cinders, comes Luigi Scudieri, a friend of ours, a witness of the great cataclism. His gay and open expression has not changed, his family is saved, all of them, from his old parents to his children. The palaces of his noble and powerful family have tumbled down one after the other and their rich fabrics, their vast territories are now buried, for many, many years perhaps. Their fortune is compromised, yet he is back here since four or five days, back in Ottaiano, actively busying himself around, advising, guiding, conforting the more desolate, the desperate, helping every one, speaking to every body. Of course I ask him to tell me all about the destruction of Ottaiano, but notwithstanding his natural brightness, he gets confused and troubled while he speaks. --Dear Donna Matilde, in the first hours of Saturday night, I must confess, we were not much preoccupied. As you know, we have had several showers of cinders here in Ottaiano, but they were short and harmless. Nothing was to be feared, that evening, as I tell you, but towards mid-night the preoccupation began. The crater had fallen in, and at every breath of the Vulcano, a more and more increasing fall of ashes came down, passing over the mountain of Somma which protects us, and striking the whole of our place. The alarm bells began to ring. --How terrible! I exclaim. --It was well they rang the bells he says. The peasants who had all returned home for the holy week, were all fast asleep, the women at the sound of the bells, came out from their houses, running madly away, and to be sure many more would have died had the bells not rung. --How many died here in Ottaiano? --About seventy, and even those might have been saved, but the night was so dark and the fall of ashes so thick. --Did they all seem to lose their mind? --In the beginning no! I telegraphed to Naples, and the poor telegraph operator who sent my telegram, and whose courage and devotion should be enhanced, sent these telegrams under the flashes of the mountain. Twice the electric shocks threw her down. One only of my three wires, the one to the Military Comand reached its destination. --And your family, I ask? He seems moved and hesitating. --Don't speak to me about that, he exclaims, those hours have been terrible! When I saw that we had to run away, I was obliged to nearly carry my wife who was ill and weak, on the road. Quite exhausted and discouraged, she stopped to recommend me the children, asking me to let her die there in that very place. I knew nothing about my father and mother; my nephews have saved them, they had sworn to die but to save their grand parents, these brave boys. Only after four days I learned that all my people were saved. --And where did they all go? --To Avellino! One would hardly believe it! we reached Avellino by an extra train, and there we received from all the population, and principally from good Achille Vetroni, a warm hospitality. You can tell it to every body in honour of Vetroni and Avellino. Imagine that in the shops, they refused to be paid, when we went to buy shoes and boots. Yes, they have really done prodigies of devotion and kindness. Prodigies! Tell every body what the hospitality of Sarno has been for the people from Ottaiano, how touching! You must also add that the first good example, came from the seminary. The good rector has promptly given up his room to M. Cola, who was flying from Ottaiano, quite ill. The seminarists have distributed their own clothes to the people. One can hardly realize all that has been done for the people of Ottaiano everywhere they have gone, to Sarno, Caserta, Castellammare, Marigliano and Nola. We shall never forget it. --And what will you do now? I ask him after a brief silence. --With what? he asks me. --With Ottaiano. --Rebuild it all, he answers me, quietly. --Rebuild it all? --And what else can we do? We are fourteen thousand. Four thousand have already returned. Where do you want us to go? To Turin? To Milan? It is not possible. Don't you see? Settle in the neighbourhood? At Portici! at Torre Annunziata? We shall always be under the Vesuvius, consequently, in constant danger. Better remain where we are. But the houses have tumbled down. What then? The roofs yes, but the walls are not cracked. We shall have to build the new houses with arched small iron vaults little by little! you will all help us, won't you? How can one abandon one's own country? Here all of us possess much or little land, will you take from us also the hope of redeeming it for our children? What would become of us in Milan, Turin, even in Naples? How could we hope to build up again, if we went away? But we shall need much help.... I say.... You all must unite with us. And we shall work, and we shall have to make the poor peasants work, and give them prizes for their work, and no alms nor any kind of charity. Life and hope are still strong in this man who has seen death near him and his people, who has seen his village tumble down, and who is now speaking only of its resurrection. VINCENZA ARPAIA Here near us a woman is speaking eagerly. She is of the peasant type, but a light of intelligence shines in her eyes, and while talking she mixes correct Italian words with her dialect. She has a handkerchief tied on her head, the image of a Saint hangs down on her breast, and she discusses vivaciously. I interrogate her. I know she has come back here the day after that frightful shower, and has not moved from here ever since. She counts up the houses that are still standing, she speaks of those who have returned and will return. And I learn, that she is the mid-wife of the village, Vincenza Arpaia. --Have you your diploma, Vincenza, I ask her? --Of course! I received it at the University of Naples, and I was appointed to this place, she exclaims with pride. Not a single baby is born here, without my assistance. --All alive! --All, madam! And thanks to the Lord there are no orphans. What a destruction! But now it is finished, and it will take more than a hundred years before it happens again.--She refers to the terrible fall of stones at Ottaiano, in 1789, she is rather informed, yet she preserves her popular simplicity. --And why did you return so soon, Vincenza? --To attend to my work, and see after new born babies, madam. --New born babies? here? --One was born the other day, she cries gaily! A fine boy! He was born on the ruins and I shall take him to S. Giovanni, to the only church still standing, and all the bells must be ringing! This woman of the people says now unconsciously a great and deep thing. A baby was born on the ruins! Oh! eternal resurrection of life! Oh baby! You are a symbol! life never ends! it renews itself, and it is the eternal bloom of strength and beauty. April 22, 1906. IGNIS ARDENS When coming out from the station of the Circumvesuviana at Torre Annunziata, as one goes towards the white and flowery cemetery, which was reported destroyed, but fortunately has not been touched by the fire, one suddenly sees, quite in front of the gate, at seven or eight meters from the wall on the left, a large barrier of black or dark gray stones, and pitch coloured rocks, a rocky irregular barrier closing at a certain distance the restful home of the dead, and one wonders: Is this the lava? Yes, that is the lava. Still, asleep, and dead, it rests now under the sun, having already become a harmless thing, transformed in an arid rocky wall, in a mound of ruins, gathered there in confusion, for an unlimited extension, and going down in an easy slope, like a stair of stones. That is the lava, and who sees it for the first time, must ask himself if, in that accumulation of still things, in that ocean of fused bronze, life has existed, if that mass has not been deposited there by chance, by the untiring arm of gigantic cyclops, and not by its own strength, by its powerful and ardent life of fire. And one smiles almost incredulously, as one would, before a made up spectacle. One would like to tread over those scories, strike them with one's own stick and show them all the contempt that naturally springs from one's souls towards a stone. Stone? Oh no! from the cracks cutting here and there, immense columns of white smoke, tinted with yellow vapours, arise ... and if you look more intensely you perceive many, many more. It is like an immense lighted field, spread all over with smoke, similar to an early dawn in the month of November. That stone is still living. Under those masses, fire is still burning. The blood of the Vulcano beats yet in those stony veins. The terrible thing appears to you then, in all its majestic and frightful grandeur, always burning like the flame of the Vestals. And you understand then more clearly what must have been the terrible spectacle of this slow fall of living and destructive strength advancing little by little, gaining inch by inch the fields and the houses, this invincible strength carrying flames and destruction in its breast, hearing no control, going where it pleased with the caprice of a perverted will and bringing desolation and death every where it has touched. You will well understand, what this rolling red river must have been in the fatal night, with the black sky shrouded with sun, crowned with lightnings like a revengeful divinity, this slow and voracious river, which has swallowed up half a country. You will well understand, how a picturesque little village can have been destroyed in its rich lands, in one of its fractions, in its first houses. A nice white little village, located by a black row of stone girdling it with mourning after having wrapped it with destruction, and you will then understand what must have been the panic and terror of yesterday, and what is to day the serious loss of this place which is now hardly spoken of, and which to-morrow will be probably forgotten: of Boscotrecase prisoner of fire, like Brunhilde of the Walkyrian story and which will never be waked up again from her sleep resembling death. * * * * * If you want to go to Boscotrecase, from the cemetery of Torre Annunziata, you may, avoiding to go down as far as Scafati, ascend directly the course of the lava and coasting as I have done, three steps further you see the line of the Circumvesuviana cut for several meters by the lava, which has run over the rails, falling on the ground underneath, rails being raised in that place. Let us go through the fields, the front of the lava is quite wide and one must take a long turn. All around the black sleeping mass, the country has remained untouched, the vines are in bloom and young green twigs hang from them. One step from the last scories, advanced sentinels of death, little field daisies, all gold, small stars wreathing the head of the monster, are waving at the soft, light blowing breeze, while big bloody poppies like large stains of blood, fill the ground all around. Half way up over the low walls of the farms, a little house appears at once before you. It is the first one which has been surrounded by the lava. In fact the walls peep out of the crags under the rocks where they are buried. All is in its place, not a shingle is missing from the roof, not a pane from the windows. Only the inexorable lava closes it all around. And I have like the painful sensation of witnessing the agony of a healthy and good creature, hugged in the arms of a giant who is slowly suffocating it. Still more houses are to be seen farther on; but some of them are in ruin, the lava has leant against the walls, has pressed, has broken some pillars and has opened big cracks in the walls. From a close window, I suddenly perceive, a thin line of grayish smoke. The work of the hidden fire is only beginning. The house is burning little by little. The shutters, the doors, all wooden things in contact with the lava, are beginning to burn, then it will be the turn of the beams, of the sustaining arches and the walls; every thing will be consumed to ashes, and only some ruins will remain. How long will it take? Who knows? The work of fire is silent and tenacious like a human vengeance. After an hour's march we abandon the poor, deserted dwellings, irremessibly condemned, vowed to death, yonder in the great sea of lava, and we get back in the main road, full of dust, leading to Boscotrecase. AT BOSCOTRECASE Entering the little town one receives the impression that nothing abnormal has happened there. Truly few people are circulating in the streets, the shops are open, women are standing at the doors of their houses, sewing, chattering, while streams of children play in the sun. We go about the street which bears the name of Cardinal Prisco. It is extremely quiet, almost asleep in the meridian hours and we get to the Oratorio. At the end of the road, between two houses we are surprised to see a kind of fence made of wood and beams, in the shape of a cross. Is it a barricade? No it is the barrier! On the other side there is lava. There it is, in fact, the black enemy, there in the village, running between two wings of houses, sneaking in a little lane, there it lies dead without the strength to go any farther. And this is only a little stream, but at a short distance, what vast and imposing river. All the Oratorio square is invaded and submerged. It is like a row of stormy waves, petrified as by a strange prodigy, standing erect among the edifices. Here, and there on the crest, a soldier, a sentinel appears. The image of S. Anna, the patron of the place has been taken elsewhere to a house on the ground floor, in Oratorio street, and the opened windows look like empty, while the bells hang in a silence which will have no end. I turn to another side, through a path the soldiers are opening. I pass between two lines of infantry diggers, small creatures curved on the stones, in an audacious and patient work. They look and smile under the shade of their straw hats, and start again to work. How many days have they been there? How long will they still remain? Who knows? They themselves don't know it. And they bend on the fatiguing and tenacious work like brave boys asking nothing for themselves, and they give all their fatigue, strength, youth, happy in the hard striking of their picks, in the hard digging of their hoe, singing softly the ritornelli, of their native songs as if they were in their native villages beyond the mountains working in the corn fields or among the vines. THE LAVA IN THE TOUR This large tract of Lava which thanks to the works of repair can be crossed in a carriage, has cut the town in two. From this point the streets begin again to be quiet and the houses to be inhabited, normal life seems to reign every where. Here is Citarella street, here is Giordano street with its green orchards, and the dogs sleeping on the thresholds of the houses, and the old people bathing in the sun. But suddenly another branch of lava is standing in front of you, it is the one that has invaded the other side of the Oratorio cutting the communication with Tre Case. It has sneaked in the town, getting in the lanes, through the orchards, assaulting the houses from behind, reversing itself from the ground-floors against which the wave has struck. I see a house completely surrounded and taken by the lava, quite in front of Pagliarella street, it is the house of a certain Giuseppe Principini. The first floor has fallen in, the lava has penetrated through a window at the shoulders of the house, it has invaded the first room, it has filled the second, it has made the floor fall in, and has then reversed itself down in a cascade which has remained petrified, looking almost like a fantastic bridge of black scories, gracefully modelled on bronze. Another little room near is full of lava up to the windows. Among the black masses, a little twisted serpent peeps out. It is all that remains of a bed stead. The wall near the house is dry, the water has evaporated, before the fire touched it. THE SEA OF LAVA On the three first high steps of the branch of lava which runs to Tre Case, I met engineer Pasquale Acunzo, a technical engineer. He has been at his place untiringly, from the first moment of the danger, directing the work of dikes when the lava was coming down, and now he directs the construction of the street which must unite Boscotrecase to its nearest centers. All our communications with Torre Annunziata and Tre Case are cut off; it is the death of the country. The only road that remains open to us, is the long and rough one to Scafati. Engineer Acunzo accompanies us up the steep way, on the lava. M. Luigi Casella, worthy mayor of Boscotrecase, joins us. He has been one of the bravest and busiest in this sad fight, and has given himself entirely to the saving of his country, uncaring of himself, of his goods, of his houses which he has lost, all buried under the lava. The front part of the lava is getting higher and higher. From its brief starting point, it touches already the first floor of a house. We walk near the balconies, with their banisters split, all bent outside as if a gigantic hand had twisted them. Working men belonging to the Genio Civile, are working hard to carry away all that can be saved, to demolish what is in danger, and to prop up the rest. Gushes of suffocating smoke, come out from the cracks. Here also the silent work of fire has begun. All around the temperature is very high: it feels as if one was near the mouth of an oven. All at once, here we are on the large spreaded lavas, opening wide and free as far as the skirts of the mountain. It is a sea, rough and upset, a race of points, pics, crests, a chain of small hills as far as the eye can reach. The sun snatches from that sea reflections of bronze which become more and more opaque with the drawing back of the wave up the mountain. Further it blends itself in a grayish and uniform stratus. Here and there dense smoke comes out from the cracks it is like the burning of copious incense to an unknown God, a God of terror and destruction. Now and then small houses are seen. Here is a half tumbled down palace, the panes of the windows are all pierced with holes it is the home of M. Bifulco. Here is a part of a ruined wall, it is the little church that Bernardo Tanucci has built in remembrance of another eruption. And other houses, and other ruins, and everything buried under the great infinite sea, scattered everything. But as a contrast, if you look down, the slope at the left, there beyond the stretch of green orchards, behind the white girdles of the houses, far, away, at the end there is the sea ample and serene, bathed in a soft, sapphire colour just as in an April day. The sea shining as a hope, in front of the ruins of a country, which has no other confort but to hope. THE VERY SERIOUS DAMAGES It is urgent to provide. The damages of Boscotrecase are very grave and serious. It is calculated, that two hundred and fifty houses have been surrounded by lava or destroyed, almost the fourth part of the town, and with them about a thousand acres of land are destroyed, each acre here is worth two thousand francs. The lava has thus swallowed two million francs. And the houses are worth perhaps another million, perhaps more. And there is a suburb Tre Case which has remained cut out from all communications, because the lava surrounds it on every side. What is done for this country? Our courageous soldiers are working, it is true, M. Acunzo's working men are also desperately working, and the mayor, good M. Casella does what he can. But it is necessary to do much and to give much. This poor devastated and blocated country must spring up to life again, measures must be taken by those that can and must. The population is all back, and those who have found the little houses untouched by the fire, but emptied by thieves, have, gone back to it, providing at best to all that had been stolen, and those who have not found it any longer, have arranged themselves the best they could, resigned, because they hope. And the hopeful words on everybody's lips, the trusting words repeated by all those who accompanied, me especially by M. Acunzo and Mayor Casella, have greatly moved me for I felt that by encouraging them, I was only an accomplice in a pitiful lie. Our return has been discouraging, and while our little tram was rapidly going down through the fields, I was looking at the great and silent murderer still proudly showing its top all covered with ashes, almost as an espiation. OPEN ROADS It is possible now for every body to go everywhere, in the places where the conflagration has passed in all its most varied and terrible forms. The Circumvesuviana and all those great men who are its very soul, strength, and organism accomplish real miracles, from Giuseppe Sirignano, to Emmanuele Rocco and its director Ingaranni, all deserve the deepest sympathy and gratitude. It is owing to them and their abnegation that the Circumvesuviana has been able to resume its work, rendering thus both a great service to the work of help and to the help organizers. But for them no one could have got to Torre Annunziata, Boscotrecase, Ottaiano, San Giuseppe, or Somma Vesuviana, for the lava, the burning stones, lapillus and ashes have passed every where. Now one may go over there, not only by rail but to certain points by auto, and to some others by carriages. The roads are open. They certainly are not pleasure or excursion roads, you do not go there as you would go to a pic-nic, but whoever has a charitable heart, may go now and see, this most terrible catastrophe of the Vesuvian comunes. It is a pilgrimage of piety which certainly will bear its good fruits. So many people need to see in order to believe, so many people need to let the truth of human troubles descend from their eyes into their hearts. The roads are opened for trains, automobiles, carriages, even bicycles, and for those who have to go on foot, many roads are quite practicable. Let every person of good will know it. The misery of the people there is great, help must be great. The crowd, the crowd must go with the 5000 lire, of the modest giver and the 50000 of the richer one. The roads are open, the pilgrimage can be made, without spending much, without asking too much, without taking too much trouble, without losing much time. And those who go will realize how great this calamity is, and how great the remedy must be. April 23th 1906. THE WAY TO GO Well, my dear readers, you who are living in Naples, you who will come to Naples to morrow or later, you can now safely go on the roads damaged by the eruption, by any means of transportation you like. The best, of course, the one I would suggest as the best, being more comfortable, very rapid and suiting all pockets is the quite popular railway of the Circumvesuviana, that same road, which has saved men and things, which is really the best help for the reorganization of life, up there. It will carry you easily to see the lava at Torre Annunziata, and farther still if you like to see the new Pompei, that is, Ottaiano and S. Giuseppe of Ottaiano. Reader, if you are a woman going, don't wear nice clothes, because there is always some wind raising the ashes and your clothes would be ruined; put on a simple woollen dress, a gown, a shirt waist and a simple figaro, so that you may take it off if it gets too hot. Put on a small hat, if you go there by train, and a cap if you go by automobile, and cover up either of them with a white, gray, or pale lilac veil hiding thus your face, your hair, and your neck. If you possess a big white chiffon scarf, wrap up your hat and face in it and tie it under your chin. If you have weak eyes put on a myrtle green or golden brown veil but large and closed. Wear a good pair of black boots, with low heels and comfortable. A parasol is useless: with your large veil, you are protected from the sun, whilst a parasol would be an encumbrance. A good stick might not be useless. Then with your short skirt which enable you to walk quickly and well protected from the gushes of ashes raised by the wind, you may go any where you like even on the lava of Boscotrecase, on the mountains of lappillus in Ottaiano, on the observatory and the crater, if you have the strength and courage to do it. You may see all, and know all, and you will return home with a world of new and deep impressions. If you want to breakfast, you will find what is necessary anywhere even in Ottaiano or Boscotrecase, but don't forget to carry within you a tender heart, and any thing you can possibly gather to give to women and to babies. Anything, an apron or an handkerchief to one single woman, or a small shirt or a little dress to one single child. Don't forget this and God will bless your steps. April 23th 1906. A PRINCE I stop a moment to look at him! I had always seen him silent and thoughtful through the fields, when the black lava smoked furiously covered by the sepulchral sheet of ashes, in those towns destroyed by the stones, but in that day he was thoughtful and sad. On his brow was written a silent sorrow. We were in a deserted spot, outside Somma Vesuviana in the saddest hour of that sad Monday, which will never leave anybody's memory. We saw him going away, without daring to inquire from anybody, what could be the reason of his depression. But two hours later we found out that he had been witnessing at S. Giuseppe the drawing out of the bodies from the ruins of the church, where more than two hundred persons had been buried. Till then the Duke had only witnessed the destruction of the houses and lands where human life had been spared. But there he had seen death, the formidable host, and all the horror of it, and all his sorrow as a man and as a Christian rose from his kind tender heart and showed in his brow. * * * * * No commemorative inscription, nor the plause of assemblies can be an adequate recompense to the work of this prince. These forms are all academical and nearly bureaucratic. Let them go with the banalities which are still smotering modern society, it is difficult to escape such conventionalism. For us that is not enough. We think with terror of what would have become of one hundred and fifty thousand people, running away under a rain of fire, if the Duke of Aosta had not been there! We tremble at the thought of what would have happened if he had not thought of all, ordered all, provided to all. What is an inscription, a vote, an applause before this real great soul, where one finds harmoniously blended, the virtues of the soldier and of the Christian? where a prince has all the virtues of a true citizen, where heroism is united to simplicity and where the ardour of good is ineffable? Let your memorial stone raise a word of admiration, but all this will never tell how high, pure, efficacious has been the energetic enthusiasm of Emmanuele Filiberto in order to save a whole population. Let him continue. Don't you see? All his spirit and will are now ready to every thing. He wants to get to the point, he wants not only to help but he is already looking forward to the building of the places. He wants to save the lands, the fields, he wants work to start over again, he wants every man to build again his roof, his bread. Let him continue. To morrow every body will forget perhaps the terrible catastrophe. He does not forget, he will not let the others forget, he will surmount every obstacle with his moral strength, he will accomplish a longer, deeper, and more lasting work, he will rebuild a civil life there where it has been destroyed. We, profoundly moved, and full of admiration for all that this prince is doing, we mark this first period of his great work, where he has saved by his example and his strength of action this country, and we see him going ahead fortified by his faith, towards the greatest of works, and our eyes are wandering, and our soul believes in him. April 26 1906. INDEX QUIA PULVIS ES _pag._ 17 TOWARDS THE CITY OF FIRE " 23 A PRAYER " 39 IN THE DEAD TOWNS " 49 IN THE COUNTRY OF DEATH " 61 THE HEROES " 85 LET US SPEAK TO THE PEOPLE " 97 TO THE WOMEN OF NAPLES " 107 EASTER OF RESURRECTION " 117 FOUR-THOUSAND LITTLE BOXES " 127 A WOMAN " 133 LET THE GUILTY ONES BE PUNISHED " 143 LET THE LAND BE SAVED " 153 EVERY DAY HAS ITS MORROW " 167 THE NEW POMPEI " 173 IGNIS ARDENS " 201 OPEN ROADS " 223 THE WAY TO GO " 229 A PRINCE " 235 TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: --Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. --The exact name of the town is "Ottaviano"; since "Ottaiano" is constantly used in the book, it has been left as it is. 
43320	----	THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES [Illustration: MOUNT VESUVIUS IN ERUPTION] THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES BY Professor EDWIN J. HOUSTON, Ph.D. NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY Publishers Copyright, 1907, by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY _All rights reserved_ _October, 1907_ ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We take this opportunity of acknowledging the courtesy of the following publishers, who have helped us in connection with the illustrations of this book:-- Henry Holt and Company ("Physiography," by Rollin D. Salisbury). D. Appleton and Company (Figs. 13, 35, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45 and 46, "Volcanoes: What They Are and What They Teach," by J. W. Judd; Fig. 15, "Principles of Geology," by Sir C. Lyell). The American Book Company ("Manual of Geology," by James Dwight Dana). G. P. Putnam's Sons ("Earthquakes in the Light of the New Seismology," by C. E. Dutton). The Clarendon Press ("Geology: Chemical, Physical, and Stratigraphical," by Joseph Prestwich). THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE VOLCANIC ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA IN 1883 1 II. SOME EFFECTS OF THE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA 12 III. THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF HAWAII 26 IV. THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF ICELAND 46 V. VESUVIUS 58 VI. OTHER VOLCANOES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN 73 VII. ORIZABA, POPOCATEPETL, IXTACCIHUATL, AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF MEXICO 85 VIII. COSEGUINA AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF CENTRAL AMERICA 91 IX. THE VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS OF SOUTH AMERICA 97 X. VOLCANOES OF THE UNITED STATES 105 XI. THE CATASTROPHE OF MARTINIQUE AND THE VOLCANIC ISLANDS OF THE LESSER ANTILLES 117 XII. SOME OTHER NOTED VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS 125 XIII. JORULLO, A YOUNG VOLCANIC MOUNTAIN 130 XIV. MID-OCEAN VOLCANIC ISLANDS 137 XV. SUBMARINE VOLCANOES 141 XVI. DISTRIBUTION OF THE EARTH'S VOLCANOES 148 XVII. VOLCANOES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST 153 XVIII. LAPLACE'S NEBULAR HYPOTHESIS 157 XIX. THE EARTH'S HEATED INTERIOR, THE CAUSE OF VOLCANOES 165 XX. SOME FORMS OF LAVA 178 XXI. MUD VOLCANOES AND HOT SPRINGS 193 XXII. THE VOLCANOES OF THE MOON 207 XXIII. EARTHQUAKES 219 XXIV. SOME OF THE PHENOMENA OF EARTHQUAKES 231 XXV. THE EARTHQUAKE OF CALABRIA IN 1783 245 XXVI. THE GREAT LISBON EARTHQUAKE OF 1755 252 XXVII. THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH, INDIA, IN 1819 257 XXVIII. THE SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE OF APRIL 18, 1906 262 XXIX. SOME OTHER NOTABLE EARTHQUAKES 269 XXX. SODOM AND GOMORRAH AND THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN 281 XXXI. INSTRUMENTS FOR RECORDING AND MEASURING EARTHQUAKE SHOCKS 290 XXXII. SEAQUAKES 296 XXXIII. THE DISTRIBUTION OF EARTHQUAKES 303 XXXIV. THE CAUSES OF EARTHQUAKES 308 XXXV. EARTHQUAKES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST--CATACLYSMS 319 XXXVI. THE KIMBERLY DIAMOND FIELDS AND THEIR VOLCANIC ORIGIN 326 XXXVII. THE FABLED CONTINENT OF ATLANTIS 335 XXXVIII. PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF ATLANTIS 344 XXXIX. NATURE'S WARNING OF COMING EARTHQUAKES 364 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE MT. VESUVIUS IN ERUPTION Frontispiece STONES AND LAVA THROWN UPWARDS--ERUPTION OF MOKUAWEOWEO, HAWAII, JULY 4-21, 1899 fac. 36 COTOPAXI 102 THE LAVA FLOW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS 184 A SAN FRANCISCO PAVEMENT TORN BY THE EARTHQUAKE 266 ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT FIG. PAGE 1. THE SUNDA ISLANDS 3 2. KRAKATOA BEFORE THE ERUPTION 4 3. KRAKATOA AFTER THE ERUPTION 4 4. VOLCANIC DUST AS IT APPEARS UNDER THE MICROSCOPE 19 5. THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS 27 6. HAWAII 29 7. PANORAMA OF MOKUAWEOWEO 35 8. VIEW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA FROM THE VOLCANO HOUSE 35 9. CRATER OF KILAUEA 40 10. SECTIONS OF KILAUEA AT DIFFERENT PERIODS 42 11. ICELAND 47 12. THE MEDITERRANEAN 59 13. THE VOLCANIC DISTRICT AROUND VESUVIUS 60 14. MT. ETNA 77 15. STROMBOLI, VIEWED FROM THE NORTHWEST, APRIL, 1874 79 16. MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA 86 17. SOUTH AMERICA 98 18. THE UNITED STATES 106 19. PANORAMA FROM THE MESA AT THE EDGE OF MT. TAYLOR 110 20. VOLCANIC NECKS, EDGE OF MESA AT MT. TAYLOR 111 21. THE LESSER ANTILLES 118 22. GRAHAM'S ISLAND--A RECENT VOLCANIC ISLAND 143 23. ALEUTIAN ISLANDS 146 24. MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING LOCATION OF ACTIVE AND RECENTLY EXTINCT VOLCANOES 150 25. VOLCANIC VESICLES 183 26. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA 185 27. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA 185 28. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS 187 29. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS 187 30. BASALTIC COLUMNS, ISLE OF CYCLOPS, ITALY 188 31. COLUMNAR AND NON-COLUMNAR BASALT 189 32, 33. DRIBLET CONES 190 34. LAVA STALACTITES 191 35. CRATER OF THE GREAT GEYSER OF ICELAND 202 36. GIANT GEYSER 203 37. BEE HIVE 203 38. BEE HIVE GEYSER OF ICELAND 205 39. HEAVY STONE OBELISKS TWISTED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783 229 40. CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE 239 41. SECTION OF CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE 239 42. MAP OF THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783 246 43. FISSURES CAUSED BY THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE 249 44. MAP SHOWING DISTRICT VISITED BY THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH OF 1819 258 45. SINDREE BEFORE THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819 259 46. SINDREE AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819 260 47. MAP OF WESTERN COAST OF CALIFORNIA SHOWING POSITION OF SAN FRANCISCO 263 48. NEW ZEALAND 274 49. MAP SHOWING REGION AFFECTED BY THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE OF 1886 277 50. SYRIA 282 51. COMPLEX RECORD OF SEISMOGRAPH 293 52. LONG DISTANCE SEISMOGRAM 293 53. VICENTINI VERTICAL PENDULUM 294 54. VICENTINI PENDULUM AND RECORDER 295 55. DAVISON'S EARTHQUAKE MAP OF JAPAN 306 THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES THE WONDER BOOK OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES CHAPTER I THE VOLCANIC ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA IN 1883 Krakatoa is a little island in the Straits of Sunda, about thirty miles west of the island of Java, and nearly the same distance east of the island of Sumatra. It is uninhabited and very small, measuring about five miles in length and less than three miles in width. Its total area is only thirteen square miles. This little piece of land made itself famous by what took place on it during the month of August, 1883. Krakatoa is one of the many islands that form the large island chain known as the Sunda Islands. The most important islands of this chain are Sumatra, Java, Sumbawa, Flores, and Ceram. Between Sumatra and Java, the largest two of these islands, there is a channel called the Straits of Sunda that connects the waters of the Indian Ocean with those of the Pacific Ocean. The Straits of Sunda is an important piece of water that forms one of the great highways to the East. Shipping is, therefore, always to be found in its waters. As can be seen by the map, Krakatoa is not far from the Equator, being situated in lat. 6° 7' S. and long. 105° 26' E. from Greenwich. Since there are about sixty-nine miles in every degree of latitude, Krakatoa is about 420 miles south of the Equator, and is about twenty-five miles from Java. Java is part of the Dutch East Indies, which includes Java, Celebes, the Spice Islands, and parts of Borneo and Sumatra. Batavia, the principal seaport of Java, near the northwest coast, is a great shipping centre, visited by vessels from nearly all parts of the world. It has, however, no harbor, but is approached from the ocean by means of a canal two miles in length, the sides of which are provided with massive brick walls. Besides Batavia, which is situated about one hundred English miles east of Krakatoa, there are many smaller towns or villages, the most important of which is Anjer, a thriving seaport town, where sailing vessels obtain their supplies of food and fresh water. Before the eruption of Krakatoa, Anjer was provided with a strong, stone lighthouse. Java is especially noted for its production of coffee, in which it is second only to Brazil. Its area is about the same as that of the State of New York. Java is one of the most densely populated parts of the world, containing nearly four times as many people as the whole State of New York. These facts about the situation and surroundings of Krakatoa are necessary to an understanding of the wonderful thing that happened on it during the month of August, 1883. In that month Krakatoa suffered a most tremendous explosive volcanic eruption, for it is a volcano. [Illustration: FIG. 1. THE SUNDA ISLANDS] A volcano is a mountain or hill, generally conical in shape, having at the top a nearly central opening, called a _crater_, from which at times melted rock and lava, vapor and gases escape. The lava either flows down the side of the mountain in a liquid condition, or is thrown upwards into the air. If the distance the lava is thrown upwards is sufficiently great the melted matter solidifies before it falls to the earth. In such cases the largest fragments form what are called _volcanic cinders_, the smaller pieces, _volcanic ashes_, and the extremely small particles, _volcanic dust_. If, however, the lava is thrown to a comparatively small height, it is still melted when it falls, and is then known as _volcanic drops_ or _driblets_. [Illustration: FIG. 2. KRAKATOA BEFORE THE ERUPTION] It is not surprising that Krakatoa is a volcanic island, since it lies in one of the most active belts of volcanic islands in the world, and near the coasts of the most active of these islands; i. e., Java. This belt, as shown in the map, includes, besides the Sunda Island chain, parts of Gilolo, Celebes, Mindanao and the Philippine Islands. These islands lie between Asia on the northwest and Australia on the southeast. [Illustration: FIG. 3. KRAKATOA AFTER THE ERUPTION] There is no other part of the world with, perhaps, the single exception of Japan, where so many active volcanoes are crowded in so small a space. The island of Java, small as it is, has nearly fifty volcanoes, of which at least twenty-eight are active. They are situated in a lofty range running from east to west, some of the peaks of which are more than 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. Volcanic eruptions are so frequent that the island is seldom free from them. As will be seen from the map shown in Fig. 2, Krakatoa consists of three groups of volcanic mountains, the southern group giving the name of Krakatoa to the island. Strictly speaking, this mountain was called _Rakata_, but as it is now generally known as Krakatoa, it would be unwise to attempt to call it by any other name. The central mountain or group of mountains is known as Danan, and consists largely of part of an old crater. The group of mountains which lies near the northern end of the island was known as Perboawatan. From the centre of this latter group of mountains are several old lava streams consisting of a variety of lava resembling a dark-colored glass, known to mineralogists as _obsidian_, or _volcanic glass_. Although Krakatoa was always a volcano, yet between the years 1680 and 1883, it was in the condition of a sleeping or extinct volcano. There had been a severe explosive eruption in the year 1680, that caused great loss of life and property, but ever since that time all activity had ceased and it seemed that the volcano would never again burst out. In other words, it was generally regarded as a trustworthy, sedate, quiet, inoffensive and perfectly safe volcano, that had become extinct. The long continued quiet of Krakatoa was broken on the 20th of May, 1883, when the inhabitants of Batavia on the island of Java were terrified by noises like the firing of great guns, that were first heard between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning. These noises were accompanied by the shaking of the ground and buildings. The sleeping volcano of Krakatoa was evidently growing restless, but no great damage was done and soon all was again quiet. The disturbances were merely the forerunner of the terrible eruption soon to follow, and confidence was soon restored. But suddenly, on Sunday, August 26th, 1883, almost without any further warnings, Krakatoa burst into terrible activity and began an explosive eruption that has never been equalled in severity in the memory of man. That memorable Sunday of August 26th, 1883, came during a season of the year known as the _dry monsoon_, a name given the season of the periodical winds from the Indian Ocean. Batavia, and the surrounding country, greatly needed rain, for in this part of the world it seldom rains from April to October, although the air is very moist and damp. For this reason the beginning of the wet season is always welcomed. When, therefore, the rumbling sounds of the approaching catastrophe of Krakatoa were heard in Batavia, the people, believing that the noises were due to peals of thunder, rejoiced, for all thought they heralded an earlier setting in of the wet monsoon. But when the rumbling sounds increased and reports were heard like heavy artillery, it was clear that the sounds were the beginning of a volcanic eruption, a phenomenon with which they were only too well acquainted, but, as volcanic eruptions were far from being uncommon in Java, no one was very greatly frightened. But this time the noises increased to such an extent that the people became alarmed. Throughout the night the appalling sounds continued and were accompanied by shakings of the earth sufficiently strong to shake the houses violently. Sleep was out of the question. Many of the people left their houses and remained all night in the open air, fearing the shocks would bring the houses down over their heads. The morning instead of heralding the dawn of a beautiful tropical day, with its bright, cheerful sunlight, brought with it skies covered with gray clouds that completely hid the sun. The rumbling sounds, however, had decreased, and the people were beginning to congratulate themselves that the dangers were over, when suddenly, the sky grew darker, and there began a shower of ashes that soon covered the streets and houses of the city. About seven o'clock on the morning of August 27th, a most tremendous crash was heard. The sky rapidly became so dark that it was soon necessary to light the lamps in the houses of Batavia, and some of the neighboring towns in the western part of Java. In addition to this the air was filled with vapor, while every now and then earthquake shocks were again felt. These shocks were accompanied by terrific noises like those produced by the explosion of heavy artillery. The noises rapidly increased in number and intensity until they produced a nearly continuous roar, the nature of which it is almost impossible to describe since it is probable that such sounds had never been heard before by man. It is a curious fact, which, I believe, has never been satisfactorily explained, that in most cases the people in the immediate neighborhood of the volcano, as, for example, those on board vessels in the Straits of Sunda, did not hear the terrific noises at all. Possibly they were too loud and simply gave a single inward impetus to the drum of the ear and then held it in position. Probably some of my readers may remember that witty description given by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes of an alleged effort made by all the people of the world to find out whether or not there is a man in the moon. This wonderful plan was as follows: Careful calculations were made to ascertain when it would be the same time over all the earth so that all the people of the earth could simultaneously shout at the top of their voices. In this way it was hoped that the man in the moon, if there were such a person, would notice the noise. The story goes on to tell how when the time approached for the great experiment, and all were ready to shout as loud as they could, that each person reasoning to himself or herself, that amid so great a noise no one could notice whether his or her voice was omitted, determined to remain silent, so as to be able to hear the noise and the better to observe what the man in the moon would do when the sound reached him. The result was that every person on the earth remained silent and simply listened, so that the earth was never so quiet before. Had Oliver Wendell Holmes, or any other person conceiving the witty idea, lived during the time of the great explosive eruption of Krakatoa, on that memorable August 27th, 1883, he might have taken the opportunity of observing the man in the moon, had he not been frightened by what was occurring, for certainly never before were such tremendous or terrifying sounds produced, for these sounds, as we shall see shortly, were actually heard for distances of more than 3,000 miles from the volcano. There were two different kinds of waves produced in the air by the tremendous forces at work in the eruption of Krakatoa; namely, atmospheric waves and sound waves. The atmospheric waves showed their presence in the air by means of changes produced in the atmospheric pressure. Now, while these changes cannot readily be felt by man, yet their presence can be easily shown by the use of instruments called _barometers_. There are in different parts of the world, buildings called _meteorological observatories_, that are provided, among other instruments, with recording barometers. These instruments caught the great atmospheric waves that were produced by the eruption of Krakatoa. In this manner, the astounding fact was learned that the waves starting from the volcano travelled no less than seven times around the world. When we say astounding, it must not be understood that the formation of such waves was at all contrary to the known laws of physics. On the contrary, provided the force of the eruption was sufficiently great, such waves must have been produced in the great ærial ocean. The astonishing, or wonderful thing, was that the force setting up these waves was so great that it caused them to move seven times around the globe. The atmospheric waves were so powerful that it will be worth our while to describe them in detail. Starting from the volcano of Krakatoa, as a centre, these waves moved outwards in all directions, becoming gradually larger and larger until they reached a point halfway round the globe, or 180° from Krakatoa. The waves did not, however, stop here, but continued moving onward, now growing smaller and smaller until they reached a point in North America, immediately opposite Krakatoa. Such a point on a globe is called an _antipodal point_.[1] The waves did not stop at this point, but again advanced moving toward Krakatoa, growing larger and larger until they again reached a point halfway around the globe, or 180° from Krakatoa, when they again continued moving but now continually growing smaller and smaller, until they reached Krakatoa. Here they again began moving completely around the globe, and this was continued for as many as seven times. It must not be supposed that the waves ceased on the seventh time around. On the contrary, they, probably, kept on moving for many additional times, but they were then so feeble that even the sensitive recording barometers were unable to detect their presence. There was another kind of waves in the atmosphere that did not require barometers for their detection. These were the sound waves, and can readily be detected by the human ear. Now, in the case of the great eruption of Krakatoa, the intensity of the sounds was so great that the sounds could be heard distinctly at distances of several thousand miles from Krakatoa. The sound waves so closely resembled the explosion of artillery that at Acheen, a port on the northern coast of Sumatra, 1,073 miles from Krakatoa, the authorities, believing that an attack was being made on the port, placed all their troops under arms to repel the invaders. The sounds were also distinctly heard at Bangkok, in Siam, a distance of 1,413 miles from the volcano. They were also heard at the Chagos Islands, a group of islands situated in the Indian Ocean about 2,267 miles from Krakatoa. Two steamers at Singapore, 522 miles distant, were despatched to find the vessel that was believed to be firing guns as distress signals. The sounds were distinctly heard in parts of South Australia, 2,100 miles distant, and in Western Australia, at 1,700 miles distance. But it will be unnecessary to give any further details of the great distances at which these sounds were actually heard. It will suffice to say that they were heard as far off as about 3,000 miles. It is difficult to picture to one's self such great distances. Assuming the greatest distances to be in the neighborhood of 3,000 miles, it would be as if a sound produced, say, in Boston, New York, or Philadelphia, was so loud that it could be heard in Amsterdam, London, or Paris. Some idea of the intensity of these sounds can be had from the fact that in Batavia, when, in accordance with usage, a gun was fired from one of the forts at eight o'clock in the morning, two hours before the greatest intensity of the sounds had been reached, the sound of the gun could scarcely be heard above the continuous roar. While, of course, the principal reason the sound waves were carried so far was the great force causing the eruption, yet these distances were increased by the fact that the explosion occurred in a region almost entirely surrounded by great bodies of water. The waves could, therefore, be readily carried along the surface of the sea. Had there been a high mountain wall, like the Andes of South America, on one side of the volcano they would probably have been shut off in this direction a short distance from where they were produced. CHAPTER II SOME EFFECTS OF THE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA Besides the sound waves in the air, there were waves in the waters of the ocean. Suddenly, without any warning, the people of Batavia were surprised by a huge wave that, crossing the Straits of Sunda, entered the ship canal before referred to as connecting the city with the ocean, and, rising above the brick wall, poured over the surrounding country. Although Batavia was 100 English miles from Krakatoa, yet after travelling this distance the wave was sufficiently strong to enter the city and flood its streets with water to a depth of several feet. Fortunately, the loss of life was small in the city of Batavia, but very great in the surrounding towns and villages. The ocean waves varied in height at different times of the eruption. The greatest were from fifty to eighty feet high. Just imagine the effect of a wave twice the height of an ordinary house. The waves caused great damage to the shipping in the neighborhood. In one instance, a vessel was carried one and a half miles inland and left on dry land thirty feet above the level of the sea. The total loss of life by the waves has been estimated at 35,000 people; besides this, of course, there was a great amount of property destroyed. The greatest loss was in the immediate neighborhood of Krakatoa. Gigantic waves swept over the lowlands lying near the shores of Sumatra and Java, where over areas several miles in width nearly everything was destroyed, the houses, trees, and people being swept away and the surface of the land greatly changed. The towns of Karang and Anjer, as well as numerous smaller villages, were almost completely destroyed. The seaport town of Anjer, by far the most important of the above towns, was almost completely swept away. The heavy stone lighthouse was so completely obliterated that no traces of its heavy stone foundations could afterwards be found. The Rev. Phillip Neale, formerly a British chaplain at Batavia, from whose account of the eruption of Krakatoa some of the above facts have been taken, tells of the brave action of the keeper of the lighthouse at Anjer. Besides his work as lighthouse keeper, to see that the light was constantly burning during the night, he was charged with telegraphing to Batavia the names of all passing vessels. On the fateful morning of the great catastrophe, observing that the sun did not rise, he kept the light of the lighthouse burning, and, notwithstanding the danger to which he was exposed, continued at his post in order to send word to Batavia of the passing of an English steamer. While doing this the lighthouse was swept away and the brave man perished. The following verbal account of the destruction of the port of Anjer was given by a Dutch pilot stationed at Anjer. This description is quoted by the Rev. Mr. Neale from an article prepared by him for publication in "The Leisure Hour." "I have lived in Anjer all my life, and little thought the old town would have been destroyed in the way it has. I am getting on in years, and quite expected to have laid my bones in the little cemetery near the shore, but not even that has escaped and some of the bodies have actually been washed out of their graves and carried out to sea. The whole town has been swept away, and I have lost everything except my life. The wonder is that I escaped at all. I can never be too thankful for such a miraculous escape as I had. "The eruption began on the Sunday afternoon. We did not take much notice at first, until the reports grew very loud. Then we noticed that Krakatoa was completely enveloped in smoke. Afterwards came on the thick darkness, so black and intense that I could not see my hand before my eyes. It was about this time that a message came from Batavia inquiring as to explosive shocks, and the last telegram sent off from us was telling you about the darkness and smoke. Towards night everything became worse. The reports became deafening, the natives cowered down panic-stricken, and a red, fiery glare was visible in the sky above the burning mountain. Although Krakatoa was twenty-five miles away, the concussion and vibration from the constantly repeated shocks were most terrifying. Many of the houses shook so much that we feared every minute would bring them down. There was little sleep for any of us that dreadful night. Before daybreak on Monday, on going out of doors, I found the shower of ashes had commenced, and this gradually increased in force until at length large pieces of pumice stone kept falling around. About six A. M. I was walking along the beach. There was no sign of the sun, as usual, and the sky had a dull, depressing look. Some of the darkness of the previous day had cleared off, but it was not very light even then. Looking out to sea I noticed a dark, black object through the gloom, travelling towards the shore. "At first sight it seemed like a low range of hills rising out of the water, but I knew there was nothing of the kind in that part of the Sunda Strait. A second glance--and a very hurried one it was--convinced me that it was a lofty ridge of water many feet high, and worse still, that it would soon break upon the coast near the town. There was no time to give any warning, and so I turned and ran for my life. My running days have long gone by, but you may be sure that I did my best. In a few minutes I heard the water with a loud roar break upon the shore. Everything was engulfed. Another glance around showed the houses being swept away and the trees thrown down on every side. Breathless and exhausted I still pressed on. As I heard the rushing waters behind me, I knew that it was a race for life. Struggling on, a few yards more brought me to some rising ground, and here the torrent of water overtook me. I gave up all for lost, as I saw with dismay how high the wave still was. I was soon taken off my feet and borne inland by the force of the resistless mass. I remember nothing more until a violent blow aroused me. Some hard, firm substance seemed within my reach, and clutching it, I found I had gained a place of safety. The waters swept past, and I found myself clinging to a cocoanut palm-tree. Most of the trees near the town were uprooted and thrown down for miles, but this one fortunately had escaped and myself with it. "The huge wave rolled on, gradually decreasing in height and strength until the mountain slopes at the back of Anjer were reached, and then, its fury spent, the water gradually receded and flowed back into the sea. The sight of those receding waters haunts me still. As I clung to the palm-tree, wet and exhausted, there floated past the dead bodies of many a friend and neighbor. Only a mere handful of the population escaped. Houses and streets were completely destroyed, and scarcely a trace remains of where the once busy, thriving town originally stood. Unless you go yourself to see the ruin you will never believe how completely the place has been swept away. Dead bodies, fallen trees, wrecked houses, an immense muddy morass and great pools of water, are all that is left of the town where my life has been spent. My home and all my belongings of course perished--even the clothes I am wearing are borrowed--but I am thankful enough to have escaped with my life and to be none the worse for all that I have passed through." As is common in cases of earthquake waves a great depression in the level of the sea occurred at places great distances from Krakatoa. For example, at the harbor of Ceylon, the water receded so far that for about three minutes the boats were left high and dry, and then a huge wave carried them with it as it rushed over the land. Perhaps one of the best evidences of the immense power of ocean waves is to be seen in the massive blocks of white coral rock that were washed up by the waves, on parts of the coast of Java for distances of from two to three miles from the ocean. Many of these blocks weighed from twenty to thirty tons. Indeed, some of them reached the weight of from forty to fifty tons. It is probable that the island of Krakatoa and its neighboring smaller islands formed portions of a huge cone about eight miles in diameter, that has been broken up at some very remote but unknown time by, perhaps, a greater catastrophe than that of August, 1883. In the Straits of Sunda the water was raised fifty feet to eighty feet above the ordinary level, and produced tremendous destruction especially on the coasts of Java and Sumatra, sweeping away many villages and drowning many thousands of people. The wave had a velocity of progression of nearly 400 miles per hour, or eight times faster than an ordinary express train. When it is said that the _velocity of progression of the wave_ was nearly 400 miles per hour, it is not meant that a body floating on the ocean, such, for example, as a ship, would have been carried forward at this high velocity, but would merely rise and fall in a to-and-fro swing to about the height of the wave; that is, fifty to eighty feet according to what may have been the height. As in the case of the sound waves these motions of water covered or passed over nearly all the waters of the earth. The waves progressing toward the west, crossed the Indian Ocean reaching to the coast of Hindostan, and Madagascar, and sweeping around the southern part of Africa, finally reached the coasts of France and England, as well as the eastern part of North and South America. Sweeping towards the east, they reached the coasts of Australia, New Zealand, and crossing the vast Pacific Ocean were felt at Alaska and the western coasts of North and South America. But besides the enormous waves caused by the eruption, there were marked changes in the level of the land. Large portions of the coast of Sumatra and Java were almost annihilated, much of the original surface near the coast being submerged, and places that were formerly dry land are now covered with water to a depth of from 600 to 900 feet. The enormous amount of material thrown into the air by the forces of the eruption is especially characteristic of this phenomenon. Such quantities of pumice stone and ashes fell from the clouds that, sinking in the water and collecting on the bed of the channel, they changed the depth of the water, so as to render navigation dangerous. Indeed, the Sebesi Channel, lying on the north of the island of Krakatoa was completely blocked by a huge bank of volcanic material, portions of which projected above the water, forming two smaller islands. These, however, have since been washed away by the waves. We will not attempt to give at present any explanations as to the causes of this great volcanic eruption, since the different theories as to the cause of volcanoes will be better understood when other volcanic eruptions have been described. It is sufficient here to say that if a large quantity of water should have suddenly reached a great mass of molten rock, frightful explosive eruptions would have occurred, and if the island was resting on a submerged crater its sudden disappearance may be explained. Another great wonder connected with the explosive eruption of Krakatoa was the enormous heights to which the fine dust was thrown up into the air. It has been asserted that during the most intense of these eruptions the particles reached elevations of perhaps more than twenty-five miles above the level of the sea. Carried by the winds, the fine particles remained suspended in the air for many months, and gave rise to magnificent sunlight effects, such as early dawn, lengthened twilights, lurid skies, and gorgeous sunsets of a reddish tint. There were also caused curious haloes, as well as green and blue moons. The fine dust particles consisted of minute crystals of feldspar and other minerals, and when examined under the microscope presented the appearance shown in Fig. 4. These mineral substances permitted a portion of the light to pass through them, thus producing wonderful optical effects in the atmosphere either because they acted like minute prisms and so produced rainbow colors, or because they turned the rays of light out of their course as to produce what is called interference by color effects of a nature similar to the colors seen in mother-of-pearl, rainbow coal, or in the wing cases of many beetles. The explanations of these phenomena are too difficult for a book of this character. An explosive volcanic eruption is a very terrifying and wonderful phenomenon. Frightful roaring sounds are suddenly heard, the earth shakes for many miles around, when suddenly a vast quantity of molten rock, and sometimes huge stones, are thrown out of the crater high up into the air. So great is the force that throws these materials out of the opening that heavy masses of rocks often are ejected very much faster than the projectiles from the largest guns that are used in any of the navies of the world. [Illustration: FIG. 4. VOLCANIC DUST AS IT APPEARS UNDER THE MICROSCOPE] As the molten lava cools and falls in the form of prodigious clouds of ashes, cinders and dust, for many miles around the volcano, even the light of the sun is obscured, and one cannot see the hand before the face. Some of the materials in these clouds are so light that they remain suspended in the air for many hours, often indeed for many days, and sometimes even for years. The heavier particles, however, soon begin to fall, and before long the earth's surface both around the volcano, and often at considerable distances from it, is covered with a thick layer of ashes. The sounds accompanying a volcanic eruption are often terrifying. Amid shakings and tremblings of the earth's crust, known as earthquakes, there are occasionally heard noises like the explosion of huge guns. Sometimes these sounds follow one another so rapidly that they produce an almost continuous roar. Through the roar of the explosion a curious crackling noise can be heard, due to the fragments of stone hurled out of the crater striking against one another, especially as the stones which are thrown out of the crater and have commenced to fall back again to the earth, are struck by others that are still rising. Immense quantities of ashes, stones, vapor and gases are thrown upwards for great distances into the air, while, at the same time, a lava stream pours over the lowest side of the crater. As the column of ashes and cinders reaches its greatest height in the air, it begins to spread outward on all sides, rapidly growing like a huge dark mushroom. This soon shuts out the light of the sun, and from it showers of red hot ashes and cinders fall to the earth. It would be extremely dangerous to be on the side of the volcanic mountain during an explosive eruption; for, even should you escape falling into an opening in the side of the mountain, you might be killed by the huge stones that are constantly falling on all sides around the opening, or might be buried under the vast showers of red hot ashes that are poured down from the dense clouds overhanging the mountain, or suffocated by clouds of sulphur vapor that rush down its sides. When at a safe distance the sight is certainly magnificent. There is no light from the sun. All would be in pitch darkness but for the reddish glare thrown upwards by the red hot lava, by the glowing showers of ashes that are being rained down on the sides of the mountain, or by terrific lightning flashes, due to the discharge of the immense quantities of electricity produced by the forces of the eruption. Naturally a great volcanic eruption can cause a considerable loss of life and property. When a large lava stream begins to flow down the sides of the mountain, it cannot be stopped, and should it flow toward a village or town it is likely to destroy the town completely. Besides this, the vegetation of the country for many miles around is destroyed by the showers of red hot ashes that fall from the sky. The houses of neighboring cities are similarly ruined by the great conflagrations thus set up. Further destruction is also caused by large streams of mud that rush down the slopes of the mountain, or by huge waves set up in the ocean. If the volcano is situated, as most volcanoes are, near the coast, the showers of ashes and falling stones may set fire to vessels in the neighborhood, or the progress of such vessels may be seriously retarded by layers of ashes or pumice stone that float on the surface. Sometimes these layers are so thick as actually to bring ships to a complete standstill. It must not be supposed that volcanoes are in a constant state of eruption. On the contrary, nearly all volcanoes, after an eruption, become _quiet_ or _inactive_. The air soon clears by the ashes settling, and the sunlight again appears. A crust forms over the surface of the lava, which rapidly becomes hard enough to permit one to walk over it safely. The vegetation, which has been destroyed by the hot ashes, again springs up, and, if the volcano happens to be situated within the tropics, where there is an abundance of moisture, the land soon again becomes covered by a luxuriant vegetation. Most of the people, who have escaped sudden death during the eruption, return to the ruins of their houses; for it is a curious fact that no matter how great has been a volcanic eruption, or how far-reaching the ruin, the survivors, as a rule, do not appear to hesitate to return to their old neighborhood. In a few years the fields are re-cultivated, the villages are rebuilt, and the people apparently forget they are living over a slumbering volcano, which may at any time again burst forth in a dangerous eruption. A volcano that throws out molten rock, vapor and gases is known as an _active volcano_. An active volcano, however, is only correctly said to be in a state of eruption when the quantity of the molten rock, lava or vapor it throws out is greatly in excess of the ordinary amount. Sometimes the volcanic activity so greatly decreases that the molten rock or lava no longer rises in the crater, but, on the contrary, begins to sink, so that the top of the lava in the crater is often at a considerable distance below its edges. The lava then begins to harden on the surface, and, if the time is sufficient, the hardened part extends for a considerable distance downward. In this way the opening connecting the crater with the molten lava below becomes gradually closed, the volcano being thus shut up, or corked, just as a bottle is tightly closed by means of a cork driven into the opening at its top so as to prevent the escape of the liquid it contains. It may sound queer to say that a volcano has its crater so corked up as to prevent the escape of the lava, but the idea is nevertheless correct and helpful. To realize the size of these huge volcanic corks one must remember that the craters of some volcanoes are several miles across. A volcano thus choked or corked up is said to be _extinct_. When we speak of an extinct volcano we do not mean that the volcano will never again become active. A volcano does not cease to erupt because there are no more molten materials in the earth to escape, but simply because its cork or crust of hardened lava has been driven in so tightly that the chances of its ever being loosened again seem to be very small. But small as the chances may seem we must not forget that the volcano may at any time become active, or go into its old business of throwing out materials through its crater. A volcano in an extinct condition is not unlike a steam boiler, the safety valve of which has been firmly fixed in place. If the steam continues to be generated in the boiler, it is only a matter of time when the boiler will blow up, and the explosion will be all the greater because the safety valve did not allow the steam to escape earlier. Sometimes an intermediate class of volcanoes called _dormant_ is introduced between active volcanoes on the one hand and extinct volcanoes on the other. The name dormant volcano, or, as the word means, _sleeping volcano_, is objectionable, since it might lead one to think that an extinct volcano is not sleeping but dead, and this is wrong. Since the plug of hardened lava in the volcanic crater is generally at a much lower level than the top of the crater, the crater will soon become filled to a greater or less depth with water, produced either by the rain, or by the melting of the snow that falls on the top of the mountain. Crater lakes, often of very great depths, are common in extinct volcanoes. Of course, when an extinct volcano again becomes active, two things must happen if the eruption is explosive. In the first place, the force of the explosion must be sufficiently great to loosen the stopper or plug of hardened lava which stops it. In doing this the mass is broken into a number of fragments that are thrown forcibly upwards into the air. After rising often for great heights they soon fall again on the sides of the mountain. But besides the breaking up of the stopper, the lake in the crater of the volcano is thrown out along with the cinders or ashes, producing very destructive flows of what are called aqueous lava or mud streams. These streams flow down the sides of the mountain, carrying with them immense quantities of both the ashes thrown out during the eruption, or those that have collected around the sides of the crater during previous eruptions. Very frequently, these streams of aqueous lava produce greater destruction than the molten lava. If you have ever watched common ants at work clearing out or enlarging their underground homes, in a piece of smooth gravel walk in your garden, you can form some idea why the mountain immediately around a volcanic crater is conical in shape. If the colony of ants happens to be fairly large, you can see an almost unbroken stream of these industrious little animals, each bearing in its mandibles a small grain of sand or gravel brought up from some place below the surface. Carrying it a short distance from the opening, it throws it on the ground, rapidly returning for another load. In this way there is heaped up around all sides of the opening a pile of sand or gravel, the outward slopes of which gives the pile a conical form. You have, probably, noticed that the steepness of the slopes depends on the size of the grains; for the larger these grains the sharper or steeper the slopes, the very fine grains producing flat mounds or cones. It is the same with a volcanic cone. The materials that are thrown upwards into the air, falling again on the mountain, collect around the crater on all sides, thus giving it the characteristic cone-like shape of the volcanic mountain. Where nothing occurs to disturb the formation of the cone its height above the level of the sea will gradually increase. Very frequently, however, during explosive eruptions, a large part of this cone will be blown away by the force of the eruption only to be again built up during some later eruption. Indeed, in the case of volcanic islands, the force of a great volcanic eruption is sometimes so great that not only is a large volcanic mountain blown entirely away, but a hole is left, where it had been standing, that extends further downwards below the level of the sea than the top of the mountain extended previously above it. The above are some, but by no means all, the wonders attending volcanic eruptions. We shall refer to others in subsequent chapters in describing particular eruptions. CHAPTER III THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF HAWAII The volcanic island of Hawaii, the largest of the Sandwich Island chain, is situated in the mid Pacific, south of the Tropic of Cancer. As shown in Fig. 5, this island chain consists of Hawaii, Maui, Molokai, Oahu, Kauai, Nihau, and about eight large islands, together with numerous small islands, extending in a general northwest direction from Hawaii to Nihau, a distance of about 400 miles. Like most volcanic islands they lie in more or less straight lines, probably along fissures, in this case in two nearly parallel lines. The island of Nihau, however, is an exception, the direction of the greatest length being almost straight across the two parallel lines. The Sandwich Islands lie 2,000 miles from San Francisco in deep water, between 2,000 and 3,000 fathoms, or between 12,000 and 18,000 feet in depth. This island chain consists of great volcanic mountains, that had, at one time, fifteen active volcanoes of the first class. These are now all extinct but three, and all of these are on the island of Hawaii. In his report to the United States Geological Survey for 1882-83, Dutton states that the summit of Mt. Haleakala on East Maui is 10,350 feet above the sea level. Oahu has peaks on its eastern side 2,900 feet high, and peaks on the western side 3,850 feet high. The summit of Kauai is probably 6,200 feet above the sea. [Illustration: FIG. 5. THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS _From U. S. Geological Survey_] It can be shown by deep-sea soundings that all these volcanic piles are the summits of a gigantic mountain mass that rises abruptly from the bed of the Pacific. There are reasons for believing that this submarine chain continues for many hundreds of miles in the same direction beyond Kauai. The extinct volcano, Haleakala, on East Maui appears to have been in eruption at a much later day than Mt. Kea, which is also an extinct volcano. But the natives have no traditions of any eruptions. The volcanoes on the other islands have been extinct for a very long time judging from the extent of their erosion. Dutton is of the opinion that the western islands of the chain have been extinct for much longer times than the remaining islands. The Sandwich Islands, also known as the Hawaiian Islands, are one of the colonial possessions of the United States. The island of Hawaii is about 2,000 miles from San Francisco. Honolulu, on the island of Oahu, the principal seaport of the chain, has a pleasant climate, and is an important coaling station for warships, commercial vessels, whalers, and trading ships generally. The principal product of the island is sugar cane. The island of Hawaii, as shown in map, Fig. 6, consists of five volcanic mountains and some small coral reefs. These mountains are: Mt. Kea, on the north, 13,805 feet in height; Mt. Haulalai, in the west central part of the island, 8,273 feet in height; Mt. Loa, in the south central part of the island, 13,675 feet in height; Mt. Kilauea, twenty miles east of the crater of Loa, 4,040 feet high at the Volcano House, and 4,158 feet on the highest point on the west, and Kohala, 5,505 feet in height, running through the northwestern part of the island, and the Kohala mountains in the northwestern part. [Illustration: FIG. 6. HAWAII _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Of these mountains, Mt. Loa and Kilauea are the only active volcanoes, and are in frequent eruption. Mt. Haulalai was in eruption during 1804. Mt. Kea has not been active during historical times, while Mt. Kohala has been inactive for so long a time that its slopes are deeply gullied wherever the rivers flow down them. As you can see from the map, Hawaii is very large. It has a length of ninety-three miles from north to south, and a breadth of eighty miles from east to west, its area is about 6,500 square miles. With the exception of small patches of coral reefs, Hawaii is formed entirely of lava, and is the largest pile of lava in the world with the single exception of Iceland. Where the islands of the Hawaiian chain have coral reefs extending off their coasts, excellent harbors are found in the deep waters between the islands and the reefs. Hawaii, however, has no extended reefs of this character, and, consequently, no first-class harbors. Hilo, on the eastern coast, is the best harbor, and is, therefore, the principal settlement. A very brief examination of the map of Hawaii will show you that there are no rivers on the island, except on the sides exposed to the wind, that is, on the northern and northeastern slopes. Since the yearly rainfall on Hawaii is large, being in the neighborhood of a hundred inches, you will understand that considerable rain water falls on the island. In those parts of the island where it does not run off the surface it must drain downward through the loose piles of broken rocks or cinders. A rainfall of one hundred inches a year means that if all the rain which falls on each square foot of surface was collected in a flat vessel one foot square with vertical sides it would fill the vessel to the depth of one hundred inches, or over eight feet. The drainage of the rainwater downwards through these parts of the island, must, therefore, be large. Another curious fact you can notice on the map, is that the lava streams of the past fifty years from Mt. Loa indicated by heavy dotted lines, in no cases begin at the crater, but start at fairly considerable distances from it. Later on in this chapter we shall explain the reason for this curious fact. Since practically the whole of Hawaii has been formed from the streams of lava that have flowed at one time or another, you can understand how great these flows must have been. But to do this fully you must not only take into consideration the portions of the island that lie above the ocean and reach into the air at its greatest height to 13,805 feet above its surface, you must also remember that this mountain rises from a deep ocean, so that if all the water were removed, you would see Hawaii towering up above the former level of the sea to the height of about 31,000 feet, or higher than Mt. Everest, the highest point on the earth above the present sea level. This would be, approximately, five and eight-tenths miles. You can understand, therefore, how great the flow of lava must have been. We shall begin the description of Hawaii with the active volcano of Mt. Loa, or, as it is sometimes called in Hawaii, "The White Mountain." You will remember that the eruption of Krakatoa was of the explosive type. Practically no melted rock or lava escaped from the crater. Indeed, if it had escaped it would not have been seen; for, not only the cone near the crater, but also much of the mountain itself was blown completely out of sight and covered by the waters of the ocean. The eruptions of Mt. Loa are of an entirely different type. In Loa there are no explosions, the eruptions being what are called the non-explosive or quiet volcanic eruption type. It will be necessary to explain some of the peculiarities of this kind of eruptions. There is a great difference in the liquidity or the ease with which different kinds of lava flow. Some lava is very thick or viscid, or is sticky like thick molasses or tar, and therefore flows very sluggishly. Other lava is thin or mobile, more closely resembling water in the ease with which it flows. Now, in the case of a volcanic mountain of fairly considerable height, where the lava possesses marked liquidity, the lava as it rises from great depths in the tube of the volcano seldom flows over the top or rim of the crater. This is not because the force that brings the lava up is unable to carry it a few thousand feet higher, so that it can run over the brim of the crater, but because the walls of the volcanic mountains are unable to stand the great pressure which the mass of liquid lava exerts against their sides. It can be shown that a column of liquid lava 500 feet high, will exert a pressure on the walls of the crater of about 625 pounds to the square inch. Therefore, in very high volcanic mountains, long before the lava can reach the edge of the crater and overflow, the pressure becomes so great, that cracks or fissures are made in the sides of the mountain, through which the lava is quietly discharged; when, of course, the level of the lava in the crater falls considerably. In volcanoes of the explosive type, no matter what may be the condition of lava, should a large quantity of water suddenly find an entrance to a large body of molten lava at some distance below the surface, the lava would be suddenly thrown explosively into the air, where being chilled, it would afterwards descend in showers of ashes, cinders, or volcanic dust. In some volcanic mountains such as Mt. Loa, the crater, instead of being situated at the top of a conical pass of ashes or other material, consists of a pit-like depression, generally occupying a level tract or plain at the top of the mountain. This pit is known as a _caldera_, or _caldron_, or what you might, perhaps, call a huge kettle or boiler. The pit has more or less vertical sides that extend downwards for unknown depths to the place from which the lava comes. The vertical walls of the caldera are not, however, smooth, but exhibit numerous horizontal ledges, that mark places where portions of the floor of the caldera were situated at different times. At the bottom of the large pit or caldera on the summit of Mt. Loa can be seen the level floor formed of hardened lava. This floor is surrounded by vertical walls on which can be seen the broken edges of the old lake bed. Captain Dutton, in a paper on Hawaiian volcanoes, prepared for the United States Geological Survey, and published in its Fourth Annual Report for 1882-83, thus describes the appearance at the great crater as it was in 1882. "The summit of Mauna Loa (Mt. Loa), is a broad and large platform about five miles in length and four miles in width, within which is sunken the great caldera called Mokuaweoweo. The distance from the point where we first reach the summit to the brink of the pit is about a mile and a half. The surface of the platform is much more rugged than the slopes just ascended. It is riven with cracks, and small faults,[2] and piles of shattered rock are seen on every hand. Nowhere is there to be seen the semblance of a cinder cone. Doubtless many eruptions have broken forth from the various fissures on this summit, but only here and there can insignificant traces of such catastrophes be definitely distinguished. The absence of fragmental ejecta (broken rock that are thrown out) is extraordinary. The shattered blocks, slabs, and spalls (chips) which everywhere cumber the surface appear to have resulted from the spontaneous shivering and shattering of the lava sheets by their own internal tensions as they cooled. Fig. 7, taken from Dutton's report, gives the general shape of this great caldera. Dutton's description of the same is as follows: "The length of the main caldera is a little less than three miles and its width about a mile and three-quarters. Its floor, viewed from above, appears to be composed of a series of flat surfaces occupying two distinct levels, the higher upon the surface of the black ledge, the lower lying within the ledge. Upon the western side is a small cinder cone standing close upon the border of the black ledge. It is the only one visible, either within the caldera or upon the surrounding summit. Its height is about 125 or 130 feet. It was seen in operation, throwing up steam, clots of lava, and lapilli (some of the larger pieces of fragmentary lava) in the year 1878. The only other diversifications of the floor are many cracks which traverse it, the larger of which are distinctly visible from above. Some of them are considerably faulted. There is no difficulty in recognizing the fact that the whole floor has been produced by the sinkage of the lava beds which once continued over the entire extent of the depression, their undersides having been melted off most probably by the fires beneath. The lava beds in the immediate vicinity of the brink upon the summit platform wear the aspect of some antiquity. They have become brown and carious by weathering, and, although no soil is generated, little drifts of gravel are seen here and there mixed with pumice. Since the caldera was formed there is no indication that the lavas have anywhere overflowed its rim. And yet it is a very strange fact that within a half mile, and again within a mile to a mile and a half, lavas have been repeatedly erupted within the last forty years from the summit platform, and have outflowed at points situated from 700 to 900 feet above the level of the lava lake within. Traces may also be seen, at varying distances back of the rim, of very many eruptions in which the rocks betoken great recency, although no dates can be assigned to their occurrence." [Illustration: FIG. 7. PANORAMA OF MOKUAWEOWEO _From U. S. Geological Survey_] [Illustration: FIG. 8. VIEW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA FROM THE VOLCANO HOUSE _From U. S. Geological Survey_] During his visit to this great pit, Captain Dutton succeeded in climbing down the almost vertical walls on the side of the crater, and, reaching the surface of the hardened lake, walked over it. It must have required no little courage to thus venture on the thin floor of a lake which he knew was filled to great depths with red hot boiling lava, for he was walking over the surface of a slumbering volcano, that might at almost any moment awaken, and opening, swallow him and his companions. Through enormous cracks in the floor, he could feel the heat from the molten mass, while, through the same openings came suggestive whiffs of sulphur vapor. During the eruption of this mountain, on January 23d, 1859, the light from the glowing lava streams was bright enough to read fine print at Hilo, a distance of thirty-five miles. During the eruption of 1852, a stream of white-hot lava was thrown up into the air from one of the fissures to a height of from 300 to 400 feet. [Illustration: STONES AND LAVA THROWN UPWARDS--ERUPTION OF MOKUAWEOWEO, HAWAII, JULY 4-21, 1899 _From a Stereograph, Copyright, by Underwood & Underwood_] When an eruption takes place in Mt. Loa the column of lava slowly rises in the crater, threatening to overflow its lowest edges, but before this can take place the pressure becomes so great that some portion of the mountain below the crater is fractured and the lava quietly escapes. During some conditions of the mountain every fifteen or twenty minutes a column of highly glowing lava is shot upwards like a fountain to a height of 500 feet and over, falling back into the lake in fiery spray. Unusual heights of these streams are generally followed by an eruption. These curious jets of molten rock certainly cannot be due to the pressure of higher columns of lava, since the crater itself is near the top of a high plain. They are believed to be due to steam formed by the penetration of the rain water that falls on this part of the mountain. You can now understand why the lava streams escaping from Mt. Loa as shown on the map, in Fig. 6, do not begin at the level of the crater; for the discharge of the lava does not take place over the rim of the crater, but through the cracks or fissures formed further down the sides of the mountains. It must not be supposed, however, that the fissures are limited to the sides of the mountain where they can be seen. They probably occur in many places below the surface of the water on some part of the bed of the ocean. The crevices that are formed in this manner in the sides of the mountain vary greatly in size, some being so narrow that the lava scarcely flows through them at all but simply fills up the crevice, hardens on cooling, and mends the cracks in the mountains, in the way that a crack is mended in a piece of china by the use of glue or in a wall of masonry by mortar. Through the largest crevices or cracks, however, large lava streams may continue to flow often for several weeks, or even longer. Sometimes, especially towards the close of the eruptive flow, the lava may escape disruptively, so that small cones are formed along the lines of the fissures. Cones of this character are called lateral cones, and in the case of a volcanic island, where the lava flows out below the level of the water, the lateral cones sometimes project above the water and form volcanic islands or dangerous shoals that impede navigation. When the lava pours out of a crevice in the side of the mountain, a river of molten rock rushes down the slopes, at first like a torrent, but on reaching the more nearly level ground, it spreads out in great lava lakes or fields, the surface of which takes on the characteristic black appearance of basalt, a certain kind of glass, for the lavas of Mt. Loa are generally basaltic. After an eruption the hardened floor of lava in the caldera, being no longer supported by the liquid mass formerly below it, falls in, leaving a large cavity with only the edges of the old floor clinging to the sides of the pit. It will be interesting to give a short account of some of the great lava streams that have been poured out at different times from Mt. Loa. In the great eruption of August 11th, 1855, the lava escaped through fissures from two to thirty inches in width. Then, flowing in a continuous stream, it did not stop until it was within five miles of Hilo. In the eruption of January 23d, 1859, the lava stream flowed towards the northwest on the east side of Haulalai, reaching the sea in eight days. The eruption of March 27th, 1868, was characterized by severe earthquake shocks, one of which, occurring on the second of April, destroyed many houses and produced huge fissures in the earth. These shocks produced great earthquake waves that reached distant coasts. Mt. Kilauea, lies at a lower level towards the east. This crater is situated at 4,040 feet above the level of the sea, and is nearly 6,000 feet below the caldera on the top of Mt. Loa. Fig. 8, taken from the United States Geological Survey, Fourth Annual Report, for 1882-83, shows a view of Kilauea from the Volcano House. Dutton gives the following description of the appearance of Halemaumau, the pit crater or caldera of Kilauea. "In front of us and right beneath our feet, over the crest of a nearly vertical wall, more than 700 feet below, is outspread the broad floor of the far-famed Kilauea. It is a pit about three and a half miles in length, and two and a half miles in width, nearly elliptical in plan and surrounded with cliffs, for the most part inaccessible to human foot, and varying in altitude from a little more than 300 feet to a little more than 700 feet. The altitude of the point on which we stand is about 4,200 feet above the sea.... "The object upon which the attention is instantly fixed is a large chaotic pile of rocks, situated in the centre of the amphitheatre, rising to a height which by an eye estimate appears to be about 350 to 400 feet. From innumerable places in its mass volumes of steam are poured forth and borne away to the leeward by the trade wind. The color of the pile is intensely black.... "Around it spreads out the slightly undulated floor of the amphitheatre, as black as midnight. To the left of the steaming pile is an opening in the floor of the crater, within which we behold the ruddy gleams of boiling lava. From numerous points in the surrounding floor clouds of steam issue forth and melt away in the steady flow of the wind. The vapors issue most copiously from an area situated to the right of the central pile, and in the southern portion of the amphitheatre. Desolation and horror reign supreme. The engirdling walls everywhere hedge it in. But upon their summits, and upon the receiving platform beyond, are all the wealth and luxuriance of tropical vegetation heightening the contrast of the desolation below...." [Illustration: FIG. 9. CRATER OF KILAUEA _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Fig. 9 represents the pit-like crater of Kilauea as it appeared after the eruption of 1886. Here, as will be seen, there are several lakes of lava, the largest of which is known as Halemaumau. The eruption of 1886, like all the eruptions of Kilauea, consisted of the escape of the lava from an opening on the side of the mountain below the crater, and a sinking in of the hardened floor of the crater. The figure also shows the position of the New Lake that lies east of Halemaumau. The extent and appearance of each of these lakes are constantly changing, both as to height and area. Dutton gives the following description of the appearance of the lake of lava, and some curious phenomena that occur on its surface. He is describing the general appearance of the pool of molten lava covered as it is with a hardened black crust: "The surface of the lake is covered over with a black solidified crust showing a rim of fire all around its edge. At numerous points at the edge of the crust jets of fire are seen spouting upwards, throwing up a spray of glowing lava drops, and emitting a dull, simmering sound. The heat for the time being is not intense. Now and then a fountain breaks out in the middle of the lake and boils freely for a few minutes. It then becomes quiet, but only to renew the operation at some other point. Gradually the spurting and fretting at the edges augment. A belch of lava is thrown up here and there to the height of five or six feet, and falls back upon the crust. Presently, near the edge, a cake of the crust cracks off, and one edge of it bending downwards descends beneath the lava, and the whole cake disappears, disclosing a naked surface of liquid fire. Again it coats over and turns black. This operation is repeated edgewise at some other part of the lake. Suddenly a network of cracks shoots through the entire crust. Piece after piece of it turns its edge downwards and sinks with a grand commotion, leaving the whole pool a single expanse of liquid lava. The lake surges feebly for awhile, but soon comes to rest. The heat is now insupportable, and for a time it is necessary to withdraw from the immediate brink." It is very curious to think of cakes of hardened lava floating on the surface of molten lava, but, of course, this is just as natural as cakes of ice floating on the surface of water; for a cake of hardened lava is, as you will understand, only a cake of frozen lava, and, being lighter than the molten lava, must, of course, float on its surface. The disappearance of these cakes of frozen lava and their remelting is still more curious, and can be explained as follows: The frozen or solidified mass of black basalt is a trifle lighter than the lava on which it is floating only while its temperature is high, and therefore expanded by heat. As soon as it cools, its density increases, and when it becomes a little greater than that of the liquid lava, it begins to sink and soon disappears. [Illustration: FIG. 10. SECTIONS OF KILAUEA AT DIFFERENT PERIODS _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Professor Dana, who has made a careful study of the phenomena of Kilauea, shows in Fig. 10, a cross section of Kilauea at different times. Before the eruption of 1823, the depth of the crater was from 800 to 1,000 feet. At the eruption the bottom 600 to 800 feet, making the depth of Kilauea over this deeper central part about 1,500 feet. The varying depths at different dates are clearly marked on the drawing. The eruptions of Kilauea generally occur as follows: First there is a slow rising of the lava in the crater. This rising continues until the pressure is so great that the mountain is ruptured at some lower place. Next a discharge of the lava and a sinking to a level in the conduit that will depend on the position of the crevice. Then a gradual falling in of the hardened floor of the lake, a portion of the horizontal walls remaining on the sides of the caldera. The eruption of Kilauea, however, has not always been of the quiet type. There was an eruption in the year 1789 that would appear to have been of the explosive variety. The following account is given by Dana as taken from a history of the Sandwich Islands by the Rev. I. Dibble, published in 1843: "The army of Keoua, a Hawaiian chief, being pursued by Kamehamoha, were at the time near Kilauea. For two preceding nights there had been eruptions, with ejections of stones and cinders. The army of Keoua set out on their way in three different companies. The company in advance had not proceeded far before the ground began to shake and rock beneath their feet, and it became quite impossible to stand. Soon a dense cloud of darkness was seen to rise out of the crater, and, almost at the same instant, the thunder began to roar in the heavens and the lightning to flash. It continued to ascend and spread around until the whole region was enveloped, and the light of day was entirely excluded. The darkness was the more terrific, being made visible by an awful glare from streams of red and blue light, variously combined through the action of the fires of the pit and the flashes of lightning above. Soon followed an immense volume of sand and cinders, which were thrown to a great height, and came down in a destructive shower for many miles around. A few of the forward company were burned to death by the sand, and all of them experienced a suffocating sensation. The rear company, which was nearest the volcano at the time, suffered little injury, and after the earthquake and shower of sand had passed over, hastened on to greet their comrades ahead on their escape from so imminent a peril. But what was their surprise and consternation to find the centre company a collection of corpses! Some were lying down, and others were sitting upright, clasping with dying grasp their wives and children, and joining noses (the mode of expressing affection) as in the act of taking leave. So much like life they looked that at first they supposed them merely at rest, and it was not until they had come up to them and handled them that they could detect their mistake." Mr. Dibble adds: "A blast of sulphurous gas, a shower of heated embers, or a volume of heated steam would sufficiently account for this sudden death. Some of the narrators who saw the corpses, affirm that though in no place deeply burnt, yet they were thoroughly scorched." As you will see in Chapter XI, this sudden and awful death due to highly heated air and dust particles, caused even a greater loss of life in the catastrophic eruption of Pelée, in Martinique on May 8, 1902. By reason of its situation at a lower level on the slopes of Mt. Loa, Kilauea was at one time thought to be one of the craters lower down on the slopes of Loa. This was the opinion of Professor Dana when he examined the district in 1840. Since this time the region has been more carefully studied, and Mt. Loa and Kilauea, are now generally regarded as separate and independent volcanoes, neither of which acts as a safety valve for the other. We shall not attempt in this chapter to say anything concerning the sources or places from where these great supplies of lava have been drawn. This will be left to some subsequent chapter, after we have described still other volcanoes. The outlines of mountains like Mt. Loa or Kilauea differ greatly from mountains like Vesuvius; their slopes, like the slopes of all other Hawaii volcanoes, have an inclination which does not exceed 10°. The lava streams, therefore, as they flow down the mountains, move more slowly than they would were the slopes more precipitous, as in mountains like Vesuvius. There have been many eruptions of Kilauea. That which occurred in the year 1840, was of great magnitude (see map, Fig. 6), and began in a fissure southwest of the crater. The principal eruption, however, broke out about twelve miles from the sea coast, and about twenty-five miles east of Kilauea. Here an enormous mass of lava forming a stream nearly three miles wide reached the ocean at Nanawale. When an eruption takes place on Mt. Loa through a fissure at the height of 10,000 to 13,000 feet the length of the lava streams is frequently as great as twenty-five to thirty miles. Often the lava though hardening at the surface will continue to flow underneath through huge tunnels, of which the top and sides are composed of solidified parts of the same lava stream. After the flow has ceased long hollow tunnels often remain. If the lower end of such a tunnel containing molten lava is momentarily closed, the pressure of the lava above may not only burst through the obstruction, but may even throw the lava upwards in jets 300 to 700 feet high. Probably most of you have seen illumined fountains where jets of water are beautifully lighted up by different colored electric lights placed below them. Such fountains, however, can but poorly compare either in beauty or grandeur with these wonderful lava fountains, common on the slopes of Mt. Loa during an eruption. CHAPTER IV THE VOLCANIC ISLAND OF ICELAND The island of Iceland consists of a number of volcanic mountains some of which are still active. As can be seen from the map, shown in Fig. 11, Iceland lies in the North Atlantic Ocean, immediately below the Arctic Circle, about 250 miles east of Greenland, and 600 miles west of Norway. Its length from east to west is about 300 miles, and its breadth about 200 miles, its total area, including the adjacent islands, being more than 40,000 square miles. Were all the water removed from the North Atlantic Ocean, it would be seen that Iceland rests on the bed of the Atlantic, on a submarine plateau or highland; for, in this part of the ocean the water is only from 1,500 to 3,000 feet deep. This submarine plateau extends as far as Norway on the east, Greenland on the north, and the island of Jan Mayen on the northeast. Immediately north of the plateau the ocean suddenly drops to a depth of 12,000 to 15,000 feet. [Illustration: FIG. 11. ICELAND] Toward the south the plateau extends with but few interruptions through the middle of the ocean to a shoal known as the _Dolphin Shoal_, as far as lat. 25° N. This part of the ocean, which can only relatively be called a shoal, is not generally deeper than 9,600 feet, although in some places the water is more than 12,000 feet deep. On each side of the Dolphin Shoal the water is much deeper, being in places 15,000 feet on the east, while on the west there are depths as great as from 17,000 to 21,000 feet. This sunken plateau, possibly including the shallower plateau on the north, is believed by some to be the remains of the fabled continent of _Atlantis_, to which we shall refer in another part of this book. The coast line of Iceland is unbroken on the southeast, but the remainder of the coast is deeply indented with bays or fiords in which are many excellent harbors. Iceland is liable to frequent earthquake shocks and volcanic eruptions. From careful records that have been preserved in the history of the island, we learn that since the beginning of the twelfth century there have practically never been intervals longer than forty years, and more generally not longer than twenty years, in which there has not been a great earthquake or a great volcanic eruption. These volcanic eruptions are often very protracted. For example, one eruption of the volcano Hecla continued for six years without ceasing. Sir Charles Lyell, the great English geologist, writes as follows about Iceland: "Earthquakes have often shaken the whole island at once, causing great changes in the interior, such as the sinking down of hills, the rending of mountains, the desertion of rivers by their channels, and the appearance of new lakes. New islands have often been thrown up near the coast, some of which still exist, while others have disappeared, either by subsidences or the action of the waves. "In the interval between eruptions innumerable hot springs afford vent to the subterranean heat, and solfataras discharge copious streams of inflammable matter. The volcanoes in different parts of the island are observed, like those of the Phlegræan Fields, Italy, to be in activity by turns, one vent often serving for a time as a safety valve for the rest. Many cones are often thrown up in one eruption and in this case they take a linear direction, running generally from southeast to northwest." The volcanic eruptions of Iceland belong for the greater part to the fissure type. During a volcanic eruption in Iceland the ground is split in fissures or cracks, generally parallel to each other, and varying in width from a few inches to several yards. These fissures extend for great distances across the country. The lava quietly wells out along the fissures not unlike the way quiet spring waters flow from their reservoirs. According to Dr. Th. Thoroddsen, the Icelandic geologist, there are two systems of fissures extending through Iceland, from southwest to northeast in the southern part of the island, and from north to south in the northern part. Where two lines of fissures cross each other the points of intersection may be especially active. Dr. Th. Thoroddsen arranges the volcanoes of Iceland under three heads, i. e., _cone-shaped volcanoes_; _lava cones_; and _chains of craters_, the last being the commonest. Out of 107 volcanoes examined by him in Iceland, eight were of the Vesuvian type, or were built up of layers of lava and volcanic ashes; sixteen were of the lava-cone type, similar to Mt. Loa, of the Hawaiian Islands, and the remaining eighty-three were of the type of crater chains. The volcano of Snaefell Jökul, 4,710 feet above the level of the ocean, is built up of alternate layers of lava and hardened volcanic mud. It is not, however, a true cone-shaped mountain. The largest volcano in Iceland, the Dyngjufköll, with its immense crater of Askja, has an area of some twenty-five square miles. In its form it resembles Snaefell. Volcanoes of the lava-cone type have been built up entirely of lava and have a slight angle of inclination. These volcanoes range in size from small hillocks to the largest mountains on the island. Their cones generally stand on a base of wide circumference and frequently rise to great heights, the top being occupied by a caldera, or pit crater like that on Mt. Loa or Kilauea. Volcanoes of the type of chain-craters follow the natural fissures in the crust. These craters are generally low, seldom being more than 350 feet high. There are also seen in Iceland caldron-shaped depressions that have been formed by explosive eruptions. One of the best instances of such craters is Viti, on the side of Mt. Krafla. This crater was formed by the sudden eruption of May 17th, 1724. The lava sometimes quietly runs out of the entire length of the fissure without forming any cone. This was the case of a great fissure known as the Eldgja Chasm. Here three lava streams covered an area of 270 square miles. As the lava comes out of the fissures, it generally produces long ramparts of slags, and blocks of lava that are piled up on either side of the fissure. Sometimes a line of low cones is built up. These cones consist of heaps of slag, cinders, and blocks of lava. Their craters are not rounded as in the case of volcanoes of the Vesuvian type, but are oblong, or have their greatest diameter extending in a direction of the fissure. Icelandic lava as it escapes from the fissures is peculiar in that it is very viscid or plastic and can be readily drawn out into long threads that can be spun into ropes. When such lava runs down the sides of a steep slope, it often splits on cooling into separate blocks. Where it runs over flat, level ground, however, it spreads uniformly on all sides, producing vast level lava deserts that are as flat as the surface of a well built floor. There are many rivers in the north and the west of Iceland. Now, as the lava streams flow out of the fissures they enter the channels of the rivers so that the streams of water must find new paths to the sea, and this operation may be repeated again and again. Often the time between eruptions is long enough to give the rivers opportunity to cut deep channels or gorges in their new channels; but on the next escape of the lava these gorges and valleys are again filled with the molten rock, and the rivers must begin their channel cutting all over. You will note the frequent use of the word Jökul, as Snaefell Jökul, Skaptar Jökul, Orefa Jökul, etc. The name Jökul means a large mass of ice, or a mountain that is continually covered with snow, for example, Snaefell Jökul, is a beautifully shaped, snow-covered mountain situated on a point of land on the western coast of the island, extending out nearly fifty miles into the sea, between the Faxa Fiord and the Briela Fiord. It is a very conspicuous object, being visible to passing ships at considerable distances from the island. Orefa Jökul is the highest mountain in Iceland. Skaptar Jökul is one of the active volcanoes of Iceland. There can be no doubt that Iceland has been formed entirely by lava thrown up from the bottom of a submarine plateau, until it extended above the surface of the waters. To make an island entirely of lava with an area of 40,000 square miles, must, of course, have required many cones or craters that continued to pour forth lava for periods of time much longer than those during which man has lived on the earth. The surface of Iceland is far from attractive. The interior is practically a vast lava desert, covered with snow-clad mountains or Jökuls. There is no plant life except in marshy lands near the coasts, and even here scarcely enough grass is raised to feed the few cattle and horses owned by the inhabitants. There is no agriculture, owing to the very short summers, so that all grain is brought from Europe. Every now and then the grass crop is destroyed by accumulation of Polar ice on the northern and western coasts. Such failures are always attended by great famines, when many of the people die. Should you ever visit Iceland you would probably be surprised to hear the people speaking about their forests. You might go over all the coasts of the island without seeing anything larger than a birch bush, not much higher than six feet. These are what the Icelanders like to speak of as their forest trees, and I suppose there is no harm done, if one only understands just what they mean by "trees." While, however, Iceland has practically no trees, yet it has no difficulty in obtaining a plentiful supply of timber, since in the deep fiords or bays on the western and southern coasts there can always be found much drift timber brought there by the ocean currents from the forests of America. The principal town or settlement in Iceland is Reykjavik, the capital of the island, on the southwestern coast; this is the chief trading place on the island. Thingvalla is also an important town. The lavas that form the entire mass of Iceland were thrown out both before and since the glacial age. It is the opinion of Geikie that these outflows have continued uninterruptedly since that age to the present time. It is known that the lavas of Iceland were thrown out both before and after the glacial age, because during the glacial age, deep cuttings or groovings were made on the surface of the earth by the glaciers as they slowly moved over it. Now lava beds containing the glacial scratches have been found and resting on them are other lava streams. The scratched lavas must, therefore, have been thrown out before the glacial age, and the second lavas after that age. Let us now examine some of the more active volcanoes of Iceland and their eruptions. We will begin with the well-known volcano of Skaptar Jökul. The following description of this volcano has been taken from a book on Iceland by E. Henderson, published in Boston, 1831. Skaptar Jökul lies in the south central part of Iceland about forty odd miles from the coast. It takes its name from the Skaptar River, down whose channel the lava flowed its entire distance of forty miles from the ocean. Skaptar Jökul consists of about twenty conical hills lying along one of the fissures that extends from northeast to southwest. It appears from Henderson's account that people living in the neighborhood of Skaptar Jökul were greatly alarmed by repeated earthquakes that were felt at different times from the first to the eighth of June, 1783. These earthquake shocks increased in number and violence, so that the people left their homes and awaited in terror the coming catastrophe. On the morning of the eighth a prodigious cloud of dense smoke darkened the air, and the surrounding land soon became covered with ashes, pumice, and brimstone. As is common with eruptions in Iceland, that have been preceded by long periods of rest, the heat produced by the escaping lava and the sulphurous gases, melted such quantities of ice that great floods were produced in the rivers. On the 10th of June vast torrents of lava that had been escaping from the craters entered the valley of the Skaptar River, and commenced flowing through its channel. Immense quantities of steam were produced, and, in less than twenty-four hours, the river was completely dried up, for the lava had collected in the channel, which in many places flows between high rocks from 400 to 600 feet in height and nearly 200 feet in breadth, and had not only filled the river to its brink, but had overflowed the adjacent fields to a considerable extent, and flowing along the cultivated banks of the river destroyed all the farms in its path. On gaining the outlet, where the channel of the Skaptar emerged into the plain, it might have been supposed that the burning flood would have at once spread over the low fields, which lay immediately before it, but, contrary to all expectations, this flow was for a time stopped by an immense unfathomed abyss in the river's bed, into which it emptied itself with great noise. When this chasm was at last filled, the lava increased by fresh flows, rose to a prodigious height, and breaking over the cooled mass, proceeded south towards the plain. In the meantime the thunder and lightning, together with subterranean roars, continued with little or no intermission. On the 18th of June, 1783, another dreadful eruption of red hot lava came from the volcano. This flowed with great velocity and force over the surface of the cooling stream that had been thrown out principally on the tenth of the month. Floating islands consisting of masses of flaming rock were seen on the surface of the lava stream, and the water that had been banked up on both sides of the stream was thrown into violent boiling. In the meantime people living along the Hverfisfloit, the next largest river to the east of the Skaptar, had not yet been visited by the lava streams. It is true that their vegetation had been destroyed by showers of red hot stone and ashes, and that both atmosphere and water were filled with poisonous substances. The land had also been plunged in utter darkness, so that it was scarcely possible at noonday to distinguish a sheet of white paper held up at the window from the blackness of the wall on either side. But the molten lava streams had not yet reached the people of this valley and they hoped that the eruption would soon be over, and that the lava flow would continue to follow the Skaptar. On the 3d of August, however, they were alarmed by seeing steam escaping from the River Hverfisfloit, and soon all its water was dried up, and a fresh lava flow poured down upon them. As in the case of the Skaptar, the melted rock completely filled the empty channel to the brink, and then overflowing, covered the low grounds on both sides, so that by the ninth of August it had reached the open and level country near its mouth and in the course of a few hours spread itself for a distance of nearly six miles across the plain. This flow continued after the end of August, and, indeed, even as late as the month of February, 1784, when a new eruption took place in this part of the country. Hecla, another well-known volcano in Iceland, situated about thirty miles from the southern coast, consists of three peaks, the central of which is the highest. Its craters form vast hollows on the sides of these peaks, and at the time of the eruption in 1766 were covered with snow. Hecla is believed to have been an active volcano long before Iceland was inhabited. No less than twenty-three eruptions have been recorded between A. D. 1004 and the great eruption of 1766-68. Volcanic history frequently repeats itself. There had been no great eruption of Hecla for a period of about twelve years, and the people living in the neighborhood were congratulating themselves on the belief that the mountain was becoming actually extinct, and that therefore they need not trouble themselves about eruptions. Others, however, more farseeing, pointed out the fact that the lakes and rivers in the vicinity did not freeze, and that the amount of water they contained was greatly decreased. The following description of the great eruption of Hecla that was remarkable both for its violence, as well as for the time during which it continued, is taken from Symington's "Sketches of Faroe Islands and Iceland": "On the 4th of April, 1766, there were some slight shocks of an earthquake, and early next morning a pillar of sand, mingled with fire and red hot stones, burst with a loud thundering noise from its summit. Masses of pumice, six feet in circumference, were thrown to the distance of ten or fifteen miles, together with heavy magnetic stones, one of which, eight pounds weight, fell fourteen miles off, and sank into ground still hardened by the frost. The sand was carried towards the northwest, covering the land, 150 miles round, four inches deep, impeding the fishing boats along the coast, and darkening the air, so that at Thingore, 140 miles distant, it was impossible to know whether a sheet of paper was white or black. At Holum, 155 miles to the north, some persons thought they saw the stars shining through the sand-cloud. About mid-day, the wind veering round to the southeast, conveyed the dust into the central desert, and prevented it from totally destroying the pastures. On the 9th of April, the lava first appeared, spreading about five miles towards the southwest, and on the 23d of May, a column of water was seen shooting up in the midst of the sand. The last violent eruption was on the 5th of July, the mountains, in the interval, often ceasing to eject any matter; and the large stones thrown into the air were compared to a swarm of bees clustering around the mountain-top; the noise was heard like loud thunder forty miles distant, and the accompanying earthquakes were more severe at Krisuvik, eighty miles westward, than at half the distance on the opposite side. The eruptions are said to be in general more violent during a north or west wind than when it blows from the south or east, and on this occasion more matter was thrown out in mild than in stormy weather. Where the ashes were not too thick, it was observed that they increased the fertility of the grass fields, and some of them were carried even to the Orkney Islands, the inhabitants of which were at first terrified by what they considered showers of black snow." The largest volcano in Iceland is Dyngjufjoll. This has on its summit the gigantic crater of Askja, some twenty-five square miles in area. This crater is of the intermediate form; the most general form of volcanoes on the island consisting of a number of craters that closely follow fissures. Professor Johnstrup, in a report to the Danish Government, on this volcano, states that the valley of Askja has been gradually filled by repeated flows of lava from enormous craters on the edge of the mountain. In many places the surface of the earth is covered with bright red pumice stone that was thrown out during an eruption March 29th, 1875. Some of these craters are filled with steam that escapes with an almost deafening roar. The surprising feature of this eruption was the immense quantity of pumice stone that escaped. The volcanoes in the Nyvatus Oraefi are entirely different. This barren plain is thirty-five miles in length and thirteen miles in breadth. Suddenly on the 18th of February, 1875, a volcano appeared in the centre, and four other craters were formed at subsequent dates. The mass of lava that was thrown out of these openings has been estimated at 10,000,000,000,000 cubic feet, or eighteen times the estimated mass of lava that has been emitted from Vesuvius between 1794 and 1855. This lava is basalt. CHAPTER V VESUVIUS The old Greeks and Romans had but little knowledge of volcanoes. They only knew the volcanic mountains in the Mediterranean Sea. Here there are three volcanic regions:--one in the neighborhood of Naples; one including Sicily and the neighboring islands, and the other that of the Grecian Archipelago. Some idea can be had of these three regions from a map of the Mediterranean shown in Fig. 12. The principal volcanoes are Vesuvius, Etna, Stromboli, and Vulcano, a mountain, by the way, that gave its name to all volcanic mountains. In this chapter we will describe the volcano of Vesuvius, the most active, though by no means the largest of the volcanoes of the Mediterranean. But, before doing this, it will be well first to describe briefly the volcanic districts surrounding Vesuvius. As shown in Fig. 13, this district includes Vesuvius, Procida, and Ischia. [Illustration: FIG. 12. THE MEDITERRANEAN] Ischia is a small island measuring about five miles from east to west, and three miles from north to south. There were such terrific volcanic eruptions on this island long before the Christian Era, that several Greek colonies were forced to abandon it. A colony established long afterwards, about 380 B. C., by the king of Syracuse also had to depart. Strabo, the Grecian geographer (born about 63 B. C.), states that, according to tradition, terrific earthquakes occurred on the island a little before his time, and its principal mountain threw out large quantities of molten rock, which flowed into the sea. At the time of this eruption there were earthquake waves in the sea, the waters of which slowly receded, leaving large portions of the bottom uncovered, and rushing, afterwards, violently over the land, caused great destruction. It was during this disturbance, so Strabo asserts, that the island of Procida was formed by being violently torn from Ischia. [Illustration: FIG. 13. THE VOLCANIC DISTRICT AROUND VESUVIUS] The Phlegræan Fields was a name given by the ancients to some of the lowlands in the neighborhood of Naples; they were believed to be under the special protection of the Roman gods. When the frequent earthquake shocks shook these fields, the Roman people believed that conflicts were taking place between their gods and slumbering giants confined in the regions below the surface. It is more than probable that Mt. Vesuvius has always been the centre of these volcanic disturbances. Long before the Christian Era, however, Vesuvius, or Somma, the name given to the old crater that then occupied the summit of the mountain, had been an extinct crater. Indeed, it had been so quiet that the people who lived on its slopes did not appear to know they were living on the slopes of a slumbering volcano. Their knowledge of volcanic mountains must have been very limited, for this mountain with the huge pit at its summit had all the appearance of a volcanic crater. When they climbed to the top of the mountain, which, of course, they frequently did to look after the vineyards they were cultivating on the slopes, and looked down into the deep pit from the rocks on its edge, they could see at the bottom of a great central pit three miles in diameter, a lake, with room here and there to enable one to walk along its borders. The walls of the precipice were covered with luxuriant vines. When we say that none of the people even suspected that Vesuvius had ever been in a state of eruption, we must except some of their learned men. For both Diodorus Siculus, a native of Sicily, who lived about 10 B. C., and wrote an Universal History, containing some forty volumes, of which only about one-third remain, and Strabo, the Geographer, pointed out in a general manner, that Vesuvius, and much of the surrounding country, looked as if it had been eaten by fire. Then, too, a Roman philosopher who lived between A. D. 1 and A. D. 64, spoke of Vesuvius being "a channel for the eternal fire!" Let us now endeavor to obtain some idea of the appearance of this region a short time before A. D. 79, when Vesuvius burst forth in a terrific eruption. The slopes of the mountain were covered with the rich vegetation that characterizes this part of Italy. When most volcanic ashes and lava have been exposed for some time to the atmosphere they make a very fertile soil. Now, this soil on the slopes of Vesuvius made the vineyards that covered the mountain slopes and the fields for miles around its base, bear very plentifully, so that the people lived very comfortably. Here and there on the slopes of the mountain large towns like Herculaneum and Pompeii had long been established, while, in the distance, was the large city of Naples. Besides these there were numerous populous towns and villages scattered here and there over the plain or on the lower mountain slope. You have all probably read of the Roman gladiator, Spartacus. Spartacus was a Thracian by birth, and while a shepherd had been taken prisoner by the Romans and sold to a trainer of gladiators at Capua. Chaffing under the tyranny of the Romans, who forced him to fight in the arena with men and beasts, he revolted against his masters, and with a band of some seventy followers, fled to a mountain fastness in the crater of Vesuvius. Proud Rome sent a few men to recapture him, with scourges for his punishment, but they were beaten by Spartacus. Every day dissatisfied men like himself escaped from the Romans and joined his ranks. Rome sent a larger body of men against Spartacus, but they also were beaten. At last, recognizing the gravity of the position, the Roman Prætor, Clodius, was sent against Spartacus with an army of some three thousand men. Clodius caught Spartacus in the crater and guarded the only space by which it seemed possible for Spartacus to escape. Using the vines that covered the precipitous walls of the crater, Spartacus did escape, and falling unexpectedly on the armies of Clodius, routed them. After this victory, Spartacus with an army of over 100,000 men overran southern Italy, and sacked many of the cities of the Roman Campania. During this time Spartacus defeated one Roman army after another, until finally, in the year 71 B. C., Crassus was sent against him and vainly endeavored to conquer him. Being unsuccessful, Crassus urged the Roman Senate to recall Lucullis from Asia and Pompey from Spain, and finally poor Spartacus was cut down in a fight he made against Crassus and Lucullis. But let us come to the great eruption of Vesuvius in A. D. 79. The people living on the slopes of Vesuvius were not without plenty of warnings of the dreadful catastrophe that was coming. As early as A. D. 63 there was a great earthquake that shook the country far beyond Naples. In Pompeii, then a flourishing city, the Temple of Isis was so much damaged that it had to be rebuilt. Even if the earthquake shocks had not foretold the coming eruption, there were other signs. The height of water in the wells decreased. Springs that had never before been known to fail, dried up completely. These changes, as we well know, were due to the red hot lava being slowly forced up from great depths into the tube connected with the crater. The earthquake shocks continued at irregular intervals for sixteen years, until, on the 25th of August, A. D. 79, about one o'clock in the afternoon, Vesuvius burst forth in the terrible eruption that destroyed the towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Pompeii was a seaport town situated near the mouth of the River Sarno, about fifteen miles southeast of Naples. It was a beautiful place, containing many splendid temples. Its people for the greater part lived luxuriously, for Pompeii was the summer resort of the richer people of Naples, some of whom lived there during the hottest months of the year. Herculaneum, the other town, was nearer Naples, only five miles from the city. It was also, like Pompeii, a beautiful town, and contained many splendid buildings. In each town there were magnificent baths and a large theatre. The inhabitants spent so much of their time in the open air, or in the baths, that it was not necessary for them to build very large houses. The houses, however, were well built, and though generally consisting of practically a single story, were provided with all the luxuries that great wealth could command. On August 25th, A. D. 79, severe earthquake shocks again visited this part of the world and Vesuvius suddenly threw up from its crater an immense column of black smoke, which, rising high in the air, spread out in the form of a huge mushroom, or, perhaps, more like the umbrella pine tree of the neighborhood. Rapidly spreading on all sides, the smoke soon completely shut out the light of the sun, and wrapped the earth in an inky darkness, except for a red glare from columns of molten rock that rushed out of the crater. From the dark cloud immense quantities of red hot stones, pumice, and volcanic ashes descended on the earth. At the same time there fell a deluge of rain, caused by the sudden condensation of the enormous amount of water vapor that was thrown out from the crater during the eruption. Fortunately, very few of the people were killed in either of the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, although some bodies were found in the ruins. Most of the people escaped through the darkness and gloom, continuing to flee from the city for at least three days. Both cities were covered so deep with ashes or mud that the tops of the tallest buildings were no longer visible. Pompeii was buried by showers of ashes or volcanic cinders, and Herculaneum mainly by vast floods of aqueous lava. So completely were these cities covered that their very existence was at last forgotten. It is true that Titus, who was then Emperor of Rome, endeavored to clear away the ashes and rebuild Pompeii, but the task was so great that he finally abandoned it. During the year 1592, the architect Fontana, while superintending the building of an aqueduct, came across some ancient buildings. At a much later date, in 1713, some workmen, while digging a well in the village of Portici, uncovered three marvellously beautiful marble statues. In the year 1738, the same well was dug deeper, when traces of the old theatre of Herculaneum were discovered. Some effort was then made to excavate the city and many of the public buildings and private houses were uncovered, and statues, mosaics, wall paintings, and charred manuscripts of papyrus were found. A few of these have been unrolled and deciphered, but owing to the difficulty of doing this, without destroying them, the greatest number still remain unread. In 1860, the Italian Government began a systematic excavation of the buried cities, and now both Pompeii and Herculaneum are thrown open to the sunlight so that one can walk through the old streets, and look into the houses, in which, before A. D. 79, the people lived so happily. Many interesting stories are told about the discoveries that were made during the government excavations. The skeleton of one of the inhabitants was found grasping a money bag. He might have escaped, but had gone back to get his money. He got it, but remained with it. In another place, the skeletons of a number of people were found in an underground room or cellar of a house, where were also found some mouldy bread and empty water flasks. Instead of leaving the city, which they might have done, they had retreated to the underground room for safety, but the fine volcanic dust drifted in and suffocated them. The younger Pliny, the historian, has given an excellent account of some features of this great eruption. It appears that his uncle was stationed with the Roman fleet, in the Bay of Naples, at the time of the eruption. He describes the dark cloud of ashes that was formed over Vesuvius. He refers to the rapidity with which it spread, and to the showers of ashes, cinders, and stones that it rained down on the earth. His uncle, the elder Pliny, landed on the coast, and was afterwards killed by a cloud of sulphurous vapor that swept down the side of the mountain. The following letter from the younger Pliny, describing his flight with his mother from Misenum, is quoted from Dana's "Characteristics of Volcanoes." "It was now seven o'clock [on the morning of August 25th], but the light was still faint and doubtful. The surrounding buildings had been badly shaken, and although we were in an open spot [a little yard between his uncle's house and the sea], the space was so small that the danger of a catastrophe from falling walls was great and certain. Not till then did we make up our minds to go from the town.... When we were free from the buildings we stopped. There we saw many wonders and endured many terrors. The vehicles we had ordered to be brought out kept running backward and forward, though on level ground; and even when blocked with stones they would not keep still. Besides this, we saw the sea sucked down and, as it were, driven back by the earthquake. There can be no doubt that the shore had advanced on the sea, and many marine animals were left high and dry. On the other side was a dark and dreadful cloud, which was broken by zigzag and rapidly vibrating flashes of fire, and yawning showed long shapes of flame. These were like lightning, only of greater extent.... "Pretty soon the cloud began to descend over the earth and cover the sea. It enfolded Capreæ and hid also the promontory of Misenum." ... The flight was continued. "Ashes now fell, yet still in small amount. I looked back. A thick mist was close at our heels, which followed us, spreading out over the country, like an inundation." ... Turning from the roar in order to avoid the fleeing, terror-stricken throng, they rested. "Hardly had we sat down when night was over us--not such a night as when there is no moon and clouds cover the sky, but such darkness as one finds in close-shut rooms. One heard the screams of women, the fretting cries of babes, and shouts of men.... "Little by little it grew light again. We did not think it the light of day, but a proof that the fire was coming nearer. It was indeed fire, but it stopped afar off; and then there was darkness again, and again a rain of ashes, abundant and heavy, and again we rose and shook them off, else we had been covered and even crushed by the weight.... At last the murky vapor rolled away, in disappearing smoke or fog. Soon the real daylight appeared; the sun shone out, of a lurid hue, to be sure, as in an eclipse. The whole world which met our frightened eyes was transformed. It was covered with ashes white as snow." Young Pliny and his mother returned to Misenum, and survived the perils to which they were exposed. It was during this eruption that a large part of the old crater was blown off the mountain by the tremendous force at work. There have been many eruptions of Vesuvius since the great eruption of A. D. 79. One of these occurred during the reign of Severus, A. D. 203. It was during this eruption that an additional part of the old crater of Somma was blown away. Another great eruption occurred A. D. 472. Then great quantities of volcanic dust were thrown up into the air, and falling, covered practically all parts of Europe, producing darkening of the sun and great fear as far as the city of Constantinople. But what was perhaps a still greater eruption occurred during December of 1631. This eruption spread great quantities of ashes over the country for hundreds of miles around, and great streams of mud rushed down the slopes of the mountain. Buccini gives the following account of this eruption: "The crater was five miles in circumference, and about 1,000 paces deep. Its sides were covered with brushwood, and at the bottom there was a plain on which cattle grazed. In the woody parts wild boars frequently harbored. In one part of the plain, covered with ashes, were three small pools, one filled with hot but bitter water; another with water saltier than the sea, and a third with water that was hot but tasteless. But at length these forests and grassy plains were consumed, being suddenly blown into the air and their ashes scattered to the winds. In December, 1631, seven streams of lava poured at once from the crater and overflowed several villages, on its flanks, and at the foot of the mountain. Reisna, partly built over the ancient city of Herculaneum, was consumed by the fiery torrent. Great floods of mud were as destructive as lava. This is no unusual occurrence during these catastrophes for such is the violence of the rains produced by the evolution of aqueous vapors that torrents of water descend the cone and become charged with impalpable volcanic dust, and rolling among ashes, acquire sufficient consistency to deserve the ordinary appellation of aqueous lava." Of course, you will understand that we have given only a few of the most notable of the eruptions of Mt. Vesuvius. Since the yea A. D. 1500 there have been no less than fifty-six recorded eruptions, that of the year 1857 being especially violent. Omitting these eruptions we at last come to the great recent eruption of 1872. Fortunately, the eruption of 1872, as well as still more recent eruptions that have occurred, have been more accurately described than have most volcanic eruptions, for the Italian Government, recognizing the value to the natives of Italy of a knowledge of what was going on at the crater of Vesuvius, has maintained for the past thirty years an observatory on the western part of the mountain. This observatory has been placed in charge of Prof. Luigi Palmieri, a well-known student of volcanoes and earthquakes. At this place records are kept of the behavior of the volcano, of all earthquake disturbances, as well as other phenomena. At the same time, by the use of photography, excellent pictures have been obtained showing the appearance of the sky during an eruption. Vesuvius had been in a quiet state from November, 1848, to the year 1871, when small quantities of lava flowed continuously for several months. Again, early in 1872, other quiet eruptions of lava continued for weeks at a time. Finally, on April 26th, of that year, a violent explosive eruption occurred. The following account has been taken from Palmieri's report, entitled, "The Eruption of Vesuvius in 1872." On April 23d the recording earthquake instruments, the seismographs, were greatly affected. On the evening of the 24th lava streams flowed down the cone in various directions. These streams were continued on the 25th and the 26th, so that on the night of the 26th the observatory lay between two streams of molten lava that threw out so much heat that the glass windows in the observatory were cracked, and a scorching smell was quite perceptible in the rooms. The cone of the mountain was deeply fissured, lava escaping freely from all the fissures, so that the molten rock appeared to ooze from over its entire surface, or as Palmieri expressed it, "Vesuvius sweated fire." This great cracking or fissuring of the cone was accompanied by the opening of two large craters at the summit, that discharged, with a great noise, immense clouds of steam, dust, lapilli, and volcanic bombs. These latter are very curious and consist of masses of soft lava that are thrown high into the air by the outrushing columns of steam. Being rotated or spun, as they rise in the air, they assume a spherical shape. Some of these volcanic bombs were thrown to a height estimated by Palmieri to have been nearly 4,000 feet above the top of the mountain. When the height of a projectile is known, the velocity with which it left the opening from which it was projected or thrown can be estimated, so that the volcanic bombs must have left the crater at a velocity of about 600 feet per second. On the 27th, in the evening, the lava streams ceased flowing, but the dust and lapilli continued to fall during the 28th and the 29th. On the 30th the detonations decreased and by the 1st of May the eruption was entirely over. Palmieri calculated that the quantity of molten rock thrown out during this eruption was sufficient to cover an area of about 1.8 square miles to an average depth of about thirteen feet. As we can see from the above descriptions, the volcanic activity of Vesuvius is characterized by long periods of rest followed by periods of activity. The periods of rest are measured by years, and often by centuries; the periods of activity by days or hours. But Vesuvius was not to have a long period of rest after its eruption of 1872. On the contrary, shortly after the great disaster of Martinique in 1906, it again became active, and on the 5th of April, 1906, began throwing large blocks of lava out of its central cone, and on the next day began to throw out large streams of lava, which, on April 7th, destroyed a village in the neighborhood. At the same time rumbling sounds were heard, and violent earthquake shocks shattered the windows of the houses. Professor Matteucci, the present director of the Vesuvius Observatory, made the following report on April the 8th. "The eruption of Vesuvius has assumed extraordinary proportions. Yesterday and last night the activity of the crater was terrific, and is increasing. The neighborhood of the observatory is completely covered with lava. Incandescent rocks are being thrown up by the thousands, to a height of 2,400 feet or even 3,000 feet, and falling back form a large cone. Another stream of lava has appeared.... The noise of the explosion and of the rocks striking together is deafening. The ground is shaken by strong and continuous seismic movements, and the seismic instruments [instruments employed to record the time, direction, and intensity of earthquake movements] threaten to break. It will probably be necessary to abandon the observatory, which is very much exposed to the shocks. The telegraph is interrupted, and it is believed the Funicular railroad has been destroyed." On April 9th Matteucci made the following report: "The explosive activity of Vesuvius, which was so great yesterday, and was accompanied by very powerful electric discharges, diminished yesterday afternoon. During the night the expulsion of rocks ceased, but the emission of sand increased, completely enveloping me and forming a red mass from six to ten centimeters deep, which carried desolation into these elevated regions. Masses of sand gliding along the earth, created complete darkness until seven o'clock. Several blocks of stone broke windows in the observatory. Last night the earthquake shocks were stronger and more frequent than yesterday, and displaced the seismic apparatus. Yesterday afternoon and this morning, torrents of sand fell." On April 10th Matteucci sent the following report: "Last night was calm, except for a few explosions of considerable force from time to time. At four o'clock this morning the explosions became more violent. The seismic instruments recorded strong disturbances." The eruption of Vesuvius of 1906 was especially noted for the great quantities of sand and ashes thrown out of the crater. The amount of sand that fell on the roof of the market house at Monti Olivetto was so great that the roof fell in. In this eruption there were some six lava streams that poured down the mountain. The most formidable of these was that which descended towards Torre Annunziata. Here it stopped just short of the wall of the cemetery outside of the town. During this eruption of Vesuvius, as in previous eruptions, clouds of volcanic dust collected in the air, shutting off the light of the sun. Naples was in a state of semi-darkness. The roofs of the houses were covered to a depth of several inches with an exceedingly fine reddish dust. In some places this dust had drifted into heaps fully a yard in depth. CHAPTER VI OTHER VOLCANOES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN The relative positions of the other volcanic mountains of the Mediterranean Sea; i. e., Etna, Stromboli, and the volcanoes of the Santorin group of the Grecian Archipelago, are shown in the map, Fig. 12. We will begin with the volcanic mountain of Etna, under which, according to mythology, the angry gods had buried the rebellious Typhoon. Etna is situated on the island of Sicily, immediately southwest of Italy. It is a much larger mountain than Vesuvius, rising, as it does, from a circular base about eighty-seven miles around, to a height of 10,840 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. It forms a conspicuous object when seen either from the Mediterranean, or from distant parts of Italy. The height of Etna is so great that its slopes can be divided into three distinct climatic zones or belts. The lowest of these lies between the sea and a height of 2,500 feet. In this zone the mountain slopes are covered with cultivated fields, olive groves, orchards, and vineyards. The middle zone lies between 2,500 feet and 6,270 feet. This zone is covered with forests of chestnuts, oaks, beeches, and cork trees. The third and highest zone includes the rest of the mountain, and may be called the desert zone, since it is a sterile region, covered with huge blocks of lava and scoriæ, and terminating, in the higher portions, in a snow-covered plain, from which the central cone rises. Etna is continually sending up columns of steam and sulphur vapor. Every now and then it starts in eruption, throwing out large quantities of lava either from the crater on its summit, or from some of the 200 smaller cones or craters that occupy portions of its slopes. On account, probably, of its height the eruptions are most frequently on the sides. Etna affords a magnificent example of a huge volcanic pile of the Vesuvian type, which has been slowly built up by the gradual accumulation of materials that have escaped from its craters. One of the most interesting features of the higher regions of Etna is an immense chasm rent in a side of the cone near the summit, and known as the Val del Bove. This chasm forms a vast amphitheater. The great force that removed such an immense mass of matter from the cone could not have been the eroding power of water, since the materials of the cone are too porous to permit streams of any size to rush down the slopes. The force is most probably to be found in some explosive eruption of the mountain, when a portion of the crater was suddenly blown off, just as was done in Vesuvius when a large part of the old crater of Somma was blown away. What is especially interesting about the Val del Bove is the opportunity it affords for studying the interior structure of the mountain, for it practically enables one to enter to almost the heart of this great volcano. The Val del Bove has the shape of a great pit five miles in diameter. It has almost vertical walls, the height of which varies with their position. Those which reach highest up the mountain vary from 3,000 to 4,000 feet in height. Like Vesuvius, Etna has been split or fissured into great crevices that have been filled with lava during the many eruptions of its central crater. On hardening, these lava streams form what are known as dikes. As the sides of the mountain are worn away by erosion, the dikes, being harder than the rest of the cone, project from its sides like huge walls. An excellent opportunity for seeing them is afforded in the walls of the Val del Bove. Sir Charles Lyell, the English geologist, who has carefully studied Mt. Etna, asserts that this mountain began to be formed during a geological period known as the Tertiary Age, through a crater that opened on the floor of the Mediterranean Sea. The material thus thrown out, collected around the crater and produced a mountainous pile that gradually emerged above the level of the sea, and on fresh materials continuing to be thrown out, at length reached its present height. It would appear that at some former time in its history, there were two vents near the top of the mountain, the second crater being formed immediately under the Val del Bove. Soon, however, the second and lower crater was closed, the upper one alone remaining active. The mountain, therefore, continued to be slowly raised in the air by the materials brought out through this opening. Then came the great explosive eruption during which the side of the mountain was blown off to form the great chasm of the Val del Bove. Because of its almost constant activity, Mt. Etna must have been well known to the ancients, who described some of its most violent eruptions. The following brief notes concerning these eruptions have been taken from Lyell. According to Diodorus Siculus, an eruption that occurred before the Trojan war, caused the people living in districts near the mountain to seek new homes. Thucididies, the Greek historian, states that in the sixth year of the Peloponnesian war, which would be about the spring of 425 B. C., a lava stream caused great destruction in the neighborhood of Campania, this being the third eruption that had occurred in Sicily since it had been settled by the Greeks. Seneca, during the first century of the Christian Era, calls the attention of Lucullus to the fact that during his time Mt. Etna had lost so much of its height that it could no longer be seen by boatmen from points at which it had before been readily visible. But passing by these very early eruptions of Etna we come to the great eruption of 1669. This eruption was preceded by an earthquake that destroyed many houses in a town situated in the lower part of the forest zone, about twenty-five miles below the summit of the mountain, and ten miles from the sea at Catania. During this eruption two deep fissures were opened near Catania. From these such quantities of sand and scoriæ were thrown out, that, in the course of three or four months, a double cone was formed 450 feet high, which is now known as Monte Rosso. But what was most curious was the sudden opening, with a loud crash, of a fissure six feet broad reaching down to unknown depths that extended in a somewhat crooked course to within a mile of the summit of Etna. This great fissure was twelve miles in length and emitted a most vivid light. Five other parallel fissures of considerable length opened, one after another, throwing out vapor, and emitting bellowing sounds which were heard at a distance of forty miles. These fissures were afterwards filled with molten rock, and in this manner were formed the long dikes of porphyry and other rocks that are seen to be passing through some of the older lavas of Mt. Etna. [Illustration: FIG. 14. MT. ETNA _From Map of State and Government_] The great lava streams which flowed down the side of the mountain during this eruption, destroyed fourteen towns and villages, and at length reached Catania. A great wall had been raised around this city to prevent the lava from entering it. The molten rock, however, accumulated, until it rose to the top of the wall, which was sixty feet high, and then pouring over it in a fiery cascade, overwhelmed part of the city. It is said that during the first part of its journey, the lava streams moved over thirteen miles in twenty days, or at the rate of 162 feet an hour. Beyond this, after the lava had thickened by cooling, it had a velocity of only twenty-two feet per hour. Fig. 14 represents a plan of Mt. Etna reduced from a map by the Italian Government. During the eruption of 1865, a rent was made in the mountain extending from Mount Frumento (B in the preceding map) for one and one-half miles, and six cones from 300 to 350 feet in height were formed along the fissure. During the eruption of 1874, great fissures three miles in length were formed in the mountain. There exists on the slopes of Mt. Etna vast subterranean grottoes formed by the sudden conversion into steam of great quantities of water that were overwhelmed by the molten mass. These immense volumes of steam produced enormous bubbles in the molten lava. When the lava hardened irregular grottoes were left. Lyell describes one of these as follows: "Near Nicolosi, not far from Monte Rosso, one of these great openings may be seen, called the _Fossa della Palomba_, 625 feet in circumference at its mouth and seventy-eight deep. After reaching the bottom of this, we enter another dark cavity, and then others in succession, sometimes descending precipices by means of ladders. At length, the vaults terminate in a great gallery ninety feet long, and from fifteen to fifty broad, beyond which there is still a passage, never yet explored, so that the extent of these caverns remains unknown. The walls and roofs of these great vaults are composed of rough bristling scoriæ of the most fantastic forms." Besides the eruptions mentioned there have been many others, such as those of 1811, 1819, and 1852. The last of these was greater than any eruption except that of 1669. It began in August, 1852, and continued until May, 1853, and was remarkable for the immense quantity of lava thrown out. [Illustration: FIG. 15. STROMBOLI, VIEWED FROM THE NORTHWEST, APRIL, 1874] We come now to the volcano of Stromboli. Stromboli, one of the Lipari islands, is situated about sixteen miles west of the Straits of Messina. Its general appearance is shown in Fig. 15. The form of the mountain is that of an irregular four-sided pyramid, which rises about 3,090 feet above the level of the Mediterranean, and stands on the bottom of the sea in water about 3,000 feet deep. If you carefully examine the appearance of Stromboli, as shown in the preceding figure, you will notice that the flat cloud which hangs over the island is made up of a number of globular masses of vapor, formed during the peculiar action of the volcano. When examined by night Stromboli presents a still more curious appearance. Since the mountain stands alone, its height permits it to be seen readily at sea for distances of at least a hundred miles. At night a curious glow of red light may be seen on the lower surfaces of the cloud. This light is not continuous, but increases in intensity from a faint glow to a fairly bright red light, then gradually decreases, and finally dies away completely. After awhile the light again appears, again gradually decreases, and disappears, and this continues until the rising sun prevents the red glow from being any longer visible. Stromboli, therefore, acts not unlike the flashing lighthouses so common on the sea coasts of all parts of the world. Indeed, it is actually used by sailors in the Mediterranean for the purpose of showing them their direction. For this reason Stromboli is commonly called "The Lighthouse of the Mediterranean." As Judd remarks, from whom much of the information concerning some of the volcanic districts of the Mediterranean has been obtained, the flashing light of Stromboli differs from that of the ordinary flashing light in two important respects; viz., in the intervals that elapse between the successive flashes, and in the intensity of the light emitted. As you know, it is necessary that the different lighthouses placed near one another on a coast must have their lights of such a nature that they can be readily distinguished. In order to do this, the flashing light has been devised. In flashing lighthouses, the lights only appear at intervals, one lighthouse being distinguished from another in its neighborhood by the intervals between successive flashes, or, sometimes, indeed, by the color of some of the flashes. Now, in the case of Stromboli, the intervals between the successive glowings of the red lights are very irregular, varying between one and twenty flashes per second. Moreover, the intensity of the light also varies greatly from time to time. You naturally inquire as to the cause of these flashes of light that are emitted by Stromboli. If, as Judd suggests, you should climb to the summit of the mountain, during the daytime, and look down the inside of the crater, you could see its black slag bottom crossed by many cracks and fissures. From most of the smaller fissures the vapor of water is quietly escaping. This vapor rises in the air in which it soon disappears. There are, however, larger cracks on the bottom of the crater from which, at more or less regular intervals, masses of steam are emitted with loud snorting puffs not unlike those produced by a locomotive. From some of the openings molten matter is seen slowly oozing out, collecting in parts of the crater and moving up and down in a heaving motion. Every now and then a bubble is formed on the surface of this liquid. The bubble swells to a gigantic size, and suddenly bursts. The steam it contained escapes, carrying fragments of scum which are thrown high into the air. The masses of steam, formed below the surface of the sticky, boiling, lava, in endeavoring to escape, force their way through the mass, blow huge bubbles, which, on bursting, produce the roaring sounds that are heard, and throwing great columns of vapor in the air, produce the rounded masses of clouds you can see floating high up in the air over the mountain. At the same time the scum is partially removed from the red hot surface, its light illumines the lower surface of the overhanging cloud, which flings it back again to the earth. With the bursting of each bubble, and the clearing of the scum from the surface of the red hot mass, the light begins, increases in intensity, and then as the scum again begins to collect on the surface, decreases, and finally disappears, and not until the bursting of the next bubble is it again visible. But let us make a study of some of the peculiarities of Vulcano, another of the Lipari islands, which lies north of Sicily. Vulcano affords a curious example of a volcano that has been harnessed by man, or made to do work for him. All volcanoes bring from inside of the earth different kinds of chemical substances, in the form of vapors, gases, or molten materials. Now, these materials acting on one another, produce chemical substances some of which, such as sal ammoniac, sulphur, and boracic acid, possess commercial value. This is especially true in the case of Vulcano, and since the eruptions are not generally violent, a chemical works has actually been erected by a Scotch firm on the side of the mountain, where the materials are collected from the crevices. This effort to harness a volcano was for a time so successful that the same people contemplated the building of great leaden chambers over the principal fissure at the bottom of the crater, so that the large volumes of ejected vapors might be condensed and collected. But Vulcano, like all other volcanoes, could not be relied on continually to keep the peace. One day it suddenly burst forth more fiercely than usual, so that the workmen were compelled to abandon the factory and fly down the mountain for their lives, but not, however, before some of them were severely injured by the explosions. Vulcano is an instance of a volcano in an almost exhausted or dormant condition. It has had, however, many eruptions during the past few centuries, some of which have been very violent, for example, that of 1783, and that of 1786. There still remains to be considered the volcanic region of the Santorin group of the Grecian Archipelago. The island of Santorin or Thera, is the southernmost of the Cyclades. It is an exceedingly curious island, being a submerged volcano, with most of the top of the crater remaining above the waters, so that the entire island has the shape of an irregular circle or crescent broken at several points. Its formation is, probably, due to the gradual sinking of a volcanic mountain until its crater has been almost completely submerged, only the higher parts of the edges of the crater being left above the surface of the waters. Suppose, for example, a mountain like Vesuvius at the time the crater Somma existed, was sunk below the level of the Mediterranean until only the highest parts of the crater remained above the waters. If, now, one or more volcanic eruptions occurred, producing craters or volcanic islands inside the submerged rim, you would have a condition of affairs seen in the island of Santorin. CHAPTER VII ORIZABA, POPOCATEPETL, IXTACCIHUATL, AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF MEXICO While some of the volcanoes of Mexico are still in an active condition, most of them are either only slightly active or are dormant or extinct. Humboldt, the celebrated traveller and geographer, states that there are only four active volcanic mountains in Mexico; namely, Popocatepetl, Tuxtula, Colima, and Jorullo. But there are many others, among which may be mentioned Orizaba, Ixtaccihuatl, Xinantecatl, Tuxtula, Cofre de Perote, and Colima. Of course, you can understand that, since extinct volcanoes may at any time become active, in parts of the world where communication with the interior is not good, many volcanic mountains that have been regarded as extinct may have broken out temporarily, during historical times, without their eruptions having been recorded. It was at one time thought that Popocatepetl was the highest mountain in North America. More recent measurements, however, have shown that there are at least three other mountains in this part of the world, that are much higher. One of these is the active volcano of Orizaba that we will now briefly describe. [Illustration: FIG. 16. MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA] Orizaba is situated in the north central part of Mexico, about seventy-five miles west of Vera Cruz. Its ancient Aztec name was Cittaltepetl, or _Star Mountain_. The height of the mountain is 18,200 feet. Like all high tropical mountains whose summits are snow-clad, one would pass through the same changes in climate, in going from its base to its summit, as in going along the earth's surface from the equator to the poles. Near the base of the mountain will be found a tropical climate, above that a temperate climate, while in still higher regions, the climate of the Arctic region. According to Russell, from whose work on the volcanoes of North America much of the information concerning the volcanoes of Mexico and Central America has been condensed, Orizaba has three craters on its summit. The last recorded eruption took place about the middle of the Eighteenth Century. The mountain is now in a dormant or extinct condition, as may be seen from the fact that its three craters are for the greater part filled with snow. Orizaba, like Etna, and many other volcanoes, has deep fissures extending through its sides. Through these, lava streams have flowed during times when it was active. There are also found on the slopes of this mountain many cones of a type known as _parasitic cones_. These cones are not caused by materials that have been brought to the surface during an eruption, but have been formed by the steam passing through lava streams that have come out of the crater during other eruptions. Popocatepetl, or, as the word means, _The Smoking Mountain_, is the second highest mountain in Mexico. According to recent measurements made by the Mexican Government, its height is 17,876 feet. Popocatepetl is situated on the edge of the great plateau of Mexico, forty miles southeast of the City of Mexico. It is a conical mountain, and is a magnificent object when seen from the City of Mexico, rising, as it does, fully 10,000 feet from the elevation of the city, while on the east it towers for nearly 18,000 feet above the level of the sea. This splendid mountain is poetically described by Russell: "Seen from the basal plains, it sweeps up in one grand curve to nearly its full height,--a collossus of three and a quarter miles in elevation, white with everlasting frost on its summit, and bathed in the green of palms, bananas, oranges, and mangoes, at its base. Evergreen oaks and pines encircle its middle height, and above them, before the ice itself is reached, occur broad areas of loose sand into which the lavas have been changed by weathering. Soft wreaths of sulphurous vapor may at times be seen curling over the crest of the summit crater,--gentle reminders that the days of volcanic activity are not yet necessarily over." Popocatepetl takes its name, _The Smoking Mountain_ from the fact that gases and vapor are continually being emitted from its summit crater. It has a conical peak with a depression or crater on its summit. The bottom of the crater is crossed by fissures from which small quantities of steam escape, not, however, sufficient to melt all the snow which covers the slopes of the mountain to a depth of from eight to ten feet. A small lake of hot water has collected in the crater from the water derived from the melting snow. This water, sinking through the porous materials in the cone, is the source of a great number of large hot springs that occur around the base of the mountain. Reclus states that the first to climb to the top of Popocatepetl was one of Cortez' officers, 1519. Another snow-capped volcano, which rising from the plain of Mexico is in clear view of the city, is Ixtaccihuatl (Ets-tak'-se-wat-el), or as the word means in the ancient Aztec, _The White Woman_. This mountain, as measured by Heilprin, is 16,960 feet in height. Ixtaccihuatl is now in so dormant a condition that many who have climbed to the top assert that it is not a volcano at all, since they find no crater on its summit. Nor are there any signs of volcanic heat, the summit being snow clad during summer. The conical form of the mountain, however, and the fact that the entire mountain is formed of volcanic rocks, show beyond doubt that it is an extinct volcano, whose crater has most probably been completely filled in by the washing away of its sides. Xinantecatl is another extinct volcanic mountain situated about forty miles southwest of the City of Mexico. It is about 16,500 feet high. Its name means in the ancient Aztec language, _The Naked Lord_. It is also sometimes known as the Nevado de Toluca, or _The Snow of Toluca_. On the top of the peak are two craters filled with lakes of fresh water. Russell states that the larger of these lakes is about thirty feet in depth and contain a peculiar species of fish. Tuxtula is another volcano of Mexico, situated on the western coast of the Gulf of Mexico, about eighty miles southeast of Vera Cruz. It was an active volcano in 1664, when it threw out molten lava. It then became dormant until March, 1793, when its long rest was broken by one of the grandest explosive eruptions of modern times. This eruption rivalled in energy the great explosive eruption which blew off the summit of Coseguina, in Central America, in 1835. As is common in the case of explosive eruptions, volcanic dust and scoriæ were blown high into the air, and, being carried by the winds, fell on the roofs of houses and on the land at a distance of 150 miles. There have been a number of less violent eruptions of Tuxtula since 1835. Tuxtula is a comparatively low mountain, being only 4,960 feet high, because much of the mountain was blown away by the eruption of 1793. As Russell points out, it is not safe to infer that because an eroded mountain is not lofty it cannot be young or energetic, since the very energy of some of its eruptions may, as in the case of Tuxtula, blow away a large part of the mountain. A low mountain, with an unusually large crater, generally means a mountain that has been visited by a great explosive eruption. Another extinct volcano known as the Cofre de Perote is situated on the eastern coast of Mexico, east of Ixtaccihuatl, about thirty miles north of Orizaba. It takes its name Cofre de Perote which means the Coffin of Perote, from its peculiar box-like shape. It was called in the Aztec language "Nauhcampatepetl," or the _Four-Ridged Mountain_. Cofre de Perote is in a dormant or extinct condition. We will conclude this brief description of the volcanoes of Mexico with the volcano of Colima, a mountain about 5,500 feet high situated on the western coast of Mexico. Colima has been active of recent years, eruptions having occurred in 1869, 1872, 1873, and 1885. During these eruptions lava escaped from lateral openings in the sides of the mountain, these openings being termed by the natives the _Sons of Colima_. CHAPTER VIII COSEGUINA AND OTHER VOLCANOES OF CENTRAL AMERICA Central America has a great number of volcanoes extending along nearly all its western coast, or on the Pacific side of the country. Central America consists of a high plain or table-land sloping gently towards the northeast, but terminating abruptly on the southwest. In the opinion of geologists this table-land consists of the surface of a huge tilted block of the earth's crust, or, perhaps, more probably, of a series of such blocks, that are limited on the southwest by a narrow belt of intersecting fractures. It is in these fractures that scores of volcanoes are situated, together with active craters, solfataras, and hot springs. The volcanoes are mainly of the Vesuvian type. There are so many volcanoes in this part of the world that it will be possible to describe but a few of them. We will begin with the volcano of Coseguina, situated on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua. Its appearance is that of a conical mountain with the top cut off, and suggests that it is most probably an explosive volcano which has had the top blown away during some of its great eruptions. Coseguina is celebrated by reason of its tremendous eruption of 1835. Before the still more tremendous explosive eruption of Krakatoa in 1883, described in the first two chapters of this book, Coseguina shared with Sombawa, on the island of Sumatra, as being the foremost of explosive volcanoes. It had been estimated that before its eruption of 1835, Coseguina had a height of perhaps 10,000 feet, but so much of it was blown away by this eruption that it now is a little less than 4,000 feet. The following description of the great eruption of Coseguina in 1835 has been condensed from an account prepared by Squier, published in 1850. You will note in reading this brief account how closely many of the phenomena resemble those that occurred during the eruption of Krakatoa in 1833. The eruption of Coseguina was heralded on the morning of January 20th, 1835, by several loud explosions that were heard for a distance of some 300 miles around the crater of the volcano. Then followed an ink black cloud formed directly over the mountain, which gradually spread on all sides shutting off the light of the sun, except for a sickly yellowish light. Fine sand was thrown from this cloud, which made it both difficult and painful to breathe. For two whole days the cloud continued to grow denser, the explosions louder and more frequent, and the rain of sand thicker. On the third day the explosions were strongest and the darkness greatest. The amount of sand that fell from the cloud was so great that people left their houses, fearing the roofs would be crushed in by the great weight. This sand fell in large quantities over an area more than 1,500 miles in diameter, or, quoting the language of Squier: "The noise of the explosions was heard nearly as far" (1,500 miles). "And the Superintendent of Belize, eight hundred miles distant, mustered his troops, under the impression that there was a naval action off the harbor. All nature seemed overawed; the birds deserted the air, and the wild beasts their fastnesses, crouching, terror-stricken and harmless, in the dwellings of men. The people for a hundred leagues grouped, dumb with terror, amidst the thick darkness, bearing crosses on their shoulders and stones on their heads in penitential abasement and dismay. Many believed that the day of doom had come, and crowded in the tottering churches, where, in the pauses of the explosions, the voices of the priests were heard in solemn invocation to Heaven. The brightest lights were invisible at the distance of a few feet; and to heighten the terror of the scene, occasional lightnings traversed the darkness, shedding a lurid glare over the earth. This continued for forty-three hours, and then gradually passed away." It appears that the eruption of Coseguina was followed by violent earthquake shocks and other evidences of volcanic energy over extended regions. For example, there were fearful earthquakes along the Andes, the worst of which occurred on February 20th, and continued at the rate of three or four a day up to March 6th, and, less frequently, to March 17th. It was during one of these earthquakes that the city of Concepcion, Chile, was so completely destroyed, that but a single house remained. The same brilliant sunsets and sunrises occurred in different parts of the world after the eruption of Coseguina, due to the presence of large quantities of volcanic dust that followed the great eruption of Krakatoa. The cause of this great explosive eruption of Coseguina was most probably the same as that which is believed to have caused the eruption of Krakatoa, namely, a large volume of water suddenly gaining access to a mass of liquid lava. Volcán del Fuego is another of the many volcanoes of Central America. It is situated as one of a group of volcanoes on the highest summit of the Isthmus. This volcanic mountain has a regular cone with regular slopes on all sides, except on the north, where a table-like projection, about 1,000 feet below the summit, is all that remains of a vast cone, the summit of which was blown away, according to Russell, in prehistoric times, just as was the crater of Somma on Vesuvius. There have been in Central America, since the time of the Spanish conquest, some fifty volcanic eruptions sufficiently great to have been recorded. Some idea of the activity of Fuego during this time may be had from the fact that of all these eruptions some twenty were those of Fuego. At the present time, however, the volcano is dormant and apparently almost extinct. The recorded eruptions of Fuego are nearly all of the explosive type. Among the most violent were those that occurred during 1526, 1541, and 1581. During 1582, 1585, and 1586, there were eruptions nearly every month, the most terrible being near Christmas day in 1586. Other memorable eruptions occurred in 1614, 1623, 1686, and 1705, and at other dates down to August 17th, 1860, from which date to the present time the volcano has been quiet. We will conclude this brief description of the volcanoes of Central America with that of Volcán de Agua, or, as the word means, _The Water Volcano_. It is situated in Guatemala near the coast, and is one of the mountains that occupies the plateau on which Fuego is situated. The Volcán de Agua is one of the most remarkable volcanoes in Central America, standing, as it does, nearly alone, and rising to an elevation of 3,350 metres (10,988 ft.), above the level of the sea. It has been extinct for a long time. It has been supposed by some, from its name, that this is a volcano that throws out water. Others believe that the name comes from the water produced by the melting of the snow that is collected on the sides of the mountain. Now there almost always escapes from the craters of volcanoes during violent eruptions immense quantities of water vapor, which, condensing, fall as vast showers of rain that often deluge the surrounding country. In snow-clad mountains, the escape of lava is often attended by floods caused by the rapid melting of the snow. The water volcano did not, however, take its name from either of these facts, but rather because at the time of the Spanish invasion, the crater of the mountain was occupied by a large lake, and that during an earthquake in 1541 the wall of the crater was broken, when the lake was poured as an immense stream of water down the side of the mountain, overwhelming a village which was situated on this slope. That this was the correct origin of the same may be seen from the fact that the crater at the present time still shows the remains of its former lake basin, and that on the sides of the broken rim an immense ravine can be seen through which the water poured down on the village below. Daubeny describes this volcano as follows: "The Volcán de Agua (Water-Volcano) is of enormous height, being covered with eternal snow, in the latitude of 14°. Captain Basil Hall estimates it at more than 14,000 feet, but a recent traveller states it at 12,600. It has the form of a blunted cone clothed with perpetual verdure to its summit. The crater is from forty to sixty yards in depth, and about 150 in diameter,--the sides and bottom strewed with masses of rock, apparently showing the effects of boiling water or of fire. "By a deluge of water from this volcano in 1527, the original city of Guatemala was overwhelmed; and the next built, called the Old City, _La Antiqua_, was ruined by an earthquake in 1773. The present capital is situated at a distance of eight leagues from the mountain." Another volcano in this part of the country is described by Daubeny as follows: "Massaya, near the lake of that name, was one of the most active vents at the time of the first discovery of the country. Its flames were visible twenty-five miles off. Its crater was only twenty or thirty paces in diameter; but the melted lava 'seethed and rolled in waves as high as towers.' A story is told of a Dominican who imagined the fluid lava was melted gold, and descended into the crater with an iron ladle to carry some away; but the ladle, it is said, melted, and the monk escaped with difficulty." CHAPTER IX THE VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS OF SOUTH AMERICA The volcanoes of South America are limited to the Andes Mountain System that stretches like a huge wall along the entire western side of the continent. The names of the more important of these volcanoes are marked on the map of South America, shown in Fig. 17. As will be seen, this huge mountain wall reaches from Patagonia on the south to the Isthmus of Panama on the north. The arrangement of the volcanoes in South America is of the linear type. The craters follow one another in more or less straight lines, or are situated along the lines of great fissures that lie near the ocean. You must not, however, suppose that there is a continuous chain of active volcanic mountains from the Isthmus of Panama to the southern part of the continent. According to Lyell, from lat. 2° N., or from the north of Quito, to lat. 43° S. or south of Chile, a total distance including 45° of latitude, there is a succession of districts with active and extinct volcanoes, or at least with volcanoes that have been quiet during the last three centuries. [Illustration: FIG. 17. SOUTH AMERICA] Lyell traces the volcanoes of South America as follows: "The principal line of active vents which have been seen in eruption in the Andes extends from lat. 43° 28' S., ... to lat. 30° S.; to these thirteen degrees of latitude succeed more than eight degrees, in which no recent volcanic eruptions have been observed. We then come to the volcanoes of Bolivia and Peru, extending six degrees from S. to N., or from lat. 21° S. to lat. 15° S. Between the Peruvian volcanoes and those of Quito another space intervenes of no less than fourteen degrees of latitude, in which there is said to be but few active volcanoes as far as is yet known. The volcanoes of Quito then succeed, beginning about 100 geographical miles south of the equator, and continuing for about 150 miles north of it, when there occurs another undisturbed region of more than six degrees of latitude, after which we arrive at the volcanoes of Guatemala, or Central America, north of the Isthmus of Panama." Of course, you must not understand that there are no extinct volcanoes in these gaps. On the contrary, according to Daubeny, we find, beginning on the north in the United States of Colombia, the lofty volcano of Tolima. According to Daubeny's book published in 1848, Tolima was then constantly emitting steam and sulphur gases from its summit. Tolima is situated in the easternmost of the three mountain ranges that extend through this section of the country. It is, therefore, at a comparatively great distance from the ocean. Tolima was in eruption in 1595. It again burst out in 1826. Coming now to Ecuador we find that this, the smallest of the South American Republics, contains numerous great volcanic mountains. Some of the principal volcanic mountains are Chimborazo, 20,498 feet above the sea; Antisana, 18,880 feet; Cotopaxi, 19,660 feet; Pichincha (17,644 feet in 1848, Daubeny), El Altar, 16,383 feet. These all lie in South America on the plateau of Quito. As Baron Alexander von Humboldt has pointed out, the volcanic mountains of Quito are arranged in two parallel chains that extend side by side for a distance of over 500 miles north into the State of Colombia, including between them the high plateaus of Quito and Lacumbia. According to Whymper, however, who has recently studied this part of South America, there is a succession of basins between the mountains, but there is no such thing as a single valley in the interior of Ecuador. The extinct volcanoes of Cayamba, Antisana, and Chimborazo are the most important. On all three mountains there are old lava streams on their sides. Although no craters can be seen on their summits, yet it is almost certain they once had craters. There is plenty of room on the summit of Antisana for a cone as great as that of Cotopaxi. Whymper is of the opinion that the snow domes that form the summit of Chimborazo were at one time two of the highest points of the rim of the old crater. Nearly due south of Quito is the great volcanic cone of El Altar. Like all the peaks of this high plateau, El Altar rises to a great height above the sea, being at the present time 16,383 feet above the sea. This mountain has an enormous crater that appears to be dormant or extinct, and is covered with snow. According to the traditions of Indians, El Altar, or, as they call it, _Capac Urcu_ or _The Chief_, was the highest mountain near the equator, being much higher than Chimborazo. But during a prodigious eruption that occurred before the discovery of America, and continued uninterruptedly for eight years, the height of the mountain was considerably reduced. According to Boussingault, the fragments of the cone of this celebrated mountain are now spread for great distances around the mountain on the surrounding lowlands. Pichincha in Ecuador, an extinct volcano, is situated almost immediately on the equator. It has a height as measured by Whymper by the barometer, of 15,918 feet above the Pacific. The summit is covered by blocks of pumice. Several species of lichens are found at this elevation. According to Daubeny, Pichincha was extinct prior to 1539, when it became active. There were also eruptions in 1577, 1587, and 1668. It was also in activity during 1831. Cayamba, another volcanic mountain of Ecuador, lies to the east of Pichincha, a short distance north of the equator. Its height is 19,186 feet. It is nearly extinct. Cotopaxi, 19,680 feet, is another volcanic mountain of the high plateau of Quito. Cotopaxi is still active. Its slopes are covered with snow down to a height of about 14,800 feet. Between the lower edge of this snow line and the lower slopes of the mountain, there lies a zone of naked rock. According to Whymper, the eruption of Cotopaxi, in 1877, was preceded by an unusual degree of activity in the earlier parts of the year. This, however, did not cause any alarm until June 25th, 1877, when, shortly after midday, an eruption, attended by tremendous subterranean roars, began, and an immense black column shot up into the air for about twice the height of the cone. This eruption was clearly visible at Quito, for the wind blew the ashes towards the Pacific. At this time the summit had not changed its appearance, but towards 6:30 A. M., on the next day, another enormous column of ashes rose from the crater. The ashes and cinders were first carried due north by the winds, and then, spreading out in all directions, were subsequently distributed through the air all over the country. At Quito, as early as 8 A. M., the sky assumed the appearance it generally has at twilight, and the darkness increased until midday, when it became as dark as at midnight. Indeed, it was so dark that one could not see his hand before his face. During this eruption, as is very common in the eruptions of the snow-clad mountains of South America, a flood of water, due to the rapid melting of the snow and ice on the summit, rushed down the mountain slopes at 10 o'clock A. M., on the 26th of the month, almost immediately after the appearance of a stream of lava that began to flow down the mountain. In a few moments the mountain was completely shut off from view by immense columns of steam and smoke. At first, a low, moaning sound was heard, which rapidly increased to a roar, when a deluge of mud, mingled with huge blocks of ice and stones, swept down the mountain, leaving a desert in its path. It is estimated that at some places this stream moved with a velocity of fifty miles per hour. The general appearance of Cotopaxi is shown in the accompanying reproduction from the painting by Frederick E. Church in the Lenox Library, New York. According to Whymper, who made an ascent of Cotopaxi in 1880, the crater on the summit has the form of an immense amphitheatre, 2,300 feet across from north to south, and 1,650 feet from east to west. Its crest is irregular and notched. The crater is surrounded by perpendicular cliffs. The western side of the volcano is irregular. Barometric measurements gave the height of this volcano at 19,498 feet. Its height as taken by La Condamine, during the early parts of the last century, was 19,605 feet, so that, according to Whymper, assuming as would seem probable, that this difference in height has not all been due to errors in measurements, the volcano has grown or increased in height during the last century and a half. Chimborazo, 20,498 feet, is another lofty mountain on the plateau of Quito. This volcano is situated in lat. 1° 30' S., and is not at the present time in an active condition. It is, however, formed entirely of volcanic material. Its upper portions are covered with a layer of snow to a level of some 2,600 feet below the summit. [Illustration: COTOPAXI _From a Painting by Frederick E. Church in the Lenox Collection of the New York Public Library. By Permission_] Chimborazo has an enormous volcanic summit, which, when seen from the Pacific, when the air is especially clear after the long rains of winter, is a most splendid sight. Whymper, who ascended the mountain, says: "When the transparency of the air is increased and its enormous circular summit is seen projected upon the deep azure of blue of the Equatorial sky, it represents a magnificent sight. The great rarity of the air through which the top of the Andes is seen adds much to the splendor." Whymper says, that as far as records are concerned, there have been no eruptions of Chimborazo, which has apparently been an extinct volcano for many years. Its crater has been completely buried by a thick cap of ice on its summit, while what lava streams exist on the mountain are either covered by large glaciers, or have been removed by erosion, or hidden by vegetation. Chimborazo possesses less of the conical outline than Cotopaxi. There are steep cliffs towards the summit that have been named by Whymper "the northern and southern walls." They seem to him to have been formed by the violent upheavals of the explosive eruptions that have blown away portions of the cone. There are other volcanoes in this district, but the above are all we have space for describing. According to Lyell, the volcano of Rancagua, in Chile, lat. 34° 15' S., is continually throwing up ashes and vapors like Stromboli. Indeed, a year seldom passes in Chile without some earthquake shocks. Of these shocks those which came from the side nearest the sea are most violent. The town of Copiapo was laid waste by these shocks during the years 1773, 1796, and 1819, in both instances after intervals of twenty-three years. Since the volcanic mountains of South America are snow-covered the occurrences of volcanic eruptions are apt to be attended by great floods caused by the rapid melting of the snow, as well as sometimes by the breaking of huge subterranean cavities that are filled with water. According to Lyell, the volcanoes of Peru rise from a plateau from 17,000 to 20,000 feet above the sea. One of the principal volcanoes of Peru is Arequipa, whose summit is 18,877 feet above the level of the sea. The mountain takes its name from the city of Arequipa, which is situated not far from its base. It is an active volcano. Another volcano, Viejo, is found in lat. 16° 55' S. According to Lyell, there are active vents extending through Chile to the island of Chiloe to lat. 30° N. Aconcagua, west of Valparaiso, in lat. 32° 39' S., 23,000 feet in height, the highest mountain in South America, is still in an active condition. According to Scrope, when the city of Mendoza was destroyed by an earthquake, that killed 10,000 people, in March, 1861, it is probable that Aconcagua was in eruption. There are many other active volcanoes in Chile, extending as far south as the volcanoes of Patagonia, north of the Straits of Magellan as well as others of Tierra del Fuego. CHAPTER X VOLCANOES OF THE UNITED STATES For some readers this may be a surprising chapter heading, for it is a general impression that there are no volcanoes in the United States. It is true that practically all of the volcanoes of this country are dormant or extinct. They have, however, at one time been exceedingly active, and, if reports are correct, some of them were active during comparatively recent times. Nearly all of the volcanoes of the United States lie west of the meridian of Denver. These volcanoes belong to two distinct types, either the Vesuvian type with built up cones, or the plateau or fissure type already referred to. The following brief description of the volcanoes of the United States has been collated, for the greater part, from Wallace's excellent book on the volcanoes of North America. Crossing the United States on the Southern Pacific Railroad one's attention is caught, in Arizona, by a magnificent group of mountains known as the San Francisco Mountains. The highest peak of these mountains reaches 12,562 feet above the level of the sea, and 5,700 feet above the surface of the plateau on which the mountains stand. [Illustration: FIG. 18. THE UNITED STATES] According to G. K. Gilbert, the San Francisco Mountain group is formed of a variety of lava known as trachyte, that is of comparatively recent ejection, possibly of a geological age called the Tertiary. The lava forming the mountains escaped through a number of crater cones, some of which can still be seen in the neighborhood. Some of these craters are now in almost as perfect a condition as the day they were formed. Indeed, to one looking at them from a neighboring elevation, they appear so fresh, and so little affected by the climate, that one might almost believe that the lava had just flowed out of the craters, and has not yet hardened. Nevertheless, geologists are sure they have been formed long before man appeared on the earth. In one of these craters a lake of fresh water has collected. Another extinct volcano of the United States is Mt. Taylor in New Mexico, nearly east of the San Francisco Mountains. This mountain rises from the surface of a high table-land, or, as it is called in this part of the world, a _mesa_. The surface of the plateau is covered with a thick lava stream from which Mt. Taylor rises to a height of 11,390 feet above the level of the ocean. This mesa, or table-land, is forty-seven miles in length from northwest to southeast, and about twenty-three miles in breadth. Its general elevation is about 8,200 feet. The plateau rises about 2,000 feet above the surface of the level land that surrounds it. All these 2,000 feet have been removed by erosion. The table-land from which Mt. Taylor rises has not been eroded by the action of the rain, rivers, and other weathering agencies like the surface of the country surrounding it, because of a covering of lava that has been spread over its surface to a depth of about 300 feet. Mt. Taylor is formed almost entirely of lava that has escaped through a single opening and has built up a high cone around it. The volcano is now quite extinct, so that the original form of the mountain has been greatly changed by erosion. You will remember, when we were discussing the general subject of volcanoes, in the beginning of this book, that we spoke of volcanic mountains being bottled up after an eruption, by the hardening of the lava which remained in the crater and the tube that connects the crater with the place from which the lava had been derived. We then spoke of this hardened mass being known as a _volcanic plug_, or stopper, explaining how the volcano could never again erupt through its old crater unless it could develop sufficient force to blow out or remove this stopper. Now besides the crater at the top of Mt. Taylor there were several others in the eroded region surrounding the mesa, or high table-land, from which Mt. Taylor rises. When, therefore, the erosion which removed the 2,000 feet of rocks on all portions of the old mesa that were not protected by the coating of lava, these old mountain plugs were too hard to be worn away or eroded, and were, therefore, left projecting into the air like vast pyramids. If you should ever visit Mt. Taylor and should go to the eastern border of this mesa, and look over the eroded plain, you would see in the lowlands a part of the places from which the 2,000 feet of matter have been slowly eroded. Dutton describes the beautiful panorama that is to be seen as follows: "The edge of the mesa suddenly descends by a succession of ledges and slopes, nearly 2,000 feet into the rugged and highly diversified valley-plain below. The country beneath is a medley of low cliffs and bluffs, showing the browns and pale yellows of the Cretaceous sandstones and shales. Out of this confused patchwork of bright colors rise several objects of remarkable aspect. They are apparently inaccessible eyries of black rock, and at a rough guess, by comparison with the known altitudes of surrounding objects, their heights above the mean level of the adjoining plain may range from 800 to 1,500 feet. The blackness of their shade may be exaggerated by contrast with the brilliant colors of the rocks and soil out of which they rise, but their forms are even more striking." These black piles are the _necks_ or lava plugs of extinct volcanoes. They rise above the level of the plain because, being harder than the surrounding rocks, they have resisted erosion. In some cases these necks or plugs have been converted by shrinkage, on cooling, into beautiful columns, somewhat of the type of the basaltic columns of the Giant's Causeway. It would be difficult to count the number of volcanic necks that can be seen near the edge of the mesa. One's attention is at once attracted to some dozen of these piles, which are especially striking on account of their great size, and ominous black color, but the number is by no means limited to this dozen. There are hundreds of them. Fig. 19 gives some idea of a part of the view from the edge of the mesa, and Fig. 20 the appearance of two of these volcanic necks. But besides high volcanic mountains such as the San Francisco Mountains and Mt. Taylor, there are, in different parts of the United States, to be found fragments of huge craters from which, in the geological past, immense quantities of lava have escaped. In some instances these craters are but fragments of huge craters, that, like the crater of Mt. Somma, in Vesuvius, have been nearly completely blown away by some unrecorded explosion during the far past. [Illustration: FIG. 19. PANORAMA FROM THE MESA AT THE EDGE OF MT. TAYLOR _From U. S. Geological Survey_] A crater of this type, known as Ice Springs Crater, is situated in the desert valley west of the Wahsatch Mountains, some 125 miles south of Salt Lake City, Utah. This crater is especially interesting from the fact that it occupies a position on a plain that was formed by the deposition of sediment in an immense lake that covered this part of the United States very long before man lived on the earth. We are alluding to Lake Bonneville, a lake that existed in a geological time known as the Glacial Epoch. This lake occupied the territory now filled by the Great Salt Lake of Utah, but towards the close of the Glacial Epoch it was immensely larger than it is now. This can be shown not only by the presence of shore lines, that are clearly marked on the sides of the surrounding mountains, but also by the ancient lake beaches, and deltas, that are common in the district, so that instead of there being the comparatively limited area of Great Salt Lake as marked on the maps of to-day there was a lake that had an area of 19,750 square miles, that covered an area on which at least 200,000 people dwell. [Illustration: FIG. 20. VOLCANIC NECKS, EDGE OF MESA AT MT. TAYLOR _From U. S. Geological Survey_] A similar lake, known as Lake Lehontan, existed at the same time, covering large areas in the western parts of Nevada. Coming now to Ice Springs Craters in Utah, we find here three small craters formed of scoriæ and lapilli (volcanic ashes consisting of small angular stony fragments). Near them lies a fragment of a much larger crater known as the Crescent. In some respects this crater was not unlike the crater of Somma that surrounded Mt. Vesuvius. It was not, however, as large, having a diameter of only 2,200 feet. From these craters streams of basalt flowed until they covered considerable areas. A still more recent crater known as Tabernacle Crater is situated four miles south of the Ice Springs Crater. Tabernacle Crater takes its name from the building known in Salt Lake City as the Tabernacle. According to Gilbert, this crater was formed at a time when Lake Bonneville stood at a comparatively low level, or when the water was only from fifty to seventy-five feet above the bottom of the valley on which the crater now stands. At that time an explosive volcanic eruption occurred on the bottom of the lake, and the rim of the crater, built up by this explosion, was gradually pushed above the surface of the lake, so as to shut out its waters. Extinct volcanic craters, not unlike those of Utah, occur also near Ragtown, in Nevada, in a district known as the Carson Valley Desert, in one of the broadest areas of what was once Lake Lahontan. Ragtown is twenty-two miles southwest of Wadsworth on the Central Pacific Railroad. At the present time there are two circular depressions or volcanic craters filled with pools of strongly alkaline water known as the Ragtown Pond, or Soda Lake. The large lake covers an area of 268-1/2 acres. Its greatest diameter is over 4,000 feet. Without going into a detailed description it will suffice to say that the larger crater probably was destroyed by an explosive volcanic eruption. Another intensely alkaline lake that fills an extinct volcanic crater is the Mono Lake, situated in Mono Valley in California at the eastern base of the Sierra Nevadas. It has an area of about 200 square miles. The centre of the lake has two small islands named Pacha and Negit. Immediately south of Mono Lake are a number of craters that occupy portions of what was once apparently a fissure extending in a general north and south direction. The highest of these craters are in the neighborhood of 2,500 feet. But leaving these inconspicuous craters, let us briefly examine some of the higher mountain peaks of the United States that are of volcanic origin. One of the most conspicuous of these is Mt. Shasta. This mountain is situated in California, at the northern end of the Sierra Nevadas. It has a height of 14,350 feet. It is a snow-clad mountain of a conical form, and is a conspicuous object in the landscape, because it stands alone. Mt. Shasta is a double-coned mountain. Besides the cone on its summit there is a well-developed cone known as Shastina on the western side of the mountain, 2,000 feet lower than the main summit. There are well-defined lava streams on the slopes of Mt. Shasta. One of these, which issued from the southern side of the mountain at an elevation of 5,500 feet, divided into two streams. One of these streams is twelve miles in length. The other entered the canyon of the Sacramento River, thus displacing the water. Coming now to the Cascade Mountains, in Oregon and Washington, we will find in them a number of giant peaks of volcanic origin. The most important of these are in regular order from south to north, as follows: Mt. Pitt, 9,760 feet; Mt. Mazana, 8,223; Mt. Union, 7,881; Mt. Scott, 7,123; Three Sisters, Mt. Jefferson, 10,200, and Mt. Hood, 11,225, in Oregon; Mt. Adams, 9,570; Mt. St. Helen's, 9,750; Mt. Rainier, 14,525, and Mt. Baker in Washington, 10,877. Nearly all these mountains have craters either on their summits or on their sides. They are extinct volcanic mountains, that were, for the most part, thrown up during the Tertiary Geological Period, so that they have all been greatly affected by erosion. One of the most remarkable of the above volcanic mountains is Mt. Mazana, in Oregon. This mountain has on its summit an approximately circular cavity from five to six miles in diameter, that is occupied by a lake of water known as Crater Lake. This lake is 6,239 feet above the level of the sea, and has a depth of 1,975 feet. It is surrounded by nearly vertical walls ranging from 900 to 2,200 feet deep, so that the vast caldera of which this great depression consists has a depth of at least 4,000 feet. Mt. Pitt, situated about sixty miles north of Mt. Shasta, in southern Oregon, has a regularly shaped volcanic cone, and the remnant of a crater at its summit. The Three Sisters and Mt. Jefferson lie to the north of Mt. Pitt. Like the others they are ancient volcanic mountains. But little is accurately known concerning them. Mt. Hood, 11,225 feet high, rises from the crest of the Cascade range in Northwest Oregon, about twenty-five miles south of the Columbia River. Mt. Hood is an exceedingly majestic mountain. At its summit there are only portions of the walls of the original crater. When ascended in 1888, streams of sulphur vapor were escaping from fumaroles on its northeastern slopes, at an elevation of 8,500 feet above the sea. Mt. Adams and Mt. St. Helen's lie to the north of Mt. Hood. Mt. Adams about sixty miles to the north, and beyond this, Mt. St. Helen's. Accurate information concerning the summit of Mt. Adams is still lacking. Mt. St. Helen's in Washington has more of a conical summit. Russell states that according to frontiersmen, St. Helen's has been in a state of activity within the past fifty years. A French-Canadian asserts that the mountain was in actual eruption during the winter of 1841-43, that at this date the light from the volcano was sufficiently bright to enable one to see and pick up a pin in the grass at midnight near his cabin some twenty miles distant. Mt. St. Helen's was ascended in 1889, when fumaroles were found on the northeast side. Mt. Rainier in Washington is plainly visible from Puget Sound. It is a most magnificent mountain. The summit has a bowl-shaped crater, of an almost perfectly circular form. The inside of the crater, when last ascended, was filled to within thirty or thirty-five feet of its rim with ice and snow. There was, however, evidences of heat, since numerous jets of steam were seen issuing from its interior rim. Mt. Baker, Washington, is the northernmost of the volcanoes of the Cascade Mountains, south of the boundary line between the United States and Canada. But little is known of this mountain. The summit appears as a conical peak from Puget Sound, so that its form would seem to show that it is of volcanic origin. According to Gibbs, officers of the Hudson Bay Company, as well as the Indians, declared that Mt. Baker was in eruption in 1843, when it broke out at the same time as Mt. St. Helen's, covering the country with ashes. There are but few volcanoes in the Rocky Mountains which extend from north to south through the United States at a considerable distance to the east of the Sierra Nevadas and Cascade Ranges. The Spanish Peaks, situated in the southeastern part of Colorado about sixty miles south of Pueblo, are the remains of ancient volcanoes. Two of the most prominent of these peaks rise from 12,720 to 13,620 feet above the sea. We shall make no effort to attempt to describe the volcanic mountains that may exist in those portions of the Rocky Mountain Ranges or the Cascade Range lying in Canada. Comparatively little is known of them, but inasmuch as volcanic activity has been manifested in Alaska, it would seem highly improbable, as Russell remarks, that volcanoes should suddenly cease at the northern boundaries of the United States and then begin again at the most southern part of Alaska. It will be sufficient to say that Mt. Edgecome, situated on an island in the neighborhood of Sitka, is of volcanic origin, and that the Aleutian Islands, beginning at Alaska on the east at the head of Cook's Inlet, extend westward through the Peninsula of Alaska to the Peninsula of Kamtschatka for a distance of nearly 1,600 miles. This belt, which is called by Russell "the Aleutian Volcanic Belt," contains numerous volcanoes that are known to have been active in historical times. Mt. Wrangell, on the Copper River, 200 miles northeast of the head of Cook's Inlet, is a lofty volcanic mountain that is said to have been in eruption in 1819, and at the time of last report was still throwing out columns of steam. While much remains to be ascertained about the volcanoes of the Aleutian Islands, it would appear that there are active volcanoes on twenty-five of these islands, on which some forty-eight craters have been found. Eruptions are common in the district. CHAPTER XI THE CATASTROPHE OF MARTINIQUE AND THE VOLCANIC ISLANDS OF THE LESSER ANTILLES The West Indies Island chain consists of two groups of islands; i. e., the Greater Antilles, including Cuba, Jamaica, Hayti, and Porto Rico, on the west, and the chain of the Lesser Antilles on the east. The Lesser Antilles consists of two parallel chains, the westernmost of which is for the greater part mountainous with peaks several thousand feet in height. All these islands are volcanic. The chain on the east consists of low, calcareous rocks, or rocks consisting largely of lime. In the western chain the islands beginning on the south are, Grenada, St. Vincent, St. Lucia, Martinique, Dominica, Guadeloupe, Montserrat, Nevis, and St. Eustace, while in the calcareous chain are found the Tobago, Barbadoes, and others. Prior to 1902, the greatest volcanic eruption in this part of the world occurred on the island of St. Vincent, with the volcano of Soufrière. Although the forces displayed were exceedingly great, yet they become insignificant when compared with the appalling eruption that took place in Martinique only a short time ago; namely, May the 8th, 1902, when the volcano of Mt. Pelée, situated on the northwestern part of the island, burst into an eruption so terrible that in destruction of life it far exceeded the eruption of Krakatoa, although the amount of energy causing the eruption was much smaller. [Illustration: FIG. 21. THE LESSER ANTILLES] Heilprin, in a book called "Mt. Pelée and the Tragedy of Martinique," from whom most of the information of this chapter has been obtained, calls attention to the fact that before the eruption of Pelée there were plenty of warnings for those intelligent enough to note them. For two or three weeks prior to May 8th, 1902, the volcanic activity of Pelée had been rapidly increasing, the mountain throwing out clouds of ashes and sulphurous vapors from its crater. By April 25th the sulphurous vapors had so increased in quantity as to make breathing difficult in St. Pierre. The ashes fell on the surrounding country and by the 2d of May had so covered the streets of St. Pierre as to stop traffic. Three days later, May 6th, shortly before noon, an avalanche of mud poured down the slopes of the mountain with the rapidity of an express train. These torrents of mud and water deluged the towns and villages in the neighborhood. The activity of Mt. Pelée increased until the morning of May 8th, 1902, when, almost at exactly 8 A. M., an eruption occurred, so terrible in its effects that in two minutes the city of St. Pierre was almost completely destroyed. St. Pierre, the principal town of Martinique, is situated on the island of Martinique, on the northwestern coast, about ten miles southwest of Mt. Pelée. St. Pierre was settled as far back as 1635. It is situated on an open roadstead without any harbor. That there were many points of resemblance between the position of St. Pierre and the destroyed city of Pompeii will be recognized as the description of the catastrophe is given. St. Pierre was a beautiful city, and formed the natural outlet to one of the richest districts in Martinique for the production of sugar cane and cocoa. It contained many fine houses, the homes of planters, wealthy bankers, merchants, and shippers, who, besides their regular houses in the city, had constructed handsome villas on heights on the outskirts of the city. The houses were to a great extent one or two stories in height, and were in many cases surrounded by fine gardens. The city extended along the coast for about two miles. The streets were well lighted. The eruption of Mt. Pelée on May 8th, 1902, was of a very unusual character, containing a feature that--with the exception of a volcanic eruption of Soufrière, a volcanic mountain on the neighboring island of St. Vincent, and an eruption of Kilauea in Hawaii--so far as I am aware, never before occurred. This was a blast of highly heated air, mingled with white hot or incandescent dust, that swept down the side of the mountain with a velocity of one or two miles per minute, or possibly more. Nearly all of the people in St. Pierre were killed. From the appearance of the bodies it seemed that death was practically instantaneous, and was due either to scorching or burning, or asphyxiation by the breathing of highly heated air. The number of people so killed, including almost the entire population of St. Pierre, as well as a number of adjoining settlements, was not less than 30,000. The zone of absolute destruction was limited to an area the extent of which did not greatly exceed eight or nine square miles. On the outskirts of this zone the destruction, though considerable, was less complete. There was almost an entire absence of great earthquake shocks during the eruption. Following the terrible eruption of May 8th were a number of less violent eruptions on May 20th, 26th, June 6th, July 9th, and August 31st. According to Heilprin these eruptions were of the same character as that of May 8th. There has been considerable discussion as to the exact causes of the tornadic incandescent blast that caused the awful destruction of life. Without entering this discussion it is sufficient to say that it is now generally considered that the blast consisted of highly heated air, and super-heated steam loaded with great quantities of finely divided red hot or even white hot dust particles. While, perhaps, the force producing the awful eruption of Mt. Pelée was greatly excelled in the case of many other volcanic eruptions; such as Papandayang, in 1772; Asamayama, in 1783; Skaptar Jökul, in 1783; Tomboro, in 1815; Coseguina, in 1835; and Krakatoa, in 1883; yet, in the words of Heilprin, "in intensity and swiftness of its death-dealing blast ... the eruption of May 8th, and of later dates, stands unique in records of volcanic manifestations." While the amount of ashes that accompanied the blast of white hot steam and air was comparatively small, yet during the time between this and the subsequent eruptions, the amount of ashes that were thrown from the surface of Mt. Pelée was exceedingly great. According to Russell, in a paper on the volcanic eruptions of Martinique and St. Vincent, in 1902, the amount of ashes and solid matter generally thrown out from the crater of Mt. Pelée would be equal to 40,000,000 cubic feet every minute, or one and a half times the sediments discharged by the Mississippi in the course of a whole year. According to Heilprin, however, the actual amount of dust thrown from the crater of Mt. Pelée was, probably, 500 times greater than the amount discharged by the Mississippi River in the course of a year, and, consequently, considerably greater than that of all the rivers of the world combined, or, as he says: "Mont Pelée has now been in a condition of forceful activity for upwards of two hundred days; can we assume that during this time it may have thrown out a mass of material whose cubical contents are hardly less than a quarter of the area of Martinique as it now appears above the waters? One is, indeed, almost appalled by the magnitude of this work, and yet the work may even be very much greater than is here stated. We ask ourselves the questions, what becomes of the void that is being formed in the interior? What form of new catastrophe does it invite? There can be no answer to a question of this kind--except in the future happening that may be associated with this special condition. But geologists must take count of the force as being one of greatest potential energy, whose relation to the modelling and the shaping of the destinies of the globe is of far greater significance than has generally been conceived." A curious circumstance connected with the eruption of Mt. Pelée was the most pronounced electric and magnetic disturbances. Moreover, as in the case of the eruption of Krakatoa, there were the same after glows or red sunsets and sunrises due to the presence of fine volcanic dust in the higher regions of the air. These phenomena were observed over widely separated areas. It appears that this great eruption in Martinique was preceded by severe earthquakes in the northern part of South America, especially in Colombia and Venezuela. The most marked was the great earthquake which on April 18th destroyed the city of Guatamaula; this was, perhaps, the most destructive earthquake that has occurred in the Western Hemisphere since the great earthquake of 1812, that destroyed the city of Caracas. Indeed, Professor Milne suggests that it was this earthquake that brought about the eruption of Mt. Pelée. Soufrière, on the island of St. Vincent, had a great eruption on May 7th, 1902, one day before the awful eruption of Mt. Pelée. No lava flowed during this eruption. There were, however, great discharges of mud, due to a lake that before the eruption filled the top of a depression known as the old crater which lay southwest of a new crater, or the crater that was formed during the eruption of 1812. The old crater was nine-tenths of a mile across from east to west, and eight-tenths of a mile from north to south. The depth to the crater floor was from 1,000 to 2,400 feet. The surface of the new and shallow boiling lake which occupied the deepest part of the floor during the latter part of May, and from June to August, was estimated to be only 1,200 feet above the level of the sea. The sheet of water that occupied it before the eruption being several hundred feet higher. Soufrière did not fail to give warnings of its coming eruption. Rumblings were heard two days before the explosion. On May 5th, 1902, fishermen who crossed the lake noticed that the water was disturbed and agitated. On the Tuesday following, May 6th, great clouds were thrown out during the afternoon, and the volcano was illumined by a reddish glare of fire. The first explosion was heard shortly before two o'clock on the following day and the volcano burst into activity. The explosions, together with great discharges of pumice, ashes, and boulders, followed one another rapidly. A column of steam was shot up into the air for a height of 30,000 feet. The severest paroxysm came shortly after ten A. M., and was succeeded by others nearly as violent during the next few hours. By this time a reddish curtain of clouds nearly shut out the island from view, and rapidly advanced over the land and descended on the sea. This eruption caused a loss of life of about 1,350. This eruption of Mt. Soufrière was accompanied by the same tornadic blast of glowing air. There was not, however, any single blast quite as severe as that which attended the eruption of Pelée on May 8th, 1902. CHAPTER XII SOME OTHER NOTED VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS Since the limits of our book will prevent any further description of volcanic districts or regions, we must content ourselves with descriptions of some of the noted of the remaining volcanoes, although many we will thus omit contain great wonders. As we have already seen from the description of Krakatoa, the island of Java near which Krakatoa is situated is especially noted not only for the great number of its volcanic mountains, but also for the frequency and severity of their eruptions. Perhaps the most destructive eruption of any of the volcanic mountains of Java was of a volcanic mountain called Papandayang. This volcano, situated on the southern coast of the island, is 7,034 feet in height, and was in eruption in 1772. According to Scrope, from whom the details of this eruption have been obtained, two others of the many volcanoes on Java, situated at 184 and 352 geographical miles respectively from Papandayang, broke out at the same time into active eruption, although several intervening cones were undisturbed. The eruption of Papandayang was of the explosive type, a large part of the mountain being broken off by the great force of the eruption, and its materials scattered far and wide over the surrounding country. During this eruption forty villages with their inhabitants were buried by great showers of ashes. An area of fifteen by six miles was left in the shape of a huge pit by the great eruption. It was at first believed by some that this pit was due to the actual sinking in of the ground, but a more careful study has shown that it was in reality caused by the great force of the eruption, being, in point of fact, a vast explosive crater that was formed by the expulsion of the materials that formerly filled it. Some idea of the great extent of this eruption of Papandayang may be had by the size of this huge crater that was six by fifteen miles in diameter. Another great volcanic mountain in Java that had a terrific eruption was Galungoon, or Galung Gung. According to Lyell, from whom the facts of this eruption have been obtained, prior to this eruption the slopes of the mountain were highly cultivated and densely populated. There was a circular pit or crater on the summit of the mountain, but there had been no traditions of any eruptions prior to 1822. In July, 1822, the waters of the Kunir River, one of the small rivers that flow down the slopes of the mountain, were observed to become hot and turbid. On the 8th of October, 1822, a terrific explosion was suddenly heard, accompanied by great earthquake shocks, when immense columns of hot water and boiling mud, mixed with burning brimstone, ashes, and lapilli, were thrown violently like a great waterspout from the opening in the mountain, with such enormous violence that great quantities fell across the River Tandoi, forty miles distant, while the valleys in the neighborhood were filled with a burning torrent. The rivers overflowed their banks and produced great destruction by floods of burning and boiling materials that washed away all the villages and cultivated fields in their path. During this eruption an extended area was covered with boiling mud in which were completely buried the bodies of many of those who perished. So great was the violence with which the boiling mud, cinders, etc., were thrown out of the mountain that they entirely failed to fall on many of the villages in the immediate neighborhood, while the more remote villages were completely destroyed and buried out of sight under the mud. The first eruption continued for nearly five hours. During several days following the eruption, torrents of rain fell, which produced floods in the rivers that covered the country far and wide with thick layers of mud. Four days after the great eruption, that is, on the 12th of October, 1822, a second and still more violent eruption occurred, when immense quantities of hot mud were again thrown out of the crater. Great blocks of hardened lava called basalt were thrown a distance of seven miles from the volcano. This eruption was accompanied by a violent earthquake. It was during this eruption that a huge piece of the side of the cone was blown out, not unlike the case of the Val del Bove on Mt. Etna. The surrounding country was covered with mud. The immense quantity of materials thus thrown out of the side of the mountain produced changes in the courses of several rivers, thus causing great floods which in the single night of October 12th drowned 2,000 people. During these eruptions there were 114 villages destroyed, with a total loss of life of about 4,000. There is a volcanic mountain on the island of Sumbawa that is noted for the very destructive eruption that occurred on it in April, 1815. If you examine the map of the Sunda Islands chain, you will see that the island of Sumbawa lies immediately east of a little island called Lombock, about 200 miles east of Java. This eruption of Sumbawa was of the most frightful violence, and, indeed, with the exception of Krakatoa and Pelée, was one of the greatest eruptions in historic times. Like all great eruptions, that of Sumbawa gave plenty of signs of its coming. During April, 1814, the volcano manifested considerable increase in its activity, and ashes fell on the decks of vessels sailing past the island. The eruption began on April 5th, 1815, but reached its greatest violence on the 11th and 12th of April. According to Lyell, the sound of the explosion was heard at the island of Sumatra at a distance of 970 geographical miles towards the west, and in the opposite direction it was heard for a distance of 720 miles. The destruction of life was terrible. Out of a population of 12,000 in the province of Tomboro, only twenty-six people escaped with their lives. Like many other great eruptions the shooting upwards of the great column of matter from the crater produced a violent whirlwind that carried people, horses, cattle, and almost every movable object high into the air, and tore up huge trees by their roots. Immense quantities of ashes fell over the surrounding country, or were carried towards Java to the west a distance of 300 miles, while on the north they were carried towards Celebes for a distance of 217 miles. Cinders covered the ocean towards the west two feet thick and several miles in length, so that ships could hardly make their way through them. The darkness in Java produced by the dense ash cloud was greater than had ever before been experienced with the single exception of the great eruption of Krakatoa. A considerable quantity of this volcanic dust was carried to the islands of Amboyna and Banda, the last named island being at a distance of 800 miles east of the volcano. This eruption of Sumbawa was attended by great lava streams that covered vast areas of the land and afterwards poured into the sea. As in the case of the explosive eruption of Krakatoa great waves were produced in the ocean all along the coasts of Sumbawa, and surrounding islands. The sea suddenly rose from two to twelve feet. A great wave rushed up the mouths of the rivers, and at the town of Tomboro, on the west side of Sumbawa, an area of land was sunk in the waters and remained permanently covered by eighteen feet of water. The most important of the still active volcanoes of Japan is Assamayna. This mountain was in terrible eruption during the autumn of 1783, when dense showers of ashes thrown out of the crater darkened the sky, turning the day into night, and, falling on the cultivated fields around the mountain, changed them into deserts. During the eruption some forty-eight villages were destroyed by showers of ashes and red hot stones and thousands of the inhabitants were either killed directly by the stones and ashes, or died from starvation, since their fields were covered with ashes for miles around to a depth of from two and a half to five feet. Another terrible eruption in Japan was in the volcanic mountain of Wunzen, or Onzen-Gatake. This occurred during 1791-93. During the last eruption of this volcano, 53,000 people lost their lives, either by reason of the eruption of the volcano, or by huge waves set up in the ocean by an earthquake. CHAPTER XIII JORULLO, A YOUNG VOLCANIC MOUNTAIN You must not suppose that when we speak of Jorullo as a young volcanic mountain that we mean young in the sense that you or I might be called young, but young as regards mountains; for Jorullo, now a great mountain range, had no existence before the year 1759, and that would make the mountain a little less than 150 years old, which so far as mountains are concerned may properly be regarded as quite young. The story of Jorullo is very interesting, and affords an excellent example of the great scale on which modern volcanic eruptions take place during historical times. If you examine the map of Mexico on page 86 you will see that Jorullo lies 170 miles southwest of the city of Mexico, and 108 miles from the Pacific Ocean, which is the nearest large body of water. This mountain is of especial interest because, if old traditions are to be believed, it was thrown up during practically a single night. This wonderful event took place on an elevated plain or plateau, called the Plain of Malpais, that lies between 2,000 and 3,000 feet above the level of the ocean. The plain was situated in a part of Mexico that was celebrated for the growth of the finest cotton and indigo in the world. It formed the large estate of a wealthy planter, Señor Pedro de Jorullo, who lived at his ease as a wealthy planter is apt to do in tropical countries like Mexico. Jorullo's plantation was covered by an especially fertile soil, since it was formed by the deposits of volcanic ashes, dust, tufa, etc., produced, most probably, by neighboring volcanoes long before man appeared on the earth, for the plain of Malpais was bounded by hills that were composed of volcanic materials. There had, however, been no signs of volcanic activity in the neighborhood. It had indeed been quiet, so far as volcanic eruptions were concerned, since the time of the discovery of America by Columbus, until the middle of the last century. The fertile fields of the Jorullo plantation were watered by two rivers, or as we would probably call them, brooks, the Cuitamba and the San Pedro. Signs were not wanting of the coming calamity. During June, 1759, subterranean sounds were heard of a low rumbling character, which every now and then increased until they resembled in intensity the sounds produced by the firing of large guns. These sounds were accompanied by earthquake shocks that greatly terrified the people and caused them to flee from their homes. Nothing, however, occurred, so, becoming accustomed to the noises, the people returned to their houses. The noises and tremblings ceased for over two months, until, on the 29th of September, 1759, they were again heard, and a terrible eruption began. A long fissure opened in the earth, extending generally from northeast to southwest. From this fissure flames burst out, fragments of burning rock and stone, together with large quantities of ashes were thrown to great heights in the air, and were followed by streams of molten rock. Six volcanic cones were formed along the fissure. The highest of these cones is what now constitutes the volcanic mountain of Jorullo, which then reached a height of at least 1,600 feet above the level of the plain. From its cone were thrown out great quantities of lava of the same type as that which escaped from the craters of many volcanic islands such as Hawaii and Iceland, namely, basaltic lavas. This eruption, which began on the 29th of September, 1759, continued until the month of February, 1760. The account as above given was obtained by Humboldt, who visited the country some fifty-six years after the eruption. This story was told him by the Indians, but was also recorded in verse by a Jesuit priest, Raphael Landiva, a native of Guatemala. According to the account given Humboldt by the Indians, it appears that when a long time after the eruptions had quieted down, they had returned to their old homes with the hope of cultivating part of the grounds, they found the plains still too hot to permit their living on them. According to Lyell, there was around the base of the cone, spreading from them as a centre over an area of some four square miles, a convex mass, about 550 feet in height, most of the surface of which was covered with thousands of small flattish conical mounds from six to nine feet in height. These, together with numerous large fissures that crossed the plain in different directions, served as points for the escape of sulphur vapors, as well as for the vapors of hot water. During the escape of lava from the craters in 1759, the molten rock, spreading over the plain, ran into the channels of the river or brooks before named, driving out the water. This water reappeared at the base of the mountain in numerous hot springs. Humboldt thought that the conical mountains had been lifted or raised by the formation of huge bubbles formed under the lava, thus causing it to assume a shape not unlike that of a huge bladder. This opinion, however, has not been accepted by geologists at the present time. Scrope points out that this was probably the origin of the little conical mounds that covered the surface of the principal conical mounds but was not, in all probability, the cause of the mound itself. He says: "With regard to the disputed question as to the origin of the raised plain of the Malpais, M. de Saussure, the last and most trustworthy visitor, entirely confirms the opinion which I ventured to proclaim in 1825, that Humboldt was mistaken in supposing it to have been 'blown up from beneath like a bladder,' and that it is merely an ordinary current of lava, which, owing to its very imperfect liquidity at the time of its issue from the volcanic vent, as well as to the overflow of one sheet or stream upon another, had acquired great thickness about its source, gradually thinning off towards the outer limit of the elliptical area it covered." If you have been able to follow the above you will see that Mr. Scrope means that in his opinion the cone of Jorullo is a lava cone like that we have already studied on Mt. Loa or Mt. Kilauea, or, in other words, that the lava as it came out from the opening on the top of Jorullo, flowed in all directions around the opening, thus building up a mountain in the form of a flat lava cone. Perhaps one of the reasons Humboldt had for believing the entire elevation of Jorullo to be due to the formation of a huge bladder was the fact that the plain on which the cone is situated, when struck, gave out a sound as though there was a vast hollow space below it. This was especially the case when the hoofs of the horses driven over its surface produced sounds as though they were moving over the summit of a hollow dome-like space below. But, as Lyell points out, this was probably only due to the fact that the materials forming the cone were very light and porous. According to Burkhardt, a German mining engineer who visited Jorullo in 1827, there appears to have been no other eruptions of the volcano since the time of Humboldt's visit. Mr. Burkhardt descended to the bottom of the crater and observed that small quantities of sulphurous vapors were still escaping. The small cones or _hornitos_, however, on the slopes had entirely ceased emitting steam. It appeared, too, that the twenty-four years that had passed since the time of Humboldt's visit, the rich soil of the surrounding country had permitted the successful cultivation of some crops of sugar cane and indigo. Russell appears to doubt the reliability of the information obtained by Humboldt concerning Jorullo. He suggests that a poetical account by the Jesuit missionary from whom Humboldt obtained much of his information was not apt to possess marked scientific accuracy. While, however, this may be true, yet to a certain extent it seems entirely probable that the principal facts were as above given. The following account as given by Humboldt, is taken from a translation made in the early part of 1800: "The affrighted inhabitants fled to the mountains of Aguasarco. A tract of ground from three to four square miles in extent, which goes by the name of Malpays, rose up in the shape of a bladder. The bounds of this convulsion are still distinguishable in the fractural strata. The Malpays, near its edge, is only twelve metres above the old level of the plain called the Playas de Jorullo; but the convexity of the ground thus thrown up increases progressively towards the centre, to an elevation of 160 metres (524.8 ft.). "Those who witnessed this catastrophe from the top of Aguasarco assert that flames were seen to issue forth for an extent of more than half a square league, that fragments of burning rocks were thrown up to prodigious heights, and that through a thick cloud of ashes, illuminated by the volcanic fire, the softened surface of the earth was seen to swell up like an agitated sea. The rivers of Cuitamba and San Pedro precipitated themselves into the burning chasms. The decomposition of the water contributed to invigorate the flames, which were distinguishable at the city of Pascuaro, though situated on very extensive table-land 1,400 metres (4,592 ft.) elevated above the plains of Las Playas de Jorullo. Eruptions of mud, and especially of strata of clay enveloping balls of decomposed basalt in concentrical layers, appeared to indicate that subterranean water had no small share in producing this extraordinary revolution. Thousands of small cones, from two to three metres in height, called by the indigenes ovens, issued forth from the Malpays.... "In the midst of the ovens, six large masses, elevated from 400 to 500 metres each above the old level of the plain, sprung up from a chasm, of which the direction is from N. N. E. to the S. S. E. This is the phenomenon of the Montenovo of Naples, several times repeated in a range of volcanic hills. The most elevated of these enormous masses, which bears some resemblance to the puys de l'Auvergne, is the great Volcan de Jorullo. It is continually burning, and has thrown up from the north side an immense quantity of scorified and basaltic lavas containing fragments of primitive rocks. These great eruptions of the central volcano continued till the month of February, 1760. In the following years they became gradually less frequent.... The roofs of the houses of Queretaro were then covered with ashes at a distance of more than forty-eight leagues in a straight line from the scene of the explosion. Although the subterranean fire now appears far from violent, and the Malpays and the great volcano begin to be covered with vegetation, we nevertheless found the ambient air heated to such a degree by the action of the small ovens, that the thermometer at a great distance from the surface and in the shade rose as high as 43° C." (109° 4' F.). CHAPTER XIV MID-OCEAN VOLCANIC ISLANDS Besides the volcanoes we have already described, there are many others situated in mid-ocean far from any continent. A brief description will be given of a few of these. All the three great central oceans, the Pacific, the Atlantic, and the Indian, contain numerous volcanic islands, some of which rise many thousands of feet above the general level. We will begin with a description of some of the more important volcanic islands of the Pacific. It was first pointed out by Kotzebue, and afterwards by Darwin, that all the islands of the Pacific Ocean can be divided into two great classes, the _high islands_ and the _low islands_. All the high islands are of volcanic origin, while the low islands are of coral formation. It is the opinion of Dana, who has made a careful study of coral formations, especially in the Pacific, that in all probability even the low islands of the Pacific were originally volcanic, and that the deposits of coral had been made along their shores after their volcanoes had become extinct. The islands of the Pacific, like the shores of the continents and most of their mountain ranges, extend in two great lines of trend, or general direction, which intersect each other nearly at right angles. These lines extend from the southeast to the northwest, and from the northeast to the southwest respectively, those extending in a general direction from southeast to northwest being the most common in the Pacific. Now, perhaps, the greatest number of the earth's volcanoes are arranged along fissures, or cracks in the earth's crust. The craters are situated along the cracks, the openings being kept clear at the crater, and gradually closing elsewhere, probably by pressure. In other words, most of the volcanoes follow one another along more or less straight lines. For example, in the western part of South America they follow the Andes Mountains. A similar arrangement exists in the volcanoes of Central America, Mexico, and the United States. Now, this is especially true of mid-ocean volcanoes of the Pacific which lie along lines extending from southeast to northwest, or from northeast to southwest, though mainly along the former. Some of the volcanic islands of the Pacific have already been described or referred to, as, for example, the Aleutian Islands, which stretch in a curved line from the southwestern extremity of the peninsula of Alaska to Kamtschatka on the coast of Asia. We have already described the island of Hawaii, the great volcanoes of the Sandwich Islands chain, and besides these there are in the North Pacific the Ladrone Islands, lying east of the Philippines. Some of the principal remaining islands are: the Fejee Islands, which are volcanic, with numerous hot springs and craters. The Friendly Islands, with the peak of Tafua, 2,138 feet high, an active volcano with a large crater always burning, and two other volcanoes, Apia, and Upala. Tahiti, to the east, is at present extinct. One of its mountains, Orobena, said to be 10,000 feet high, has a crater on its summit. The Marquesas, still further to the east, are also volcanic. All of these islands lie generally in the lines of the northeast trend. The Tongan or New Zealand Island chain extends in the direction of the northeast trend. This, as you will see, is the direction in which the two islands of New Zealand extend. The Tongan Island chain is continued to the south through Auckland and the Macquaire Islands to 58° S. Towards the north, in almost the same line, are the Kermadec Islands near 30° S. There are several active volcanoes in New Zealand. An explosive eruption of Tarawera, in New Zealand, in 1883, continued for several days, and was followed, three days afterwards, by an outburst in an active volcano in the Bay of Plenty, and two months afterwards, by a violent outburst in a volcano on the island of Ninafou in the Tongan Islands. Coming now to the Atlantic Ocean we find a number of volcanic mountains in the deep waters near mid-ocean. The principal of these, besides Iceland, are the Azores, the Canaries, Cape Verde Islands, Ascension Island, St. Helena Island, and Tristan d'Acunha. The Peak of Pico, in the Azores, rises to a height of 7,016 feet. The Peak of Teneriffe, in the Canaries, reaches the height of 12,225 feet. Teneriffe is a snow-capped mountain. It has a cone on its summit with precipitous walls like Vesuvius. Sulphurous vapors are continually formed at its summit, but no flames can be seen. In the Cape Verde Islands is to be found the active volcanic mountain of Fuego, rising 7,000 feet above the sea. It has a central cone that has been broken down on one side like that of Somma on Vesuvius. Fuego was in eruption in 1785, and also in 1799. Ascension Island, south of the equator, is formed entirely of volcanic materials. This island rises from an apparently granite floor on the bed of the ocean, in water 12,000 feet deep. St. Helena lies further to the south. It is an extinct volcano, and has the remains of a crater on its summit with lava dikes in various parts of the island. Tristan d'Acunha is an isolated mountain that lies in the South Atlantic, south of St. Helena, 1,500 miles from Africa, the nearest land. It is an extinct volcano that rises from a depth of 12,150 feet to a height of 7,000 feet above the sea. It has a truncated cone on its summit and a lake of pure water in its old crater. There are only a few volcanic islands in the Indian Ocean. Kerguelen Island lies in the southern waters. St. Paul and Amsterdam to the north, lying near 40° S. lat., as well as the Crozet Islands, are extinct volcanoes. In the Arctic Ocean is the volcanic island of Jan Mayen. In the Antarctic Ocean, as far as is known, there are only two volcanoes, Mt. Erebus and Mt. Terror. Mt. Erebus, 12,400 feet high, is an active volcano. Mt. Terror, 10,990 feet high, is an extinct volcano. CHAPTER XV SUBMARINE VOLCANOES A submarine volcano is a volcano that erupts on the bed of the ocean with its crater covered by the waters. Many of the great volcanic mountains of the world began as submarine volcanoes. A crater first opened on the floor of the ocean, and lava escaping, was heaped up around the opening, until it emerged above the surface as an island. As we have seen, the island of Iceland is believed to have begun in this way. Such, too, in all probability, was the origin of Hawaii, Vesuvius, Etna, and Santorin. But besides the volcanic mountains that were thrown up during the geological past, there are others that have been called into existence while man has been living on the earth. We will now describe a few islands that have been formed in this manner by submarine volcanic eruptions. That volcanic eruptions, or at least something that greatly resembles eruptions, occur on the bed of the ocean too far below the surface to permit them to be directly seen from above, has been shown in a number of cases where the captains of vessels have reported that in certain parts of the ocean, jets of water, or steam, and pillars of flame have been seen rising to great heights from the surface of the water, and that in certain regions sulphurous smoke has also been seen. During such occurrences, the water is agitated, as if it were being violently boiled. Moreover, these parts of the ocean are shaken by severe earthquake shocks. Another evidence of submarine volcanic eruptions is to be found in great quantities of ashes, scoriæ, or pumice stone, that are seen spread out over the surface of the ocean after the commotions referred to in the preceding paragraph. Still another proof is that parts of the ocean whose waters were previously very deep are found to have suddenly shoaled. Of course, the best proof is the appearance of rocky reefs or small islands thrown up above the surface of the water, especially where volcanic cones appear. While in many cases the new islands thus thrown up are subsequently washed away by the waves, yet some have continued above the water. One of the most noted instances of the formation of an island by a submarine volcano was Sabrina, which was thrown up in 1811, in the Atlantic Ocean, off the shores of St. Michael in the Azores Islands. Sabrina had a cone that was 300 feet in height. It did not long remain above the waters, however, being soon washed away by the waves. It is interesting to note that in the same part of the ocean where Sabrina appeared, other islands have appeared and disappeared, at times long before 1811; that is, during the year 1691, as well as during 1720. Another instance of a submarine island is Graham's Island, that was thrown up in 1831, in the Mediterranean Sea, between the west coast of Sicily and the nearest part of Africa, on which ancient Carthage was situated. The part of the sea where the island was thrown up had previously a depth of 600 feet. The general appearance of Graham's Island is represented in Fig. 22. Graham's Island was formed by accumulations of loose scoria and cinders, together with blocks of lava and fragments of limestone. It reached a height of 200 feet above the water, but only remained above the surface for a few months, when it was washed away, leaving a submarine bank some twelve miles in width, that was covered by water of about 150 feet, but which, however, increased rapidly in depth towards the edge until depths of from 1,200 to 2,000 feet were reached. [Illustration: FIG. 22. GRAHAM'S ISLAND--A RECENT VOLCANIC ISLAND] According to Lyell, on the 28th of June, 1831, before Graham's Island appeared, a ship passing over this portion of the sea felt severe earthquake shocks. On July 10th of the same year, the captain of a vessel from Sicily reported that as he passed near this part of the Mediterranean, a column of water, 800 yards in circumference, was seen to rise from the sea to a height of sixty feet, and that afterwards a column of steam rising to a height of 1,800 feet was seen in the same place. On again passing the same region on July 18th, this captain found a small island about twelve feet in height, with a crater in its centre, that was throwing out volcanic materials, together with immense masses of vapor. The island thus formed grew rapidly, both in size and height. When visited at the end of July, it had attained a height of from fifty to ninety feet, and was three-quarters of a mile in circumference. By August 4th, it had reached a height of 200 feet, and was then some three miles in circumference. From this time, however, the island began to decrease in size, as the waves began to wash it away. By August 25th, it was only two miles in circumference. On September 3d, it had decreased to three-fifths of a mile in circumference, and continued to decrease until it entirely disappeared, so that in the year 1832, there were, according to measurements, some 150 feet of water over its former site. The Mediterranean Sea between Sicily and Greece is also especially liable to submarine activity. New islands appear and disappear so frequently that in this region they are almost regarded as common phenomena. There are many other parts of the ocean where submarine volcanic eruptions are common. This is especially the case in the narrowest part of the Atlantic Ocean between Africa and South America. Here there is a region situated partly above the equator, though for the greater part south of the equator, frequently visited by submarine eruptions, that are accompanied by earthquakes, by the agitation of the water, by the appearance of floating masses of ashes and scoriæ, as well as by columns of steam or smoke. Floating masses of ashes and scoriæ sometimes occur so thick as to retard the progress of vessels. But what forms, perhaps, one of the best instances of a large island formed by submarine eruptions during historical times, is Bogosloff Island in Behring Sea, some forty miles west of Unalaska Island. This island, the position of which is seen on the accompanying map, is known to the Russians as Ioanna Bogoslova, or St. John the Theologian. It is situated in lat. 53° 58' N., long. 168° west. It is said that during the year 1795, some of the natives of Unalaska Island saw what they thought was a fog in the neighborhood of a small rock, which they had known for a long time to project above the sea in these waters. This rock was marked on some Russian chart dated 1768-69. It was seen by Captain Cooke, in 1778, and was named by him Ship Rock. But it was not a fog that the Unalaskans had seen in the neighborhood of Ship Rock; for, to their great surprise, the fog continued in sight although everywhere else the air was quite clear. Of course, this was a great mystery to the people. During the spring of 1796, one of them, who possessed either greater curiosity than the rest, or greater courage, or both, visited the rock. He returned, telling the strange story that all the ocean around the rock was boiling, and that the mist or fog was caused by the rising steam. What was taking place was a submarine eruption. During May, 1796, sufficient matter had been brought up from below to increase greatly the area of the small rock. [Illustration: FIG. 23. ALEUTIAN ISLANDS] During later years several attempts have been made to visit Bogosloff Island. For example, the island was visited during 1872 and 1873, when it was found to have increased in height to 850 feet. But no appearance of any volcanic crater was to be seen. During October, 1883, a great volcanic eruption occurred there. Considerable changes were produced in its shape, as well as in the depth of the surrounding water. During this eruption, clouds of steam completely hid the island. Great quantities of ashes obscured the light of the sun. After the eruption, a new island was thrown up near the old one, in a place where the water had previously been deep enough for the ready passage of ships. The new island was about half a mile from the old one. It was conical in form, from 500 to 800 feet in height, and about three-quarters of a mile in diameter. The new island was visited in 1884 by the U. S. Revenue Marine Steamer _Corwin_. Lieutenant Cartwell, who visited the island at this time, described it as follows: "The sides of New Bogosloff rise with a gentle slope to the crater. The ascent at first appears easy, but a thin layer of ashes, formed into a crust by the action of rain and moisture, is not strong enough to sustain a man's weight. At every step my feet crushed through the outer covering and I sank at first ankle-deep and later on knee-deep into a soft, almost impalpable dust which arose in clouds and nearly suffocated me. As the summit was reached, the heat of the ashes become almost unbearable, and I was forced to continue the ascent by picking my way over rocks whose surfaces being exposed to the air, were somewhat cooled and afforded a more secure foothold. "On all sides of the cone there are openings through which steam escaped with more or less energy. I observed from some vents the steam was emitted at regular intervals, while from others it issued with no perceptible intermission. Around each vent there was a thick deposit of sulphur, which gave off suffocating vapors." CHAPTER XVI DISTRIBUTION OF THE EARTH'S VOLCANOES Having now considered at some length the principal volcanoes of the earth, and endeavored to obtain some idea of the many wonders they exhibit, especially as regards the vast quantities of material they bring from the inside of the earth, as well as the great force with which they sometimes throw these materials out of their craters, it will be well to point out where such volcanoes are to be found. It may have seemed to you, when you have carefully followed what has been said about the earth's volcanoes, that they are to be found pretty nearly everywhere, at least so far as latitude is concerned; and in this supposition you are correct; for there are volcanoes in the Arctic Ocean, as in the volcanic island of Jan Mayen between Iceland and Spitzbergen, there are Mt. Erebus and Mt. Terror in the Antarctic Ocean, besides very numerous volcanoes in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans, and their shores in both the temperate and the torrid zones. There is, however, one thing that you have probably especially noticed and that is that volcanoes are seldom found at very great distances from the ocean, except on some of its arms or seas, such as the Mediterranean Sea. I do not mean by this that all the earth's volcanoes are either situated directly on the coast of the continents or on islands, since, in such a large body as the earth, a distance of a few hundred miles from the ocean is hardly to be regarded as being very far from it. But it is true that all the earth's volcanoes are either situated on the coasts of the continents, or on islands, and, moreover, they are situated to a greater or less extent along lines, which, as we have already pointed out, are believed to mark weak portions of the earth's crust that have been fissured or fractured. In order that you may have some idea of this distribution, I think it will be well to give you a number of interesting facts that have been pointed out by Dana. According to this authority, there are something in the neighborhood of 300 active volcanoes on the earth. Of these, no less than five-sixths, or 250, lie either on the borders of the Pacific Ocean, or on some of its many islands. Thirty-nine either lie within or on the borders of the Atlantic, of which thirteen are in Iceland, or near the Arctic Circle, three in the Canaries, seven in the Mediterranean Sea, six in the Lesser Antilles, and ten in the Atlantic Oceanic Islands. The Indian Ocean contains only a few active volcanoes. There are, however, a much greater number of extinct volcanoes, which may at any time again become active. The following is the distribution of the earth's volcanoes as given by Dana. As you will see, from an inspection of Fig. 24, all of the regions of volcanoes lie either on the borders of the continents, or on islands in the oceans. The districts are as follows: 1. _Scattered Over the Pacific Ocean._--This district includes the following active volcanoes; i. e., the Hawaiian Islands, nearly in mid-ocean, almost directly below the Tropic of Cancer; in the west central parts of the South Pacific; in the New Hebrides; in the Friendly Islands, the Tongan or New Zealand Islands, in the Santa Cruz Islands, and in the Ladrones. [Illustration: FIG. 24. MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING LOCATION OF ACTIVE AND RECENTLY EXTINCT VOLCANOES] 2. _On the Borders of the Pacific._--This district includes the volcanoes that extend from the southern part of South America at intervals along the Andes Mountain range. Of these there are thirty-two in Chile, seven or eight in Bolivia and Southern Peru; about twenty in the neighborhood of Quito. Further north there are thirty-nine in Central America, and seven in Mexico. Proceeding northwards through the United States, there are a number of volcanic mountains, generally extinct, in portions of the Sierra Nevadas and Cascade Ranges. Probably a number of volcanic mountains exist in portions of Canada lying between the northern boundaries of the United States and Alaska, and a number in Alaska; some twenty-one volcanic mountains in the Aleutian Islands; some fifteen or twenty in Kamtschatka; thirteen in the Kuriles; some twenty-five or thirty in Japan and the neighboring islands; some fifteen or twenty in the Philippines; several along the northern coasts of New Guinea; a number in New Zealand and south of Cape Horn; the volcanoes of the Deception Island with its hot springs, and also in the South Shetlands 62° 30' S. 3. _In the Indian Ocean._--On the western border of the Indian Ocean there are a few volcanoes in Madagascar; in the Island of Bourbon; Mauritius; the Comoro Islands; and in Kerguelen Land on the south. There are also volcanoes on the western border of the Indian Ocean where the lofty peak of Kilima Ndjro, 18,000 feet, is volcanic. 4. _Over the Seas that Separate the Northern and the Southern Continents and in their Vicinity._--This is an especially active region of volcanoes. For the sake of convenience the continents of the world are sometimes divided into three pairs or double continents; namely, North and South America, connected by the Isthmus of Panama; Europe and Africa, connected by the Isthmus of Suez; and Australia and Asia, completely separated by a sunken isthmus, the summits of which form the Sunda Island chain. In the first of these regions we have the very active group of the West Indies, where there are ten volcanic islands. In the second pair of double continents we have the volcanoes of the Mediterranean and Red Seas, and their borders, such as Sicily, Vesuvius, and other parts of Italy, Spain, Germany, the Grecian Archipelago, Asia Minor, and extending eastward through the Caspian, Mt. Ararat, Demavend, on the south shores of the Caspian, Mt. Ararat, and some few others along the borders of the Red Sea. In the East Indies we find the most intense centre of volcanic activity in the world. Here there are some 200 volcanoes of which there are nearly fifty in Java alone, more than half of which are still active. There are nearly as many volcanoes in Sumatra, and many in the small islands near Borneo, the Philippines, etc. 5. _On the Borders of the Atlantic and Elsewhere._--It is an interesting fact that there are no volcanoes on the eastern borders of the Atlantic north of the West Indies Island chain. In the South Atlantic the only volcano on the borders is one of the Cameroons Mountains. In the Atlantic Ocean we have Iceland, the Azores, the Canaries, Cape Verde, Ascension, St. Helena, and Tristan d'Acunha. This curious distribution of the volcanoes of the world near the oceanic waters appears to be dependent rather on the very early shapes of the continents and the ocean beds than on their present shapes. CHAPTER XVII VOLCANOES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST The question is often asked whether the volcanic eruptions of the geological past were not much more violent and destructive than the volcanoes of the present time. Now, while this is a matter that properly belongs to the subject of geology, and will be treated at greater length in the Wonder Book on Geology, yet a short mention should be made of it here. It is the opinion of Dana that while there have been volcanoes during the different geological ages, yet volcanic activity has increased through the geological past until the age that immediately preceded the appearance of man on the earth. He thinks there is no reason for believing that there were any very great volcanic eruptions during the earliest geological time known as the Archæic. Dana speaks as follows concerning this: "In this connection it is an instructive fact that in eastern North America, at epochs when there was the greatest amount of friction and crushing ... those of the making of the Green Mountains and the Appalachians ... no volcanoes were made, and little took place in the way of eruptions through fissures." On the other hand, Prestwich seems inclined to think that the absence of well-marked cones of volcanic material in the rock of the older geological ages is not to be regarded as proof that no eruptions then took place, since the very great amount of erosion that occurred between that time and the Tertiary Age before the appearance of man, would, probably, have completely obliterated any cones, and even the volcanic materials would have undergone such changes as completely to alter their general character. He agrees, however, with Dana that, probably, the most violent and explosive volcanoes of the geological ages have been those of the Tertiary Age. Without, however, attempting anything more than a brief reference to the volcanoes of the geological past, it may be said that many of the more important of the active volcanoes of the earth's present time were begun in the Tertiary Age. Mt. Etna, Vesuvius, and Mt. Hecla are believed to have commenced at this time. There is an interesting region of geological volcanoes in the neighborhood of Auvergne in Central France. Here they occur in three separate groups that extend over a high granite platform from north to south for a distance of about 100 miles, and from twenty to eighty miles from east to west. The eruptions began in the earlier portions of the Tertiary Age, and continued down to the latter periods of prehistoric times. Some of these volcanic craters remain to-day almost as unaffected by erosion as if they had been formed but recently. Other regions of geological volcanoes are to be found in parts of Spain near the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains, in parts of Italy and Germany, as well as in regions in the Caucasus Mountains. In Asia Minor there exists a group of almost thirty extinct volcanoes in the neighborhood of the Gulf of Smyrna. Both Little and Great Ararat contain volcanic cones: that in the latter mountain was active during historical times. There are also extensive volcanic districts in the Taurus Mountains. In addition to these there are groups of extinct volcanoes in portions of Central Asia. Aden, on the Red Sea, is the centre of an extensive volcanic district. Indeed, on both shores of the Red Sea there are a few volcanoes that are still active, while in Sinai, and in the districts of the south, there are several extinct craters. But it is in the New World, especially on the Pacific coast of North America, that volcanic activity was especially great during the geological past. There is a district containing volcanic rocks that extends through various parts of western North America, from New Mexico and North California, to Oregon and British Columbia. This district has a width of from eighty to 200 miles, and a length of not quite 800 miles. This great area of nearly 150,000 square miles is covered with great sheets of volcanic rocks except where mountain ranges rise from them, or where the rivers have cut deep valleys through them. In portions of California and New Mexico these plateaus rise to heights of from 8,000 to 10,000 feet, while in parts of Colorado, where they form huge dome-like mountains, they reach a thickness of 14,000 feet. In Oregon the sheet of lava is 2,000 feet thick, and, indeed, in some places, is estimated to have a depth of 7,000 feet. In the opinion of nearly all American geologists these great lava flows in western North America were not of the type known as crater eruptions, but were what are called fissure eruptions. Some of them are believed to have occurred during geological times as early as the Eocene. Prestwich, however, is of the opinion that the eruptions of the past in these portions of the world were not confined to fissure eruptions, but that crater eruptions also occurred; and that it was towards the close of the Tertiary Age that crater eruptions occurred with great lava flows. Indeed, as we have seen, in portions of Utah and the neighborhood the remains of true craters can be found. Besides the above there are evidences of geological volcanoes of still older times. In portions of Deccan, in southern Hindostan, there is an immense plateau formed of trap rock, that extends from east to west for a distance of 400 miles, and from north to south through from 700 to 800 miles. This district, with an area of almost 200,000 square miles, is covered with a vast lava sheet. It was, in the opinion of Prestwich, from whom many of the facts of the geological volcanic eruptions have been obtained, probably still more extensive. The plateau of Deccan rises gradually from the east to the west, where, in some parts of the Ghauts Mountains, it reaches a height of from 4,000 to 5,000 feet. One of the greatest of these prehistoric volcanoes of Scotland was a volcano in the Isle of Mull in the Hebrides. This volcano was probably nearly thirty miles across at its base, and was from 10,000 to 12,000 feet high. It is now only 3,172 feet in height. According to Judd the Island of Skye in Inverness-shire is the remains of a volcano that was active in Tertiary times, probably many millions of years ago. This volcano was very large, probably about thirty miles across at its base, with a height of perhaps as great as 12,000 or 15,000 feet. Now there are only left some granite and other similar rocks that form the Red Mountains and Coolim Hills of Skye that reach about 3,000 feet above the sea level. There are many other parts of the world containing volcanoes that were active during the geological past. The above, however, is as far as we can describe such volcanoes in this book. CHAPTER XVIII LAPLACE'S NEBULAR HYPOTHESIS LaPlace's nebular hypothesis is the name given to an ingenious hypothesis proposed by LaPlace, a celebrated French astronomer, in an endeavor to explain how the solar system has been evolved. You will notice that this is called a hypothesis and not a theory. The word hypothesis is properly applied to a more or less intelligent guess or assumption, that has been made for the purpose of trying to find out in the cause of any natural phenomenon. A theory is an expression of a physical truth based on natural laws and principles that have been independently established. A theory, therefore, is much more complete than a hypothesis. A hypothesis, as Silliman remarks, bears the same relation to a theory or law, that a scaffolding does to a completed building, since it forms a convenient means for erecting the building. LaPlace's work is properly called a hypothesis, because it is not to be considered as any more than a means for enabling one intelligently to inquire into the probable manner in which the solar system has reached its present condition, by gradual steps or stages during the almost inconceivable length of time since its creation. Before describing LaPlace's hypothesis it will be necessary to give you some ideas concerning what is known by astronomers as the solar system. The solar system consists of the sun, and the eight large bodies called planets that revolve around the sun. It also includes a number of moons or satellites revolving around the planets, a number of small bodies, called planetoids or asteroids, together with numerous comets and meteorites. Besides these there is probably a system of meteoric bodies that are believed to revolve around the sun, and to produce, by the reflection of the light from their surfaces, what is known as the _zodiacal light_. The principal bodies of the solar system are the planets. These constitute eight large bodies named in their order from the sun, beginning with the nearest: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. The last four planets, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune are much larger than the others, and are therefore known as the _major planets_ in order to distinguish them from Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars, which are called the _minor planets_. You can remember the order in which the last three planets come by their initial letter, S-aturn, U-ranus, and N-eptune, spelling the word SUN, around which they all revolve. It may be interesting to state here that the ancients knew of seven only of these planets. Since, as they asserted, there were only seven days in the week, and seven openings into the head; i. e., two for the eyes, two for the nostrils, two for the ears, and one for the mouth, it was natural that there should be but seven planets. During later years, however, an eighth planet was discovered and named Neptune. It would be interesting to explain to you how the position of this planet was reasoned out by mathematical calculations, that is, in other words, how, as a result of such calculations, an astronomer was told that if he would point his telescope to a certain part of the heavens he would discover a new planet. He did this and located the planet Neptune. However interesting this story may be it belongs properly to astronomy, and will be described in full in the Wonder Book of Astronomy. In the opinion of some astronomers it is quite probable that a ninth planet will be found far beyond the orbit of Neptune. There may also be some additional planets discovered between Mercury and the Sun. Besides the eight known planets there exist, somewhere between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, many smaller planets called _asteroids_, or _minor planets_. A long time ago it was pointed out by Bode that a curious relation exists between the distances of the planets from the sun. This relation or law is generally known, after the name of the astronomer who first called attention to it, as _Bode's Law_. No reason has been discovered for this arrangement of the planets, so that Bode's Law may be regarded as empirical. It may, however, be mentioned here that the distances of all the planets from the sun agrees with the law very closely, with the single exception of Neptune, which is quite at variance with the law. It was noticed at an early date, that a gap existed between Mars and Jupiter, so that astronomers began to believe that there was probably a missing planet in that space, and this belief was greatly strengthened when Neptune was discovered in 1781. Without going any further into this story in this book, it may be said that it is the general opinion of astronomers that the planetoids or asteroids were formed possibly from the fragments of the missing planet, or, more probably, from the breaking up of some of the outer rings on the planet Mars. The distances of the planets from the central sun vary from the nearest planet, Mercury, which is about 36,000,000 miles from the sun, to the furthest, or Neptune, which is 2,766,000,000 miles from the sun. All the major planets have a single moon, or more, revolving around them. For example, Jupiter has four moons; Uranus, six; Saturn, eight; Neptune, one. As to the minor planets, Mars has two moons; and, as far as is known, neither Mercury or Venus has a moon. Our earth has one moon, but, as we shall afterwards see, this is not to be regarded as a moon or satellite of the earth, but rather as a twin planet to the earth. LaPlace's nebular hypothesis was proposed by LaPlace during the year 1796. While there are many objections that can be brought against it, since it fails to account for all of the phenomena of the solar system, yet it is a significant fact now, in the year 1907, nearly a century and a quarter after the hypothesis was first announced, that although modified in many respects, there has not been any hypothesis proposed to entirely replace it. While the nebular hypothesis of LaPlace is necessarily a matter that belongs to astronomy, yet it will be advisable to consider it here, since it explains the source of the original heat of both the earth and the moon, which we believe is the true cause of volcanoes. In his nebular hypothesis, LaPlace assumes that all the materials of which the solar system is formed, were originally scattered throughout space in the shape of an exceedingly rare form of matter known as nebulous matter. He points out that if it be granted that this medium began to accumulate around a common centre, so as to form a huge globe or sphere, and if a motion of rotation on its axis from west to east were given to this sphere that, on strictly mechanical principles, a system of heavenly bodies corresponding to the solar system might have been evolved. Let us, therefore, try to understand how this might have been brought about. The nebulous matter that LaPlace assumed originally constituted all the matter in the solar system, was highly heated gaseous matter. In other words, it consisted of ordinary matter raised to a very high temperature; LaPlace thought at a temperature very much hotter than that of the sun. As this great mass of matter commenced to cool, it began to collect around a centre and slowly rotate. Its contraction or shrinkage, while cooling, must have caused an increase in the speed with which it spun around or rotated on its axis. At first it spun but sluggishly, but as it cooled and began to shrink this rate of rotation began slowly to increase. Now you must bear in mind that the huge rotating mass, as imagined by LaPlace, was very many times larger than the size of our present sun. Indeed, instead of having a diameter of only 866,500 miles, its temperature was so high that the nebulous matter of which it was composed had expanded it so much that it extended far beyond the orbit of Neptune, or had a diameter twice as great as 2,766,000,000 miles. As the huge mass continued to shrink or contract, its rotation began to gradually increase until at last its centrifugal force was sufficiently great to cause it to bulge out at the equator, so as at last to separate a ring of gaseous matter. This ring was left behind by the sun, as it continued cooling, and formed the first planet that was born into the solar system. The ring might have continued to revolve around the sun for a time, and would, of course, revolve in the same direction as that in which the sun was rotating, that is, from west to east. Eventually, however, it broke up into smaller fragments, that afterwards collected in a single body, and, assuming a globe-like shape of the planet, formed the planet Neptune. Necessarily, too, the planet so formed not only would revolve in its orbit from west to east in the same direction in which the sun was revolving on its axis, but would also rotate or spin on its axis in the same direction. After, in this way, throwing off the first planet, the central sun continued to cool and grow smaller, until the increase in the rate of its rotation was again such as to permit its centrifugal force to form a second ring around its equator, which being left as the sun continued to contract, gave rise to another planet, or to Uranus, and so on until the four major planets and the four minor planets were born. According to this hypothesis, the planet that was first born was the planet that is farthest from the sun, that is, Neptune, and the planet last born must have been the nearest planet, Mercury. But while all this planet forming was going on, the separate planets also continued to shrink, and, therefore, began to rotate more rapidly on their axes. Under the influence of the centrifugal force, ring-like masses began to form around their equators, and these masses left by the planet constituted their moons or satellites. As you can see, according to this hypothesis, just as the planets would all revolve in their orbits from west to east, and rotate on their axes in the same direction as the sun, so, too, the moons or satellites of the planets would also rotate on their axes, from east to west, and revolve in their orbits in the same direction. In order to show the extent to which LaPlace's nebular hypothesis explains the peculiarities of the solar system, we must inquire what are the most important of these peculiarities. We will take these from Young's general book on Astronomy, from which most of the facts in this chapter have been condensed. They are as follows: The orbits of nearly all the planets and their satellites are nearly circular; they are all in the same plane; and all revolve in the same direction. They are, moreover, with the single exception of Neptune, arranged at distances from the sun in accordance with Bode's Law. All the planets increase in both directions, towards and from the sun, in density from Saturn, the least dense. All the planets, with the exception probably of Uranus, rotate in a plane that is nearly the same as the plane of the orbit in which they revolve. Moreover, with the exception of probably both Uranus and Neptune, all the planets rotate in the same direction as that in which they revolve. The satellites revolve in orbits whose planes nearly coincide with the plane of the planets' rotation, while the direction of the revolution of the satellites is the same as that in which their planets revolve. Finally, the largest planets rotate most swiftly. Now, LaPlace's nebular hypothesis explains nearly all of the above facts. The following modifications of the hypothesis, however, are necessary. Let us briefly examine some of these modifications. In the first place it can be shown that the original nebulous mass instead of being at a higher temperature than that of the sun was probably at a much lower temperature, since the condensation of the gaseous matter must have increased the temperature. Instead, therefore, of the original nebulous mass being purely gaseous it was, as Young expressed it: "Rather a cloud of ice cold meteoric dust than an incandescent gas or a fire mist." Or in other words, the original nebulous mass from which the solar system was evolved, consisted of finely divided particles of solid or liquid matter surrounded by an envelope of permanent gaseous matter. A doubt, too, has been raised as regards the manner in which the planets were liberated from the central sun. Instead of separating in the form of a regular ring, it has been thought that probably in most cases this separation assumed the shape of a lump. It might, however, have occurred at times in the ring-like form as may be seen in the case of the planet Saturn. Again, instead of the outer rings being separated first, and the others in regular order, so that the outer planets are much the older, it would seem possible, or, as Young states, even probable, that several of the planets may be of the same or nearly the same age, as they would be if more than one ring had been separated at one time, or, indeed, several planets may have been formed from different zones of a single ring. As you will see, LaPlace's nebular hypothesis assumes that both sun and moon were in a highly heated condition when they were separated from the nebulous sun, so that we can understand that the former molten condition of their interiors was due to the heat they originally possessed. CHAPTER XIX THE EARTH'S HEATED INTERIOR, THE CAUSE OF VOLCANOES As we have already seen, the nebular hypothesis of LaPlace would seem to make it more than probable that the earth was originally in a highly heated condition, and only reached its present state after long cooling. While this cooling has gone on for probably millions upon millions of years both before and during the geological past, yet in the opinion of perhaps the best geologists the interior of the earth is still very hot, only the outer portions or crust having hardened by loss of heat. That there is a very hot region somewhere inside the earth is evident, since from some place or places below the surface there come out the immense streams of lava that, continuing to flow at irregular intervals, have at last built up such great masses of land as the island of Hawaii, the still greater island of Iceland, the even greater lava fields of the western United States, and the great plateau of the Deccan in southern Hindustan. It certainly must have required a great quantity of lava to build up an island like Hawaii with its area of fully 40,000 square miles, for the highest point on the summit of Mt. Kea reaches 13,805 feet above the level of the sea, and, moreover, stands on the bed of the Pacific Ocean in water fully 12,000 feet deep. But Iceland is only one of many similar cases. Volcanoes are to be found in practically all parts of the earth, not only in the equatorial regions, where they are especially numerous, but also in the frigid and temperate zones. We must also remember the immense lava streams that are known to have come from the interior during the great fissure eruptions of the geological past. When all these facts are taken into consideration, it would certainly seem that there is only one source sufficiently great to supply this wonderful demand, and that is the entire inside of the earth. But entirely apart from volcanic phenomena there are other proofs that the entire interior of the earth is in a highly heated condition. The differences of temperature caused by the sun during day and night do not affect the earth much below a depth of three feet, while the differences of temperature between summer and winter do not extend much further below the surface than forty feet. Below these depths, in all parts of the earth, the temperature of the crust rises at a rate, which, although not uniform, yet is not far from an increase of one degree of the Fahrenheit thermometer scale for every fifty or sixty feet of descent. If the above rate of increase continues uniform the temperature of the crust would be sufficiently hot to boil water at a distance of about 8,000 feet below the surface, while at a depth of about thirty miles the temperature would be sufficiently high to melt all known substances at ordinary conditions of atmospheric pressure; that is, to melt all known substances if they were subjected to such a temperature at the level of the sea. In considering the above we must not lose sight of the fact that this increase in temperature with descent below the surface of the earth's crust occurs, not only in places where there are volcanoes, but over all parts of the earth, thus seeming to point out that there is something hot below the surface which fills the entire inside of the earth. It is true the greatest distance to which man has actually gone down through the earth's crust is but a few miles. We do not, therefore, know by actual experience that the interior is anywhere in a fused condition, yet the escape of lava or molten rocks in all latitudes, and in the enormous quantities referred to above, seems to show that the entire inside of the earth is at a temperature sufficiently high to melt all known substances under ordinary conditions. It may be interesting in this connection to examine some of the proofs of this increase in temperature with descent below the surface. The following figures are given by Dana: Borings to great depths have been made in various parts of the earth, both for artesian wells as well as for the shafts of mines. After passing the line of invariable temperature, the rate of increase for a total distance of 4,000 feet below the surface is in the neighborhood of from one degree for fifty-five to sixty feet, or an average of fifty-seven and a half feet for each degree of heat. In the case of the deep artesian well bored at Grenelle, Paris, where a temperature of eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit was reached at a distance of 2,000 feet, the rate of increase was somewhat more rapid, being one degree Fahrenheit for every sixty feet. In a deep well bored in a salt mine at Neusalzwerk, Prussia, a depth of 2,200 feet showed a temperature of ninety-one degrees Fahrenheit at the bottom. This was at the rate of one degree for every fifty feet of descent. At Schladenbach, in Prussia, a well has been dug to the depth of 5,735 feet with a temperature of 134° F. A boring at Wheeling, in West Virginia, reached a depth of 4,500 feet, 3,700 feet below the level of the sea. Here the rate of increase of temperature in the upper half was one degree Fahrenheit for every eighty feet, and in the lower half of one degree for every sixty feet. It must not be supposed because the rate of increase of temperature is not uniform that the argument of a highly heated interior is weakened. On the contrary, it would be very surprising if the rate continued uniform; for it is evident that the conducting power of different materials in the earth's crust for heat must necessarily make a great difference in the rate at which heat should increase, as we go farther down into the earth. This is so important a matter that I will explain it at somewhat greater length. Let us suppose that instead of the highly heated interior of the earth, we consider the simple case of a hot stove, the doors or other openings into which are closed so that it is impossible to see the red hot coals inside. Now, suppose holes were bored in the sides of this stove not deep enough to reach the red hot mass within, and that tightly fitting rods or plugs all of the same length and thickness, but of different kinds of materials such as wood, earthenware, glass, iron, copper, silver, and gold, etc., were so placed in the holes as to tightly fit them. Now, under these circumstances the end of all the plugs would be at the same distance from the heated inside. They would not, however, by any means show the same temperatures, the metallic rods would be too hot to touch, while the end of the piece of wood would hardly be hot enough to burn the hand when held against it. The piece of glass and earthenware though less cool would be much less hot than the different rods of metals. Their temperatures would be necessarily affected by their conducting power for heat. The wood, the glass, and the earthenware being poorer conductors than the metals would show much lower temperatures. Now, the same thing is true with the different materials that constitute the rocks of the earth's crust. Some of these are much better conductors of heat than others, so that the rate of increase of temperature with descent below the surface must necessarily vary with the kind of materials that form the crust of different parts of the earth. You may, therefore, safely conclude that the entire interior of the earth is in a highly heated condition, and that the source of this heat is to be traced to the heat the earth originally possessed when, in accordance to the nebular hypothesis of LaPlace, it was separated from the sun which gave birth to it, that the present crust of the earth has been formed on the outside by the loss of a portion of this heat. The rapidity with which a body cools, depends, among other things, on the difference between its temperature and that of the medium in which it is placed. The greater this difference of temperature the greater the rapidity of cooling. Careful measurements made by Tait, the English physicist, show that our earth loses every year from each square foot of surface, an amount of heat that would be able to raise the temperature of one pound of water from the melting point of ice to the boiling point of water, or from 32° F. to 212° F. The rate of loss of heat, must, therefore, have been much greater when the earth was more highly heated than it is now, and will be much smaller than now many years from the present. Now, let us suppose, what nearly everyone acknowledges to be true, that the earth was originally so hot as to be a molten globe, and that while in this molten condition, it began to revolve or move around the sun. Since the empty space through which the earth moves is very cold, something in the neighborhood of 45° below the zero of the Fahrenheit thermometer scale, the loss of heat would take place very rapidly and a thin crust of hardened materials would be formed on the outside. Now all the time the earth is cooling, it is shrinking or growing smaller. A very little thought will convince you that this cooling or shrinkage could not go on uninterruptedly; for, while the earth was cooling it was contracting, or growing smaller, and in this way a great pressure, or as it is generally called in science, a great stress was being produced. Every now and then this stress became so great that the crust of the earth was fractured or broken. At first these fractures would not require a very great amount of stress or force, since the crust of lava was then very thin. After great periods of time, however, the crust grew thicker and thicker, and the amount of force required to break it continually increased, so that the fractures of the crust produced a greater disturbance. Whenever the earth's crust was fractured in this way the earth was shaken by what are called earthquakes, while a part of the molten interior would run out or escape, making volcanoes. In the very early times neither the earthquakes or the volcanoes were as energetic as they were at later periods when the thickness of the earth's crust increased. Now, having as we believe correctly come to the conclusion that the entire interior of the earth is in a highly heated condition, the next question that arises is as to the present condition of this interior. A long time ago it was believed that the interior of the earth is still melted, and that a cooled portion or crust surrounds a great molten mass that fills all the inside; that it is this mass which supplies the immense quantities of molten rock or lava that escape through the craters of volcanoes or through the fissures in the crust. Without going into this question thoroughly, since it is a very difficult question to understand, it will be sufficient to say that there are many reasons why it is impossible to believe that the interior is still melted. You will understand that if the interior of the earth were melted like a huge central sea of fire that each volcano would necessarily affect all the others. Now, as we have seen, this is never the case, so that this is one reason we cannot believe in the existence of a melted interior. Another reason we cannot believe in a molten interior is an astronomical consideration. It can be shown that under the attraction of the sun and moon the earth could not possibly behave as it does if it were still liquid in the interior. That, on the contrary, the behavior of the earth to the attraction of the sun and moon is such as to make it necessary for us to believe that it is as rigid throughout as would be a globe of steel of the same size. I can easily understand that you find it very difficult to see how it can be believed that the interior of the earth is solid and yet at the same time be sufficiently hot to melt. I can imagine hearing you ask if it is hot enough in the inside to melt any known materials, why it is not melted. The reason, however, is very simple when you come to think it over. For a solid to fuse or become melted, it is not only necessary for it to be heated to a temperature which is different for different substances, but that at the same time it is heated it shall have plenty of room in which to expand or grow bigger. In other words, the temperature required to fuse any substance increases very rapidly with the pressure to which that substance is exposed. Now, try to think of the pressure to which the materials that fill the inside of the earth are subjected at great distances below the surface. This pressure is enormous, not only by reason of the weight of the many miles of rocks that are pressing down, but also by reason of the enormous stress or pressure caused by contraction or shrinkage. When we say that the interior of the earth is hot enough to melt all known substances we mean hot enough to melt them if they could be brought from great depths to the level of the sea, but not hot enough to melt them when subjected to the great pressure that exists in regions far below the surface of the earth. Briefly, the condition of things is believed to be as follows: The entire interior is filled with rock hot enough to melt at the level of the sea, but under too great pressure to melt. If this be granted, as it is by perhaps the greatest number of men who are competent to judge, the phenomena of earthquakes can be readily explained, as can, indeed, the phenomena of those great movements whereby great changes of level take place in different parts of the earth. Now let us see how volcanoes can be explained on the assumption that the interior of the earth is hot enough to melt, but remains solid only because there is no room for the heated mass to expand in. Such a heated interior as we have imagined, must be constantly losing its heat and, therefore, shrinking. Every now and then this shrinkage must produce great fissures or cracks in the solid crust of the earth. Now should such cracks or fissures extend downwards to the heated interior, there must result a decrease in the pressure. The rocks would, therefore, begin to expand and would be forced by the great pressure to rise slowly in such cracks or fissures. The further they rise the greater the relief of pressure, until they at last assume a molten condition in which they are forced out through the craters of volcanoes as molten rocks or lava. But it is not only volcanoes that seem to indicate a highly heated plastic condition as existing in the earth's interior. As geologists well know, there are to be found in the various strata of the earth places where great fissures have been made at various times during the geological past. These fissures vary in width from a few inches to many hundreds of feet, and are frequently scores of miles in length. Lava either flows out of them, and covers adjoining sections of the country, or simply rises in them and, afterwards cooling, forms dikes. In many instances, however, the lava is forced in between more or less horizontal layers and in some cases has caused these layers to assume the shape of what geologists know as _subtruderant mountains_. Some of the eastern ranges of the Rocky Mountains have been formed in this manner. We can, therefore, picture to ourselves the following as the manner of formation of an ordinary volcano. A fissure is first formed in the solid crust of the earth, extending downwards to the regions of great heat. There is thus produced a relief of pressure, so that at this point the highly heated rocks begin to be slowly forced up through the fissure. As they rise higher and higher they become less solid and finally expand into fused masses that can flow out of the crater or opening in the earth's surface. In this way a volcano is started. But for this volcano to continue in eruption, it is necessary that the conditions shall continue that force the molten rock upwards from great depths. It is not enough for the lava to fill the crevice that exists upwards to the surface, it must continue to be forced upwards until it escapes. If it is permitted to remain in the fissure for any time, it hardens, and only great dikes are formed. It would seem, therefore, that some other force must be called into action to keep the fissure open or, in other words, to prevent the chilling of the lava. Now, this force is generally believed to be the expansive force of steam or the vapor of water. As Dana points out, by far the greater part of the vapor which escapes from the craters of volcanoes consists of steam or the vapor of water. Indeed, it can be shown that for every hundred parts of different vapors, at least ninety-nine of such parts consist of water vapor. It is for the greater part, to the pressure of steam or water vapor that the escape of lava from the tube near the top of the crater is due. Of course, the question arises as to where the water comes from that produces this steam. There are three possible sources. From the rains; from leakage at the bed of the ocean; and from vapors existing at great depths below the surface. It is not probable that either rain water, or water from the ocean, penetrates through the earth's crust for distances much greater than a few thousand feet. It is, however, very well known that in all parts of the earth, except in desert regions, whether they are near or far from the ocean, the rocks are always found fully charged with water. When, therefore, the slowly rising lava passes through the moist rocks that everywhere form the crust of the earth, there must be formed in them great quantities of steam under very high pressure. Moreover, many substances, especially those forming lava, possess the power of absorbing large quantities of steam and other gases. Therefore, as the molten material reaches the moist rocks in the earth's crust, it becomes highly charged with steam, and as the lava rises towards the surface this steam expands. Where the lava is in a very fluid condition the steam quietly escapes, as does the steam from the surface of boiling water. But where the lava is viscous, like tar or pitch, great bubbles are formed, which, on their explosion, throw the lava upwards for great distances into the air. We can, therefore, account in this manner for both the non-explosive as well as the explosive type of volcanoes. It must not be supposed, however, that it is the explosive power of steam which is the principal cause of the lava rising upwards from great depths. This is caused by the great pressure or stress set up by the contraction of a cooling crust. The pressure of this steam is added to this pressure which keeps the lava flowing upwards from great depths below. The objection has sometimes been urged that it is impossible to believe the lava comes from a highly heated interior, because, as is well known, lavas are of different types even when coming from the same volcano at different times of eruption. While such an objection would have weight were it believed that the interior of the earth is still in a molten condition, it loses its weight when one believes that the interior is solid. It must, however, be acknowledged that the largest part of the interior of the earth would probably have the same chemical composition if it had ever been in a completely melted condition throughout. I do not doubt you have already concluded that the reason the earth's volcanoes are practically limited to the borders of continents, or to the shores of islands, is the leakage of the ocean waters into the crust at these parts. This was at one time believed by most geologists. That sea water has much to do with such volcanoes as Vesuvius there is no doubt, but it is now generally recognized that it is not so much the present outlines of the earth, or the present arrangement of its land and water areas, that determines the distribution of the world's volcanoes. It is rather believed that the location of the lines of fractures along which the earth's volcanoes are found were determined by conditions that occurred long before the earth assumed its present outlines. But there is another explanation that has been suggested as regards the condition of the interior of the earth. Judd refers to this explanation as follows: "Some physicists have asserted that a globe of liquid matter radiating its heat into space, would tend to solidify both at the surface and the centre at the same time. The consequence of this action would be the production of a sphere with a solid external shell and a solid central nucleus, but with an interposed layer in a fluid or semi-fluid condition. It has been pointed out that if we suppose the solidification to have gone so far as to have caused the partial union of the interior nucleus and the external shell, we may conceive a condition of things in which the stability and rigidity is sufficient to satisfy both geologists and astronomers, but that in still unsolidified pockets or reservoirs, filled with liquefied rock, between the nucleus and the shell, we should have a competent cause for the production of the volcanic phenomena of the globe. In this hypothesis, however, it is assumed that the cooling at the centre and the surface of the globe would go on at such rate that the reservoirs of liquid material would be left at a moderate depth from the surface, so that easy communication could be opened between them and volcanic vents." I must caution you, however, not to think that the above theory of volcanoes is accepted by all scientific men. On the contrary, there are many who believe that the earth is solid throughout because it has completely lost its original heat; that it is only comparatively small areas that are to be found filled with molten or at least highly heated material. But these opinions are held largely by those who have given their attention almost entirely to the phenomena of earthquakes, or who base their reasonings on mathematical grounds only and have not sufficiently considered the phenomena of volcanoes. Since, however, they can be better understood after we have explained the phenomena of earthquakes, we will defer their discussion to the last chapters of this book. CHAPTER XX SOME FORMS OF LAVA In describing the wonders of volcanoes, we must not fail to say something of the many remarkable forms that lava is capable of assuming. All volcanic lavas contain large quantities of an acid substance known as _silica_, or what is known better as _quartz sand_. This material exists in lava combined chemically with various substances called bases, the principal of which are alumina, magnesia, lime, iron, potash, and soda. Although there are many kinds of lava, yet all lavas can be arranged under three great classes according to the quantity of silica they contain. _Acid lavas_ are those in which the quantity of silica is greatest. In these lavas the silica, which varies from 66 to 80%, is combined with small quantities of lime or magnesia, and comparatively large quantities of potash or soda. Some of the most important varieties of acid lavas are known as _trachytes_, _andesites_, _rhyolites_, and _obsidians_. _Basic lavas_ are those containing from 45 to 55% of silica. They are rich in lime and magnesia, but poor in soda or potash. Some of the most important of basic lavas are the _dolerites_ and _basalts_. Generally speaking, basic lavas are of a darker color than acid lavas, and fuse at much lower temperatures. _Intermediate lavas_ are those containing silica in the proportion of from 55 to 66%. While the temperature of liquid lava has not been very accurately determined, yet, since we know that molten lava is able to melt silver or copper, its temperature must be somewhere between 2,500° F. and 3,000° F., the melting point varying with the chemical composition. According to Dana lavas can be divided into the following classes according to their fusibility; i. e., _lavas of easy fusibility_, such as _basalts_; these lavas fuse at about 2,250° F.; _lavas of medium fusibility_, including andesites; these lavas fuse at about 2,520° F.; _lavas of difficult fusibility_, such as trachytes; these lavas fuse at about 2,700° F. But what is, perhaps, most curious about lavas is that when the surface of a freshly broken piece of cold lava is carefully examined, it is found to contain a number of small crystals of such mineral substances as quartz, feldspar, hornblende, mica, magnetite, etc. The best way to study the different forms of lava crystals is to prepare a thin transparent slice of hardened lava and then examine it with a good magnifying glass. It will be found that the slice consists of a mass of a glass-like material through which the crystals are irregularly distributed, not unlike the raisins and currants in a slice of not over rich plumcake. When examined by a more powerful glass, such as a microscope, cloudy patches can be seen distributed irregularly through the glass-like mass. When these patches are examined by a higher power of the microscope they are seen to consist of small solid particles of definite forms known as _microliths_ and _crystallites_. It has been shown by a careful study of these minute objects that they form the exceedingly small particles of which crystals are built up. If we fuse a small quantity of lava and then let it slowly cool, the glassy mass will be found to contain numerous crystallites. On the other hand, when fused lava is permitted to cool quickly, it takes on the form of a black, glass-like mass known as _obsidian_ or _volcanic_ glass, a very common form of lava in some parts of the world. In some lavas there are found larger crystals that appear to have been separated from the glassy mass, under the great pressure that exists in the subterranean reservoirs at great depths below the volcanic crater, and then floated to the surface surrounded by the glass-like material. Now when we examine these crystals with a higher power of the microscope, we frequently find in them minute cavities containing a small quantity of liquid and a bubble of gas, thus causing them to resemble small spirit levels. The liquid in such cavities has been examined chemically and in most cases has been found to consist of water containing several salts in solution. Sometimes, however, the liquid consists of liquefied carbonic acid gas. These wonderful things will be discussed at greater length in the Wonder Book of Light. When the mass of molten rock or lava that comes out of the crater of a volcano is thrown upwards in the air the condition it assumes by the time it falls back again to the earth depends on the height it reaches. If this height is great the lava chills or hardens before reaching the earth, and assumes various forms according to the size of the fragments. The largest of these fragments are called _cinders_; the finer particles _volcanic dust_; while most of those of intermediate particles are known among other things as _volcanic ashes_. We have already seen that when an explosive volcanic eruption occurs there is suddenly thrown out of the crater of the volcano a huge column of various substances that rises sometimes as high as 30,000 feet or even more. The smaller fragments of lava are quickly cooled and form volcanic ashes, sand, cinders, or dust. These are rapidly spread out by the wind in the form of a black cloud, that not only covers the mountain but reaches out over the surrounding country, completely shutting off the light of the sun. From this cloud particles of red hot ashes, cinders, sand, etc., begin to fall, the largest particles near the crater of the volcano, and the smaller particles at much greater distances. In very powerful explosive volcanic eruptions such as Krakatoa, the finer dust may be carried to practically all parts of the world. Volcanic ashes consist of a fine, light, gray powder. These particles take the name ashes from their resemblance to the ashes left after the burning of pieces of wood or coal in an open fire. The name, however, as Geicke points out, is unfortunate, since it is apt to lead one to suppose that volcanic ashes consist of some burned material. Such an idea is erroneous, however, since ashes do not consist of anything that is left after burning, but merely of fine particles of molten rock that have hardened by cooling. When in the shape of what is known as volcanic dust these particles are so exceedingly small that they can readily make their way through the smallest openings in a closed room just as does the finest dust in the rooms of our houses when they are shut up. There are cases on record where people have been suffocated by the entrance of volcanic dust in closed rooms to which they have fled for safety during volcanic eruptions. _Volcanic sand_ consists of the coarser particles of chilled lava that are partly round and partly angular. They are of various sizes up to that of an ordinary pea. Volcanic sand is formed by the breaking up of the lava by the explosion of the vapors as they escape from the lava on relief from pressure. Volcanic dust when examined by the microscope is found to consist of very small particles that are more or less crystalline. But besides the above there are larger fragments known as _lapilli_, consisting of rounded or angular bits of lava varying in size from that of a pea to an ordinary black walnut. These sometimes consist of solid fragments, but are usually porous, sometimes so much so that they readily float on water. A curious form sometimes assumed by lava consists of what are called _volcanic bombs_. These are formed during explosive eruptions, when masses of liquid lava are hurled high up into the air. During their flight they take on a rotary motion, which tends to make them globular, so that cooling, while still revolving, they assume the form of a more or less spherical mass. At times, however, they are still sufficiently soft when they strike the earth to be flattened out in the form of flat cakes. When of a spherical form these are very properly called volcanic bombs. That volcanic bombs have actually been subjected to a spinning motion while in the air can sometimes be shown by the fact that masses of scoriæ are frequently found in the interior with air cells largest at the centre of the bomb. Volcanic bombs are sometimes thrown from the crater to great distances. During one of its recent eruptions, Cotopaxi threw out bombs that fell at a distance of nine miles from the crater. According to Dana another form of lava bombs is sometimes found on the slopes of the active volcanoes of Hawaii, where masses of lava acquire a ball-like shape while rolling down an inclination. What are sometimes called volcanic bombs, but which are more properly _volcanic vesicles_, are produced by small fragments of lava which are thrown up in the air for only a moderate height and, on cooling, assume pear-like forms. Fig. 25 represents the appearance of volcanic vesicles. The direction in which these vesicles moved through the air while in a molten state is indicated by their shape, the blunt end being the end towards which the particles were projected. [Illustration: FIG. 25. VOLCANIC VESICLES _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] But by far the greater portion of the hardened lava; i. e., the coarser, heavier particles, fall back on the mountain, and collecting around the crater build up volcanic cones, as already described in the case of mountains of the Vesuvian type. There are two different ways in which the melted lava is broken up into fine particles when it is thrown upwards from the crater of the volcano. Nearly all lava contains large quantities of steam that are shut up, or occluded in the mass, being prevented from escaping by reason of the pressure to which the lava is subjected. The lava is released from this pressure as it is thrown out of the crater. The steam or gases escape explosively and thus break the lava into fine liquid spray, which rapidly hardens. There is another way in which small particles of lava are formed. Sometimes large pieces of hardened lava are shot upwards into the air with a velocity as great as that with which a heavy projectile leaves the muzzle of a large gun. These heavy particles striking against one another, either while rising or falling, are broken into smaller fragments. Sometimes, indeed, these fragments fall back again into the crater from which they are again violently thrown out, and are again broken into smaller fragments either while rising or falling. You will, probably, remember several instances of volcanic eruptions where masses of rock were thrown violently up into the air out of the crater. These larger masses are known as _volcanic blocks_. They probably consist of masses of hardened lava that have collected in the tube of the volcano during some of its periods of inactivity. Sometimes, however, they consist of fragments of rocks that are not of volcanic origin. Cases are on record where volcanic blocks have been thrown out of the craters in so great quantities as to cover the surface of many square miles of land with fragments hundreds of feet deep. There is sometimes formed on the surface of a pool of lava as it collects in the craters of such volcanoes as Mt. Loa or Kilauea, when the volcanoes are not in eruption, a material resembling froth or scum. The same thing sometimes occurs on the surface of some kinds of lava as it runs down the side of the mountain. In this way a very light variety of highly cellular lava known as _pumice stone_ is produced. The action which thus takes place is not unlike that which occurs during the raising of a lot of the dough from which bread is made, where the carbonic acid gas which is formed during the raising of the dough expands, and produces the well-known open cellular structure of well-raised bread. In the case of pumice stone, however, this raising goes on to such an extent that the mass consists often of less than 2% of solid matter, the remainder being a tangled mass of air. [Illustration: THE LAVA FLOW OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS _From a Stereograph, Copyright, by Underwood & Underwood_] Fragments of lava that possess a cellular structure form what are known as _scoriæ_. The lightest of all kinds of scoriæ is what is known as _thread-lace scoriæ_. Here the thin walls consist of mere threads. Figs. 26 and 27 represent the appearance of thread-lace scoriæ from Kilauea. The separate threads are very fine, being only from one-thirtieth to one-fortieth of an inch in thickness. As can be seen, this form of scoriæ have six-sided or hexagonal shapes. You can form some idea of the great lightness of such scoriæ when you learn that they contain only 1.7% of rocky material. Indeed, they contain so little solid material that a layer of volcanic glass only one inch thick, if blown out into scoriæ, would be able to produce a layer sixty inches thick. [Illustration: FIG. 26. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Another curious form sometimes assumed by lava, especially in the case of Kilauea, is where the lava is spun out in the form of long silk-like hairs. This is called by the natives _Pele's hair_, after the name of their goddess. Inasmuch as the origin of this form of lava was at one time generally attributed to the action of the wind in drawing out thread-like pieces from the jets of lava thrown upwards from the pool, it will be interesting if its true cause is explained. [Illustration: FIG. 27. THREAD-LACE SCORIÆ FROM KILAUEA _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Dutton, in his report on the Hawaiian volcanoes, refers to the formation of Pele's hair as follows: "The phenomenon of Pele's hair is often spoken of in the school books, and receives its name from this locality. It has generally been explained as the result of the action of the wind upon minute threads of lava drawn out by the spurting up of boiling lava. Nothing of the sort was seen here, and yet Pele's hair was seen forming in great abundance. Whenever the surface of the liquid lava was exposed during the break-up the air above the lake was filled with these cobwebs, but there was no spurting or apparent boiling on the exposed surface. The explanation of the phenomenon which I would offer is as follows: Liquid lava coming up from the depths always contains more or less water, which it gives off slowly and by degrees, in much the same way as champagne gives off carbonic acid when the bottle is uncorked. Water-vapor is held in the liquid lava by some affinity similar to chemical affinity, and though it escapes ultimately, yet it is surrendered by the lava with reluctance so long as the lava remains liquid. But when the lava solidifies the water is expelled much more energetically, and the water-vapor separates in the form of minute vesicles. Since the congelation of all siliceous compounds is a passage free from a liquid condition through an intermediate state of viscosity to final solidity, the walls of these vesicles are capable of being drawn out as in the case of glass. The commotion set up by the descending crust produces eddies and numberless currents in the surface of the lava. These vesicles are drawn out on the surface of the current with exceeding tenuity, producing myriads of minute filaments, and the air, agitated by the intense heat at the surface of the pool, readily lifts them and wafts them away. It forms almost wholly at the time of the break-up. The air is then full of it. Yet I saw no spouting or sputtering, but only the eddying of the lava like water in the wake of a ship. The country to the leeward of Kilauea shows an abundance of Pele's hair, and it may be gathered by the barrelful. A bunch of it is much like finely shredded asbestos." You have probably often seen the beautiful frost pictures that collect on the panes of glass in a room where the ventilation has been neglected. These pictures consist of groupings of ice crystals that collect on the surface of the windows, when the moist vapor-laden air in the room is chilled by contact with their cold surfaces. Now the crystals formed in cooling lavas are sometimes grouped in forms closely resembling frost pictures. A few of such forms are represented in Figs. 28 and 29 in lava from Mt. Loa and Mt. Kea. [Illustration: FIG. 28. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] [Illustration: FIG. 29. FROST-LIKE LAVA CRYSTALS _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Certain varieties of lava, especially that which is found in dikes, form cool, beautiful columns called basaltic columns. They are due to the contraction that occurs on the cooling of the material. Instances of basaltic columns are seen in the Giant's Causeway, on the northern coast of Ireland, as well as in the Isle of Cyclops on the coast of Italy. The general appearance of the latter is represented in Fig. 30. [Illustration: FIG. 30. BASALTIC COLUMNS, ISLE OF CYCLOPS, ITALY] It is a curious fact that the entire mass of basalt does not generally take the columnous form but only certain layers which terminate suddenly above and below at structureless masses of basalt, as shown in Fig. 31. These columns, however, are always found at right angles to the cooling surfaces as seen in the figures. They may, therefore, be inclined at all angles to the horizon. [Illustration: FIG. 31. COLUMNAR AND NON-COLUMNAR BASALT] When molten lava is only thrown up a short distance into the air from a crater it is still partially molten when on falling it again reaches the earth, and therefore clings to any surface on which it falls. There are thus built up curious cones known as _driblet cones_, in which the separate drops covering the sides of the cone can be distinctly traced. Driblet cones are represented in Figs. 32 and 33. Here, as can be seen, the separate drops can be readily traced as they run down a short distance before cooling. [Illustration: FIGS. 32, 33. DRIBLET CONES _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] We have already referred briefly to the _lava caves_ or _grottoes_, that are formed in some of the lava streams issuing from Vesuvius, Etna, or Hawaii. These caves consist either of a number of communicating huge bubbles, or of the tunnels that are formed in the lava by the hardening of the outside of the lava streams as they flow down the sides of the mountain, and towards the close of the eruption are afterwards emptied by the molten lava within continuing to flow to a lower level before solidifying. Now, in the interior of these caves, there are often found on the walls, as well as on the portions of the floors of the caves, immediately below them, curious pendants, like icicles, or, more correctly, like the _stalactites of limestone_ that are seen hanging to the walls of caves in limestone districts, where they are formed as follows: as the rain water sinks through limestone strata it dissolves some of the lime, when, slowly falling, drop after drop, from the roofs of the caverns, small particles of lime are deposited on the roof, and in this manner a pendant of limestone is formed. The water that falls to the floor of the causeway immediately below, also builds up a dome-like hillock called a stalagmite. In due time the pillar reaches downwards, and the opposite hillock upwards until the two meet, thus forming great natural pillars that appear to hold up the roof of the vast cave in which they have been slowly formed. A number of _lava stalactites_ are represented in Fig. 34. [Illustration: FIG. 34. LAVA STALACTITES _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Now, in a similar manner these lava stalactites, formed in the lava caves or grottoes, are caused by the stream as it escapes from the walls of the caves depositing on them stalactites of various lava minerals it has dissolved as it slowly passed through them. But the most important of all volcanic products is _volcanic dust_. This, as we have seen, is so light that it remains longest in the air, and is often carried by the winds to great distances from the volcano from which it escaped. It may interest you to know that some of the most fruitful of the great wheat fields of the western parts of the United States owe their extraordinary fertility to immense deposits of volcanic dust that have been thrown out from some of the great volcanoes of the geological past, now found in an extinct condition in these parts of the United States. According to Russell, immense deposits of volcanic dust are spread over vast areas in Montana, Southern Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas, as well as over parts of Oregon, and Washington, and, indeed, over large areas of southwestern Canada and Alaska. It is practically certain that many of the eruptions producing this dust occurred within historic times. There must, therefore, have been many times in these parts of our country when the dense ash clouds hiding the sun turned the day into night and destroyed the forests and other vegetation by showers of red hot ashes. There were produced, too, the same great dread, and possibly loss of life as common during historical eruptions. It is pleasing, however, to think that while these great catastrophes brought suffering and dread to the people who then lived on the earth, they were, nevertheless, but the forerunners of those fruitful fields that at a much later age were to bless the people who afterwards lived on them. CHAPTER XXI MUD VOLCANOES AND HOT SPRINGS Mud volcanoes are the more or less conical hillocks from which, under certain conditions, mud is thrown out through the crust of the earth. Geikie defines mud volcanoes as follows: "Conical hills formed by the accumulation of fine and usually saline (salty) mud, which, with various gases, is continuously or intermittently given out from the orifice or crater in the centre. They occur in groups, each hillock being sometimes less than a yard in height, but ranging up to elevations of 100 feet or more. Like true volcanoes, they have their periods of repose, when either no discharge takes place at all, or mud oozes out tranquilly from the crater, and their periods of activity, when large volumes of gas, and sometimes columns of flame, rush out with considerable violence and explosion, and throw up mud and stones to a height of several hundred feet." There are two kinds of mud volcanoes: those in which the mud is thrown out by the action of different kinds of gases, and those in which the mud is thrown out by the action of steam. Mud volcanoes may or not be volcanic phenomena. Those which occur in the neighborhood of volcanoes whether active, dormant, or extinct, are probably of volcanic origin. There are others, however, which occur in regions far removed from volcanoes. These are probably due not to volcanoes, but to chemical action and the eruptions are caused by the action of gases. The gases producing these eruptions are either carbonic acid gas (the gas that is given off from soda water); carburetted hydrogen (the gas that is sometimes seen escaping from the bottom of marshy ground); sulphuretted hydrogen (a gas that is given off from rotten or decomposing eggs, and possessing the characteristic odor of decayed eggs) and nitrogen gas derived from the atmosphere. In mud volcanoes of the gaseous type the mud is generally cold, and the water salty. In this latter case the mud volcanoes are also called _salses_. Daubeny has pointed out that the mud volcanoes of this class that occur in the neighborhood of Sicily are due to the slow burning or oxidation of beds of sulphur. Mud volcanoes which eject hot mud by the force of eruption of steam, which occur in volcanic districts, are of volcanic origin. They are caused by the passage of hot water and steam through beds of volcanic rock such as tufa, or hardened volcanic mud and other volcanic products. The hot water or steam raises the temperature of the mud through which it passes to the boiling point. As Dana remarks, the mud varies in consistency from very liquid muddy water to a thick mass like boiling soap, or in some cases like masses of mud or paint, and, in still other cases, to material like soft mortar, the consistency of the mud varying with the dryness of the season. There are three regions where mud volcanoes are especially common. One of the best known is in the Yellowstone National Park, four miles north of Yellowstone Lake, and six miles from Crater Hill. Some of these mud volcanoes have circular craters about ten feet in depth around which they have built mounds, the rims of which are several feet above the general level. There are well-known regions of mud volcanoes in different parts of Iceland. Here, according to Lyell, they occur in many of the valleys where sulphur vapor and steam bursts from fissures in the ground with a loud hissing noise. In these regions there are pools of boiling water filled with a bluish black clay-like paste, that is kept violently boiling. Huge bubbles, fifteen feet or more in diameter, rise from the surface of the boiling mass. The volcanoes pile up the mud around the sides of their craters or basins. Another part of the world where mud volcanoes are especially numerous is on the western shores of the Caspian Sea at a place called Baku. These are of the gaseous type and are attended by flames that blaze up to great heights often for several hours. These flames are due to the presence of natural gas and petroleum vapor that pass out through the water. Large quantities of mud are thrown out from the craters of these mud volcanoes. There are also many mud volcanoes in a district in India about 120 miles northwest of Cutch near the mouth of the Indus. In this region the cone built up around the crater is sometimes as high as 400 feet. The following description of mud volcanoes on Java is quoted from Daubeny's book on volcanoes. "It would appear likewise from Dr. Horsfield's description, that Java exhibits phenomena of a similar kind to those noticed in Sicily and at the foot of the Apennines, and there known under the name of 'Salses.' In the calcareous district (which I suspect to belong to the same class of formations as the blue clay and tertiary limestone of Sicily) occur a number of hot springs, containing in solution a large quantity of calcareous earth, which incrusts the surface of the ground near it. Of these, some are much mixed with petroleum, and others highly saline. "The latter are dispersed through a district of country consisting of limestone, several miles in circumference. They are of considerable number, and force themselves upwards through apertures in the rocks with some violence and ebullition. The waters are strongly impregnated with muriate of soda, and yield upon evaporation very good salt for culinary purposes (not less than 200 tons in the year). "About the centre of this limestone district is found an extraordinary volcanic phenomenon. On approaching the spot from a distance, it is first discovered by a large volume of smoke rising and disappearing at intervals of a few seconds, resembling the vapors arising from a violent surf, whilst a dull noise is heard like that of distant thunder. Having advanced so near that the vision was no longer impeded by the smoke, a large hemispherical mass was observed, consisting of black earth mixed with water, about sixteen feet in diameter, rising to the height of twenty or thirty feet in a perfectly regular manner, and, as it were, pushed up by a force beneath, which suddenly exploded with a dull noise, and scattered about a volume of black mud in every direction. After an interval of two or three, or sometimes four or five seconds, the hemispherical body of mud or earth rose and exploded again. "In the same manner this volcanic ebullition goes on without interruption, throwing up a globular mass of mud, and dispersing it with violence through the neighboring places. The spot where the ebullition occurs is nearly circular and perfectly level; it is covered with only the earthy particles impregnated with salt water, which are thrown up from below; its circumference may be estimated at about half an English mile. In order to conduct the salt water to the circumference, small passages or gutters are made in the loose muddy earth, which lead it to the borders, where it is collected in holes dug in the ground for the purpose of evaporation. "A strong, pungent, sulphurous smell, somewhat resembling that of earth-oil (naphtha), is perceived on standing near the site of the explosion, and the mud recently thrown up possesses a degree of heat greater than that of the surrounding atmosphere. During the rainy season these explosions are more violent, the mud is thrown up much higher, and the noise is heard at a greater distance. "This volcanic phenomenon is situated near the centre of the large plain, which interrupts the great series of volcanoes, and owes its origin to the same general cause as that of the numerous eruptions met with in this island." There are, in many parts of the world, springs, whose waters issue from their reservoirs at temperatures either at or near the boiling point of water. These are called _hot_ or _thermal springs_. Hot springs are found both in volcanic regions, as well as in regions where there are no volcanoes, but where there are lines of deep fissures or faults. According to Dana, in both of these classes, the cause is to be traced to heat of volcanic or deep subterranean origin. Hot springs are also found in regions where there are no volcanoes. In these cases the heat is due to the gradual oxidation of various sulphide ores, or to some other chemical action. The waters of hot or thermal springs almost always contain various mineral substances in solution. All spring water contains some little dissolved mineral matter, but in hot springs the quantity of this matter is greater than in cold springs, because hot water can dissolve mineral substances much better than can cold water. It might surprise you to hear that one of the commonest substances that is found in solution in the waters of many hot springs is silica; for silica is practically sand, and sand does not easily dissolve in water as does sugar. The very hot water, however, which comes from the hot spring, whose temperature below the earth's surface is very much higher than it is when it comes out of the spring, possesses the power of readily dissolving silica from the rocks over which it flows. When the waters of such springs reach the surface the silica is deposited in a solid condition around the outlets of the springs. In this way there are built up craters or mounds, or, more correctly, crater-shaped basins. Sometimes the hot water contains calcareous substances dissolved in it, the solution being caused not only by reason of the hot water, but also by means of the carbonic gas it contains. When this water flows from the springs, it builds up the same crater-shaped mounds, only in this case the mounds are of lime instead of silica. There are peculiar kinds of hot springs called _geysers_, that possess the power of throwing huge streams of water up into the air at more or less regular intervals. The word geyser is an Icelandic word meaning to rage, or snort, or gush, the name being given by reason of the manner in which the waters rush violently out during an eruption. As Dana points out, when the water in a basin of a hot spring merely boils, whether this boiling is nearly continuous, or the water is alternately boiling and quiet, the spring is called a hot or thermal spring, but where the water is thrown violently out at more or less regular intervals, it is called a geyser. The cause of the eruption of a geyser was discovered by Professor Bunsen, the celebrated German chemist, after a careful study of the geyser regions in Iceland. The waters of geysers contain large quantities of either silica or lime in solution. Bunsen traced the cause of these curious eruptions to be the manner in which the hot springs pile up cones of silica or limestone around their mouths. The water of a geyser generally issues from the top of a more or less conical hillock, reaching the surface through a funnel-shaped tube. Both the tube and the basin are covered with a smooth coating of silica or limestone. In the case of the Great Geyser in Iceland, the basin is over fifty feet high and seventy-five feet deep. Both the tube and the basin have been slowly deposited by the hot water of the geyser. It is only when the tube of a geyser has reached a certain depth that the geyser is able to erupt. Moreover, as soon as this tube passes a certain depth the geyser can no longer erupt and forever afterwards becomes an ordinary hot spring. There are, therefore, to be found in most geyser regions, a number of what might be called young geysers or merely hot springs, that are not yet deep enough to erupt; others that have just commenced eruption, others that have reached their prime, while others that, old and decrepit, have again merely become hot springs. Let us now try to understand the cause of the eruption of a geyser. Bunsen's explanation, which is now generally accepted, is as follows: The heat of the volcanic strata through which the tube of the geyser extends, gradually raises the temperature of the water that fills the geyser tube. Since the boiling point of a liquid increases with the pressure to which it is subjected, far down in the tube of a geyser, the pressure arising from the weight of the water above it is sufficiently great to prevent the water from beginning to boil until it reaches a temperature far higher than that at which it would boil in the upper parts of the tube. Suppose now, when the water in the funnel-shaped tube is nearly filled to the top, the water at last grows hot enough to begin boiling at some point near the middle of the tube. The pressure of the steam driven off from this portion of the water raises the column of water above it in the tube and begins to empty it out of the top of the geyser. All the water below this point being thus suddenly relieved of its pressure, and being now much hotter than is necessary to boil the water at that decreased pressure, suddenly flashes into steam, and violently shoots out all the water above it to a height that in some cases may be as great as 100 to 200 feet. The steam causes this eruption, then rushes out with a roar, and the geyser eruption is over. Professor Tyndall in his charming book entitled "Heat as a Mode of Motion" speaks as follows concerning Professor Bunsen's discovery: "Previous to an eruption, both the tube and basin are filled with hot water; detonations which shake the ground, are heard at intervals, and each is succeeded by a violent agitation of the water in the basin. The water in the pipe is lifted up so as to form an eminence in the middle of the basin, and an overflow is the consequence. These detonations are evidently due to the production of steam in the ducts which feed the geyser tube, which steam escaping into the cooler water of the tube is there suddenly condensed, and produces the explosions. Professor Bunsen succeeded in determining the temperature of the geyser tube, from top to bottom, a few minutes before a great eruption; and these observations revealed the extraordinary fact that at no part of the tube did the water reach its boiling point. In the sketch [not reproduced] I have given on one side the temperatures actually observed, and on the other side the temperatures at which water would boil, taking into account both the pressure of the atmosphere and the pressure of the superincumbent column of water. The nearest approach to the boiling point is at A, a height of 30 feet from the bottom; but even here the water is 2° C., or more than 3-1/2° F., below the temperature at which it could boil. How then is it possible that an eruption could occur under such circumstances? "Fix your attention upon the water at the point A, where the temperature is within 2° C. of the boiling point. Call to mind the lifting of the column when the detonations are heard. Let us suppose that by the entrance of steam from the ducts near the bottom of the tube, the geyser column is elevated six feet, a height quite within the limits of actual observation; the water at A is thereby transferred to B. Its boiling point at A is 123.8°, and its actual temperature 121.8°; but at B its boiling point is only 120.8°, hence, when transferred from A to B the heat which it possesses is in excess of that necessary to make it boil. This excess of heat is instantly applied to the generation of steam: the column is thus lifted higher, and the water below is further relieved. More steam is generated; from the middle downwards the mass suddenly bursts into ebullition, the water above, mixed with steam clouds, is projected into the atmosphere, and we have the geyser eruption in all its grandeur. "By its contact with the air the water is cooled, falls back into the basin, partially refills the tube, in which it gradually rises, and finally fills the basin as before. Detonations are heard at intervals, and risings of the water in the basin. These are so many futile attempts at an eruption, for not until the water in the tube comes sufficiently near its boiling temperature, to make the lifting of the column effective, can we have a true eruption." The principal geyser regions of the world are in Iceland, in New Zealand, and in the Yellowstone National Park in the United States. There are several geyser regions in Iceland. The best known lies in the neighborhood of Mt. Hecla. Here is a great geyser that shoots up a column of water to a height of about 100 feet every thirty hours. Fig. 35 represents the appearance of the crater of the great geyser in Iceland. [Illustration: FIG. 35. CRATER OF THE GREAT GEYSER OF ICELAND] It is a well-known fact that in geyser regions generally, the throwing of stones or other materials into the tube will frequently hasten an eruption. This is probably due to the fact that the throwing in of these things results in the raising of the water in the tube, thus hastening the eruption. The New Zealand region is in the neighborhood of Lake Rotomahama in the northern island. The geyser region in the Yellowstone Park is by far the most interesting of all geyser regions. This region is situated principally around Fire-Hole Fork of the Madison, and near Shoshone Lake at the head of Lake Fork of the Snake River. There are many geysers in this region, as well as simple hot springs. The temperature of their waters varies from between 160° and 200° F. to the boiling point of water at this elevation. As you are probably aware, water boils at the temperature of 212° F. only under the condition of the ordinary atmospheric pressure that exists at the level of the sea. At higher elevations, such as on the slopes of mountains, or on high plateaus, water boils at a lower temperature. The height of the country in which the Yellowstone Park is situated is so great that the water boils at temperatures of from 198° to 199° F. The conical hillock of geyser cones from which the waters flow assume various shapes, two of which are shown in Figs. 36 and 37. [Illustration: FIG. 36. GIANT GEYSER _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] [Illustration: FIG. 37. BEE HIVE _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] That shown in Fig. 36 represents the shape of the cone of the giant geyser in the upper geyser basin of the Fire-Hole, Yellowstone National Park. This cone is about ten feet in height, and twenty-four feet in diameter. As shown in the figure it is broken on one of its sides. It throws out, at long intervals, a column of water the height of which varies from ninety to 200 feet. Fig. 38 represents the crater of a cone known as the Bee Hive in eruption. Besides the above named geyser regions there is another region on the shores of Celebes, and a small region on San Miguel, in the Azores Islands, in the Atlantic Ocean. Besides hot springs and mud volcanoes there are two other phenomena connected with volcanic action that we will now briefly describe. When eruptions take place and the lava begins to flow down the side of a mountain, the different vapors and gases with which the lava is charged begin to escape or pass out from the boiling or fused mass. When these substances are of such a character that they produce fumes, or the vapors of various chemical substances, that become solid on cooling, they form what are called _fumaroles_, a word derived from a Latin word meaning "to smoke." For the greater part, fumaroles are found on the edge of craters, but sometimes are found in cavernous places either in the crater or in the lava streams. There is, still, another class of openings through which only sulphurous vapors escape. These are called _solfataras_, a word derived from the Italian word _solfo_, or sulphur. Solfataras are generally found in regions distant from volcanic action. In the materials that escape from recently ejected lava, or molten lava, the temperature is high enough to volatilize many of the solid ingredients. But where the temperature is low, only sulphur vapors are driven off. It is for this reason that fumaroles are only found around the craters of active volcanoes, or on the lines of cracks or crevices of the lava stream where the temperature is very high. [Illustration: FIG. 38. BEE HIVE GEYSER OF ICELAND _From Dana's Manual of Geology_] Besides water vapor and sulphurous vapors there are other substances that escape from the earth in volcanic districts. Sulphurous acid, together with hydrogen and nitrogen escape from nearly all lava. At Vesuvius chlorine gas is given off. This, however, as soon as it passes into the atmosphere becomes changed into hydrochloric acid. Sulphurous acid is frequently changed into sulphuric acid, which, combining with various substances, forms such materials as _gypsum_, or sulphate of lime, the chemical name for plaster of Paris; sulphate of soda or _Glauber's salt_; sodium chloride or _common table salt_; and _sal ammoniac_. You will remember in reading the description of Vulcano, in the Grecian Archipelago, that some of these products were collected at the chemical works that had been established on the volcano. When a volcanic mountain is for the time being passing from an active to an extinct condition, it is sometimes said to be in the _fumarole stage_, since the presence of the fumaroles are the only indication of its activity. The volcanic heat is still great. When it reaches a still greater decline, the fumaroles disappear, and only solfataras are left. The amount of heat is now only sufficient to produce sulphur vapors and the vapor of water. This is called the _solfatara stage_. Of course, as we have already pointed out, fumaroles and solfataras may occur in the neighborhood of a volcano at different distances from its crater. CHAPTER XXII THE VOLCANOES OF THE MOON There can be no doubt that the moon was once the seat of very great volcanic activity. It was formerly believed that the very many volcanic craters which can be seen on its surface when it is examined by a comparatively small telescope, were all extinct. While this is nearly true, yet recent investigations have shown that in all probability a feeble volcanic activity still exists in a few of these craters. The distinctness with which the surface of the moon is seen does not depend so much on the size of the telescope employed, as it does on the steadiness of the atmosphere when the telescope is being used. When one wishes to examine a very distant body like a star, it is necessary to use a powerful telescope, but in the case of a comparatively near body, like one of the planets or the moon, a big telescope is not necessary. It is, however, necessary to make the observations at some time of the year, or in some part of the world, when the air is apt to be free from winds. A person on the earth's surface looking at the heavenly bodies through a telescope is practically in the position in which he would be were he at the bottom of the water in a large lake looking up through the water at some body in the heavens. He would have no difficulty in seeing such a body distinctly as long as the upper surface of the water remained quiet, and unruffled by waves. As soon, however, as waves were set up, the images seen in the telescope are so distorted as to become practically worthless. It is for this reason that it is customary to build great astronomical observatories in parts of the world where there are apt to be many days in the year when the air is almost entirely free from wind. Since the atmosphere is apt to be disturbed by winds in both the temperate and the polar latitudes, these parts of the world are not very satisfactory as sites for astronomical observatories. The conditions are more favorable near the equator, since, although at certain seasons of the year there are very severe storms in these regions, yet there are quite long periods when the air is almost entirely free from winds. It is for this reason that Harvard University has erected an astronomical observatory at Arequipa, Peru, at an elevation of 8,000 feet above the level of the Pacific Ocean. Here, with a comparatively small object glass, of about twelve inches aperture, magnificent photographs have been obtained not only of the moon but also of the planet Mars. According to Professor Pickering, from whose magnificent work, entitled, "The Moon," much of the information in this chapter has been obtained, the moon, which is generally spoken of as a satellite of the earth, ought rather to be called the earth's twin planet. Although the moon appears to revolve in a small elliptical orbit around the earth it should properly be said to revolve around the sun; for, together with the earth, it revolves around the sun once every year. As seen from any of the planets that lie near the earth the earth and moon would appear as a very beautiful double star. In order the more readily to understand what will be said shortly concerning the origin of the moon, it may be mentioned that the moon's diameter is 2,163 miles, or a little more than one-fourth the diameter of our earth. You will, most probably, be surprised to learn that the origin of the moon is believed to be very different from the origin of the moons or satellites of Jupiter, Saturn, and the other planets. As we have already seen, according to the nebular hypothesis, all the planets except the earth probably had their moons formed from the rings that were left surrounding them when they shrunk on cooling to their present dimensions. Such a ring is still to be seen surrounding Saturn. Now it is believed that our moon was formed in a different manner. It was not thrown off from the earth while the latter was in a highly fluid or gaseous condition, but after the earth had shrunken to nearly its present size and, most probably, after a solid crust had been formed on its surface. In order that our earth should be able to violently throw off a large portion of its mass, it is only necessary that at the time this separation occurred, its motion of rotation on its axis was sufficiently great to enable it to make one complete revolution in rather less than three hours instead of in the twenty-four hours it now requires. At this velocity of rotation, objects would fly off the earth in the neighborhood of the equator, under the influence of the high centrifugal force. Let us, then, endeavor to see if it was at all probable that the earth ever did turn so rapidly on its axis. You all probably know that it is principally the attraction of the moon that produces the earth's tides. Of course, the sun also produces tides on the earth, but it is so far off from the earth that not withstanding its greater mass the tides it forms are much smaller than those produced by the moon. You also know that the moon produces at the same time two tides in every twenty-four hours, on directly opposite sides of the earth; one on the side immediately under the moon, and the other on the side furthest from the moon. As the earth rotates between these two tides, they act as a break which serves to impede its motion. Every high tide, therefore, tends to make the earth rotate more slowly, and thus to slowly increase the length of the day. For this reason to-day is a trifle longer than yesterday, and still longer than a day a hundred years ago. You must not suppose for a moment that this increase in the length of the day is large. On the contrary, it is so small that since the year A. D. 1, up to the present time, the day is only a very small fraction of a second longer. But it was very different in the earth's geological past, when the inside of the earth was in a molten condition; for then great tides were set up in the melted interior of the earth that not only greatly changed the shape of the earth, but decreased the rate of rotation much more rapidly than it does when the earth's tides are limited as they are now to the waters on the earth's surfaces. There was, however, at the same time, something going on that tended greatly to make the earth turn more rapidly on its axis. While the originally melted earth was cooling and shrinking, the rate of its rotation was necessarily increasing. As you know, the time of vibration of a pendulum, that is, the time it requires to make one complete to-and-fro motion, is shorter the shorter the length of the pendulum. A pendulum two feet long moves to and fro more slowly than a pendulum one foot in length. In the same way a rotating sphere will make one complete rotation in a shorter time when its radius, which corresponds to the length of a pendulum, is shorter. Therefore, as the earth shrunk, it rotated more and more rapidly, and at last reached a rapidity of motion at which an immense quantity of matter flew off its surface nearest the equator and went out into space, never again to return. It was this mass that constituted the earth's moon. Necessarily such a tremendous catastrophe was attended by an earthquake as well as by the most fearful volcanic phenomena that the earth has ever witnessed. The terrible catastrophe produced by the explosive eruption of Krakatoa was but as a small drop of rain falling on the earth, when compared with the catastrophe produced when the "five thousand million cubic miles of material left the earth's surface, never again to return to it." It is not known whether this matter was torn off the earth at a single time or during successive times, but quoting the beautiful language of Professor Pickering: "We may try in vain to imagine the awful uproar and fearful volcanic phenomena exhibited when a planet was cleft in twain, and a new planet was born into the solar system." This terrible catastrophe took place at a time not when the earth was a gaseous mass, but when it had condensed into a comparatively small mass not much larger than it is at its present time, and possibly even after it had hardened sufficiently to form a solid crust on its outside. If you look at a map of the earth on a Mercator's projection, such, for example, as that employed in illustrating the distribution of the world's volcanoes in Fig. 24, you can see, even without any very close examination, that the great water area of the Atlantic Ocean has its eastern and western shores almost parallel to each other, so that if you conceive the Eastern and Western Continents as being pushed together, they would, except at the south, almost completely fit together, and the same thing is true, if Greenland is pushed towards the northeastern coast of North America. Of course, some portions of the coast would not fit exactly, but then these portions might either have been worn away, or, as is more probable, have been changed in shape by the deposit of immense beds of sedimentary rocks spread over the borders of the Atlantic by the great rivers that empty into it. This is so remarkable a fact that it will be well worth your while to turn to the map mentioned and convince yourself of the proof of what I have just said. As you will see, Europe and Africa would almost exactly fit against South America and North America, while Greenland would even more closely fit against the northeastern coast of North America. Now, while we do not say that it was so, it has been suggested as just possible that the great depression of the Pacific Ocean represents the spot that was once filled by the moon. That the Eastern and Western Continents, then torn asunder by the great force of the convulsion, were left floating on the surface of a sea of molten matter, a greatly widened crack marking positions they assumed at the end of this cataclysm. Of course, you must understand that all this is a mere supposition, and that we do not know whether the earth was actually cooled on the outside when this occurred, since it might have still been in a liquid condition throughout. It would seem, however, to have occurred rather recently, since it could not have occurred until the earth shrunk so much that it became so small in radius as to acquire a very rapid rate of motion on its axis. It is an interesting fact that we are, perhaps, better acquainted with that side of the moon which is turned towards us than we are with the surface of the earth on which we live. Of course, I do not mean in the small details of the moon's surface, but with such portions as can be seen through a good telescope when the air is quiet. While there are no parts of the moon's surface that have not been carefully examined in detail probably thousands of times by acute astronomers, there are still comparatively large areas of the earth that have never been once trodden by civilized man. When I speak of all parts of the moon's surface, I only mean those parts that are turned towards us. You may possibly be ignorant of the fact that the moon always turns exactly the same face towards the earth. Not only has no man ever seen the opposite side of the moon, but he never can hope to see it while he remains on the earth. This is because the moon turns or rotates on its axis in exactly the same time that it revolves in its orbit. When I say that the time of rotation is the same as the time of revolution of the moon, I do not mean that it is almost the same, but that it is exactly the same. If it differed even but a small fraction of a second, a time would come when we would be able to see the other side of the moon. Now, since astronomers have made careful pictures of the moon, many, many years ago, we can see by comparing them with photographs taken at the present time there has been no change whatever in that face of the moon which is turned towards us, and this, of course, proves beyond question, that the time of the moon's rotation during this great period has remained exactly the same as the time of its revolution. It may possibly seem to you that it cannot be a matter of great importance in a book like this on the Wonders of Volcanoes and Earthquakes, whether or not the moon always turns its face towards the earth; on the contrary, it is a matter of the greatest importance since by it we can prove positively that the moon was at one time at least in a partly fluid condition. It was the presence of this partly fluid interior that resulted in the time of the moon's rotation agreeing exactly with the time of its revolution. The tides of the earth set up in the moon's molten interior, tides, that instead of reaching twice every day the height of a few feet only, were set up in the molten mass in the moon's interior, probably reaching miles in height, rapidly decreased the time of the moon's rotation until the moon rotated once only during every complete revolution. Even now that the moon is probably solid throughout, the time of its rotation and revolution exactly agree because, while in a molten condition, the action of the earth changed its shape from that of an exact sphere to a spheroid, with its longest axis in the direction of the earth. Even, therefore, if the moon at any time began to rotate faster than the earth, the earth acting on its projecting surface retarded it until the time of its rotation agreed exactly with the time of its revolution. It was at one time believed that the moon had no atmosphere. It is now known, however, that it has an atmosphere. It is true this is a rare atmosphere, probably not greater in density than the one-ten thousandth of the earth's atmosphere. This important question was settled once for all on August 12th, 1892, at the Harvard Observatory at Arequipa, Peru, when a photograph was taken of an object on the moon. It could be readily seen on examining this photograph that the light coming from the moon experienced a bending, known as refraction, in passing from the space outside the moon to its atmosphere on to its surface. Of course, when the moon was thrown off from the earth by reason of its great centrifugal force, it carried along with it a portion of the earth's atmosphere. But since the quantity of matter in the moon is only about one-eightieth of that of the earth, the force of gravity on the moon is much smaller than that on the earth, being almost exactly one-sixth that of the earth's gravity. In other words, if you could succeed in reaching the moon's surface, you would only weigh one-sixth of what you weigh on the earth, but then you could carry a weight six times heavier with no greater effort, and, as for running, jumping, and other athletic exercises, the surface of the moon would, indeed, be a great place on which to break records, since one could readily jump six times higher, put the shot six times further, than on the earth, or go through most other athletic exercises with a corresponding increase. Without going any further into this question it will be sufficient to say that the moon's present atmosphere is believed to consist of carbonic acid gas, and that while on the general surface of the moon this atmosphere must be very rare, yet, at the bottom of the great fissures that cross the moon's surface, it may possess a fairly great density, especially if the moon still possesses feeble volcanic activity; that carbonic acid gas is still being given off from the inside of the moon as we know it is being given off from inside the earth. Under the best conditions of atmosphere and telescope, we can see the moon's surface as it would appear at a distance varying from 800 miles to 300 miles from the earth. With a fifteen-inch telescope, under perfect conditions of vision, objects can be seen as if they were at a distance of 800 miles from the earth, and with the most powerful glasses, and the best conditions of atmosphere this distance can be reduced to about 300 miles. This would enable us to clearly see large objects like rivers, lakes, seas, or forests, if they existed, but would not be sufficient to enable us to see houses, buildings, or roads. When we come to examine the surface of the moon under the most favorable conditions, we find that it is extremely irregular. There are plenty of high mountains. These mountains are not collected in ranges as they are on the earth's surface, but are completely separated from each other, and are scattered in great numbers over the moon's surface. You may form some idea of the number of volcanoes that have been observed on the moon when I tell you that as many as 32,000 have been seen on that side of the moon that is turned towards the earth. Now it is an interesting fact that almost all these mountains possess great craters that are not unlike some of the volcanic craters we see on the earth. The volcanic craters of the moon, however, are of very much greater size than those on the earth, many being from fifty to sixty miles in diameter, while some of them are more than 100 miles in diameter. Smaller craters, say from twenty to twenty-five miles in diameter, can be counted by the hundreds. Like most of the moon's craters, the largest crater more closely resembles one of the pit-craters or calderas on the island of Hawaii. This volcanic crater consists of a huge circular ring with a small irregular peak that rises inside the ring. This peak, by the way, might at first appear to resemble the crater of Vesuvius, which after a long period of inactivity of the mountain during the eruption that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum was thrown up inside of what had been left standing of the old crater of Somma. But it has no crater at its summit, and, therefore, resembles rather the irregular pile or rock that rises from the surface of a lava lake in the craters of Mt. Loa or Mt. Kilauea in Hawaii. Besides the numerous craters to be seen on the moon's surface there are many lines of deep, crooked valleys, known as _rills_, that may at one time have been the beds of rivers. Besides the rills, there are many straight clefts about half a mile in width, that extend down into the surface of the moon for unknown depths. These clefts can be seen passing directly through mountains and valleys. They are believed to be cracks or fissures in the moon's surface. On the moon is a great crater called Tycho. It is situated near the moon's south pole. The great crater of Tycho is by far the most prominent object on the moon's surface. It has a system of rays that extend for great distances around its craters. You will also see if you examine the moon's surface by a powerful glass that there are immense plains called _oceans_ or _seas_. By an appropriate custom the names of the different craters on the moon are the same as the names of the great astronomers and philosophers that have long since passed from their labors, such as Tycho, Copernicus, Kepler, Plato, etc. Various explanations have been given as to the origin of the craters on the moon's surface, but without going into a discussion it may be said that they are now generally regarded as having been formed in the main just as were the craters of the earth's volcanoes. The tremendous size of the moon's craters is of course due to the great decrease in the force of gravity. This would make the craters, approximately, six times as great as the craters on the earth. Professor Pickering points out that while the moon's craters resemble more closely those of Hawaii than those of any other of the earth's volcanoes, yet there is this difference in them: that while the earth's crater floors are generally considerably higher than the level of the sea, the moon's crater floors are generally below the level of the surrounding country. Still, taking them all in all, the craters of the moon's volcanoes resemble those of the island of Hawaii, or again quoting from Pickering:-- "There seems, indeed, to be no feature found upon the moon which is not presented by these Hawaiian volcanoes, there is no feature of the volcanoes that does not also have its counterpart in the moon." CHAPTER XXIII EARTHQUAKES An _earthquake_ is a shaking of the earth. It may vary in intensity from a shaking so feeble that it requires the use of a delicate instrument to detect it, to a shaking violent enough to overthrow heavy buildings, and even to make great rents or fissures in the crust. An earthquake then is an _earth-shake_. It may be caused by anything capable of shaking the earth; for example, as the falling of a heavy weight on its surface. Now, a shaking so caused is only felt in the immediate neighborhood of the place the weight strikes the earth. On the contrary, in an earthquake, the shaking spreads in all directions through the earth's crust, until, in the case of very violent earthquakes, it reaches portions that may be situated many thousands of miles away from where the shock started. This spreading of the earthquake waves through the solid earth is not unlike the spreading of the circular waves that are set up in a still water surface when a stone is tossed in. Any shaking of the earth's crust produces what may be called an earth-shake or earthquake. The mere falling of a raindrop on the earth produces a slight shaking. The falling of a heavy stone produces a stronger shaking, and sets up a series of minute waves, generally called vibrations, that spread around the place in all directions from where the stone struck. These movements, however, while they spread in all directions, just as they do in a surface of a lake, when a stone is thrown into it, are of course much more quickly stopped by the solid earth than similar movements are by the more readily movable water. But, while any shaking of the earth's crust constitutes an earthquake, yet, strictly speaking, an earthquake is produced only by some force that acts suddenly on the earth, _at a point below its surface_, and, therefore, out of sight. This, of course, would rule out all such shakings as are caused by bodies striking the outer surface of the earth. Earthquakes may occur in any part of the world, and at any time of the day or year. They do occur, however, most frequently in certain parts of the world, at certain seasons of the year and at certain hours of the day. Earthquakes are far from being unusual occurrences. In some parts of the world, such as the island of Java, they are very common, and in Japan, under certain circumstances, scarcely a day passes without one or more shocks in some part of that little empire. Professor Mallet, who has made a very extensive study of earthquakes, published in 1850 to 1858, in the Philosophical Transactions, brief abstracts or descriptions of all the more important earthquakes he could find records of during the past 3,456 years. The number of earthquakes thus recorded during this period reached 6,830. Of this great number nearly one-half occurred during the last fifty years. It should not be inferred from the above figures that the number of earthquakes has really increased so greatly in the past half-century. The explanation of the apparent increase is that greater care has been taken recently in recording earthquakes, and that an apparatus called a _seismometer_, or _earthquake-recorder_, has been invented which automatically produces a record of the smallest shocks; so that a great many have been recorded that would otherwise have passed undetected. It is the opinion of Le Conte that if the records of all the earthquakes of 3,456 years had been thus made there would have been found during the entire time of Mallet's researches to have occurred no less than 200,000, while during the last four years of Mallet's records, the number would have probably reached two earthquakes per week. Since Mallet's time, Prof. Alexis Perry published (1876) a much larger list of earthquakes. Perry finds that from 1843 to 1872 there have been 17,249 earthquakes, or 575 every year. Perry's list, however, is incomplete, since it fails to record earthquakes that occurred in mid-ocean, and in the unexplored and uncivilized parts of the world. So it seems likely that earthquakes are so common that our earth, at some part or other of its surface, is continually shaking or quaking. Earthquakes are such tremendous phenomena that they were necessarily observed by the ancients. We find more or less complete accounts of them in various writings. Lucretius (Titus Carus Lucretius, a great Roman poet) speaks as follows, in his De Rerum Natura (On the Nature of Things). We use Munro's translation here: "Now mark and learn what the law of earthquakes is. And first of all take for granted that the earth below us as well as above is filled in all parts with windy caverns, and bears within its bosom many lakes and many chasms, cliffs and craggy rocks; and you must suppose that many rivers hidden beneath the crust of the earth roll on with violent waves and submerged stones; for the very nature of the case requires it to be throughout like to itself. With such things then attached and placed below, the earth quakes above from the shock of great falling masses, when underneath, time has undermined vast caverns. Whole mountains, indeed, fall in, and in an instant from the mighty shock tremblings spread themselves far and wide from that centre. And with good cause, since buildings beside a road tremble throughout, when shaken by a wagon of not such very great weight; and they rock no less, where any sharp pebble on the road jolts up the iron tires of the wheels on both sides. Sometimes, too, when an enormous mass of soil through age rolls down from the land into great and extensive pools of water, the earth rocks and sways with the undulation of the water just as a vessel at times cannot rest, until the liquid within has ceased to sway about in unsteady undulations.... "The same great quaking likewise arises from this cause, when on a sudden the wind and some enormous force of air gathering either from without or within the earth have flung themselves into the hollow of the earth and there chafe at first with much uproar among the great caverns and are carried on with a whirling motion, and when their force, afterwards stirred and lashed into fury, bursts abroad and at the same moment cleaves the deep earth and opens up a great yawning chasm. This fell out in Syrian Sidon and took place at Ægium in the Peloponnese, two towns which an outbreak of wind of this sort and the ensuing earthquake threw down. And many walled places besides fell down by great commotions on land and many towns sank down engulfed in the sea together with their burghers. And if they do not break out, still the impetuous fury of the air and the fierce violence of the wind spread over the numerous passages of the earth like a shivering-fit and thereby cause a trembling." Of course, no one at the present time believes this ridiculous explanation as to the cause of earthquakes. Aristotle, a Greek philosopher, speaks thus concerning earthquakes. We quote the translation employed by Mallet: "Three theories on the subject have been handed down to us by three different persons; namely, Anaxagoras of Klazomene, before him Anaximenes the Milesian, and later than these Democritus of Abdera. "Anaxagoras says that the ether of nature rises upward, but that when it falls into hollow places in the lower parts of the earth it moves it (the earth); because the parts above are cemented or closed up by rain, all parts being by nature equally spongy or full of cavities, both those which are above (where we live) and those which are below. Of this opinion it may perhaps be unnecessary to say anything, as being foolish, for it is absurd to suppose that things would thus exist above and beneath, and that the parts of bodies which have weight would not on every side be borne to the earth, and those which are light, and fiery, rise; especially since we see the surface of the earth to be convex and spherical, the horizon constantly changing as we change our place, at least as far as we know. And it is also foolish to assert on the one hand that it remains in the air on account of its great size, and on the other to say that it is shaken, when struck from beneath upwards. And besides these objections, it is to be remarked that he has not treated of the attendant circumstances of earthquakes, for neither every time nor place is subject to these convulsions. "But Democritus says, that the earth being full of water, and receiving much also by means of rain, is moved by this. For when the water increases in bulk, because the cavities cannot contain it, in its struggles it causes an earthquake. And when the earth becomes partially dried up, the water being drawn from the full reservoirs into those which are empty, in passing from one to the other, by its movements it causes an earthquake also. "Anaximenes, however, says that the earth, when parched up and again moistened, cracks, and by the masses thus broken off falling on it, is shaken; wherefore earthquakes occur in drouths and again in times of rain; in drouths, because, as we have said, it cracks, when highly dried, and then, when moistened over again, it cracks and falls to pieces. Were this the case, however, the earth ought to appear in many places subsiding. Why then is it that hitherto many places have been very subject to these convulsions which do not present any such remarkable differences from others? Yet such ought to be the case. And, moreover, those who think thus must assert that earthquakes constantly become less and less, and at last cease altogether. For the continual condensation of the earth would cause this. Wherefore, if this be not the fact, it is plain that this is not the correct explanation." Besides the above, there are numerous references to earthquakes in the works of other writers. Thales, Seneca, and Pliny all speak of these phenomena and appear to describe correctly the movement of the earth in waves both in the solid land, as well as on the sea. Coming down to less ancient writers, Mallet refers to a book by Fromondi, published in Antwerp, in 1527, that contains much valuable and interesting information. Among other things Fromondi declares that in the year 369, in the reign of Valentinian, there was a great earthquake that shook nearly the entire world and that another earthquake of almost equal severity occurred in 1116. He also states that in 1601 an earthquake continued for nearly forty days; that a great earthquake in Italy, in 1538, lasted fifteen days, and that another, in Spain, lasted for nearly three years. This does not mean that these earthquakes actually continued to shake the earth violently for the times mentioned. These are only the times during which, at intervals of greater or less length, successive shocks were felt in these localities. Another of the less ancient writers referred to by Mallet is Travagini, who published a book in Venice in 1683. This book contains a description of a terrible earthquake occurring in Italy on the 6th of April, 1667, which affected large portions of the country adjacent to Ragusa. Without attempting at present to discuss the various theories of earthquakes, it will suffice to say that earthquakes can be divided, according to their origin, into two classes: _volcanic earthquakes_, or earthquakes that are caused by practically the same forces that cause volcanoes, and _tectonic[3] earthquakes_, or those produced by the slipping of a large mass of rock lying along the lines of old or new fractures. Earthquakes of the first class are found especially in volcanic districts, while those of the second class are found in all parts of the world, whether in volcanic districts or elsewhere. According to Dana, earthquakes of the second class generally start in the neighborhood of mountains, where old lines of fractures are especially abundant. As regards the direction of the shaking movements of the earth, earthquakes can be divided into three different classes: _explosive earthquakes_, or those in which the force acts vertically upwards; _horizontal earthquakes_, or those in which the force moves in a more or less horizontal direction, or parallel to the general surface of the earth, and _rotary earthquakes_, or those in which the earth rotates or moves in great eddies or whirls. When the earthquake wave is started below the earth's surface, it spreads through the crust in all directions. The direction these waves will have on emerging, or coming out of the surface, will depend on the distance of this point from the place the waves started. When a place is situated directly over where the wave started, the waves will emerge so as to move vertically upwards, so that the earth at this point will be shaken by an explosive earthquake. As the point where the waves pass out is situated further and further from the place where the waves start, the waves will emerge more nearly horizontally, the greater the distance from the source. In explosive earthquakes, which, as just explained, occur at areas almost immediately above the point where the disturbance starts, the force is, generally speaking, the greatest. In earthquakes of this character the force is sometimes sufficiently great to throw large bodies high up into the air. In the case of the great Riobamba earthquake of 1797, the force was not only sufficiently great to fracture the earth in various places, but also to throw bodies lying on the surface great distances into the air. Bodies of men were thrown several hundred feet into the air and were afterwards found on the other side of a broad river or high up on the side of a hill. It is possible that Humboldt did not inquire with as much care as he should have done into these reports. They were probably greatly exaggerated, since it is difficult to understand how a force great as this would have failed to detach the soil at these places, and hurl it after the people. This much, however, can be accepted, that the upward force was very great. In the great Calabria earthquake of March, 1783, Dolomieu states that the tops of the granite hills of Calabria were distinctly seen to rise and fall. In some cases houses were suddenly raised a great distance in the air, and were afterwards brought down again to a position of rest, at a higher level without any damage occurring to them. In a similar manner during the Caracas earthquake of March, 1812, the ground was seen to rise and fall in a nearly vertical direction. But, perhaps, one of the most terrible earthquakes of this character was the earthquake that destroyed the greater part of Jamaica in June, 1793. During this earthquake the entire surface of the ground at Port Royal assumed the appearance of a rolling sea. Houses were shifted from their old sites. Many of the inhabitants who had succeeded in escaping from the city to the neighboring country were thrown great distances into the air. Some of these, by good fortune, fell into the harbor, from which, in some cases, they escaped with their lives. Here again the projectile force was probably greatly exaggerated. Vertical movements characterized the great earthquake of Lisbon, on November 1st, 1755, the city appearing to have been not far from the point of origin. The commonest type of earthquakes is the horizontal, where the waves emerge at the surface in a direction either horizontal or parallel to the general surface, or at least inclined to it at a very small angle. Where the materials of the earth's crust, through which the waves spread, are of the same kind and of the same density in all directions, the area shaken is approximately circular, but where the materials of the crust are more or less dense in some directions than in others, the area of disturbance is of course oblong or elliptical. In some cases earthquakes of the horizontal type are limited almost entirely to a single direction. This is especially the case with earthquakes that occur in mountainous districts. These earthquakes are known as _linear earthquakes_, since they spread almost in a single line. When earthquake waves pass from one medium to another, that is, from one kind of rock to another, the greater portion of the waves is refracted or bent out of their straight direction as they pass into the new medium; a part of the waves, however, are reflected. It is these reflected waves that probably cause rotary earthquakes. The speed with which the surface waves move outwards in all directions, varies not only with the force of the wave, but also with the kind of material through which they pass. This velocity may be in the neighborhood of twenty miles per second, while in others the velocity is as great as 140 miles per second. Naturally, one would suppose that the most severe earthquakes are those in which the waves move the most rapidly. On the contrary, however, the comparatively feeble shocks are sent through the earth with greater velocity. In rotary earthquakes, as the name indicates, the ground is whirled or twisted in the manner of a violent eddy, and is often left in this twisted condition. In the great Calabria earthquake, huge blocks of stone forming obelisks were twisted on one another in a manner represented in Fig. 39. In this case the pedestals remained unaffected, but the separate blocks of stone were partially turned around, as shown. During this earthquake the earth was so twisted that trees, which had been planted in straight lines before the earthquake, were left standing in zigzags. During the great Charleston earthquake, South Carolina, the chimney-tops of the houses were separated at places where they joined the roof and were twisted around these places without being overthrown. In some of the houses wardrobes or bureaus were turned at right angles to their former positions, and in some cases were even found with their faces turned towards the wall. [Illustration: FIG. 39. HEAVY STONE OBELISKS TWISTED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783] Mallet suggests that in some cases the rotary motion is more apparent than real, being due only to a to-and-fro motion without any twisting, the apparent turning being due to the greater freedom of motion of the object in one direction than in another. A twisting motion, however, has actually taken place in some earthquakes. While separate shocks, in a given locality, may follow one another at intervals for fairly long times, yet the principal shock or shake that produces the greatest damage is generally of exceedingly short duration. In the Caracas earthquake the greatest destruction was accomplished in about one minute. There were three distinct shocks, each of which lasted but three or four seconds. The great Calabria earthquake, of 1783, lasted but two minutes. The earthquake of Lisbon, in 1755, lasted five minutes, but the first, and worst, shock, was only from five to six seconds. CHAPTER XXIV SOME OF THE PHENOMENA OF EARTHQUAKES The nature of an earthquake and the movements of its waves from their starting place having now been briefly described, it remains to explain some of the strange phenomena that precede, accompany, or follow one. Next to the violent shaking of the earth's crust, perhaps the most wonderful and impressive thing is the great variety of sounds and noises. These occur not only while the earth-waves are passing through the crust at any place, but also long before the principal shocks reach the place, as well as long after they have passed. Earthquake sounds vary almost infinitely, both in intensity and character. Some are like the gentle sighings of the wind, or resemble faint mysterious whisperings; some are not unlike the confused murmurings of a crowded room; some resemble the sounds of a busy street. Some sounds are full and strong, like the deep bass notes of a large organ. Others resemble the din of a great battle with the reports of the large guns. Still others reach the intensity of continuous peals of thunder. But we can better understand the nature of earthquake sounds from an actual description of them in a number of great earthquakes, and by inquiring at the same time into any of the peculiar facts connected. Humboldt in his great work, "Cosmos," thus describes the varied voice of the earthquake: "It is either rolling or rustling, or clanking, like chains being moved, or like near thunder, or clear and ringing, as if obsidian or some other vitrified masses were struck in subterranean cavities." That the sounds produced during earthquakes are carried through the ground faster than through the air appears clear from the fact that such sounds are sometimes heard in deep mines when they are not at all heard on the earth's surface. In describing the earthquake that occurred in Kamtschatka, in 1759, Krashenikoff of St. Petersburg states that noises were heard like the rushing of a strong underground wind, accompanied by a hissing sound, which resembled the sizzlings heard when red hot coals are thrown in water. In an earthquake that occurred in Lincolnshire, England, February 6th, 1817, a noise was heard closely resembling the sounds of wagons running away on a road. So complete and convincing was the resemblance that several wagoners on one of the roads drew their teams to one side so as to permit the runaway to pass safely. Another kind of noise heard during earthquakes is a loud hollow bellowing. Sometimes, however, the sounds are more musical in their nature, being not unlike those produced by a very large organ pipe. At other times they resemble the noises produced when steam is blown into cold water. The following account of earthquake sounds is given by Daubeny, in his book on volcanoes. It appears that during March, 1822, the people living on the island of Melida, opposite Ragusa, in Dalmatia, were greatly alarmed by sounds that at first they believed due to cannonading either at sea or on the neighboring coast. They afterwards found that these sounds were due to something that was taking place under the ground. The noises continued at intervals until August 23d, 1823, when a great earthquake occurred, during which one of the highest mountains on the island was cleft or split in one place. The underground noises continued from time to time and so frightened the people that they were about to leave the island permanently and emigrate to the mainland of Dalmatia. They were dissuaded from doing so by the government, and while the noises continued at intervals it so happened that no damage came to them. It is said, however, that twenty years after an active volcano broke out on the island. There are various causes that produce earthquake sounds. A very slight rubbing or grinding together of rock surfaces may produce fairly loud noises, the volume of the sound being increased by transmission through the rock masses that lie in the path of the waves. An example of such an increase in the loudness of sounds is seen in the case of several of the large blocks of stone used for some of the piers of Kingston Harbor, in Ireland. When these rocks are moved together by blows of the waves they produce loud and appalling sounds, as if the whole island were being washed away. The same rocks, however, when left high and dry on the falling of the tide, can be caused to rub together, when moved by the hand. Under these circumstances, they produce but feeble sounds that can only be heard in their immediate neighborhood. No doubt, some find it difficult to understand how it is possible for comparatively feeble sound-waves to be strengthened by their passage through large masses of solids. This is important and should be made clear. As everyone well knows, the ticking of a watch can only be heard at a short distance when the watch is held in the hand, because the sound-waves cannot readily pass through the body of the person holding the watch to the earth, the materials of the body not being sufficiently elastic. If, however, the watch be placed on the bare surface of a large wooden table from which the tablecloth has been removed, so that the watch can come directly in contact with the wood, and nothing else is placed on the table but the watch, the sound-waves are transmitted to the mass of the table and its entire surface sends them out into the air. The ticking of the watch can then be heard distinctly in almost any part of a large room. Mallet states that in nearly all great earthquakes sounds are heard before the principal shock, and in his description of the Calabrian earthquake Hamilton says: "All agreed that every shock seemed to come with a rumbling noise from the westward, beginning with the horizontal and ending with the vorticose (rotary) motion." According to Dolomieu, during the Lisbon earthquake, the shocks were preceded "by a loud subterranean noise like thunder, which was renewed for every shock.... This great shock," he says, referring to one of the great upward shocks, "occurred without the prelude of any slight shocks, without any notice whatever as suddenly as the blowing up of a mine.... Some, however, pretend that a muffled interior noise was heard almost at the same moment." The noises do not generally continue long after the earthquake shocks. In some cases, however, a very loud noise is heard at intervals for a considerable length of time after the principal shock. This was the case at Quito and Ibarra, in which a great noise was heard for from eighteen to twenty minutes after the principal shock. In a similar manner during the earthquake of October, 1746, at Lima, and Callao, South America, peals of underground thunder were heard at Truxillo for fifteen minutes after the principal shock. In such cases it seems probable that the noises were not caused by the same impulses that caused the original shock, but by the forces that caused the subsequent shock. Humboldt relates that in 1784 there were noises heard at Guanajuato, from the 9th to the 12th of February. They were not, however, followed by an earthquake. Humboldt also states that in an earthquake which occurred on the 30th of April, 1812, on the banks of the Orinoco River, in South America, a loud thundering noise was heard, without, however, any shock, but at this time a volcano on the island of St. Vincent, in the Lesser Antilles, although some 632 miles to the northeast, was pouring out streams of lava. Again in the great eruption of Cotopaxi, in 1734, underground noises were heard as if cannon were being fired. These sounds were distinctly heard at as great a distance as Honda on the banks of the Magdalena River. Now, bearing in mind that the crater of Cotopaxi is situated on the high plateau of Quito, in a region full of valleys and fissures, it would seem that for the sounds to have been sent through the 436 miles between the mountains and the valley of the Magdalena River, the waves must, for the greater part, have been transmitted through the solid earth at some considerable distance below the surface. Mallet states that the underground noises which continued for more than a month from the midnight of January 9th, 1784, at Guanajuato, were not followed by any earthquake shocks, that it was if as thunder clouds occupied the space below the surface at that part of the earth and from these clouds there came the slow rolling sounds like short, quick, snaps of thunder. Major Dutton in his book entitled "Earthquakes in the Light of the New Seismology" gives the following as the principal signs that herald the coming earthquake in the open country. "The first sensation is the sound. It is wholly unlike anything we have ever heard before, unless we have already had a similar experience. It is a strange murmur. Some liken it to the sighing of pine-trees in the wind, or to falling rain; others to the distant roar of the surf; others to the far-off rumble of the railway train; others to distant thunder. It grows louder. The earth begins to quiver, then to shake rudely. Soon the ground begins to heave. Then it is actually seen to be traversed by visible waves somewhat likes waves at sea, but of less height and moving much more swiftly. The sound becomes a roar. It is difficult to stand, and at length it becomes impossible to do so. The victim flings himself to the ground to avoid being dashed to it, or he clings to a convenient sapling, or fence-post, to avoid being overthrown. The trees are seen to sway sometimes through large arcs, and are said, doubtless with exaggeration, to touch the ground with their branches, first on one side, then on the other. As the waves rush past, the ground on the crests opens in cracks which close again in the troughs. As they close, the squeezed-out air blows forth sand and gravel, and sometimes sand and water are spurted high in air. The roar becomes appalling. Through its din are heard loud, deep, solemn booms that seem like the voice of the Eternal One, speaking out of the depths of the universe. Suddenly this storm subsides, the earth comes speedily to rest and all is over." There are many other curious phenomena besides earthquake sounds or noises. Among some of the more interesting are the fire and smoke that are seen to come out of fissures that have been rent in the ground. It is possible that in many cases these flashes of fire are in reality produced by electric discharges that momentarily light the clouds of dust thrown up out of the fissure. But sometimes true flames are seen escaping from the fissures. This was the case during the earthquake of Lisbon, in 1755, when fire burst through fissures at several places, burning with a lambent flame for some hours. The clouds of dust that follow the rending of mountain masses by earthquakes are probably to be traced to the fracture of the rock masses, the dust so formed being violently thrown forth by the air squeezed out of the fissures, when they are suddenly closed. The violent compression of this air may raise this dust to incandescence. Mallet asserts that in many cases the clouds of smoke observed do not consist of true smoke like that produced when wood or vegetable matters are incompletely burned, but is only ordinary air mixed with sulphurous acid gas, and various other gases. But not only fire and smoke are seen at times coming out of fissures in the earth. A thing still more frequently thrown out is water, which often spouts forth along with great quantities of mud, sand, and the finely ground fragments of earthy materials generally. Among many other instances where the emission of water from the crevices was particularly noticeable, may be mentioned the earthquakes at Jamaica in 1687 and 1692. Here the water, in some places, was thrown out of the ground to considerable heights in the air. Mallet calls attention to the fact that the waters of springs collect in reservoirs consisting either of fissures or crevices of the rocks, of small width but great depth, which are vertical or inclined to the horizon, or in reservoirs that are formed of extended beds of sand or gravel. Now, when the earthquake waves moving horizontally over the surface produce movements that squeeze these fissures together, the water in the fissures is spurted out in high jets, and carries with it the finely divided rock or sand formed by the rubbing together of the rock surfaces. In the case of the reservoirs consisting of beds of sand or gravel, lying between impervious layers, if, during an earthquake motion, the land areas are suddenly lowered, the water rushing into the cavity thus left will afterwards be shot out with considerable force, when the land is suddenly raised again. Where there are no direct openings in the ground the water will burst through the crust in the shape of great vertical jets, thus forming a circular hole, broken or fractured at its edges. Water jets of this character were especially numerous during the earthquake of Calabria in 1783. In a swampy plain, known as Rosarno, many of these circular wells or openings about the size of an ordinary carriage wheel, though in some cases much larger, were to be seen crowded together. The appearance of the openings are represented in Fig. 40. Some of these were filled with water, but the greater number were dry and filled with loose sand. These latter, when examined by digging, were shown to be funnel-shaped, as seen in Fig. 41. As seen, the margins of the wells exhibit a series of cracks or crevices extending radially outward from the centre. Their origin is evident. As the water was violently expelled by the squeezing motion of the upper and lower impervious strata, it shot upwards, thus producing the funnel-shaped tube. At the same time the force of the eruption was sufficiently great to produce the radial fissures or fractures at the sides. [Illustration: FIG. 40. CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE] [Illustration: FIG. 41. SECTION OF CIRCULAR HOLLOW FORMED BY CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE] But greater fissures than these have been formed by earthquakes, especially those of the class created by a slipping of the earth's strata. In the case of an earthquake on the South Island of New Zealand, in 1848, a fissure having an average width of eighteen inches could be clearly seen extending in a direction parallel to the mountain chain for a distance of sixty miles, and during a later earthquake in the same region, in 1855, a fracture was formed that could be clearly traced for a distance of nearly ninety miles. In some cases these fissures or fractured parts of the crust are left with one of their sides at a higher level than the opposite side. This was the case of the great Japanese earthquake of October 28th, 1891. There are three kinds of waves produced by earthquakes; namely, the earthquake waves proper through the earth; the sound waves in the air, and great forced waves in the sea. The sound waves of course reach the air from the point of origin below the earth's surface through the solid materials of the crust, and take on the curious varieties already described in connection with the sounds accompanying earthquakes. We have already briefly described the manner in which the earthquake waves travel through the materials of the earth's crust. There remain to be discussed the great waves that are rolled up in the ocean during an earthquake shock. These waves are, perhaps, among the most destructive phenomena of great earthquakes. The following are only some of the more remarkable of such waves, and have been taken from Mallet's collection of earthquake data. During some of the great earthquakes on the coasts of Chile and Peru, huge waves from the ocean did great damage when they reached the land. In the earthquake of 1590, ocean waves rushed for several leagues inland over the coast of Chile, carrying with them ships that were left high and dry as the wave receded. In the earthquake of 1687, Callao was inundated by a great wave from the Pacific Ocean, and ships were carried a full league into the country. During the earthquake of 1746, Callao was again swept away by a huge ocean wave. At later times earthquake waves have caused great damage to several other parts of the coast of South America. Ocean waves of this character are formed by successive upward and downward movements at the bottom of the ocean, following each other at very brief intervals. Le Conte points out that the sudden upheaval of the bed of the ocean forms a huge mound in the surface of the water which results in a large wave that spreads rapidly in all directions. Waves produced in this manner sometimes reach a height of fifty to sixty feet. They are not readily observed in the deep ocean, but as soon as they reach the shallow waters near the shore they rush forward, forming waves from fifty to sixty feet in height and, rushing over the land, sweep everything before them. During the great Lisbon earthquake of 1755 a huge wave started at a point fifty miles off the coast of Portugal. Half an hour after the earthquake was over several waves, the largest of which was sixty feet in height, rushed over a part of the city and greatly increased the ruin already wrought by the earthquake. According to Le Conte the great waves so formed moved in all directions across the Atlantic Ocean. They were thirty feet high when they reached Cadiz, eighteen feet in height at Madeira, and five feet on the coast of Ireland. They even crossed the Atlantic, being observed on the coasts of the West Indies. A great ocean wave accompanied the Japanese earthquake in 1854. As in the case of the Lisbon earthquake this wave started in the bed of the ocean off the coast of Japan and only reached the island half an hour afterwards. It was thirty feet in height, and completely swept away the town of Simoda. Owing to water's greater freedom of motion earthquake waves travel greater distances through the water than they do on land. Of course, great earthquake shocks as a rule cause a very large loss of life. The following figures from Mallet give some idea of the extent of this loss, which is generally a matter of a few moments. In the Lisbon earthquake, where the worst shock lasted a few seconds, 60,000 people were killed. During other earthquakes the losses have been as follows: 10,000 at Morocco; 40,000 in Calabria; 50,000 in Syria, and probably 120,000 in earthquakes that occurred in Syria in A. D. 19 and in A. D. 526. But even these figures give only a meagre idea of the vast loss of life that has occurred during the past. It is said that during the reign of Justinian, earthquakes repeatedly shook the whole Roman world. The city of Constantinople was visited by earthquake shocks that continued at intervals for forty days. Deep chasms were opened in the earth and huge masses were thrown into the air. Enormous sea-waves were formed. At Antioch, during the earthquake of May 20th, A. D. 526, 250,000 people are believed to have been killed. On the 31st of July, A. D. 365, in the second year of Valentinian, a dreadful earthquake shook the Roman world, and a great wave rolled in from the Mediterranean and swept two miles inland, carrying ships over the tops of houses. During this earthquake 50,000 people lost their lives at Alexandria. In the earthquake of Messina in 1692, 74,000 people are said to have been killed; and, according to other accounts, 100,000. In the year A. D. 602, another earthquake at Antioch killed 60,000 people. During the earthquake of Quito, in 1797, Humboldt estimates that 40,000 natives were either buried in crevices in the earth, under the ruins of buildings, or were drowned in lakes and ponds that were temporarily formed. In this connection Mallet writes as follows: "Such are the numbers to be met with in narratives, and if we suppose that there occurs one great earthquake in three years over the whole earth and that this involves the entombment of only 10,000 human beings, and that such has been the economy of our system for the last 4,000 years, we shall have a number representing above 13,000,000 men thus suddenly swallowed up, with countless bodies of animals of every lower class. Sir Charles Lyell then with good reason suggests that even in our own time we may yet find the remains of men and of their habitations and implements thus buried deep and embalmed, as it were, by earthquakes that occurred in the days of Moses and the Ptolemies." Necessarily the progress of a great earthquake wave will produce great changes in the earth's surface features; for example, landslides, where immense layers of clay or other material slip or slide to a lower level and are thrown across the course of a river, causing its waters to be dammed up and then by spreading to form great lakes. Sometimes, after vast bodies of water have been collected in this manner, disastrous floods result later from a sudden giving way of the barrier, and the loss thus caused is occasionally far greater than that directly due to the earthquake. Permanent changes of level are frequently caused by earthquakes, as, for example, the coast of Chile during the earthquake of November 19th, 1822, where the coast for many miles was raised from three to four feet above its former plane. In other cases the level of the ground is permanently lowered. This occurred in the Bengal earthquake in 1762, when an area of some sixty square miles suddenly sank, leaving only the tops of the higher points above water. In some cases of changes in the level of the ground, large areas being raised in one place and lowered in another, rivers take new courses, and their old courses are completely obliterated. CHAPTER XXV THE EARTHQUAKE OF CALABRIA IN 1783 All students of elementary geography are quick to notice that the extreme southeastern part of Italy is shaped something like a boot, which appears to be kicking at the island of Sicily. This part of the Mediterranean Sea has for very many years been the arena or storm centre of more or less intense volcanic activity. To the northwest is the active volcano of Vesuvius, as well as the volcanic regions of the Phlegræan Fields. Immediately opposite the point of Italy, near the toe of the foot, is the active volcanic mountain, Etna, while not far from this point is the volcano of Stromboli. In 1783 this part of the world was visited by a very severe earthquake. Since at that time the country was divided into two parts, known as Upper Calabria and Lower Calabria, this earthquake is sometimes spoken of as the earthquake of the Calabrias, or more simply as the Calabrian earthquake. The great mountain range of the Apennines, mainly of granite formation, extends through the central part of Italy. The lands adjoining the mountains on each side are flat and marshy, and consequently unhealthy. Numerous observers have compiled excellent accounts of the Calabrian earthquake. These, having been made by educated persons, are, to a large extent free from the inconsistencies and exaggerations apt to characterize descriptions by ignorant persons, especially when in a condition of excitement or alarm. Among reliable writers was Sir William Hamilton, who made a personal examination of the region, soon after the first severe shock, and collected much valuable information for a paper which was afterwards published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. Then, too, Dolomieu, another scientific man of high ability, made a careful study of the effects produced by the earthquake. [Illustration: FIG. 42. MAP OF THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE OF 1783] As can be seen by an examination of the map presented in Fig. 42, the part of Italy included in the Calabrias covers an area from north to south almost equal to two degrees of latitude. Although the shock extended beyond the limits of Calabria, since it reached as far north as Naples, as well as over a great part of the Island of Sicily, the territory in which the greatest damage was done did not exceed in area about 500 square miles. The southern part of Italy is subject to frequent earthquake shocks. Pignatari, an Italian physician, asserts that this region was visited during 1783 by no less than 949 earthquakes, of which 501 were of the first class, or degree of intensity, while in 1784, there were 151 earthquakes, of which ninety-eight were of the first class. It seems that the city of Oppido, marked on the above map as midway between the two coasts, was the point from which the severe earthquake of 1783 started. If one draws a circle, with a radius of twenty-two miles, around Oppido as a centre, the portions of the Calabrias that were the most affected will all lie within this circle. The great Calabrian earthquake was attended by numerous shocks. The first and the most severe shock, that of February 5th, 1783, was only two minutes in destroying most of the houses in all cities, towns, and villages on the western side of the Apennines in this part of Italy. Another severe shock occurred on the 28th of March. This shock was almost as severe as that of February 5th. In order to understand many of the effects produced by this earthquake, inquiry must be made into the geological character of the region. According to Dolomieu, the flat country at the slopes of the Apennines, known as the Plain of Calabria, is covered with sand and clay mixed with sea shells. These strata have been deposited by the sea from materials that have been obtained by the decomposition of the granite mountain ranges in the Apennines. The plain is quite level except where it is crossed by deep valleys or ravines, which have been eroded or cut by the swift mountain torrents. In many cases, these ravines or valleys have depths as great as 600 feet. Their sides are generally almost perpendicular. Consequently, as Lyell remarks, throughout the length of the mountain chain, the soil, which adheres but loosely to the granite base of the mountain chain, could therefore be easily separated from the mountain, and sliding over the solid steeps of the mountain could readily move, especially through the ravines or gorges, to distances in some cases as great as from nine to ten miles. This peculiarity of the country must be thoroughly understood, since, otherwise, it would seem impossible that lands could be carried several miles from their former position, and often bear along with them almost undisturbed houses, olive groves, vineyards, and cultivated fields. The heaving of the surface of the earth like the waters of the sea, so common in severe earthquakes, occurred during the Calabrian earthquake. In some places this heaving so shook the trees that they bent until their tops touched the ground near their base. Parts of the ground were violently thrown upwards into the air as in the explosive type of earthquakes. In many instances the large paving stones were thrown into the air and afterwards found with their lower portions upwards. During the earthquake deep fissures were made in the earth at various localities and there were, moreover, marked changes of level. At Messina in Sicily the shore was fissured and rent and while before the convulsion the surface had been level, it was afterwards found to be inclined toward the sea. According to Dolomieu the following curious incident occurred during the passage of the earthquake waves. A well in the ground of one of the convents of the Augustines, lined on the inside with stones, was so affected by the upward thrust given to the land that its stone lining was left projecting above the level of the earth in the form of a small tower some eight or nine feet in height. Frequent instances occurred of deep fissures in the surface of the earth. Many of these remained open after the earthquake, although in other cases they were firmly closed together before the earthquake shocks ceased. [Illustration: FIG. 43. FISSURES CAUSED BY THE CALABRIAN EARTHQUAKE] Fig. 43 represents the appearance of certain fissures in a part of Calabria during this earthquake. These cracks, it will be noticed, radiate or pass outward in all directions from a central point, just like the cracks that are formed in a glass window pane when it is fractured by a stone thrown against it. Of course, the most violent effects were near the origin of the earthquake at Oppido. Here the formation of deep fissures was common. In another part of the country a number of buildings were suddenly swallowed up in a central chasm, which almost immediately closed, thus permanently burying all these objects. Some idea of the force with which the fissures were afterwards closed can be formed by reflecting on a case where, in order to recover some of the buried articles, the ground was dug up at these points, and it was found that the materials, human bodies and other objects, were so jammed together as to make one compact mass. To Sir William Hamilton a place was shown where the fissures, though, when he saw them, they were not more than a foot in width, had opened sufficiently wide during the shock to swallow up a hundred goats as well as an ox. An earthquake that caused such marked changes in the appearance of the earth's surface, naturally made great changes in the direction of the rivers. In one case the end of a small valley was so completely filled with stones and dirt that the water was dammed up, producing a lake two miles in length and one mile in breadth. In a similar manner no less than 215 lakes were formed in different portions of Calabria. Of course, in the flat country at the base of the Apennines, frequent landslides occurred, the land sliding into great chasms and continuing to move down them for considerable distances, so that in many places pieces of land containing olive trees, vineyards, and green fields, were bodily transported for distances of several miles. This, moreover, was done so quietly as to leave the houses entirely uninjured, and the trees and other vegetation continuing to grow up with apparently no marked decrease in vitality. As is usual in such cases, the sudden and strong blows acting on the waters of the sea, killed great numbers of fish just as does the explosion of dynamite at a point below the surface of the water; and in a similar way the fish that usually live at the bottom of the sea in the soft mud, being disturbed by the earthquake shocks, came near the surface where they were caught in vast numbers. It is an interesting fact that during this earthquake the volcano of Stromboli showed a marked decrease in the volume of smoke it gave out. Etna, however, was observed to emit large quantities of vapor during the convulsion. Lyell tells the following story of the Prince of Scilla, who with many of his vassals sought safety in their fishing boats. Suddenly, on the night of February 5th, while some of the people were sleeping in the boat, and others were resting on a low plain near the sea, in the neighborhood, another shock occurred, a great mass was torn from a neighboring mountain and hurled with a crash on the plain, and immediately afterwards a wave, twenty feet or more in height, rolled over the level plain, sweeping away the people. It then retreated, but soon rushed back again, bringing with it many of the bodies of the people who had perished. At the same time all the boats were either sunk or dashed against the beach, and the Prince with 1,430 of his people was destroyed. The total number of deaths caused by this earthquake in the Calabrias and Sicily were estimated by Hamilton at 40,000. Besides these about 20,000 more perished in epidemics that followed the earthquake, or died for lack of proper food. CHAPTER XXVI THE GREAT LISBON EARTHQUAKE OF 1755 Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, on the Tagus River, is built along both banks for five miles, and on several small neighboring hills. It is supplied with water by means of an aqueduct, called the Alcantara, which brings the water from springs about nine miles to the northwest. For portions of its length the aqueduct is placed underground, but where it crosses the deep valley of the Alcantara it is supported, for a distance of 2,400 feet, by a number of marble arches, which in one place are 260 feet in height. This fact is put forward not merely for the sake of its artistic interest, but because, strange to relate, this part of the aqueduct remained uninjured during that great earthquake, the greatest of modern times. On the 1st of November, 1755, this frightful catastrophe, according to Lyell, from whose excellent account much of the information contained in this chapter has been obtained, struck the beautiful city almost without any warning. Terrible sounds came suddenly from underground; almost instantly afterward a violent shock threw down the greater portion of the city; in less than six minutes 60,000 people were killed. The place from which this earthquake started must have been situated on the bed of the ocean at some distance from the coast; for the great wave thus raised in the Atlantic Ocean did not reach the mouth of the Tagus River until about half an hour after the most severe shocks were over. The arrival of this wave at the mouth of the Tagus was announced by the sea retiring to such an extent as to leave the bar dry. Then a huge wave, sixty feet in height, rolled in from the ocean and completed the work of destruction that had been commenced by the earthquake. So great was the shock that the mountains in the neighborhood were violently shaken and some of them split or fractured in a most wonderful manner. Particularly large was the loss of life in the churches whither hundreds hastened for refuge when the shakings of the earth began, for most of these buildings fell and buried the worshippers. Another immense loss of life was caused by the destruction of a large marble quay or wharf that was suddenly swallowed up by the sea. While the buildings in the city were being overthrown by the violent shakings of the earth, a multitude sought the quay as a flat place where they could not be injured by the falling buildings. Suddenly, however, this structure sank into the water and not only were all the people drowned, but none of the bodies was ever afterwards found. Failure to find any remnants of the pier or any of the people who perished on it has been attributed to the formation of eddies or whirls that were sufficiently strong to carry down vessels by suction similar to that of the famous maelstrom off the coast of Norway. Of course, in a time of boundless excitement like that of the Lisbon earthquake, accounts are apt to be highly exaggerated. For example, assertions are made in many books that the water left in the harbor after the sinking of the quay was unfathomable. Now, in point of fact, the depth of this place has been measured and found to be less than 100 fathoms. When it is remembered that not one of the bodies of the people on that quay was ever again seen, it is possible, as Lyell suggests, that a deep fissure or chasm opened immediately on the ground on which the quay stood, so that it, together with all on it, were dropped into the chasm, which, closing, buried them deep in the earth. The Lisbon earthquake was especially noted for the extent of country affected by it. Humboldt estimated this area as being more than four times the size of Europe. In parts of this area immense mountain ranges, such as the Pyrenees, Alps, etc., were violently shaken. When the size of these mountains is considered one realizes that it must have required a mighty force to shake them. These shakings were so severe that they produced a deep fissure in the ground in France. Continuing towards the north the solid earth was shaken as far as the shores of the Baltic and Norway and Sweden, generally. This, of course, included the flat country of Northern Germany. The hot springs of Toplitz disappeared for a time, but, breaking out afterwards, discharged such quantities of muddy water that the surrounding country was inundated. The waves crossed the Atlantic, causing high tides on the island of Antigua, Barbadoes, and Martinique, of the Lesser Antilles, where, instead of the usual tides of two feet, tides of twenty feet high were observed. Further to the north the waves reached the eastern shores of North America, and shook the continent as far west as the Great Lakes, and spread in the North Atlantic as far as Iceland. Toward the south the waves affected parts of northwestern Africa, where much loss of life occurred in the villages some eight leagues distant from the city of Morocco. Here from 8,000 to 10,000 people were killed, being swallowed up by deep fissures in the earth, which afterwards closed on their bodies. Severe shocks were in many cases felt on vessels at sea. In one instance, although the vessels were at considerable distances from where the waves started, the captains reported that the shocks were so great that on several occasions it was believed the vessel had struck a rock, till, on heaving the lead, they found that they were in very deep water. In another instance, such was the shock to the vessel that the planks on the deck had their seams opened. In still another case several of the sailors were thrown into the air for a distance of about one and a half feet. It has been frequently observed that when great earthquakes happen, curious changes take place in the level of the waters of lakes entirely disconnected with the ocean; for example, mountain lakes, far above the level of the sea, the water suddenly rising and then resuming its original level. Sometimes the waters of such lakes have suddenly disappeared, probably being drained off through a fissure formed in the bed of the lake. In such event the lake generally remains dry after the passage of the earthquake. At the time of the Lisbon earthquake it was observed that the water of Loch Lomond in Scotland first rose above its ordinary, then sank again to its usual level. This difference of level is explained by Lyell as follows: when the earthquake waves reached the lake, the water being unable to take the sudden shove given to it by the earthquake waves, dashed over that side of the basin which first received the shock. Assuming this to be the case, since the rise of the level in the water of Loch Lomond was two feet and four inches, it is comparatively easy to calculate the speed of movement that the earthquake waves had, when they reached this body of water. Calculated in this way it would seem that the waves had a speed of about twenty miles a minute. But what especially characterized the Lisbon earthquake were the great waves that were produced in the ocean. Besides the huge wave that entered the Tagus, a wave of the same height swept eastward along the southern coast of Spain, and the northwestern coast of Africa. At Tangier in Africa it swept the coast as a very high wave no less than eighteen times, or, in other words, eighteen huge waves rolled in from the ocean. At Funchal, on the Madeira Islands, this wave rose fifteen feet above the high water mark. Many attempts have been made to explain the manner in which the great sea waves are started in earthquake movements. Some believe that they are due to the sudden raising or heaving up of the water, far above ordinary level. But, as Lyell points out, this explanation would not be satisfactory for the waves produced in the case of the Lisbon earthquake, since it would fail to account for the fact that both on the coasts of Portugal as well as on the island of Madeira the high wave was preceded by a movement of the water toward the point of origin; that is, the waters moved away from Lisbon and the Madeira Islands, so as to leave the water very low at those points, when shortly afterwards a huge wave rushed in from the sea and swept over the land. Earthquake waves move much more rapidly through the solid rocks of the earth's crust than through the waters of the ocean. The shock transmitted through the solid earth from Lisbon to the Madeira Islands took only twenty-five minutes to reach the islands, while the waves in the ocean took about two and a half hours to cover the same distance. CHAPTER XXVII THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH, INDIA, IN 1819 Cutch is one of the Provinces of India lying on the western coast of Hindostan, east of the delta of the Indus River. A great earthquake occurred in this region on June 16th, 1819. As indicated by the map presented in Fig. 44, by Lyell, the district of Cutch lies on the coast of the Arabian Sea. Cutch is at times a peninsula, being washed on the south and east by the Arabian Sea and the Gulf of Cutch, and on the north by a depression known as the Runn of Cutch which, during unusual tides, is overflowed by the waters of the sea, but for the rest of the year is dry. The earthquake of Cutch was apparently central at the town of Bhooj, where the destruction was extreme, hardly a house being left standing. The shock extended over a radius of about 1,000 miles from Bhooj, reaching to Khatmandoo, Calcutta, and Pondicherry. At Anjar the fort, together with its tower and guns, were completely ruined. The shocks continued at intervals after the principal shock until June 20th, when the volcano of Denodur is said by some to have emitted flames, although this is denied by others. Great changes were produced in the eastern channel of the Indus, which forms the western boundary of the Province of Cutch. The water in this inlet had become so low that it was readily fordable at low tide at Luckput, and was only covered with six feet of water at high tide. After the earthquake it deepened at the port of Luckput to over eighteen feet at low tide, while in other parts of the channel the water had deepened from four to ten feet at high tide, where before the earthquake shock it had never been deeper than from one to two feet. Indeed, after these changes the inland navigation of the country again became possible after having been closed for many centuries. [Illustration: FIG. 44. MAP SHOWING DISTRICT VISITED BY THE EARTHQUAKE OF CUTCH OF 1819] The Cutch earthquake resulted in a marked depression of the country, especially north of Luckput, where the fort and village of Sindree were so quietly sunk that the fort, with its tower and walls, was left projecting slightly above a body of water that not only completely covered the old site but also formed a large lake marked on the preceding map, at Sindree, by the dark shading. It was this change of level that deepened the eastern channel of the Indus, just mentioned. [Illustration: FIG 45.. SINDREE BEFORE THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819] Fig. 45, from Lyell, gives an idea of the appearance of the fort at Sindree before the earthquake. The appearance of the fort after its submergence is represented in Fig. 46, where, as will be noticed, only the top of the tower and the walls remain above the surface of the water. That the masonry was not affected either by the earthquake, or by the inrush of waters, is evident from the fact that the ruins were still standing in March, 1838, as represented in the figure. In heavy shading on the map in Fig. 44 is a large area lying in the northern part of the province known as the Runn of Cutch. This is a flat region of about 7,000 square miles. It owes its level surface to its being the deserted or dried-up bed of a sea. For the greater part of the year its bottom is dry and hard, and is covered with a crust of salt half an inch or so in thickness. [Illustration: FIG. 46. SINDREE AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1819] According to Lyell, from whom most of the facts concerning this earthquake have been obtained, the Runn of Cutch is connected with a vast inland sea, not only by the water driven into it through the Gulf of Cutch, but also through the eastern channel of the Indus at Luckput. These changes occur especially during the monsoon, when the seas are high, and especially after the heavy rains that come with these winds, when the wet condition of the soil permits the sea water to spread rapidly. Traditions of the natives tend to confirm belief that Cutch a long time ago was a true peninsula, and that the Runn of Cutch was then an arm of the sea. That a change of this character did occur in the Runn of Cutch seems to be proved by the ruins of old towns now far inland that are said to have been ancient seaports, and as apparent evidences of this many pieces of wrought iron and ships' nails have been found in parts of the Runn. At the same time that the sinking of the land around the fort and village of Sindree took place a considerable elevation occurred in the neighborhood. Immediately after the earthquake, the people in Sindree saw that a low hill or mound had been thrown up in a place that before had been a low and perfectly level plain. They named this elevation the Ullah Bund, or _the Mound of God_, in order to distinguish it from several embankments that had been built directly across the eastern mouth of the Indus; for the Ullah Bund had been raised by the earthquake across the same branch of the Indus. For several years after the earthquake of 1819 marked changes kept developing in the channels of the Indus. During 1826 a large body of water entered into the eastern branch of the Indus above the Ullah Bund and finally forced its way through the mound, thus establishing a direct course to the sea. The Ullah Bund, being thus cut in two, an opportunity was afforded of seeing the materials of which it was composed. These were found to consist principally of clay filled with shells. The opening of the river resulted in throwing such large quantities of fresh water into Lake Sindree that its waters were rendered fresh for several months, but at last regained their saltiness. Dana states that in 1845 another earthquake occurred in this district which converted Sindree Lake into a salt marsh. CHAPTER XXVIII THE SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE OF APRIL 18, 1906 About twelve minutes past five o'clock on the morning of the 18th of April, 1906, the inhabitants of San Francisco were rudely awakened by a few frightful earthquake shocks. Their houses were violently shaken to and fro, and on all sides were heard the awful crashings of falling walls, chimneys, and buildings, together with the death-shrieks of those caught in the ruins. Rushing madly into the streets they could see on every side evidences of destruction; for, in almost every direction, were heaps of fallen buildings, still being violently shaken by the earthquake waves that rapidly passed through the solid earth. Huge cracks or crevices had been formed in the streets, while the heavy rails of the trolley tracks had been bent and twisted by the mighty forces. Before describing in detail the great San Francisco earthquake, the location of the city and its surroundings demand consideration. As can be seen from the map, Fig. 47, San Francisco is situated on the western coast of California, at the northern end of a peninsula, some twenty miles in length and about six miles in width. This peninsula is formed by the magnificent Bay of San Francisco on the east, a navigable strait called the Golden Gate on the north, and the Pacific Ocean on the west. [Illustration: FIG. 47. MAP OF WESTERN COAST OF CALIFORNIA SHOWING POSITION OF SAN FRANCISCO] San Francisco Bay, accessible by the Golden Gate, is the principal harbor on the Pacific Coast, and is, indeed, one of the most magnificent harbors in the world. It is land-locked, that is, surrounded by a continuous land border except at its entrance through the Golden Gate. Including San Pablo Bay, it has a length of about fifty-five miles, and varies in breadth from three to twelve miles. The entrance to the harbor, however, is impeded by a bar across the mouth of the Golden Gate, over which there is a depth of but thirty feet of water at low tide. San Francisco has over 750 miles of streets, 200 miles of which are paved. The city is lighted by both electricity and gas, and has an extensive system of water-works, the water being brought from the Pilarcitos and Calaveras Creeks, situated from twenty to forty miles respectively from the city. San Francisco is in a region where earthquakes are common. It might, therefore, be visited at any time by a great catastrophe. There have occurred between 1850 and 1888, no less than 254 earthquake shocks in the State of California, these shocks having been especially frequent in the country surrounding San Francisco Bay. The most severe were the earthquake of 1868, which injured San Francisco; the Owens Valley earthquake of 1872; the Vacaville earthquake of 1892; the Mare Island earthquake of 1898; and a smaller earthquake in 1900. Since 1900 there was a period of rest until the 18th of April, 1906. As in the case of practically all severe earthquakes, that which destroyed San Francisco consisted of a few momentary shocks: then all was over. According to a preliminary report of the State Earthquake Commission, appointed by the Governor of California, April 21st, 1906, these shocks, as recorded in the observatory at Berkeley, began at twelve minutes and six seconds after five A. M., Pacific Standard Time. Their entire duration was only one minute and fifty seconds, but, as frequently happens, there were a number of minor shocks, following at regular intervals during the next few hours as well as the next few days. While the most severe shocks were in the neighborhood of the Peninsula of San Francisco, yet minor disturbances were felt as far north as Coos Bay, Oregon, and as far south as Los Angeles, California. As shown by recording instruments at the seismograph station at Washington, D. C., Sitka, Alaska; Potsdam, Germany; and Tokio, Japan, a series of waves were propagated through the earth, as well as over its periphery. The damage done within the city limits was wide-reaching. Among the buildings almost completely destroyed were the City Hall, on which about $7,000,000 had been expended, the United States Post Office, besides many business blocks, hotels, department stores, theatres, banks, churches, and dwelling houses. Amid the terrors of such a calamity it is difficult to obtain observations possessing any scientific value. Fortunately, however, there was in the city a physicist trained to observe phenomena of this character, Professor George Davidson of the University of California. Like others, he had been awakened by the first severe shock. At once recognizing the nature of the phenomenon, and desirous of obtaining the exact time of its occurrence, he counted seconds while he ran towards the table on which he had placed his watch, and in this way estimated that the shock occurred at twelve minutes past five in the morning. The closeness of this observation is emphasized by the fact that it differed from the recorded time by only six seconds. He states that the motion, at the time of its greatest intensity, closely resembled that of a rat vigorously shaken by a terrier. The destruction caused by the earthquake was, however, but a small part of the total loss to the city. Fires were almost immediately started in the ruined houses by the fires in the kitchens and other parts of the houses, by the ignited jets of the illuminating gas, and, perhaps, especially, by the crossing of numerous electric light wires. The manner in which the woodwork and other combustible materials of the buildings were loosely tossed together by the shocks helped the quick spread of the fires, and this, too, was probably greatly aided by the illuminating gas from the broken gas pipes and mains. Eight severe conflagrations were, therefore, soon raging in different parts of the doomed city. What made these fires especially dangerous was the fact that the earthquake shocks had destroyed the water pipes. Thus the firemen were handicapped in their heroic endeavors to extinguish the flames. At the time of the fire a strong wind was blowing from the northeast. Since the firemen were unable to check the flames, the fire line rapidly advanced. Its path led towards the best residential parts of the city through portions of the mission section containing a dense population of poor people. The dwellings in this latter section consisted of frame houses, through which the flames rapidly spread. There was but one way to save the city from total destruction--a free use of dynamite! This was intelligently employed until the supply gave out, when it seemed that the city was doomed to utter destruction. But at the last moment, as it were, came a lucky change in the direction of the wind. Instead of blowing from the northeast, the steady southwest winds set in, and beat back the fire on itself, so by Friday, the 18th being Wednesday, it was under complete control and the rest of the city was saved. [Illustration: A SAN FRANCISCO PAVEMENT TORN BY THE EARTHQUAKE _From a Stereograph, Copyright, 1906, by Underwood & Underwood_] The extent of the fire is thus described in an article in the "Outlook," for Saturday, April 28th, 1906, as follows: "The turn in the direction of the fire endangered for a time the great Ferry House, at the foot of Market Street. While the section actually destroyed is not, geographically speaking, much more than one-third of the city limits, yet it is in the heart of San Francisco, and includes the chief business streets and the Mission District, inhabited by poor people, and a large part of the so-called Nob Hill Quarter, where were the finest and costliest residences of the city. Another fine residence section, Civic Heights, escaped, together with that known as the Western District. "The unburned district, though large in extent, was in the nature of suburbs, and was not closely built up, so that estimates made, as late as Saturday, declared that three-fourths of San Francisco's improvements in real estate had been destroyed." The burnt district was about two miles from east to west and from two to four miles from north to south, with, of course, very irregular outlines. Naturally, the great destruction wrought by the earthquake of April 18th, 1906, attracted the almost universal attention of scientific men especially interested in earthquake phenomena. We are, therefore, able to speak authoritatively about the probable causes. The great San Francisco earthquake of April 18th, 1906, appears to have been a _tectonic_ quake. Ransome, in an article entitled, "The Probable Cause of the San Francisco Earthquake," says: "The region thus amply fulfils the conditions under which tectonic earthquakes arise. It is in unstable equilibrium, and it is cut by long northwest faults into narrow blocks which are in turn traversed by many minor dislocations. Under the operation of the unknown forces of elevation and subsidence, stresses are set up which finally overcome the adhesion of the opposing walls of one or more of the fault fissures; an abrupt slip of a few inches, or a few feet, takes place and an earthquake results. The region extending for some hundreds of miles north and south of the Bay of San Francisco may be considered as particularly susceptible to shocks on account of the number and magnitude of the faults and the evidences that these furnish of very recent slippings and the marked subsidence in the vicinity of the Golden Gate." CHAPTER XXIX SOME OTHER NOTABLE EARTHQUAKES It would, of course, be impossible within the limits of this book to attempt a description of all the remarkable earthquakes in the annals of science; but before leaving this part of the theme a brief account of a few more among the many may be worth while. Jamaica, one of the West Indian Islands, about ninety miles south of Cuba, suffered a very destructive earthquake in 1692. During this earthquake the ground was agitated like the waves of the sea. These movements were so violent that numerous fissures were made in the ground, as many as 300 being formed at the same time, rapidly opening and closing. Many of the inhabitants were swallowed up in these fissures. In some cases, however, their bodies were afterward thrown out of the fissures, along with quantities of water. The Jamaican earthquake was characterized by marked sinkings of the ground. At the city of Port Royal, which was then the capital, many houses on the harbor side sank in from twenty-four to forty-eight feet of water. As in the case of the earthquake at Cutch, many of these houses were left standing, the chimney tops of some being seen above the water, with their foundations and other parts apparently uninjured, and some of them were standing at a date as late as 1780. At a little later date, 1793, they were mostly ruins. During the Jamaican quake a tract of land containing at least 1,000 acres near the town was sunk, and a wave of the sea rolled over it. This wave is said by Lyell to have carried a frigate over the roofs of the houses and left it stranded on one roof. When the wave rolled back to the sea, the weight of the frigate made it fall through the roof. Perhaps one of the most remarkable things about the Jamaican earthquake was the swallowing up of several plantations, which disappeared, together with all their inhabitants, their former place becoming a lake. But the lake soon disappeared, leaving a mass of sand and gravel which obliterated any least sign that dwellings and trees had once adorned the spot. The forces developed during this earthquake were sufficiently powerful to make several rents in the Blue Mountains, and the shock of blows on the waters of the sea killed fish by the hundred thousands so that the silver shine of their dead bodies stretched for miles and was beheld for days "on the face of the deep." Portions of the world that have been frequently visited by mighty earthquakes, are the coasts of Chile. On the 24th of May, 1751, a part of the Chilian coast near the ancient town of Concepcion, sometimes called Penco, was destroyed by an earthquake, and the powerful earthquake waves that afterwards rushed in from the sea. So complete was this destruction that the ancient harbor was rendered useless and the people had to build another town about ten miles from the coast, so as to be beyond the reach of earthquake waves from the sea. Another great earthquake occurred on the coast of Chile on the 19th of November, 1822. This shock was felt simultaneously over a distance of 1,200 miles from north to south. It reached its greatest intensity about 100 miles north of Valparaiso. This earthquake caused a rising of the coast to a height of from three to five feet. From careful examinations it appears that the area over which a permanent elevation of the country took place must have been equal to 100,000 square miles, an area equal to about half of the area of France, and five-sixths that of Great Britain and Ireland. "If we suppose," says Dana, "the elevation to have been only three feet on an average, it will be seen that the mass of rock added to the continent of America by the movement, or, in other words, the mass previously below the level of the sea, and after the shock, permanently above it, must have contained fifty-seven cubic miles in bulk; which would be sufficient to form a conical mountain two miles high (or about as high as Etna) with a circumference at the base of nearly thirty-three miles.... Assuming the Great Pyramid of Egypt, if solid, to weigh in accordance with the estimate before given 6,000,000 tons, we may state that the rock added to the continent by the Chilian earthquake would have equalled more than 100,000 pyramids. "But it must always be borne in mind that the weight of rock here alluded to constituted but an insignificant part of the whole amount which the volcanic forces had to overcome. The thickness of rock between the surface of Chile and the subterranean foci of volcanic action may be many miles or leagues deep. Say that the thickness was only two miles, even then the mass which changed place and rose three feet, being 200,000 cubic miles in volume, must have exceeded in weight 363,000,000 pyramids." The shocks of this earthquake continued from the time of its occurrence, on November 19th, 1822, to the end of September, 1823, and even then there were scarcely two days that passed without a shock. On the 20th of February, 1835, the same part of the world was in the throes of an earthquake that was felt nearly 1,000 miles from north to south, or from near the town of Concepcion to the Isle of Chiloe, and from east to west a distance of about 500 miles, from Mendoza to the island of Juan Fernandez, which you probably know better as Robinson Crusoe's Island. By this earthquake the new town of Concepcion and several other towns were partly destroyed. There were the same phenomena connected with great sea waves that are common in earthquakes of this character. Both this and the preceding earthquakes probably began on the bed of the ocean at some distance from the coast; for, in the last earthquake, the sea retired from the Bay of Concepcion and vessels were grounded that had been anchored in seven fathoms of water. Shortly afterwards waves from sixteen to twenty feet in height rushed in from the ocean and swept over the land. It is interesting in this connection to note that the volcanoes of the Chilian Andes were in an unusual state of activity before, during, and after the earthquake. Another characteristic of this quake was the great number of severe shocks. Between the day of the first great shock; i. e., on February 20th, 1835, and March 4th, there were more than 300 severe shocks. In this as in the preceding quake a notable elevation of the land near the coast occurred, amounting to from four to five feet, and a part of the bed of the ocean near the coast was raised permanently above the level of the sea. In the description of the explosive eruption of Krakatoa in 1883, the fact was noted that the island of Java is very frequently visited by earthquakes. Here a terribly severe earthquake occurred on the 5th of January, 1699. There were no less than 208 shocks of great intensity. Considerable property in the city of Batavia was destroyed, and a neighboring river, that has its head waters by a volcano near the city, ran high and muddy and brought down multitudes of fishes that had been killed, together with many buffaloes, tigers, rhinoceroses, deer, and other wild beasts. Seven hills bordering on the river sank down, damming up the streams of the region and thereby causing wide destruction from floods. During portions of the years 1811 and 1812 an earthquake occurred in the United States, in the Mississippi Valley near the town of New Madrid, Missouri, at the mouth of the Ohio River. These shocks continued almost incessantly for several months, and were accompanied by a sinking of the ground over large areas. This depressed area, known in the neighborhood as _The Sunk Country_, extended along the course of the White Water River and its tributaries for a distance of about eighty miles from north to south, and several miles from east to west. Most of it was converted into a marshy lake characterized by thousands of submerged trees. The area was covered for the greater part with water to a depth of about three to four feet. As the earthquake shocks continued at intervals for several months there was an ample opportunity for studying the peculiarities of the earth waves. The ground rose and fell like large waves in the sea, and after the crest of the waves had reached great heights, the ground burst, and threw large quantities of water, sand, and earth into the air. [Illustration: FIG. 48. NEW ZEALAND] Throughout the disturbed district there were numerous depressions known as _sink-holes_, or irregularly shaped pits, varying from ten to thirty yards across, and having a depth of about twenty feet. These were formed by the forcible ejection of large quantities of water mixed with sand. New Zealand has been subject to earthquake shocks for a long time, the years 1826, 1841, 1843, 1848, and 1855 being especially marked by such visitations. It is a characteristic of the New Zealand earthquakes that they have produced a marked change in the coast line. This was particularly the case with those of 1848 and 1855. The 23d of January, 1855, an earthquake occurred that was most violent in the narrowest part of Cook's Strait, a body of water separating the two principal islands that constitute New Zealand; or, as they are called, the North Island and the South Island. These shocks were felt at sea by ships 150 miles from the coast. The entire area shaken, including the water, has been estimated at three times the area of the British Isles. In the vicinity of the southern shores of the North Island a tract of land having an area of 4,600 square miles is believed to have been permanently raised from one to nine feet. The earthquakes in New Zealand are evidently of the tectonic type. During that of 1848 a rent or fissure was formed, which, though but eighteen inches in average width, yet extended for a distance of sixty miles in a direction parallel to one of the mountain chains. On the 31st of August, 1886, an earthquake of considerable intensity occurred in the United States in the neighborhood of the city of Charleston, South Carolina. The details of this earthquake were carefully studied by Major Dutton of the U. S. A., and published in the Ninth Annual Report of the United States Geological Survey of 1888. Charleston is situated on a narrow tongue of land between the Ashley and the Cooper Rivers, about seven miles from the Atlantic Ocean. There are in this area numerous creeks connected with the drainage of these rivers. As the city limits extended, the creeks were filled in, forming "made land," all buildings or structures erected on this land being supported by pilings. It appears that the point at which the earthquakes started was situated sixteen or seventeen miles from Charleston. The earthquake shock affected a large area of the United States. Fig. 49 shows curved lines called isoseismal connecting places, having the same degree of seismic intensity. This map shows that these isoseimals are marked by figures or numbers from two to ten. These numbers are the numbers of the Rossi-Forel earthquake scale. They indicate varying degrees of intensity, beginning from the least intense shock which is marked as two and ending with the severest shock marked as ten. There is one degree not marked on this map, the least, called the micro-seismic shock. The shocks then increase in intensity as follows: II. Extremely feeble shocks; III. Very feeble shocks; IV. Feeble shocks; V. Shocks of moderate intensity; VI. Fairly strong shocks; VII. Strong shocks; VIII. Very strong shocks; IX. Extremely strong shocks; X. Shocks of extreme intensity. The meaning of the map presented in the accompanying figure will now become more apparent in several ways. That portion numbered ten, denoting where shocks of greatest intensity have been experienced, clearly indicates the region just above the point where the earthquake originated. Beyond this is a region marked nine where the earthquake shock has decreased in intensity to the next figure on the Rossi-Forel scale, and then to eight and a half, seven, six, five, four, three, and two. [Illustration: FIG. 49. MAP SHOWING REGION AFFECTED BY THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE OF 1886] The Charleston earthquake damaged property to a considerable extent; for, although comparatively few buildings were completely destroyed, a considerable number were partially injured, and many, not thrown down by the shock, had to be torn down in order to insure public safety. The loss of life, fortunately, was comparatively small. During this earthquake a number of openings called _craterlets_ were made in the ground by the forcible ejection of large quantities of water and sand. The empire of Japan is another part of the world particularly subject to great as well as frequent earthquake shocks. Although Japan is also especially noted for its volcanic activity, its earthquakes are almost entirely of the tectonic type, or are due to the slipping of the land at faults in the earth's crust. Most of these quakes occur on the bed of the ocean on the sides of a steep slope that extends down to a very deep part of the Pacific known as the _Tuscarora Deep_. On the 28th of October, 1891, Japan was visited by a great quake, generally known as the Mino-Owaro earthquake, from the name of the two provinces of Mino and Owaro in which it occurred. This earthquake is correctly regarded as one of the most severe in Japanese records. Originating, as it did, in a densely populated section, it caused a great loss of life and property. The deaths reached about 7,000, while the number of houses entirely destroyed reached about 80,000 and those partly destroyed nearly 200,000. The total area markedly affected reached 250,000 square kilometres, while the area sensibly affected reached 900,000 square kilometres, or a little more than one-half the Empire. The place at which this earthquake started was situated, not as usual on the bed of the ocean, but on the surface of the land. The first shock was the strongest and wrought the greatest havoc. Besides the loss of life and property, the damage to the system of dikes or levees on the river where it passed through the delta plain near the river's mouth was heavy, and singular in some of its features. In one case, near the city of Nagoya, on the Bay near the southern coast of Niphon, one of these levees was lifted and shifted bodily more than sixty feet from its original position. That this quake was of the tectonic type was evident from the great fault that was formed. According to Davison this fault was seventy miles in length and in places had a breadth of from two to five feet. It extended from east to west, crossing the entire width of the island. Another great earthquake was that which hit northeastern Bengal and Assam in India on the 12th of June, 1897. According to the India Geological Survey, by whom a careful examination of the effects produced by this quake was made, it was, perhaps, the greatest quake that ever happened, not even excepting the Lisbon earthquake. The place where the quake started appears to have been of unusual size and irregularity of outline. Its southern boundary was almost in the shape of a straight line extending from east to west about 200 miles, and covering a total area of nearly 6,000 square miles. Over all this vast area the intensity of the shock was exceedingly severe. The total area perceptibly shaken by the quake was about equal to 1,750,000 square miles. That this quake was of the tectonic type became evident, when several faults were found in the ground afterwards. Some of these extended twelve miles, with a breadth at places as great as thirty feet. Valparaiso, or, as the name means, Vale of Paradise, the second largest city of Chile and its chief seaport, lies about ninety miles east of Santiago, the capital, with which it is connected by a railroad. This beautiful sea city is built at the base of a cluster of hills about 1,600 feet above sea level. On August 16th, 1906, it was visited by an earthquake. There were two distinct shocks. Contrary to general rule it was not the first, but the second shock that did the most damage, coming about ten minutes after the first. As you will see from the above date the earthquake of Valparaiso occurred shortly after the catastrophe of San Francisco. In a general way, its coming was predicted by Dr. G. F. Becker of the United States Geological Survey, on April 19th, 1906, one day after the San Francisco disaster. Becker published an article in the "New York Tribune," in which he argued that the severe shock at San Francisco, having occurred on one part of the earthquake region extending around the Pacific, would probably soon affect other portions of this region along the Pacific coast line of this hemisphere. As at San Francisco fierce fires immediately started in the ruins of the houses, but the Valparaisans were more fortunate in having a water supply available. There were very many shocks following the first two of this earthquake. Indeed, during August 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th, no less than 380 were noted. Santiago, situated at the foot of the Andes, was also considerably damaged by the same earthquake. Estimates, probably conservative, put the total of dead in both cities at 1,000 and the number of people rendered homeless temporarily, at 100,000. CHAPTER XXX SODOM AND GOMORRAH AND THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN The eastern border of the Mediterranean Sea or Syria, with that part of Arabia forming the Sinai Peninsula and which lies between the two northern arms of the Red Sea, is a region formerly characterized by extreme volcanic activity. This region includes the greater part of the land promised, according to the Old Testament, to the Children of Israel. Through a large part of this region flows that historic river, the Jordan, until it empties into the Dead Sea, also called the Salt Sea, the Sea of the Plain, and by some Lake Asphaltites because of asphalt or bitumen so abundant on its shores. This river has its source in the Mountains of Lebanon, some distance north of the Sea of Chinnerth, Tiberius, or the Sea of Galilee, which empties into the River Jordan. As the map in Fig. 50 shows, this famous, though small river, flows between ranges of high hills, or low mountains, that lie on both its eastern and western boundaries; and these parallel ranges extend down to the Gulf of Akaba, which forms the eastern boundary of the Sinai Peninsula. The Sea of Galilee, the valley of the Jordan and the country between the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Akaba, are all, for the most part, considerably below the level of the Mediterranean or the Red Sea; the Sea of Galilee being about 626 feet and the Dead Sea 1312 feet below that line. [Illustration: FIG. 50. SYRIA] That this country has been the scene of great volcanic activities is evident from the volcanic rocks found over different portions of its surface. Moreover, the remains of several craters are still visible. On the western banks of the Jordan numerous dikes and streaks of basalt occur in the limestone that covers parts of the region. Besides there are thermal springs whose waters are at a temperature, according to Daubeny, of 114° F. Then, too, in the neighborhood of the Dead Sea, as well as in the neighborhood of the adjoining mountain ranges, there are quantities of sulphur and asphaltum or bitumen, while on the Dead Sea asphaltum is found floating in sufficient quantity to be a source of considerable revenue to the boatmen who collect it. It was in this region that Sodom, Gomorrah, and other cities of the plain were situated; cities so wicked that God utterly destroyed them by volcanoes and earthquakes. Volcanic activity was evidently common in this land of the Bible during the times of the prophets of Israel; for in their poetic writings are frequent references to such phenomena--beautiful and majestic similes and metaphors derived from contemplation of live volcanoes. Jeremiah says: "Behold, I am against thee, O devouring mountain, saith the Lord, which destroyeth all the earth; and I will stretch out mine hand upon thee, and roll thee down from the rocks, and will make thee a burnt[4] mountain. "And they shall not take of thee a stone for a corner, nor a stone for foundations; but thou shalt be desolate forever, saith the Lord." (Jer. li, 25-26.) So, too, the prophet Isaiah says: "Oh that thou wouldst rend the heavens, that thou wouldst come down, that the mountains might flow down at thy presence! "As when the melting fire burneth, the fire causeth the water to boil, to make thy name known to thine adversaries, that the nations may tremble at thy presence! "When thou didst terrible things which we look not for, thou cameth down, the mountains flowed down at thy presence." (Is. lxiv, 1-2.) So, too, the prophet Nahum says: "The mountains quake at him, and the hills melt, and the earth is burned at his presence, yea, the world, and all that dwell therein. "Who can stand before his indignation? And who can abide in the fierceness of his anger? His fury is poured down like fire, and the rocks are thrown down by him." (Nahum, i, 5-6.) Let us now examine briefly the description Moses gives of the destruction of Sodom, Gomorrah, and other cities of the plain. This destruction occurred during the life time of Abraham and his nephew Lot. The record says that God told Abraham He intended to destroy them because of their wickedness. Then follows in the 18th chapter of Genesis the eloquent pleading of Abraham for one of the doomed cities. At Abraham's earnest plea God promises to spare Sodom if fifty righteous men can be found therein. Obtaining this respite, Abraham repeatedly asks further mercy for the city, and at last receives the sacred promise that the city shall not be destroyed, if but ten righteous people can be found there. An evidence of the great wickedness of the city is seen in the fact that not even ten could be found. Whereupon the Lord gives notice to Lot that the cities were doomed and commands Lot to leave at once with his family. "Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed!" Moses describes what happened as follows: "The sun was risen upon the earth, when Lot entered into Zoar. "Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven; "And he overthrew those cities and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground. "But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt. "And Abraham gat up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the Lord: "And he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace." (Gen. xix, 23-28). This is clearly the description of a volcanic eruption, for throughout the Bible things are described as they appear to be. When Moses speaks of brimstone and fire being rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah out of heaven, he is describing the phenomenon as it would appear to one looking at it. Of course, we know that in volcanic eruptions such things come to the earth through the crater of the volcano. The lava is thrown high into the air, and the hardening, but still red hot, ashes, rain down on the earth from the ash cloud that forms over the mountain. But, looked at from a distance they appear to fall or be rained down from the skies. In exactly the same way, Livy, the Roman historian, tells about showers of stones that fell from heaven on Mt. Albano near Rome for two whole days during the second Punic War. So, too, even Pliny, who had some pretensions to be considered a naturalist, in describing the appearance of Mt. Vesuvius during the terrible eruption of A. D. 79, when Herculaneum and Pompeii were destroyed, speaks of the red hot stones and ashes as falling from above. So, in reality, they did, although, as in the case of the cities of the plain, the materials forming the cloud came from the crater of the volcano below. As to brimstone falling from the sky, this is by no means an unusual occurrence during many volcanic eruptions, since sulphur is a common material, often thrown out of the craters of some volcanoes. Note also the statement that, when Abraham rose early in the morning and looked toward the place where Sodom and Gomorrah stood, he saw the smoke of the country go up like the smoke of a furnace. This was, probably, the smoke caused by the burning of the city, or even by the destruction of the crops in their fields, when ignited by the falling red hot ashes. It might also have been partly due to the burning of asphalt thrown out from the fissures in the ground, or to the showers of volcanic ashes that fell from the cloud formed during the eruption. That the cities there were destroyed by a volcano far in the past appears from things outside of the Bible proper; for Strabo, the Greek geographer, refers to Jewish traditions that thirteen flourishing cities were swallowed up by a volcano, and this finds fair corroboration in the ruins along the western borders of the Dead Sea. A writer referring to these eruptions says: "The eruptions themselves have ceased long since, but the effects, which usually succeed them, still continue to be felt at intervals in this country. The coast in general is subject to earthquakes, and history notes several which have changed the face of Antioch, Laodicea, Tripoli, Berytus, Tyre, and Sidon. In 1793 there happened one which spread the greatest ravages. It is said to have destroyed in the valley of Balbec upwards of 20,000 persons." Attention has already been called to the fact that the valley of the Jordan occupies a depressed or sunken region far below the level of the Mediterranean and the Red Seas. It is the belief of some geologists that this depression was caused by an earthquake which accompanied the volcanic eruption that destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities of the plain. Indeed, some contend that the present site of the valley of the Jordan, including the Sea of Tiberius and the Dead Sea, is a great fissure that was made in the limestone of the valley during the time of that earthquake. It would appear from the peculiar geography of this section of country that the Jordan River has not always emptied into the Dead Sea, but that before the time of the destruction of the Cities of the Plain the greater part of the country now occupied by the Dead Sea was a fertile valley, and the Jordan emptied directly into the Red Sea at the Gulf of Akaba; that during the disturbance through changes in the valley, or possibly by a lava stream flowing across a portion of the bed of the lower Jordan, or even by a huge accumulation of stones or ashes thrown out from a neighboring volcano, the discharge of the river into the Red Sea was cut off, and that in this way the waters of the rivers began to accumulate and to flow over the plain, thus forming the basin of the Dead Sea. There is no difficulty in accounting for the saltness of the Dead Sea. There are large quantities of salt, and salty matters generally, in the volcanic rocks of the region, but, even if this were not so, when a river empties into a lake with no outlet to the sea, and which therefore loses its water by evaporation only, the water will gradually become very salt, since the remaining waters of such a lake contain more or less salt, while the water they lose by evaporation contains none. The waters of the Dead Sea are very salt, but not the saltest in the world. In every 100 pounds of Dead Sea water twenty-four pounds consist of salty matters. The waters of the Great Salt Lake, in Utah, contain eighteen per cent of salty matters. Lake Van, in eastern Turkey, is, perhaps, the saltest lake on earth, it containing no less than thirty-three pounds of salty substances in every 100 pounds of water. Daubeny, an authority on volcanoes, and quite competent to give an opinion concerning what is possible in this line, describes what he believes took place, as follows: "Briefly then to recapitulate the train of phenomena by which the destruction of the cities might have been brought about, I would suppose that the River Jordan, prior to that event, continued its course tranquilly through the great longitudinal valley, called El Arabah, into the Gulf of Akaba; that a shower of stones and sand from some neighboring volcano first overwhelmed these places; and that its eruption was followed by a depression of the whole of the region, from some point apparently intermediate between the lake of Tiberius and the mountains of Lebanon, to the watershed in the parallel of 30°, which occurs in the valley of El Arabah above-mentioned. I would thence infer that the waters of the Jordan, pent-up within the valley by a range of mountains to the east and west, and a barrier of elevated table-land to the south, could find no outlet, and consequently by degrees formed a lake in its most depressed portion, which, however, did not occur at once, and therefore is not recorded by Scripture as a part of the catastrophe, though reference is made in another passage of its existence _in what was before the valley of Siddim_." As regards the turning of Lot's wife into a pillar of salt, Henderson, who has carefully studied this part of the country, remarks: "How natural is the incrustation of his wife on this hypothesis! Remaining in a lower part of the valley, and looking with a wistful eye towards Sodom, she was surrounded, ere she was aware, by the lava, which rising and swelling, at length reached her, and (whilst the volcanic effluvia deprived her of life) incrusted her where she stood, so that being, as it were, embalmed by the salso-bituminous mass, she became a conspicuous beacon and admonitory example of future generations." CHAPTER XXXI INSTRUMENTS FOR RECORDING AND MEASURING EARTHQUAKE SHOCKS To attempt by the unaided senses a determination of the direction in which earthquake shocks reach any certain spot, the velocity with which they are travelling, their degree of intensity, their general character, whether horizontal or vertical, or any peculiarities which might show them to be exceptional would be futile for more reasons than one. Even a skilled scientific observer, familiar with what has already been discovered and eager to discover more, might in the excitement of an earthquake become so excited himself as to make him unable to take reliable observations. But human ingenuity has succeeded in devising delicate instruments capable of recording not only the exact time of the arrival of an earthquake shock, but also of measuring the different parts of what may seem to be a single shock, the direction in which the shocks reach the place, as well as the variations of intensity in all the shocks. Crude instruments to do some of these things have been in use from very early times. According to Mallet among the more important of these early instruments was the following: the instrument of Cacciatore of Palmero. This consisted of a circular wooden dish, about ten inches in diameter, placed horizontally, and filled with mercury to the brim of eight notches at equal distances apart. Beneath each notch was placed a small cup. On the passage of the earthquake waves the vessel, being tilted in a direction dependent on the direction in which the waves were travelling, would cause some of the mercury to spill over into one or more of the cups, thus indicating by its amount the intensity of the wave, and by the particular cup or cups that were filled, the direction in which the waves reached the place. Somewhat similar contrivances were of a vessel partly filled with molasses, or other sticky liquid; or a cylindrical tub, the sides of which were chalked or whitewashed and filled with some colored liquid. In either of these cases, on the passage of the earthquake waves, the vessels were tilted and showed by the height of the marks the intensity of the waves, and by the position of the marks the direction in which the waves first reached the instrument. These instruments, though satisfactory for the study of earthquake shocks a long time ago, when an earthquake was regarded as practically consisting of but a single shock, or, at the most, of a very few shocks, would be worthless for the study of earthquakes now, for it is finally known that an earthquake consists of a series of many hundreds of vibrations, differing greatly in their rapidity and intensity, and following one another in a definite order. The old forms of earthquake instruments were known as _seismoscopes_. The word seismoscope is a compound word from Greek consisting of the two words, seism and scope. It means literally any instrument capable of seeing, or calling attention to, a seism, or _earth-shake_. In other words, a seismoscope is any instrument capable of calling attention only to an earth-shake. Of course, neither of the rude seismoscopes just mentioned would be able to give any valuable indications of the successive shakings to which the vessel containing the viscid liquid had been subjected, since the liquid would simply be splashed a number of times over the same parts of the vessel. In order to get a record of the successive shocks another form of apparatus must be employed, a form known as a _seismograph_. Concerning the complex character of the apparently single earthquake shock, Professor Milne makes this highly interesting and picturesque statement: "An earthquake disturbance at a station far removed from its origin shows that the main movement has two attendants, one which precedes and the other which follows. The first of these by its characteristics indicates what is to follow, whilst the latter, in a very much more pronounced manner, will often repeat at definite intervals, but with decreasing intensity, the prominent features of what has passed. Inasmuch as these latter rhythmical, but decreasing, impulses of the dying earthquake are more likely to result from reflection than from interference, I have provisionally called them Echoes." There are many different forms of instruments known as seismographs that are capable of recording all of these vibrations, but there is this objection to their use: that the records appear in so tangled a form that it is practically impossible to decipher or untangle them. This fact can be grasped by examining Fig. 51, which represents a record of this kind. [Illustration: FIG. 51. COMPLEX RECORD OF SEISMOGRAPH] It is necessary, therefore, to employ a modified form of instrument called a _seismometer_, able not only to record all the different vibrations, but to record them in such a manner that they can be easily recognized. Fig. 52, for example, shows results obtained by the use of a seismometer, in which the different vibrations are separated, and so recorded on a sheet of paper, as to be readily understood. Such a record is called a _seismogram_, and represents a _long distance seismogram_. Here the large arrow indicates the beginning of the record. And herein, as can be clearly seen, what would appear to an observer without an instrument only a single shock, lasting but the fraction of a minute, in reality consists of the _preliminary shake_ as represented in ab and bc, the _principal shake_, as represented at c, d1, d2, and d3, and the _final portions of the shake_ or the "echoes" of Professor Milne, as represented from d3 to e. [Illustration: FIG. 52. LONG DISTANCE SEISMOGRAM] Except in a very general way there is for present purposes no need of explaining the construction and operation of the seismometer and seismograph. Suffice it to say, there are many forms of these instruments, any of which are capable of recording the details of a passing shock. The most important thing in either a seismograph or a seismometer is to obtain what is known as a _steady point_; that is, a point consisting of some object or mass that will remain practically at rest, while everything around it, even the support which holds it, is affected by the earthquake. It is, of course, not very easy to obtain a steady point, but it can be done; and it will be at once comprehended that if a plate or piece of paper were attached to such a steady point or mass, and a pencil or tracer had one of its ends resting on the plate, and its other end attached to the support that vibrates with the earth, a tracing or record would be drawn on the plate from which the character of the motion of the end of the tracer, and, therefore, of the earth, would be marked on the plate. [Illustration: FIG. 53. VICENTINI VERTICAL PENDULUM] Various devices have been employed for the steady points. The most successful consists of a heavy mass of lead. Fig. 53 represents a form of instrument invented by Professor Vicentini of Italy. Here the steady point consists of a heavy leaden bob, of 200, 400, or even 500 kilograms, suspended by three metallic rods united above by a brass cap, hung on a steel wire to a bracket fixed on the wall. This wire may have a length as great as fifty feet. [Illustration: FIG. 54. VICENTINI PENDULUM AND RECORDER] Fig. 54 represents the recording instrument. Here a tracer is provided that is capable of multiplying the motion fifty times, or even eighty times. A record is traced on a sheet of paper passing over a roller which imparts a rapid motion to a sheet so as to make sure that the different parts of the shock or vibration will be recorded on separate portions of the paper. CHAPTER XXXII SEAQUAKES As earthquakes are shakings of the earth's crust in places where it is uncovered by the waters of the ocean, so _seaquakes_ are the shakings of those portions that lie on the bed of the ocean. Mallet points out that the earthquake wave may start either in the interior of the continent, or on the bed of the ocean; that the latter place is the more common, since on the land vents--rude safety-valves, as it were,--are provided by the craters of the volcanoes; that, when earthquakes start on the ocean bed, the impulses are conveyed in different forms of waves, i. e., those through the solid earth, those through the water, and those through the air, with varying sounds like bellowings and explosions, or like the rolling of wagons over rough roads. To learn when quakes occur on the sea is a much harder task, since on the land we can use seismoscopes, seismographs, or seismometers to indicate, record, or measure the shakings of the crust, while on the sea, where the water is always in more or less motion and the surface so far from the ocean's bed this is impossible, or, rather shall it be said, has hitherto been found so; for that the mind of man may surmount this obstacle is not impossible to conceive. To detect the wave produced by the quaking of the bed of the ocean is exceedingly difficult, since those in very deep water are flat or possess but a small height. Indeed, in the deepest parts of the ocean this height is probably to be measured only by inches instead of feet. When, however, the waves advance towards the shore they increase in height, and when they reach the shallows near the coast, they begin to curl over and break, thus creating the enormous waves mentioned so often as attending great earthquakes in the ocean. During the great earthquake of Simoda in Japan, 1854, the waters of the bay were first greatly agitated, and then retreated, leaving the bottom bare in places where the water was formerly thirty feet deep. A wave, thirty feet high, then rushed in from the bay and, climbing the land, swept away everything in its path, covering the town with water to the tops of the houses. This monster wave then receded, but rushed back five times. In 1751, an earthquake wave suddenly entered Callao, the port of Lima, Peru, sinking twenty-three vessels and driving a frigate inland, where it was left high and dry. This wave extended across the Pacific to the Hawaiian Islands, a distance of 6,000 miles. On the 13th of August, 1866, an earthquake wave, that started a short distance from shore, produced a number of earthquake waves sixty feet high that reached the coast of Peru half an hour after the principal earthquake shock. These waves reached Coquimbo, 800 miles distant, in about three hours, and Honolulu, on the Sandwich Islands, 5,520 miles distant, in twelve hours, and the coast of Japan, more than 10,000 miles distant, on the next day. Le Conte remarks that these waves would have encircled the earth, had it not been for the barrier interposed by the Andes. Another great seaquake, known as the Iquiqui seaquake, during 1868 in the same neighborhood damaged severely the towns of north Chile and southern Peru. While, however, there is difficulty in readily observing the earthquake waves that form in the deep ocean, yet such is at times the violence of an earthquake that there is no difficulty in detecting its presence, even in deep water. Dr. Rudolph has made a careful study of the evidences of earthquakes produced in the deep sea, from a careful examination of a great number of the logs of ships. Logs, as everybody knows, are books in which the captain or commanding officer makes careful entries of all important happenings to the vessel, conditions of the weather and of the sea. From this source Dr. Rudolph obtained considerable information of much value concerning these phenomena. I have already called your attention to portion of the Atlantic Ocean lying near the Equator, in the warmest part of the ocean, between Africa and South America, as being a region especially liable to submarine volcanic showers. While, generally speaking, there is nothing in this region to indicate the probability of submarine disturbance, yet suddenly, if a vessel happens to pass directly over the point of origin of the quake, there ensues a great quaking or quivering. Loose objects on the ship begin to shake and clatter. Noises arise from some invisible point deep down in the ocean. The disturbance grows, the noises begin to resemble distant thunder, the ship trembles and staggers as though it had struck rocks, and many believe she is about to go down; when, as suddenly as it began, the commotion ceases, the noises stop, and the ship shapes her course as calmly, and as gallantly, as before. Rudolph gives two excellent examples of seaquakes in this region, both of which were, doubtless, due to submarine eruptions. On the 25th of January, 1859, as the ship _Florence_ was in lat. 0° 48' N., long. 29° 16' W., about ten miles N. W. by N. from St. Paul's Rock, the people on board felt a sudden shock that began with a rumbling sound like distant thunder. This lasted only forty seconds. The glass and dishes of the vessel rattled so violently that it was feared they would be broken. The shakings were so strong that several objects on the vessel were thrown down. Everyone believed the ship had struck on rocks. The captain leaned over the taffrail in order to see the position of the reef, but soon saw that the vessel had struck nothing, and informed his crew "it was only an earthquake shock." Another of the log books examined by Rudolph was that of a ship in the same part of the Atlantic Ocean. This record showed that suddenly on a morning, in 1883, strange noises were heard that soon increased and became not unlike the firing of great guns or the peals of distant thunder. The ship vibrated as if its anchor had been suddenly let go, and at the same time a feeling came over all the crew, as if they had been electrified. In some cases the vibrations were sufficiently severe to throw heavy objects from the deck, as appears in an account given by a French geologist of a quake in the Mediterranean off the shores of Asia Minor. "Our ship was over the epicentre,"[5] he says, "and was so severely shaken that at first the Admiral feared the complete destruction of the corvette." He then makes the statement that the shocks which were directly upwards were so strong as to throw heavy objects in the air; for example, a heavy gun and its carriage. While it is possible, as Dutton remarks, that this incident of the heavy gun and carriage was grossly exaggerated, yet it should not be forgotten that in the case of submarine eruptions such as that which resulted in the production of the island of Sabrina, an immense column of water, weighing probably many times more than a gun and its carriage, was observed to be shot high into the air. Where the seaquake is produced by a strong submarine volcanic eruption, there is a violent commotion of the water itself, so that a vessel passing over such a point may be greatly injured, and, indeed, even destroyed. Such disasters, however, are fortunately exceedingly rare. Among other common effects of seaquakes is the destruction of fish already mentioned by the sudden blow to the water stunning and killing them, just as the explosion of dynamite or other high explosives does in a lake or pond. The most marked effect, however, of seaquakes is the starting of the great wave on the coasts of continents and islands. There are certain parts of the ocean that are especially liable to seaquakes. Some of the more important of these, as shown by Rudolph's researches, are: The region already referred to in the narrowest parts of the Atlantic Ocean between Africa and South America almost immediately under the equator. Here there are two well marked regions. One is in lat. 1° N., long. 30° W., where there is a submarine ridge, the tops of which form what are known as St. Paul's Rock. The ocean here is very deep, the slopes of the ridge descending rapidly. It is on these slopes that earthquakes are very apt to occur just as they do on the steep slopes of mountain ranges. The other region, called by Rudolph the _Equatorial District_, lies a little further to the east on both sides of the equator in long. 20° W. It appears from Rudolph's researches that between 1845 and 1893 no less than thirty-seven seaquakes were reported in the logs of ships in the neighborhood of St. Paul's Rock, and between 1747 and 1890, in the equatorial district, there were forty-nine seaquakes. It must not be supposed, however, that these were all the quakes in the regions during these times, since, of course, many shocks must have happened that were not felt even by vessels in the neighborhood and many more, when this portion of the ocean was free from any craft. In the North Atlantic there is a portion of the ocean's bed known as the _West Indies Deep_. Here the bed is marked by great depths and by many irregularities and is, therefore, a region where seaquakes are common. Still another district is found in the North Atlantic in the neighborhood of the Azores. This is the region in which the Lisbon earthquake is believed to have started. Another region where seaquakes are common is in the Pacific along the coast of South America from the equator to 45° S. lat. "Here," says Dutton, "especially in the vicinity of the angle where the Peruvian and Chilian coasts meet have they been most numerous and formidable. The harbors of Pisco, Arica, Tacua, Iquiqui, and Pisago have been repeatedly subject to these destructive invasions." There has been considerable discussion as to the exact manner in which the earthquake waves are set up. Whatever be the cause or causes, the action must be sudden, such as an upheaval of the bottom, or a collapse of a large section of the ocean's bed, with a dropping of a vast body of water. Or, possibly, a submarine volcanic eruption causes the water to lift suddenly under pressure of steam generated by escape of the lava and other hot volcanic products. Dr. Rudolph attributes earthquake waves to submarine volcanic eruptions alone. It would seem, however, as if each one of the other things above referred to might at times be the direct cause. CHAPTER XXXIII THE DISTRIBUTION OF EARTHQUAKES Earthquakes may occur at any part of the earth's surface, at any time of the day, or at any season of the year, yet they are more frequent at certain parts, certain hours, certain seasons. Since some earthquakes are unquestionably connected with volcanic eruptions, a map or chart of the volcanoes of the earth would also, to a certain extent, show the parts of the earth that are likely to be visited by earthquakes. Since, however, by far the most severe earthquakes are not directly connected with volcanoes, but are due to sudden slips of faulted strata, a volcanic chart would necessarily fail to indicate accurately the principal earthquake regions. In the preparation of a map showing the distribution of earthquakes over the earth's surface, Mallet adopted the plan of colorings or tintings in such a manner that the depth of the colors would represent not only the parts shaken, but also the relative number of times shaken, as well as the intensity of the shocks. In order to determine the depth of tint to be employed, Mallet divided earthquakes into the following classes according to their intensity: _Great earthquakes_, or earthquakes of the first class; or those in which the area affected is of great size, in which many cities have been overthrown, and many people killed, and parts of the surface greatly altered. _Intermediate earthquakes_, or those in which, although the area affected is great, yet the destruction of buildings, or loss of life, has been comparatively small. _Minor earthquakes_, or those which, although capable of producing small fissures in the crust, generally leave but few or no traces of their occurrence. The greatest distance to which earthquake waves of the first class extend is taken by Mallet as being over a diameter of 1,080 miles; those of the second class over a diameter of about 360 miles, and those of the third class over a diameter of about 120 miles. According to the Rossi Forel scale already given, earthquake shocks are divided according to their relative intensity into ten separate classes, viz.: I. The micro-seismic; II. The extremely feeble; III. The very feeble; IV. The feeble; V. The moderately intense; VI. The fairly strong; VII. The strong; VIII. The very strong; IX. The extremely strong; X. Shocks of extreme intensity. An earthquake map prepared according to Mallet's scale would show a greater depth of color or tint in the neighborhood of the volcanic districts of the earth and especially in the neighborhood of the mountain regions, where tectonic quakes are most frequent. Oceanic areas would be left almost untinted, not because earthquakes do not occur on the bed of the ocean, but because of the difficulty of observing such earthquakes at great distances from the land. So far from earthquakes being absent on the bed of the ocean it is most probable that they are more frequent there than elsewhere. Prepared in this way, Mallet's map would show a preponderance of earthquakes along the borders of the continents, especially along the "Great Circle of Fire" on the borders of the Pacific Ocean. Dutton as well as some others assert that the "Great Circle of Fire" on the shores of the Pacific has in reality no existence; that, instead of there being a continuous region of volcanoes, there is in reality nothing more than a considerable number of volcanoes arranged in groups along the borders of this ocean, but separated by spaces containing no marked volcanic activity. We do not think this a tenable position, since it is well known that volcanoes lie along great lines of fissures at different points or openings which are kept open by subsequent volcanic activity, while the remaining portions are closed soon afterwards; and, moreover, in parts of these so-called non-volcanic regions, there are probably extended regions of extinct volcanoes. Since the time of Mallet many maps have been made to show the distribution of earthquakes. Among the best of such is that by M. de Montessus de Ballore. Some idea of the great amount of work required for the preparation of Montessus' map may be formed when one learns that the catalogue of earthquakes collected by him for this purpose included for the years 1880 to 1900, 131,292 quakes. De Montessus' earthquake map divides the grand divisions of the earth into numerous sub-divisions, too numerous, indeed, for even brief description in a work of this kind. From the map he thus laboriously prepared De Montessus drew the following general conclusions: 1. The parts of the earth that are most apt to be shaken by earthquakes are those which possess the greatest differences of relief between their highlands and lowlands, and that in such regions the most pronounced earthquakes are found on the steepest slopes. 2. Earthquakes are most common along those parts of the crust that are thrown up in huge wrinkles, or mountain ranges, whether these masses be above the level of the sea or are covered by it. [Illustration: FIG. 55. DAVISON'S EARTHQUAKE MAP OF JAPAN] 3. Earthquakes are more common in mountainous districts than in plains. But not all mountains are characterized by earthquakes nor are all plains free from them. Sometimes the plain at the base of the mountain appears to be especially liable to shocks, probably by reason of slips along faults at these points. The great mountain ranges of the world are generally characterized by unequal slopes, the long gentle slope facing the interior of the continents, and the short, abrupt slopes being turned towards the coast. Now, Montessus points out that volcanoes are the most frequent on the short, abrupt slopes. In some cases, however, where the long slopes are the roughest, it is these slopes that are most frequently shaken. The beds of the ocean that lie along rapidly descending lines, especially when they lie on the borders of large mountain ranges, are especially liable to earthquakes. Dr. Charles Davison has made a map of the earthquakes of Japan in which he had adopted the plan of representing the origin or centres of earthquakes by a series of contour lines like those employed on topographical maps. The advantage of this type of map over that employed by Mallet is just this: Davison's earthquake map of Japan in which the active volcanoes are marked by dots, and the earthquakes by contour lines surrounding the points of origin, discloses the interesting fact that here the positions of the volcanoes and the earthquake centres coincide, since the mountainous districts where the active volcanoes are numerous are singularly free from earthquakes. This can be seen from an inspection of Fig. 55. CHAPTER XXXIV THE CAUSES OF EARTHQUAKES Earthquakes occurred long before man appeared on earth. It is natural, therefore, that our early ancestors, experiencing these unwelcome phenomena, vaguely endeavored to explain their causes. These early attempts at explanation have in many cases been of an exceedingly fanciful character. The ancient Mongolians and Hindoos declared that earthquakes are due to our earth resting on a huge frog and that they occur whenever the frog scratches its head. In Japan, where earthquakes are very common, the ignorant people even at a much later day declared that there exists in the depth of the sea an immense fish which, when angry, dashes its head violently against the coast of the island, thus making the earth tremble. This is, doubtless, the biggest fish-story extant. Another folk-lore explanation in Japan attributes the cause of the tremblings of the earth to a subterranean monster whose head lies in the north of the island of Hondo, while his tail lies between the two principal cities. The shaking of his tail causes earthquakes. Fantastic and foolish as these explanations are, it is worthy of note that the first of the Japanese explanations shows no little observation on the part of the people, since it locates the starting-points of earthquakes as being not on the land, but on the bottom of the sea. In point of fact, nearly all the great earthquakes in Japan seem to start somewhere between the coasts of the islands on the sea-bottom that leads down to a very deep part of the Pacific known as the Tuscarora Deep. Many years ago nearly everyone believed that earthquakes were caused solely by the forces that produce volcanic eruptions; that all earthquakes, whether in the neighborhood of active volcanoes, or at great distances therefrom, were to be regarded solely as volcanic in their origin. It is now recognized that the most severe and far-reaching earthquakes have no immediate connection with volcanic explosions, but are due to the sudden slippings of the earth's strata over lines of faults; or, in other words, earthquakes are most frequently of the tectonic type. At the present time there is unfortunately much difference in opinion as to the exact cause of earthquakes. By this is not meant the immediate cause, but the ultimate cause. As to the immediate cause, practically all are agreed that quakes of volcanic origin are to be traced to the same forces that produce volcanic eruptions, while quakes of tectonic origin are due directly to the slipping of the strata along the faults. But when inquiry is instituted as to the nature of the forces that cause the volcanic eruptions, or that produce such an alteration of the strata as permits them afterwards to slip and thus jar the earth, there is much difference of opinion. As can be seen from a few quotations of well-known authorities, only two kinds of earthquakes exist; namely, volcanic earthquakes and tectonic earthquakes. Dana, for example, while acknowledging that small earthquakes may be caused by the sudden falling of large rock masses into cavities in the crust of the earth, says: "But true earthquakes come, for the most part at least, from one or the other of the following sources of disturbance. "1. Vapors suddenly produced, causing ruptures and friction. "2. Sudden movements or slips along old or new fractures. "Earthquakes due to the former of these methods are common about volcanoes, and at the Hawaiian islands shakings that are destructive over the island of Hawaii at the moment of some of the more violent eruptions, do not often affect the island of Oahu, a depth of 500 fathoms of water, the least depth between the two islands, being sufficient to stop off the vibrations.... "Earthquakes of the second mode of origin may occur in all regions, volcanic or not. They have their origin mostly in the vicinity of mountain regions, where old fractures most abound. The vibrations may begin in a slip of a few inches, in fact; but where there has been a succession of slips, up and up from 10,000 feet or more, as in the Appalachian, earthquakes of inconceivable volcanic activity must have resulted." Dana points out that volcanoes stand on lines of fractures in the openings of which their existence began and that, during geological time, slips up or down these fractures have occurred, producing earthquakes and possibly starting eruptions. Prestwich, a well-known English geologist, speaks very decidedly concerning the causes of earthquakes: "For my own part, I am disposed to share the belief expressed by Dana that the tension or pressure, by which the great oscillations or plications of the earth's crust have been produced, have not entirely ceased; and that this is generally the most probable cause of earthquakes. The uplifting of the great continental tracts and mountain ranges must have always left the interior of the crust in a state of unstable equilibrium, and any slight slide or settling along an old fracture, or in highly disturbed and distorted strata, would be attended by an earthquake shock. "In volcanic areas the removal of the large volumes of molten rock from the interior to the surface must produce settlements and strains which might also result in some of these minor earthquakes to which volcanic districts are so subject. Where we have the two conditions combined, as they are in the Andes in South America, these earthquake phenomena are, as we should expect, developed on the grandest and widest scale." Geikie, the Scotch geologist, says: "Various conceivable causes may, at different times and under different conditions, communicate a shock to the subterranean regions. Such as the sudden flashing into steam of water in the spherodial state, the sudden condensation of steam, the explosion of a volcanic outpour, the falling in of the roof of a subterranean cavity, or the sudden snap of deep-seated rocks subjected to prolonged and intense stress." Sir Charles Lyell, the great English geologist, holds the following views concerning the origin of earthquakes. He speaks as follows in his "Principles of Geology": "1. The primary cause of the volcanoes and the earthquakes are to a great extent the same, and connected with the development of heat and chemical action at various depths in the interior of the globe. "2. Volcanic heat has been supposed by many to be the result of the high temperature which belonged to the whole planet when it was in a state of igneous fusion, a temperature which they suppose to have been always diminishing and still to continue to diminish by radiation into space.... "The powerful agency of steam or aqueous vapor in volcanic eruptions leads us to compare its power of propelling lava to the surface with that which it exerts in driving up water in the pipe of an Icelandic geyser. Various gases also, rendered liquid by pressure at great depths, may aid in causing volcanic outbursts and in fissuring and convulsing the rocks during earthquakes." Major Clarence Edward Dutton, U. S. A., an acknowledged authority on seismology, speaks as follows: "Thus far, then, we have two causes of earthquakes which are apparently well sustained: (1) the downthrows, which have often been observed to be accompanied by earthquakes, and (2) volcanic action. But neither of them have been shown to be connected with more than a comparatively small number. Much the greater part of the earthquakes still require explanation, and the indications are manifold that some of them are produced by some cause yet to be stated." He acknowledges, however, this unknown cause may be traceable to volcanic agency. To quote him in full: "It remains now to refer to the possibility that many quakes whose origin is unknown, or extremely doubtful, may, after all, be volcanic. This must be fully admitted, and, indeed, it is in many cases highly probable. Evidences that volcanic action has taken place in the depths of the earth without visible, permanent results on the surface abound in ancient rock exposures. Formations of great geological age, once deeply buried and brought to daylight by secular denudations, show that lavas have penetrated surrounding rock-masses in many astonishing ways. Sometimes they have intruded between strata, lifting or floating up the overlying beds without any indication of escaping to the surface. Sometimes the lava breaks across a series of strata and finds its way into the partings between higher beds. Or it forces its way into a fissure to form a dike which may never reach the surface. In one place a long arm or sheet of lava has in a most surprising and inexplicable manner thrust itself into the enveloping rock-mass, and in the older or metamorphic rocks these offshoots or apophyses cross each other in great numbers and form a tangled network of intrusive dikes. In other places the intruded lava has formed immense lenticular (lense shaped) masses (laccolites), which have domed up the overlying strata into mountain masses. These intrusions, almost infinitely varied in form and condition, are often, in fact usually, inexplicable as mechanical problems, but their reality is vouched for by the evidence of our senses. What concerns us here is the great energy which they suggest and their adequacy to generate in the rocks those sudden, elastic displacements which are the real initiatory impulses of an earthquake. They assure us that a great deal of volcanic action has transpired in past ages far under ground, which makes no other sign at the surface than those vibrations which we call an earthquake." Koto, the celebrated Japanese student of earthquakes, and a member of the Earthquake Investigation Committee appointed by the Japanese Government for studying the great Mino-Owaro earthquake, in Japan, 1891, is properly regarded as an authority on earthquakes. Living, as he does, in a country where earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are of almost daily occurrence, he has had abundant opportunity for studying these phenomena, especially in connection with the Seismological Institute of Japan. He speaks as follows: "To make clear once for all my own standpoint, I may say plainly that the chain of volcanoes and the system of mountains of the non-volcanic earthquake, appear to me to have very intimate and fundamental relations with the so-called tectonic line." Mallet regards earthquakes that can be directly traceable to volcanic origin as unsuccessful efforts on the part of nature to establish volcanoes. He speaks concerning this matter as follows: "An earthquake in a non-volcanic region may, in fact, be viewed as an uncompleted effort to establish a volcano. The forces of explosion and impulse are the same in both; they differ only in degree of energy, or in the varying sorts and degrees of resistance opposed to them. There is more than a mere vaguely admitted connection between them, as heretofore commonly acknowledged--one so vague that the earthquake has been often stated to be the cause of the volcano (Johnson, 'Phy. Atlas,' Geology, page 21), and more commonly the volcano the cause of the earthquake, neither view being the expression of the truth of nature. They are not in the relation to each other of cause and effect, but are both unequal manifestations of a common force under different conditions." Before closing this chapter on the causes of earthquakes it may be well to state briefly the explanations that have been suggested by those who hold that the earth is solid and cold throughout its entire mass, except that in the neighborhood of volcanic districts there are limited areas situated only a comparatively few miles below the surface where the rocks are highly heated. Professor Mallet suggested that the source of heat for these local areas of melted rocks was to be found in the enormous mechanical force that is developed by the crushing of the strata in the earth's crust. The principal objection to Mallet's theory is to be found in the fact that, for this heat to be available for the melting of rocks, it must be produced rapidly, and not spread out over long periods of time. Moreover, there would appear to be no other way to account for the production of the great force required to effect the crushing of the earth's strata save on the assumption of a highly heated interior still cooling and contracting. In his "Aspects of the Earth" Shaler has suggested an hypothesis that may be regarded to a certain extent as explaining how heat, slowly generated, might be blanketed, or prevented from escaping and so possibly reaching a temperature sufficiently high to melt the materials in portions of the interior not far below the surface of the earth. "We thus see that in the water imprisoned in the deposits of the early geological ages and brought to a high temperature by the blanketing action of the more recently deposited beds, we have a sufficient cause for the great generation of steam at high temperatures, and this is the sole essential phenomenon of volcanic eruptions. We see also by this hypothesis why volcanoes do not occur at points remote from the sea, and why they cease to be in action soon after the sea leaves their neighborhood.... "The foregoing considerations make it tolerably clear that volcanoes are fed from deposits of water contained in ancient rocks which have become greatly heated through the blanketing effects of the strata which have been laid down upon them. The gas which is the only invariable element of volcanic eruptions is steam; moreover, it is the steam of sea-water, as is proven by analysis of the ejections. It breaks its way to the surface only on those parts of the earth which are near to where the deposition of strata is lifting the temperature of water contained in rocks by preventing, in fact, the escape of the earth's heat." Another very common theory is that of chemical action, or the heat produced by the oxidation of various substances inside the earth, such, for example, as iron pyrites, a compound of iron and sulphur. When Sir Humphrey Davy discovered metallic sodium and it was found that this material, when thrown on water, possessed the power of liberating intense heat, the discovery was welcomed by geologists as affording a possible explanation of the cause of volcanoes and earthquakes. It may be said generally concerning chemical action as the source of the earth's interior heat, that the chief objection against it is the fact that such heat is liberated too slowly to result in the production of a very high temperature. This objection does not exist in the case of such substances as metallic sodium, since here the heat is rapidly developed and is sufficient in amount to fuse the substances produced. But in the lava produced in such great quantities as it is in volcanic districts there must be liberated at the same time large quantities of gaseous hydrogen. Now, although hydrogen is, as we have already seen, sometimes given off with the gases that escape from volcanic craters, yet the quantity which escapes is so small that this theory of volcanic activity has been practically abandoned. Quite recently, however, among the various chemical substances that are produced under the extremely high temperatures of the electric furnace have been found, or formed, a number of curious substances such as _calcium carbide_, _calcium silicide_, _barium silicide_, etc., that possess the property of becoming highly heated on coming in contact with water. Now it is an interesting fact that the hydrogen and other gases which are given off by the action of water on these substances are absorbed in large quantities by the materials themselves, so that the objection of the absence of hydrogen and similar gases in the craters of the volcanoes would not be quite as objectionable as in the case of such substances. Of course, it is impossible to say whether such substances as calcium carbide, etc., actually exist inside the earth's crust, yet, as has been pointed out, the principal condition necessary for their formation, i. e., a high temperature, existed at times long after the earth, assuming the correctness of the nebular hypothesis, was separated from the nebulous sun. There still remains to be discussed the most curious of all possible causes that have been suggested for the presence of the local heated areas at comparatively short distances below the earth's crust; namely, radio-activity. In 1896, Henri Becquerel, a Frenchman, while investigating the power of the X-rays, when passing through certain substances, to produce phosphorescence, or causing the substances to shine in the dark, made the extraordinary discovery that some of the salts of uranium possess the power of emitting a peculiar radiation closely resembling the X-rays, that is able to pass through substances opaque to ordinary light as well as to affect photographic plates. But the most extraordinary part of this discovery was that the salts of uranium apparently possess the power of giving out this radiation continuously without being exposed to the sun's rays. This peculiar property was called _radio-activity_, and was shortly afterwards found to be present in many other substances besides uranium, and notably so in two newly discovered elements known as polonium and radium. Now it has been suggested that if there existed somewhere beneath the earth's crust in these locally heated areas, large quantities of radio-active substances, these regions would at last become highly heated, and in this way likely to produce volcanoes and earthquakes. It would not, however, seem that this is probably their true cause. From what has just been said it is clear how exceedingly difficult it has become to explain the source of the earth's interior heat when the fact of the earth's original highly heated condition is denied. We are, therefore, disposed with Russell to believe, as stated in the first part of this volume, that the ultimate cause of both volcanoes and earthquakes is to be found in the gradual cooling of an originally highly heated globe, and that the greater part of the interior is still in a highly heated condition, hot enough to be melted but yet in a solid condition by reason of the great pressure to which it is subjected. CHAPTER XXXV EARTHQUAKES OF THE GEOLOGICAL PAST--CATACLYSMS There were numerous volcanoes in the geological past; therefore, since volcanic eruptions are generally attended by earthquake shocks, it follows that during that remote past the earth has been violently shaken by earthquakes. Indeed, if we assume, as we believe to be the case, that the cause of earthquakes is correctly to be traced to an originally heated globe which is gradually cooling, it follows that the earth was necessarily subject to great earthquakes almost from the time when it began to cool. But to establish as a fact the occurrence of an earthquake at so remote a time in the earth's history is far more difficult than to detect the occurrence of a volcano at that time. While the earthquake shocks may produce fissures in the earth's crust, and may be accompanied by great changes of level, yet the great time that has elapsed between such occurrences and the present would permit the various geological agencies that are at work either to cover these fissures completely, or completely to remove by erosion, or in other similar ways, the rocks in which they occurred. It is different in the case of a volcano; for the volcanic craters are in many cases still left standing, and then there are the voluminous sheets of lava that have spread over great areas of the earth, as well as numerous volcanic cones. Besides, there are thousands of square miles of surface that have been covered, often to great depths, by deposits of volcanic dust thrown out at one time or another from the craters of the then active volcanoes. I am sure you will acknowledge that any force capable of causing great cracks or fissures in the earth's crust, must, while doing this, have produced violent shakings of the earth. Great cracks or fissures are to be found in the rocks of all the geological formations. These are a record of the earthquakes that must have attended these convulsions. And there is plenty of evidence to show that the earth's crust has been torn into these fissures in places deep down below the present surface; for, by the action of water, many of these portions have been uncovered so that these great cracks or fissures which have been afterwards filled with a molten rock that has hardened can be seen in the great dikes that still remain. But there are still other evidences of the existence of earthquakes during the geological past. There are found in the different strata of the earth's crust fossil remains of the plants and animals that lived on the earth long before the creation of man. By a careful study of these fossils we know positively the kinds of animals and plants that lived on the earth, in its waters, or in its atmosphere, when these strata were being deposited. It is in this way possible for a geologist to trace the life of the earth and its development as it is written on the great book of which the earth's different strata form the separate pages. Now, a careful study of the earth's fauna and flora during the geological past, shows, beyond any question, that occasionally great changes have occurred in the earth; for, here and there, during different times, we find that certain species of animals and plants have completely disappeared, to be followed, after certain intervals, by entirely different species. It is evident, therefore, that changes have occurred that have made it impossible for the animals and plants that formerly lived on the earth to exist under the changed conditions. These occurrences are known to geologists as _exterminations_, _catastrophes_, or _cataclysms_. They are also sometimes called _revolutions_, for they mark a more or less complete wiping-out of the animals living at the time they occurred. If you will try to think you will readily understand how great a catastrophe must be, that would be able to wipe out or completely destroy an entire race of animals. You have doubtless read with astonishment the terrible catastrophe that accompanied the eruption of Krakatoa, especially at the loss of life and property caused by the great waves that were set up in the ocean, but far reaching as these losses were they have nevertheless affected but a limited portion of the earth. The plain truth is even more stupendous, for catastrophes of the geological past appear to have been so far-reaching and powerful as to affect the whole surface of the earth, and to have annihilated entire races of animals and plants as if they had never existed. Geologists are all practically agreed that there are only two ways in which such exterminations of the earth's life could have been caused, and these are changes in the earth's climate, or the starting of waves in the sea by great earthquakes. In the sea; for it must be borne in mind that in the geological past the greater part of the earth's surface was covered by water, and the land areas were comparatively small and low, so that waves created by earthquakes might easily have overwhelmed the entire land surface. Of course, it is fair to suppose that in many cases these exterminations may have been caused by sudden changes of climate, such as would naturally have resulted from any change in the direction of hot ocean currents which formerly flowed from the equator to the poles. The appearance of a fairly large mass of land in the central parts of the ocean might readily have turned aside the hot ocean currents that formerly swept over the polar regions, thus greatly lowering the earth's average temperature in these regions. But it seems probable that the principal cause of the destruction of life in the geological past was produced by earthquake waves in the sea, sweeping over the continents. Let us, therefore, examine two of the earth's principal geological revolutions or cataclysms; namely, that which occurred at the close of an early geological time known as the Palaeozoic, and that which occurred at the end of a geological time intermediate between the Palaeozoic time or the time of ancient life, called the Mesozoic time, and the Cenozoic time, or the time immediately preceding the present time. These two revolutions are called by Dana, _the Post-Palaeozoic_, or _Appalachian Revolution_, and the _Post-Mesozoic Revolution_. Both were characterized by the making of great mountain systems, and were, therefore, especially liable to repetitions of tremendous earthquakes that must have produced enormous waves in the ocean. "Palaeozoic time," says Dana, "closed with the making of one of the great mountain ranges of North America--the Appalachian, besides ranges in other lands, and in producing one of the most universal and abrupt disappearances of life in geological history. So great an event is properly styled a revolution." Towards the close of the Palaeozoic time immense disturbances of the earth's crust occurred during the uplifting of the Appalachian Mountain System. One may, perhaps, form some faint idea of the immensity of the forces at work, from the fact that there were great faults produced by the uplifting of the lands attended with displacement amounting to 10,000 or 20,000 feet or more; that in parts of southwestern Virginia there were flexure faults 100 miles in length. As to the probability of the extensive exterminations that have occurred during these times being produced by earthquake waves, Dana speaks thus: "The causes of the extermination are two.... (1) a colder climate.... (2) earthquake waves produced by orogenic movements (movements producing mountain ranges). If North America from the west of the Carolinas to the Mississippi Valley can be shaken in consequence of a little slip along a fracture in times of perfect quiet (the allusion here to the Charleston earthquake, in 1886), and ruin mark its movements, incalculable violence and great surgings of the ocean should have occurred and been often repeated during the progress of flexures, miles in height and space, and slips along newly opened fractures that kept up their interrupted progress through thousands of feet of displacements.... "Under such circumstances the devastation of the sea-border and the low-lying land of the period, the destruction of their animals and plants, would have been a sure result. The survivors within a long distance of the coastline would have been few. The same waves would have swept over European land and seas, and there found coadjutors for new strife in earthquake waves of European origin. These times of catastrophe may have continued in America through half of the following Triassic period; for fully two thirds of the Triassic period are unrepresented by rocks and fossils on the Atlantic border." Coming now to the Post-Mesozoic revolution this period was marked by the making of the greatest of the North American mountain systems. Dana points out that this revolution affected the summit region of the Rocky Mountains over a broad belt probably as long as the western side of the continent. This great belt of mountain-making extended from the Arctic regions through North America, probably paralleled by like work, of equal extent, in South America, but on a more eastern line. "The disappearance of species," says Dana, "at the close of Mesozoic time was one of the two most noted in all geological history. Probably not a tenth part of the animal species of the world disappeared at the time, and far less of the vegetable life and terrestrial Invertebrates; yet the change was so comprehensive that no Cretaceous species of Vertebrate is yet known to occur in the rocks of the American Tertiary, and not even a marine Invertebrate." In tracing the causes of these disappearances, Dana points out that, perhaps, the principal cause was a decrease in the temperature of the ocean, since the destructions were limited in large measure to marine life. He regards, however, the other most probable cause as traceable to earthquake waves; for the making of a great mountain range along the entire length of the continent resulted in displacements of the rock formations along lines hundreds of miles in length. Such displacements must have been attended by a succession of earthquakes of unusual violence, causing the destruction by sudden shocks beneath, and resulting, directly and indirectly, in waves sweeping over the continent. Since at this time the land was still low for the greater part, the huge waves must have repeatedly swept over the greater part of the land, leaving only the smaller species of animals and the vegetation. It is evident, therefore, that during the geological past earthquakes occurred that were probably vastly greater than any that have occurred on the earth during more recent times. CHAPTER XXXVI THE KIMBERLY DIAMOND FIELDS AND THEIR VOLCANIC ORIGIN The elementary substance carbon occurs in three forms, i. e., _charcoal_, _graphite_, and the _diamond_. The commonest form of carbon is to be found in charcoal, as well as in bituminous coal, anthracite coal, and _lignite_. Graphite, also known as _plumbago_, or _black lead_, is the substance you have seen so often in the lead of pencils. The diamond, as every one knows, is the highly prized precious stone that sparkles so brightly in the light, and is so hard that it is capable of scratching almost any other substance. Diamonds are found in various parts of the world. We are now interested in them, however, only as they occur in certain parts of the world, as in the great Kimberly diamond fields in Southern Africa. Dr. Max Bauer in his book on precious stones says that the discovery of diamonds in South Africa was made by a traveller named O'Reilly, who, in 1867, saw a child sitting in the house of a Boer named Jacobs, playing with a shining stone. Jacob's farm was a short distance south of the Orange River near Hopetown. This stone proved to be a diamond weighing some twenty-one and three-tenths carats and was afterwards sold for $2,500. The incident led to the discovery and consequent development of the Kimberly diamond fields. Without going into a description of the different deposits in which diamonds are found, it will suffice to say that in the Kimberly district the diamonds occur distributed through the materials that fill peculiar funnel-shaped depressions called _pipes_ which extend vertically downward to unknown depths. The rock that fills a pipe consists of an entirely different material from that in which the pipe occurs. The upper extremity of the pipe is generally slightly elevated above the general surface for a few yards. The pipes vary in diameter from twenty to 750 yards, diameters of from 200 to 300 yards being quiet common. In 1892, the diamond-bearing material found in the pipes of the Kimberly mines had been excavated vertically downwards a distance of 1,261 feet, without any signs of its being exhausted. Now, the materials which fill the pipe of the great Kimberly mine are practically the same in all the mines in the neighborhood. At the upper part of the pipe the materials show the action of weathering by exposure to the air. Here the ground is of a yellowish color. Below, the materials have a blue color. According to Bauer the diamond-bearing material that fills the upper part of the pipe consists of a soft, sandy material of a light yellow color, known to diamond miners as _yellow ground_, or _yellow stuff_. In the case of the Kimberly mine, the yellow ground has a thickness of about sixty feet. Below it the material has a blue color and is known as the _blue ground_. This latter material possesses the character of a volcanic _tuff_, which is a hardened clay. It is of a green or bluish green color and has the appearance of dried mud that holds or binds together numerous irregular, tough, and sometimes rounded fragments of a green or bluish black serpentine. The diamonds are found near the surface in the yellow ground, as well as downwards through the blue ground. It was at one time thought that most of the diamonds existed in the yellow ground, and that they would soon disappear entirely at short distances below where the blue ground began. Under this belief some of the most valuable claims changed hands at prices far below their true value. It was soon found, however, that large and valuable stones existed in the blue ground, and, indeed, this ground has never been mined to a depth below where valuable diamonds appear. The diamonds occur in very small quantities spread through the yellow and blue grounds. The following statement by Bauer will show this: "A striking illustration of their sparing occurrence is furnished by the fact that in the richest part of the richest mine, namely, in the Kimberly mine, they constitute only one part in 2,000,000, or 0.00005% of the blue ground. In other mines the proportion is still lower, namely, one part in 40,000,000, a yield which corresponds to five carats per cubic yard of rock." Of course, you will desire by this time to know the manner in which the pipes of the diamond mines of South Africa have become filled with the diamond-bearing rocks, and particularly what diamonds have to do with a book on volcanoes and earthquakes. Dr. Emil Cohen, who has made a study of these regions, regards the pipes as volcanic vents or chimneys, and that the materials filling the pipes have been brought up from below by volcanic forces. He says: "I consider that the diamantiferous ground is a product of volcanic action, and was probably erupted at a comparatively low temperature in the form of an ash saturated with water and comparable to the materials ejected by a mud volcano. Subsequently new minerals were formed in the mass, consequent on alterations induced in the upper part by exposure to atmospheric agencies, and in the lower by the presence of water. Each of the crater-like basins, or, perhaps, more correctly, funnels, in which alone diamonds are now found, was at one time the outlet of an active volcano which became filled up, partly with the products of eruption and partly with ejected material which fell back from the sides of the crater intermingled with various foreign substances, such as small pebbles, or organic remains of local origin, all of which became imbedded in the volcanic tuff. The substance of the tuff was probably mainly derived from deep-seated crystalline rocks, of which isolated remains are now to be found, and which are similar to those which now crop out at the surface, only at a considerable distance from the diamond fields. These crystalline rocks from which the diamonds probably took their origin, were pulverized and forced up into the pipes by the action of volcanic forces, and imbedded in this eruptive material, these diamonds either in perfect crystals or in fragments are now found." So far as the volcanic origin of the diamonds of the Kimberly diamond fields is concerned, Cohen's theory has been generally accepted with the following modifications: that the pipes were not filled by a single volcanic eruption, but by successive eruptions, and that in the case of the Kimberly mine, the pipes contain the results of as many as fifteen successive eruptions. There has, however, been another and more important modification proposed to Cohen's theory, which is far more probable. It will be noticed that Cohen's theory regards the action of the volcanic eruption as only serving to bring fragments of a deep-seated mother rock that contained the diamonds up from below with the material that fills the pipe. Now, Prof. Carvill Lewis proposes the following very important change in Cohen's theory: that the blue ground does not consist of fragmentary material or tuff, but was forced up from below in the pipe in a molten mass and consolidated on cooling. In other words, the blue ground is filled with an ordinary igneous rock that was solidified in place in the vent or pipe. In the great Kimberly mines the surface of the pipe is divided into numerous separate claims, each consisting of a small square lot. There are so many of these claims in the Kimberly mine that its surface is honey-combed by numerous square pits. The work is done largely by native Kaffirs employed there since the '70's. As the material was removed from the pit, the adjoining claims were separated from each other by high vertical walls. At a later date, in order to remove the material and separate the lots, high staging provided with ropes and hauling machinery was erected. The number of these ropes is now so great that the mine has the appearance of a huge cobweb. A very extensive series of investigations has been made at a comparatively recent date by Prof. Henri Moissan of France on various chemical products that are obtained under the influence of the high temperatures of the electric furnace. When a powerful electric current is caused to pass through a highly refractory material, that is to say, a material difficult to fuse, such as carbon, it raises it to an extremely high temperature. A still higher temperature can be obtained by causing a powerful current to flow between two carbon rods that are first brought into contact, and then gradually separated from each other, just as they are in the ordinary arc lights employed for lighting the streets of our cities. In the latter way a temperature that is estimated as high as 3,500° C. (6,332° F.), can be readily obtained. Under these very high temperatures some very curious chemical products have been obtained in electric furnaces. These furnaces consist of small chambers made of highly refractory materials closely surrounding the incandescent carbon, or the carbon voltaic arc. Among some of the most curious of these products are artificially produced diamonds. Moissan, however, was not the first to produce diamonds artificially. As soon as Lavoisier had experimentally shown that the chemical composition of the diamond and carbon are the same, efforts were made to convert charcoal into diamonds, and Despretz, as early as 1849, by means of the combined influence of a powerful burning glass, the oxyhydrogen blowpipe, and the carbon voltaic arc obtained a very high temperature. He claims by this temperature to have been able to change carbon into a few microscopic diamonds. It is quite possible, in the light of later investigations, that Despretz may have been mistaken in his belief that he had actually produced diamonds; but whether this be so or not, he was certainly one of the pioneers in this early transformation of charcoal. Theoretically, all that would be required in order to change the non-crystalline form of carbon into the diamond, would be to subject the carbon to a temperature sufficiently high to fuse it and then permit it slowly to crystallize. Could this be done, there should be no trouble in transforming any amount of coal into any equal amount of diamonds. But the transformation is by no means as simple as might be supposed. It is not that the temperature of the carbon cannot be raised to its point of fusion, but that as soon as a certain temperature has been reached, the carbon, instead of fusing or melting, is suddenly volatilized or turned into vapor. There is no doubt that this is done. Thousands of feet of carbon rods are volatilized every night in the arc lamps of our cities, but the trouble is that this carbon vapor so formed, when cooled, or condensed, is not converted into the exceedingly hard, clear, crystalline diamond, but into the soft, dull black graphite or plumbago. Now the process adopted by Moissan in order to cause volatilized carbon, or carbon vapor, to condense in the form of crystalline diamonds was practically as follows: he placed pieces of pure carbon inside a very strong steel tube, such, for example, as would be formed by boring a short cylindrical hole in a piece of strong thick steel, and placing a small quantity of carbon inside the tube so formed. Closing the open end of the tube by means of a tightly fitting screw plug, he volatilized the carbon inside the tube. The steel, tube, and plug formed an electric furnace, for, as soon as he passed an electric current through it, the temperature at once became high enough to volatilize the carbon. Under these circumstances the carbon vapor was subjected to great pressure owing to the limited space in which it was liberated. As soon as this mass of dense vapor had been formed, he seized the steel tube with a pair of furnace tongs, and plunged it below the surface of cold water in a bucket. Of course, as the hot tube suddenly chilled, there was a great shrinking in the walls of the furnace, so that the already compressed carbon vapor was subjected to a still greater pressure which possibly liquified it. Of that, however, we cannot speak definitely. This, however, can safely be asserted, that when the tube was broken open a confused mass of small crystals was found inside, some of which, on examination with the microscope, were found to consist of small crystals of two forms of diamonds, namely, the black diamond, or carbonado, and the regular crystallized diamond. Moissan made a great number of experiments for producing diamonds in this way, and succeeded in forming some very beautiful, though microscopic, diamonds. What may be said to characterize especially Moissan's experiments was the comparatively great number of diamonds, so small as to be scarcely distinguishable under the microscope. The high temperature to which the materials inside the tube were exposed resulted in the production of numerous minute crystals of different minerals. In order to get rid of as many of these as possible Moissan adopted the plan of subjecting the material to the action of powerful solvents, such as sulphuric acid, aqua regia, or a mixture of sulphuric and nitric acid, and hydrofluoric acid. These acids destroyed most of the minute crystals of other minerals, but left the minute crystals of diamonds unaffected. Now it will be observed that the theory proposed by Prof. Carvill Lewis as to the probable origin of the diamonds of the Kimberly mines bears a wonderfully close resemblance to the method adopted by Moissan for the production of artificial diamonds, since it supposes the diamonds to have been formed by the sudden cooling or chilling within the pipe of various molten materials brought up from great depths by the volcanic forces. If this be true, then besides the comparatively large crystallized and perfect diamonds found in the blue ground of the Kimberly mines, there should also be found large quantities of microscopic diamonds, just as are found in Moissan's electric furnaces, in which he produced artificial diamonds. Moissan, considering this, obtained a specimen of the blue ground from the Kimberly diamond pipe and on subjecting it to the action of the different solvents before named, found in the mass that was left undissolved a great number of microscopic diamonds. It would seem, therefore, that there is no reasonable doubt but that the Kimberly diamond fields had their diamonds produced by the sudden chilling in the volcanic pipes of molten materials brought from great depths by the force of volcanic eruption. CHAPTER XXXVII THE FABLED CONTINENT OF ATLANTIS Besides the sudden changes of level that frequently occur during earthquake shocks there are gradual changes of level that take place very slowly throughout long periods of time. These are believed to be due to the warpings produced by the cooling of an originally highly heated globe. It is not true, therefore, that the earth's surface is fixed, or that its land and water areas remain always the same. On the contrary, what is land at one time is water at another time, and so, too, water areas may become changed into land areas. For the most part these changes go on so slowly as not to be noticeable in an ordinary lifetime. Indeed, in some cases, they are so extremely gradual that Methuselah himself might have gone to his grave in ignorance of their progress. Let us briefly note a few well-known gradual changes of level. One of the most extensive of these is the sinking of an immense area, over 6,000 miles in diameter, that covers a large part of the bed or floor of the Pacific Ocean. It is an easy matter to observe the gradual changes of level on the coasts, since the old water line can be at once found, but it is very difficult to detect such changes in the bed of the ocean, hidden as it is by a covering of water. Yet many things that seem impossible to the uninitiated are readily solved by those familiar with physical science. Little signs, meaningless to others, are easily read, and these prove beyond doubt the gradual sinking of the ocean's bed. It was once believed that the coral polyps or animalculæ from the hard, bony skeletons of which coral reefs are formed, could live at the greatest depths of the ocean. These minute animals were, therefore, generally credited with filling up the deep ocean, in certain places, and converting it into dry land, and poetic philosophers were pleased to point to their indefatigable labors as an object lesson to the slothful. But these charming, though fallacious, ideas were rudely overthrown by the sounding line and the drag-net. It had long been known that pieces of coral rock were brought up by dredging apparatus from the bottom of the ocean at all depths, but it was eventually shown that such pieces of coral rock never contained living animalculæ, when brought from water at greater depths than from 100 to 120 feet. It puzzled scientific men no little at first to explain this apparent inconsistency. If the coral polyp could not live in water at greater depths than from 100 to 120 feet, how could the presence of coral rock at a depth of thousands of feet be explained? Happily, however, this problem was solved by the great naturalist, Charles Darwin, who showed that coral islands can only be formed in parts of the ocean whose beds are sinking at the same gradual rate at which the coral rock is being deposited. The presence, therefore, of coral islands on the bed of the Pacific, as well as along parts of its coasts, are, to scientific men, as good indications of its gradual sinking as if such facts had been written in the clearest language. But there are other instances of gradual changes of level besides the bed of the Pacific. About 600 miles along the coast of Greenland, from Disco Bay, near lat. 69° N., south to the Firth of Igaliko, lat. 60° 43' N., the bed of the ocean has been slowly sinking through 400 years. Old buildings and islands have been covered by the waters, so that fishermen have been compelled to provide new poles for their boats. As Sir Charles Lyell remarks: "In one place the Moravian settlers have been obliged more than once to move inland the poles upon which their large boats are set, and the old poles still remain beneath the water as silent witnesses of the change." Besides these gradual changes of level there are many others, but only one more need be cited: the gradual movements of the coasts of North America between Labrador and New Jersey that are rising in some places, and sinking in other places. The evidences of these gradual changes of level are sometimes of such a character that he who runs may read them. One of the most interesting is, perhaps, that of the old Roman temple of Jupiter Serapis, at Pozzuli, on the borders of the Mediterranean. This temple, when completed, was 124 feet in length and 115 feet in width. Its roof was supported by forty-six columns, each forty-two feet in height, and five feet in diameter. Only three of these columns are now standing. They give, however, unquestionable evidence of having been submerged for about half their height. Nor, indeed, is the evidence wanting that this submergence continued a considerable time; for, while the lower twelve feet of the columns remain smooth and unaffected, yet, for a distance of nine feet above this portion, they have been perforated by various stone-boring mollusks of a species still living in the Mediterranean. This witnesses that the columns, when submerged, were buried in mud for twelve feet, and surrounded by water nine feet deep. According to Dana, the pavement of the temple is still under water. The fact that another pavement exists below it shows that these changes of level had occurred before the temple was deserted by the Romans. It appears, that, prior to 1845, a gradual sinking of this part of the coast had been going on, but that since then there has ensued a gradual rising. The evidences of these gradual changes of level in the land and water surfaces of the earth cannot be doubted by even the most skeptical. Again and again has the dry land disappeared below the surface of the waters of the ocean. Again and again, the ocean's bed has been raised to the surface and been converted into dry land. Suppose we attempt to follow one of the latter movements. We will imagine an extensive area to have slowly appeared above the ocean. In due process of time this land surface, which we will assume to have continental dimensions, gradually becomes covered with plant and animal life. If it remains above the water for a sufficient length of time, its simple plants and animals acquire more and more complex forms, so as to make it difficult to detect any traces of the original species from which they have descended, or, more correctly, ascended. Moreover, where favorable conditions exist, the continent becomes peopled with men, who gradually advance from barbarism to semi-barbarism and eventually become a most highly civilized nation, sending to different parts of the world colonies, who carry with them the language and religious customs of the land of their birth. But, a sudden or paroxysmal change of level occurs. The highly developed and densely populated region is suddenly swept out of existence and completely covered by the waters of the ocean until, in a few thousand years, all traces of its existence have so completely disappeared that but few, if any, can be found willing to acknowledge it ever had an existence. Such, it is claimed, was the fate of the fabled Continent of Atlantis. It will, therefore, be interesting to endeavor briefly to review its past history and to read some of the things that have been written about this part of the world, which appears in the opinion of some of the ancients to have actually existed. References to Atlantis have been made by various early writers. Solon, the great Athenian lawgiver, who flourished 600 years B. C., began a description of this place in verse. This description was never completed. At a later date one of Solon's descendants, Plato, who lived about 400 B. C., prepared a description of Atlantis, giving in detail its location, the general character of its surface, a description of its principal city, and the civilization of its inhabitants, as well as a brief reference to its sudden destruction. In another place this record of Plato will be given in full. It will suffice now to quote briefly what he says concerning its location. "There was an island situated in front of the straits which you call the Columns of Heracles (Straits of Gibraltar). The island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from the island you might pass through the whole in the opposite continent, for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbor, having a narrow entrance, but that other is the real sea, and the surrounding land may most truly be called a continent. Now, in the island of Atlantis, there was a great and wonderful empire, which had ruled over the whole island and several others, as well as over part of the continents; and, besides these, they subjected the parts of Libya within the Columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. The vast power, thus gathered into one, endeavored to subdue at one blow our country and yours, and the whole of the land which was within the straits, and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtues and strength, among all mankind, for she was the first in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjected, and freely liberated all the others who dwelt within the limits of Heracles. "But afterwards, there occurred violent earthquakes and floods, and in a single day and night of rain, all your warlike men in a body sunk into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in a like manner disappeared, and was sunk beneath the sea. And that is the reason why the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is such a quantity of shallow mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island." ("Plato's Dialogues," ii, 517, Timæus). But besides Solon and Plato there are other ancient writers who refer to the lost island of Atlantis. Ælian, in his "Varia Historia," lib. iii, chap. xvii, states that Theopompos, who flourished 400 B. C., refers to an interview between Midas, King of Phrygia, and Sielus, in which the latter speaks of a great continent larger than Asia, Europe, and Libya together that existed in the Atlantic. Proclus quotes a statement from an ancient writer, who speaks about the islands of the sea beyond the Pillars of Hercules (Straits of Gibraltar). Marcellus, in a book on the Ethiopians, refers to seven islands in the Atlantic whose inhabitants preserve legends of a greater island (possibly Atlantis), that had dominion over the small islands. Diodorus Siculus asserts that the Phoenicians discovered a large island in the Atlantic beyond the Pillars of Hercules several days' sail from the coast of Africa. Homer, Plutarch, and other ancient writers, refer to several islands in the Atlantic situated several thousand stadia from the Pillars of Hercules. (A stadium was a Greek measure of length equal to 600 feet. It was equal to one-eighth of a Roman mile, or 625 Roman feet.) Ignatius Donnelly, in his book, called "Atlantis, the Ante-Diluvian World," claims that Plato's description of Atlantis which has generally been regarded as imaginary, was, on the contrary, historic; that the prehistoric continent of Atlantis was the cradle of the human race; that here man reached his highest civilization; that Atlantis was the site of the Garden of Eden, the Gardens of the Hesperides, the Elysian Fields, as well as Olympus; that, under the forms of the gods and goddesses of the ancient Greeks, the Phoenicians, the Hindoos, and the Scandinavians, are related the stories of the kings, queens, and heroes of Atlantis. Much that has been claimed for the lost continent can hardly be regarded in any other light save that of imagination. For example, it has been asserted that it was from Atlantis that the colonies were sent out that peopled the coast countries of the Gulf of Mexico, of parts of the valley of the Mississippi, the basin of the Amazon, the western coasts of South America, parts of Europe, the shore lands of the Mediterranean Sea, the coasts of Europe, including the Caspian and the Black Seas, and even of parts of Africa. It has also been asserted that this mighty nation of Atlantis carried the worship of the sun to Egypt, which was one of its first colonies, and, therefore, the civilization of Egypt was but an offshoot of prehistoric Atlantis. But it will be reasonably objected that, if such a mass of land ever existed in the North Atlantic, some evidences should still be found on the bed of the ocean. Even though great periods of time have elapsed since the disappearance of Atlantis, some traces of its former existence should still remain on the floor of the ocean. Are there any evidences of an old land mass on this part of the floor of the Atlantic? The answer is unmistakable. Deep-sea soundings show beyond question that there still exists in the North Atlantic in the region where Atlantis is said to have been located a submarine island, the summits of which appear above the waters in the Azores and the Canary Islands. This submarine island has been traced southwest over the bed of the ocean for a distance of several thousand miles with a breadth of fully 1,000 miles. Toward the south there is connected with it another submarine island, the summits of which reach above the surface in the islands of Ascension, St. Helena, and Tristan d'Acunha. But the testimony of the submarine islands extends further than this. According to a number of careful soundings it appears that the bed of these parts of the ocean, instead of being characterized by a comparatively level surface due to the gradual accumulation of silt, possesses, to a great extent, the peculiarly sculptured surfaces which are only produced by exposure for a long time to the atmosphere. Other facts might be adduced to show that some time during the first appearance of man on the earth there was a large land mass connecting the Eastern and Western Continents. These facts include the wonderful resemblances existing between the plants and animals of the Eastern and Western Continents, the close resemblances of the myths and legends of the races of the Eastern and Western Continents, as well as the identity of their religious ideas, and the close similarity of their language so far as relates to certain fundamental ideas. These facts all point unquestionably to the existence of some large land mass between the two continents, and to this extent to throw light on the probable existence of prehistoric Atlantis. CHAPTER XXXVIII PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF ATLANTIS The following is a translation of Plato's record in full: Critias. Then listen, Socrates, to a strange tale, which is, however, certainly true, as Solon, who was the wisest of the seven sages, declared. He was a relative and great friend of my great-grandfather, Dropidas, as he himself says in several of his poems, and Dropidas told Critias, my grandfather, who remembered, and told us, that there were of old great and marvellous actions of the Athenians, which have passed into oblivion through time and the destruction of the human race--and one in particular, which was the greatest of them all, the recital of which will be a suitable testimony of our gratitude to you.... Socrates. Very good; and what is this ancient famous action of which Critias spoke, not as a mere legend, but as a veritable action of the Athenian State, which Solon recounted? Critias. I will tell an old-world story which I heard from an aged man; for Critias was, as he said, at that time nearly ninety-years of age, and I was about ten years of age. Now the day was that day of the Apaturia which is called the registration of youth; at which, according to custom, our parents gave prizes for recitations, and the poems of several poets were recited by us boys, and many of us sung the poems of Solon, which were new at the time. One of our tribe, either because this was his real opinion, or because he thought that he would please Critias, said that, in his judgment, Solon was not only the wisest of men but the noblest of poets. The old man, I well remember, brightened up at this, and said smiling: "Yes, Amynander, if Solon had only, like other poets, made poetry the business of his life, and had completed the tale which he brought with him from Egypt, and had not been compelled, by reason of the factions and troubles which he found stirring in this country when he came home, to attend to other matters, in my opinion, he would have been as famous as Homer, or Hesiod, or any poet." "And what was that poem about, Critias?" said the person who addressed him. "About the greatest action which the Athenians ever did, and which ought to have been most famous, but which, through the lapse of time and the destruction of the actors, has not come down to us." "Tell us," said the other, "the whole story, and how and from whom Solon heard this veritable tradition." He replied: "At the head of the Egyptian Delta, where the river Nile divides, there is a certain district which is called the district of Sais, and the great city of the district is also called Sais, and is the city from which Amasis the king was sprung. And the citizens have a deity who is their foundress: she is called in the Egyptian tongue Neith, which is asserted by them to be the same whom the Hellenes called Athene. Now, the citizens of this city are great lovers of the Athenians, and say that they are in some way related to them. Thither came Solon, who was received by them with great honor; and he asked the priests, who were most skilful in such matters, about antiquity, and made the discovery that neither he nor any other Hellene knew anything worth mentioning about the times of old. "On one occasion, when he was drawing them on to speak of antiquity, he began to tell about the most ancient things in our part of the world--about Phoroneus, who is called 'the first,' and about Niobe; and, after the Deluge, to tell of the lives of Deucalian and Pyrrha; and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and attempted to reckon how many years old were the events of which he was speaking, and to give the dates. Thereupon, one of the priests, who was of very great age, said: 'O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are but children, and there is never an old man who is an Hellene.' Solon, hearing this, said, 'What do you mean?' 'I mean to say,' he replied, 'that in mind you are all young; there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient traditions, nor any science which is hoary with age. And I will tell you the reason of this: there have been, and there will be again, many destructions of mankind arising out of many causes. "'There is a story which even you have preserved, that once upon a time Phaëthon, the son of Helios, having yoked the steeds in his father's chariot, because he was not able to drive them in the path of his father, burnt up all that was upon the earth, and was himself destroyed by a thunder-bolt. Now, this has the form of a myth, but really signifies a declination of the bodies moving around the earth, and in the heavens, and a great conflagration of things upon the earth recurring at long intervals of time: when this happens, those who live upon the mountains and in dry and lofty places are more liable to destruction than those who dwell by rivers or on the sea-shore; and from this calamity the Nile, who is our never-failing savior, saves and delivers us. "'When, on the other hand, the gods purge the earth with a deluge of water, among you herdsmen and shepherds on the mountains are the survivors, whereas those of you who live in cities are carried by the rivers into the sea; but in this country neither at that time nor at any other does the water come up from below, for which reason the things preserved here are said to be the oldest. The fact is, that wherever the extremity of winter frost or of summer sun does not prevent, the human race is always increasing at times, and at other times diminishing in numbers. And whatever happened either in your country or in ours, or in any other regions of which we are informed--if any action which is noble or great, or in any other way remarkable has taken place, all that has been written down of old, and is preserved in our temples; whereas you and other nations are just being provided with letters and the other things which States require; and then, at the usual period, the stream from heaven descends like a pestilence, and leaves only those of you who are destitute of letters and education; and thus you have to begin all over again as children, and know nothing of what happened in ancient times, either among us or among yourselves. "'As for those genealogies of yours which you have recounted to us, Solon, they are no better than the tales of children; for, in the first place, you remember one deluge only, whereas there were many of them, and, in the next place, you do not know that there dwelt in your land the fairest and noblest race of men which ever lived, of whom you and your whole city are but a seed or remnant. And this was unknown to you, because for many generations the survivors of that destruction died and made no sign. For there was a time, Solon, before that great deluge of all, when the city which now is Athens, was first in war, and was preëminent for the excellence of her laws, and is said to have performed the noblest deeds, and to have had the fairest constitution of any of which tradition tells, under the face of heaven.' "Solon marvelled at this and earnestly requested the priest to inform him exactly and in order about these former citizens. 'You are welcome to hear about them, Solon,' said the priest, 'both for your own sake and for that of the city; and, above all, for the sake of the goddess who is the common patron and protector and educator of both our cities. She founded your city a thousand years before ours, receiving from the Earth and Hephæstus the seed of your race, and then she founded ours, the constitution of which is set down in our sacred registers as 8,000 years old. As touching the citizens of 9,000 years ago, I will briefly inform you of their laws and of the noblest of their actions; and the exact particulars of the whole we will hereafter go through at our leisure in the sacred registers themselves. If you compare these very laws with your own, you will find that many of ours are the counterpart of yours, as they were in the olden time. "'In the first place, there is the caste of priests, which is separated from all the others; next there are the artificers, who exercise their several crafts by themselves, and without admixture of any other, and also there is the class of shepherds and that of hunters, as well as that of husbandmen; and you will observe, too, that the warriors in Egypt are separated from all the other classes, and are commanded by the law only to engage in war. Moreover, the weapons with which they are equipped are shields and spears, and this the goddess taught first among you, and then in Asiatic countries, and we among the Asiatics first adopted. "'Then, as to wisdom, do you observe, what care the law took from the very first, searching out and comprehending the whole order of things down to prophecy and medicine (the latter with a view to health); and out of these divine elements drawing what was needful for human life, and adding every sort of knowledge which was connected with them. All this order and arrangement the goddess first imparted to you when establishing your city; and she chose the spot of earth in which you were born, because she saw that the happy temperament of the seasons in that land would produce the wisest of men. "'Wherefore the goddess, who was a lover both of war and of wisdom, selected, and first of all settled that spot which was the most likely to produce men likest herself. And there you dwelt, having such laws as these and still better ones, and excelled all mankind in all virtue, as became the children and disciples of the gods. Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your State in our histories; but one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valor; for these histories tell of a mighty power which was agressing wantonly against the whole of Europe and Asia, and to which your city put an end. "'This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front of the straits which you call the Columns of Heracles: the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from the island you might pass through the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbor, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a continent. Now, in the island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire, which had rule over the whole island and several others, as well as over parts of the continent; and, besides these, they subjected the parts of Libya within the Columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. "'That vast power, thus gathered into one, endeavored to subdue at one blow our country and yours, and the whole of the land which was within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all mankind, for she was the first in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjected, and freely liberated all the others who dwelt within the limits of Heracles. But afterward there occurred violent earthquakes and floods, and in a single day and night of rain all your warlike men in a body sunk into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared, and was sunk beneath the sea. And that is the reason why the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is such a quantity of shallow mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island.' ('Plato's Dialogues,' ii, 517, Timæus.)... "But in addition to the gods whom you have mentioned, I would specially invoke Mnemosyne; for all the important part of what I have to tell is dependent on her favor, and if I can recollect and recite enough of what was said by the priests, and brought hither by Solon, I doubt not that I shall satisfy the requirements of this theatre. To that task, then, I will at once address myself. "Let me begin by observing first of all that nine thousand was the sum of years which had elapsed since the war which was said to have taken place between all those who dwelt outside the Pillars of Heracles and those who dwelt within them. This war I am now to describe. Of the combatants on the one side the city of Athens was reported to have been the ruler, and to have directed the contest; the combatants on the other side were led by the kings of the islands of Atlantis, which, as I was saying, once had an extent greater than that of Libya and Asia; and, when afterwards sunk by an earthquake, became an impassable barrier of mud to voyagers sailing from hence to the ocean. The progress of the history will unfold the various tribes of barbarians and Hellenes which then existed, as they successively appear on the scene; but I must begin by describing, first of all, the Athenians as they were in that day, and their enemies who fought with them; and I shall have to tell of the power and form of government of both of them. Let us give the precedence to Athens.... "Many great deluges have taken place during the nine thousand years, for that is the number of years which have elapsed since the time of which I am speaking; and in all the ages and changes of things there has never been any settlement of the earth flowing down from the mountains, as in other places, which is worth speaking of; it has always been carried round in a circle, and disappeared in the depths below. The consequence is that, in comparison with what then was, there are remaining in small islets only the bones of the wasted body, as they may be called, all the richer and softer parts of the soil having fallen away, and the mere skeleton of the country being left.... "And next, if I have not forgotten what I heard when I was a child, I will impart to you the character and origin of their adversaries; for friends should not keep their stories to themselves, but have them in common. Yet, before proceeding further in the narrative, I ought to warn you that you must not be surprised, if you should hear Hellenic names given to foreigners. I will tell you the reason of this: Solon, who was intending to use the tale for his poem, made an investigation into the meaning of the names, and found that the early Egyptians, in writing them down, had translated them into their own language, and he recovered the meaning of the several names and retranslated them, and copied them out again in our language. My great-grandfather, Dropidas, had the original writing, which is still in my possession, and was carefully studied by me when I was a child. Therefore, if you hear names such as are used in this country, you must not be surprised, for I have told you the reason of them. "The tale, which was of great length, began as follows: I have before remarked, in speaking of the allotments of the gods, that they distributed the whole earth into portions differing in extent, and made themselves temples and sacrifices. And Poseidon, receiving for his lot the island of Atlantis, begat children by a mortal woman, and settled them in a part of the island which I will proceed to describe. On the side toward the sea, and in the centre of the whole island, there was a plain which is said to have been the fairest of all plains, and very fertile. Near the plain, and also in the centre of the island, at a distance of about fifty stadia, there was a mountain, not very high on any side. In this mountain there dwelt one of the earth-born primeval men of that country, whose name was Evenor, and he had a wife named Leucippe, and they had an only daughter, who was named Cleito. "The maiden was growing up to womanhood when her father and mother died; Poseidon fell in love with her, and had intercourse with her; and, breaking the ground, enclosed the hill in which she lived all around, making alternate zones of sea and land, larger and smaller, encircling one another; there were two of land and three of water, which he turned as with a lathe out of the centre of the island, equidistant every way, so that no man could get to the island, for ships and voyagers were not yet heard of. He himself, as he was a god, found no difficulty in making special arrangements for the centre island, bringing two streams of water under the earth, which he caused to ascend as springs, one of warm water and the other of cold, and making every variety of food to spring up abundantly in the earth. He also begat and brought up five pairs of male children, dividing the island of Atlantis into ten portions; he gave to the first-born of the eldest pair his mother's dwelling and the surrounding allotment, which was the largest and best, and made him king over the rest; the others he made princes, and gave them rule over many men and a large territory. "He named them all: the eldest, who was king, he named Atlas, and from him the whole island and the ocean received the name of Atlantic. To his twin brother, who was born after him, and obtained as his lot the extremity of the island toward the Pillars of Heracles, as far as the country which is still called the region of Gades in that part of the world, he gave the name which in the Hellenic language is Eumelus, in the language of the country which is named after him, Gadeirus. Of the second pair of twins, he called one Ampheres and the other Evæmon. To the third pair of twins he gave the name Mneseus to the elder, and Autochthon to the one who followed him. Of the fourth pair of twins he called the elder Elasippus and the younger Mestor. And of the fifth pair he gave to the elder the name of Azaes, and to the younger Diaprepes. "All these and their descendants were the inhabitants and rulers of divers islands in the open sea; and also, as has been already said, they held sway in the other direction over the country within the Pillars as far as Egypt and Tyrrhenia. Now Atlas had a numerous and honorable family, and his eldest branch always retained the kingdom, which the eldest son handed on to his eldest for many generations; and they had such an amount of wealth as was never before possessed by kings and potentates, and is not likely ever to be again, and they were furnished with everything which they could desire both in city and country. For, because of the greatness of their empire, many things were brought to them from foreign countries, and the island itself provided much of what was required by them for the uses of life. "In the first place, they dug out of the earth whatever was to be found there, mineral as well as metal, and that which is now only a name, and was then something more than a name--orichalcum--was dug out of the earth in many parts of the island, and, with the exception of gold, was esteemed the most precious of metals among the men of those days. There was an abundance of wood for carpenters' work, and sufficient maintenance for tame and wild animals. Moreover, there were a great number of elephants in the island, and there was provision for animals of every kind, both for those who live in lakes and marshes and rivers, and also for those which live in mountains, and on plains, and therefore for the animal which is the largest and most voracious of them. "Also whatever fragrant things there are in the earth, whether roots, or herbage, or woods, or distilling drops of flowers, or fruits, grew and thrived in that land; and again, the cultivated fruit of the earth, both the dry edible fruit and other species of food, which we call by the general name of legumes, and the fruits having a hard rind, affording drinks, and meats, and ointments, and good store of chestnuts and the like, which may be used to play with, and are fruits which spoil with keeping--and the pleasant kinds of dessert which console us after dinner, when we are full and tired of eating--all these that sacred island lying beneath the sun brought forth fair and wondrous in infinite abundance. "All these things they received from the earth, and they employed themselves in constructing their temples, and palaces, and harbors and docks; and they arranged the whole country in the following manner: first of all they bridged over the zones of sea which surrounded the ancient metropolis, and made a passage into and out of the royal palace; and then they began to build the palace in the habitation of the god and of their ancestors. This they continued to ornament in successive generations, every king surpassing the one who came before him to the utmost of his power, until they made the building a marvel to behold for size and for beauty. "And, beginning from the sea, they dug a canal three hundred feet in width and one hundred feet in depth, and fifty stadia in length, which they carried through to the outermost zone, making a passage from the sea up to this, which became a harbor, and leaving an opening sufficient to enable the largest vessels to find ingress. Moreover, they divided the zones of land which parted the zones of sea, constructing bridges of such a width as would leave a passage for a single trireme to pass out of one into another, and roofed them over; and there was a way underneath for the ships, for the banks of the zones were raised considerably above the water. "Now the largest of the zones into which a passage was cut from the sea was three stadia in breadth, and the zone of land which came next of equal breadth; but the next two, as well a zone of water as of land, were two stadia, and the one which surrounded the central island was a stadium only in width. The island in which the palace was situated had a diameter of five stadia. This, and the zones and the bridge, which was the sixth part of a stadium in width, they surrounded by a stone wall, on either side placing towers, and gates on the bridges where the sea passed in. The stone which was used in the work they quarried from underneath the centre island and from underneath the zones, on the outer as well as the inner side. One kind of stone was white, another black, and a third red; as they quarried, they at the same time hollowed out decks, double within, having roofs formed out of the native rock. "Some of their buildings were simple, but in others they put together different stones, which they intermingled for the sake of ornament, to be a natural source of delight. The entire circuit of the wall which went around the outermost one they covered with a coating of brass, and the circuit of the next wall they coated with tin, and the third, which encompassed the citadel, flashed with the red light of orichalcum. The palace in the interior of the citadel was constructed in this wise: in the centre was a holy temple, dedicated to Cleito and Poseidon, which remained inaccessible, and was surrounded by an enclosure of gold; this was the spot in which was originally begotten the race of ten princes, and thither they annually brought the fruits of the earth in their season from all the ten portions, and performed sacrifices to each of them. "Here, too, was Poseidon's own temple, of a stadium in length and half a stadium in width, and of a proportionate height, having a sort of barbaric splendor. All the outside of the temple, with the exception of the pinnacles, they covered with silver, and the pinnacles with gold. In the interior of the temple the roof was of ivory, adorned everywhere with gold and silver and orichalcum; all the other parts of the walls and pillars and floor they lined with orichalcum. In the temple they placed statues of gold: there was the god himself standing in a chariot--the charioteer of six winged horses--and of such a size that he touched the roof of the building with his head; around him were a hundred Nereids riding on dolphins, for such was thought to be the number of them in that day. "There were also in the interior of the temple other images which had been dedicated by private individuals. And around the temple, on the outside, were placed statues of gold of all the ten kings and of their wives; and there were many other great offerings, both of kings and of private individuals, coming both from the city itself and the foreign cities over which they held sway. There was an altar, too, which in size and workmanship corresponded to the rest of the work, and there were palaces in like manner which answered to the greatness of the kingdom and the glory of the temple. "In the next place, they used fountains both of gold and hot springs. These were very abundant, and both kinds wonderfully adapted to use by reason of the sweetness and excellence of their waters. They constructed buildings about them, and planted suitable trees; also cisterns, some open to the heaven, others which they roofed over, to be used in winter as warm baths: there were the king's baths, and the baths of private persons, which were kept apart; also separate baths for women, and others again for horses and cattle, and to them they gave as much adornment as was suitable for them. The water which ran off they carried, some to the grove of Poseidon, where were growing all manner of trees of wonderful height and beauty, owing to the excellence of the soil; the remainder was conveyed by aqueducts which passed over the bridges to the outer circles: and there were many temples built and dedicated to many gods; also gardens and places of exercise, some for men, and some set apart for horses, in both of the two islands formed by the zones; and in the centre of the larger of the two, there was a racecourse of a stadium in width, and in length allowed to extend all round the island, for horses to race in. "Also there were guard-houses at intervals for the body-guard, the more trusted of whom had their duties appointed to them in the lesser zone, which was nearer the Acropolis; while the most trusted of all had houses given them within the citadel, and about the persons of the kings. The docks were full of triremes and naval stores, and all things were quite ready for use. Enough of the plan of the royal palace. Crossing the outer harbors, which were three in number, you would come to a wall which began at the sea and went all round; this was everywhere distant fifty stadia from the largest zone and harbor, and enclosed the whole, meeting at the mouth of the channel toward the sea. "The entire area was densely crowded with habitations; and the canal and the largest of the harbors were full of vessels, and merchants coming from all parts, who, from their numbers, kept up a multitudinous sound of human voices and din of all sorts, night and day. I have repeated his descriptions of the city and the parts about the ancient palace nearly as he gave them, and now I must endeavor to describe the nature and arrangement of the rest of the country. The whole country was described as being very lofty and precipitous on the side of the sea, but the country immediately about and surrounding the city was a level plain, itself surrounded by mountains which descended toward the sea; it was smooth and even, but of an oblong shape, extending in one direction three thousand stadia, and going up the country from the sea through the centre of the island two thousand stadia; the whole region of the island lies toward the south, and is sheltered from the north. "The surrounding mountains were celebrated for their number and size and beauty, in which they exceeded all that are now to be seen anywhere; having in them also many wealthy inhabited villages, and rivers and lakes, and meadows supplying food enough for every animal, wild or tame, and wood of various sorts, abundant for every kind of work. I will now describe the plain, which had been cultivated during many ages by many generations of kings. It was rectangular, and for the most part straight and oblong; and what it wanted of the straight line followed the line of the circular ditch. The depth and width and length of this ditch were incredible, and gave the impression that such a work, in addition to so many other works, could hardly have been wrought by the hand of man. But I must say what I have heard. "It was excavated to the depth of a hundred feet, and its breadth was a stadium everywhere; it was carried round the whole of the plain, and was ten thousand stadia in length. It received the streams which came down the mountains, and winding round the plain, and touching the city at various points, was there let off into the sea. From above, likewise, straight canals of a hundred feet in width were cut in the plain, and again let off into the ditch, toward the sea. These canals were at intervals of a hundred stadia, and by them they brought down the wood from the mountains to the city, and conveyed the fruits of the earth in ships, cutting transverse passages from one canal into another, and to the city. Twice in the year they gathered the fruits of the earth--in winter having the benefit of the rains, and in summer introducing the water of the canals. As to the population, each of the lots in the plain had an appointed chief of men who were fit for military service, and the size of the lot was to be a square of ten stadia each way, and the total number of all the lots was sixty thousand. "And of the inhabitants, of the mountains and of the rest of the country there was also a vast multitude having leaders, to whom they were assigned according to their dwellings and villages. The leader was required to furnish for the wars the sixth portion of a war-chariot, so as to make up a total of ten thousand chariots; also two horses and riders upon them, and a light chariot without a seat, accompanied by a fighting man on foot carrying a small shield, and having a charioteer mounted to guide the horses; also, he was bound to furnish two heavy-armed men, two archers, two slingers, three stone-shooters, and three javelin men, who were skirmishers, and four sailors, to make up a complement of twelve hundred ships. Such was the order of war in the royal city. "That of the other nine governments was different in each of them, and would be wearisome to narrate. As to offices and honors the following was the arrangement from the first: each of the ten kings, in his own division and in his own city, had the absolute control of the citizens, and in many cases, of the laws, punishing and slaying whomsoever he would. "Now the relations of their governments to one another were regulated by the injunctions of Poseidon as the law had handed them down. These were inscribed by the first men on a column of orichalcum, which was situated in the middle of the island, at the temple of Poseidon, whither the people were gathered together every fifth and sixth years alternately, thus giving equal honor to the odd and to the even number. And when they were gathered together they consulted about public affairs, and inquired if any one had transgressed in anything, and passed judgment on him accordingly--and before they passed judgment they gave their pledges to one another in this wise: "There were bulls who had the range of the temple of Poseidon; and the ten who were left alone in the temple, after they had offered prayers to the gods that they might take the sacrifices which were acceptable to them, hunted the bulls without weapons, but with staves and nooses; and the bull which they caught they led up to the column. The victim was then struck on the head by them, and slain over the sacred inscription. Now on the column, besides the law, there was inscribed an oath invoking mighty curses on the disobedient. When, therefore, after offering sacrifices according to their customs, they had burnt the limbs of the bull, they mingled a cup and cast in a clot of blood for each of them. The rest of the victim they took to the fire, after having made a purification of the column all round. "They then drew from the cup in golden vessels, and, pouring a libation on the fire, they swore that they would judge according to the laws on the column, and would punish any one who had previously transgressed, and that for the future they would not, if they could help, transgress any of the inscriptions, and would not command, or obey any ruler who commanded them, to act otherwise than according to the laws of their father Poseidon. "This was the prayer which each of them offered up for himself and for his family, at the same time drinking, and dedicating the vessel in the temple of the god; and, after spending some necessary time at supper, when darkness came on and the fire about the sacrifice was cool, all of them put on most beautiful azure robes, and, sitting on the ground at night near the embers of the sacrifices on which they had sworn, and extinguishing all the fires about the temple, they received and gave judgment, if any of them had any accusation to bring against any one; and, when they had given judgment, at daybreak they wrote down their sentences on a golden tablet, and deposited them as memorials with their robes. "There were many special laws which the several kings had inscribed about the temple, but the most important was the following: that they were not to take up arms against one another, and they were all to come to the rescue, if any one in any city attempted to overthrow the royal house. Like their ancestors, they were to deliberate in common about war and other matters, giving the supremacy to the family of Atlas; and the king was not to have the power of life or death over any of his kinsmen, unless he had the assent of the majority of the ten kings. "Such was the vast power which the god settled in the lost island of Atlantis; and this he afterward directed against our land on the following pretext, as traditions tell. For many generations, as long as the divine nature lasted in them, they were obedient to the laws, and well-affectioned toward the gods, who were their kinsmen, for they possessed true and in every way great spirits, practicing gentleness and wisdom in the various chances of life, and in their intercourse with one another. "They despised everything but virtue, not caring for their present state of life, and thinking lightly on the possession of gold, and other property, which seemed only a burden to them; neither were they intoxicated by luxury, nor did wealth deprive them of their self-control; but they were sober, and saw clearly that all these goods are increased by virtuous friendship with one another, and that by excessive zeal for them and honor of them, the good of them is lost, and friendship perishes with them. "By such reflections, and by the continuance in them of a divine nature, all that which we have described waxed and increased in them; but when this divine portion began to fade away in them, and became diluted too often, and with too much of the mortal admixture, and the human nature got the upper hand, then, they being unable to bear their fortune, became unseemly, and to him who had an eye to see, they began to appear base, and had lost the fairest of their precious gifts; but to those who had no eye to see the true happiness they still appeared glorious and blessed at the very time when they were filled with unrighteous avarice and power. Zeus, the god of gods, who rules with law, and is able to see into such things, perceiving that an honorable race was in a most wretched state, and wanting to inflict punishment on them, that they might be chastened and improved, collected all the gods into his most holy habitation, which, being placed in the centre of the world, sees all things that partake of generations. And when he had called them together, he spake as follows:" The story abruptly ends here, for Plato left no further record. CHAPTER XXXIX NATURE'S WARNING OF COMING EARTHQUAKES That there are signs of coming earthquakes which might be read by man, had he sufficient knowledge, there would seem to be but little doubt. These phenomena follow natural laws so that the approach of an earthquake must necessarily be in a definite order both as regards the phenomena which precede as well as those which follow it. There should, therefore, be signs that would enable one to predict its coming, although it must be acknowledged that these signs, so far as we actually know, are indistinct. It may seem to the unthinking and unobservant that the awful catastrophe of an earthquake comes entirely unheralded; that, apparently, it is not until the earth's surface begins to rock to and fro under the mighty forces that are causing destruction that its presence can be known. There are, however, many reasons for believing that in, perhaps, the greatest number of cases, it might have been foreseen, if greater attention had been given to the slight indications of its probable approach a short time before its occurrence. It is evident that the conditions of great pressure or stress in the earth's crust which finally result in a disastrous earthquake have been slowly accumulating for a long time, and that when the pressure at last reaches a point where the crust has to yield or slip, the ground is suddenly crushed and tossed to and fro while vast fissures and chasms are produced in the subterranean regions. At those points of the earth immediately above or in the neighborhood of such regions it is possible that there are many signs of the coming quake; and, although indistinguishable by our duller senses, are readily appreciated by the more highly developed senses of the lower animals. Indeed, had we accustomed ourselves to reading the various indications of nature as the lower animals have, we, too, might be able to read these warnings of the coming earthquake. At great distances from the place where the earthquake starts there would necessarily be a better opportunity for predicting its approach. As already stated, what is called an earthquake does not consist of a single shaking of the ground, but of a highly complex series of shakings. According to Mallet, the following waves start at the same time from the place of origin of an earthquake, when located on the bed of an ocean; i. e., an earth sound wave and a earth wave constituting the earth's shake; a sound wave through the ocean, another through the air; a sea wave called by him a forced sea wave, and finally the great sea wave. These waves reach a distant point in the following order: the sound wave through the earth and the great earthquake or shake which produces the damage. Then a smaller sea wave called the forced sea wave. This is followed almost immediately by the sound wave through the sea. Next come the air sound wave and finally the great sea wave; which, rushing in on the shore, sweeps nearly everything before it. In other words, the disturbances produced by the great earthquake follow in this order of sequence. If, therefore, the great earthquake wave proper transmitted through the earth should for any reason be delayed in reaching a distant place, the great sound waves should be able to give warning of the coming disturbances. Again, as we have already seen, the earthquake wave is preceded by a number of preliminary tremors, and is followed by a number of after tremors or _earthquake echoes_. Since, therefore, the preliminary waves reach a place first, it would seem that the approach of an earthquake must be heralded by the preliminary tremors. These, perhaps, at least in part, enable the lower animals to detect its coming. Again, in almost all instances there are a number of preliminary shocks that precede the great earthquake shock. Some of these preliminary shocks continue at intervals for several days or even longer. Sometimes, indeed, these subterranean sounds fail to be followed by earthquakes. Milne thinks that these sounds are caused by the preliminary tremors which precede the principal shock of the earthquake and that they reach the place first. Here again then it is evident that, were we able to interpret properly these sounds, we would probably be able to foretell the coming quake with a fair degree of certainty. There would appear to be no reasonable doubt that in some manner which we have not yet been able to discover, but probably along some of the lines indicated above, animals are capable of recognizing a coming earthquake. Long before the coming of the catastrophe they are said to exhibit extreme terror, and in many cases appear to seek the companionship of man, as if for protection. That the senses of smell and hearing are far more acute in the lower animals than in man no one can reasonably doubt. The manner in which a trained dog can follow a scent, for a long time after the animal or thing producing it has passed, far exceeds the power of scent possessed by man, and it is more than likely that this same power is possessed by all animals who live upon or prey upon other animals. It is probable that faintly odorous vapors or gases escape from the crust shortly before the great shock occurs, and that these faint odors are warnings to the animals of the approaching calamity. The sense of hearing also is much more acute in the lower animals. Daubeny is evidently of this belief, as will be seen from the following: "These gases and vapors (alluding to emanations given off from the ground during earthquakes) exert an influence on the barometer, which does appear to be indirectly affected by the earthquake. Then, similar properties also may occasion that uneasiness which animals are said to evince before any such event. Thus, according to the accounts of some writers, rats and mice leave their holes, alligators seek the dry land, quadrupeds snuff the ground, and manifest such signs of the impending calamity that in countries where earthquakes are common, the inhabitants take the alarm in consequence, and escape from their houses. It is right, however, to add, that more recent authorities dispute altogether the correctness of these statements." Dutton doubts the ability of animals to foretell coming earthquake shocks. But that the lower animals do exhibit signs of fear at the approach of an earthquake has been repeatedly asserted by good observers. Hamilton, who made a careful examination of the neighboring country during the great earthquake at Calabria, asserts that horses and oxen during the shocks extended their legs widely in order to avoid being thrown down, "and that hogs, oxen, horses, and mules, and also geese, appeared to be painfully aware of the approach of the earthquake of Calabria; and the neighing of a horse, the braying of an ass, or the cackling of a goose, even when he (Hamilton) was making his survey (after the occurrence of the great earthquake shock), drove the people out of their temporary sheds in expectation of a shock." It is asserted that birds appear to be especially sensible to a coming earthquake shock. That geese will quit the water in which they were swimming before the earthquake and will not return to it. It is quite possible that these birds with their heads immersed in the water can hear the distant murmurings long before they become audible in the air. Von Hoff makes the following statement: "It has been remarked that at such times (immediately before the coming of an earthquake shock), domestic animals showed a decided uneasiness, dogs howled mournfully, horses neighed in an unusual manner, and poultry flew restlessly about. These latter phenomena might easily be produced by mephitic vapours, which often ascend to the surface of the earth before the breaking out of an earthquake." Mallet states that there is abundant evidence that earthquake shocks, even when not of very great intensity, produce nausea in both men and women. This would seem natural, since, as everyone knows, until one is accustomed to sea-voyages, merely to be tossed to and fro by the motion of the waves results in the production of sea-sickness. It has been also noticed that during earthquakes fish which under ordinary circumstances live in the mud at the bottom of bodies of water come near to the surface and at such times can be caught in great numbers. Mallet cites the following effects produced by earthquakes: "Amongst the effects supposed to be produced by the earthquake on the atmosphere were reckoned tempestuous winds, thunder-storms, meteors, coldness of the air, severe winters, heavy rains, miasmata, producing diseases and affecting vegetation. A very remarkable instance of the latter is quoted, namely, that in Peru, after the earthquake of 1687, wheat and barley would not thrive at all, though formerly the country was remarkably favourable for them." Sir Charles Lyell notes the following phenomena attending earthquakes: "Irregularities in the seasons preceding or following the shocks; sudden gusts of wind, interrupted by dead calms; violent rains at unusual seasons, or in countries where, as a rule, they are almost unknown; a reddening of the sun's disk, and haziness in the air, often continued for months; an evolution of electric matter, or of inflammable gas from the soil, with sulphurous and mephitic vapours; noises underground, like the running of carriages, or the discharge of artillery, or distant thunder; animals uttering cries of distress, and evincing extraordinary alarm, being more sensitive than men to the slightest movement; a sensation like sea-sickness, and a dizziness in the head, experienced by men. These, and other phenomena, less connected with our present subject as geologists, have recurred again and again at distant ages, and in all parts of the globe." THE END FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: A point on the other side of the earth directly opposite a given point.] [Footnote 2: A fracture of a stratum, or a general rock mass, with a relative displacement of the opposite sides of the break. The plane or fracture of a fault, known as the fault-plane, is seldom vertical. The higher side is called the heaved or upthrow side; the opposite side the thrown or downthrow side.] [Footnote 3: _Tectonic Earthquake_. An earthquake due to the sudden slip of faulted strata.] [Footnote 4: _I. e._, burnt out mountain, extinct volcano.] [Footnote 5: _Epicentre._ A point on the surface of the earth vertically above the point of origin of an earthquake, or the place where it starts.] Transcriber's Notes Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected. Some illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks. Page 43: Kamehamoha could be a typo for Kamehameha. Page 68: Changed "salter" to "saltier." (Orig: another with water salter than the sea,) Page 76: Changed "Ena" to "Etna." (Orig: during his time Mt. Ena had lost so much of its height) Page 115: "eruption during the winter of 1841-43," could be a typo for 1841-42 or 1842-43. Page 122: "Mont Pelée" could be a typo for "Mount Pelée." Page 136: 43° C." (109° 4' F.). could be a typo for (109.4° F.). Page 341: Changed one-eight to one-eighth. (Orig: It was equal to one-eight of a Roman mile) Retained the following spelling variations: Page 49: The largest volcano in Iceland, the Dyngjufköll, Page 57: The largest volcano in Iceland is Dyngjufjoll. Pages 52, 193, 311: Geikie Page 181: Geicke Pages 17, 156, 257: Hindostan Page 165: Hindustan Page 63: Lucullis Page 76: Lucullus 
26380	----	Transcriber's Note Chapters 27 and 33 both end abruptly in the middle of a sentence. There are no omitted page numbers, so it is likely that this was an error made by the publisher when the book was in preparation. There are some instances where sections of text are repeated, and these are preserved as printed. It may be that this book was published very hurriedly following the earthquake, and that these repetitions were simply missed. Bold text is marked with = signs, =like this=. COMPLETE STORY OF THE San Francisco Horror INTRODUCTION BY RT. REV. SAMUEL FALLOWS, D. D., LL. D. A Comprehensive and Connected Account of the Terrible Tragedy that Befell the People of Our Golden City--The Metropolis of the Golden Gate, and the Death and Ruin Dealt Many Adjacent Cities and Surrounding Country. Destroying Earthquake Comes Without Warning, in the Early Hours of the Morning; Immense Structures Topple and Crumble; Great Leland Stanford University Succumbs; Water Mains Demolished and Fire Completes Devastation; Fighting Fire With Dynamite. SCENES OF DEATH AND TERROR Thousands Killed, Maimed, or Unaccounted For; Tens of Thousands Without Food or Shelter; Martial Law Declared; Millions Donated for Relief; Congress Makes an Appropriation; Sympathetic Citizens Throughout the Land Untie Their Purse-Strings to Aid the Suffering and Destitute; Property Loss Hundreds of Millions; Appalling Stories by Eye Witnesses and Survivors; The Disaster as Viewed by Scientists, etc. Comprising Also a Vivid Portrayal of the Recent Death-Dealing ERUPTION OF MT. VESUVIUS BY RICHARD LINTHICUM of the Editorial Staff of the Chicago Chronicle. Together with twelve descriptive chapters giving a graphic and detailed account of the most interesting and historic disasters of the past from ancient times to the present day. BY TRUMBULL WHITE Historian, Traveler and Geographer. Profusely Illustrated with Photographic Scenes of the Great Disasters and Views of the Devastated Cities and Their People. [Illustration: =THE AWFUL HORROR OF AN EARTHQUAKE.= Lives, homes and property lost in a few seconds.] [Illustration: =A PANORAMA OF THE RUINS.= Photographed from Nob Hill--City Hall at the left.] [Illustration: =BUSINESS DISTRICT IN SAN FRANCISCO.= View from Nob Hill.] COPYRIGHT 1906 BY HUBERT D. RUSSELL PREFACE In presenting this history of the San Francisco Earthquake Horror and Conflagration to the public, the publishers can assure the reader that it is the most complete and authentic history of the great disaster published. The publishers set out with the determination to produce a work that would leave no room for any other history on this subject, a task for which they had the best facilities and the most perfect equipment. The question of cost was not taken into consideration. The publishers wanted the best writers, the best illustrations, the best paper, printing and binding and proceeded immediately to get them. The services of the two best historical writers in the United States were secured within an hour after the first news of the catastrophe was received. The names and historical works of Richard Linthicum and Trumbull White are known in every household in the United States where current history is read. They are the authors of many standard works, including histories of recent wars and books of permanent reference, and rank among the world's greatest descriptive writers. A large staff of photographers have supplied illustrations for this great historical work depicting every phase of the catastrophe from the first shock of earthquake to the final work of relief. These illustrations have special interest and value because they are made from actual photographs taken by trained and skilled photographers. This history of the most recent of the world's great disasters is beyond all comparison the most sumptuously and completely illustrated of any publication on this subject. So numerous are the illustrations and so accurately do they portray every detail of the quake and fire that they constitute in themselves a complete, graphic and comprehensive pictorial history of the great catastrophe. The story as told by the authors, however, is one of absorbing interest that thrills the reader with emotion and depicts the scenes of terror, destruction, misery and suffering as vividly as if the reader were an eye-witness to all the details of the stupendous disaster. The history of the Earthquake and Fire Horror is told consecutively and systematically from beginning to end. "The Doomed City" is a pen picture of San Francisco while its destruction was impending. The four days of the conflagration are described each in separate chapters in such a way that the reader can follow the progress of the fire from the time of the first alarm until it was conquered by the dynamite squad of heroes. A great amount of space has been devoted to "Thrilling Personal Experiences" and "Scenes of Death and Terror," so that the reader has a thousand and one phases of the horror as witnessed by those who passed through the awful experience of the earthquake shock and the ordeal of the conflagration. For purposes of comparison a chapter has been devoted to a magnificent description of San Francisco before the fire, "The City of a Hundred Hills," the Mecca of sight-seers and pleasure loving travelers. The descriptions of the Refuge Camps established in Golden Gate Park, the Presidio and other open spaces depict the sorrow and the suffering of the stricken people in words that appeal to the heart. The magnificent manner in which the whole nation responded with aid and the conduct of the relief work are told in a way that brings a thrill of pride to every American heart. "Fighting the Fire with Dynamite" is a thrilling chapter of personal bravery and heroism, and the work of the "Boys in Blue" who patrolled the city and guarded life and property is adequately narrated. Chinatown in San Francisco was one of the sights of the world and was visited by practically every tourist that passed through the Golden Gate. That odd corner of Cathay which was converted into a roaring furnace and completely consumed is described with breathless interest. The "Ruin and Havoc in Other Coast Cities" describes the destruction of the great Leland Stanford, Jr., University, the scenes of horror and death at the State Asylum which collapsed, and in other ruined cities of the Pacific coast. "The Earthquake as Viewed by Scientists" is a valuable addition to the seismology of the world--a science that is too little known, but which possesses tremendous interest for everyone. The threatened destruction of Naples by the volcano of Vesuvius preceding the San Francisco disaster is fully described. The chapters on Vesuvius are especially valuable and interesting, by reason of the scientific belief that the two disasters are intimately related. Altogether this volume is the best and most complete history of all the great disasters of the world and one that should be in the hands of every intelligent citizen, both as a historical and reference volume. THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS Preface 7 Introduction 21 CHAPTER I. THE DOOMED CITY. Earthquake Begins the Wreck of San Francisco and a Conflagration without Parallel Completes the Work of Destruction--Tremendous Loss of Life in Quake and Fire--Property Loss $200,000,000 33 CHAPTER II. SAN FRANCISCO A ROARING FURNACE. Flames Spread in a Hundred Directions and the Fire Becomes the Greatest Conflagration of Modern Times--Entire Business Section and Fairest Part of Residence District Wiped Off the Map--Palaces of Millionaires Vanish in Flames or are Blown Up by Dynamite--The Worst Day of the Catastrophe 46 CHAPTER III. THIRD DAY ADDS TO HORROR. Fire Spreads North and South Attended by Many Spectacular Features--Heroic Work of Soldiers Under General Funston--Explosions of Gas Add to General Terror 57 CHAPTER IV. TWENTY SQUARE MILES OF WRECK AND RUIN. Fierce Battle to Save the Famous Ferry Station, the Chief Inlet to and Egress from San Francisco--Fire Tugs and Vessels in the Bay Aid in Heroic Fight--Fort Mason, General Funston's Temporary Headquarters, has Narrow Escape--A Survey of the Scene of Desolation 69 CHAPTER V. THE CITY OF A HUNDRED HILLS. A Description of San Francisco, the Metropolis of the Pacific Coast, Before the Fire--One of the Most Beautiful and Picturesque Cities in America--Home of the California Bonanza Kings 78 [Illustration: =JAMES D. PHELAN.= Former Mayor of San Francisco, and who gave $1,000,000 for the relief of the sufferers. Largest sum given by an individual.] [Illustration: =EUGENE E. SCHMITZ.= Mayor of San Francisco and who rendered great assistance in bringing order out of chaos.] [Illustration: =LOOKING EAST ON MARKET STREET.=] [Illustration: =VIEW FROM FIFTH AND MARKET STREETS.=] CHAPTER VI. SCENES OF TERROR, DEATH AND HEROISM. Thrilling Escapes and Deeds of Daring--Sublime Bravery and Self-Sacrifice by Men and Women--How the United States Mint and the Treasuries Were Saved and Protected by Devoted Employes and Soldiers--Pathetic Street Incidents--Soldiers and Police Compel Fashionably Attired to Assist in Cleaning Streets--Italians Drench Homes with Wine 103 CHAPTER VII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. Scenes of Horror and Panic Described by Victims of the Quake Who Escaped--How Helpless People Were Crushed to Death by Falling Buildings and Debris--Some Marvelous Escapes 119 CHAPTER VIII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES--CONTINUED. Hairbreadth Escapes from the Hotels Whose Walls Crumbled--Frantic Mothers Seek Children from Whom They Were Torn by the Quake--Reckless Use of Firearms by Cadet Militia--Tales of Heroism and Suffering 132 CHAPTER IX. THROUGH LANES OF MISERY. A Graphic Pen Picture of San Francisco in Flames and in Ruins--Scenes and Stories of Human Interest where Millionaires and Paupers Mingled in a Common Brotherhood--A Harrowing Trip in an Automobile 141 CHAPTER X. WHOLE NATION RESPONDS WITH AID. Government Appropriates Millions and Chicago Leads All Other Cities with a Round Million of Dollars--People in All Ranks of Life from President Roosevelt to the Humblest Wage Earner Give Promptly and Freely 157 CHAPTER XI. ALL CO-OPERATE IN RELIEF WORK. Citizens' Committee Takes Charge of the Distribution of Supplies, Aided by the Red Cross Society and the Army--Nearly Three-Fourths of the Entire Population Fed and Sheltered in Refuge Camps 162 CHAPTER XII. OUR BOYS IN BLUE PROVE HEROISM. United States Troops at the Presidio and Fort Mason Under Command of General Funston Bring Order Out of Chaos and Save City from Pestilence--San Francisco Said "Thank God for the Boys in Blue"--Stricken City Patrolled by Soldiers 171 CHAPTER XIII. IN THE REFUGE CAMPS. Scenes of Destitution in the Parks Where the Homeless Were Gathered--Rich and Poor Share Food and Bed Alike--All Distinctions of Wealth and Social Position Wiped Out by the Great Calamity 178 CHAPTER XIV. RUINS AND HAVOC IN COAST CITIES. San Jose, the Prettiest Place in the State, Wrecked by Quake--State Insane Asylum Collapsed and Buried Many Patients Beneath the Crumbled Walls--Enormous Damage at Santa Rosa 189 CHAPTER XV. DESTRUCTION OF GREAT STANFORD UNIVERSITY. California's Magnificent Educational Institution, the Pride of the State, Wrecked by Quake--Founded by the Late Senator Leland Stanford as a Memorial to His Son and Namesake--Loss $3,000,000 198 CHAPTER XVI. FIGHTING FIRE WITH DYNAMITE. San Francisco Conflagration Eventually Checked by the Use of Explosives--Lesson of Baltimore Needed in Coast City--Western Remnant of City in Residence Section Saved by Blowing Up Beautiful Homes of the Rich 208 CHAPTER XVII. MISCELLANEOUS FACTS AND INCIDENTS. Many Babies Born in Refuge Camps--Expressions of Sympathy from Foreign Nations--San Francisco's Famous Restaurants--Plight of Newspaper and Telegraph Offices 214 CHAPTER XVIII. DISASTER AS VIEWED BY SCIENTISTS. Scientists are Divided Upon the Theories Concerning the Shock That Wrought Havoc in the Golden Gate City--May Have Originated Miles Under the Ocean--Growth of the Sierra Madre Mountains May Have Been the Cause 230 CHAPTER XIX. CHINATOWN, A PLAGUE SPOT BLOTTED OUT. An Oriental Hell within an American City--Foreign in Its Stores, Gambling Dens and Inhabitants--The Mecca of All San Francisco Sight Seers--Secret Passages, Opium Joints and Slave Trade Its Chief Features 246 CHAPTER XX. THE NEW SAN FRANCISCO. A Modern City of Steel on the Ruins of the City that Was--A Beautiful Vista of Boulevards, Parks and Open Spaces Flanked by the Massive Structures of Commerce and the Palaces of Wealth and Fashion 255 CHAPTER XXI. VESUVIUS THREATENS NAPLES. Beautiful Italian City on the Mediterranean Almost Engulfed in Ashes and Lava from the Terrible Volcano--Worst Eruption Since the Days of Pompeii and Herculaneum--Buildings Crushed and Thousands Rendered Homeless 267 CHAPTER XXII. SCENES IN FRIGHTENED NAPLES. Blistering Showers of Hot Ashes--The People Frantic--Cry Everywhere "When Will It End?"--Atmosphere Charged with Electricity and Poisonous Fumes 279 CHAPTER XXIII. VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES EXPLAINED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. The Theories of Science on Seismic Convulsions--Volcanoes Likened to Boils on the Human Body, Through Which the Fires and Impurities of the Blood Manifest Themselves--Seepage of Ocean Waters Through Crevices in the Rocks Reaches the Internal Fires of the Earth--Steam Is Generated and an Explosion Follows--Geysers and Steam Boilers as Illustrations--Views of the World's Most Eminent Scientists Concerning the Causes of the Eruptions of Mount Pelee and La Soufriere 285 CHAPTER XXIV. TERRIBLE VOLCANIC DISASTERS OF THE PAST. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Destruction of Sodom, Gomorrah and the Other Cities of the Plain--The Bible Account a Graphic Description of the Event--Ancient Writers Tell of Earthquakes and Volcanoes of Antiquity--Discovery of Buried Cities of Which No Records Remain--Formation of the Dead Sea--The Valley of the Jordan and Its Physical Characteristics 303 CHAPTER XXV. VESUVIUS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Most Famous Volcanic Eruption in History--Roman Cities Overwhelmed--Scenes of Horror Described by Pliny, the Great Classic Writer, an Eye-Witness of the Disaster--Buried in Ashes and Lava--The Stricken Towns Preserved for Centuries Excavated in Modern Times as a Wonderful Museum of the Life of 1,800 Years Ago 309 CHAPTER XXVI. MOUNT ÆTNA AND THE SICILIAN HORRORS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. A Volcano with a Record of Twenty-five Centuries--Seventy-eight Recorded Eruptions--Three Hundred Thousand Inhabitants Dwelling on the Slopes of the Mountain and in the Valleys at Its Base--Stories of Earthquake Shocks and Lava Flows--Tales of Destruction--Described by Ancient and Modern Writers and Eye-Witnesses 321 CHAPTER XXVII. LISBON EARTHQUAKE SCOURGED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Sixty Thousand Lives Lost in a Few Moments--An Opulent and Populous Capital Destroyed--Graphic Account by an English Merchant Who Resided in the Stricken City--Tidal Waves Drown Thousands in the City Streets--Ships Engulfed in the Harbor--Criminals Rob and Burn--Terrible Desolation and Suffering 334 CHAPTER XXVIII. JAPAN AND ITS DISASTROUS EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. The Island Empire Subject to Convulsions of Nature--Legends of Ancient Disturbances--Famous Volcano of Fuji-yama Formed in One Night--More Than One Hundred Volcanoes in Japan--Two Hundred and Thirty-two Eruptions Recorded--Devastation of Thriving Towns and Busy Cities--The Capital a Sufferer--Scenes of Desolation after the Most Recent Great Earthquakes 344 CHAPTER XXIX. KRAKATOA, THE GREATEST OF VOLCANIC EXPLOSIONS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. East Indian Catastrophes--The Volcano that Blew Its Own Head Off--The Terrific Crash Heard Three Thousand Miles--Atmospheric Waves Travel Seven Times Around the Earth--A Pillar of Dust Seventeen Miles High--Islands of the Malay Archipelago Blotted Out of Existence--Native Villages Annihilated--Other Disastrous Upheavals in the East Indies 353 CHAPTER XXX. OUR GREAT HAWAIIAN AND ALASKAN VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Greatest Volcanoes in the World Are Under the American Flag--Huge Craters in Our Pacific Islands--Native Worship of the Gods of the Flaming Mountains--Eruptions of the Past--Heroic Defiance of Pele, the Goddess of Volcanoes by a Brave Hawaiian Queen--The Spell of Superstition Broken--Volcanic Peaks in Alaska, Our Northern Territory--Aleutian Islands Report Eruptions 363 CHAPTER XXXI. SOUTH AMERICAN CITIES DESTROYED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Earthquakes Ravage the Coast Cities of Peru and the Neighboring Countries--Spanish Capitals in the New World Frequent Sufferers--Lima, Callao and Caracas Devastated--Tidal Waves Accompany the Earthquakes--Juan Fernandez Island Shaken--Fissures Engulf Men and Animals--Peculiar Effects Observed 373 CHAPTER XXXII. EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES IN CENTRAL AMERICA AND MEXICO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. A Region Frequently Disturbed by Subterranean Forces--Guatemala a Fated City--A Lake Eruption in Honduras Described by a Great Painter--City of San Jose Destroyed--Inhabitants Leave the Vicinity to Wander as Beggars--Disturbances on the Route of the Proposed Nicaragua Canal--San Salvador Is Shaken--Mexican Cities Suffer 382 CHAPTER XXXIII. CHARLESTON, GALVESTON, JOHNSTOWN--OUR AMERICAN DISASTERS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Earthquake Shock in South Carolina--Many Lives Lost in the Riven City--Galveston Smitten by Tidal Wave and Hurricane--Thousands Die in Flood and Shattered Buildings--The Gulf Coast Desolated--Johnstown, Pennsylvania, Swept by Water from a Bursting Reservoir--Scenes of Horror 389 CHAPTER XXXIV. ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE, ANNIHILATED BY A VOLCANO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. Fifty Thousand Men, Women and Children Slain in an Instant--Molten Fire and Suffocating Gases Rob Multitudes of Life--Death Reigns in the Streets of the Stricken City--The Governor and Foreign Consuls Die at Their Posts of Duty--No Escape for the Hapless Residents in the Fated Town--Scenes of Suffering Described--Desolation Over All--Few Left to Tell the Tale of the Morning of Disaster 397 ILLUSTRATIONS The Awful Horror of an Earthquake Frontispiece A Panorama of the Ruins Frontispiece Business District of San Francisco Frontispiece Former Mayor James D. Phelan 11 Mayor Eugene E. Schmitz 11 Looking East on Market Street 12 View from Fifth and Market Streets 12 Market Street, Scene of Ruins 31 United States Guards in Charge of Dead 32 Street Torn Up by Earthquake 41 Stockton Street 42 Grant Avenue 42 Mission Street 43 O'Farrell Street 43 Looking North from Sixth and Market Streets 44 The Orpheum Theatre 44 San Francisco on Fire 53 Destroyed Wholesale Houses 54 Cracks in Earth 63 Ruins of Emporium Building 63 Map--Bird's-Eye View of San Francisco 64 Ruins of Hall of Justice 65 Looking Down Market Toward Call Building 66 From California Street Toward Call Building 66 Market Street Before the Disaster 75 The Devouring Flames 76 Mark Hopkins Institute, Nob Hill 85 United States Mint 86 New Postoffice Building 87 Jefferson Square 88 Chronicle Building 97 St. Francis Hotel (Before the Earthquake) 97 Ferry House 98 Free Water 115 Distributing Clothes 115 Wires Destroyed 116 Military Camp 116 Kitchens in the Street 133 Wing of City Hall, Crumbled 133 Cattle Killed 134 St. John's Church, Ruined 134 Camp Kitchen in Ball Park 151 Shacks in Golden Gate Park 151 Governor Pardee 152 Major General Adolphus Greely 152 Refugees on Telegraph Hill 169 General Funston and Wife 170 Vendome Hotel, San Jose 187 Postoffice, San Jose 188 Corner of Baptist Church 205 Kearney Street, San Francisco 205 Ferry Building 206 Military Quarters 206 Randolph Storage 223 Switchboard Destroyed 223 St. Dominici Church, Freak with Steeple 224 St. Dominici Church, Wrecked 224 Chinese Refugees 241 Flat Building, Sunk 242 Seeking Lost Friends 259 All that Was Left of a Fine Residence 259 Soldiers' Encampment 260 Alameda Park 260 Dolores Mission 277 Wreck and Ruin 278 Wreck and Ruin 278 Crack in Earth 295 Ghoulish Thieves Looting the Dead 296 Effect of Earthquake on Modern Steel Building 313 Vesuvius During Recent Eruption 314 Road Leading to Vesuvius Before Eruption 314 [Illustration: =MAP OF SAN FRANCISCO AND VICINITY.= Showing towns and section of country that suffered the most from effects of earthquake.] INTRODUCTION BY THE RT. REV. SAMUEL FALLOWS, D. D., LL. D. A bright, intelligent unbeliever in the Providential government of the world has just said to me in discussing this greatest of calamities which has occurred in our nation's history, "Where is your benevolent God?" I answered "He still lives and guides the affairs of men." Another said, "The preachers would do well not to meddle with the subject." But the reply was made, "It is precisely the subject with which they, more than others, should concern themselves." It is for them, when the hearts of men are failing to confidently proclaim that God has not abdicated his throne, and that man is not the sport of malign and lawless forces. All events are ordered for the best; and the evils which we suffer are parts of a great movement conducted by Almighty power, under the direction of Infinite Wisdom and Goodness. God's creation is a perfect work. The world in which we live is the best possible world on the whole; not the best possible to the individual at any given moment, but the best possible on the whole, all creatures considered and all the ages of man taken into the account. This is the affirmation of a triumphant optimism. John Stuart Mill averred that a better world could have been made and more favorable conditions for man devised. But before this hypothesis can be sustained, the skeptic from the beginning of time must have scanned the history of every individual and studied it in its minutest details. He must have explored every rill and river of influence entering into his character. He must have understood every relation of the individual to every other person through all the ages. He must have mastered all the facts and laws of our earth. And as it sustains a vital connection with the solar system, he must have grasped all the mysteries which are involved in it. As this system is related to the still grander one of which it is a part, he must have known the law and workings of its every star and sun. Still more, he must have gone from system to system with their millions of worlds and become familiar with every part of the vast stupendous whole. He must have learned every secret of all Nature's forces, and have penetrated into the interior recesses of the Divine Being. He must have taken the place of God Himself. A Divine Providence. Amid all our doubts and distresses we must hold fast to the belief that there is a God who maketh the clouds His chariot and walketh upon the wings of the wind--a God who is present in every summer breath and every wintry blast, in every budding leaf, and every opening flower, in the fall of every sparrow and the wheeling of every world. His Providence is in every swinging of the tides, in every circulation of the air, in all attractions and repulsions, in all cohesions and gravitations. These, and the varied phenomena of nature are the direct expressions of the Divine Energy, the modes of operation of the Divine Mind, the manifestations of the Divine Wisdom and the expressions of the Divine Love. The very thunderbolt that rives the oak and by its shock sunders the soul from the body of some unfortunate one purifies the air that millions may breathe the breath of life. The very earthquake which shakes the earth to its center and shatters cities into ruin, prevents by that very concussion the graver catastrophes which bury continents out of sight. The very hurricane which comes sweeping down and on, prostrating forests, hurling mighty tidal waves on the shore and sending down many a gallant ship with all its crew, bears on its destructive wings, "the incense of the sea," to remotest parts, that there may be the blooming of flowers, the upspringing of grass, the waving of all the banners of green, and the carrying away of the vapors of death that spring from decaying mold. Man the Conqueror. Pascal said "man is but a reed, the feeblest thing in nature, but he is a reed that thinks." The elemental forces break loose and for the time being he cannot control them. Amid nature's convulsions he is utterly helpless and insignificant. It is but for a moment, however, that he yields. He knows that he is the central figure in the universe of worlds. "He is not one part of the furniture of this planet, not the highest merely in the scale of its creatures but the lord of all." He is not a parasite but the paragon of the globe. He has faith in the unchangeableness of the laws he is mastering while suffering from them. He confidently declares there is nothing fitful, nothing capricious, nothing irregular in their action. The greater the calamity the more earnest his effort to ascertain its causes and learn the lessons it teaches. Fearlessly man must meet the events of life as they come. Speculations as to future cataclysms and fearful forebodings as to the immediate end of the world must all be given to the winds. There will be at some time an end to our globe. It may be frozen out, or burned out, or scattered into impalpable dust by the terrific explosion of steam generated by an ocean of water precipitated into an ocean of fire. But cycles of millenniums will intervene before such an apocalypse takes place. In the spirit of Campbell's "Last Man" we must live, and act; "Go sun, while mercy holds me up On nature's awful waste To taste the last and bitter cup Of death, that man must taste: Go, say thou saw'st the last of Adam's race On earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening Universe defy, To quench his immortality Or shake his trust in God." Wickedness not the Cause of Destruction. There are among us men who seem to suppose that they have been let into the counsels of the Almighty and have the right to aver that this calamity so colossal in its proportions and awful in its character is a judgment upon our sister city for its great wickedness. I heard similar declarations when Chicago was swept by its tornado of flame. Neither Chicago nor San Francisco could claim to be pre-eminent in righteousness, but, that Divine Providence should visit the vials of His wrath in an especial manner upon them because of their iniquity, is utterly repugnant both to reason and Holy Scripture. Only by a special revelation from the Most High, accompanied with evidence corresponding to that which substantiates the claims of an Old Testament prophet can any warrant be given to any man to declare that a great catastrophe is the consequence of the moral sins of a given community. The Book of Job gives the emphatic denial to the claim that specific human misery and suffering are the sure signs of the retribution for specific guilt or sin. The Great Teacher and Divine Savior of men reaffirmed the truth of the teachings of that ancient poem by asserting that the man born blind was not thus grievously afflicted because he himself or his parents had been guilty of some peculiar iniquity. He declared that the eighteen persons who had been killed by the falling of the Tower of Siloam (probably from an earthquake shock), were not greater sinners than those who were hearing him speak. The Unity of Humanity. This great disaster has given a new emphasis to our National Unity. Congress for the first time has voted to aid directly a city in distress within the bounds of our country. State Legislatures have followed its example, while municipal organizations by the score have poured out their benefactions. From all quarters of the civilized globe expressions of sympathy have come and tenders of help made, without parallel in the annals of time. All this has revealed the essential oneness of Humanity. It has shown that beneath all the artificial distinctions of society man is the equal of his fellow man. All the barriers of nationality, creed, color, social position, riches, poverty have been broken down in the common sufferings of the stricken people on our Western Coast. The chord of brotherhood is vibrating in all our hearts. Its divine melodies are heard above the roar and rush of business in our streets. We have been amassing wealth too often selfishly, and madly. We have been making money our god; and now we see how vain a thing it is in which to put our trust. Now we feel "it is more blessed to give than to receive." Now, kindness and tenderness melt the hardness of our natures. Now, as we stretch the helping hand and witness the joy and gratitude evoked, by our God-like deeds, we feel in every fiber of our being the thrill of the poet's rapt exclamation: "O, if there be an Elysium on earth It is this, it is this." Recovery from Earthquakes. Earthquakes throughout the world have not disturbed the ultimate confidence of man in the stability of this old and often seemingly wayward earth. All Greece was convulsed centuries ago from center to circumference and Constantinople for the second time was overturned with the loss of tens of thousands of lives. Five hundred years afterwards the city was again shaken and a large number of its buildings destroyed with an appalling loss of life. Again and again was the ancient city of Antioch shattered in almost every portion but each time she arose stronger than before. Fifteen hundred years ago one mighty shock cost the lives of 250,000 of its people, but Antioch remains, although its grandeur from other causes has departed. Twice at least has Naples been partly destroyed along with its neighboring towns and more than 100,000 people have perished. But Naples is still on the map of the earth. Lisbon, one hundred and fifty years ago lost 50,000 of its inhabitants and had a part of its territory suddenly submerged under 600 feet of water. For 5,000 miles the earthquake extended and shook Scotland itself, alarming the English people and causing fasting and prayer and special sermons in the Scotch and Anglican churches. Two hundred years ago Tokio was almost entirely destroyed. Every building was practically in ruins and more than 200,000 were numbered among its mangled dead. Again in 1855 it nearly suffered a similar fate with a decreased though very large loss of life. But Tokio has helped Japan play its dramatic part in the recent history of the world. Graphic descriptions have been left us by eye witnesses of the tremendous upheaval in the great Mississippi Valley in 1811, when the flow of the mighty river was stopped, and the land on its banks for vast distances from its current was sunk for a stretch of nearly 300 miles. But the Father of Waters still goes on unvexed to the sea. Charleston was sadly shaken twenty years ago, but her streets are not deserted. Senator Tillman still speaks vigorously as the representative of her wide-awake and increasing population. Some of us have not forgotten when we saw Chicago burning in 1871, the doubts and fears of our own hearts regarding the future of our city. Jeremiads were oracularly and dolefully uttered by many a prophetic pessimist that Chicago would never be rebuilt, that it would be burned again if it should rise from its ashes. Well! it did rise. It was again sadly burned. It again arose. It has been rising and growing ever since. And it is now ready to send its millions of dollars and more if needed to the stricken cities on our Pacific coast. Not in fear then, but in hope, must our homes, our churches, our schools, our manufactories, our marts of trade, our bank buildings, our office buildings and other needed structures be established. San Francisco will be Rebuilt. The prophets of evil may croak as dismally as they may desire and predict that the earth will again shudder and quake and imperil if not destroy any city man may attempt to create on the now dismantled and disfigured site. But San Francisco will as surely be rebuilt as the sun rises in heaven. No earthquake upheaval can shake the determined will of the unconquerable American to recover from disaster. It will simply serve to make him more rock-rooted and firm in his purpose to pluck victory from defeat. No fiery blasts can burn up the asbestos of his unconsumable energy. No disaster, however seemingly overwhelming, can daunt his faith or dim his hope, or prevent his progress. San Francisco occupies the imperial gateway of the Pacific. Her harbor, one of the best in the world, still preserves its contour and extends its protecting arms as when Francis Drake found his way into it nearly four hundred years ago. The finger of Providence still points to it amid wreck and ruin and smoldering ashes as the place where a teeming city with every mark of a splendid civilization shall be the pride of our Western shores. Her wailing Miserere shall be turned into a joyful Te Deum. Not for a moment after the temporary paralysis is past will the work of reconstruction be delayed. We know not when another shock may come or whether it will come again at all. No matter. The city shall rise again. And with it, shall the other cities that have suffered from the earth's commotion rise again into newness of life. California will not cease to be the land of fruits and flowers, of beauty and bounty, of sunshine and splendor from this temporary disturbance. It will continue to maintain its just reputation for all that is admirable in the American character, of pluck and perseverance, of vigor and versatility, and above all of the royal hospitality of its homes and of the welcome it always extends to every new and inspiring thought. Samuel Fallows [Illustration: =MARKET STREET SCENE OF RUINS.= Looking west on Market Street from 5th Street. The man in gutter was probably shot by the soldiers.] [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =U. S. GUARDS IN CHARGE OF DEAD.= A scene in Jefferson Square where the U. S. Guards are caring for the dead. Note the caskets, dead person laid out on mattress, also guard tents, embalming fluids in demijohns, etc. Name or description of the dead being recorded.] CHAPTER I. THE DOOMED CITY. =Earthquake Begins the Wreck of San Francisco and a Conflagration without Parallel Completes the Awful Work of Destruction--Tremendous Loss of life in Quake and Fire--Property Loss $200,000,000.= After four days and three nights that have no parallel outside of Dante's Inferno, the city of San Francisco, the American metropolis by the Golden Gate, was a mass of glowing embers fast resolving into heaps and winrows of grey ashes emblematic of devastation and death. Where on the morning of April 18, 1906, stood a city of magnificent splendor, wealthier and more prosperous than Tyre and Sidon of antiquity, enriched by the mines of Ophir, there lay but a scene of desolation. The proud and beautiful city had been shorn of its manifold glories, its palaces and vast commercial emporiums levelled to the earth and its wide area of homes, where dwelt a happy and a prosperous people, lay prostrate in thin ashes. Here and there in the charred ruins and the streets lately blackened by waves of flame, lay crushed or charred corpses, unheeded by the survivors, some of whom were fighting desperately for their lives and property, while others were panic stricken and paralyzed by fear. Thousands of lives had been sacrificed and millions upon millions of dollars in property utterly destroyed. The beginning of the unparalleled catastrophe was on the morning of April 18, 1906. In the grey dawn, when but few had arisen for the day, a shock of earthquake rocked the foundations of the city and precipitated scenes of panic and terror throughout the business and residence districts. It was 5:15 o'clock in the morning when the terrific earthquake shook San Francisco and the surrounding country. One shock apparently lasted two minutes and there was an almost immediate collapse of flimsy structures all over the former city. The water supply was cut off and when fires broke out in various sections there was nothing to do but to let the buildings burn. Telegraphic and telephone communication was shut off. Electric light and gas plants were rendered useless and the city was left without water, light or power. Street car tracks were twisted out of shape and even the ferry-boats ceased to run. The dreadful earthquake shock came without warning, its motion apparently being from east to west. At first the upheaval of the earth was gradual, but in a few seconds it increased in intensity. Chimneys began to fall and buildings to crack, tottering on their foundations. People became panic stricken and rushed into the streets, most of them in their night attire. They were met by showers of falling buildings, bricks, cornices and walls. Many were instantly crushed to death, while others were dreadfully mangled. Those who remained indoors generally escaped with their lives, though scores were hit by detached plaster, pictures and articles thrown to the floor by the shock. Scarcely had the earth ceased to shake when fires broke out simultaneously in many places. The fire department promptly responded to the first calls for aid, but it was found that the water mains had been rendered useless by the underground movement. Fanned by a light breeze, the flames quickly spread and soon many blocks were seen to be doomed. Then dynamite was resorted to and the sound of frequent explosions added to the terror of the people. All efforts to stay the progress of the fire, however, proved futile. The south side of Market street from Ninth street to the bay was soon ablaze, the fire covering a belt two blocks wide. On this, the main thoroughfare of the city, are located many of the finest edifices in the city, including the Grant, Parrott, Flood, Call, Examiner and Monadnock buildings, the Palace and Grand hotels and numerous wholesale houses. At the same time the commercial establishments and banks north of Market street were burning. The burning district in this section extended from Sansome street to the water front and from Market street to Broadway. Fires also broke out in the mission and the entire city seemed to be in flames. The fire swept down the streets so rapidly that it was practically impossible to save anything in its way. It reached the Grand Opera House on Mission street and in a moment had burned through the roof. The Metropolitan opera company from New York had just opened its season there and all the expensive scenery and costumes were soon reduced to ashes. From the opera house the fire leaped from building to building, leveling them almost to the ground in quick succession. The Call editorial and mechanical departments were totally destroyed in a few minutes and the flames leaped across Stevenson street toward the fine fifteen-story stone and iron Claus Spreckels building, which with its lofty dome is the most notable edifice in San Francisco. Two small wooden buildings furnished fuel to ignite the splendid pile. Thousands of people watched the hungry tongues of flame licking the stone walls. At first no impression was made, but suddenly there was a cracking of glass and an entrance was affected. The interior furnishings of the fourth floor were the first to go. Then as though by magic, smoke issued from the top of the dome. This was followed by a most spectacular illumination. The round windows of the dome shone like so many full moons; they burst and gave vent to long, waving streamers of flame. The crowd watched the spectacle with bated breath. One woman wrung her hands and burst into a torrent of tears. "It is so terrible!" she sobbed. The tall and slender structure which had withstood the forces of the earth appeared doomed to fall a prey to fire. After a while, however, the light grew less intense and the flames, finding nothing more to consume, gradually went, leaving the building standing but completely burned out. The Palace Hotel, the rear of which was constantly threatened, was the scene of much excitement, the guests leaving in haste, many only with the clothing they wore. Finding that the hotel, being surrounded on all sides by streets, was likely to remain immune, many returned and made arrangements for the removal of their belongings, though little could be taken away owing to the utter absence of transportation facilities. The fire broke out anew and the building was soon a mass of ruins. The Parrott building, in which were located the chambers of the state supreme court, the lower floors being devoted to an immense department store, was ruined, though its massive walls were not all destroyed. A little farther down Market street the Academy of Sciences and the Jennie Flood building and the History building kindled and burned like tinder. Sparks carried across the wide street ignited the Phelan building and the army headquarters of the department of California, General Funston commanding, were burned. Still nearing the bay, the waters of which did the firemen good service, along the docks, the fire took the Rialto building, a handsome skyscraper, and converted scores of solid business blocks into smoldering piles of brick. Banks and commercial houses, supposed to be fireproof though not of modern build, burned quickly and the roar of the flames could be heard even on the hills, which were out of the danger zone. Here many thousands of people congregated and witnessed the awful scene. Great sheets of flame rose high in the heavens or rushed down some narrow street, joining midway between the sidewalks and making a horizontal chimney of the former passage ways. The dense smoke that arose from the entire business spread out like an immense funnel and could have been seen for miles out at sea. Occasionally, as some drug house or place stored with chemicals was reached, most fantastic effects were produced by the colored flames and smoke which rolled out against the darker background. When the first shock occurred at 5:15 a. m. most of the population were in bed and many lodging houses collapsed with every occupant. There was no warning of the awful catastrophe. First came a slight shock, followed almost immediately by a second and then the great shock that sent buildings swaying and tumbling. Fire broke out immediately. Every able-bodied man who could be pressed into service was put to work rescuing the victims. Panic seized most of the people and they rushed frantically about. Toward the ferry building there was a rush of those fleeing to cross the bay. Few carried any effects and some were hardly dressed. The streets were filled immediately with panic-stricken people and the frequently occurring shocks sent them into unreasoning panic. Fires lighted up the sky in every direction in the breaking dawn. In the business district devastation met the eye on every hand. The area bounded by Washington, Mission and Montgomery streets and extending to the bay front was quickly devastated. That represented the heart of the handsome business section. The greatest destruction on the first day occurred in that part of the city which was reclaimed from San Francisco Bay. Much of the devastated district was at one time low marshy ground entirely covered by water at high tide. As the city grew it became necessary to fill in many acres of this low ground in order to reach deep water. The Merchants' Exchange building, a fourteen-story steel structure, was situated on the edge of this reclaimed ground. It had just been completed and the executive offices of the Southern Pacific Company occupied the greater part of the building. The damage by the earthquake to the residence portion of the city, the finest part of which was on Nob Hill and Pacific Heights, was slight but the fire completely destroyed that section on the following day. To the westward, on Pacific Heights, were many fine, new residences, but little injury was done to any of them by the quake. The Palace Hotel, a seven-story building about 300 feet square, was built thirty years ago by the late Senator Sharon, whose estate was in the courts for many years. At the time it was erected the Palace was considered the best equipped hotel in the west. The offices of the three morning papers, the Chronicle, the Call and the Examiner, were located within 100 feet of each other. The Chronicle, situated at the corner of Market and Kearney streets, was a ten-story steel frame building and was one of the finest buildings of its character put up in San Francisco. The Spreckels building, in which were located the business office of the Call, was sixteen stories high and very narrow. The editorial rooms, composing room and pressroom were in a small three-story building immediately in the rear of the Spreckels building. Just across Third street was the home of the Examiner, seven stories high, with a frontage of 100 feet on Market street. The postoffice was a fine, grey stone structure and had been completed less than two years. It covered half a block on Mission street between Sixth and Seventh streets. The ground on which the building stood was of a swampy character and some difficulty was experienced in obtaining a solid foundation. The City Hall, which was badly wrecked by the quake and afterwards swept by the fire, was a mile and a half from the water front. It was an imposing structure with a dome 150 feet high. The building covered about three acres and cost more than $7,000,000. The Grand Opera House, where the Metropolitan Opera Company opened a two weeks' engagement the previous Monday night, was one of the oldest theaters in San Francisco. It was located on Mission street between Third and Fourth streets and for a number of years was the leading playhouse of the city. In 1885 when business began to move off of Mission street and to seek modern structures this playhouse was closed for some time and later devoted to vaudeville. Within the past four years, however, numerous fine buildings had been erected on Mission street and the Grand Opera house had been used by many of the leading independent theatrical companies. All efforts to prevent the fire from reaching the Palace and Grand hotels were unsuccessful and both were completely destroyed together with all their contents. All of San Francisco's best playhouses, including the Majestic, Columbia, Orpheum and Grand Opera house were soon a mass of ruins. The earthquake demolished them for all practical purposes and the fire completed the work of demolition. The handsome Rialto and Casserly buildings were burned to the ground, as was everything in that district. The scene at the Mechanics' Pavilion during the early hours of the morning and up until noon, when all the injured and dead were removed because of the threatened destruction of the building by fire, was one of indescribable sadness. Sisters, brothers, wives and sweethearts searched eagerly for some missing dear one. Thousands of persons hurriedly went through the building inspecting the cots on which the sufferers lay in the hope that they would locate some loved one that was missing. The dead were placed in one portion of the building and the remainder was devoted to hospital purposes. The fire forced the nurses and physicians to desert the building; the eager crowds followed them to the Presidio and the Children's hospital, where they renewed their search for missing relatives. The experience of the first day of the fire was a great testimonial to the modern steel building. A score of those structures were in course of erection and not one of them suffered. The completed modern buildings were also immune from harm by earthquake. The buildings that collapsed were all flimsy, wooden and old-fashioned brick structures. On the evening of Wednesday, April 18, the first day of the fire, an area of thickly covered ground of eight square miles had been burned over and it was apparent that the entire city was doomed to destruction. Nearly every famous landmark that had made San Francisco famous over the world had been laid in ruins or burned to the ground in the dire catastrophe. Never was the fate of a city more disastrous. For three miles along the water front buildings had been swept clean and the blackened beams and great skeletons of factories and offices stood silhouetted against a background of flame that was slowly spreading over the entire city. The whole commercial and office section of the city on the north side of Market street from the ferry building to Tenth street had been consumed in the hell of flame, while hardly a building was standing in the district south of Market street. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon, despite the heroic work of the firemen and the troops of dynamiters, who razed building after building and blew up property valued at millions, the flames spread across Market street to the north side and swept up Montgomery street, practically to Washington street. Along Montgomery street were some of the richest banks and commercial houses in San Francisco. [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =STREET TORN UP BY EARTHQUAKE.= A photograph of street in front of new Postoffice. Note how the car tracks are thrown up and twisted.] [Illustration: =STOCKTON STREET FROM UNION SQUARE.=] [Illustration: =GRANT AVENUE FROM MARKET STREET.=] [Illustration: =MISSION STREET, SAN FRANCISCO.= Photographed from Fourth Street.] [Illustration: =O'FARRELL STREET.= A new steel building which was being erected shown at the right.] [Illustration: =LOOKING NORTH FROM SIXTH AND MARKET STREETS.=] [Illustration: =THE ORPHEUM THEATER ON O'FARRELL STREET.=] The famous Mills building and the new Merchants Exchange were still standing, but the Mutual Life Insurance building and scores of bank and office buildings were on fire, while blocks of other houses were in the path of the flames and nothing seemed to be at hand to stay their progress. Nearly every big factory building had been wiped out of existence and a complete enumeration of them would look like a copy of the city directory. Many of the finest buildings in the city had been leveled to dust by the terrific charges of dynamite in hopeless effort to stay the horror of fire. In this work many heroic soldiers, policemen and firemen were maimed or killed outright. At 10 o'clock at night the fire was unabated and thousands of people were fleeing to the hills and clamoring for places on the ferry boats at the ferry landing. From the Cliff House came word that the great pleasure resort and show place of the city, which stood upon a foundation of solid rock, had been swept into the sea. This report proved to be unfounded, but it was not until three days later that any one got close enough to the Cliff House to discover that it was still safe. One of the big losses of the day was the destruction of St. Ignatius' church and college at Van Ness avenue and Hayes street. This was the greatest Jesuitical institution in the west and built at a cost of $2,000,000. By 7 o'clock at night the fire had swept from the south side of the town across Market street into the district called the Western addition and was burning houses at Golden Gate avenue and Octavia. This result was reached after almost the entire southern district from Ninth street to the eastern water front had been converted into a blackened waste. In this section were hundreds of factories, wholesale houses and many business firms, in addition to thousands of homes. CHAPTER II. SAN FRANCISCO A ROARING FURNACE. =Flames Spread in a Hundred Directions and the Fire Becomes the Greatest Conflagration of Modern Times--Entire Business Section and Fairest Part of Residence District Wiped Off the Map--Palaces of Millionaires Vanish in Flames or are Blown Up by Dynamite--The Worst Day of the Catastrophe.= Marius sitting among the ruins of Carthage saw not such a sight as presented itself to the afflicted people of San Francisco in the dim haze of the smoke pall at the end of the second day. Ruins stark naked, yawning at fearful angles and pinnacled into a thousand fearsome shapes, marked the site of what was three-fourths of the total area of the city. Only the outer fringe of the city was left, and the flames which swept unimpeded in a hundred directions were swiftly obliterating what remained. Nothing worthy of the name of building in the business district and not more than half of the residence district had escaped. Of its population of 400,000 nearly 300,000 were homeless. Gutted throughout its entire magnificent financial quarters by the swift work of thirty hours and with a black ruin covering more than seven square miles out into her very heart, the city waited in a stupor the inevitable struggle with privation and hardship. All the hospitals except the free city hospital had been destroyed, and the authorities were dragging the injured, sick and dying from place to place for safety. All day the fire, sweeping in a dozen directions, irresistibly completed the desolation of the city. Nob Hill district, in which were situated the home of Mrs. Stanford, the priceless Hopkins Art Institute, the Fairmount hotel, a marble palace that cost millions of dollars and homes of a hundred millionaires, was destroyed. It was not without a struggle that Mayor Schmitz and his aides let this, the fairest section of the city, suffer obliteration. Before noon when the flames were marching swiftly on Nob Hill, but were still far off, dynamite was dragged up the steep debris laden streets. For a distance of a mile every residence on the east side of Van Ness avenue was swept away in a vain hope to stay the progress of the fire. After sucking dry even the sewers the fire engines were either abandoned or moved to the outlying districts. There was no help. Water was gone, powder was gone, hope even was a fiction. The fair city by the Golden Gate was doomed to be blotted from the sight of man. The stricken people who wandered through the streets in pathetic helplessness and sat upon their scattered belongings in cooling ruins reached the stage of dumb, uncaring despair, the city dissolving before their eyes had no significance longer. There was no business quarter; it was gone. There was no longer a hotel district, a theater route, a place where Night beckoned to Pleasure. Everything was gone. But a portion of the residence domain of the city remained, and the jaws of the disaster were closing down on that with relentless determination. All of the city south of Market street, even down to Islais creek and out as far as Valencia street, was a smouldering ruin. Into the western addition and the Pacific avenue heights three broad fingers of fire were feeling their way with a speed that foretold the destruction of all the palace sites of the city before the night would be over. There was no longer a downtown district. A blot of black spread from East street to Octavia, bounded on the south and north by Broadway and Washington streets and Islais creek respectively. Not a bank stood. There were no longer any exchanges, insurance offices, brokerages, real estate offices, all that once represented the financial heart of the city and its industrial strength. Up Market street from the Ferry building to Valfira street nothing but the black fingers of jagged ruins pointed to the smoke blanket that pressed low overhead. What was once California, Sansome, and Montgomery streets was a labyrinth of grim blackened walls. Chinatown was no more. Union square was a barren waste. The Call building stood proudly erect, lifting its whited head above the ruin like some leprous thing and with all its windows, dead, staring eyes that looked upon nothing but a wilderness. The proud Flood building was a hollow shell. The St. Francis Hotel, one time a place of luxury, was naught but a box of stone and steel. Yet the flames leaped on exultantly. They leapt chasms like a waterfall taking a precipice. Now they are here, now there, always pressing on into the west and through to the end of the city. It was supposed that the fire had eaten itself out in the wholesale district below Sansome street, and that the main body of the flames was confined to the district south of Market street, where the oil works, the furniture factories, and the vast lumber yards had given fodder into the mouth of the fire fiend. Yet, suddenly, as if by perverse devilishness, a fierce wind from the west swept over the crest of Nob Hill and was answered by leaping tongues of flames from out of the heart of the ruins. By 8:30 o'clock Montgomery street had been spanned and the great Merchants' Exchange building on California street flamed out like the beacon torch of a falling star. From the dark fringe of humanity, watching on the crest of the California street hill, there sprang the noise of a sudden catching of the breath--not a sigh, not a groan--just a sharp gasp, betraying a stress of despair near to the insanity point. Nine o'clock and the great Crocker building shot sparks and added tongues of fire to the high heavens. Immediately the fire jumped to Kearney street, licking at the fat provender that shaped itself for consuming. Then began the mournful procession of Japanese and poor whites occupying the rookeries about Dupont street and along Pine. Tugging at heavy ropes, they rasped trunks up the steep pavements of California and Pine streets to places of temporary safety. It was a motley crew. Women laden with bundles and dragging reluctant children by the hands panted up the steep slope with terror stamped on their faces. Men with household furniture heaped camelwise on their shoulders trudged stoically over the rough cobbles, with the flame of the fire bronzing their faces into the outlines of a gargoyle. One patriotic son of Nippon labored painfully up Dupont street with the crayon portrait of the emperor of Japan on his back. While this zone of fire was swiftly gnawing its way through Kearney street and up the hill, another and even more terrible segment of the conflagration was being stubbornly fought at the corner of Golden Gate avenue and Polk street. There exhausted firemen directed the feeble streams from two hoses upon a solid block of streaming flame. The engines pumped the supply from the sewers. Notwithstanding this desperate stand, the flames progressed until they had reached Octavia street. Like a sickle set to a field of grain the fiery crescent spread around the southerly end of the west addition up to Oak and Fell streets, along Octavia. There one puny engine puffed a single stream of water upon the burning mass, but its efforts were like the stabbing of a pigmy at a giant. All the district bounded by Octavia, Golden Gate avenue, and Market street was a blackened ruin. One picked his way through the fallen walls on Van Ness avenue as he would cross an Arizona mesa. It was an absolute ruin, gaunt and flame lighted. From the midst rose the great square wall of St. Ignatius college, standing like another ruined Acropolis in dead Athens. Behind the gaunt specter of what had once been the city hall a blizzard of flame swept back into the gore between Turk and Market streets. Peeled of its heavy stone facing like a young leek that is stripped of its wrappings, the dome of the city hall rose spectral against the nebulous background of sparks. From its summit looked down the goddess of justice, who had kept her pedestal even while the ones of masonry below her feet had been toppled to the earth in huge blocks the size of a freight car. Through the gaunt iron ribs and the dome the red glare suffusing the whole northern sky glinted like the color of blood in a hand held to the sun. At midnight the Hibernian bank was doomed, for from the frame buildings west of it there was being swept a veritable maelstrom of sheet flame that leaped toward it in giant strides. Not a fireman was in sight. Across the street amid the smoke stood the new postoffice, one of the few buildings saved. Turk street was the northern boundary of this V-shaped zone of the flames, but at 2 o'clock this street also was crossed and the triumphant march onward continued. At midnight another fire, which had started in front of Fisher's Music Hall, on O'Farrell street, had gouged its terrible way through to Market street, carrying away what the morning's blaze across the street had left miraculously undestroyed. Into Eddy and Turk streets the flames plunged, and soon the magnificent Flood building was doomed. The firemen made an ineffectual attempt to check the ravages of the advancing phalanx of flames, but their efforts were absolutely without avail. First from across the street shot tongues of flames which cracked the glass in one of the Flood building's upper story windows. Then a shower of sparks was sent driving at a lace curtain which fluttered out in the draft. The flimsy whipping rag caught, a tongue of flame crept up its length and into the window casement. "My God, let me get out of this," said a man below who had watched the massive shape of the huge pile arise defiant before the flames. "I can't stand to see that go, too." Shortly after midnight the streets about Union Square were barred by the red stripes of the fire. First Cordes Furniture Company's store went, then Brennor's. Next a tongue of flames crept stealthily into the rear of the City of Paris store, on the corner of Geary and Stockton streets. Eager spectators watched for the first red streamers to appear from the windows of the great dry goods stores. Smoke eddied from under window sills and through cracks made by the earthquake in the cornices. Then the cloud grew denser. A puff of hot wind came from the west, and as if from the signal there streamed flamboyantly from every window in the top floor of the structure billowing banners, as a poppy colored silk that jumped skyward in curling, snapping breadths, a fearful heraldry of the pomp of destruction. From the copper minarets on the Hebrew synagogue behind Union square tiny green, coppery flames next began to shoot forth. They grew quickly larger, and as the heat increased in intensity there shone from the two great bulbs of metal sheathing an iridescence that blinded like a sight into a blast furnace. With a roar the minarets exploded almost simultaneously, and the sparks shot up to mingle with the dulled stars overhead. The Union League and Pacific Union clubs next shone red with the fire that was glutting them. On three sides ringed with sheets of flame rose the Dewey memorial in the midst of Union square. Victory tiptoeing on the apex of the column glowed red with the flames. It was as if the goddess of battle had suddenly become apostate and a fiend linked in sympathy with the devils of the blaze. On the first day of the catastrophe the St. Francis escaped. On the second it fell. In the space of two hours the flames had blotted it out, and by night only the charred skeleton remained. As a prelude to the destruction of the St. Francis the fire swept the homes of the Bohemian, Pacific, Union, and Family clubs, the best in San Francisco. With them were obliterated the huge retail stores along Post street; St. Luke's Church, the biggest Episcopal church on the Pacific coast, and the priceless Hopkins Art Institute. From Union square to Chinatown it is only a pistol shot. By noon all Chinatown was a blazing furnace, the rickety wooden hives, where the largest Chinese colony in this country lived, was perfect fuel for the fire. Then Nob Hill, the charmed circle of the city, the residential district of its millionaires and of those whose names have made it famous, went with the rest of the city into oblivion. The Fairmount Hotel, marble palace built by Mrs. Oelrichs, crowned this district. Grouped around it were the residences of Mrs. Stanford, and a score of millionaires' homes on Van Ness avenue. One by one they were buried in the onrushing flames, and when the fire was passed they were gone. Here the most desperate effort of the fight to save the city was made. Nothing was spared. There was no discrimination, no sentiment. Rich men aided willingly in the destruction of their own homes that some of the city might be saved. [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =VIEW FROM VALLEY STREET.= This is a view from Valley Street looking down Kearney toward Market.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =DESTROYED WHOLESALE HOUSES.= This photograph shows the wreck and ruin wrought by the earthquake and fire in the wholesale district.] But the sacrifice and the labor went for nothing. No human power could stay the flames. As darkness was falling the fire was eating its way through the heart of this residential district. The mayor was forced to announce that the last hope had been dashed. All the district bounded by Union, Van Ness, Golden Gate, to Octavia, Hayes, and Fillmore to Market was doomed. The fire fighters, troops, citizens, and city officials left the scene, powerless to do more. On the morning of the second day when the fire reached the municipal building on Portsmouth square, the nurses, helped by soldiers, got out fifty bodies in the temporary morgue and a number of patients in the receiving hospital. Just after they reached the street a building was blown up and the flying bricks and splinters hurt a number of the soldiers, who had to be taken to the out of doors Presidio Hospital with the patients. Mechanics' pavilion, which, after housing prize fights, conventions, and great balls, found its last use as an emergency hospital. When it was seen that it could not last every vehicle in sight was impressed by the troops, and the wounded, some of them frightfully mangled, were taken to the Presidio, where they were out of danger and found comfort in tents. The physicians worked without sleep and almost without food. There was food, however, for the injured; the soldiers saw to that. Even the soldiers flagged, and kept guard in relays, while the relieved men slept on the ground where they dropped. The troops shut down with iron hands on the city, for where one man was homeless the first night five were homeless the second night. With the fire running all along the water front, few managed to make their way over to Oakland. The people for the most part were prisoners on the peninsula. The soldiers enforced the rule against moving about except to escape the flames, and absolutely no one could enter the city who once had left. The seat of city government and of military authority shifted with every shift of the flames. Mayor Schmitz and General Funston stuck close together and kept in touch with the firemen and police, the volunteer aids, and the committee of safety through couriers. There were loud reverberations along the fire line at night. Supplies of gun cotton and cordite from the Presidio were commandeered and the troops and the few remaining firemen made another futile effort to check the fiery advance. Along the wharves the fire tugs saved most of the docks. But the Pacific mail dock had been reached and was out of control; and finally China basin, which was filled in for a freight yard at the expense of millions of dollars, had sunk into the bay and the water was over the tracks. This was one of the greatest single losses in the whole disaster. Without sleep and without food, crowds watched all night Wednesday and all day Thursday from the hills, looking off toward that veil of fire and smoke that hid the city which had become a hell. Back of that sheet of fire, and retreating backward every hour, were most of the people of the city, forced toward the Pacific by the advance of the flames. The open space of the Presidio and Golden Gate park was their only haven and so the night of the second day found them. CHAPTER III. THIRD DAY ADDS TO HORROR. =Fire Spreads North and South Attended by Many Spectacular Features--Heroic Work of Soldiers Under General Funston--Explosions of Gas Add to General Terror.= The third day of the fire was attended by many spectacular features, many scenes of disaster and many acts of daring heroism. When night came the fire was raging over fifty acres of the water front lying between Bay street and the end of Meiggs and Fisherman's wharf. To the eastward it extended down to the sea wall, but had not reached the piers, which lay a quarter of a mile toward the east. The cannery and warehouses of the Central California Canneries Company, together with 20,000 cases of canned fruit, was totally destroyed, as also was the Simpson and other lumber companies' yards. The flames reached the tanks of the San Francisco Gas Company, which had previously been pumped out, and had burned the ends of the grain sheds, five in number, which extended further out toward the point. Flame and smoke hid from view the vessels that lay off shore vainly attempting to check the fire. No water was available except from the waterside and it was not until almost dark that the department was able to turn its attention to this point. At dusk the fire had been checked at Van Ness avenue and Filbert street. The buildings on a high slope between Van Ness and Polk, Union and Filbert streets were blazing fiercely, fanned by a high wind, but the blocks were so sparsely settled that the fire had but a slender chance of crossing Van Ness at that point. Mayor Schmitz, who directed operations at that point, conferred with the military authorities and decided that it was not necessary to dynamite the buildings on the west side of Van Ness. As much of the fire department as could be collected was assembled to make a stand at that point. To add to the horrors of the general situation and the general alarm of many people who ascribed the cause of the subterranean trouble to another convulsion of nature, explosions of sewer gas have ribboned and ribbed many streets. A Vesuvius in miniature was created by such an upheaval at Bryant and Eighth streets. Cobblestones were hurled twenty feet upward and dirt vomited out of the ground. This situation added to the calamity, as it was feared the sewer gas would breed disease. Thousands were roaming the streets famishing for food and water and while supplies were coming in by the train loads the system of distribution was not in complete working order. Many thousands had not tasted food or water for two and three days. They were on the verge of starvation. The flames were checked north of Telegraph hill, the western boundary being along Franklin street and California street southeast to Market street. The firemen checked the advance of flames by dynamiting two large residences and then backfiring. Many times before had the firemen made such an effort, but always previously had they met defeat. But success at that hour meant little for San Francisco. The flames still burned fitfully about the city, but the spread of fire had been checked. A three-story lodging house at Fifth and Minna streets collapsed and over seventy-five dead bodies were taken out. There were at least fifty other dead bodies exposed. This building was one of the first to take fire on Fifth street. At least 100 people were lost in the Cosmopolitan on Fourth street. The only building standing between Mission, Howard, East and Stewart streets was the San Pablo hotel. The shot tower at First and Howard streets was gone. This landmark was built forty years ago. The Risdon Iron works were partially destroyed. The Great Western Smelting and Refining works escaped damages, also the Mutual Electric Light works, with slight damage to the American Rubber Company, Vietagas Engine Company, Folger Brothers' coffee and spice house was also uninjured and the firm gave away large quantities of bread and milk. Over 150 people were lost in the Brunswick hotel, Seventh and Mission streets. The soldiers who rendered such heroic aid took the cue from General Funston. He had not slept. He was the real ruler of San Francisco. All the military tents available were set up in the Presidio and the troops were turned out of the barracks to bivouac on the ground. In the shelter tents they placed first the sick, second the more delicate of the women, and third, the nursing mothers, and in the afternoon he ordered all the dead buried at once in a temporary cemetery in the Presidio grounds. The recovered bodies were carted about the city ahead of the flames. Many lay in the city morgue until the fire reached that; then it was Portsmouth square until it grew too hot; afterwards they were taken to the Presidio. There was another stream of bodies which had lain in Mechanics' pavilion at first, and had then been laid out in Columbia square, in the heart of a district devastated first by the earthquake and then by fire. The condition of the bodies was becoming a great danger. Yet the troops had no men to spare to dig graves, and the young and able bodied men were mainly fighting on the fire line or utterly exhausted. It was Funston who ordered that the old men and the weaklings should take this work in hand. They did it willingly enough, but had they refused the troops on guard would have forced them. It was ruled that every man physically capable of handling a spade or a pick should dig for an hour. When the first shallow graves were ready the men, under the direction of the troops, lowered the bodies several in a grave, and a strange burial began. The women gathered about crying; many of them knelt while a Catholic priest read the burial service and pronounced absolution. All the afternoon this went on. Representatives of the city authorities took the names of as many of the dead as could be identified and the descriptions of the others. Many, of course, will never be identified. So confident were the authorities that they had the situation in control at the end of the third day that Mayor Schmitz issued the following proclamation: "To the Citizens of San Francisco: The fire is now under control and all danger is passed. The only fear is that other fires may start should the people build fires in their stoves and I therefore warn all citizens not to build fires in their homes until the chimneys have been inspected and repaired properly. All citizens are urged to discountenance the building of fires. I congratulate the citizens of San Francisco upon the fortitude they have displayed and I urge upon them the necessity of aiding the authorities in the work of relieving the destitute and suffering. For the relief of those persons who are encamped in the various sections of the city everything possible is being done. In Golden Gate park, where there are approximately 200,000 homeless persons, relief stations have been established. The Spring Valley Water Company has informed me that the Mission district will be supplied with water this afternoon, between 10,000 and 12,000 gallons daily being available. Lake Merced will be taken by the federal troops and that supply protected. "Eugene E. Schmitz, Mayor." Although the third day of San Francisco's desolation dawned with hope, it ended in despair. In the early hours of the day the flames, which had raged for thirty-six hours, seemed to be checked. Then late in the afternoon a fierce gale of wind from the northwest set in and by 7 o'clock the conflagration, with its energy restored, was sweeping over fifty acres of the water front. The darkness and the wind, which at times amounted to a gale, added fresh terrors to the situation. The authorities considered conditions so grave that it was decided to swear in immediately 1,000 special policemen armed with rifles furnished by the federal government. In addition to this force, companies of the national guard arrived from many interior points. In the forenoon, when it was believed the fire had been checked, the full extent of the destitution and suffering of the people was seen for the first time in near perspective. While the whole city was burning there was no thought of food or shelter, death, injury, privation, or loss. The dead were left unburied and the living were left to find food and a place to sleep where they could. On the morning of the third day, however, the indescribable destitution and suffering were borne in upon the authorities with crushing force. Dawn found a line of men, women, and children, numbering thousands, awaiting morsels of food at the street bakeries. The police and military were present in force, and each person was allowed only one loaf. A big bakery was started early in the morning in the outskirts of the city, with the announcement that it would turn out 50,000 loaves of bread before night. The news spread and thousands of hungry persons crowded before its doors before the first deliveries were hot from the oven. Here again police and soldiers kept order and permitted each person to take only one loaf. The loaves were given out without cost. These precautions were necessary, for earlier in the day bread had sold as high as $1 a loaf and two loaves and a can of sardines brought in one instance $3.50. Mayor Schmitz took prompt and drastic steps to stop this extortion. By his order all grocery and provision stores in the outlying districts which had escaped the flames were entered by the police and their goods confiscated. Next to the need for food there was a cry for water, which until Friday morning the authorities could not answer. In spite of all efforts to relieve distress there was indescribable suffering. Women and children who had comfortable, happy homes a few days before slept that night--if sleep came at all--on hay on the wharves, on the sand lots near North beach, some of them under the little tents made of sheeting, which poorly protected them from the chilling ocean winds. The people in the parks were better provided in the matter of shelter, for they left their homes better prepared. Thousands of members of families were separated, ignorant of one another's whereabouts and without means of ascertaining. The police on Friday opened up a bureau of registration to bring relatives together. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =CRACKS CAUSED BY EARTHQUAKE.= Front new Postoffice.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =EMPORIUM BUILDING.= Largest department store west of Chicago.] [Illustration: =BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF SAN FRANCISCO.= A general view of city looking west toward the Pacific Ocean, also showing locations such as Nob Hill, business district, Market Street, Golden Gate and the famous Cliff House.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =HALL OF JUSTICE.= As photographs are true to life, they also convey to the eye correct views of this vast destruction.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =LOOKING DOWN MARKET STREET.= Call Building in the distance.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =VIEW FROM CALIFORNIA STREET.= The Call Building also shown in background.] The work of burying the dead was begun Friday for the first time. Out at the Presidio soldiers pressed into service all men who came near and forced them to labor at burying the dead. So thick were the corpses piled up that they were becoming a menace, and early in the day the order was issued to bury them at any cost. The soldiers were needed for other work, so, at the point of rifles, the citizens were compelled to take the work of burying. Some objected at first, but the troops stood no trifling, and every man who came in reach was forced to work at least one hour. Rich men who had never done such work labored by the side of the workingmen digging trenches in the sand for the sepulcher of those who fell in the awful calamity. At the present writing many still remain unburied and the soldiers are still pressing men into service. The Folsom street dock was turned into a temporary hospital, the harbor hospital being unable to accommodate all the injured who were brought there. About 100 patients were stretched on the dock at one time. In the evening tugs conveyed them to Goat Island, where they were lodged in the hospital. The docks from Howard street to Folsom street had been saved, and the fire at this point was not permitted to creep farther east than Main street. The work of clearing up the wrecked city has already begun at the water front in the business section of the town. A force of 100 men were employed under the direction of the street department clearing up the debris and putting the streets in proper condition. It was impossible to secure a vehicle except at extortionate prices. One merchant engaged a teamster and horse and wagon, agreeing to pay $50 an hour. Charges of $20 for carrying trunks a few blocks were common. The police and military seized teams wherever they required them, their wishes being enforced at revolver point if the owner proved indisposed to comply with the demands. Up and down the broad avenues of the parks the troops patrolled, keeping order. This was difficult at times, for the second hysterical stage had succeeded the paralysis of the first day and people were doing strange things. A man, running half naked, tearing at his clothes, and crying, "The end of all things has come!" was caught by the soldiers and placed under arrest. Under a tree on the broad lawn of the children's playground a baby was born. By good luck there was a doctor there, and the women helped out, so that the mother appeared to be safe. They carried her later to the children's building in the park and did their best to make her comfortable. All night wagons mounted with barrels and guarded by soldiers drove through the park doling out water. There was always a crush about these wagons and but one drink was allowed to a person. Separate supplies were sent to the sick in the tents. The troops allowed no camp fires, fearing that the trees of the park might catch and drive the people out of this refuge to the open and windswept sands by the ocean. The wind which had saved the heights came cold across the park, driving a damp fog, and for those who had no blankets it was a terrible night, for many of them were exhausted and must sleep, even in the cold. They threw themselves down in the wet grass and fell asleep. When the morning came the people even prepared to make the camp permanent. An ingenious man hung up before his little blanket shelter a sign on a stick giving his name and address before the fire wiped him out. This became a fashion, and it was taken to mean that the space was preempted. Toward midnight a black, staggering body of men began to weave through the entrance. They were volunteer fire fighters, looking for a place to throw themselves down and sleep. These men dropped out all along the line and were rolled out of the driveways by the troops. There was much splendid unselfishness there. Women gave up their blankets and sat up or walked about all night to cover exhausted men who had fought fire until there was no more fight in them. CHAPTER IV. TWENTY SQUARE MILES OF WRECK AND RUIN. =Fierce Battle to Save the Famous Ferry Station, the Chief Inlet to and Egress from San Francisco--Fire Tugs and Vessels in the Bay Aid in Heroic Fight--Fort Mason, General Funston's Temporary Headquarters, has Narrow Escape--A Survey of the Scene of Desolation.= When darkness fell over the desolate city at the end of the fourth day of terror, the heroic men who had borne the burden of the fight with the flames breathed their first sigh of relief, for what remained of the proud metropolis of the Pacific coast was safe. This was but a semi-circular fringe, however, for San Francisco was a city desolate with twenty square miles of its best area in ashes. In that blackened territory lay the ruins of sixty thousand buildings, once worth many millions of dollars and containing many millions more. The fourth and last day of the world's greatest conflagration had been one of dire calamity and in some respects was the most spectacular of all. On the evening of the third day (Friday) a gale swept over the city from the west, fanned the glowing embers into fierce flames and again started them upon a path of terrible destruction. The fire which had practically burnt itself out north of Telegraph Hill was revived by the wind and bursting into a blaze crept toward the East, threatening the destruction of the entire water front, including the Union ferry depot, the only means of egress from the devastated city. The weary firemen still at work in other quarters of the city were hastily summoned to combat the new danger. Hundreds of sailors from United States warships and hundreds of soldiers joined in the battle, and from midnight until dawn men fought fire as never fire had been fought before. Fire tugs drew up along the water front and threw immense streams of water on to the flames of burning factories, warehouses and sheds. Blocks of buildings were blown up with powder, guncotton, and dynamite, or torn down by men armed with axes and ropes. All night long the struggle continued. Mayor Schmitz and Chief of Police Dinan, although without sleep for forty-eight hours, remained on the scene all night to assist army and navy officers in directing the fight. At 7 o'clock Saturday morning, April 21, the battle was won. At that hour the fire was burning grain sheds on the water front about half a mile north of the Ferry station, but was confined to a comparatively small area, and with the work of the fireboats on the bay and the firemen on shore, who were using salt water pumped from the bay, prevented the flames from reaching the Ferry building and the docks in that immediate vicinity. On the north beach the fire did not reach that part of the water front lying west of the foot of Powell street. The fire on the water front was the only one burning. The entire western addition to the city lying west of Van Ness avenue, which escaped the sweep of flame on Friday, was absolutely safe. Forty carloads of supplies, which had been run upon the belt line tracks near one of the burned wharves, were destroyed during the night. A survey of the water front Saturday morning showed that everything except four docks had been swept clean from Fisherman's wharf, at the foot of Powell street, to a point around westerly, almost to the Ferry building. This means that nearly a mile of grain sheds, docks and wharves were added to the general destruction. In the section north of Market street the ruined district was practically bounded on the west by Van Ness avenue, although in many blocks the flames destroyed squares to the west of that thoroughfare. The Van Ness avenue burned line runs northerly to Greenwich street, which is a few blocks from the bay. Then the boundary was up over Telegraph Hill and down to that portion of the shore that faces Oakland. Practically everything included between Market, Van Ness avenue, Greenwich, and the bay was in ashes. On the east side of Hyde street hill the fire burned down to Bay street and Montgomery avenue and stopped at that intersection. Fort Mason was saved only by the most strenuous efforts of soldiers and firemen. It stands just north of the edge of the burned district, the flames having been checked only three blocks away at Greenwich street. All south of Market street except in the vicinity of the Pacific Mail dock, was gone. This section is bounded on the north by Market street and runs out to Guerrero street, goes out that street two blocks, turns west to Dolores, runs west six blocks to about Twenty-second, taking in four blocks on the other side of Dolores. The fire then took an irregular course southward, spreading out as far as Twenty-fifth street and went down that way to the southerly bay shore. Maj. C. A. Devol, depot quartermaster and superintendent of the transport service, graphically described the conquering of the fire on the water front, in which he played an important part: "This fire, which ate its way down to the water front early Friday afternoon, was the climax of the whole situation. "We realized at once that were the water front to go, San Francisco would be shut off from the world, thus paralyzing all transportation faculties for bringing in food and water to the thousands of refugees huddled on the hillsides from Fort Mason to Golden Gate Park. It would have been impossible to either come in or go out of the city save by row boats and floats, or by the blocked passage overland southward. "This all-important section of the city first broke into flames in a hollow near Meiggs wharf, about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The tugs of our service were all busy transporting provisions from Oakland, but the gravity of the situation made it necessary for all of them to turn to fire-fighting. "The flames ate down into the extensive lumber district, but had not caught the dock line. Behind the dock, adjacent to the Spreckels sugar warehouse and wharf, were hundreds of freight cars. Had these been allowed to catch fire, the flames would have swept down the entire water front to South San Francisco. "The climax came at Pier No. 9, and it was here that all energies were focused. A large tug from Mare Island, two fire patrol boats, the Spreckels tugs and ten or twelve more, had lines of hose laid into the heart of the roaring furnace and were pumping from the bay to the limit of their capacities. "About 5 o'clock I was told that the tugs were just about holding their own and that more help would be needed. The Slocum and the McDowell were at once ordered to the spot. I was on board the former and at one time the heat of the fire was so great that it was necessary to play minor streams on the cabin and sides of the vessel to keep it from taking fire. We were in a slip surrounded by flames. "Our lines of hose once laid to the dockage, we found willing hands of volunteers waiting to carry the hose forward. I saw pale, hungry men, who probably had not slept for two days, hang on to the nozzle and play the stream until they fell from exhaustion. Others took their places and only with a very few exceptions was it necessary to use force to command the assistance of citizens or onlookers. "All night the flames raged through the lumber district, and the fire reached its worst about 3:30 o'clock Saturday morning. Daylight found it under control." All that was left of the proud Argonaut city was like a Crescent moon set about a black disk of shadow. A Saharan desolation of blackened, ash covered, twisted debris was all that remained of three-fifths of the city that four days ago stood like a sentinel in glittering, jeweled armor, guarding the Golden Gate to the Pacific. Men who had numbered their fortunes in the tens of thousands camped on the ruins of their homes, eating as primitive men ate--gnawing; thinking as primitive men thought. Ashes and the dull pain of despair were their portions. They did not have the volition to help themselves, childlike as the men of the stone age, they awaited quiescent what the next hour might bring them. Fear they had none, because they had known the shape of fear for forty-eight hours and to them it had no more terrors. Men overworked to the breaking point and women unnerved by hysteria dropped down on the cooling ashes and slept where they lay, for had they not seen the tall steel skyscrapers burn like a torch? Had they not beheld the cataracts of flame fleeting unhindered up the broad avenues, and over the solid blocks of the city? Fire had become a commonplace. Fear of fire had been blunted by their terrible suffering, and although the soldiers roused the sleepers and warned them against possible approaching flames, they would only yawn, wrap their blanket about them and stolidly move on to find some other place where they might drop and again slumber like men dead. As the work of clearing away the debris progressed it was found that an overwhelming portion of the fatalities occurred in the cheap rooming house section of the city, where the frail hotels were crowded at the time of the catastrophe. In one of these hotels alone, the five-story Brunswick rooming-house at Sixth and Howard streets, it is believed that 300 people perished. The building had 300 rooms filled with guests. It collapsed to the ground entirely and fire started amidst the ruins scarcely five minutes later. South of Market street, where the loss of life was greatest, was located many cheap and crowded lodging houses. Among others the caving in of the Royal, corner Fourth and Minna streets, added to the horror of the situation by the shrieks of its many scores of victims imbedded in the ruins. The collapsing of the Porter House on Sixth street, between Mission and Market, came about in a similar manner. Fully sixty persons were entombed midst the crash. Many of these were saved before the fire eventually crept to the scene. Part of the large Cosmopolitan House, corner Fifth and Mission streets, collapsed at the very first tremble. Many of the sleepers were buried in the ruins; other escaped in their night clothes. At 775 Mission street the Wilson House, with its four stories and eighty rooms, fell to the ground a mass of ruins. As far as known very few of the inmates were rescued. The Denver House on lower Third street, with its many rooms, shared the same fate and none may ever know how many were killed, the majority of the inmates being strangers. A small two-story frame building occupied by a man and wife at 405 Jessie street collapsed without an instant's warning. Both were killed. To the north of Market street the rooming-house people fared somewhat better. The Luxemburg, corner of Stockton and O'Farrell streets, a three-story affair, suffered severely from the falling of many tons of brick from an adjoining building. The falling mass crashed through the building, killing a man and woman. At the Sutter street Turkish baths a brick chimney toppled over and crashing through the roof killed one of the occupants as he lay on a cot. Another close by, lying on another cot, escaped. [Illustration: =VIEW OF MARKET STREET, THE CENTRAL POINT OF THE DISASTER.= The tall building on the right is the Claus Spreckels building, in which the plant of the San Francisco Call is located; the next building beyond is the Examiner building and the last large building on the right is the Palace Hotel. The tall building on the left is a new sky scraper, erected on the old Baldwin Hotel site.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =LOOKING TOWARD THE FERRY FROM VALLEJO STREET.=] Two hundred bodies were found in the Potrero district, south of Shannon street in the vicinity of the Union Iron works, were cremated at the Six-Mile House, on Sunday by the order of Coroner Walsh. Some of the dead were the victims of falling buildings from the earthquake shock, some were killed in the fire. So many dead were found in this limited area that cremation was deemed absolutely necessary to prevent disease. The names of some of the dead were learned, but in the majority of cases identification was impossible owing to the mutilation of the features. A systematic search for bodies of the victims of the earthquake and fire was made by the coroner and the state board of health inspectors as soon as the ruins cooled sufficiently to permit a search. The body of an infant was found in the center of Union street, near Dupont street. Three bodies were found in the ruins of the house on Harrison street between First and Second streets. They had been burned beyond all possibility of identification. They were buried on the north beach at the foot of Van Ness avenue. The body of a man was found in the middle of Silver street, between Third and Fourth streets. A bit of burned envelope was found in the pocket of the vest bearing the name "A. Houston." The total number of bodies recovered and buried up to Sunday night was 500. No complete record can ever be obtained as many bodies were buried without permits from the coroner and the board of health. Whenever a body was found it was buried immediately without any formality whatever and, as these burials were made at widely separated parts of the city by different bodies of searchers, who did not even make a prompt report to headquarters, considerable confusion resulted in estimating the number of casualties and exaggerated reports resulted. CHAPTER V. THE CITY OF A HUNDRED HILLS. =A Description of San Francisco, the Metropolis of the Pacific Coast Before the Fire--One of the Most Beautiful and Picturesque Cities in America--Home of the California Bonanza Kings.= San Francisco has had many soubriquets. It has been happily called the "City of a Hundred Hills," and its title of the "Metropolis of the Golden Gate" is richly deserved. Its location is particularly attractive, inasmuch as the peninsula it occupies is swept by the Pacific Ocean on the west and the beautiful bay of San Francisco on the north and east. The peninsula itself is thirty miles long and the site of the city is six miles back from the ocean. It rests on the shore of San Francisco Bay, which, with its branches, covers over 600 square miles, and for beauty and convenience for commerce is worthy of its magnificent entrance--the Golden Gate. San Francisco was originally a mission colony. It is reported that "the site of the mission of San Francisco was selected because of its political and commercial advantages. It was to be the nucleus of a seaport town that should serve to guard the dominion of Spain in its vicinity. Most of the other missions were founded in the midst of fertile valleys, inhabited by large numbers of Indians." Both of these features were notably absent in San Francisco. Even the few Indians there in 1776 left upon the arrival of the friars and dragoons. Later on some of them returned and others were added, the number increasing from 215 in 1783, to 1,205 in 1813. This was the largest number ever reported. Soon after the number began to decrease through epidemics and emigration, until there was only 204 in 1832. The commercial life of San Francisco dates from 1835, when William A. Richardson, an Englishman, who had been living in Sausalito since 1822, moved to San Francisco. He erected a tent and began the collection of hides and tallow, by the use of two 30-ton schooners leased from the missions, and which plied between San Jose and San Francisco. At that time Mr. Richardson was also captain of the port. Seventy-five years ago the white adult males, apart from the Mission colony, consisted of sixteen persons. The local census of 1852 showed a population of 36,000, and ten years later 90,000. The last general census of 1900 credits the city with a population of 343,000. The increase in the last six years has been much greater than for the previous five, and it is generally conceded that the population at the time of the fire was about 425,000. California was declared American territory by Commodore Sleat, at Monterey, on the 7th of July, 1846, who on that day caused the American flag to be raised in that town. On the following day, under instructions from the commodore, Captain Montgomery, of the war sloop Portsmouth, performed a similar service in Yerba Buena, by which name the city afterwards christened San Francisco was then known. This ceremony took place on the plot of ground, afterward set apart as Portsmouth Square, on the west line of Kearney street, between Clay and Washington. At that time and for some years afterwards, the waters of the bay at high tide, came within a block of the spot where this service occurred. This was a great event in the history of the United States, and it has grown in importance and in appreciative remembrance from that day to the present, as the accumulative evidence abundantly shows. Referring to the change in name from Yerba Buena to San Francisco, in 1847, a writer says: "A site so desirable for a city, formed by nature for a great destiny on one of the finest bays in the world, looking out upon the greatest, the richest, and the most pacific of oceans--in the very track of empire--in the healthiest of latitudes--such a site could not fail to attract the attention of the expanding Saxon race. Commerce hastened it, the discovery of gold consummated it." Modern San Francisco had its birth following the gold discoveries which led to the construction of the Central Pacific railway, and produced a vast number of very wealthy men known by the general title of California Bonanza Kings. San Francisco became the home and headquarters of these multi-millionaires, and large sums of their immense fortunes were invested in palatial residences and business blocks. The bonanza king residence section was Nob Hill, an eminence near the business part of the city. In the early days of San Francisco's growth and soon after the Central Pacific railroad had been built by Leland Stanford, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins, Collis P. Huntington and the others who devoted the best part of their lives to the project of crossing the mountains by rail this hill was selected as the most desirable spot in the city for the erection of homes for the use of wealthy pioneers. The eminence is situated northwest of the business section of the city and commands a view of the bay and all adjacent territory with the exception of the Pacific Ocean, Russian Hill, Pacific Heights and several other high spots obscuring the view toward the west. Far removed above the din and noise of the city Charles Crocker was the first to erect his residence on the top of this historic hill which afterward became known as Nob Hill. The Crocker home was built of brick and wood originally, but in later years granite staircases, pillars and copings were substituted. In its time it was looked upon as the most imposing edifice in the city and for that reason the business associates of the railroad magnate decided to vie with him in the building of their homes. Directly across from the Crocker residence on California street Leland Stanford caused to be built a residence structure that was intended to be the most ornate in the western metropolis. It was a veritable palace and it was within its walls that the boyhood days of Leland Stanford, Jr., after whom the university is named, were spent in luxurious surroundings. After the death of the younger Stanford a memorial room was set apart and the parents permitted no one to enter this except a trusted man servant who had been in the family for many years. But the Stanford residence was relegated to the background as an object of architectural beauty when Mark Hopkins invaded the sacred precincts of Nob Hill and erected the residence which he occupied for three or four years. At his death the palatial building was deeded to the California Art Institute and as a tribute to the memory of the sturdy pioneer the building was called the Hopkins Institute of Art. Its spacious rooms were laden with the choicest works of art on the Pacific coast and the building and its contents were at all times a source of interest to the thousands of tourists who visited the city. The late Collis P. Huntington was the next of the millionaires of San Francisco to locate upon the crest of Nob Hill. Within a block of the Crocker, Stanford and Hopkins palaces this railroad magnate of the west erected a mansion of granite and marble that caused all the others to be thrown in the shade. Its exterior was severe in its simplicity, but to those who were fortunate to gain entrance to the interior the sight was one never to be forgotten. The palaces of Europe could not excel it and for several years Huntington and his wife were its only occupants aside from the army of servants required to keep the house and grounds in order. Not to be outdone by the railroad magnates of the city the next to acquire property on the crest of the hill was James Flood, the "bonanza king" and partner with William O'Brien, the names of both being closely interwoven with the early history of California and the Comstock lode. After having paid a visit to the east the millionaire mine owner became impressed with the brown stone fronts of New York and outdone his neighbors by erecting the only brown stone structure in San Francisco. It was in this historic hilltop also that James G. Fair laid the foundation of a residence that was intended to surpass anything in the sacred precincts, but before the foundations had been completed domestic troubles resulted in putting a stop to building operations and it is on this site that Mrs. Hermann Oelrichs, daughter of the late millionaire mine owner, erected the palatial Fairmont hotel, which was one of the most imposing edifices in San Francisco. The old San Francisco is dead. The gayest, lightest hearted, most pleasure loving city of this continent, and in many ways the most interesting and romantic, is a horde of huddled refugees living among ruins. But those who have known that peculiar city by the Golden Gate and have caught its flavor of the Arabian Nights feel that it can never be the same. It is as though a pretty, frivolous woman had passed through a great tragedy. She survives, but she is sobered and different. When it rises out of the ashes it will be a modern city, much like other cities and without its old flavor. The city lay on a series of hills and the lowlands between. These hills are really the end of the Coast Range of mountains which lie between the interior valleys and the ocean to the south. To its rear was the ocean; but the greater part of the town fronted on two sides on San Francisco Bay, a body of water always tinged with gold from the great washings of the mountains, usually overhung with a haze, and of magnificent color changes. Across the bay to the north lies Mount Tamalpais, about 5,000 feet high, and so close that ferries from the water front took one in less than half an hour to the little towns of Sausalito and Belvidere, at its foot. It is a wooded mountain, with ample slopes, and from it on the north stretch away ridges of forest land, the outposts of the great Northern woods of Sequoia semperrirens. This mountain and the mountainous country to the south brought the real forest closer to San Francisco than to any other American city. Within the last few years men have killed deer on the slopes of Tamalpais and looked down to see the cable cars crawling up the hills of San Francisco to the north. In the suburbs coyotes still stole and robbed hen roosts by night. The people lived much out of doors. There was no time of the year, except a short part of the rainy season, when the weather kept one from the woods. The slopes of Tamalpais were crowded with little villas dotted through the woods, and those minor estates ran far up into the redwood country. The deep coves of Belvidere, sheltered by the wind from Tamalpais, held a colony of "arks" or houseboats, where people lived in the rather disagreeable summer months, going over to business every day by ferry. Everything invited out of doors. The climate of California is peculiar; it is hard to give an impression of it. In the first place, all the forces of nature work on laws of their own in that part of California. There is no thunder or lightning; there is no snow, except a flurry once in five or six years; there are perhaps a dozen nights in the winter when the thermometer drops low enough so that there is a little film of ice on exposed water in the morning. Neither is there any hot weather. Yet most Easterners remaining in San Francisco for a few days remember that they were always chilly. For the Gate is a big funnel, drawing in the winds and the mists which cool off the great, hot interior valleys of the San Joaquin and Sacramento. So the west wind blows steadily ten months of the year and almost all the mornings are foggy. This keeps the temperature steady at about 55 degrees--a little cool for comfort of an unacclimated person, especially indoors. Californians, used to it, hardly ever thought of making fires in their houses except in the few exceptional days of the winter season, and then they relied mainly upon fireplaces. This is like the custom of the Venetians and the Florentines. But give an Easterner six months of it and he too learns to exist without a chill in a steady temperature a little lower than that to which he is accustomed at home. After that one goes about with perfect indifference to the temperature. Summer and winter San Francisco women wore light tailor-made clothes, and men wore the same fall weight suits all the year around. There is no such thing as a change of clothing for the seasons. And after becoming acclimated these people found the changes from hot to cold in the normal regions of the earth hard to bear. Perhaps once in two or three years there comes a day when there is no fog, no wind and a high temperature in the coast district. Then there is hot weather, perhaps up in the eighties, and Californians grumble, swelter and rustle for summer clothes. These rare hot days were the only times when one saw on the streets of San Francisco women in light dresses. Along in early May the rains cease. At that time everything is green and bright and the great golden poppies, as large as the saucer of an after dinner coffee cup, are blossoming everywhere. Tamalpais is green to its top; everything is washed and bright. By late May a yellow tinge is creeping over the hills. This is followed by a golden June and a brown July and August. The hills are burned and dry. The fog comes in heavily, too; and normally this is the most disagreeable season of the year. September brings a day or two of gentle rain; and then a change, as sweet and mysterious as the breaking of spring in the East, comes over the hills. The green grows through the brown and the flowers begin to come out. As a matter of fact, the unpleasantness of summer is modified by the certainty that one can go anywhere without fear of rain. And in all the coast mountains, especially the seaward slopes, the dews and the shelter of the giant underbrush keep the water so that these areas are green and pleasant all summer. [Illustration: =MARK HOPKINS INSTITUTE, NOB HILL.= This Institute which crowned Nob Hill in San Francisco was originally the residence of Mark Hopkins of Central Pacific fame. Nob Hill was noted for Palatial Homes. They were destroyed by the fire.] [Illustration: =UNITED STATES MINT AND SUB-TREASURY, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.= This building, which had some $39,000,000 stored in it, remained intact.] [Illustration: =NEW POSTOFFICE BUILDING.= This costly and handsome structure was destroyed by fire.] [Illustration: =JEFFERSON SQUARE.= All of the buildings shown in the background were destroyed. Tents were erected in this square to shelter the homeless.] In a normal year the rains begin to fall heavily in November; there will be three or four days of steady downpour and then a clear and green week. December is also likely to be rainy; and in this month people enjoy the sensation of gathering for Christmas the mistletoe which grows profusely on the live oaks, while the poppies are beginning to blossom at their feet. By the end of January the rains come lighter. In the long spaces between rains there is a temperature and a feeling in the air much like that of Indian summer in the East. January is the month when the roses are at their brightest. So much for the strange climate, which invites out of doors and which has played its part in making the character of the people. The externals of the city are--or were, for they are no more--just as curious. One usually entered the city by way of San Francisco Bay. Across its yellow flood, covered with the fleets from the strange seas of the Pacific, San Francisco presented itself in a hill panorama. Probably no other city of the world could be so viewed and inspected at first sight. It rose above the passenger, as he reached dockage, in a succession of hill terraces. At one side was Telegraph Hill, the end of the peninsula, a height so abrupt that it had a 200 foot sheer cliff on its seaward frontage. Further along lay Nob Hill, crowned with the Mark Hopkins mansion, which had the effect of a citadel, and in later years by the great, white Fairmount. Further along was Russian Hill, the highest point. Below was the business district, whose low site caused all the trouble. Except for the modern buildings, the fruit of the last ten years, the town presented at first sight a disreputable appearance. Most of the buildings were low and of wood. In the middle period of the '70s, when a great part of San Francisco was building, there was some atrocious architecture perpetrated. In that time, too, every one put bow windows on his house, to catch all of the morning sunlight that was coming through the fog, and those little houses, with bow windows and fancy work all down their fronts, were characteristic of the middle class residence district. Then the Italians, who tumbled over Telegraph Hill, had built as they listed and with little regard for streets, and their houses hung crazily on a side hill which was little less than a precipice. For the most part, the Chinese, although they occupied an abandoned business district, had remade the houses Chinese fashion, and the Mexicans and Spaniards had added to their houses those little balconies without which life is not life to a Spaniard. Yet the most characteristic thing after all was the coloring. For the sea fog had a trick of painting every exposed object a sea gray which had a tinge of dull green in it. This, under the leaden sky of a San Francisco morning, had a depressing effect on first sight and afterward became a delight to the eye. For the color was soft, gentle and infinitely attractive in mass. The hills are steep beyond conception. Where Vallejo street ran up Russian Hill it progressed for four blocks by regular steps like a flight of stairs. It is unnecessary to say that no teams ever came up this street or any other like it, and grass grew long among the paving stones until the Italians who live thereabouts took advantage of this to pasture a cow or two. At the end of the four blocks, the pavers had given it up and the last stage to the summit was a winding path. On the very top, a colony of artists lived in little villas of houses whose windows got the whole panorama of the bay. Luckily for these people, a cable car climbed the hill on the other side, so that it was not much of a climb to home. With these hills, with the strangeness of the architecture and with the green gray tinge over everything, the city fell always into vistas and pictures, a setting for the romance which hung over everything, which always hung over life in San Francisco since the padres came and gathered the Indians about Mission Dolores. And it was a city of romance and a gateway to adventure. It opened out on the mysterious Pacific, the untamed ocean, and most of China, Japan, the South Sea Islands, Lower California, the west coast of Central America, Australia that came to this country passed in through the Golden Gate. There was a sprinkling, too, of Alaska and Siberia. From his windows on Russian Hill one saw always something strange and suggestive creeping through the mists of the bay. It would be a South Sea Island brig, bringing in copra, to take out cottons and idols; a Chinese junk with fanlike sails, back from an expedition after sharks' livers; an old whaler, which seemed to drip oil, back from a year of cruising in the Arctic. Even the tramp windjammers were deep chested craft, capable of rounding the Horn or of circumnavigating the globe; and they came in streaked and picturesque from their long voyaging. In the orange colored dawn which always comes through the mists of that bay, the fishing fleet would crawl in under triangular lateen sails, for the fishermen of San Francisco Bay were all Neapolitans who brought their customers and their customs and sail with lateen rigs shaped like the ear of a horse when the wind fills them and stained an orange brown. Along the water front the people of these craft met. "The smelting pot of the races," Stevenson called it; and this was always the city of his soul. There are black Gilbert Islanders, almost indistinguishable from Negroes; lighter Kanakas from Hawaii or Samoa; Lascars in turbans; thickset Russian sailors; wild Chinese with unbraided hair; Italian fishermen in tam o' shanters, loud shirts and blue sashes; Greeks, Alaska Indians, little bay Spanish-Americans, together with men of all the European races. These came in and out from among the queer craft, to lose themselves in the disreputable, tumbledown, but always mysterious shanties and small saloons. In the back rooms of these saloons South Sea Island traders and captains, fresh from the lands of romance, whaling masters, people who were trying to get up treasure expeditions, filibusters, Alaskan miners, used to meet and trade adventures. There was another element, less picturesque and equally characteristic, along the water front. For San Francisco was the back eddy of European civilization--one end of the world. The drifters came there and stopped, lingered a while to live by their wits in a country where living after a fashion has always been marvellously cheap. These people haunted the water front or lay on the grass on Portsmouth Square. That square, the old plaza about which the city was built, Spanish fashion, had seen many things. There in the first burst of the early days the vigilance committee used to hold its hangings. There in the time of the sand lot riots Dennis Kearney, who nearly pulled the town down about his ears, used to make his orations which set the unruly to rioting. In these later years Chinatown laid on one side of it and the Latin quarter and the "Barbary Coast" on the other. On this square men used to lie all day long and tell strange yarns. Stevenson lay there with them in his time and learned the things which he wrote into "The Wrecker" and his South Sea stories, and in the center of the square there stood the beautiful Stevenson monument. In later years the authorities put up a municipal building on one side of this square and prevented the loungers, for decency's sake, from lying on the grass. Since then some of the peculiar character of the old plaza had gone. The Barbary Coast was a loud bit of hell. No one knows who coined the name. The place was simply three blocks of solid dance halls, there for the delight of the sailors of the world. On a fine busy night every door blared loud dance music from orchestra, steam pianos and gramophones and the cumulative effect of the sound which reached the street was at least strange. Almost anything might be happening behind the swinging doors. For a fine and picturesque bundle of names characteristic of the place, a police story of three or four years ago is typical. Hell broke out in the Eye Wink Dance Hall. The trouble was started by a sailor known as Kanaka Pete, who lived in the What Cheer House, over a woman known as Iodoform Kate. Kanaka Pete chased the man he had marked to the Little Silver Dollar, where he turned and punctured him. The by-product of his gun made some holes in the front of the Eye Wink, which were proudly kept as souvenirs, and were probably there until it went out in the fire. This was low life, the lowest of the low. Until the last decade almost anything except the commonplace and the expected might happen to a man on the water front. The cheerful industry of shanghaiing was reduced to a science. A stranger taking a drink in one of the saloons which hung out over the water might be dropped through the floor into a boat, or he might drink with a stranger and wake in the forecastle of a whaler bound for the Arctic. Such an incident is the basis of Frank Norris's novel, "Moran of the Lady Letty," and although the novel draws it pretty strong, it is not exaggerated. Ten years ago the police and the foreign consuls, working together, stopped this. Kearney street, a wilder and stranger Bowery, was the main thoroughfare of these people. An exiled Californian, mourning over the city of his heart, said recently: "In a half an hour of Kearney street I could raise a dozen men for any wild adventure, from pulling down a statue to searching for the Cocos Island treasure." This is hardly an exaggeration. These are a few of the elements which made the city strange and gave it the glamour of romance which has so strongly attracted such men as Stevenson, Frank Norris and Kipling. This lay apart from the regular life of the city, which was distinctive in itself. The Californian is the second generation of a picked and mixed stock. The merry, the adventurous, often the desperate, always the brave, deserted the South and New England in 1849 to rush around the Horn or to try the perils of the plains. They found there already grown old in the hands of the Spaniards younger sons of hidalgos and many of them of the proudest blood of Spain. To a great extent the pioneers intermarried with Spanish women; in fact, except for a proud little colony here and there, the old Spanish blood is sunk in that of the conquering race. Then there was an influx of intellectual French people, largely overlooked in the histories of the early days; and this Latin leaven has had its influence. Brought up in a bountiful country, where no one really has to work very hard to live, nurtured on adventure, scion of a free and merry stock, the real, native Californian is a distinctive type; so far from the Easterner in psychology as the extreme Southerner is from the Yankee. He is easy going, witty, hospitable, lovable, inclined to be unmoral rather than immoral in his personal habits, and above all easy to meet and to know. Above all there is an art sense all through the populace which sets it off from any other part of the country. This sense is almost Latin in its strength, and the Californian owes it to the leaven of Latin blood. The true Californian lingers in the north; for southern California has been built up by "lungers" from the East and middle West and is Eastern in character and feeling. With such a people life was always gay. If they did not show it on the streets, as do the people of Paris, it was because the winds made open cafes disagreeable at all seasons of the year. The gayety went on indoors or out on the hundreds of estates that fringed the city. It was noted for its restaurants. Perhaps the very best for people who care not how they spend their money could not be had there, but for a dollar, 75 cents, 50 cents, a quarter or even 15 cents the restaurants afforded the best fare on earth at the price. If one should tell exactly what could be had at Coppa's for 50 cents or at the Fashion for, say, 35, no New Yorker who has not been there would believe it. The San Francisco French dinner and the San Francisco free lunch were as the Public Library to Boston or the stock yards to Chicago. A number of causes contributed to this consummation. The country all about produced everything that a cook needed and that in abundance--the bay was an almost untapped fishing pond, the fruit farms came up to the very edge of the town, and the surrounding country produced in abundance fine meats, all cereals and all vegetables. But the chefs who came from France in the early days and liked this land of plenty were the head and front of it. They passed on their art to other Frenchmen or to the clever Chinese. Most of the French chefs at the biggest restaurants were born in Canton, China. Later the Italians, learning of this country where good food is appreciated, came and brought their own style. Householders always dined out one or two nights of the week, and boarding houses were scarce, for the unattached preferred the restaurants. The eating was usually better than the surroundings. Meals that were marvels were served in tumbledown little hotels. Most famous of all the restaurants was the Poodle Dog. There have been no less than four restaurants of this name, beginning with a frame shanty where, in the early days, a prince of French cooks used to exchange ragouts for gold dust. Each succeeding restaurant of the name has moved further downtown; and the recent Poodle Dog stood on the edge of the Tenderloin in a modern five story building. And it typified a certain spirit that there was in San Francisco. For on the ground floor was a public restaurant where there was served the best dollar dinner on earth. It ranked with the best and the others were in San Francisco. Here, especially on Sunday night, almost everybody went to vary the monotony of home cooking. Every one who was any one in the town could be seen there off and on. It was perfectly respectable. A man might take his wife and daughter there. On the second floor there were private dining rooms, and to dine there, with one or more of the opposite sex, was risque but not especially terrible. But the third floor--and the fourth floor--and the fifth. The elevator man of the Poodle Dog, who had held the job for many years and never spoke unless spoken to, wore diamonds and was a heavy investor in real estate. There were others as famous in their way--the Zinka, where, at one time, every one went after the theatre, and Tate's the Palace Grill, much like the grills of Eastern hotels, except for the price; Delmonico's, which ran the Poodle Dog neck and neck in its own line, and many others, humbler but great at the price. The city never went to bed. There was no closing law, so that the saloons kept open nights and Sundays, at their own sweet will. Most of them elected to remain open until 3 o'clock in the morning at least. Yet this restaurant life did not exactly express the careless, pleasure loving character of the people. In great part their pleasures were simple, inexpensive and out of doors. No people were fonder of expeditions into the country, of picnics--which might be brought off at almost any season of the year--and often long tours in the great mountains and forests. And hospitality was nearly a vice. [Illustration: =CHRONICLE BUILDING.= (An old landmark.)] [Illustration: =ST. FRANCIS HOTEL, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.= (Destroyed by fire.)] [Illustration: =FERRY HOUSE, WHERE INJURED ARE LEAVING CITY.= This is the station of the greatest ferry in the world, just outside the fire belt in San Francisco. Hundreds of refugees have been taken from it to Oakland and other points.] As in the early mining days, if they liked the stranger the people took him in. At the first meeting the local man probably had him put up at the club; at the second, he invited him home to dinner. As long as he stayed he was being invited to week end parties at ranches, to little dinners in this or that restaurant and to the houses of his new acquaintances, until his engagements grew beyond hope of fulfillment. There was rather too much of it. At the end of a fortnight a stranger with a pleasant smile and a good story left the place a wreck. This tendency ran through all grades of society--except, perhaps, the sporting people who kept the tracks and the fighting game alive. These also met the stranger--and also took him in. Centers of men of hospitality were the clubs, especially the famous Bohemian and the Family. The latter was an offshoot of the Bohemian, which had been growing fast and vieing with the older organization for the honor of entertaining pleasing and distinguished visitors. The Bohemian Club, whose real founder is said to have been the late Henry George, was formed in the '70s by a number of newspaper writers and men working in the arts or interested in them. It had grown to a membership of 750. It still kept for its nucleus painters, writers, musicians and actors, amateur and professional. They were a gay group of men, and hospitality was their avocation. Yet the thing which set this club off from all others in the world was the midsummer High Jinks. The club owns a fine tract of redwood forest fifty miles north of San Francisco, on the Russian River. There are two varieties of big trees in California: the Sequoia gigantea and the Sequoia sempervirens. The great trees of the Mariposa grove belong to the gigantea species. The sempervirens, however, reaches the diameter of 16 feet, and some of the greatest trees of this species are in the Bohemian Club grove. It lies in a cleft of the mountains; and up one hillside there runs a natural out of door stage of remarkable acoustic properties. In August the whole Bohemian Club, or such as could get away from business, went up to this grove and camp out for two weeks. And on the last night they put on the Jinks proper, a great spectacle with poetic words, music and effects done by the club, in praise of the forest. In late years this had been practically a masque or an opera. It cost about $10,000. It took the spare time of scores of men for weeks; yet these 700 business men, professional men, artists, newspaper workers, struggled for the honor of helping out on the Jinks; and the whole thing was done naturally and with reverence. It would hardly be possible anywhere else in this country; the thing which made it possible is the art spirit which is in the Californian. It runs in the blood. Some one has been collecting statistics which prove this point. "Who's Who in America" is long on the arts and on learning and comparatively weak in business and the professions. Now some one who has taken the trouble has found that more persons mentioned in "Who's Who" by the thousand of the population were born in Massachusetts than in any other State; but that Massachusetts is crowded closely by California, with the rest nowhere. The institutions of learning in Massachusetts account for her pre-eminence; the art spirit does it for California. The really big men nurtured on California influence are few, perhaps; but she has sent out an amazing number of good workers in painting, in authorship, in music and especially in acting. "High Society" in San Francisco had settled down from the rather wild spirit of the middle period; it had come to be there a good deal as it is elsewhere. There was much wealth; and the hills of the western addition were growing up with fine mansions. Outside of the city, at Burlingame, there was a fine country club centering a region of country estates which stretched out to Menlo Park. This club had a good polo team, which played every year with teams of Englishmen from southern California and even with teams from Honolulu. The foreign quarters were worth a chapter in themselves. Chief of these was, of course, Chinatown, of which every one has heard who ever heard of San Francisco. A district six blocks long and two blocks wide, when the quarter was full, housed 30,000 Chinese. The dwellings were old business blocks of the early days; but the Chinese had added to them, rebuilt them, had run out their own balconies and entrances, and had given it that feeling of huddled irregularity which makes all Chinese built dwellings fall naturally into pictures. Not only this, they had burrowed to a depth equal to three stories under the ground, and through this ran passages in which the Chinese transacted their dark and devious affairs--as the smuggling of opium, the traffic in slave girls and the settlement of their difficulties. There was less of this underground life than formerly, for the Board of Health had a cleanup some time ago; but it was still possible to go from one end of Chinatown to the other through secret underground passages. The Chinese lived there their own life in their own way. The Chinatown of New York is dull beside it. And the tourist, who always included Chinatown in his itinerary, saw little of the real life. The guides gave him a show by actors hired for his benefit. In reality the place had considerable importance in a financial way. There were clothing and cigar factories of importance, and much of the tea and silk importing was in the hands of the merchants, who numbered several millionaires. Mainly, however, it was a Tenderloin for the house servants of the city--for the San Francisco Chinaman was seldom a laundryman; he was too much in demand at fancy prices as a servant. The Chinese lived their own lives in their own way and settled their own quarrels with the revolvers of their highbinders. There were two theaters in the quarter, a number of rich joss houses, three newspapers and a Chinese telephone exchange. There is a race feeling against the Chinese among the working people of San Francisco, and no white man, except the very lowest outcasts, lived in the quarter. On the slopes of Telegraph Hill dwelt the Mexicans and Spanish, in low houses, which they had transformed by balconies into a resemblance of Spain. Above, and streaming over the hill, were the Italians. The tenement quarter of San Francisco shone by contrast with that of New York, for while these people lived in old and humble houses they had room to breathe and a high eminence for light and air. Their shanties clung on the side of the hill or hung on the very edge of the precipice overlooking the bay, on the edge of which a wall kept their babies from falling. The effect was picturesque, and this hill was the delight of painters. It was all more like Italy than anything in the Italian quarter of New York and Chicago--the very climate and surroundings, wine country close at hand, the bay for their lateen boats, helped them. Over by the ocean and surrounded by cemeteries in which there are no more burials, there is an eminence which is topped by two peaks and which the Spanish of the early days named after the breasts of a woman. At its foot was Mission Dolores, the last mission planted by the Spanish padres in their march up the coast, and from these hills the Spanish looked for the first time upon the golden bay. Many years ago some one set up at the summit of this peak a sixty foot cross of timber. Once a high wind blew it down, and the women of the Fair family then had it restored so firmly that it would resist anything. As it is on a hill it must have stood. It has risen for fifty years above the gay, careless, luxuriant and lovable city, in full view from every eminence and from every alley. It must stand now above the desolation of ruins. CHAPTER VI. SCENES OF TERROR, DEATH AND HEROISM. =Thrilling Escapes and Deeds of Daring--Sublime Bravery and Self-Sacrifice by Men and Women--How the United States Mint and the Treasuries Were Saved and Protected by Devoted Employes and Soldiers--Pathetic Street Incidents--Soldiers and Police Compel Fashionably Attired to Assist in Cleaning Streets--Italians Drench Homes with Wine.= The week succeeding the quake was a remarkable one in the history of the country. For a day or two the people had been horror-stricken by the tales of suffering and desolation on the Pacific coast, but as the truth became known they arose equal to the occasion. And not all the large amounts contributed were confined to those ranked as the great and strong of the nation. The laborers, too, banded together and sent large contributions. The members of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of Indianapolis realized their brethren would be in dire need and they sent $10,000. The United Mineworkers sent $1,000, and several other labor organizations were equally generous. During even the most awful moments of the catastrophe men and women with sublimest heroism faced the most threatening terrors and dangers to assist, to rescue and to save. Everywhere throughout the city scenes of daring, self-sacrifice and bravery were witnessed and thrilling escapes from imminent death aroused enthusiasm as well as horror. A landmark of San Francisco which escaped destruction, though every building around it was destroyed, is the United States Mint at the corner of Fifth and Mission streets. Harold French, an employe of the mint, gave a graphic account of how the flames were successfully fought. "Nearly $200,000,000 in coin and bullion," said Mr. French, "is stored in the vaults of the mint and for the preservation of this prize a devoted band of employes, re-enforced by regular soldiers, fought until the baffled flames fled to the conquest of stately blocks of so-called fireproof buildings. "For seven hours a sea of fire surged around this grand old federal edifice, attacking it on all sides with waves of fierce heat. Its little garrison was cut off from retreat for hours at a time, had such a course been thought of by those on guard. "Iron shutters shielded the lower floors, but the windows of the upper story, on which are located the refinery and assay office, were exposed. "When the fire leaped Mint avenue in solid masses of flames the refinery men stuck to their windows as long as the glass remained in the frames. Seventy-five feet of an inch hose played a slender stream upon the blazing window sill, while the floor was awash with diluted sulphuric acid. Ankle deep in this soldiers and employes stuck to the floor until the windows shattered. With a roar, the tongues of fire licked greedily the inner walls. Blinding and suffocating smoke necessitated the abandonment of the hose and the fighters retreated to the floor below. "Then came a lull. There was yet a fighting chance, so back to the upper story the fire-fighters returned, led by Superintendent Leach. At length the mint was pronounced out of danger and a handful of exhausted but exultant employes stumbled out on the hot cobblestone to learn the fate of some of their homes." * * * * * A number of men were killed while attempting to loot the United States Mint, where $39,000,000 was kept, while thirty-four white men were shot and killed by troops in a raid on the ruins of the burned United States Treasury. Several millions of dollars are in the treasury ruins. * * * * * Among the many pathetic incidents of the fire was that of a woman who sat at the foot of Van Ness avenue on the hot sands on the hillside overlooking the bay east of Fort Mason with four little children, the youngest a girl of 3, the eldest a boy of 10. They were destitute of water, food and money. The woman had fled with her children from a home in flames in the Mission street district and tramped to the bay in the hope of sighting the ship, which she said was about due, of which her husband was the captain. "He would know me anywhere," she said. And she would not move, although a young fellow gallantly offered his tent back on a vacant lot in which to shelter her children. In a corner of the plaza a band of men and women were praying, and one fanatic, driven crazy by horror, was crying out at the top of his voice: "The Lord sent it--the Lord!" His hysterical crying got on the nerves of the soldiers and bade fair to start a panic among the women and children. A sergeant went over and stopped it by force. All night they huddled together in this hell, with the fire making it bright as day on all sides, and in the morning, the soldiers using their sense again, commandeered a supply of bread from a bakery, sent out another water squad, and fed the refugees with a semblance of breakfast. A few Chinese made their way into the crowd. They were trembling, pitifully scared, and willing to stop wherever the soldiers placed them. * * * * * The soldiers and the police forced every available man in the downtown district to work, no matter where they were found or under what conditions. One party of four finely dressed men that came downtown in an automobile were stopped by the soldiers and were ordered out of the machine and compelled to assist in clearing the debris from Market street. Then the automobile was loaded with provisions and sent out to relieve the hungry people in the parks. One young man who was pressed into service by the soldiers, came clad in a fashionable summer suit, straw hat and kid gloves. * * * * * An incident of the fire in the Latin quarter on the slope of Telegraph Hill is worthy of note. The only available water supply was found in a well dug in early days. At a critical moment the pump suddenly sucked dry and the water in the well was exhausted. "There is a last chance, boys!" was shouted and Italian residents crashed in their cellar doors with axes and, calling for assistance, began rolling out barrels of red wine. The cellars gave forth barrel after barrel until there was fully 500 gallons ready for use. Then barrel heads were smashed in and the bucket brigade turned from water to wine. Sacks were dipped in the wine and used for beating out the fire. Beds were stripped of their blankets and these were soaked in the wine and hung over the exposed portions of the cottages and men on the roofs drenched the shingles and sides of the house with wine. Past huddled groups of sleepers an unending stream of refugees was seen wending their way to the ferry, dragging trunks over the uneven pavement by ropes tethered to wheelbarrows laden with the household lares and penates. The bowed figures crept about the water and ruins and looked like the ghosts about the ruins of Troy, and unheeding save where instinct prompted them to make a detour about some still burning heap of ruins. At the ferry the sleepers lay in windrows, each man resting his head upon some previous treasures that he had brought from his home. No one was able to fear thieves or to escape pillage, because of absolute physical inertia forced upon him. Mad, wholly stark mad, were some of the unfortunates who had not fled from the ruins. In many instances the soldiers were forced to tear men and women away from the bodies of their dead. Two women were stopped within a distance of a few blocks and forced to give up the dead bodies of their babes, which they were nursing to their bosoms. A newsgatherer passing through Portsmouth square noticed a mother cowering under a bush. She was singing in a quavering voice a lullaby to her baby. The reporter parted the bushes and looked in. Then he saw what she held in her arms was only a mangled and reddened bit of flesh. The baby had been crushed when the shock of earthquake came and its mother did not know that its life had left it thirty hours before. * * * * * When law and order were strained a crew of hell rats crept out of their holes and in the flamelight plundered and reveled in bacchanalian orgies like the infamous inmates of Javert in "Les Miserables." These denizens of the sewer traps and purlieus of "The Barbary Coast" exulted in unhindered joy of doing evil. Sitting crouched among the ruins or sprawling on the still warm pavement they could be seen brutally drunk. A demijohn of wine placed on a convenient corner of some ruin was a shrine at which they worshiped. They toasted chunks of sausage over the dying coals of the cooling ruin even as they drank, and their songs of revelry were echoed from wall to wall down in the burnt Mission district. Some of the bedizened women of the half world erected tents and champagne could be had for the asking, although water had its price. One of these women, dressed in pink silk with high heeled satin slippers on her feet, walked down the length of what had been Natoma street with a bucket of water and a dipper, and she gave the precious fluid freely to those stricken ones huddled there by their household goods and who had not tasted water in twenty-four hours. "Let them drink and be happy," said she, "water tastes better than beer to them now." * * * * * Soon after the earthquake San Francisco was practically placed under martial law with Gen. Fred Funston commanding and later Gen. Greely. The regiment has proven effective in subduing anarchy and preventing the depredations of looters. A detail of troops helped the police to guard the streets and remove people to places of safety. The martial law dispensed was of the sternest. They have no records existing of the number of executions which had been meted out to offenders. It is known that more than one sneaking vandal suffered for disobedience of the injunction given against entering deserted houses. There was a sharp, businesslike precision about the American soldier that stood San Francisco in good stead. The San Francisco water rat thug and "Barbary Coast" pirate might flout a policeman, but he discovered that he could not disobey a man who wears Uncle Sam's uniform without imminent risk of being counted in that abstract mortuary list usually designated as "unknown dead." For instance: When Nob Hill was the crest of a huge wave of flame, soldiers were directing the work of saving the priceless art treasures from the Mark Hopkins institute. Lieut. C. C. McMillan of the revenue cutter Bear impressed volunteers at the point of a pistol to assist in saving the priceless art treasures which the building housed. "Here you," barked Lieutenant McMillan to the great crowd of dazed men, "get in there and carry out those paintings." "What business have you got to order us about?" said a burly citizen with the jowl of a Bill Sykes. The lieutenant gave a significant hitch to his arm and the burly man saw a revolver was hanging from the forefinger of the lieutenant's right hand. "Look here," said the lieutenant. "You see this gun? Well, I think it is aimed at your right eye. Now, come here. I want to have a little talk with you." The tough stared for a moment and then the shade of fear crept over his face, and with an "All right, boss," he started in upon the labor of recovering the art treasures from the institute. "This is martial law," said the determined lieutenant. "I don't like it, you may not like it, but it goes. I think that is understood." * * * * * John H. Ryan and wife of Chicago after spending their honeymoon in Honolulu and Jamaica reached San Francisco just before the earthquake. They were stopping at the St. Francis Hotel, which was destroyed partially by the earthquake and totally by the fire following the shock. They lost many of their personal effects, but are thankful that they escaped with their lives. "When the first shock came," said Mr. Ryan, "I was out of bed in an instant. I immediately was thrown to the floor. Arising, I held on by a chair and by the door knob until I could get around the room to the window to see if I could find out what was the matter. I saw people running and heard them in the corridors of the hotel. I also heard women screaming. I hastily called one of my friends and he and myself threw on our overcoats, stuck our feet into our shoes and ran downstairs. I ran back to tell my wife, when I found her coming down the stairs. "The first shock lasted, according to a professor in the university, sixty seconds. I thought it lasted about as many days. "At the second shock all the guests piled into the streets. We stood in the bitter cold street for fully a quarter of an hour with nothing about us but our spring overcoats. I said 'bitter cold.' So it was. People there said it was the coldest spell that has struck Frisco in years. "After standing in the streets for a while my friend and myself, with my wife, started back into the hotel to get our clothes. The guard was at the foot of the stairs and he told us that we would not be allowed to go to our rooms. I told him we merely wanted to get some clothes on so we would not freeze to death and he told us to go up, but to come right down as soon as possible, for there was no telling what would happen. We rushed into our rooms and hurriedly threw on our clothes, and started out to reconnoiter. We stopped near a small building. Just then a policeman on guard came up and ordered everybody to assist in rescuing the persons within. We did not hesitate, but rushed into the building heedless of the impending falling of the walls. We found there a man lying unconscious on the floor. He revived sufficiently to make us understand that his wife and child were in the building and that he thought they were dead. We looked and finally found them, dead. "We saw ambulances and undertakers' wagons by the score racing down Market street. They were filled with the bodies of the injured and in many cases with dead. The injured were piled into the wagons indiscriminately without respect for any consequences in the future of the patients." * * * * * R. F. Lund of Canal Dover, O., was asleep in apartments when the shock rent the city. "I awoke to find myself on the floor," said Mr. Lund. "The building to me seemed to pitch to the right, then to the left, and finally to straighten itself and sink. I had the sensation of pitching down in an elevator shaft--that sudden, sickening wave that sweeps over you and leaves you breathless. "I got into my clothes and with some difficulty wrenched open the door of my room. Screams of women were piercing the air. Together with a dozen other men, inmates of the apartments, I assembled the women guests and we finally got them into the streets. Few of them tarried long enough to dress. We went back again and then returned with more women. "In one room particularly there was great commotion. It was occupied by two women and they were in a state of hysterical terror because they could not open their door and get out. The sudden settling of the building had twisted the jambs. "Finally I put my two hundred and thirty pounds of weight against the panels and smashed them through. I helped them wrap themselves in quilts and half led, half carried them to the street. "While passing through a narrow street in the rear of the Emporium I came upon a tragedy. A rough fellow, evidently a south of Market street thug, was bending over the unconscious form of a woman. She was clothed in a kimono and lay upon the sidewalk near the curb. His back was toward me. He was trying to wrench a ring from her finger and he held her right wrist in his left hand. A soldier suddenly approached. He held a rifle thrust forward and his eyes were on the wretch. "Involuntarily I stopped and involuntarily my hand went to my hip pocket. I remember only this, that it seemed in that moment a good thing to me to take a life. The soldier's rifle came to his shoulder. There was a sharp report and I saw the smoke spurt from the muzzle. The thug straightened up with a wrench, he shot his right arm above his head and pitched forward across the body of the woman. He died with her wrist in his grasp. It may sound murderous, but the feeling I experienced was one of disappointment. I wanted to kill him myself. "Along in the afternoon in my walking I came upon a great hulking fellow in the act of wresting food from an old woman and a young girl who evidently had joined their fortunes. No soldiers were about and I had the satisfaction of laying him out with the butt of my pistol. He went down in a heap. I did not stay to see whether or not he came to." "Strange is the scene where San Francisco's Chinatown stood," said W. W. Overton, after reaching Los Angeles among the refugees. "No heap of smoking ruins marks the site of the wooden warrens where the slant-eyed men of the orient dwelt in thousands. The place is pitted with deep holes and seared with dark passageways, from whose depths come smoke wreaths. All the wood has gone and the winds are streaking the ashes. "Men, white men, never knew the depth of Chinatown's underground city. They often talked of these subterranean runways. And many of them had gone beneath the street levels, two and three stories. But now that Chinatown has been unmasked, for the destroyed buildings were only a mask, men from the hillside have looked on where its inner secrets lay. In places they can see passages 100 feet deep. "The fire swept this Mongolian section clean. It left no shred of the painted wooden fabric. It ate down to the bare ground and this lies stark, for the breezes have taken away the light ashes. Joss houses and mission schools, grocery stores and opium dens, gambling hells and theaters--all of them went. The buildings blazed up like tissue paper lanterns used when the guttering candles touched their sides. "From this place I, following the fire, saw hundreds of crazed yellow men flee. In their arms they bore their opium pipes, their money bags, their silks, and their children. Beside them ran the baggy trousered women, and some of them hobbled painfully. "These were the men and women of the surface. Far beneath the street levels in those cellars and passageways were many others. Women who never saw the day from their darkened prisons and their blinking jailors were caught like rats in a huge trap. Their bones were eaten by the flames. "And now there remain only the holes. They pit the hillside like a multitude of ground swallow nests. They go to depths which the police never penetrated. The secrets of those burrows will never be known, for into them the hungry fire first sifted its red coals and then licked eagerly in tongues of creeping flames, finally obliterating everything except the earth itself." "The scenes to be witnessed in San Francisco were beyond description," said Mr. Oliver Posey, Jr. "Not alone did the soldiers execute the law. One afternoon, in front of the Palace Hotel, a crowd of workers in the ruins discovered a miscreant in the act of robbing a corpse of its jewels. Without delay he was seized, a rope was procured, and he was immediately strung up to a beam which was left standing in the ruined entrance of the Palace Hotel. "No sooner had he been hoisted up and a hitch taken in the rope than one of his fellow criminals was captured. Stopping only to secure a few yards of hemp, a knot was quickly tied and the wretch was soon adorning the hotel entrance by the side of the other dastard." Jack Spencer, well known here, also returned home yesterday, and had much to say of the treatment of those caught in the act of rifling the dead of their jewels. "At the corner of Market and Third streets on Wednesday," said Mr. Spencer of Los Angeles, "I saw a man attempting to cut the fingers from the hand of a dead woman in order to secure the rings. Three soldiers witnessed the deed at the same time and ordered the man to throw up his hands. Instead of obeying he drew a revolver from his pocket and began to fire without warning. "The three soldiers, reinforced by half a dozen uniformed patrolmen, raised their rifles to their shoulders and fired. With the first shots the man fell, and when the soldiers went to the body to dump it into an alley eleven bullets were found to have entered it." Here is an experience typical of hundreds told by Sam Wolf, a guest at the Grand Hotel: "When I awakened the house was shaken as a terrier would shake a rat. I dressed and made for the street which seemed to move like waves of water. On my way down Market street the whole side of a building fell out and came so near me that I was covered and blinded by the dust. Then I saw the first dead come by. They were piled up in an automobile like carcasses in a butcher's wagon, all over blood, with crushed skulls and broken limbs, and bloody faces. "A man cried out to me, 'Look out for that live wire.' I just had time to sidestep certain death. On each side of me the fires were burning fiercely. I finally got into the open space before the ferry. The ground was still shaking and gaping open in places. Women and children knelt on the cold asphalt and prayed God would be merciful to them. At last we got on the boat. Not a woman in that crowd had enough clothing to keep her warm, let alone the money for fare. I took off my hat, put a little money in it, and we got enough money right there to pay all their fares." W. H. Sanders, consulting engineer of the United States geological survey, insisted on paying his hotel bill before he left the St. Francis. He says: "Before leaving my room I made my toilet and packed my grip. The other guests had left the house. As I hurried down the lobby I met the clerk who had rushed in to get something. I told him I wanted to pay my bill. 'I guess not,' he said, 'this is no time for settlement.' "As he ran into the office I cornered him, paid him the money, and got his receipt hurriedly stamped." Dr. Taggart of Los Angeles, a leader of the Los Angeles relief bureau, accidentally shot himself while entering a hospital at the corner of Page and Baker streets, Saturday, April 21. He was mounting the stairs, stumbled and fell. A pistol which he carried in his inside coat pocket was discharged, the bullet entering near the heart. He rose to his feet and cried, "I am dying," and fell into the arms of a physician on the step below. Death was almost instantaneous. Mrs. Lucien Shaw, of Los Angeles, wife of Judge Shaw of the State Supreme Court, disappeared in the war of the elements that raged in San Francisco. At day dawn Thursday morning, April 19, the Shaw apartments, on Pope street, San Francisco, were burned. Mrs. Shaw fled with the refugees to the hills. Judge Lucien Shaw went north on that first special on Wednesday that cleared for the Oakland mole. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =FREE WATER.= The most welcome visitor to the Mission district.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =DISTRIBUTING CLOTHES.= Handing out clothes to all who need them.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =WIRES DOWN.= The earthquake shook down wires and poles.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =MILITARY CAMP.= View in Golden Gate Park. Too much praise cannot be given our soldiers.] Thursday morning at daybreak he reached his apartments on Pope street. Flames were burning fiercely. A friend told him that his wife had fled less than fifteen minutes before. She carried only a few articles in a hand satchel. For two days and nights Judge Shaw wandered over hills and through the parks about San Francisco seeking among the 200,000 refugees for his wife. During that heart-breaking quest, according to his own words, he had "no sleep, little food and less water." At noon Saturday he gave up the search and hurried back to Los Angeles, hoping to find that she had arrived before him. He hastened to his home on West Fourth street. "Where's mother?" was the first greeting from his son, Hartley Shaw. Judge Shaw sank fainting on his own doorstep. The search for the missing woman was continued but proved fruitless. One of the beautiful little features on the human side of the disaster was the devotion of the Chinese servants to the children of the families which they served. And this was not the only thing, for often a Chinaman acted as the only man in families of homeless women and children. Except for the inevitable panic of the first morning, when the Chinese tore into Portsmouth square and fought with the Italians for a place of safety, the Chinese were orderly, easy to manage, and philosophical. They staggered around under loads of household goods which would have broken the back of a horse, and they took hard the order of the troops which commanded all passengers to leave their bundles at the ferry. A letter to a friend in Fond du Lac, Wis., from Mrs. Bragg, wife of General E. S. Bragg, late consul general at Hong Kong, and one-time commander of the Iron Brigade, gave the following account of the escape of the Braggs in the Frisco quake. Mrs. Bragg says under date of April 20: "We reached San Francisco a week ago today, but it seems a month, so much have we been through. We were going over to Oakland the very morning of the earthquake, so, of course, we never went, as it is as bad there as here. "General Bragg had to wait to collect some money on a draft, but the banks were all destroyed. The chimneys fell in and all hotels were burned as well as public buildings. There was no water to put out the fires which raged for blocks in every square and provisions were running low everywhere. Eggs were $5 a dozen, etc.; no telegraph, no nothing. "We went from the Occidental to the Plymouth and from there to the Park Nob hill, where we lay, not slept, all Wednesday night, the day of the earthquake. From there we took refuge on the Pacific with friends who were obliged to get out also and we all came over together to Fort Mason, leaving there last night. We came from there to the flagship Chicago, the admiral having sent a boat for us. "General Bragg is very well and we have both stood it wonderfully. The Chicago fire was bad enough, but this is worse in our old age. May we live till we reach home. So many here have lost everything, homes as well, we consider ourselves quite fortunate. May I never live to see another earthquake. "The General had a very narrow escape from falling plaster; never thought to leave the first hotel alive. Many were killed or burned. God is good to us. Our baggage was rescued by our nephews alone. No one else's was to be got out for love or money. The baggage was sent to the Presidio, not four miles from us." CHAPTER VII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. =Scenes of Horror and Panic Described by Victims of the Quake Who Escaped--How Helpless People Were Crushed to Death by Falling Buildings and Debris--Some Marvelous Escapes.= The stories of hundreds who experienced the earthquake shock but escaped with life and limb constitute a series of thrilling stories unrivalled outside of fiction. Those that contain the most marvellous features are herewith narrated: * * * * * Albert H. Gould, of Chicago, describes the scene in the Palace Hotel following the first quake: "I was asleep on the seventh floor of the Palace Hotel," he said, "at the time of the first quake. I was thrown out of my bed and half way across the room. "Immediately realizing the import of the occurrence, and fearing that the building was about to collapse, I made my way down the six flights of stairs and into the main corridor. "I was the first guest to appear. The clerks and hotel employes were running about as if they were mad. Within two minutes after I had appeared other guests began to flock into the corridor. Few if any of them wore other than their night clothing. Men, women, and children with blanched faces stood as if fixed. Children and women cried, and the men were little less affected. "I returned to my room and got my clothing, then walked to the office of the Western Union in my pajamas and bare feet to telegraph to my wife in Los Angeles. I found the telegraphers there, but all the wires were down. I sat down on the sidewalk, picked the broken glass out of the soles of my feet, and put on my clothes. "All this, I suppose, took little more than twenty minutes. Within that time, below the Palace the buildings for more than three blocks were a mass of flames, which quickly communicated to other buildings. The scene was a terrible one. Billows of fire seemed to roll from the business blocks soon half consumed to other blocks in the vicinity, only to climb and loom again. "The Call building at the corner of Third and Market streets, as I passed, I saw to be more than a foot out of plumb and hanging over the street like the leaning tower of Pisa. "I remained in San Francisco until 8 o'clock and then took a ferry for Oakland, but returned to the burning city an hour and a half later. At that time the city seemed doomed. I remained but for a few minutes; then made my way back to the ferry station. "I hope I may never be called upon to pass through such an experience again. People by the thousands and seemingly devoid of reason were crowded around the ferry station. At the iron gates they clawed with their hands as so many maniacs. They sought to break the bars, and failing in that turned upon each other. Fighting my way to the gate like the others the thought came into my mind of what rats in a trap were. Had I not been a strong man I should certainly have been killed. "When the ferry drew up to the slip, and the gates were thrown open the rush to safety was tremendous. The people flowed through the passageway like a mountain torrent that, meeting rocks in its path, dashes over them. Those who fell saved themselves as best they could. "I left Oakland at about 5 o'clock. At that time San Francisco was hidden in a pall of smoke. The sun shone brightly upon it without any seeming penetration. Flames at times cleft the darkness. This cloud was five miles in height, and at its top changed into a milk white." * * * * * Mrs. Agnes Zink, Hotel Broadway, said: "I was stopping at 35 Fifth street, San Francisco. The rear of that house collapsed and the landlady and about thirty of her roomers were killed. I escaped simply because I had a front room and because I got out on the roof, as the stairway had collapsed in the rear. Out in the street it was impossible to find a clear pathway. I saw another lodging house near ours collapse--I think it must have been 39 Fifth street--and I know all the inmates were killed, for its wreck was complete. In ten minutes the entire block to Mission street was in flames." * * * * * Mr. J. P. Anthony, a business man who escaped from the doomed city in an automobile tells a graphic story: Mr. Anthony says that he was sleeping in his room at the Romona hotel on Ellis street, near Macon, and was suddenly awakened at 5:23 in the morning. The first shock that brought him out of bed, he says, was appalling in its terrible force. The whole earth seemed to heave and fall. The building where he was housed, which is six stories high, was lifted from its foundation and the roof caved in. A score or more of guests, men and women, immediately made their way to the street, which was soon filled with people, and a perfect panic ensued. Debris showered into the street from the buildings on every side. As a result, Mr. Anthony says, he saw a score or more of people killed. Women became hysterical and prayed in the streets, while men sat on the curbing, appearing to be dazed. It was twenty minutes before those in the vicinity seemed to realize the enormity of the catastrophe. The crowds became larger and in the public squares of the city and in empty lots thousands of people gathered. It was 9 o'clock before the police were in control of the situation. When they finally resumed charge, the officers directed their energy toward warning the people in the streets away from danger. Buildings were on the brink of toppling over. Mr. Anthony says he was walking on Market street, near the Emporium, about 9 a. m., when a severe shock was felt. At once the street filled again with excited persons, and thousands were soon gathered in the vicinity, paralyzed with fear. Before the spectators could realize what had happened, the walls of the building swayed a distance of three feet. The thousands of bystanders stood as if paralyzed, expecting every moment that they would be crushed, but another tremor seemed to restore the big building to its natural position. Mr. Anthony said that he momentarily expected that, with thousands of others who were in the neighborhood, he would be crushed to death in a few moments. He made his way down Market street as far as the Call building, from which flames were issuing at every window, with the blaze shooting through the roof. A similar condition prevailed in the Examiner building, across the street. He then started for the depot, at Third and Townsend streets, determined to leave the city. He found a procession of several thousand other persons headed in the same direction. All south of Market street about that time was a crackling mass of flames. Mr. Anthony made his way to Eighth and Market, thence down Eighth to Townsend and to Third street, and the entire section which he traversed was afire, making it impossible for him to reach his destination. He attempted to back track, but found that his retreat had been cut off by the flames. He then went to Twelfth street and reached Market again by the city hall. San Francisco's magnificent municipal building had concaved like an egg shell. The steel dome was still standing, but the rest of the $3,000,000 structure was a mass of charred ruins. It was not yet noon, but the city's hospitals were already filled with dead and injured, and all available storerooms were being pressed into service. Dead bodies were being carried from the streets in garbage wagons. In every direction hysterical women were seen. Men walked through the streets, weeping, and others wore blanched faces. Transfer men were being offered fabulous sums to remove household goods, even for a block distant. Horses had been turned loose and were running at large to prevent their being incinerated in the burning buildings. Women had loaded their personal belongings on carts and were pulling them through the city, the property being huddled in the public squares. "The Grand Hotel tossed like a ship at sea. There was a wavelike motion, accompanied by a severe up and down shake," said J. R. Hand of the Hand Fruit Company of Los Angeles. "The shock was accompanied by a terrific roar that is indescribable. An upright beam came through the floor of my room and the walls bulged in. I thought I should not get out alive. All my baggage was lost, but I still have the key to my room as a souvenir, No. 249. "I was on the third story of the hotel and got the last vacant room. No one in any of the stronger built hotels was killed, to the best of my knowledge. These hotels were destroyed by fire after being severely wrecked. I reached the ferry station by a trip of about six miles around by the Fairmount Hotel and thence to the water front. "The Examiner Building went up like a flash. I was standing in front of the Crocker Building and saw the first smoke. Just then the soldiers ran us out. We went around two blocks and the next view we had the building was a mass of flames. The burning of the Palace was a beautiful sight from the bay." F. O. Popenie, manager of the Pacific Monthly, was asleep in the Terminus hotel, near the Southern Pacific ferry station, when the first tremble came. "The Terminus hotel did not go down at the first shock," he said. "We were sleeping on the third floor when the quake came. The walls of the hotel began falling, but the guests had time to run outside before the building fell in. "I started for San Jose on foot. When I reached the Potrero I looked back and saw the business section a furnace. Fires had started up in many places and were blazing fiercely. Finally a man driving a single rig overtook me. He was headed for San Jose and he took me in. After a distance of fifteen miles we took the train and went on." The Terminus hotel was a six-story structure with stone and brick sides. It collapsed soon after the first shock. Among the refugees who found themselves stranded were John Singleton, a Los Angeles millionaire, his wife and her sister. The Singletons were staying at the Palace hotel when the earthquake shock occurred. Mr. Singleton gives the following account of his experience: "The shock wrecked the rooms in which we were sleeping. We managed to get our clothes on and get out immediately. We had been at the hotel only two days and left probably $3,000 worth of personal effects in the room. "After leaving the Palace we secured an express wagon for $25 to take us to the Casino, near Golden Gate Park, where we stayed Wednesday night. On Thursday morning we managed to get a conveyance at enormous cost and spent the entire day in getting to the Palace. We paid $1 apiece for eggs and $2 for a loaf of bread. On these and a little ham we had to be satisfied." "I was asleep in the Hotel Dangham, Ellis and Mason streets, when the shock came," said Miss Bessie Tannehill of the Tivoli Theatre. "There were at least 100 persons in the building at the time. At the first shock I leaped from the bed and ran to the window. Another upheaval came and I was thrown off my feet. I groped my way out of the room and down the dark stairway. Men, women and children, almost without clothing, crowded the place, crying and praying as they rushed out. "When outside I saw the streets filled with people who rushed about wringing their hands and crying. Proprietor Lisser of the hotel offered a cabman $50 to take himself and his wife to the Presidio heights, but he refused. He wanted more money. We finally secured a carriage by paying $100. Fire was raging at this time and people were panic-stricken. "After getting outside of the danger region I walked back, hoping to aid some of the unfortunates. I have heard about big prices charged for food. I wish to testify that the merchants on upper Market street and in nearby districts threw open their stores and invited the crowds to help themselves. The mobs rushed into every place, carrying out all the goods possible. "I saw many looters and pickpockets at work. On Mason street a gang of thieves was at work. They were pursued by troops, but escaped in an auto." The members of the Metropolitan opera company of New York were all victims of the great disaster, including Mme. Sembrich, Signor Caruso, Campanari, Dippel, Conductor Hertz and Bars. All of the splendid scenery, stage fittings, costumes and musical instruments were lost in the fire which destroyed the Grand Opera House, where their season had just opened. No one of the company was injured, but nearly all of them lost their personal effects. Mme. Sembrich placed the loss by the destruction of her elegant costumes at $20,000. She was fortunate enough to save her valuable jewels. The total loss to the organization was $150,000. On the morning of the earthquake the members of the company were distributed among the different hotels. The sudden shock brought all out of their bedrooms in all kinds of attire. The women were in their night dresses, the men in pajamas, none pausing to dress, all convinced that their last hour had come. Ten minutes later Caruso was seen seated on his valise in the middle of the street. Many of the others had rushed to open squares or other places of supposed safety. Even then it was difficult to avoid the debris falling from the crumbling walls. Several of those stopping at the Oaks were awakened by plaster from the ceilings falling on their bed and had barely time to flee for their lives. One singer was seen standing in the street, barefoot, and clad only in his underwear, but clutching a favorite violin which he carried with him in his flight. Rossi, though almost in tears, was heard trying his voice at a corner near the Palace hotel. * * * * * A. W. Hussey, who went to the Hall of Justice on the morning of the disaster, told how at the direction of a policeman whom he did not know, he had cut the arteries in the wrists of a man pinioned under timbers at St. Katherine hotel. According to the statement made by Hussey the man was begging to be killed and the policeman shot at him, but his aim was defective and the bullet went wide of the mark. The officer then handed Hussey a knife with instructions to cut the veins in the suffering man's wrists, and Hussey obeyed orders to the letter. * * * * * A story was told of one young girl who had followed for two days the body of her father, her only relative. It had been taken from a house in Mission street to an undertaker's shop just after the quake. The fire drove her out with her charge, and it was placed in Mechanics' Pavilion. That went, and it had rested for a day at the Presidio, waiting burial. With many others she wept on the border of the burial area, while the women cared for her. That was truly a tragic and pathetic funeral. In the commission house of C. D. Bunker a rescuer named Baker was killed while trying to get a dead body from the ruins. Other rescuers heard the pitiful wail of a little child, but were unable to get near the point from which the cry issued. Soon the onrushing fire ended the cry and the men turned to other tasks. Hundreds of firemen and rescuers were prostrated, the strain of the continued fight in the face of the awful calamity proving more than any man could stand. In the crowds at many points people fainted and in some instances dropped dead as the result of the reaction following the unprecedented shock. At Mechanics' Pavilion scenes of heroism and later of panic were enacted. The great frame building was turned into a hospital for the care of the injured and here a corps of fifty physicians rendered aid. Nurses volunteered their services and also girls from the Red Cross ship that steamed in from the government yards at Mare island and contributed doctors and supplies. While the ambulances and automobiles were unloading their maimed and wounded at the building the march of the conflagration up Market street gave warning that the injured would have to be removed at once. This work was undertaken and every available vehicle was pressed into service to get the stricken into the hospitals and private houses of the western addition. A few minutes after the last of the wounded had been carried through the door, some on cots, others in strong arms and on stretchers, shafts of fire shot from the roof and the structure burst into a whirlwind of flame. One of the most thrilling of all stories related of adventures in stricken San Francisco during the days of horror and nights of terror is that of a party of four, two women and two men, who arrived at Los Angeles April 20, after having spent a night and the greater portion of two days on the hills about Golden Gate Park. This party was composed of Mrs. Francis Winter, Miss Bessie Marley, Dr. Ernest W. Fleming, and Oliver Posey, all of Los Angeles. "I was sleeping in a room on the third floor of the hotel," said Dr. Fleming, "when the first shock occurred. An earthquake in San Francisco was no new sensation to me. I was there in 1868, when a boy ten years old, when the first great earthquake came. But that was a gentle rocking of a cradle to the one of Wednesday. "I awoke to the groaning of timbers, the grinding, creaking sound, then came the roaring street. Plastering and wall decorations fell. The sensation was as if the buildings were stretching and writhing like a snake. The darkness was intense. Shrieks of women, higher, shriller than that of the creaking timbers, cut the air. I tumbled from the bed and crawled, scrambling toward the door. The twisting and writhing appeared to increase. The air was oppressive. I seemed to be saying to myself, will it never, never stop? I wrenched the lock; the door of the room swung back against my shoulder. Just then the building seemed to breathe, stagger and right itself. "But I fled from that building as from a falling wall. I could not believe that it could endure such a shock and still stand. "The next I remember I was standing in the street laughing at the unholy appearance of half a hundred men clad in pajamas--and less. "The women were in their night robes; they made a better appearance than the men. "The street was a rainbow of colors in the early morning light. There was every stripe and hue of raiment never intended to be seen outside the boudoir. "I looked at a man at my side; he was laughing at me. Then for the first time I became aware that I was in pajamas myself. I turned and fled back to my room. "There I dressed, packed my grip, and hastened back to the street. All the big buildings on Market street toward the ferry were standing, but I marked four separate fires. The fronts of the small buildings had fallen out into the streets and at some places the debris had broken through the sidewalk into cellars. "I noticed two women near me. They were apparently without escort. One said to the other, 'What wouldn't I give to be back in Los Angeles again.' "That awakened a kindred feeling and I proffered my assistance. I put my overcoat on the stone steps of a building and told them to sit there. "In less than two minutes those steps appeared to pitch everything forward, to be flying at me. The groaning and writhing started afresh. "But I was just stunned. I stood there in the street with debris falling about me. It seemed the natural thing for the tops of buildings to careen over and for fronts to fall out. I do not even recall that the women screamed. "The street gave a convulsive shudder and the buildings somehow righted themselves again. I thought they had crashed together above my head. "The air was filled with the roar of explosions. They were dynamiting great blocks. Sailors were training guns to rake rows of residences. "All the while we were moving onward with the crowd. Cinders were falling about us. At times our clothing caught fire, just little embers that smoked and went out. The sting burned our faces and we used our handkerchiefs for veils. "Everybody around us was using some kind of cloth to shield their eyes. It looked curious to see expressmen and teamsters wearing those veils. "Quite naturally we seemed to come to Golden Gate Park. It seemed as if we had started for there. By this time the darkness was settling. But it was a weird twilight. The glare from the burning city threw a kind of red flame and shadow about us. It seemed uncanny; the figures about us moved like ghosts. "The wind and fog blew chill from the ocean and we walked about to keep warm. Thousands were walking about, too, but there was no disturbance. "Families trudged along there. There was no hurry. All appeared to have time to spare. The streets, walks, and lawns were wiggling with little parties, one or two families in each. The men had brought bedding and blankets and they made impromptu shelters to keep off the fog. "The cinders still kept falling. They seemed at times to come down right against the wind. They stung my face and made me restless. "All night we moved about the hills. Thousands were moving with us. As the night wore on the crowd grew. "Near daylight the soldiers came to the park. They were still moving in front of the fire. "I had brought a little store of provisions before nightfall and somehow we had kept them. It seemed easy to keep things there. I walked over to the fire made by one squad of soldiers and picked up a tin bucket. They looked at me but made no move. I went to a faucet and turned it on. Water was there. Not much, but a trickling little stream. There was water in the park all night. I boiled some eggs and we ate our breakfast. Then we concluded to try to make our way back to the water front. We did this because the soldiers were driving us from that part of the hills. The flames were still after us. "The dumb horror of it seemed to reach right into one's heart. Walking and resting, we reached the ferry near sunset. We had come back through a burned district some four miles. I do not understand how the people stood it. "Other parties staggered past us. They were reeling, but not from wine. It was here that the pangs of thirst caught us. But the end came at last. We reached the ferry and the boats were running. The soldiers were there, too. They seemed to be everywhere. They were offering milk to the women and children. "We are in Los Angeles now. It hardly seems real. If it were not for the sting of the cinders that still stick to my face and eyes I might think it was all a nightmare." * * * * * Adolphus Busch, the St. Louis brewer, gave this account of his experiences in the earthquake: "The earthquake which shook 'Frisco made all frantic, and was undoubtedly the severest ever experienced in the United States. The St. Francis hotel swayed from south to north like a tall poplar in a storm; furniture, even pianos, was overturned, and people thrown from their beds. "I summoned my family and friends and urged them to escape to Jefferson square, which we did. "An awful sight met our eyes. Every building was either partly or wholly wrecked, roofs and cornices falling from skyscrapers on lower houses, crushing and burying the inmates. "Fires started in all parts of the city, the main water pipes burst and flooded the streets, one earthquake followed another, the people became terrified, but all were wonderfully calm. Over 100,000 persons without shelter were camping on the hills. There was no light, water, nor food. Regular soldiers and the militia maintained order and discipline, otherwise more horrors would have occurred and riots might have prevailed. Then the worst happened. The fire spread over three-fourths of the city and could not be controlled, no water to fight it, no light, and the earth still trembling. "Building after building was dismantled to check the progress of the flames, but all of no avail. We were fortunate to secure conveyances and fled to Nob Hill, from which we witnessed the indescribable drama. Block after block was devastated. The fires blazed like volcanoes, and all business houses, hotels, theaters--in fact, the entire business portion--lay in ruins, and two-thirds of the residences." CHAPTER VIII. THRILLING PERSONAL EXPERIENCES--CONTINUED. =Hairbreadth Escapes from the Hotels Whose Walls Crumbled--Frantic Mothers Seek Children from Whom They Were Torn by the Quake--Reckless Use of Firearms by Cadet Militia--Tales of Heroism and Suffering.= For two weeks or more tragedy, romance and comedy crowded the lives of women and children survivors homeless in the city of ashes and in Oakland, across the bay, the city of refuge. In this latter place thousands separated from their loved ones were tearfully awaiting developments, and every hour in the day members of families were restored to each other who had been lost. On record in the Chamber of Commerce at Oakland, which was the headquarters of the Oakland Relief Committee, some queer stories were told. Not a day passed but there were from two to eight marriages in that office. Homeless young couples met each other, compared notes and finally agreed to marry. At the registry bureau in Oakland scores of women, young and old, worked gratis. One applied for work to relieve her mind. She said she had seen her husband and eldest son killed and had fled with her baby. During the rush of people she lost her baby. One of her first duties was to copy names of the lost and found. In one of the lists she believed she recognized the description of her baby. An investigation was made and the child proved to be hers. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =COOKING IN THE STREET.= A familiar scene in San Francisco after the disaster.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =WING OF CITY HALL.= Two policemen were buried under walls.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =CATTLE KILLED.= A view showing a drove of cattle killed by falling walls.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =ST. JOHN'S CHURCH.= Mission Street looking west.] A grief-stricken mother came in crying for her child, which she had not seen since the day of the disaster. A member of the relief committee was detailed on the case and he found the baby. The same day, while walking on the street, he saw a woman carrying a baby in a pillow slip thrown over her shoulder. Two hours later he again met the woman. The pillow slip had ripped and the baby had fallen out unknown to the mother. When her attention was called to this fact the mother fainted. Again the young man set to work and found the baby two blocks away, but upon returning could not find the mother. One man escaped with his two babes as he saw his wife killed in a falling building. He seized two suit cases and placed a baby in each and started for the ferry. When he reached Oakland he found both smothered. He became violently insane and was put in a strait-jacket. Hermann Oelrichs of New York, ten times a millionaire and husband of the eldest daughter of the late Senator Fair of California, arrived in Chicago on a scrap of paper on which was written a pass over all railroad lines. The scrap of paper was roughly torn, was two inches square, but upon it in lead pencil were written these magic words: "Pass Hermann Oelrichs and servant to Chicago upon all lines. This paper to serve in lieu of tickets.--E. H. Harriman." Mr. Oelrichs described some of his experiences after he was driven from his quarters in the St. Francis Hotel by the earthquake. He said: "It was heaven and hell combined to produce chaos. I have a bad foot, but I forgot it and walked twenty miles that day, helping all I could. Mayor Schmitz had a meeting in the afternoon at the shaking Hall of Justice and appointed a committee of fifty, of which I was one. He gave me a commission as a member of the Committee of Law and Order, which, together with my policeman's star and club, I shall hand down to my son as heirlooms." "I am proud of that," said Mr. Oelrichs. "That is the Mayor's own signature and he has proved himself every inch a man. Lots of people thought the Mayor was just a fiddler, but they think differently now. "The regulars saved San Francisco. The militia got drunk and killed people. The hoodlums south of Market street were all burned out and they swarmed up in the swell quarter. The report was that they meant to fire the houses of the rich which had not been destroyed. Every night a west wind blows from the Pacific, and they meant to start the fire at the west end. That had to be guarded against." Mr. Oelrichs had fitted up apartments in the St. Francis, packed with curios and rarities to the extent of $20,000. These were all burned. The operators and officials of the Postal Telegraph Company remained in the main office of the company at the corner of Market and Montgomery streets, opposite the Palace Hotel, until they were ordered out of the building because of the danger from the dynamite explosions in the immediate vicinity. The men proceeded to Oakland, across the bay, and took possession of the office there. Before the offices of the telegraph companies in hundreds of cities excited crowds of men and women surged back and forth the morning of the catastrophe, all imploring the officials to send a message through for them to the stricken city to bring back some word from dear ones in peril there. It was explained that there was only one wire in operation and that imperative orders had been received that it was to be used solely for company purposes, press dispatches and general news. Mr. Sternberger of New York was on the fourth floor of the St. Francis, with his wife, son and a maid. After hurriedly dressing he and his family rushed into Union square. "We had hardly got seated," said Mr. Sternberger, "when firemen came along asking for volunteers to take bodies from the ruins just above the hotel. There was a ready and willing response. It was a low building on which had toppled a lofty one, and all in the former were buried in the debris. We heard the stifled cries and prayers, 'For God's sake, come this way,' 'O, lift this off my back,' 'My God, I'm dying,' and others, nerving us to greater efforts. "Finally we got to some of them. Bruised, bleeding, blinded by smoke and dust, terrified past reason, the poor fellows who fell in the street fell from utter exhaustion. Those that were penned away below we could not reach, and their seeming far-off cries for mercy and life will ring in my ears till death." Henry Herz, a New York traveling man, after a terrible experience, made his escape and constituted himself a traveling relief committee. At Sacramento he organized a shipment of eggs. At Reno he set the housewives to baking bread, and in Salt Lake City he had raised a potato fund of $400. Mr. Herz crossed the bay in a launch. The boatman asked him how much money he had, and when he replied, with a mental reservation, $46.60, the boatman charged him $46.60 and collected the money in advance. Worn by the exposure, hardships, and terrors of a two days' effort to escape from the stricken city, Mrs. D. M. Johnson of Utica, N. Y., and Miss Martha Stibbals of Erie, Pa., passed through Denver. "The first that we knew of the earthquake was when we were awakened in our room at the Randolph Hotel by a terrific shaking which broke loose fragments of the ceiling," said Miss Stibbals. "There followed a tremendous shock which shook the building sideways and tossed it about with something like a spiral motion. When we reached the street people were running hither and thither. "Fire was breaking out in hundreds of places over the city and the streets were becoming crowded with hurrying refugees. Where they were unable to procure horses, men and women had harnessed themselves to carriages and were drawing their belongings to places of safety. As we passed through the residence district where wealthy people lived we saw automobiles drawn up and loaded down before houses. Their owners remained until the flames came too near, and then, getting into the machines, made for the hills. "We saw one man pay $2,000 for an automobile in which to take his family to a place of safety." "I climbed over bodies, picked my way around flaming debris, and went over almost insurmountable obstacles to get out of San Francisco," said C. C. Kendall, a retired Omaha capitalist, upon his arrival home. "I arrived in San Francisco the night previous to the earthquake. I was awakened about 5:15 in the morning by being thrown out of my bed in the Palace Annex. I rushed to the window and looked out. The houses were reeling and tumbling like playthings. I hurried on clothing and ran into the street. Here I saw many dead and the debris was piled up along Market street. "I went to the office of the Palace Hotel and there men, women, and children were rushing about, crazed and frantic in their night clothes. The first shock lasted only twenty-eight seconds, but it seemed to me two hours. "A few minutes after I reached the Palace Hotel office the second shock came. It was light, compared with the first, but it brought to the ground many of the buildings that the first shock had unsettled. "Fires were breaking out in every direction. Market street had sunk at least four feet. I started for the ferry. It is only a few blocks from the Palace Annex to the ferry, but it took me from 6 a. m. to 10:15 a. m. to cover the space. "Men and women fought about the entrance of the ferry like a band of infuriated animals. "I made my escape--I do not remember how, for I was as desperate as any of them. As the boat pulled over the bay the smoke and flame rose sky high and the roar of falling buildings and the cries of the people rent the air." J. C. Gill, of Philadelphia, told his experiences as follows: "Mrs. Gill and myself were in a room on the third floor of the hotel. We were awakened by the rocking of our beds. Then they seemed to be lifted from their legs, suspended in the air, and as suddenly dropped, while the plaster began cracking and falling. We arose and left our room after putting on a few clothes. We felt that with every step we were treading on glass and that the ten stories above us would fall, not allowing us to escape alive. But once outside the building and with our friends I began to realize what had happened. "I made my way back to the room and carefully packed our suit cases. I came across a valuable necklace and pearls that my wife in her haste had left behind. "With hundreds of others we roamed in the park in front of the hotel several hours. When we saw the fire was hemming in the lower part of the city we walked toward the outskirts. Early next morning we decided to leave the city, and started to the ferry. Policemen would stop us, and it was with difficulty and much trepidation that we walked through the burned district, and arrived at the wharf at 5:15, just fifteen minutes before the boat left. "The scenes we passed through were sickening and indescribable. I fancy that scores of men, wharf rats, who had looted wholesale liquor houses and were maudlin drunk, were burned to death without being the wiser, because of their condition." "I had been stopping at the Metropole in Oakland," said Frederick Lemon of New York, "and Tuesday night went to Frisco, where I stopped at the Terminal hotel, at the foot of Market street. The first shock threw all the loose articles around my room and I attempted to run unclad from the hotel. Just as I walked out the door I was struck by some heavy beams. I was stunned and while I lay there some one from the hotel brought me my clothing. "At that time the streets were like bedlam. Soldiers were in control, and while the regulars were almost perfect in their attempts to maintain order the militia men lost their heads. They shot some men without provocation, and never thought to cry 'halt' or 'who comes there?'" Henry Kohn of Chicago told of a horrible experience he had. "I had a room on the fifth floor of the Randolph Hotel, Mason and O'Farrell streets," he said. "The first quake threw me out of bed. By the time I reached the second floor the building had ceased shaking, and I went back, got my clothes, and went into the street. In the building across the street twelve persons were killed. About 11 o'clock in the morning we were in the public square, with about 1,500 other refugees, when a severe shock was felt. People became panic stricken; some prayed, women fainted, and children shrieked and cried. "The stream of people going up Nob and Telegraph hills all Wednesday was a pitiful sight. Many were barefooted and lightly clad. There was nothing to eat or drink." Sol Allenberg, a New York bookmaker, was with Kohn at the St. Francis Hotel. "I was sick in my room when the shock struck us," he said, "and my friend helped me out to a boarding house on the hill. There I had to pay $7 for a room for the rest of the day. "It was two miles from the fire and I thought I was safe enough when I got into my bed at noon, but about two hours later they awoke me to tell me that the fire was only two blocks away, and we got out only a short time before the house went up in flames. "No exaggeration of the horrible scenes on the street is possible. There was one poor fellow pinned to earth with a great iron girder across his chest. It in turn was weighted down by a mass of wreckage that could not be moved. He could not be saved from the flames that were sweeping toward him, and begged a policeman to shoot him. "The officer fired at him and missed him, and then an old man crawled through the debris and cut the arteries in the man's wrists. The crowd hurried on and left him to die alone." CHAPTER IX. THROUGH LANES OF MISERY. =A Graphic Pen Picture of San Francisco in Flames and in Ruins--Scenes and Stories of Human Interest where Millionaires and Paupers Mingled in a Common Brotherhood--A Harrowing Trip in an Automobile.= Among the most graphic and interesting pen pictures of scenes within and without the stricken city were those of Harry C. Carr, a newspaper photographer and correspondent of Los Angeles. This is his personal narrative: I started from Los Angeles for the stricken city on that pitiful first train whose passengers were nearly all San Francisco men trying frantically to get back to their wives and children, whose fate they could only imagine. All one terrible day I walked about through the lanes of the charred ruins that had once been San Francisco. I was one of the hungry who robbed grocery stores for their food; one of the parched thousands who eagerly drank water out of the gutter leakage of the fire engines. After hours of discouraging failure, of being turned back by the sentries, with the sound of dynamited houses ringing in my ears, I managed at last to join the long caravan of homeless families carrying all the property left to them in the world in sheets. Sometimes I walked with the daughter of a Van Ness avenue millionaire lugging a bundle over her shoulder, and again with a Chinaman moaning piteously over the loss of his laundry. I came out of San Francisco on that broken-hearted first train carrying refugees, whose faces streamed with tears as they took the last look from the Pullman windows at the weirdly beautiful red fringe of fire creeping along the ridges of the distant hills, burning the remnants of San Francisco. An hour after the first word reached Los Angeles on that fateful Wednesday morning our train pulled out of the depot. There was an ominous number of reservations for Santa Barbara on the chair car. Most of the San Francisco men came on board there. Beyond San Luis Obispo, two big freight trains were stalled by a cave-in caused by the earthquake. They crawled out just in time--before every one went mad. At Salinas, about dark, the conductor came back, shaking his head; a freight train ahead at Pajaro had been completely buried by a mountain of earth hurled in the quake. The men said it was likely to be a week before any train went through. Three or four of us hurried into the town looking for an automobile. One of the passengers on the train was Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson, and the news had been kept from her until this delay. Strange to say, there were a number of automobiles in town, but none were to be had. One man was hurrying through from Los Angeles in his own touring car with his three boys to find his wife, their mother, who was somewhere in the burning city. We were getting ready to hire saddle horses when the twin lights of an automobile came glaring down the street. There were two New England spinsters aboard. They had been in the Palace Hotel when the clerk telephoned to their rooms to tell them the city was burning and that the hotel was about to be blown up by dynamite by the soldiers of the Engineer Corps. They hired an auto to San Jose at an outrageous price and paid $75 to be taken from there to Salinas. Had it not been for a bridge which kind Heaven smashed, I guess they would have been going yet. As it was, we persuaded them that the train was the place for them and managed to hire the automobile back to San Jose. The cost was $20 a seat. Men came to us and begged like frightened children to be taken; but we dared not risk a breakdown and had to refuse. But never shall I forget the look that was in their eyes. We started at 10:30 and rode all night. It was bitterly cold and we suffered terribly, not having overcoats. The chauffeur had been using his auto all that morning taking medicines to the demolished insane asylum at Agnews. His story of the scenes there was horrible. Scores of dead were lying stretched on the lawns and others were walking about hideously wounded. Amid this scene an insane woman was wandering, blithely singing little songs of her own improvision about the earthquake and the killing. One giant maniac had broken his shackles and rescued one of the guards from the building. He had just one sane moment; long enough to be a hero. Then he fled howling into the hills. It was just dawn when we got to San Jose. Sentries from the militia and special officers were patrolling the streets. A dead line had been established to keep persons away from wrecked buildings. There were jewelry stores whose fronts had been entirely torn off; these would have been plundered. All through the city we saw people seated on beds on their front lawns, their houses having tumbled. On the front lawn of the Hotel Vendome was a bonfire about which were gathered twenty or thirty people. Every guest of the house had spent the night there with a blanket apiece. We were just in time to catch the first train to go through to San Francisco. All along the route through such towns as Palo Alto and Belmont, we saw shattered buildings, warehouses with whole sides neatly cut off as though with a knife. One big warehouse of brick had completely buried a freight train standing on a siding. During the night we could see the dull red glow that came from the burning city. Now we could see the huge copper-colored clouds that almost hid the sun. As we came nearer the city we could hear the distant explosions of the dynamite with which the soldiers were wrecking the buildings. They came to us in dull but quick thumps. The train got no further than Valencia street. As soon as we got off we saw the first stragglers of the great army of the homeless and ruined. Sentries stopped us before we had gone a block, so a cheerful good-looking young fellow, who had seen first his home and his tailor shop utterly destroyed that morning, offered to be our guide. He took us past the Hotel Valencia, which was the worst sufferer from the earthquake. The big building had been literally poured out into the street in a stream of splintered wood. No one knows how many people perished in it. On the corner next the Valencia was a new set of three-story flats, just completed, and most of the flats not yet occupied. As though some one had struck it on top with a giant hammer, the entire building had sunk one story into the ground; you could walk right in at the second story. Turning down into Steiner street, we were caught in the flood of the strangest tide the world ever saw. There never was anything like this before. These were people warned to leave their homes from some district newly doomed to the Fire God. They were trekking, in a long, motley procession, to find some park not already crowded to overflowing. One of the first that I met was a little family beginning life over again. What they had been able to rescue before the flames came was packed in a little express wagon. The elderly husband was drawing this. Behind him came his wife. With the forethought of a woman, she had either bought or stolen two packages of breakfast food--all that stood between them and starvation. They looked drawn and anxious; and were rather peculiar in this regard. Most of the refugees leaving their homes were cheerful. I saw a pretty "tailor-made girl" meeting her friend on the street. One of them had a little bundle of things tied in a handkerchief. "That's everything I own in this world," she said, grinning--positively grinning. "That's nothing," said the other girl, smiling back, "I haven't a rag to my back or a cent of money, and I've lost track of my family somewhere in this crowd." "Oh, well, what's the use of worrying?" And with that they parted. Another touching little group was led by the father, who carried a sheet tied up with what he could carry. The young mother was dragging a child's express wagon laden mostly with provisions. Behind her trooped two sweet little girls. One was wrapped up in a big shawl (this was just after sunrise.) A kitten, which she held in her arms, was poking its nose protestingly out from the shawl. Bringing up the rear was the other little tot, hugging a doll under each arm. A fine looking young fellow in khaki trousers and a fashionable coat was packing an enormous clothes bundle. His young wife was clinging to his arm. It was everything they had left in the world, probably out of years of hard saving, but they were both almost going along with good spirits. A little further up the street, I saw a refined looking young girl cooking breakfast in the gutter. She wore a handsomely made but badly torn skirt and had a remarkably fine bracelet on one wrist. Her oven was made of two bricks and a toasting grill. A young man was bringing her bits of fire wood and they were consulting together over the frying of bacon. Further on were two other women doing the same thing and having fun out of it between themselves. "Is it so very much farther?" was the only complaint that came from one tired little woman who looked ready to faint. She was staggering under the weight of a huge bundle. She looked unused to work and her lips were white and trembling with exhaustion. She rested just a minute, then staggered on without another word of complaint. Men spoke kindly to her, but none offered to help her, because Woe was the great leveler and all were on the same footing. All the day I spent in San Francisco, I only heard one person speak unkindly to another. I wish I had that young man's name, just as a curiosity. He had been hired by a woman to drag a big Roman chair filled with treasures up the street. "There," he said, insolently, "I have earned all the money I got for that; now take it along yourself." Without a word, the woman took the chair from him and wheeled it on herself. One rather amusing group was wheeling an immense and very handsome dining-room table. The young man who was pulling from the front was protesting vigorously; but the two young girls who shoved from behind, digging their stubby fashionable little oxford ties in the dirt for foothold, urged him peremptorily on. Following them was a half-grown hobbledehoy boy, strong enough to have packed an ox, who was doing his heavy share by carrying a little glass vase. In a doorway half way up the hill, I saw an old Chinaman sitting with his bundle, which was all he had been able to save. He was just saying, "Oh, oh, oh," in a curious, half-sobbing moan that never seemed to cease. The young tailor with me said the Chinaman had lost his laundry and was terror-stricken lest the white people should make him pay for their clothes. While his own tailor shop was burning, the young tailor said that he was out trying to rescue the trapped victims in the burning Hotel Brunswick. He could only get hold of one living man. He seemed to be caught in the wreckage, the smoke being too thick to permit one to see just how. Strong hands caught his feet and pulled desperately. When they dragged him out at last, they found that he had been caught under the chin. In pulling him out they cut his throat almost from ear to ear. As we gained the top of the hill on Steiner street, a San Francisco man who came in with me on the train stopped dead still. "My God; look there!" he said, his voice catching with a sob. Through the rift of the buildings we caught our first glimpse of the dying city. "That was Market street," said the San Francisco man, softly. He pointed across a vast black plain, hundreds of acres in extent, to a row of haggard, gaunt specters that did seem to be in two lines like a street. "There's the City Hall," he said, tremulously, pointing to a large dome surmounting a pile of ruins and surrounded like some hellish island with vast stretches of smouldering ashes and twisted iron girders. The San Francisco man found a tottering, blackened pile of wall that he said was Mechanic's Pavilion, and a sort of thin peak of brick that he said was the new Bell Theater. He would go over the town from the top of the hill and torture himself trying to locate San Francisco's splendid landmarks in these acres of ash heaps. Down in the middle of the city I found two young men in a violent argument over the location of Market street in the ashes. At the pretty little park, Fell and Steiner streets, we came upon one of the strange little cities of refugees. I should pronounce this one of the most select residence districts of San Francisco now. It is the only home of hundreds upon hundreds of once well-to-do San Francisco people now ruined. It was heart-rending to see the women tidying things up and trying to invent new ideas for attractive homes--trying to make their homes look better than their neighbors', just as they did before. Some women made odd little bowers of two blankets and a sheet tent. I passed one tent where a young mother was lying at ease with her little girl, under a parasol. Just as I was going by, the little girl demanded "another." The mother laughed happily and began, "Well, once upon a time----" As though one of the stories of all the ages was not going on down the hill below her! To one of the groups on the lawn came a young man grinning all over and positively swaggering. He was received with shrieks of joy. He had six cans of sardines. He brought them to people who would have been insulted at the idea two days ago. The San Francisco man invited me into his house, where we saw the wreck of his cut glass and library. But he forgot it all over a rare piece of good fortune that had befallen. The maid had managed to get a whole tea kettle of water. It was vile and muddy; but it was water. The young tailor told me that he had gone from daylight until 11:30, parching for a drink. The saloons were closed by order of Gen. Funston, but he managed to get beer from a saloon man. In some parts of the city there is plenty of water. But I saw people rushing eagerly with buckets to catch the water out of gutters where it had leaked from a fire hose. In the first terrible water famine, the firemen broke into sewers and threw sewer water on the fires. The dramatic moments came as one neighborhood after another was told to pack up and move out. It was the sounding of doom. I saw several of these sorrowful dramas. One was in an old-fashioned street where old southern houses with iron dogs planted about the lawns had been pressed in upon by lodging-houses and corner groceries. It seemed mockery to think how the people in the aristocratic old houses must have raged at the intrusion of the corner stores. How futile it seemed now! Came a dapper young cavalry lieutenant into the street. From their porches people watched him with pathetic anxiety. They could see the sentry's heels click together and his carbine snap down to a present. With a few words the officer would hurry on. Making a megaphone of his hands, the sentry would turn and bawl these words up the otherwise silent street: "This street is going to be dynamited; if you want anything in the grocery store, go to it!" The balance of his remarks, if there were any, would be lost in a shout of applause from the crowds that seemed to smell such things. A rush for the grocery store would follow. Men would come out laden to staggering with loot--canned goods, flour, bacon, hams, coffee--as much as they could possibly pack. I saw one little girl not over four. This was the day she always had been dreaming of. Hugged to her heart was an enormous jar of stick candy, big enough to give her stomach-ache for the rest of her life. She could hardly lift it; but she put it down to rest, then went panting on. At the warning of the sentry, the whole family in each house would rush back through the front door to rescue whatever treasure lay nearest their hearts. They only had four or five minutes. Men would come dragging bureaus and lounges. Often a man would be pulling along the family pride, the woman shoving from behind. In one thrilling rescue I had the distinction of participating. An elderly woman grabbed me excitedly by the arms and gasped, "Catch it." She pointed to a dejected canary perched on a window sill. I shinned gallantly up the side of a dead wall; just touched the canary bird with the tips of my fingers. It flew and a lady caught it triumphantly like a baseball as it came down. She went away "mothering" it. Presently, the sentry would shout another warning and the people would scurry away, peeking out from behind safe corners. As if by magic, the streets would be thick with soldiers. The engineers would place the dynamite and they would all hurry out of danger. Bang! And the grocery store would go scattering into the air. It must be confessed that the dynamiting did very little good. It seemed to provide fine splintered timber as kindling for fiercer flames which jumped the gap supposed to check them. The sound of the explosions was to be heard all day long almost like minute guns. Let a word be interjected here about those splendid boys in blue uniform hurried into the city from the forts about San Francisco. They make one proud of the army. No more superbly policed city ever existed than the burning and stricken San Francisco. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere. Almost at every street corner with fixed bayonet and ominous cartridge belt. Infantry, cavalry (some mounted infantry) and engineers, all doing sentry duty. Gen. Funston was in personal command--not from his office, either. He went plowing around the most perilous streets soaked to the skin from the fire engines. San Francisco in this time of panic and distress was more quiet and orderly than ever before. I saw not a single disturbance of the peace. With it all, the soldiers were polite, and seemed to try in every way to show courtesy and consideration. When they had to order people back, they did it in a quiet and gentlemanly way. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =CAMP KITCHEN.= Cooking in Baseball Park.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =SHACKS ERECTED IN A FEW HOURS.= Another view in Golden Gate Park.] [Illustration: =GOVERNOR PARDEE OF CALIFORNIA.= The prompt help in relief work rendered by Gov. Pardee stamps him as one of the greatest humanitarians of the present day.] [Illustration: Copyright, Clinedinst, Washington. =MAJOR GENERAL ADOLPHUS W. GREELY.= Commander of the Pacific Division of the U. S. Army in the earthquake district. General Greely is well known for his Arctic expedition.] I met men who claimed to have seen men shot down by the soldiers for defying orders for unlicensed looting. Also there is a story of a negro being shot dead by a policeman for robbing a dead body. One story I would like to believe--that a poor wretch pinned in among the blazing ruins roasting to death begged to be shot and some cavalry trooper had the moral courage to send a bullet through his brain. Although I walked probably fifteen miles back and forth through the city, I saw very little unlicensed looting. Many grocery stores which did not seem to be in immediate danger, were thrown open; one very oddly. The proprietor nailed up one window with slats about four inches wide. He made the refugees line up, and each was privileged to take all he could reach through the window slats. Some grocers and tradesmen were not so charitable. In other places I saw them demanding from people in danger of starving, 75 cents a loaf for bread. Bread was the scarcest article except water. The last of the tragedy that I witnessed was not only the most dramatic but the most tremendous. It should be called the "Exodus," for it was a Biblical scene. It was the headlong flight of those who were most terror-stricken to get out of the doomed city. All day long a procession of almost countless thousands was to be seen hurrying with all the possessions they could carry. There were people with bundles, packs, laden express wagons, hacks bulging with plunder, brewery wagons pressed into service, automobiles, push carts, even fire hose wagons. I happened along at a crucial moment. One of the lieutenants whose peculiar and melancholy function seemed to be to pronounce the doom of one section after another, had just sent warning to Nob Hill, the center of fashion in San Francisco. For hours I had been working my way toward the Oakland ferries. As a last hope, some one told me I might get there by going over these hills and following the line of the water front. I got there after the warning had been given. It was San Francisco's wealthiest and most exclusive society who had to pack and sling their bundles over their shoulders. And they did it with just as good grace and courage as the others. All were making a frantic attempt to hire expressmen with any kind of vehicle that would move, and most of them were failing. During the first of the fire, some young society women with very poor taste, went autoing around the stricken districts as though it were a circus. They were stopped by a sentry and were made to get out of their car and hand it over to a posse of special officers being hurried to some district in new peril. As I gained the top of Nob Hill and turned to look back, it was clear why the warning had been given. In one direction, hospitals were burning south of Market street. In the center distance the big car barns were on fire and roaring with flames. Ordinarily this would have been a sensation of a week. Now it wasn't even considered worth while to send fire engines and nobody stopped to look as they walked by. The main streets, where the business part of the city had been, were black with an immense throng of people who were walking up and down among the ruins. Looking toward the ferries, I could count nine big skyscrapers, all crowned with fire, outlined in a lurid row against the sky line. The flames were creeping slowly, but with deadly persistence, toward Nob Hill, with several lesser fires blazing in between. It was high time Nob Hill was moving. One old man had chartered an express wagon, and was on top of the wagon frantically interfering with the work of removing the goods from a big, aristocratic-looking house. "The books!" he shrieked, "Why in heaven's sake don't you bring the books?" A swagger young woman came to the door with a handsome mantel clock and walked calmly down the stairs. "Please put this in some especially safe place, please," she said, as composedly as though this were nothing more than any ordinary moving day. Down the street I saw a woman with the bearing of a patrician shoving at the rear of a push cart, loaded with all of the few things she could save; a servant was drawing it. Behind came a young girl, who half turned for a last look at the house, and burst out crying. Her mother left the load for a moment and comforted her. "Never mind, dear," she said. "Don't cry! See, mamma isn't crying." "Mamma" knew that in a few minutes her home and all the property she had in the world would die in the fire just as her husband's business had already done; but mamma wasn't crying. On the corner of Van Ness avenue and Broadway, I saw a girl well dressed, who had evidently been driven out from there. All she had saved was a bed tick filled with something. As it was very hot, and she was very tired, she had spread it on the pavement, and was watching the throng from under her parasol. I saw another girl in a trig outing suit and little patent-leather shoes, toss a bundle, done up in a sheet, over her shoulder and walk away in the procession with the most fascinating nonchalance. One woman I saw going away in an elegantly-fitted private carriage. It was drawn by two horses with tails about two inches long and soaring; so she must have been near the top of the Upper Crust. She, too, joined in the flight. Just as she got to the bottom of the hill she had the driver stop. I saw her turn and take a last wistful look from her carriage window at her doomed home. She was not attempting to take anything with her. Like many others, she had simply locked her door and gone. Many of these people, rich one day, are practically paupers on the morrow. Many of them slept outdoors in the parks under a blanket, afraid to sleep in their own palatial homes. What I call the "Exodus" fled down Van Ness avenue to the water front, thence along the Barbary Coast and tough water front by an enormously long detour to the ferries; it was the only way, the town streets being on fire and closed by the military. The farther you went along the more conglomerate the throng became. The inhabitants of the foreign quarters began pouring out to join the flight. I was so tired with a long day spent walking about the burning city that it seemed an impossibility that I should keep on. Every step was actual physical pain. Twenty passing cabs, returning from the ferries, I stopped and tried to charter. The drivers, after bigger game, would wave me aside and say "Nothin' doin'." One cabby said that he had to hurry out to the other end of the city to rescue his own family who were in danger. Another young autocrat on the cabby's box took a long puff on his cigarette before he replied to my appeal. "Fellow, you couldn't hire this hack for a million dollars," he said. There was one amusing feature in the terrible procession. She was a haughty dame from Van Ness avenue. All that she could save she had stuffed into a big striped bed tick. She was trying to drag this along, and at the same time trying to maintain the dignity of a perfect lady. Candidly, it was not a success. One can stick pretty nearly everything into a striped bed quilt, but not dignity. All along the way were women who had dropped out from exhaustion and were sitting there with their bundles in utter despair. CHAPTER X. WHOLE NATION RESPONDS WITH AID. =Government Appropriates Millions and Chicago Leads All Other Cities with a Round Million of Dollars--People in All Ranks of Life from President Roosevelt to the Humblest Wage Earner Give Promptly and Freely.= The fiery destruction of the beautiful city and the pitiable plight of the survivors who escaped annihilation from quake and fire only to face death in the equally horrible forms of starvation and exposure touched the heartstrings of humanity. The response to the needs of the stricken city and its people was so prompt, so universal and so generous that forever it will appeal to the admiration of mankind. It was a response that did not wait to be asked but in the moment when the need became known voluntarily turned the tide of the abundance of the unstricken to the help of the unfortunate before they had even breath to voice their need. All over our own land, from every state and city and hamlet, from the president and the assembled congress, dropping all else to turn the nation's resources generously to the rescue, through all grades of the people the response broke forth spontaneously, generously, warmly, without stint and with such practical promptness that relief for unexampled distress was already on the way before the close of the first fateful day. From all the seeming sordidness of daily life one turns to this as proof incontestable that humanity is at heart infinitely kinder and better and less selfish than it esteems itself. Even other lands and other peoples when the horror of the calamity became known to them, added to the stream of gold, which had its beginning in the sympathetic hearts of the American people and its ending in the stricken and despairing city. Once more were the lines of the geographer and politician obliterated and there was in the lurid light of the awful hours no north, no south, no east, no west. Once more did those in charge of the coffers of the municipalities raise high the lid and contribute to relieve the woe. And Chicago, as became the Queen City of the Lakes, and which once in an almost equally dire calamity was, herself, the recipient of generous aid, was among the very first which recognized the need of prompt and generous aid. Almost as soon as the news of the direful plight of the city by the Golden Gate had been flashed over the wires, the Merchants' Association of Chicago telegraphed to the authorities of San Francisco that it would be responsible for a relief fund of $1,000,000, and that any portion of that sum could be drawn upon at once. Then Mayor Dunne issued a call for a special relief meeting at which a big committee of the leading men of the city was formed and immediately went to work. Fraternal organizations, the newspapers and the clubs became also active solicitors for aid. For several days the streets of the city presented a peculiar appearance. Upon the street corners stood boxes showing that funds deposited within would reach the homeless of the Pacific coast. Smaller boxes stood in the hotels that the strangers in the city might have an opportunity to contribute. Within the large stores in the business center were other boxes that the shoppers might have an opportunity of displaying their sympathy in something more tangible than words. Upon other corners stood the men and women of the Volunteers of America and the inscriptions above their boxes told that all pennies, nickels and dimes would eventually find their way to the stricken of San Francisco. But while Chicago was the first of distant cities to pledge a big contribution, other cities throughout the country were not far behind. In Faneuil Hall, Boston, a meeting which overcrowded that historic temple of liberty was held, and Bishop Mallalieu of the Methodist church, at the close of an eloquent address, had a motion enthusiastically passed that the state of Massachusetts raise $3,000,000 for the relief of the earthquake and fire victims of the Pacific coast. In the meantime the city of Boston had already pledged $500,000 of that amount. The city of Philadelphia at a formal meeting of its council voted $100,000, while the relief committee of the people there had secured $125,000 for the sufferers of the stricken city. And the congress of the United States, as became it, was prompt in action. In the lower house a bill appropriating $1,000,000 was introduced and passed at once, and a few days later a similar measure of relief was adopted, making the contribution of the government $2,000,000 altogether. This was about one-third as much as was required to care for the thousands who were made homeless by the Chicago disaster of 1871. President Roosevelt also sent a message to congress urging a further contribution of $500,000, and in an address to the public urged that they send contributions to the National Red Cross society as the readiest means by which the afflicted could be reached. Governor Deneen of Illinois also issued a proclamation to the like effect. Secretary of War Taft, in his capacity of President of the American National Red Cross society, issued a proclamation in which he announced that the necessary work of organization to feed and shelter the people was placed in the hands of the Red Cross society, under the direction of General Funston, Commander of the Department of the Pacific. In this way matters were made systematic and authoritative and assurances given that the contributions of the nation would be honestly and economically distributed to those in need. Among other states and cities not already mentioned, whose contributions were generous enough to deserve permanent record, were the following--and the amounts named may be in most cases set down as somewhat below the real final figures: Texas $100,000 Connecticut 30,000 St. Louis, Mo. 100,000 Sacramento 100,000 Seattle, Wash. 90,000 Victoria, B. C. 25,000 Spokane, Wash. 30,000 Milwaukee 30,000 City of Mexico 30,000 Des Moines 10,000 Jacksonville, Fla. 10,000 Los Angeles 200,000 Cincinnati 75,000 Omaha 10,000 Providence, R. I. 20,000 Davenport, Iowa 20,000 Stockton, Cal. 20,000 Portland, Ore. 130,000 Sacramento, Cal. 100,000 Columbus, O. 20,000 Among individuals in this and other countries who promptly sent in their contributions were the following: Russell Sage $ 5,000 London Americans 12,500 Clarence H. Mackay 100,000 Mrs. John W. Mackay 5,000 Robert Lebaudy 10,000 W. W. Astor 100,000 President Roosevelt 1,000 Senator Knox 500 C. J. Burrage, Boston oil dealer 100,000 President Diaz, Mexico 100,000 E. H. Harriman (for his railroads) 200,000 Andrew Carnegie 100,000 Charles Sweeney, New York 10,000 W. K. Vanderbilt 25,000 "Friend of Humanity," New York 25,000 H. C. Frick 10,000 Gordon Blanding 10,000 H. M. Bowers, Boston 10,000 Robert Schandy, France 10,000 Among the corporations and organizations which lost no time in going to the rescue of the afflicted and helpless were the following: Bank of Commerce, Toronto $ 25,000 Columbus Board of Trade 20,000 National Carpenters' union 10,000 United States Steel Corporation 100,000 Kuhn, Loeb & Co., New York 25,000 United Mineworkers of America 1,000 Standard Oil Company 100,000 North German Lloyd Steamship Company 25,000 Wisconsin Masons 5,000 Carnegie Hero Fund 25,000 Heidelback-Ickleheimer, New York 10,000 National Park bank, New York 5,000 New York Stock Exchange 250,000 Citizens' Relief Association, Philadelphia 100,000 Detroit Board of Commerce 10,000 N. K. Fairbank Co. 1,000 National Biscuit Co. 5,000 Hamburg-American Steamship Line 25,000 Canadian Parliament 100,000 CHAPTER XI. ALL CO-OPERATE IN RELIEF WORK. =Citizens' Committee Takes Charge of the Distribution of Supplies, Aided by the Red Cross Society and the Army--Nearly Three-Fourths of the Entire Population Fed and Sheltered in Refuge Camps.= President Roosevelt inaugurated the organized and systematic relief work through the National Red Cross Society. Before the embers of the conflagration had cooled he issued the following statement: Washington, D. C., April 22.--The following statement was issued from the White House this afternoon: "To the public: After full consultation with Secretary Taft, the president of the American National Red Cross Association, who also as secretary of war is controlling the army work and the expenditure of the money, probably two millions and a half, appropriated and to be appropriated by congress for the relief of San Francisco, I wish to make the following suggestion: "Contributions both in money and in kind are being given most generously for the relief of those who have suffered through this appalling calamity. Unless there is a proper organization for handling these contributions they will in large part be wasted and will in large part fail to reach the people to whom it is most to be desired they should reach. "The American National Red Cross Association has sent out to take charge of the relief work Dr. Edward Devine, general secretary of the Charity Organization Society of New York, whose experience has been large in work of this kind. Dr. Devine will work in conjunction with Judge Morrow, United States Circuit judge of the Ninth circuit, and the head of the California Red Cross Association. Gen. Funston already has been directed to co-operate with Dr. Devine, and has advised the secretary of war that he will do so. "Secretary Metcalf, who is on his way to the Pacific slope, will at once put himself in touch with Dr. Devine, as well as with the judge, the governor of California, and the mayor of San Francisco, to see if there is anything else the administration can do, and he will assist in all possible ways the effort to systematize what is being done. "I recommend that all charitable and relief organizations and individuals who desire to contribute do so through the Red Cross Association, and that where provisions and supplies be sent they be consigned to Dr. Devine, Red Cross, San Francisco, and that Dr. Devine be notified by telegraph of the consignments. At the same time Jacob H. Schiff, the treasurer of the New York Red Cross Association, in New York, may be notified that the consignments have been sent to Dr. Devine, or else the notification can be sent to Charles H. Keep, assistant secretary of the treasury, Washington, D. C., and treasurer of the American National Red Cross Association. "I also suggest that all contributions that already have been forwarded be brought to the attention of Dr. Devine by telegraph, which telegram should state the name and address of the consignee and the amount and nature of the consignment. It is better to send all moneys to Mr. Keep or Mr. Schiff; they will then be telegraphed to Dr. Devine as the money is needed. "The White House, April 22, 1906. Theodore Roosevelt." * * * * * At the time the foregoing was issued the President was not aware that the Citizens' Committee of San Francisco headed by ex-Mayor James D. Phelan was completely organized for relief work and was at the time directing the succor of the victims. Upon learning this fact he speedily endorsed the committee and its work, and instructed the Red Cross Society to co-operate with the Citizens' Committee. President Roosevelt aroused criticism in some directions by declining aid from foreign countries. The first tenders of aid from abroad came from foreign steamship companies and later several foreign governments expressed a desire to contribute. The President took the ground that the United States was able to provide all the relief necessary. The justification for his attitude was expressed in an address by General Stewart L. Woodford, former minister to Spain, speaking with the authority of the President. He said: "The President, in the midst of the horrors of San Francisco kindly but firmly declined the assistance offered by the other nations, and especially, through St. George's society, the assistance of England. The President meant simply that, bowed as the American people were under their load, it was his wish that the American people show to the world that under such an adversity the United States would take care of its own; would rise equal to the terrible occasion; would feed their own hungry, would clothe their own naked, and, spurred on by the indomitable courage which this people always have exhibited under stress of distracting calamity, set up their flag and move to the assistance of 'the city that once was,' and build a new city, even though the earth shook beneath its foundations. "In doing this--in refusing your great beneficence, the President still feels that he is greatly honored, as the American people are, in that England and the other great nations not only sent messages of regret, but offers of substantial material aid. He felt that the nation, as a nation, would set an example to other nations." All funds and supplies were dispensed through the Citizens' Committee or general relief committee as it was known, with the co-operation of the army and the Red Cross. Money, food, shelter and clothing poured in from every quarter. On the Monday succeeding the fire the food problem had been solved and its distribution reduced to a system. The people were fed thereafter in a thoroughly businesslike manner. From the water front, where the boatloads of provisions docked, there was an endless procession of carts and drays carrying food to the scores of substations established throughout the city and the parks. At these stations food and drink, comprising bread, prepared meats, and canned goods, milk, and a limited amount of hot coffee, was served to all those who applied. About 1,500 tons of provisions were being moved daily from the water front. The food supply committee had fifty-two food depots in operation. Plain food of every description was plentiful. The troops who dispensed the food played no favorites. Sometimes it took two or three hours to get through the lines, and with three meals a day a man living in the parks passed a good part of his time standing for his food. The Red Cross saw that weak women and children were provided for without waiting in line. Even the people living in houses had to take their chances with the rest of the crowd in the parks near by. Fully 30,000 refugees were fed by the government at the Presidio and North beach. Provisions were bountifully supplied to all who made application, and there was no suffering from hunger. Over 10,000 tents were given and the authorities distributed them as long as the supply lasted. Barracks were erected in Golden Gate Park to accommodate 15,000 persons. The buildings contained thirty rooms, in two room apartments, with kitchen arranged so as to suit a family or be divided for the use of single men. By great luck a lot of lumber yards along the water front escaped. Their stock was appropriated and used for barracks. Two or three lumber schooners arriving from the northern forest country were seized and the stocks used for the same purpose. Further, the Red Cross, with the approval of Funston, went through the standing residence district and made every householder give over his spare room to refugees. Here, generosity was its own reward. Those residents of the western addition who took in burned out friends or chance acquaintances on the first day had a chance to pick their company. Those who were selfish about it had to take whomsoever the Red Cross sent, even Chinese and new arrivals from Hungary. The Red Cross people enjoyed the grim joke of this. They trotted ten refugees up to the door of a Pacific Heights residence. The woman of the house came to the door. The sergeant in charge made brief explanation. "Heavens," she said, looking them over. "You have brought me two of my discharged cooks." "See that the guests are quartered in the parlor," said the sergeant briefly to his high private. What with tents, barracks, the exodus to other parts of California, the plan of concentration in the standing houses of the western addition, there was shelter for everyone. The water supply improved every day. Nearly everywhere the order to boil drinking water was enforced. All vacant houses in the unburned district were seized. Many vacant flats were taken where the homeless are housed and the sick found good accommodations. Churches, and other buildings, including schoolhouses, were turned into living rooms for the homeless. In some of the provisional camps established for refugees near the foot of Van Ness avenue and near Fort Mason it was difficult to distinguish men from women. The supply of women's clothing had been exhausted, and many women could be seen dressed in ordinary soft shirts and overalls. In that garb they walked about their tents unconcernedly. It was no time for false modesty and those who were able to make themselves comfortable in any sort of clothing were indeed fortunate. Within a week conditions had improved so rapidly that there was enough water in the mains to justify the removal of the restrictions on washing. Up to that time the only way to get a bath was to dip into the bay. Lights, only candles, of course, were allowed up to 10 p. m. An idea of the Titanic task of feeding the refugees may be gained from the figures of the number of hungry people fed in one day. Throughout the city rations for 349,440 persons were distributed. At one point provisions were given out to 672 people in an hour for ten hours. Two thousand persons were fed daily at St. Mary's cathedral on Van Ness avenue, a relief station organized by the Rev. Father Hannigan and headed by him as chairman of the committee. This was perhaps the best organized and most systematically conducted private station in the city. The committee has a completed directory of the fifty square blocks in the district, and so perfect was the system that there is no duplicating and wrangling. Nine substations gave out orders, and it was arranged for those stations to give out food also. Fourteen members of the clergy were in charge of the various branches of the work. The emergency hospitals were well organized under direction of army medical officers, and there were plenty of doctors and nurses after the second day. The only complaint that really existed at that time was the lack of bedding. Though the army and navy were called upon for blankets, quilts, and the like, the supply furnished by those departments was not enough to relieve immediate needs. Only 30 patients were quartered in the territory that comprised the park emergency hospital at the end of the first week. Considering that over 500 injured people received attention at the park during that time the record was remarkable. More than 100 physicians and attendants were serving in the park within forty-eight hours after the first shock. Among the many pathetic scenes connected with the work of relief were others that illustrated the saving sense of humor which keeps people from going insane in times of great calamity and mental stress. In the vestibule of a church they were giving away clothes. One shivering woman was being fitted out. "Here, dear," said the woman in charge, "here is a nice, good warm waist." "Oh, I couldn't wear it," she answered. "You know, I'm in mourning." Another girl near by said: "Yes, please, I want a waist. I want pink and white, you know; they're my favorite colors." Quite suddenly the smile died on our lips. A little mother came up. "I want clothes for my baby; it's cold," she said. They took the baby from her, and a man near by said to another: "The child is dead." We went down to Broadway to look for friends. Some people were so dazed they would make no effort to reach the homes of their friends. On the corner was a dapper youth whom we have long known. A helpful feature of the relief work was the establishment by the Southern Pacific company of a chain of information kept by bureaus, which was served by relays of pony riders carrying the latest bulletins and instructions relative to transportation facilities, provided to relieve the congestion in San Francisco. A committee sent by the Japanese consul, representing the Japanese relief society, cared for many of the stricken Japanese who still remain in the city. They rendered assistance to white people wherever required. They wired to every large city on the coast asking for supplies to be sent by the Japanese. It was the desire of President Roosevelt that the work of the Red Cross in alleviating the distress in San Francisco should be done wholly without regard to the person and just as much for the Chinese as for any others. [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =REFUGEES ON TELEGRAPH HILL.= These people sought a safe place and are watching their houses and the city burning. Many of them carried bedding, pictures, relics, etc., with them--all they could carry and get to a safe place with their lives.] [Illustration: =GENERAL FUNSTON AND WIFE.=] CHAPTER XII. OUR BOYS IN BLUE PROVE HEROISM. =United States Troops at the Presidio and Fort Mason Under Command of General Funston Bring Order Out of Chaos and Save City from Pestilence--San Francisco Said "Thank God for the Boys in Blue"--Stricken City Patrolled by Soldiers.= "Thank god for the Boys in Blue!" was the ardent and praiseful exclamation of the people of San Francisco during and after the terrible days that rent by shock and consumed by fire their beautiful city. And as their courage and devotion to save and protect, and their tenderness towards the dying and the dead became known the entire country re-echoed the tribute. For it was the soldiers of Uncle Sam, untiring and unafraid amidst horrors and dangers seen and unseen, that stood between half-crazed refugees from the quake and the fire and downright starvation and anarchy. When the catastrophe occurred Major General A. W. Greely, in command of the military department of the Pacific, was on his way east to attend the marriage of his daughter, and so the command of the troops and of the department devolved on Brigadier General Frederick Funston; and as on previous occasions when pluck and wise decision were required he showed himself equal to the emergency. The first thing that was done was to divide that portion of the city where order and protection were most needed into six districts, four of them being guarded by the military, one by the marine and one by the navy. Other portions of the city were patrolled by the National Guard and by the city's police force. Because of these arrangements there was thereafter but little trouble, and practically no more looting. During the fire General Funston established his headquarters at Fort Mason on the cliffs of Black Point, and at once it became the busiest and most picturesque spot in San Francisco. There was an awe-inspiring dignity about the place, with its many guards, military ensemble and the businesslike movements of officers and men. Few were allowed to enter within its gates, and the missions of those who did find their way within were disposed of with that accuracy and dispatch peculiar to government headquarters. Scores of automobiles rushed in and out of the gate, and each car contained an armed guardsman in the front seat furiously blowing a sentry whistle to clear the roadway. At the sound of that tremolo the crowds scattered as if by magic. San Francisco was virtually under martial law, and order was wrought from chaos. After the quake the President and Secretary Taft were chiefly concerned at first with getting supplies, and that work was performed with extraordinary expedition and thoroughness. At the same time they were rushing troops, marines, and sailors to guard the devastated city. The marvelous work done by the soldiers, from General Funston down to the newest recruit, won the admiration and congratulations of the entire country. The sentiment everywhere was and is that the army has demonstrated its splendid capacity not only to preserve peace in the face of armed resistance, but to take charge of affairs in a stricken city at a time when intelligent discipline was more needed than everything else. Secretary Taft expressed the belief that congress would have to give him absolution for the violence he had done the constitution in those terrible days. He ordered General Funston to take complete command of the city, to put martial law into effect, and to enforce sanitary regulations without regard to the wishes of the people. The war department had been morally responsible for the unhesitating way in which the troops shot down looters and the people who refused to understand that great situations must be controlled without regard to law. It was the soldiers apparently who brought order out of chaos. They headed the unfortunate refugees farther and farther on ahead of the flames, until finally they had located the vast homeless mob in the Presidio, in the Golden Gate Park, and in other wide expanses. General Funston had not exceeded his orders. He was given full discretion to employ his forces as he saw fit. He turned loose the soldiers under him with general instructions to act as their own good sense dictated, and it is to the eternal credit of the noncommissioned officers and the privates that every report sent to the war department and all the descriptions in the press reports indicated that the army had saved the situation in San Francisco. When a sturdy sergeant brought down the butt of his musket on the counter of a bake shop where they were beginning to sell bread at 75 cents a loaf, and announced that bread thereafter in that concern would be sold at 10 cents a loaf or there would be one less baker in the world, he was guilty of an act which in any other time might have landed him in prison. If he is punished for it now, it will only be after the Secretary of War and the President are impeached, because he was only obeying the spirit if not the letter of their instructions to General Funston. Soldiers guarded the water wagons, which were driven about the streets, and this show of force was necessary, so that the scanty supplies might be distributed with even-handed justice. In the same way, when General Funston issued orders as the result of which the soldiers compelled citizens to dig graves for the temporary interment of the dead, he violated the law most flagrantly, but he acted as the emergency demanded, and the incident contributed with other things to make the army organization of the United States a little bit the most popular thing in the country in these days. When the army was reduced at the close of the Philippine insurrection, the machinery was left intact. In this way, although the quartermasters' stores in San Francisco were wiped out of existence, it was possible to hurry supplies to San Francisco. They began arriving there promptly and the danger of famine was averted. It is the purpose of the war department to continue practical martial law in San Francisco. It is believed the greatest work of the soldiers, in which term of course are to be included the marines and sailors as well, was in the prevention of pestilence. Practically all of the house to house sewage system of San Francisco had been destroyed. An army of two or three hundred thousand men encamped in the suburbs of a great city would ordinarily die like flies unless it provided itself with proper facilities for the removal of garbage and the general sanitary cleansing of the immense camp. Even with trained soldiers under strict discipline it was an extremely difficult thing to enforce sanitary regulations. Immense supplies of medical necessities already had been forwarded from the bureau at St. Louis, and General Funston organized at once a series of camps on military lines. The refugees were compelled to live up to sanitary rules whether they liked it or not. Those who refused felt the pick of a bayonet. Furthermore, out of the tens of thousands of homeless people the soldiers forced as many as were needed to go to work for the common good, putting up shelters, erecting tents, devising store-houses, and, above all, creating the necessary sanitary appliances and safeguards to prevent the outbreak of pestilence. It required the utmost vigilance on the part of the army officers and the most constant attention by the medical corps to prevent an outbreak of typhoid, dysentery, and the ordinary train of nearly fatal diseases which are common to large military camps, and which are almost inevitable when dealing with an unorganized and unintelligent mob. Efforts were made to compel every man, woman, and child to obey constantly the strict sanitary regulations which the army provides for its own protection. Every medical officer and every man in the hospital corps within a wide range of San Francisco had been ordered to report at once for duty under General Funston. With the flames practically under control and with millions of army rations on the grounds or actually in sight of the people, the efforts of the War Department became directed to the preservation of health and in a secondary degree to the location and registration of the dead, the wounded, and the saved. Following close upon the heels of the rations and the tents there came tons upon tons of disinfectants unloaded at Oakland and every possible device was being employed by the medical bureau to make as good a record in this regard as the quartermaster and commissary departments had already produced in supplying food and shelter. Meanwhile the ever-ready American private soldier and his splendid executive officer, the American noncom., were really the rulers at San Francisco. They defied the law every minute, but evidently they acted with characteristic good sense. The price of bread was kept down, the mob was being systematized and taught to respect authority, and enough thieves had summarily been shot in San Francisco to render looting a dangerous and an unprofitable avocation. People who went through the great fire at Chicago in 1871 remember that when Gen. Sheridan brought in regular soldiers he established order within a brief period of time, and there was a feeling of relief when men under his command began to blow up houses in the vicinity of Wabash avenue and Congress street. The laws of the United States had been violated every minute. Supplies were purchased in the open market, government property had been handed out without receipts to anybody who seemed to have authority to receive it, and the distribution of supplies had been wholly free from the slightest suspicion of red tape. In spite of these facts, the President and Secretary Taft felt proud of the fact that the army organization had proved itself able to withstand the sudden strain put upon it, while the enlisted man showed his ability to act at a distance from his commissioned officer with an intelligence and an initiative which would be impossible in the European armies. As during the days of disaster and terror stricken San Francisco was absolutely under the control of General Funston, a few facts about his career will be appropriate here. Red-headed, red-blooded; a pygmy in stature, a giant in experience; true son of Romany in peace and of Erin in war--the capture of Aguinaldo in the wilds of North Luzon and his control of affairs in San Francisco fairly top off the adventurous career of Frederick Funston, fighter. General Funston was born in Ohio, but when he was two years old his family moved to Kansas. After passing through the high school he entered the University of Kansas. His father had been a congressman for a number of years. His ambition was to enter West Point, but he failed to pass its examination. He later broke into the newspaper business, but his career in that field was short. In 1900 his father secured him an appointment as botanist in the Department of Agriculture. After a trip to Montana and the Dakotas he was attached to the party which made the first Government survey of Death Valley, the famous California death-trap. Seven months were spent in this work, and Funston is the only man of the party alive and sane today. In 1891-92 the Government sent him to make a botanical survey of certain parts of the Alaskan coast, and in 1893 he returned to the Arctic and made a similar survey of the Yukon. He negotiated Chilkoot Pass, then an untrodden pathway. After trying to start a coffee plantation in Central America and to fill a job with the Santa Fe railroad, the torch of the Cuban revolution became a beacon to his adventurous spirit. He joined a filibustering party which the Dauntless landed at Camaguay in August, 1896. He was assigned by Garcia to the artillery arm of the insurgent service. Twenty-three battles in Cuba was his record with his guns. Once he was captured and sentenced to death, but escaped. Later still a steel-tipped Mauser bullet pierced his lungs. This healed, but the fever struck him down, and compelled his return to the United States. As he was preparing to return to Cuba the Maine was blown up and in his certainty that war with Spain would result he awaited the issue. Governor Leedy, of Kansas, telegraphed for him, and he became Colonel of the Twentieth Kansas. He went with General Miles to Cuba in June, 1898, and sailed with his regiment for Manila in October. Three weeks before he sailed Colonel Funston met Miss Ella Blankhart of Oakland. As impetuous in love as in war he wooed and won her, the marriage taking place the day before the transport sailed. Of his daring risks and feats in the Philippines and of his capture of Aguinaldo the general public is so familiar as not to need recapitulation here. Of his qualities as a fighting man pure and simple, there can be no two opinions. Says General Harrison G. Otis: "Funston is the greatest daredevil in the army, and would rather fight than eat. I never saw a man who enjoyed fighting so much." Another friend of his once said that Funston was a sixteenth-century hero, born four hundred years or so too late, who had ever since been seeking to remedy the chronological error of his birth. CHAPTER XIII. IN THE REFUGE CAMPS. =Scenes of Destitution in the Parks Where the Homeless Were Gathered--Rich and Poor Share Food and Bed Alike--All Distinctions of Wealth and Social Position Wiped Out by the Great Calamity.= Next to viewing the many square miles of ruins that once made San Francisco a city, no better realization of the ruin can be gained than from the refugee camps located in the districts which were untouched by the flames. Golden Gate park was the mecca of the destitute. This immense playground of the municipality was converted into a vast mushroom city that bore striking resemblance to the fleeting towns located on the border of a government reservation about to be opened to public settlement. The common destitution and suffering wiped out all social, financial and racial distinctions. The man who before the fire had been a prosperous merchant occupied with his family a little plot of ground that adjoined the open-air home of a laborer. The white man of California forgot his antipathy to the Asiatic race and maintained friendly relations with his new Chinese and Japanese neighbors. The society belle of the night before the fire, a butterfly of fashion at the grand opera performance, assisted some factory girl in the preparation of humble daily meals. Money had little value. The family who had foresight to lay in the largest stock of foodstuffs on the first day of the disaster was rated highest in the scale of wealth. A few of the families who could secure willing expressmen possessed cooking stoves, but over 95 per cent of the refugees had to do their cooking on little camp fires made of brick or stone. Kitchen utensils that a week before would have been regarded with contempt were articles of high value. Many of the homeless people were in possession of comfortable clothing and bed covering. The grass was their bed and their daily clothing their only protection against the penetrating fog of the ocean or the chilling dew of the morning. Fresh meat disappeared the first day of the catastrophe and canned foods and breadstuffs were the only victuals in evidence. Not alone were the parks the places of refuge. Every large vacant lot in the safe zone was preempted and even the cemeteries were crowded. A well-known young lady of social position when asked where she had spent the night replied: "On a grave." Throughout the entire western portion of the peninsular county of San Francisco these camps were located. Major McKeever of the United States Army was appointed commandant of the camps and, with his staff of assistants, brought system and order out of the chaotic situation. His first thought was to supply food and water and then to arrange sanitary measures. The throngs of people who crowded elbow to elbow in the open lots and fields without conveniences that are naturally demanded were constantly threatened with an epidemic of disease. Good order and fellowship prevailed in these impromptu settlements and the common ruin and poverty made all of the unfortunates akin. In buildings close to the camps the police stored available foodstuffs and bed clothing for convenient delivery. No distinctions were drawn and but few favors shown in the distribution of supplies. Although efforts of the various relief committees were bent to appease the gnawing hunger of the destitute thousands--efforts that were in a large measure entirely successful--there were many persons without sufficient food or entirely without it. The government officials took charge of every grocery store in that part of the city still standing and gave out foodstuffs to all those who were hungry. Broad lines were established at Fillmore and Turk streets, at Golden Gate park and at the Presidio and every person who stood in line was given a whole loaf. The line at Fillmore and Turk streets was four blocks long all one afternoon and those at the parks were even longer. A large supply of milk was received from Oakland in the morning and this was distributed to women and children whenever they were found in need. A great deal of this milk was used for the exhausted women. The breadlines at the parks furnished striking instances of the absolute patience and fortitude that has marked the behavior of the people throughout their trying experience. There were no disorders when the hungry thousands were told to form a line and receive their bread and canned goods. All were content to wait their turn. Silk-hatted men followed good naturedly behind Chinese and took their loaves from the same hand. Soup kitchens were established in the streets of the unburned section, no fires whatever being allowed indoors, and many hungry persons were fed by these individual efforts. At the ferry station there were some pathetic scenes among the hungry people. When the boat came in from Stockton with tons of supplies a number of small children were the first to spy a large box of sandwiches with cries of delight. They made a rush for the food, seized as much as they could hold and rushed to their mothers with shouts of "Oh, mamma, mamma, look at the sandwiches!" Seated around the ferry buildings sat hundreds of people sucking canned fruits from the tins. Some were drinking condensed cream and some were lucky enough to have sardines or cheese. At several places along Market street scores of men were digging with their hands among the still smoking debris of some large grocery house for canned goods. When they secured it, which they did without molestation from anybody, they broke the tins and drank the contents. At Filbert and Van Ness avenue at 6 o'clock at night a wagon of supplies conveyed by soldiers was besieged by a crowd of hungry people. They appealed to the soldiers for food and their appeals were quickly heeded. Seizing an ax a soldier smashed the boxes and tossed the supplies to the crowd, which took time to cheer lustily. Owing to the energetic efforts of General Funston and the officials of the Spring Water Company the sufferers in all parts of the city were spared at least the horrors of a water famine. As soon as it was learned that some few mercenaries who were fortunate enough to have fresh water stored in tanks in manufacturing districts were selling it at 50 cents per glass the authorities took prompt action and hastened their efforts to repair the mains that had been damaged by the earthquake shocks. The work of relief was started early on the second day of the disaster. A big bakery in the saved district started its fires and 50,000 loaves were baked before night. The police and military were present in force and each person was allowed only one loaf. The destitution and suffering were indescribable. Women and children who had comfortable, happy homes a few days before slept--if sleep came at all--on hay on the wharves, on the sand lots near North beach, some of them under the little tents made of sheeting which poorly protected them from the chilling ocean winds. The people in the parks were better provided in the matter of shelter, for they left their homes better prepared. Instructions were issued by Mayor Schmitz to break open every store containing provisions and to distribute them to the thousands under police supervision. At one time bread sold as high as $1 a loaf and water at fifty cents a glass, but the authorities at once put a stop to the extortion. Among the many pathetic incidents of the fire in San Francisco was that of a woman who sat at the foot of Van Ness avenue on the hot sands on the hillside overlooking the bay east of Fort Mason with four little children, the youngest a girl of three, the eldest a boy of ten. They were destitute of water, food and money. The woman had fled with her children from a home in flames in the Mission street district and tramped to the bay in the hope of sighting the ship, which she said was about due, of which her husband was the captain. "He would know me anywhere," she said. And she would not move, although a young fellow gallantly offered his tent back on a vacant lot in which to shelter her children. Among the refugees who found themselves stranded were John Singleton, a Los Angeles millionaire, his wife and her sister. The Singletons were staying at the Palace Hotel when the earthquake shock occurred on Wednesday morning. Mr. Singleton gave the following account of his experience: "The shock wrecked the rooms in which we were sleeping. We managed to get our clothes on and get out immediately. We had been at the hotel only two days and left probably $3,000 worth of personal effects in the room. "After leaving the Palace we secured an express wagon for $25 to take us to the Casino near Golden Gate park, where we stayed the first night. On the following morning we managed to get a conveyance at enormous cost and spent the entire day in getting to the Palace. We paid $1 apiece for eggs and $2 for a loaf of bread. On these and a little ham we had to be satisfied." Mr. Singleton, like thousands of other people, found himself without funds and he had difficulty in securing cash until he met some one who knew him. To allay the fears of the refugees in the various camps Mayor Schmitz issued the following proclamation which citizens were instructed to observe: "Do not be afraid of famine. There will be abundance of food supplied. Do not use any water except for drinking and cooking purposes. Do not light fires in houses, stoves or fireplaces. Do not use any house closets under any circumstances, but dig earth closets in yards or vacant lots, using if possible chloride of lime or some other disinfectant. This is of the greatest importance, as the water supply is only sufficient for drinking and cooking. Do not allow any garbage to remain on the premises; bury it and cover immediately. Pestilence can only be avoided by complying with these regulations. "You are particularly requested not to enter any business house or dwelling except your own, as you may be mistaken for one of the looters and shot on sight, as the orders are not to arrest but shoot down any one caught stealing." The refugees numbered all told about 300,000. At least 75,000 of them made their way to Oakland, Berkeley, Alameda, Benicia and neighboring cities while many more fortunate and prosperous succeeded in reaching Los Angeles. The work of caring for the homeless in the refugee camps was splendidly managed under the direction of the citizens' committee, the military authorities and the Red Cross. The people were fed in a thoroughly businesslike and systematic manner. From the water front, where the boatloads of provisions docked, there was an endless procession of carts and drays carrying food to the scores of substations established throughout the city and the parks. At these stations food and drink, comprising bread, prepared meats and canned goods, milk and a limited amount of hot coffee, were served to all those who applied. About 1,500 tons of provisions were moved daily from the water front. Large supplies of blankets, tentings and other material to provide coverings for those who were scantily supplied theretofore reached the supply stations rapidly. Barracks were erected at several points and in those many people have found comfort and shelter against the inclemencies of the weather. The situation in the congested districts such as Golden Gate Park and the various public squares throughout the city, was considerably relieved by the departure of many people for points on the other side of the bay, as soon as access was had to the ferry building. The exodus continued daily from the time the fire broke out until every one who wished to get away had departed. The greatest hardship experienced by the homeless refugees was on the first Sunday night following the fire. From midnight Sunday until 3 o'clock Monday morning a drenching rain fell at intervals, while a high wind added a melancholy accompaniment, whistling and sighing about the ruins of the buildings in the burned district. Five days before when the fire catastrophe was in its infancy this downpour would have been regarded as a mercy and a godsend. When it came it could be regarded in no other light than as an additional calamity. It meant indescribable suffering to the tens of thousands of people camped upon the naked hills and in the parks and open places of the city. Few of them were provided with water-proof covering. For the most part their only protection from the wet was a thin covering of sheeting tacked upon improvised tent-poles. Through this the water poured as through a sieve, wetting the bedding and soaking the ground upon which they lay. When it is understood that thousands upon thousands of delicately nurtured women and infants in arms and old and feeble people were in this plight nothing need be added to describe the misery of their condition. What could be done was done by the guards in charge of the camps to relieve the distress. Whenever covering could be had for the women and children it was taken advantage of. They were housed in the chill and cheerless churches, garages and barns, and those who had been fortunate enough to save their homes were called upon to take care of these unfortunates. With few exceptions these people responded readily to the new call made upon them and where they did not the butt ends of Krag rifles quickly forced a way through inhospitable doors. Of individual instances of suffering the whole number is legion, but one will tell the story of them all. About 4 o'clock, when the rain had been falling heavily for an hour, a middle-aged man, white-faced in his distress and fatigue, appeared at the headquarters of the general committee. He had walked two miles from his camping place in the park to make an appeal for his suffering wife and little ones. As he told of their distress the tears welled up in his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. They were, he said, without covering other than a sheeting overhead and were lying on the naked ground and their bodies protected only by a quilt and blanket, which of his household bedding were all he had managed to save. These had quickly been soaked, and while unwilling to complain on his own account he had been unable to listen to the wails of his little ones and had tramped all the way from his camping place to the committee headquarters in the forlorn hope that there he might find some means of getting his family under shelter. The condition of the 5,000 people or more camped in Jefferson Square Park was something terrible. Not more than 5 per cent had even an army tent and the makeshifts were constructed of carpets, bed sheets and every imaginable substance. They were totally inadequate to keep out the heavy rain. The 400 soldiers of the Fifth and Sixth California National Guard were requisitioning. Glenn A. Durston of the Spanish War Veteran's relief committee, had charge of the relief work. The spirit and courage shown by the sufferers in the face of their misfortunes was wonderful. An aged, crippled woman lying on the dirt floor of patchwork, bed sheets, carpets and tin roofing made a remark which was a sample. "I am the widow of a union soldier," she said. "The sufferings related by my husband at Vicksburg were as nothing compared to mine. I am very comfortable, thank you." Many temporary emergency hospitals were established in and near the refugee camps. The St. Paul Lutheran church near Jefferson square was one, but the big hospital at the Presidio, the military headquarters of the government, provided for the greater number of cases. A temporary detention hospital was also established in the basement of the Sacred Heart school, conducted by the Dominican Sisters at the corner of Fillmore and Hayes streets, and the first commitment since the earthquake was made on the Sunday following the fire. The sisters of the Sacred Heart kindly turned over a part of the already crowded quarters to the insanity commissioners, and a number of patients made insane by the fire were cared for there. At the general hospital the wards were soon full of patients, but few were suffering from severe types of sickness. There were many cases of tonsilitis, colds and such ills. Within a week after the fire thousands of people left the refugee camps and found homes with friends in nearby places. One week after the disaster the authorities estimated that the number of campers on the grounds had been reduced to less than 8,000, where over 30,000 people had camped. Temporary structures were erected in Golden Gate Park for the housing of 40,000 people, who had been sleeping out of doors for nearly a week and they were moved into comfortable quarters. About the same time a supply of blankets and bedding was received. Within a week from the beginning of the disaster the refuge camps were converted into comfortable places of residence, with adequate sanitation, and the homeless at least had temporary homes. All this was accomplished with a minimum of suffering and illness that speaks volumes for the courage, energy and common sense of the American people. [Illustration: =THE BEAUTIFUL VENDOME HOTEL, SAN JOSE.= This famous hotel was partly wrecked by the earthquake.] [Illustration: =POSTOFFICE, SAN JOSE.= This building faces a beautiful public square and was badly damaged.] CHAPTER XIV. RUINS AND HAVOC IN COAST CITIES. =San Jose, the Prettiest Place in the State, Wrecked by Quake--State Insane Asylum Collapsed and Buried Many Patients Beneath the Crumbled Walls--Enormous Damage at Santa Rosa.= Outside of San Francisco the earthquake did immense damage for fifty miles north and south of the Golden Gate City. San Jose, the prettiest city in California, sustained the severest shock, which killed a score of people and left the business section a pile of ruins. The loss in this one city alone amounted to $5,000,000. The State Insane Asylum at Agnews near San Jose collapsed and buried upwards of 100 patients beneath its walls. Among the buildings wrecked in San Jose are St. Patrick's church, the First Presbyterian church, the Centella Methodist Episcopal church, the Central Christian and South Methodist churches. Every building on the west side of First street from St. James park to San Fernando street either went down, toppling or was badly cracked. The Auzerias building, Elks club, Unique theater and many other buildings on Santa Clara street went down to the ground. On Second street the six-story Dougherty building and several adjoining blocks were destroyed by fire. A new high school in Normal Park was a complete wreck. The Nevada & Porter building on Second street, the Rucker building on Third and Santa Clara streets were also ruined. The annex to the Vendome Hotel was completely wrecked, and one man was killed therein. Sheriff William White, of Los Angeles, who was in San Jose at the time attending a convention, thus describes the scenes following the quake: "San Jose, which was the prettiest city in California, is the worst-looking wreck I ever saw. When I left there nineteen dead bodies had been recovered and there was a possibility that others would be found. I reached Agnews Asylum a few hours later in an automobile and was one of the first on the spot. There I helped to carry out sixty corpses. At noon, when I arrived at San Jose, it was believed that fully 100 bodies were still in the ruins. "The shock came to San Jose exactly at 5:12:45, according to the clock in the St. James Hotel, which was stopped. Supreme Court Clerk Jordan, my young nephew; Walter Jordan and myself occupied apartments on the fourth floor of the St. James Hotel. The shock awoke the three of us, but only seemed to disturb my nephew, who commenced calling out. "There was not a brick or stone building of two stories or over in San Jose that was not leveled to the ground or so badly damaged it will have to be torn down. Some fires started after the quake, but the fire department soon had them under control. "I secured an automobile at 7 o'clock and left for Agnew, where the insane asylum was located, with two or three of the visiting sheriffs. The sight there was awful. The walls were standing, but the floors had all fallen in. "Scores of insane persons were running about in the grounds, unwatched and uncared for. I helped to take out the body of Dr. Kelly, the assistant superintendent of the asylum, who had been instantly killed. A nurse who was also taken out of the ruins by me died a little later. "After getting away from San Jose I saw evidences of the earthquake at Niles and even as far as Livermore in the shape of fallen chimneys and broken glass." The main building of the State Hospital collapsed, pinning many of the patients under fallen walls and debris. The padded cells had to be broken open and more dangerous patients were tied to trees out on the lawn in lieu of a safer place. The doctors and nurses stuck heroically to their posts and 100 students from Santa Clara College went over in a body and assisted in succoring the wounded. State Senator Cornelius Pendleton, who escaped the earthquake shock at San Jose, thus narrated his experiences: "We were all at the Vendome Hotel. The shock of the earthquake was so severe the floors and walls of the building collapsed at once and those of us who escaped made our way as best we could out of the ruins. On the side of the hotel where my room was there was a large tree. The side wall of my room fell against this tree, which also sustained that portion of the roof, preventing it from falling in on us. "My room was on the second floor, but when I picked myself up I was in the basement of the building. I crawled up and out over the debris and escaped through a window on a level with the ground. After getting out I found this was one of the third story windows. Those of us who were uninjured at once set about assisting the less fortunate. I saw one dead woman in the hotel. We carried her out. The remainder of the dead were in various parts of the town. The residence district was not badly damaged. Martial law had been declared in the city when we left. "Among the large buildings that were totally demolished were the Hall of Justice, the First Presbyterian Church, the Catholic Cathedral, the Hale Block, and the Vendome Hotel. Fire broke out following the earthquake in several quarters, but fortunately the water mains were uninjured and the spread of the flames was checked." At Salinas the immense plant of the Spreckels Sugar refinery was completely destroyed, and the loss of property aggregated $2,000,000. The estimated loss of life and damage in California cities outside of San Francisco is as follows: Oakland, $500,000, 5 lives; Alameda, $400,000; San Jose, $5,000,000, 19 lives; Agnew (state hospital for insane), $400,000, 170 lives; Palo Alto (Stanford University), $3,000,000, 2 lives; Napa, $250,000; Salinas, $2,000,000; Hollister, $100,000, 1 life; Vallejo, $40,000; Sacramento, $25,000; Redwood City, $30,000; Suisun, $50,000; Santa Rosa, $800,000, 40 lives; Watsonville, $70,000; Monterey, $25,000, 8 lives; Loma Prieta, 10 lives; Stockton, $40,000; Brawley, $100,000; Santa Cruz, $200,000; Gilroy, $500,000; Healdsburg, $25,000; Cloverdale, $15,000; Geyserville, $12,000; Hopland, $10,000; Ukiah, $50,000; Alviso, $20,000; Niles, $10,000; Hinckley Creek, $10,000, 9 lives; Deer Creek Mill, $10,000, 2 lives; Santa Clara, $500,000; Pacific Grove, $50,000; Wrights, $75,000; Delmonte, $25,000, 2 lives. The beautiful city of Santa Rosa was a terrible sufferer from the quake, both in loss of life and property: The entire business section was left in ruins and practically every residence in the town was more or less damaged, fifteen or twenty being badly wrecked. The damage to residences was caused principally by the sinking of the foundations, which let many structures down on to the ground. The brick and stone business blocks, together with the public buildings, were all thrown flat. The courthouse, Hall of Records, the Occidental and Santa Rosa hotels, the Athenaeum theater, the new Masonic Temple, Odd Fellows' block, all the banks--everything--went, and in all the city not one brick or stone building was left standing except the California Northwestern depot. It was almost impossible for an outsider to realize the situation as it actually existed there. No such complete destruction of a city's business interests ever before resulted from an earthquake in America. The very completeness of the devastation was really the redeeming feature, though, for it put all upon exactly the same basis, commercially speaking. Bankers and millionaires went about with only the few dollars they happened to have in their pockets when the crash came, and were little better off than the laborers who were digging through the debris. Money had practically no value, for there was no place to spend it, and this phase of the situation presented its own remedy. Almost every one slept out of doors, being afraid to enter their homes except for a short while at a time until repairs were made. There were plenty of provisions. Some were supplied by other towns and much was brought in from the surrounding country. Two entire blocks of buildings escaped being swept by the flames, which immediately broke out in a dozen places at once as soon as the shock was over and from the tangled ruins of those buildings complete stocks of groceries and clothing were dug out and added to the common store. Then before the fire gained headway several grocery stores were emptied of their contents in anticipation of what might follow. The city was put under martial law, company C of Petaluma having been called to assist the local company in preserving order. Many deputy sheriffs and special police were also sworn in, but no trouble of any kind occurred. The relief committee was active and well managed and all in need of assistance received it promptly. The work that required the principal attention of the authorities was removal of the wreckage in order to search for the bodies of those missing and known to have perished. Forty marines under command of Captain Holcombe arrived from Mare Island and did splendid work in assisting in the search. Forty-two bodies were buried in one day and the total dead and missing numbered upward of 100. Santa Rosa, in proportion to its size, suffered worse than San Francisco. Mr. Griggs, who was in the employ of a large firm at Santa Rosa, tells a story which sufficiently proves the earthquake's fury, so great as to practically reduce the town to ruin. In addition to the death roll a large number of persons were missing and a still greater number were wounded. As in the case of San Francisco, an admirable organization had the situation well in hand. Forty sailors from Mare Island, fully equipped with apparatus, were at work, while volunteer aid was unstinted. Santa Rosa suffered the greatest disaster in her history, but the indomitable spirit of her people was shown all along the line. Even so early as Friday an announcement was made that the public schools and the college would open as usual on Monday morning, the buildings having been inspected and found to be safe. At Agnews the cupola over the administration department went down and all the wards in that part of the building collapsed. Twelve attendants were killed and Dr. Kelly, second assistant physician, was crushed to death. There were 1,100 patients in the hospital. C. L. Seardee, secretary of the state commission in lunacy, who was in Agnews and attending to official business, declared that it was a marvel that many more were not killed. Dr. T. W. Hatch, superintendent of the state hospitals for insane, was in charge of the work of relief. Friday morning 100 patients were transferred to the Stockton asylum. Forty or fifty patients escaped. Dr. Clark, superintendent of the San Francisco County Hospital, was one of the first to give relief to the injured at Agnews. He went there in an automobile, taking four nurses with him, and materially assisted the remaining members of the staff to organize relief measures. Tents were set up in the grounds of the institution, and the injured as well as the uninjured cared for. A temporary building was erected to house the patients. The St. Rose and Grand hotels at Santa Rosa collapsed and buried all the occupants. Thirty-eight bodies were taken from the ruins. There were 10,000 homeless men, women and children huddled together about Santa Rosa. As the last great seismic tremor spent its force in the earth, the whole business portion tumbled into ruins. The main street was piled many feet deep with the fallen buildings. The destruction included all of the county buildings. The four story courthouse, with its dome, is a pile of broken masonry. What was not destroyed by the earthquake was swept by fire. The citizens deserted their homes. Not even their household goods were taken. They made for the fields and hills to watch the destruction of one of the most beautiful cities of the west. C. A. Duffy of Owensboro, Ky., who was in Santa Rosa, was the only one out of several score to escape from the floor in which he was quartered in the St. Rose hotel at Santa Rosa. He went to Oakland on his motor cycle after he was released and told a thrilling story of his rescue and the condition of affairs in general at Santa Rosa. Mr. Duffy said when the shock came he rushed for the stairway, but the building was swaying and shaking so that he could make no headway, and he turned back. He threw himself in front of the dresser in his room, trusting to that object to protect him from the falling timbers. This move saved his life. The dresser held up the beams which tumbled over him, and these in turn protected him from the falling mass of debris. "I was imprisoned five hours," said Mr. Duffy, "before being rescued. Three times I tried to call and the rescuers heard me, but could not locate my position from the sound of my voice, and I could hear them going away after getting close to me. "Finally I got hold of a lath from the ruins around me, poked it through a hole left by the falling of a steam pipe, and by using it and yelling at the same time finally managed to show the people where I was. "There were about 300 people killed in the destruction of the three hotels. "The business section of the place collapsed to the ground almost inside of five minutes. Then the fire started and burned Fourth street from one end to the other, starting at each end and meeting in the middle, thus sweeping over the ruins and burning the imprisoned people. "I saw two arms protruding from one part of the debris and waving frantically. There was so much noise, however, that the screams could not be heard. Just then, as I looked, the flames swept over them and cruelly finished the work begun by the earthquake. The sight sickened me and I turned away." Fort Bragg, one of the principal lumbering towns of Mendocino county, was almost totally destroyed as a result of a fire following the earthquake of April 18. The bank and other brick buildings were leveled as a result of the tremors and within a few hours fire completed the work of devastation. But one person of the 5,000 inhabitants was killed, although scores were injured. Eureka, another large town in the same county, fifty miles from Fort Bragg, was practically undamaged, although the quake was distinctly felt there. Relief expeditions were sent to Fort Bragg from surrounding towns and villages and the people of the ruined area were well cared for. The town of Tomales was converted into a pile of ruins. All of the large stores were thrown flat. The Catholic church, a new stone structure, was also ruined. Many ranch houses and barns went down. Two children, Anita and Peter Couzza, were killed in a falling house about a mile from town. The towns of Healdsburg, Geyserville, Cloverdale, Hopland, and Ukiah were almost totally destroyed. The section in which they were located is the country as far north as Mendocino and Lake counties and as far west as the Pacific ocean. These are frontier counties, and have not as large towns as farther south. In every case the loss of life and property was shocking. At Los Banos heavy damage was done. Several brick buildings were wrecked. The loss was $75,000. Brawley, a small town on the Southern Pacific, 120 miles south of Los Angeles, was practically wiped out by the earthquake. This was the only town in southern California known to have suffered from the shock. Buildings were damaged at Vallejo, Sacramento, and Suisun. At the latter place a mile and a half of railroad track is sunk from three to six feet. A loaded passenger train was almost engulfed. R. H. Tucker, in charge of the Lick observatory, near San Jose, said: "No damage was done to the instruments or the buildings of the observatory by the earthquake." At Santa Cruz the courthouse and twelve buildings were destroyed. Contrary to reports, there must have been a tidal wave of some size, for three buildings were carried away on Santa Cruz beach. The Moreland academy, a Catholic institution at Watsonville, was badly damaged, but no lives lost. In a Delmonte hotel a bridal couple from Benson, Ari.--Mr. and Mrs. Rouser--were killed in bed by chimneys falling. At 12:33 o'clock on the afternoon following the San Francisco quake Los Angeles experienced a distinct earthquake shock of short duration. Absolutely no damage was done, but thousands of people were badly frightened. Men and women occupants of office buildings, especially the tall structures, ran out into the streets, some of them hatless. Many stores were deserted in like manner by customers and clerks. The shock, however, passed off in a few minutes, and most of those who had fled streetwards returned presently. The San Francisco horror has strung the populace here to a high tension, and a spell of sultry weather serves to increase the general nervousness. CHAPTER XV. DESTRUCTION OF GREAT STANFORD UNIVERSITY. =California's Magnificent Educational Institution, the Pride of the State, Wrecked by Quake--Founded by the Late Senator Leland Stanford as a Memorial to His Son and Namesake--Loss $3,000,000.= One of the most deplorable features of the great California calamity was the destruction of the Leland Stanford, Jr., University, situated at Palo Alto. The magnificent buildings, including a beautiful memorial hall erected by Mrs. Stanford to the memory of her husband and son, were practically wrecked. Leland Stanford University was one of the most richly endowed, most architecturally beautiful, and best equipped institutions of learning in the world. Mrs. Jane Stanford, widow of the school's founder, in 1901 gave it outright $30,000,000--$18,000,000 in gilt edged bonds and securities and $12,000,000 in an aggregate of 100,000 acres of land in twenty-six counties in California. This, with what the university had received from Leland Stanford himself, made its endowment the enormous sum of $34,000,000 besides its original capital, and on the death of Mrs. Stanford this was raised to $36,000,000. In a way the real founder of the university was a young boy, Leland Stanford, Jr. On his death bed he was asked by his parents what he would like them to do with the vast fortune which would have been his had he lived. He replied he would like them to found a great university where young men and women without means could get an education, "for," he added, "that is what I intended all along to do before I knew I was going to die." The dying wish was carried out. The foundation stone was laid on the nineteenth anniversary of the boy's birth, and in a few years there sprang into existence at Palo Alto, about thirty-three miles southeast of San Francisco, the "Leland Stanford University for Both Sexes," with the colleges, schools, seminaries of learning, mechanical institutes, museums, galleries of art, and all other things necessary and appropriate to a university of high degree, with the avowed object of "qualifying students for personal success and direct usefulness in life." The architecture was a modification of the Moorish and Romanesque, with yet a strong blending of the picturesque mission type, which has come down from the early days of Spanish settlement in California. Driving up the avenue of palms from the university entrance to the quadrangle, one was faced by the massive, majestic memorial arch. Augustus St. Gaudens, the great sculptor, embodied his noblest conceptions in the magnificent frieze which adorned the arch. However beautiful the other buildings, they were easily surpassed by the marvelous Memorial Church, which was built at a cost of $1,000,000. The organ in this magnificent new edifice was the largest and most expensive in the world. It had nearly 3,000 pipes and forty-six stops. The church was 190 feet in length and 156 feet in width. It cost $840,000. The substantial magnificence of Memorial Church was followed in every line of the university's program. The assembly hall and the library were adjoining buildings of the outer quadrangle. The former had a seating capacity of 1,700, and with its stage and dressing rooms possessed all the conveniences of a modern theater. When Stanford University opened its doors almost fifteen years ago people thought the Pacific coast was too wild and woolly to support Stanford in addition to the big state university at Berkeley, Cal., and, as President David Starr Jordan remarked: "It was the opinion in the east that there was as much room for a new university in California as for an asylum of broken down sea captains in Switzerland." But Stanford grew steadily and rapidly, until last year its attendance was more than 1,600. Its president is David Starr Jordan. The gateway to the university is opposite the town of Palo Alto, which has a population of 4,000. It is surrounded by part of its endowment, the magnificent Palo Alto estate of seventy-three hundred acres. The value of the total endowment is estimated at $35,000,000. The university buildings are the most beautiful group of public buildings in America. They are but parts of one plan, and are constructed of Santa Clara Valley brown sandstone throughout--beautiful and restful in color and in pleasing contrast to the walls of green of the surrounding hills and the great campus in front. The buildings of the university are not piled sky high, but with long corridors rise two stories, for the most part completely enclosing a beautiful quadrangle, in itself about a ninth of a mile long by eighty yards broad. The massive memorial arch in front, and the beautiful Memorial Church, with its cathedral-like interior, great arches and allegorical windows, are the most imposing features of the group. Flanking the main buildings to the right is Encina Hall for the boys and Roble Hall for the girls, while across the campus are the new chemistry building and the museum. The large grounds are most carefully tended, and all the flowers and trees and shrubs that help beautify California find a home here. The walks and drives are delightful. There is no other alliance of buildings and surrounding grounds quite so pleasing as those of Stanford University. Tuition at the University is free, and the equipment is that naturally to be expected in the richest endowed university in the world. The students of the present semester number fifteen hundred. Financial figures mean but little in connection with a university--and yet since the new church is not describable, it may be mentioned that it cost $500,000. The buildings represent an expenditure of several million dollars. To reach Palo Alto and Stanford University one has to travel from San Francisco thirty-three miles southward over the coast line of the Southern Pacific road. The town of Palo Alto is situated in the Santa Clara Valley--a riverless area of bottomland lying between San Francisco bay and the Santa Cruz range. The Santa Clara Valley is one of the various vales found here and there about the continent which proudly lay claim to the title "garden spot of the world." The Memorial Church was Mrs. Stanford's gift to the university from her private fortune, was dedicated "to the glory of God and in loving memory of my husband, Leland Stanford." Its erection and administration were matters entirely apart from the regular university control. In terms of money, it probably cost over $1,000,000. Clinton Day of San Francisco drew the plans, which were complemented in a hundred ways, from the ideas of Mrs. Stanford herself and suggestions obtained by her from a scrutiny of old world cathedrals. The building of the university was decided upon by Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford in March, 1884, after their only son had died in Italy at the age of 16. Construction began, May 14, 1887, the anniversary of the boy's birth, and instruction October 1, 1891. As for the name, here is the joint declaration of the Stanfords: "Since the idea of establishing an institution of this kind came directly and largely from our son and only child, Leland, and in the belief that had he been spared to advise as to the disposition of our estate he would have desired the devotion of a large portion thereof to this purpose, we will that for all time to come the institution hereby founded shall bear his name and shall be known as the Leland Stanford Junior University." The object was declared to be "to qualify students for personal success and direct usefulness in life." On the title page of the first register ever printed and of every one since, appear these words of Senator Stanford's: "A generous education is the birthright of every man and woman in America." This and President Jordan's favorite quotation, "Die Luft der Freiheit weht"--"the winds of freedom are blowing," reveal somewhat the genius of the place. The major study was the key to Stanford's elective system of instruction. The ordinary class divisions were not officially recognized. Even the students until recently made far less of the terms "freshmen," "sophomore," "junior" and "senior," than is made of them at most colleges. Each student elected at the start some major study, by which he steered his course for the four years, unless he changed "majors," which was not unusual or inadvisable during the first two years, for after they had "learned the ropes" students naturally gravitated to the department whose lines they are best fitted to follow. The Stanford departments numbered 23, as follows: Greek, Latin, German, Romantic languages, English, philosophy, psychology, education, history, economics, law, drawing, mathematics, physics, chemistry, botany, physiology, zoology, entomology, geology and mining, civil engineering, mechanical engineering, electrical engineering. The chosen site of the university was part of the great Palo Alto ranch of the Stanfords, devoted to the raising of grain, grapes and the famous trotting horses that were "the Senator's" hobby and California's pride. It resembled the Berkeley situation, in that the bay lies before it and the foothills of the Santa Cruz range behind, but the former is three miles away and the Palo Alto country is so level that only when one climbs the rolling slopes behind the college does he realize that the great inlet is so near. The view from the foothills, by the way, or better still from the crest of the mountain range farther back, where the Pacific ocean roars away to the westward and the valley and bay appear to divide the space between you and the mountains that cut the horizon to the east, is one of California's treasures. The idea that made the Spanish mission the model for the Stanford buildings was translated into plans by Shepley, Rutan and Coolidge. If ever there was an inspiration, says the visitor, this was one. Ever so many millions put into ever so ornate structures of the type prevalent elsewhere could not give these halls their appealing beauty. The main group of buildings formed two quadrangles. The 12 one-story members of the inner quadrangle were ready in 1891, and with the shops of the engineering departments, were for several years "the university." The 12 structures of the inner quad were increased to 13, for the church, provided for in the original scheme, but not begun until 1899, was added. Those inclosed--to quote statistics from the register--a court 586 feet long by 246 feet wide--3¼ acres--relieved from barrenness by big circular plots in which flourished palms, bamboos and a medley of other tropical translations. Penetrate 10 feet into one of these plots, which are always damp from much watering, and it takes little imagining to fancy yourself in an equatorial jungle. Surrounding this quadrangle was another--the "outer quad," of 14 buildings that were bigger and higher and considerably more impressive than the pioneers. The extreme length of the second quadrangle was 894 feet. All the way around it stretched the same colonnades, with their open-arched facades, that flanked the inner court. And in addition the outer and inner quadrangles were connected here and there with these same arched pathways, which subdivide the space between the two into little reproductions in miniature of the main plaza within. The colonnades, the tiled roofs and peculiar yellow sandstone of which all the quadrangles were constructed formed a combination which is not easily nor willingly forgotten. Outside this central group, of which the great church and the memorial arch were badly wrecked by the quake, were enough other buildings used for the university proper to bring the number up to fifty or so. They include chemistry building, museum, library, gymnasium, engineering and two dormitories--one, Roble hall, for women; the other, Encina hall, for men. The ruins wrought among those magnificent buildings by the frightful upheaval of the earth which wrenched some of them apart and threw down huge sections of walls aggregated in money value about $3,000,000. The gymnasium and the library were wholly destroyed, nothing but skeletons of twisted steel remaining. The loss was half a million dollars on each. The Memorial church was left merely a frame, the mosaic work being torn down. The top of the 80-foot high memorial arch was crashed to the ground a heap of ruins. The original quadrangle was but little damaged. Many rare specimens from Egypt were lost in the museum, which was only partly destroyed. The fraternity lodge and Chi Psi Hall were a total loss. The engineering buildings were partly demolished. Encina Hall, where 200 boys stayed, was much shaken, and a large stone chimney crashed through the four floors, burying student Hanna, of Bradford, Pa. He was the only student killed. About twelve others were slightly hurt. Roble Hall, women's dormitory, escaped without a scratch. The damage at Palo Alto City amounts to $200,000. The damage in the neighboring towns was also heavy. San Mateo suffered more than Palo Alto. The Redwood city jail was torn down and all the prisoners escaped. There was severe damage at Menlo Park. Burlingame suffered a loss of fully $100,000. Many houses were torn down there. The only other death in that vicinity was that of Fireman Otto Gordes, who was buried under the chimney of the power house at Palo Alto. All the towns mentioned were left without light or power. President David Starr Jordan of Stanford University announced that the university authorities would begin at once to repair the quadrangle, laboratories and dormitories. The Memorial church was sheltered to prevent further injury and work in all classes was resumed on April 23. [Illustration: =CORNER OF A BAPTIST CHURCH.= A view of a Baptist Church on St. Pablo Avenue, Oakland.] [Illustration: =KEARNEY STREET, SAN FRANCISCO.= Looking north from Market Street.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =FERRY BUILDING.= The clock in tower stopped at 5:15.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =MILITARY QUARTERS.= A view in Golden Gate Park.] President Jordan said that it was unlikely any attempt would be made to restore the Memorial church, the memorial arch, the new library, the gymnasium or the museum of the university. The great rival of the Leland Stanford, Jr., University is the University of California at Berkeley, a suburb of San Francisco. The effect of the earthquake there is tersely told by Professor Alpheus B. Streedain of the zoological department. There were eight severe shocks in succession. "It all lasted about twenty-five seconds," said Professor Streedain, "and talk about being frightened, to be more expressive I thought hell was coming to earth. I rushed down to the street in my pajamas, and people were almost crazy. Chimneys were down all over. I was safe and trusted to God for any coming shocks. It was a mighty serious proposition, and one I shall never forget." By a seeming miracle the big California University buildings that stand on the campus elevations escaped harm in the earthquake shock. Recorder James Sutton of the University said: "I made a personal examination of the buildings on the campus and received reports from deans of the colleges and it appears that not one of the buildings was harmed in the slightest degree. "Professor O'Neill of the chemistry department reported that the damage done to the instruments in the building did not aggregate more than $50. California Hall had not a mark on it to indicate that an earthquake occurred that morning. The other buildings were in the same condition. The Greek theater had not a scratch on its walls." The town of Berkeley was not so fortunate as the university in the matter of damage sustained. No lives were lost, nor were there any notable disasters to buildings, but the aggregate damage in the shape of twisted structures, broken chimneys and falling walls was many thousands of dollars. The destruction of so many magnificent buildings at the Leland Stanford, Jr., University was one of the worst calamities that has ever befallen an American educational institution. CHAPTER XVI. FIGHTING FIRE WITH DYNAMITE. =San Francisco Conflagration Eventually Checked by the Use of Explosives--Lesson of Baltimore Heeded in Coast City--Western Remnant of City in Residence Section Saved by Blowing Up Beautiful Homes of the Rich.= The remnant of San Francisco that escaped destruction in the four days conflagration owes its existence largely to the equally destructive force of dynamite. For four days one agent of destruction was employed against another. The San Francisco conflagration was the second great fire in the United States at which dynamite was the chief agency of the fire fighters. Immediately following the first earthquake crash flames burst forth in numerous places, chiefly in the business section of the city. The fire department responded as promptly as possible under the circumstances for a new difficulty presented itself to the firemen. When the clang of the alarm sounded it was found that many of the engine houses had been damaged by the quake and so twisted that it was only with difficulty that the apparatus could be gotten out of the buildings. Upon arriving at the several scenes of the fire a worse calamity confronted them. The engines were attached to the hydrants and then followed the alarming cry: "No water!" The mains had been bursted, twisted and torn asunder by the violence of the shock, and only in rare instances could water be found wherewith to combat the rapidly spreading flames. Then it was that the new method of checking conflagrations was brought into use, and the order was given to fight the flames with dynamite. Doubtless the officials of the department had freshly in mind the great Baltimore fire in which the city was saved only from total destruction by the use of an immense amount of explosives. Fire chief Denis Sullivan and his wife had both been injured by the earthquake, the former having been fatally hurt, so that in addition to the hopeless situation which confronted the firemen they were without the guidance of their principal leader. There was little dynamite available in the city, but what was on hand was immediately brought into use and soon the terrific explosions added to the terror of the panic stricken people fleeing from the flames. At 9 o'clock on the first day of the fire Mayor Schmitz sent a tug to Pinole for several cans of the explosive. He also sent a telegram to Mayor Mott of Oakland. He received this reply to his Oakland message: "Three engines and hose companies leave here immediately. Will forward dynamite as soon as obtained." All outside nearby places were appealed to for dynamite and as fast as the explosive was received it was directed against large buildings in the path of the fire. The crash of falling walls mingled with the reverberations of the explosions, led many to believe that the earthquake shocks were being repeated. Here and there a fireman went down beneath the ruins as some huge building tumbled to the ground shattered by the destructive explosive. In the downtown districts the efforts of the dynamiters were wholly unavailing. The fire had gained such headway that it swept with a roar over every vacant space made by the explosive and continued its consuming way in every direction. Better success was obtained in the residence district west on the second day of the fire. The widest thoroughfare in the city is Van Ness avenue in the heart of the fashionable residence section. There it was decided that an effort should be made to check the spread of the flames westward and save the many beautiful homes in the district between that avenue and the water line. The co-operation of the artillery was secured and huge cannons were drawn to the avenue by the military horses to aid the dynamiters in blowing up the mansions of the millionaires on the west of Van Ness avenue in order to prevent the flames from leaping across the highway and starting on their unrestraining sweep across the western addition. Every available pound of dynamite was hauled to that point and the sight was one of stupendous and appalling havoc as the cannons were trained on the palaces and the shot tore into the walls and toppled the buildings in crushing ruins. At other points the dynamite was used, and house after house, the dwellings of millionaires, was lifted into the air by the bellowing blast and dropped to the earth a mass of dust and debris. The work was necessarily dangerous and many of the exhausted workers who kept working through a stretch of forty-eight hours without sleep and scarcely any food through force of instinctive heroism alone were killed while making their last desperate stand. Many of the workers in placing the blasts, took chances that spelled injury or death. The fire line at 6 o'clock extended a mile along the east side of Van Ness avenue from Pacific street to Ellis. All behind this excepting the Russian Hill region and a small district lying along the north beach had been swept clean by the flames and the steel hulks of buildings and pipes and shafts and spires were dropped into a molten mass of debris like so much melted wax. The steady booming of the artillery and the roar of the dynamite above the howl and cracking of the flames continued with monotonous regularity. Such noises had been bombarding the ears of the panic-stricken people since the earthquake of forty-eight hours before. They ceased to hear the sound and rush pell-mell, drowning their senses in a bedlam of their own creation. There seemed to be an irresistible power behind the flames that even the desperately heroic measures being taken at Van Ness avenue could not stay. Hundreds of police, regiments of soldiers, and scores of volunteers were sent into the doomed district to inform the people that their homes were about to be blown up, and to warn them to flee. They heroically responded to the demand of law, and went bravely on their way trudging painfully over the pavements with the little they could get together. Every available wagon that could be found was pressed into service to transport the powder from the various arsenals to the scene of the proposed destruction. Then for hours the bursting, rending sounds of explosions filled the air. At 9 o'clock block after block of residences had been leveled to the ground, but the fire was eating closer and closer. Then the explosives gave out. Even the powder in the government arsenals was exhausted long before noon. From that hour the flames raged practically unhindered. Lieut. Charles C. Pulis, commanding the Twenty-fourth company of light artillery, was blown up by a charge of dynamite at Sixth and Jessie streets and fatally injured. He was taken to the military hospital at the Presidio. He suffered a fractured skull and several bones broken and internal injuries. Lieut. Pulis placed a heavy charge of dynamite in a building on Sixth street. The fuse was imperfect and did not ignite the charge as soon as was expected. Pulis went to the building to relight it and the charge exploded while he was in the building. The deceased officer was a graduate of the artillery school at Fortress Monroe, Va. He was 30 years of age. The effectiveness of dynamite was proved on the fourth and last day of the conflagration, when the flames were finally checked by the use of that explosive. Three heroes saved San Francisco--what was left of it. They were the dynamite squad that threw back the fire demon at Van Ness avenue. When the burning city seemed doomed and the flames lit the sky further and further to the west, Admiral McCalla sent a trio of his most trusted men from Mare Island with orders to check the conflagration at any cost of life or property. With them they brought a ton and a half of gun cotton. The terrific power of the explosion was equal to the maniac determination of the fire. Captain MacBride was in charge of the squad. Chief Gunner Adamson placed the charges, and the third gunner set them off. The thunderous detonations to which the terrified city listened all that dreadful Friday night meant the salvation of 300,000 lives. A million dollars' worth of property, noble residences and worthless shacks alike were blown to drifting dust, but that destruction broke the fire and sent the raging flames over their own charred path. The whole east side of Van Ness avenue, from Golden Gate to Greenwich, was dynamited a block deep, though most of the structures stood untouched by sparks or cinders. Not one charge failed. Not one building stood upon its foundations. Every pound of gun cotton did its work, and though the ruins burned, it was but feebly. From Golden Gate avenue north the fire crossed the wide street in but one place. That was the Claus Spreckels place, on the corner of California street. There the flames were writhing up the walls before the dynamiters could reach it. The charge had to be placed so swiftly and the fuse lit in such a hurry that the explosion was not quite successful from the trained viewpoint of the gunners. But though the walls still stood, it was only an empty victory for the fire, as bare brick and smoking ruins are poor food for flames. Captain MacBride's dynamiting squad realized that a stand was hopeless except on Van Ness avenue. They could have forced their explosive further in the burning section, but not a pound of gun cotton could be or was wasted. The ruined block that met the wide thoroughfare formed a trench through the clustered structures that the conflagration, wild as it was, could not leap. Engines pumping brine through Fort Madison from the bay completed the little work that the gun cotton had left, but for three days the haggard-eyed firemen guarded the flickering ruins. The desolate waste straight through the heart of the city is a mute witness to the squad's effective work. Three men did this. They were ordered to save San Francisco. They obeyed orders, and Captain MacBride and his two gunners made history on that dreadful night. CHAPTER XVII. MISCELLANEOUS FACTS AND INCIDENTS. =Many Babies Born in Refuge Camps--Expressions of Sympathy from Foreign Nations--San Francisco's Famous Restaurants--Plight of Newspaper and Telegraph Offices.= In the refugee camps a number of babies were born under the most distressing and pathetic circumstances, the mothers in many cases being unattended by either husbands or relatives. In Golden Gate Park alone fifteen babies were born in one night, it was reported. The excitement and agony of the situation brought the little ones prematurely into the world. And equally remarkable was the fact that when all danger was over all of the mothers and the children of the catastrophe were reported to have withstood the untoward conditions and continued to improve and grow strong as if the conditions which surrounded them had been normal. This, undoubtedly, was in great part due to the care and kindness of the physicians and surgeons in the camps whose efforts were untiring and self-sacrificing for all who had been so suddenly surrendered to their care. In an express wagon bumping over the brick piles and broken streets was a mother who gave birth to triplets in the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park a week later. All the triplets were living and apparently doing well. In this narrow park strip where the triplets were born fifteen other babies came into the world on the same fateful night, and, strange as it seems, every one of the mothers and every one of the infants had been reported as doing well. The following night thirteen more babies were born in the park Panhandle, and these, so far as the reports show, fared as well as those born the first night. In fact, the doctors and nurses reported that there had been no fatality among the earthquake babies or their unfortunate mothers. One trained nurse who accompanied a prominent doctor on his rounds the first night after the shock attended eight cases in which both mothers and children thrived. One baby was born in a wheelbarrow as the mother was being trundled to the park by her husband. * * * * * Expressions of sympathy and condolence on account of the great disaster were sent to the President of the United States from all over the world. Among the messages received within about 24 hours after the catastrophe were the following: From the President of Guatemala--I am deeply grieved by the catastrophe at San Francisco. The president of Guatemala sends to the people of the United States through your eminence his expression of the most sincere grief, with the confidence that in such a lamentable misfortune the indomitable spirit of your people will newly manifest itself--that spirit which, if great in prosperity, is equally great in time of trial. President of Mexico--Will your excellency be so kind as to accept the expression of my profound and deep sympathy with the American people on account of the disaster at San Francisco, which has so affected the American people. President of Brazil--I do myself the honor of sending to you the expression of the profound grief with which the government and people of the United States of Brazil have read the news of the great misfortune which has occurred at San Francisco. Emperor of Japan--With assurances of the deepest and heartiest sympathy for the sufferers by the terrible earthquake. King Leopold of Belgium--I must express to you the deep sympathy which I feel in the mourning which the terrible disaster at San Francisco is causing the whole American people. President of Cuba--In the name of the government and people of Cuba, I assure you of the deep grief and sympathy with which they have heard of the great misfortune which has overtaken San Francisco. Kirkpatrick, acting premier of New Zealand--South Australia deplores the appalling disaster which has befallen the state of California and extends heartfelt sympathy to sufferers. Viceroy of India--My deepest sympathy with you and people of United States in terrible catastrophe at San Francisco. Governor Talbot of Victoria, Australia--On behalf of the people of Victoria, I beg to offer our heartfelt sympathy with the United States on the terrible calamity at San Francisco. President of Switzerland--The federal council is profoundly affected by the terrible catastrophe which has visited San Francisco and other California cities, and I beg you to receive the sincere expressions of its regret and the sympathy of the Swiss people as a whole, who join in the mourning of a sister republic. Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria--I beg to assure you, Mr. President, of my most sincere sympathy with your land in its sorrow because of the terrible earthquake at San Francisco, and I beg to offer you personally, Mr. President, my heartfelt condolences. Prince Henry of Prussia--Remembering American hospitality, which is still so fresh in my memory, I hereby wish to express my deepest sympathy on behalf of the terrible catastrophe which has befallen the thriving city of San Francisco and which has destroyed so many valuable lives therein. Still hope that news is greatly exaggerated. Premier Bent of South Wales--New South Wales and Victoria sympathize with California suffering disaster. Count Witte--The Russian members of the Portsmouth conference, profoundly moved by the sad tidings of the calamity that has befallen the American people, whose hospitality they recently enjoyed, beg your excellency to accept and to transmit to citizens of United States the expression of their profound and heartfelt sympathy. * * * * * The cathedral of San Francisco with the residences attached, together with the residence of the archbishop, were saved. Sacred Heart College and Mercy Hospital, together with the various schools attached, were destroyed. The churches damaged by the earthquake are: St. Patrick's Seminary in Menlo park. St. James' church. St. Bridget's church. St. Dominick's church. Church of the Holy Cross. St. Patrick's church at San Jose. Those destroyed by fire were: Churches of SS. Ignatius, Boniface, Joseph, Patrick, Brendan, Rose, Francis, Mission Dolores, French church, Slavonian church and the old Cathedral of St. Mary's. The Custom House with its records was saved. It was in one of the little islands which the fire passed by. All the city records which were in the vaults of the city hall were saved. The city hall fell, but the ruins did not burn. By this bit of luck the city escapes great confusion in property claims and adjustments. Millet's famous picture, "The Man with the Hoe," was saved with other paintings and tapestries in the collection of William H. Crocker. Mr. Crocker, who was in New York, said about the rescue of the paintings (Head is Mr. Crocker's butler): "I am much gratified at the devotion Head displayed in saving my pictures and tapestries at such a time. Besides the 'Man with the Hoe,' I have pictures by Tenniel, Troyon, Paul Potter, Corot, Monet, Renoir, Puvis de Chavannes, Pissaro, and Constable. The tapestries consisted of six Flemish pieces dating from the sixteenth century, of which the finest is a 'Resurrection.' It is a splendid example of tissue d'or work, and was once the property of the duc d'Albe." On April 20 Bishop Coadjutor Greer of the Protestant Episcopal church of New York announced that this prayer had been authorized to be used in the churches of that diocese for victims of the earthquake: "O Father of Mercy and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need, look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee, behold, visit and relieve thy servants to whom such great and grievous loss and suffering have come through the earthquake and the fire. "In thy wisdom thou hast seen fit to visit them with trouble and to bring distress upon them. Remember, O Lord, in mercy and imbue their souls with patience under this affliction. "Though they be perplexed and troubled on every side, save them from despair and suffer not their faith and trust in thee to fail. "In this our hour of darkness, when thou hast made the earth to tremble and the mountains thereof to shake, be thou, O God, their refuge and their strength and their present help in trouble. "And for as much as thou alone canst bring light out of darkness and good out of evil, let the light of thy loving countenance shine upon them through the cloud; let the angel of thy presence be with them in their sorrow, to comfort and support them, giving strength to the weak, courage to the faint and consolation to the dying. "We ask it in the name of him who in all our afflictions is afflicted with us, thy son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen!" Mrs. A. G. Pritchard, wife of a San Francisco manufacturer, who, with her husband, was on her way home from Europe to San Francisco, became suddenly insane at the Union Station in Pittsburgh Pa., when she alighted to get some fresh air. The Pritchards were hurrying to San Francisco with the expectation of finding their three children dead in the ruins of their home. Landing in New York April 24, the Pritchards learned that their home had been destroyed before any of the occupants had had an opportunity to get out. Mr. Pritchard said that his information was that the governess was dying in a hospital, and from what he has heard, he had no hope of seeing his children alive. At Philadelphia a physician told Mr. Pritchard that his wife was bordering on insanity. At the station Mrs. Pritchard shrieked and moaned until she was put into the car, where a physician passenger volunteered to care for the case. On the afternoon of the fire the police broke open every saloon and corner grocery in the saved district and poured all malt and spirituous liquors into the gutters. San Francisco was famous for the excellence of its restaurants. Many of these were known wherever the traveler discussed good living. Among them were the "Pup" and Marschand's in Stockton street; the "Poodle Dog," one of the most ornate distinctive restaurant buildings in the United States; Zinkand's and the Fiesta, in Market street; the famous Palace grill in the Palace hotel; and scores of bohemian resorts in the old part of San Francisco. They are no more. Down near the railroad tracks at what used to be Townsend street, food was mined from the ruins as a result of a fortuitous discovery made by Ben Campbell, a negro. While in search of possible treasure he located the ruins of a grocery warehouse, which turned out to be a veritable oven of plenty. People gathered to this place and picked up oysters, canned asparagus, beans, and fruit all done to a turn and ready for serving. For a time there was marked indignation in San Francisco caused by the report that the San Franciscans, in their deep-grounded prejudice, had discriminated against the Chinamen in the relief work. This report was groundless. The six Chinese companies, or Tongs, representing enormous wealth, had done such good work that but little had been necessary from the general relief committee, and, besides, the Chinese needed less. No Chinaman was treated as other than a citizen entitled to all rights, which cannot be said under normal conditions on the Pacific coast. Gee Sing, a Chinese member of the Salvation Army, had been particularly efficient in caring for his countrymen. The San Francisco daily newspapers, all of which were burned out, were prompt in getting in shape to serve their subscribers. On Thursday morning, the day after the fire, the best showing the morning journals could make was a small combination sheet bearing the unique heading, "Call-Chronicle-Examiner." It was set up and printed in the office of the Oakland Tribune, gave a brief account of the great disaster, and took an optimistic view of the future of the stricken city. The day after the papers, though still printed in Oakland, appeared under their own headings and with a few illustrations, showing scenes in the streets of San Francisco. S. M. Pencovic, a San Francisco druggist, on arriving in Chicago from Paris, said he had a premonition of disaster, which impelled him to hasten home, several days before the earthquake. He left for San Francisco to search for his father and mother, who are among the missing. "For several days I felt as if something awful was about to happen," said he. "So completely did the feeling take possession of me that I could not sleep at night. At last I could stand it no longer, and I left Paris April 14, four days before the upheaval. "I embarked on La Savoie at Havre. I tried to send a wireless message, but could receive no answer. "The day after the catastrophe the captain of the ship called me to his cabin and told me he had just received a wireless message that San Francisco had been destroyed by an earthquake. I was not surprised." At the Presidio, where probably 50,000 people were camped, affairs were conducted with military precision. Here those who are fortunate enough to be numbered among the campers were able now and then to obtain a little water with which to moisten their parched lips, while rations, owing to the limited supply, were being dealt out in the smallest quantities that all may share a bit. The refugees stood patiently in line and the marvelous thing about it all was that not a murmur was heard. This characteristic is observable all over the city. The people were brave and patient and the wonderful order preserved by them had been of great assistance. Though homeless and starving they were facing the awful calamity with resigned fortitude. In Oakland the day after the quake messages were stacked yards high in all the telegraph offices waiting to be sent throughout the world. Conditions warranted utter despair and panic, but through it all the people were trying to be brave and falter not. Oakland temporarily took the place of San Francisco as the metropolis of the Pacific coast, and there the finance kings, the bankers and merchants of the San Francisco of yesterday were gathering and conferring and getting into shape the first plans for the rebuilding of the burned city and preventing a widespread financial panic that in the first part of the awful catastrophe seemed certain. Resting on a brick pile in Howard street was a young Swedish woman, whose entire family had perished and who had succeeded in saving from the ruins of her home only the picture of her mother. This she clutched tightly as she struggled on to the ferry landing--the gateway to new hope for the refugees. A little farther along sat a man with his wife and child. He had had a good home and business. Wrapped in a newspaper he held six hand-painted dinner plates. They were all he could dig out of the debris of his home, and by accident they had escaped breakage. "This is what I start life over again with," he said, and his wife tried to smile as she took her child's hand to continue the journey. Thousands of these instances are to be found. Owing to the energetic efforts of General Funston and the officials of the Spring Valley Water Company the sufferers in all parts of the city were spared at least the horrors of a water famine. As soon as it was learned that some few mercenaries who were fortunate enough to have fresh water stored in tanks in manufacturing districts were selling it at 50 cents per glass, the authorities took prompt action and hastened their efforts to repair the mains that had been damaged by the earthquake shocks. John Singleton, a Los Angeles millionaire, his wife and her sister, were staying at the Palace Hotel when the earthquake shock occurred. Mr. Singleton gave the following account of his experience: "The shock wrecked the rooms in which we were sleeping. We managed to get our clothes on and get out immediately. We had been at the hotel only two days and left probably $3,000 worth of personal effects in the room. "After leaving the Palace we secured an express wagon for $25 to take us to the Casino near Golden Gate Park, where we stayed Wednesday night. On Thursday morning we managed to get a conveyance at enormous cost and spent the entire day in getting to the Palace. We paid $1 apiece for eggs and $2 for a loaf of bread. On these and a little ham we had to be satisfied." [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =RANDOLPH STORAGE.= Walls shaken down by the earthquake.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =DESTROYED SWITCHBOARD.= The electric lighting company.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =ST. DOMINICI CHURCH.= A part of the steeple shaken out by the earthquake.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =ST. DOMINICI CHURCH.= A view of the wreck which tells its own story.] John A. Floyd, a Pullman conductor on the Northwestern railroad, living in Chicago, gave a lengthy and vivid description of the quake and its effects. "If I live a thousand lifetimes I will never forget that night," he said. "Words are too feeble, entirely too inadequate, to portray the fear that clutched the human breast. The most graphic pen could not faithfully portray the sickening horror of that night. "Plaster falling from the walls in my room in the fourth floor of the Terminal Hotel in Market street aroused me from a sound sleep about 5 o'clock in the morning. I sat up in bed, and got out onto the floor. The building was shaking like a reed in a storm, literally rocking like a hammock. It was impossible for me to stand. Another shock threw me heavily to the floor. I remained there for what seemed hours to me. Then I crawled on hands and knees to the door, and succeeded in unlocking it with much difficulty. I was in my night clothes, and without waiting to even pull on a pair of shoes I made my way down those swaying stairs as rapidly as I could. "When I reached the street it was filled with half mad unclothed men, women, and children, running this way and that, hugging and fighting each other in their frenzy. "The loud detonations under the earth enhanced the horror. The ground kept swaying from side to side, then roaring like the waves of the ocean, then jolting in every conceivable direction. "Buildings were parting on all sides like egg shells, the stone and brick and iron raining down on the undressed hundreds in the streets, killing many of them outright and pinning others down to die slowly of torture or be roasted alive by the flames that sprang up everywhere around us. "When things had quieted somewhat, I went back to the hotel to dress, and discovered that the entire wall of my room had fallen out. "I succeeded in finding most of my clothes, and after donning them hastily went back to the work of rescue. When I got back to the street from the hotel the entire district seemed to be in flames. Fire seemed to break out of the very earth on all sides of Market street, eating up buildings as if they were so many buildings of paper. A big wholesale drug house on Seventh street exploded, throwing sparking and burning embers high into the air. These fiery pieces descended on the half-clad people in the streets, causing them to run madly for places of safety, almost crazy with the pain. "Soon the improvised hearses began to arrive. Out of every building bodies were taken like carcasses out of a slaughter pen. Automobiles, carriages, express wagons, private equipages, and vehicles of all kinds were pressed into service and piled high with the bodies. Everywhere these wagon loads of dead bodies were being dragged through the streets, offering a spectacle to turn the most stout-hearted sick. "With three or four sailors I went up to Seventh street to assist a number of men, women and children who had become entombed under the debris of a flat building. "They were so tightly wedged in that we were unable to offer them any help and had to stand by and hear their cries as they were slowly roasted to death by the ever increasing flames. I can hear the cries of one of those women ringing in my ears yet--I guess I always will. "I guess pretty nearly every bone in her body was broken. As we stood by helplessly she cried over and over again: "'Don't let me die like this. Don't let me roast. I'm cooking, cooking alive. Kill me! Shoot me--anything! For God's sake have mercy!' "Others joined her in the cry and begged piteously to be quickly killed before the flames reached them. "By this time the street level had become so irregular that it was almost impossible to drag the dead wagons over them. "Dynamite was then brought into use and the buildings were blown up like firecrackers. Flying debris was everywhere in the air, and another mad rush for safety was made, the almost naked people falling over each other in their frantic efforts to get out of the danger. "While this excitement was at its height a man dressed only in his underclothing made his appearance among the people in a light gasoline runabout. At top speed he ran into a crowd of women, knocking them down and injuring at least a dozen. Then he turned back and charged them again. He had gone mad as a result of the scenes of death and destruction. "Some one called for a gun, hoping that they might stop the fellow by shooting him. None was to be had, and after a desperate fight with sailors who succeeded in getting into the machine he was overpowered and turned loose. "Everybody in the crowd, I believe, was temporarily crazy. Men and women ran helter-skelter in nothing but their night gowns, and many of them did not have on that much." Mrs. J. B. Conaty, of Los Angeles, was in Oakland at the time of the shock and felt the vibrations. "The suddenness with which it came upon the people," she said, "was the most appalling thing. When I looked across the bay at 'Frisco from the Oakland shore the city seemed peacefully at sleep, like a tired baby beside its mother. With my next glance at the city I was turned almost sick. "The ground was shaking beneath me and I thought that the end of the world was at hand. Buildings were falling to the right and left. The earth was groaning and rocking, and flames were shooting high into the sky. Soon the sound of the dynamiting reached us and buildings began to fly in the air like fireworks. "The sea lashed itself into a fury and beat upon the shores as if it too sought to escape nature's wrath. Over across the bay all was disorder. In the glare of the blood red flames reflected against sky and sea, white robed, half naked men and women could be seen wildly running about. "Some of them ran to the water's edge and threw themselves in and others less frantic had to battle with them to haul them out. "It seemed as if every man, woman and child in 'Frisco was running toward the ferry docks. When the boat arrived on our side of the shore it was packed with men and women, none of whom seemed to be in their right senses. Many of them jumped from the boat as soon as it was made fast and ran at top speed through the streets of Oakland until forced to fall through sheer exhaustion. "One woman in the crowd had nothing on but a night gown. In her arms she carried a 3-year-old girl who was hanging tightly to a rag doll and seemed to be the only one in the vast crowd that was unafraid. Where all these people went to I have no idea. "I stood on the Oakland side watching 'Frisco devoured. In a space of time so short that it all seems to me like a dream now the whole city, slumbering peacefully but a moment before, presented a perdition beside which Dante's inferno seems to pale into insignificance." The looters early began operations in the stricken city. The vandal thinking that law and order had gone in the general crash filled his pockets as he fled. It was the relic hunter who opened the door to the looter. The spirit which sends the tourist tapping about the ruins of the Parthenon, awoke in San Francisco. Idle and curious men swarmed into the city, poking about in the ruins in the hope of finding something worth carrying away as a souvenir of the greatest calamity of modern times. Scores of men and women were seen digging in the ruins of one store. They were disinterring bits of crockery, china and glassware. Strangely enough, a great deal of this sort of ware had been protected by a wall which stood through quake and fire. One woman came toiling out over a pile of brick, covered with ashes and dust, her hair dishevelled and hands grimy, but she was perfectly happy. "See," said she, "I found half a dozen cups and saucers as good as new. They are fine china and they will be worth more than ever now." I asked her if she needed them. "Oh, dear no!" said she, laughing. "I live over in Oakland. I just wanted them to keep as souvenirs!" Some hard-hearted jokers were abroad also. Humor dies hard, and perhaps it is just as well that it does, for the six men who started the bogus bread lines would have needed much of it if the soldiers had caught them. The people of San Francisco had become accustomed to eating out of the hand. They put in long hours every day standing in line waiting for something to be given out. Many of them did not know what was being distributed, but they knew it would be good, so they fell into line and waited. There were thousands of people in San Francisco who fell into a line every time they saw one. They had the bread line habit. This impressed itself on these six men, for they went about the town and every time they found a promising spot they lined up and looked expectant. Men came and fell in behind. Women with baskets joined the brigade and in ten minutes these sidewalk comedians had a string a block long behind them and more coming every minute. Then the six jokers slipped away and left the confiding ones to wait. It was a mean trick. The stranger and the wayfarer was made to feel at home anywhere in Oakland and the luxury of sleeping within four walls was not denied to any one. Only a few hardy men who were willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of the weaklings went without covering. The people stripped the portieres and hangings from their walls, tore up their carpets and brought in every spare piece of cloth which would do for a night's covering. The women and children who preferred to stay indoors and on hard floors were taken care of in the public halls, the school buildings, and the basements of the churches. Beds were improvised of sheets and hay and the weaker refugees, who were beginning to go down under the strain, slept comfortably. Oakland did nobly. People shared their beds with absolute strangers, and while the newcomers in the park camps were dead to the world, those who came the day before cheered up considerably. One camp of young men got out a banjo and sang for the entertainment of the crowd. CHAPTER XVIII. DISASTER AS VIEWED BY SCIENTISTS. =Scientists are Divided Upon the Theories Concerning the Shock That Wrought Havoc in the Golden Gate City--May Have Originated Miles Under the Ocean--Growth of the Sierra Madre Mountains May Have Been the Cause.= The subterranean movement that caused the earthquake at San Francisco was felt in greater or less degree at many distant places on the earth's surface. The scientists in the government bureaus at Washington believe that the subterranean land slide may have taken place in the earthquake belt in the South American region or under the bed of the Pacific Ocean. San Francisco got the result of the wave as it struck the continent, and almost simultaneously the instruments in Washington reported a decided tremor of the earth, and the oscillations of the needle continued until about noon. At the weather bureau the needle was taken from the pivot and had to be replaced before the record could be continued. Other government stations throughout the country also noted the earthquake shock, and they agree in a general way that the disturbance began according to the record of the seismograph at nineteen minutes and twenty seconds after 8 o'clock. This would be the same number of minutes and seconds after 5 o'clock at San Francisco, which accords entirely with the time of the disaster on the Pacific Coast. There seems to be no reason to believe the earthquake shock in San Francisco had any direct connection with the eruption of Vesuvius. That eruption had been recorded from day to day on the delicate instruments established by the weather bureau at the lofty station on Mount Weather, high up in the Virginia hills. This eruption of Vesuvius did not disturb the seismograph even at the period of great activity, but apparently Vesuvius and Mount Weather were like the lofty poles of two wireless telegraph stations, and between them there passed electrical magnetic waves encircling the earth. The records made at Mount Weather were of the most distinct character, but they showed disturbances in the air of a magnetic type and did not indicate any earthquake. In explaining the San Francisco trembling, C. W. Hays, the director of geology in the geological survey, explained that earthquakes are, according to modern scientific theory, caused by subterranean land slides, the result of a readjustment as between the solid and the molten parts of the earth's interior. "The earth," he said, "is in a condition of unstable equilibrium so far as its insides are concerned. The outer crust is solid, but after you get down sixty or seventy miles the rocks are nearly in a fluid condition owing to great pressure upon them. They flow to adjust themselves to changed conditions, but as the crust cools it condenses, hardens, and cracks, and occasionally the tremendous energy inside is manifested on the surface. "When the semi-fluid rocks in the interior change their position there is a readjustment of the surface like the breaking up of ice in a river, and the grinding causes the earthquake shocks which are familiar in various parts of the world. The earthquake at San Francisco was probably local, although the center of the disturbance may have been thousands of miles away from that city." Prof. Willis L. Moore, the chief of the weather bureau, in talking of the records of the earthquake in his department, said: "We have a perfect record of this earthquake, although we are thousands of miles away from the actual tremor itself. There were premonitory tremblings, which began at 8:19 and continued until 8:23 or thereabout. Then there was severe shock which threw the pen off the cylinder. "According to our observations here there was a to and fro motion of the earth in the vicinity of Washington amounting to about four-tenths of an inch at the time of its greatest oscillation. These movements kept up in a constantly decreasing ratio until nearly half an hour after noon. "San Francisco may have been a long way away from the real earthquake and merely have been within the radius of severe action so as to produce disastrous results. It is quite likely, in fact, that the greatest disturbance may have taken place beneath the bed of the Pacific Ocean. "If it resulted in an oscillation of the earth of only a few inches there would be no likelihood of a great tidal wave. If, however, there was produced a radical depression in the bed of the ocean, the sinking of an island, or some other extraordinary disturbance, a tidal wave along the Pacific Coast would almost certainly be one of the events of this great disaster. "There are apparently three distinct weak spots in the United States, which are peculiarly subject to earthquake shocks, and we are likely sooner or later to hear from all of them in connection with the shock at San Francisco. There is one weak area along the southern Atlantic coast in the vicinity of Charleston, another is in Missouri, and the third includes the Pacific Coast from a point north of San Francisco down to and beyond San Diego." In describing the instruments at the weather bureau which make the record of earthquakes, even when the movement is so small that the ordinary person does not recognize it, Prof. Moore said: "The apparatus we have is a pen drawing a continuous line on a cylinder which revolves once every hour and is worked continuously by clockwork in an exact record of time. It moves in a straight line when there is no disturbance, and it jumps from right to left and back again when there are serious oscillations of the earth. The extent of these movements of the pen measures the grade of the oscillation. You may think it is a fantastic statement, but this seismographic pen is adjusted so delicately that it will register your step in its vicinity. "The instrument is mounted on a solid stone foundation and what it registers is the effect of your weight pressing upon the earth. It is easy to see, therefore, that the record we have obtained of this earthquake shows a few preliminary tremblings, which seem to be premonitions, for about four minutes, then a great crash which threw the pen off the cylinder and finally a period of nearly four hours, during which there were slight tremblings of the earth, this latter period marking the readjustment after the actual shock." Most of the scientists were inclined to believe that the boiling process in the interior of the earth, although it goes on continuously, is subject to periods of greater or less activity. This activity may be, however, purely local, according to the scientific theory, for otherwise there would be eruptions in all the active volcanoes of the earth at the same time, and there would be earthquakes in every one of the areas where there is liability to seismic disturbances. One government scientist in discussing the San Francisco earthquake said: "If we could have been right here in the vicinity of Washington a few hundreds of thousands of millions of years ago, we should have seen earthquakes that were earthquakes. The Alleghanies were broken up by great convulsions of the earth, and it is probable that this North American continent of ours was rocked a foot or two at a time, causing a tremendous crash of matter and the reorganization of the world itself. "The crust, while not necessarily thinner, is not so solid. In cooling it has cracked and left fissures or caverns or jumbled strata of softer material between harder rocks, so that it is peculiarly subject to earthquakes." Maj. Clarence E. Dutton, U. S. A., retired, the most famous American expert on seismic disturbances, said it was probably the greatest earthquake that has occurred in this country since 1868. He declared that it undoubtedly would be followed by disturbances of less intensity in the same quarter. He stated most emphatically that the eruption of Vesuvius had no bearing whatsoever on the disturbance on the Pacific Coast. J. Paul Goode, a professor in geology in the University of Chicago, attributes the cause of the Frisco earthquake to the Sierra Madre mountains, but not in a volcanic way, for he also claims that lava had nothing to do with the California shock. The shocks, he showed, can be attributed to mountains without volcanoes in their midst. The Sierra Madres are growing, he said, and for this reason they have shaken the city of San Francisco. He says that the gradual growing of mountains causes the underlying blocks of the earth's crust to slip up and down and shape the top of the earth in their vicinity when they fall any great distance. His ideas upon the subject are: "I figure that the earthquake which caused so much damage in San Francisco came from what we call the focus of disturbance. This focus at San Francisco is seven miles below the surface of the earth. As the Sierra Madre mountains grow, a phenomenon which is constantly going on, the blocks of earth below change positions; as a large block falls a series of shocks travels, up and down much the same way as the rings in the water travel out from the point at which a pebble strikes. When the vibration reaches the surface crust a severe shaking of the country adjacent is the result. "From the actions of the earth in April of 1892, when such a severe shock was felt in San Francisco, I have no doubt but that a second earthquake will follow closely upon the one of yesterday, as the second followed the first in 1892. In that year the first came upon the 19th of April and the second upon the 21st." Of 948 earthquake shocks that have been recorded in California previous to 1887, 417 were most active in San Francisco. The seismographs which record the merest tremors and determine the place of the shock show that 344 have occurred since 1888. Half of the sum total have occurred in the vicinity of the gate city and for this reason it is believed that the severe shock of April 18 was the final fall of a crust of the earth which has been gradually slipping for centuries, causing from time to time the slight shocks. The seismic physics of San Francisco and its immediate neighborhood have engaged the careful study of physical geographers. The commonly accepted opinion is one which was formulated by Prof. John Le Conte, professor of geology in the University of California, and one of the world's geological authorities. His explanation is based upon the mountain contours of the coast of California from the Santa Barbara channel northward to the Golden Gate. In this region are represented two peninsulas, one visible, the other to be discovered through examination of the altitudes upon the map corresponding to existing geological features. This second and greater peninsula comprises the Monte Diablo and Coast ranges, separated from the Sierra elevation by the alluvial soil of the low-lying valley of the San Joaquin. This valley is contoured by the level of 100 feet and lower for a considerable portion of its length, and practically all of it lies below the level of 500 feet. The partition thereby accomplished between the Sierra mountain mass and the coastal mountains is sufficiently pronounced to indicate what was at no remote period an extensive peninsula. This valley of the San Joaquin lies above the line of a geological fault, at a depth which can only be estimated as somewhere about a mile. The artesian well borings which have been abundantly prosecuted in the counties of Merced, Fresno, Kings and Kern afford evidence looking toward such a determination of bedrock depth. On the ocean side the continental shelf is extremely narrow. The great peninsula presents a most precipitous aspect toward the ocean basin. It is interrupted at intervals by deep submarine gorges extending close to the shore. The oceanic basin of the Pacific is throughout a region of volcanic upheaval and seismic disturbance. Conditioned on the one side by the known fault of the San Joaquin Valley and on the other by the volcanic activity of the Pacific basin, the greater peninsula of San Francisco in particular has always been subject, so far as the memory of white settlers can go, to frequent shocks of earthquake. In the last score or more of years seismographic observatories have been maintained at several points about San Francisco bay, and the records have been sufficiently studied to afford data for comprehension of the varied earth waves which have made themselves felt either to the perception of the citizens of the Golden Gate or to the sensitive instruments. Such observations have been conducted by Prof. George Davidson, for many years in charge of the Coast and Geodetic Survey upon the Pacific Coast; by Prof. Charles Burckhalter, of the Chabot Observatory, in Oakland, and by the staff of the Lick Observatory on Mount Hamilton. Careful inspection of these records shows that two systems of earthquake disturbances act upon San Francisco. Those of the lighter series show a wave movement beginning in one of the easterly quadrants and more commonly in the southeastern. This series of light shocks is attributed to the slip along the line of the San Joaquin fault. While they may occur at any season of the year, they are more frequently observed when the San Joaquin river is running bank high under the influence of the melting snows in the foothills of the Sierra. That such a condition has recently existed is made clear by the report within less than a month of floods in the interior valleys of the State. Assuming, as the geologists do, that the fault in the valley lies near the roots of the Monte Diablo range, on the western edge of the alluvial plain, it will be seen that the physical factors involving the slip are very simple. There is a wide, flat plain bounded on the west by a line of weakness in the rock supports. When this plain is carrying an abnormal weight of water the tendency is to break downward at the line of the fault. This tendency will produce a jar in the mountain mass which will be rapidly communicated to its farthest extremity. The earthquakes which have their origin in the disturbances to which the oceanic basin is subject always approach San Francisco from the direction of the southwest quadrant. These have been uniformly more violent than those whose origin is attributed to the San Joaquin fault. While the records of San Francisco earthquakes up to the present have exhibited a mild type, the damage to property having hitherto been slight, it would appear from the extent and violence of the present temblor that both causes had for once united. The possibility of such simultaneous action of the two known seismic factors of the greater peninsula had been foreseen by Prof. Le Conte. He stated that if at any time an earthquake wave of only moderate violence should come in from the oceanic basin in sufficient strength to jar the coastal mountain masses at a period when the San Joaquin Valley was bearing its maximum weight of water the conditions would be ripe for simultaneous shocks from the southwest and from the southeast. In such a condition, while neither of the shocks by itself would be capable of doing any great amount of damage to buildings in San Francisco, the combination of two distinct sets of waves might prove too much for any work of man to withstand. In spite of the declarations of some scientists that there can be no possible connection between the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the earthquake of San Francisco, others are inclined to view certain facts in regard to recent seismic and volcanic activity as, to say the least, suggestive. There is one very remarkable circumstance in regard to all this activity. All the places mentioned--Formosa, Southern Italy, Caucasia and the Canary Islands--lie within a belt bounded by lines a little north of the fortieth parallel and a little south of the thirtieth parallel. San Francisco is just south of the fortieth parallel, while Naples is just north of it. The latitude of Calabria, where the terrible earthquakes occurred last year, is the same as that of the territory affected by yesterday's earthquake in the United States. There is another coincidence, which may be only a coincidence, but which is also suggestive. The last previous great eruption of Vesuvius was in 1872, and the same year saw the last previous earthquake in California which caused loss of life. Camille Flammarion expressed the opinion that the earthquake at San Francisco and the eruption at Vesuvius are directly connected. He also sees a connection between the renewed activity of Popocatepetl, Mexico's well-known volcano, and the disturbance on the Western coast. He says that, though the surface of the earth is apparently calm, "there is no real equilibrium in the strata of the earth," and that the extreme lateral pressure which is still forming mountains and volcanoes along the Western coast brought about an explosion of gases and the movement of superheated steam several miles below San Francisco, resulting in an earthquake. Another theory is that the earth in revolving is flattening at the poles and swelling at the equator, and the strata beneath the surface are shifting and sliding in an effort to accommodate themselves to the new position. Other scientists scout this idea, saying that earthquakes are not caused by the adjustment of the surface of the earth, but by jar and strain as the earth makes an effort to regain its true axis. As regards the possible connection between volcanoes and earthquakes, it is known that a violent earthquake, whose shocks lasted several days, accompanied the eruption of Vesuvius in the year 79, when Pompeii and Herculaneum were destroyed. In 1755 thousands upon thousands of people lost their lives in the memorable earthquake at Lisbon, in Portugal. At the same time the warm springs of Teplitz, Bohemia, disappeared, later spouting forth again. In the same year an Iceland volcano broke forth, followed by an uprising and subsidence of the water of Loch Lomond in Scotland. The eruption of Vesuvius in 1872 was followed soon after by a serious earthquake in California. Coming to the present year, it is noticed that the earthquake in the island of Formosa, in which 1,000 people lost their lives, was followed by the eruption of Vesuvius on April 8. Soon after came the second great shock in Formosa, in which there was an even greater loss of life. Later there were two earthquake shocks in Caucasia. At the same time the news of this appeared there was a report of renewed activity on the part of a volcano in the Canary Isles, which had long been dormant. In the United States two volcanoes which have been regarded as extinct for more than a century--Mount Tacoma and Mount Rainier--began to emit smoke. In regard to Tacoma, Dr. W. J. Holland, head of the Carnegie Institute at Pittsburg, says: "There is no doubt that there has been a breakdown and shifting of strata, perhaps at a very great depth, in the region of San Francisco. There certainly is great connection between this earthquake and recent private reports which have come to me of intense volcanic activity on the part of Mount Tacoma." On the other hand, leading scientists contend that these instances are mere coincidences. "If there is any connection between Vesuvius and the Caucasus and Canary Isles earthquakes other places would have suffered too; New York, for instance, is on the same parallel," says Prof. J. F. Kemp, of Columbia University. Although each of these scientists has the most absolute faith in his theory, he really knows no more about the facts than any boy on the street. No one has ever descended into the interior of the earth and investigated the heart of a volcano but Jules Verne, and he only in his mind. What is needed now is exact information. The San Francisco catastrophe will teach many lessons, and among them the necessity for the close study of both volcanoes and earthquakes. There is no reason why earthquakes and other internal disturbances cannot be observed just as closely as the weather. In fact, it is entirely probable that the time will come when a seismological bureau will exist for the study of earthquakes, just as there is a Weather Bureau for observation of the weather, and it will be the business of its officials to prophesy and warn of approaching internal disturbances of the earth, just as the weather men announce the approach of bad weather. Government observation stations will be established, exact records will be kept, and in the course of time we shall learn exactly what earthquakes are and what are their causes. Among other lessons that the disaster has taught is that the much-maligned skyscraper is about the safest building there is. Its steel-cage structure, with steel rods binding the stone to its wall, has stood the test and has not been found wanting. Of all the mighty buildings in San Francisco those of the most modern structure alone survived. Their safety in the midst of collapsing buildings of mortar and brick argues well for like structures in other cities. [Illustration: Copyright by R. L. Forrest 1906. =CHINESE REFUGEES IN WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK.= It was estimated that as many as 10,000 Chinese were in this park at the time this photograph was taken.] [Illustration: =FLAT BUILDING SUNK INTO EARTH.= A view of the great fissures in earth caused by earthquake. One story of the flat building on corner sunk into the ground. The water main was broken, which cut off the water supply. No water to fight the fire or quench the thirst.] Mr. Otis Ashmore declared that the regions lying along the Pacific coast contain several of the moving strata which cause earthquakes. He said: "While much concerning the origin of earthquakes is still a matter of doubt in the minds of scientific men, it is now generally conceded that the real cause is the sudden slipping and readjustment of the strata of rocks with the crest of the earth. As the earth is slowly cooling a very slow contraction of the earth's crust is constantly going on, and as this crust consists very largely of stratified layers of rock, the enormous forces arising from this contraction are resisted by the solid rock. "Notwithstanding the apparent irresistible nature of these layers of rock, they slowly yield to the enormous lateral pressure of contraction and gradually huge folds are pushed up in long mountain ranges. Usually this process goes on so slowly and gradually that the yielding of the rock masses takes place without noticeable jar, but occasionally a sudden slip occurs under the gigantic forces, and an earthquake is the result. This slip is usually only a few inches, but when two continents fall together for only a few inches enormous energy is developed. "Such slips usually occur along the line of an old fissure previously formed, and the depth below the surface of the earth varies from one to twelve miles. Thus places situated near these old internal fissures are more likely to experience earthquakes than those farther away. It is a well known geological fact that the Pacific coast in California contains several of these fissures and earthquakes are more common there. The entire western part of the United States has been slowly rising for many centuries, and the shifting of soil due to erosion and transportation doubtless contributes to produce these seismic disturbances. "Earthquakes are more common than most persons think. Modern instruments for detecting slight tremors within the earth's crust show that there is scarcely an hour in the day free from these shocks. In mountain regions, and especially in the highest and youngest mountains, erosion is most rapid, and on the sea bottom, along the margin of the continents sedimentation is greatest. In these regions, therefore subterranean temperature and pressure changes are most rapid and earthquakes most frequent. "A study of earthquakes develop these general facts. The origin is seldom more than twelve miles below the surface; the size of the shaken region bears a certain relation to the depth of the origin or focus, the smaller shaken region indicating a relatively shallow origin; the energy of the shock is approximately indicated by the area of the shaken region; the origin is seldom a point, but generally a line many miles in length; the subterranean stress is not relieved by a single movement, but rather by a quick succession of movements causing a series of jars. "The transmission of an earthquake shock through the earth takes place with wonderful rapidity. The elastic wave varies in velocity from 800 to 1,000 feet per second in sand or clay to three miles per second in solid granite. "Sometimes these vibrations are of such a character as to be imparted to the air, and their transmission through the air outstrips the transmission through the earth and the ear detects the low rumbling sounds before the shock is felt. "If the origin of the shock is under the sea near the coast any upheaval of the bottom of the ocean that frequently accompanies an earthquake, gives rise to a great tidal wave that frequently inundates the neighboring coast with much damage. "While the phenomena of earthquakes and volcanoes are usually associated in the same region, one cannot fairly be said to be the cause of the other. Both are rather effects of a common cause, or rather of common causes, the chief of which is the shrinking and readjustment of the rocky strata within the earth. The suggestion that there is some physical connection between the recent eruptions of Vesuvius and the earthquake at San Francisco does not accord with the generally accepted views of geologists concerning these phenomena. "It is probably true that a critical condition of stress between two gigantic and contending forces may be touched off, as it were, by any feeble force originating at a distance. Thus a distant volcanic eruption or earthquake shock may determine the climax of stress in a given portion of the earth, which will produce an earthquake. Observations show that more earthquakes occur near the full and the new moon than at other times. This is probably due to the fact that at these times the gravitation of the sun and moon are combined, and their effect upon the earth is greater. We can see this effect in the higher tides at new and full moon. But these forces, it will be seen, are the occasions, and not the causes of earthquakes. "The probable recurrence of the San Francisco earthquake is a matter of great uncertainty. In general, whenever the internal stress of the forces that give rise to earthquakes is relieved there is usually a long period of quiescence in the strata of the earth, but in the course of time, especially in regions of recent and rapid geological changes, such as is the case on the Pacific coast, there is almost certain to be recurrences of earthquake shocks from time to time. "The geological forces may, however, gradually adjust themselves, and it may be many centuries before such a dynamic crisis will arise as that which has just convulsed a continent." California has had a number of great earthquakes. The records go back to the earthquake at Santa Ana in 1769. Not very much is known of this earthquake, though a church was built there and dedicated as Jesus de los Temblores. Another one occurred at Santa Barbara in 1806, and still another in 1812. The Old Mission, about the only building there at that time, on both occasions practically had to be rebuilt. Hittell's History of California says that "slight shocks of earthquakes are not infrequent, but none of really violent or dangerous character has been known to occur. An old or badly constructed building has occasionally been thrown down, and a few people have been killed by falling roofs or walls. But there has been nothing in the experience of the oldest inhabitants to occasion or justify fear or dread. The first one of which there is any full record occurred on October 11, 1800, and consisted of six consecutive shocks, and it tumbled down the habitations of San Juan Bautista. "The most disastrous shock occurred in December, 1812, when the church of San Juan Capistrano was thrown down and forty Indians killed by its fall. The same shock extended northwestward and damaged the churches of San Gabriel, San Buenaventura, Santa Barbara, Santa Inez and Purisima. In 1818 the church of Santa Clara was damaged, and in 1830 the church of San Luis Obispo." CHAPTER XIX. CHINATOWN, A PLAGUE SPOT BLOTTED OUT. =An Oriental Hell within an American City--Foreign in its Stores, Gambling Dens and Inhabitants--The Mecca of all San Francisco Sight Seers--Secret Passages, Opium Joints and Slave Trade its Chief Features.= To a visitor unacquainted with oriental customs and manners the most picturesque and mysterious spot in the region of the Golden Gate was Chinatown, now blotted out, which laid in the heart of San Francisco, halfway up the hillside from the bay and was two blocks wide by two blocks long. In this circumscribed area an Oriental city within an American city, more than 24,000 Chinese lived, one-half of whom ate and slept below the level of the streets. The buildings they occupied were among the finest that were built in the early days of the gold fever. What was at one time the leading hotel of the city was as full of Chinese as a hive is full of bees, for they crowd in together in much the same way. As the gold fever attracted the Chinese to the Pacific coast, San Francisco was made a headquarters and the Orientals soon established themselves in a building on the side hill. As they continued to swarm over, gradually the American tenants were crowded out until a certain section was set apart for the Chinese residents and Chinatown became as distinct a section of the city as the Bowery in New York used to be, "where they do such things and say such things." The time to see Chinatown was after dark, from ten at night to four in the morning, and a day and a night spent in the district would give you a very fair idea of Chinatown as it was. The streets were narrow and steep, paved with rough cobblestone. The fronts of the buildings had been changed to conform with the Chinese idea of architecture. Wide balconies and gratings and fretwork of iron painted in gaudy colors gave an Oriental touch. The fronts were a riot of color. The fronts of the joss houses and the restaurants were brightened with many colored lanterns, quaint carved gilded woodwork, potted plants and dwarf trees. Up and down these narrow streets every hour in the twenty-four you could hear the gentle tattoo, for he seemed never to sleep, never to be in a hurry and always moving. Stop on any corner five minutes and the sight was like a moving picture show. It was hard to make yourself believe that you were not in China, for as near as is possible Chinatown had been converted into a typical Chinese community. You heard no other language spoken on the streets or in the stores except by tourists, "seeing the sights." Chinese characters adorned the windows and store fronts, the merchants in the stores were reading Chinese newspapers, the children playing on the streets jabbered in an unknown tongue, and every man you met had a pigtail hanging down his back. The streets were full of people, but there were no crowds and neither in the day nor night could you see a drunken Chinaman. The first floor of nearly every building in Chinatown was occupied by a store or market. Most of the goods sold were imported from China. In every store there was but one clerk who could talk fair English but the bookkeeping was done in Chinese and money was counted in Chinese fashion. In the botanic stores dried snakes and toads were sold for use in compounding potions to drive away evil spirits and baskets of ginseng roots were displayed in the windows. The clothing stores handled Chinese goods exclusively and in the shoe stores beautifully embroidered sandals with felt soles an inch thick were sold for a dollar a pair. Occasionally in one of the jewelry stores a workman welded a solid gold bracelet to the arm of a Chinaman, who, afraid of being robbed of his gold, had it made into a bracelet and welded to his wrist. In the markets you found an endless display of fish, poultry and vegetables. The chickens were sold alive. The dried fish came from China. All the vegetables sold in Chinatown were raised in gardens on the outskirts of the city from seed sent over from China and some of the specimens were odd looking enough. The Chinese vegetables thrive better in the soil of California than in China and Chinese vegetables raised in the San Francisco district were sent to all the mining camps in the Rockies and as far away as Denver. Some of the Chinese squashes are four feet long. Everything that can be imported from China at a profit was shipped over and the rule among the Chinese was to trade as little as possible with foreigners. The Chinaman is thrifty and if it were not for gambling and one or two other vices they would all be rich, for they are industrious. The Chinaman does not go much on strong drink and in many ways is a good citizen, but he does love to smoke opium and to gamble. It was easy to gain access to an opium den if you had a guide with you. The guides, many of whom are Chinese, speak English, and the English guides speak Chinese. The guides got a dollar apiece from the party of visitors they piloted about and a percentage from all moneys spent by the party in the stores, saloons, restaurants, theaters and the dives. In return they paid for the opium that was smoked in the dens for the edification of the visitors and dropped a tip here and there as they went from place to place. Most of the opium dens were underground. The majority of the people of Chinatown lived in what were little better than rat holes, dark, poorly ventilated little cells on the side of narrow passages in basements. The rich merchants and importers lived well, but the middle and poorer classes lived in the basements where rent was cheap. Of the 24,000 Chinese population only about 900 were women so Chinatown was a bachelor's town by a large majority, though some of the residents had wives in China to whom they expected to return some day. The rule in the basements was for ten men to sleep in a room six by ten feet and do their cooking over a little charcoal fire in one corner of the room. The beds they slept in were simply bunks. The population of Chinatown had somewhat decreased since the Exclusion act was passed. Few Chinamen came over and many, having saved up a little fortune, had gone back to China to stay. Of the entire population of Chinatown there were about 1,000 who voted; they constituted the native born element. The men and women dress much alike. One of the sights which the inquisitive traveller to the Pacific coast rarely missed was the Chinese theater. Entrance was gained through the rear from an alley by the payment of 50 cents for a ticket. After walking down a narrow passageway, climbing up two flights of stairs and down three ladders one reached the green room in the rear of the stage where one saw the actors in all the glory of Oriental costume. No foreigners, as Americans were regarded, were allowed in any part of the theater except on the stage where half a dozen chairs were reserved on one side for visitors who came in the back way. There was no drop curtain in front of the stage and the orchestra was located in the rear of the stage. The orchestra would attract attention anywhere. The music was a cross between the noise made by a boiler shop during working hours and a horse fiddle at a country serenade. As one walked along the streets of Chinatown he noticed on many doorways a sign which read something like this: "Merchants' Social Club. None But Members Admitted." There would be a little iron wicket on one side of the door through which the password goes and some Chinese characters on the walls. There were dozens of these clubs in Chinatown, all incorporated and protected by law. But they were simply gambling joints into which men of other nationalities were not admitted, and where members could gamble without fear of interruption by the police. Chinamen are born gamblers and will wager their last dollar on the turn of a card. Perhaps if 25,000 Americans or Englishmen or Russians were located in the heart of a Chinese city without any of the restraining influences of home life, they would seek to while away their idle hours at draw poker or as many other forms of gambling as John Chinaman indulges in. The Chinamen have little faith in one another so far as honesty goes. In many of the clubs the funds of the club are kept in a big safe which in addition to having a time lock, has four padlocks, one for each of the principal officers, and the safe can only be opened when all four are present. Often when the police raided a den that was not incorporated they found that the chips and cards had disappeared as if by magic and the players were sitting about as unconcerned as though a poker game had never been thought of. An advance tip had been sent in by a confederate on the private Chinese grapevine telegraph. The troubles that arise between members of a Chinese secret society are settled within the society, but when trouble arises between the members of rival secret societies then it means death to somebody. For instance, a Chinaman caught cheating at cards is killed. The society to which the dead man belongs makes a demand on the society to which the man who killed him belongs for a heavy indemnity in cash. If it is not paid on a certain date, a certain number of members of the society, usually the Highbinder or hoodlum element, is detailed to kill a member of the other society. A price is fixed for the killing and is paid as soon as the job is done. The favorite weapon of the Highbinder is a long knife made of a file, with a brass knob and heavy handle. The other weapon in common use is a 45-calibre Colt's revolver. The first one of the detail that meets the victim selected slips up behind him and shoots or stabs him in the back. It may be in a dark alley at midnight, in an opium den, at the entrance to a theater, or in the victim's bed. If the assassin is arrested the society furnishes witness to prove an alibi and money to retain a lawyer. Another favorite pastime of the Highbinder who is usually a loafer, is to levy blackmail on a wealthy Chinaman. If the sum demanded is not paid the victim's life is not worth 30 cents. One of the famous victims of the Highbinders in recent years in San Francisco was "Little Pete," a Chinaman who was worth $150,000 and owned a gambling palace. He refused to be held by blackmailers and lost his life in consequence. The police of San Francisco took no stock in a Chinaman's oath as administered in American courts. A Chinaman don't believe in the Bible and therefore does not regard an oath as binding. In one instance it is asserted the chief had been approached by a member of one of the strongest secret societies and asked what attorney was to prosecute a certain Highbinder under arrest. Asked why he wished to know, he stated frankly that another man was about to be assassinated and he desired to retain a certain lawyer in advance to defend him if he was not already employed by the commonwealth. It is no easy matter for the police to secure the conviction of a Chinaman charged with any crime, let alone that of murder. There is only one place where a policeman will believe a Chinaman. That is in a cemetery, while a chicken's head is being cut off. If asked any questions at that time, after certain Chinese words have been repeated, a Chinaman will tell the truth, so the police believe. Although all Chinaman are smooth faced and have their heads shaved they do not "look alike" to the policemen, who have no trouble in telling them apart. This, of course, applied only to the policemen detailed to look after Chinatown. If it were not that the Chinamen kill only men of their own race and let alone all other men, the citizens of San Francisco would have sacked and burned Chinatown. Once the Highbinders were rooted out of the city, and before the catastrophe they were going to do so again. Some time ago a Chinese shrimp fisherman incurred the displeasure of the members of another society and he was kidnapped in the night and taken to a lonely, uninhabited island some miles from San Francisco, tied hand and foot and fastened tight to stakes driven in the ground and left to die. Two days later he was found by friends, purely by accident and released, famished and worn out, but he refused to tell who his captors were, and again become a victim of the terrible Highbinders, the curse of the Pacific coast. Incidents of the above characters nearly always ending in murder, were so common that the wealthy and powerful Chinese Six Companies, the big merchants of the race, held years ago meetings with the purpose of bringing the societies to peace and while they often succeeded the truce between them was only temporary. Of all the dark, secretive and lawless Chinese villages that dot the wayward Pacific slope, the one that looks down on the arm of San Francisco Bay, just this side of San Pedro Point, is the most mysterious and lawless. The village hasn't even a name to identify it, but "No Sabe" would be the most characteristic title for the settlement, because that is the only expression chance visitors and the officers of the law can get out of its sullen, stubborn, suspicious inhabitants. They don't deride the laws of this land. They simply ignore them. They are a law unto themselves, have their own tribunals, officers, fines and punishments and woe betide the member who doesn't submit. He might cry out for the white man's law to protect him, but long before his cry could reach the white man's ear it would be lost in that lonely, secretive village and the first officer that reached the place would be greeted by the usual stoical, "No sabe." Police and other investigations showed that for years past the slavery of girls and women in Chinatown was at all times deplorable and something horrible. At an investigation, a few years ago, instituted at the instance of the Methodist Mission, some terrible facts were elicited, the following indicating the nature of nearly all: The first girl examined testified that her parents sold her into slavery while she was only fifteen years of age. The price paid was $1,980, of which she personally saw $300 paid down as a deposit. Before the final payment was made she escaped to the mission. The second, an older girl, lived in a house of ill fame for several years before she made her escape. She testified that she was sold for $2,200 by her stepmother. The transaction occurred in this city. She talked at length of the conditions surrounding the girls, including the infamous rule that they must earn a certain sum each day, and the punishments that follow failure. This girl said she knew from other girls of her acquaintance that many white men were in the habit of visiting the Chinese houses. The third girl who testified said she was sold at a time when slaves were scarcer and higher in price than they are now, and brought $2,800 at the age of fifteen. She, too, was positive that white men visited the Chinese houses of ill fame. One of the women of the mission showed the committee three little girls, mere babies, who had been rescued by the mission. Two of them were sold by their parents while they were still in arms. The first brought $105 when three months old and another was sold at about the same age for $150. All three were taken from the keepers of houses of ill fame and were living regularly in the houses when rescued. But there was also a better side to Chinatown. The joss house was an interesting place. It was but a large room without seats. A profusion of very costly grill work and lanterns adorned the ceilings and walls; instruments of war were distributed around the room, and many fierce looking josses peered out from under silken canopies on the shrines. In one corner was a miniature wooden warrior, frantically riding a fiery steed toward a joss who stood in his doorway awaiting the rider's coming. A teapot of unique design, filled with fresh tea every day, and a very small cup and saucer were always ready for the warrior. This represented a man killed in battle, whose noble steed, missing his master, refused to eat and so pined away and died. A welcome was assured to them in the better land if the work of man can accomplish it. The horse and rider were to them (the Chinese) what the images of saints are to Christians. In another corner was a tiny bowl of water; the gods occasionally come down and wash. At certain times of the year, direct questions were written on slips of paper and put into the hands of one of the greatest josses. These disappear and then the joss either nodded or shook his head in answer. On the altar, or altars, were several brass and copper vessels in which the worshiper left a sandalwood punk burning in such a position that the ashes would fall on the fine sand in the vessel. When one of these became full it was emptied into an immense bronze vase on the balcony, and this, in turn, was emptied into the ocean. The Chinese take good care of their living and never forget their dead. Once a year, the fourteenth day of the seventh month, they have a solemn ceremony by which they send gold and silver and cloth to the great army of the departed. A furnace is a necessity in a joss house. It is lighted on ceremonial days and paper representing cloth, gold and silver is burned, the ashes of the materials being, in their minds, useful in spirit land. Private families send to their relatives and friends whatever they want by throwing the gold, the silver and the cloth paper, also fruits, into a fire built in the street in front of their houses. The days of worship come on the first and fifteenth of each month. Of the deaths in Chinatown by the earthquake and fire no reliable list has been possible but in estimating the victims the construction of the district should be regarded as an inconsiderable factor. CHAPTER XX. THE NEW SAN FRANCISCO. =A Modern City of Steel on the Ruins of the City that Was--A Beautiful Vista of Boulevards, Parks and Open Spaces Flanked by the Massive Structures of Commerce and the Palaces of Wealth and Fashion.= With superb courage and optimism that characterize the American people, San Francisco lifted her head from the ashes, and, as Kipling says, "turned her face home to the instant need of things." Scorched and warped by days and nights of fire, the indomitable spirit of the Golden Gate metropolis rose on pinions of hope, unsubdued and unafraid. Old San Francisco was an ash heap. From out the wreck and ruin there should arise a new San Francisco that would at once be the pride of the Pacific coast and the American nation and a proud monument to the city that was. Temporarily the commerce of the city was transferred to Oakland, with its magnificent harbor across the bay, and at once a spirit of friendly rivalry sprung up in the latter city. Oakland had been the first haven of refuge for the fleeing thousands, but in the face of the overwhelming disaster the sister city saw a grand opportunity to enhance its own commercial importance. But the spirit of San Francisco would brook no successful rivalry and its leading men were united in a determination to rebuild a city beautiful on the ashen site and to regain and re-establish its commercial supremacy on the Pacific coast. With the fire quenched, the hungry fed, some sort of shelter provided, the next step was to prepare for the resumption of business and the reconstruction of the city. Within ten days from the first outbreak of flames the soldiers had begun to impress the passer-by into the service of throwing bricks and other debris out of the street in order to remove the stuff from the path of travel. Some important personages were unceremoniously put to work by the unbiased guards, among them being Secretary of State Charles Curry of Sacramento. The people of San Francisco turned their eyes to a new and greater city. Visitors were overwhelmed with terror of the shaking of the earth, they quailed at the thought of the fire. But the men who crossed the arid plains, who went thirsty and hungry and braved the Indian and faced hardships unflinchingly in their quest for gold over two-thirds of a century ago had left behind them descendants who were not cowards. Smoke was still rising from the debris of one building while the owner was planning the erection of another and still better one. The disaster had made common cause, and the laboring man who before was seeking to gouge from his employer and the employer who was scheming to turn the tables on his employes felt the need of co-operation and cast aside their differences, and worked for the common cause, a new and a greater San Francisco. Fire could not stop them, nor the earthquake daunt. They talked of beautiful boulevards, of lofty and solid steel and concrete buildings and of the sweeping away of the slums. They talked of many things and they were enthusiastic. They said that the old Chinatown would be driven away to Hunter's Point in the southeastern portion of the city near the slaughter-houses. They said the business district should be given a chance to go over there where it belonged, by right of commanding and convenient position. They talked of magnificent palaces to take the place of those that had fallen before the earthquake, fire and dynamite. Courage conquers. We are proud of the American spirit which arises above all difficulties. But there are some things which could not be replaced. There could not be another Chinatown like the old one, with all its quaint nooks and alleys. All this was gone and a new Chinatown must seem like a sham. There were no more quaint buildings in the Latin quarter, with their old world atmosphere. Coppas place, center of real bohemia, where artists for many years congregated and adorned the walls with pictures, still remained. But it was lonesome; all its fellows were gone; it was surrounded by ruins. Not an old place remained with a story or with a sentimental charm. San Francisco went to work with a will to rebuild, ships continued to enter its magnificent harbor, and lived down earthquake and fire to again become a great, prosperous, magnificent city. But the sentiment of its Latin Quarter was gone, for outside of the Coppas place, there was nothing left of the old and loved San Francisco except the gable tiled roof of Mission Dolores, its plain wooden cross surmounting it, and its sweet-toned chimes long stilled. Their voices should ring out anew at intervals to remind all who may hear them that San Francisco has a storied past and a bright future, a future glorious as the brilliant sunsets that come streaming so magnificently through the Golden Gate. It should be borne in mind that San Francisco was not destroyed by the earthquake. While old buildings in that part of the city which stood on "made" ground east of Montgomery street and some of that district lying south of Market it is true suffered from the shock, it was fire that wrought the great devastation and wiped out the entire business section and more than half of the residence section of the city. The great modern steel structures were practically uninjured by the earthquake, except for cracked walls and displaced plaster. All those great structures, of course, subsequently were utterly ruined by the flames as far as the interior construction was concerned, but the walls were in most cases intact. The most notable cases of practical immunity from the shock were the St. Francis Hotel, the Fairmont Hotel, the Flood buildings, the Mills building, the Spreckels buildings, the Chronicle building and scores of other modern steel structures. The branch of the United States mint on Fifth street and the new postoffice at Seventh and Mission streets were striking examples of the superiority of the workmanship put into federal buildings. The old mint building, surrounded by a wide space of pavement, was absolutely unharmed. Not even the few palm trees which stand on either side of its broad entrance were withered by the flames that devoured everything around it. The new postoffice building also was virtually undamaged by fire. The earthquake shock did some damage to the different entrances to the building; the walls were uninjured. Every window pane, of course, was gone, as they were in almost every building in town, but the government was able to resume postal business immediately. The Fairmont Hotel, while seriously damaged in the interior, was left intact as to the walls and the management offered space in the building to the various relief committees who desired to house the homeless or to store supplies in those parts of the building considered safe. One question that confronted the rebuilders was whether the city's level had sunk as a result of the earthquake. Parties sent out by City Engineer Thomas P. Woodward for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not the city, as a whole, had sunk, reported that there was no general depression, though there were many spaces where there were bad depressions. The most notable depressions were on Valencia, from Nineteenth to Twentieth; lower Market, Howard and Seventeenth and Eighteenth; Van Ness, from Vallejo to Green, and on Folsom in the region of Seventeenth street. [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =SEEKING LOST FRIENDS.= San Francisco Call Register Bureau. Looking for names on cards.] [Illustration: Copyright 1906 by Tom M. Phillips. =VAN NESS AVENUE RESIDENCE.= All that was left of a fine residence.] [Illustration: =TENTING IN THE SQUARE.=] [Illustration: =ALAMEDA PARK.=] The southeast corner of the new postoffice building extended over an old swamp, and here there was a depression of fully four feet. The sinking was confined almost entirely to the lower parts of the city, and particularly to "made" ground. Mr. Woodward gave it as his opinion that there was no general depression of the city whatever. City Engineer Woodward was one of those who devised a general scheme for rebuilding the city, by which the new San Francisco was to be a city of magnificent buildings, terraces, boulevards, green parks and playgrounds and gardens. One prominent feature of Mr. Woodward's comprehensive scheme was the widening of Van Ness avenue into a magnificent boulevard. To this end he proposed the acquisition by the city through condemnation proceedings of all that choice residence property the full length of Van Ness avenue. Under his plan there would be no narrow and clogging streets in those sections of the city laid bare by the fire. Streets in the heart of the business district which were proved entirely inadequate for the rush and confusion of a big metropolis were to be widened by slicing from the private holdings on either side, again through process of the courts. Market street was to be left as it was. So with Third and other streets that were repaired by the city authorities just before the earthquake, but streets in the commission and wholesale sections were to be radically altered, both in width and course. The big construction companies of New York took a great interest in the San Francisco disaster, especially as far as the damages to building was concerned. One of the largest construction companies in the world started an engineer for San Francisco at once. Great satisfaction was expressed by the architects of the San Francisco Chronicle building that the structure had withstood the shocks in good shape and was practically uninjured until assailed on all sides by flames. The Chronicle building was of steel framework, with the outer walls partially anchored to the frame. George Simpson, the chief engineer of the company that built the Chronicle building, was of the opinion that the big modern buildings of Chicago and New York would withstand such earthquake shocks as those felt in San Francisco. "The east, and especially New York city," said Mr. Simpson, "is far ahead of the west in the matter of thorough building construction. In the case of our modern buildings the steel framework sits on a bed of concrete that has been built on top of solid rock foundation. "Now, it will be observed that all of the steel frame buildings in San Francisco withstood the shocks and the only damage done to them outside of fire was the falling out of part of the walls. In these cases the outer walls were merely built on the steel work. With our big buildings the walls are anchored to the steel framework. That is, each big piece of stone has imbedded in it a steel bar from which another arm of the same material runs in at right angles and is riveted or bolted to the framework. "That is what I meant by anchored walls and in the event of an earthquake it would take a terrific shock to loosen these walls. Were it possible to erect an entire steel building resting on a solid foundation there would be no fear from earthquakes. In the Philippines they are now building some churches of steel framework with a sheet iron covering. This is done in anticipation of earthquake shocks." The rebuilding of Baltimore required 30,100 tons of structural steel. To rebuild San Francisco on the same basis the estimate was 60,000 tons amounting with freight to $6,000,000. As compared with the loss of $200,000,000 this was an insignificant amount. Among those who submitted a comprehensive scheme for a new San Francisco was Daniel Hudson Burnham, the noted architect of Chicago, who designed most of the features of Chicago's World's Columbian Exposition and from whose conceptions the Court of Honor at that exhibition was built, and those who visited the White City in 1893 will never forget the picturesque grandeur of that enchanted region. Mr. Burnham believed in a new and ideal San Francisco and would see it take its place as the American Paris in the arrangement of its streets and the American Naples in the beauty of its bay and skies. The plans for the ideal San Francisco were his, and hardly had his report been printed than the columns of the old city went down to ruin and fire swept out of existence the landmarks by the gate of gold. It is now the question, How far will the new San Francisco realize the dreams of those who have had before them for so many years the image of a metropolis of the Pacific with broad boulevards and great parkways and wooded heights--a city of sunken gardens, of airy bridges, of stately gardens and broad expanses? Daniel H. Burnham had back of him a long record of achievements which earned for him his title of city builder. He built the Rookery building and the Masonic Temple in Chicago, and then was called to various cities where he supervised the erection of imposing piles which have become landmarks. It was while studying the relations of these large buildings to their surroundings that he became interested in his still greater work, which had to do with squares and blocks and parkways. Upon the invitation of the Association for the Improvement and Adornment of San Francisco Mr. Burnham went to the Golden Gate, where he devoted months to the plans for a new city. A bungalow was built on the Twins Peaks seven hundred feet above the level of the streets, from which Mr. Burnham and his staff of assistants could command a view of the city and the bay. The material which they sought to make into the perfect city was before them day and night. They saw San Francisco by sunlight, in fog, in storm or in the blaze of a myriad lights. As the work progressed the San Franciscans who were interested in the scheme often climbed to the bungalow to watch the progress of the work. The scheme prepared by Mr. Burnham provided first for a civic centre where all the principal city buildings were to be located and also the new union railroad station. About this was to be a broad circular boulevard, a perimeter of distribution, and beyond this a series of broader boulevards or parkways connecting the hills, which were to be converted into parks themselves. About this was to have been the circling boulevard following the shore line of the peninsula. The scheme included also the extension of the avenue leading to the Golden Gate Park, known as the Panhandle, the building of a Greek amphitheater on the Twin Peaks, with a statue of San Francisco greeting the countries of the Orient. The plan also provided for a new parade ground at the Presidio and the building of numerous parks and playgrounds throughout the city. All this was to have cost millions, but to a man of the largeness of the City Builder this was a detail which was to be reckoned with year by year. Now that buildings which were to have been acquired by the city to make room for the pathways of the ideal San Francisco are in ashes and twisted beams it may be that the vision of Daniel H. Burnham may soon be realized. "It is an unfortunate thing," he said, "that our American cities are not first laid out in accordance with some definite idea. As a matter of fact, however, they simply grow up and later have to be changed in order to give them symmetry. In Europe the whole idea is different. The government has more control over such affairs than it has in this country, and it prescribes just what the height of the buildings shall be. The result is a skyline which is imposing. In this country each man builds for himself." Pending the action of the authorities on the plans for the San Francisco Beautiful Mr. Burnham had little to say about the rebuilding. The boulevards connecting the hills were to have been made by taking out blocks of houses, most of which were in poorer sections of the city. This would give a passageway more than two hundred feet wide. The buildings which would have been condemned have been destroyed, and it then became a question as to whether the authorities of the city would be able to make the change contemplated. Mr. Burnham's plan for the New San Francisco left Chinatown out of the reckoning, as there was talk of private capital arranging for the transfer of the quarter to another part of the city. It was the opinion of Mr. Burnham that Chinatown, as occupying a valuable section of San Francisco, would eventually have to go. "Twin Peaks," runs the report made by Mr. Burnham, "and the property lying around them, should be acquired for park purposes by the city. The idea was to weave park and residence districts into interesting and economic relations, and also to preserve from the encroachments of building the hill bordered valley running to Lake Merced, so that the vista from the parks to the ocean should be unbroken. It is planned to preserve the beautiful canyon or glen to the south of Twin Peaks and also to maintain as far as possible the wooded background formed by the hills looking south from Golden Gate. This park area of the Twin Peaks, which includes the hills which surround the San Miguel Valley and is terminated by Lake Merced, is a link in the chain of parks girdling the city. "To the north of Twin Peaks lies a natural hollow. Here it was proposed to create an amphitheatre or stadium of vast proportions. The gentler slopes of the Twin Peaks were to be used as villa properties. The plans for Twin Peaks also included a collective centre or academy, which is to be arranged for the accommodation of men in various branches of intellectual or artistic pursuits. A little open air theatre, after the Greek model, would form a part of this scheme." Even Telegraph Hill was to have its precipitate sides terraced and was to be transformed into a park, according to the design of Mr. Burnham. To carry out all the plans of the architect would be a large task just now, but the citizens of the new San Francisco expect that the broad general lines will be laid down and then in the course of time the rest will be added. Unexampled as was the loss of property in San Francisco the disaster in that respect alone was converted into a permanent benefit. No other city with the exception of Chicago ever had such a grand opportunity of rebuilding upon a basis of permanency and beauty. Instead of shrinking, real estate values rose rapidly and continued to rise. Fancy figures were quoted on sites suitable for business establishments. Structures that remained comparatively intact not far from the old business section were leased at extremely high rates. Instead of dooming San Francisco the double attack of fire and quake proved a blessing. Unaccountable as it may be to many people in the eastern states, the denizens of that part of the country had no especial fears of a recurrence of the catastrophe. They argued that seismic disturbances of such intensity come once in fifty or one hundred years. "Next time we will be prepared," was the regulation comment. The faith of those people, their courage and their enduring hope obliterated all doubt and crushed timidity. The watchword from the day of the disaster was "rebuild." And generally there was added the injunction, "and make it earthquake proof." CHAPTER XXI. VESUVIUS THREATENS NAPLES. =Beautiful Italian City on the Mediterranean Almost Engulfed in Ashes and Lava from the Terrible Volcano--Worst Eruption Since the Days of Pompeii and Herculaneum--Buildings Crushed and Thousands Rendered Homeless.= The worst eruption of Mt. Vesuvius since the days when it buried under molten lava and ashes Pompeii and Herculaneum occurred on April 6, 1906. Almost without warning the huge crater opened its fiery mouth and poured from its throat and fiery interior and poured down the mountain sides oceans of burning lava, and warned 60,000 or 70,000 inhabitants of villages in the paths of the fiery floods that their only safety was in immediate flight. From the very start the scene was terrible and awe-inspiring. From the summit of the mountain a column of fire fully 1,000 feet leaped upward and lighted by its awful glare the sky and sea for miles around. Occasionally great masses of molten stone, some weighing as much as a ton were, accompanied by a thunderous noise, ejected from the crater and sent crashing down the mountain side, causing the natives, even as far as Naples, to quake with fear, abandon their homes and fall, praying, on their knees. One of the immense streams of lava which flowed from the crater's mouth was more than 200 feet wide and, ever broadening, kept advancing at the rate of 21 feet a minute. The first great modern eruption was that of 1631, eleven years after the pilgrim fathers landed on Plymouth rock. A sudden tidal wave of lava, utterly unexpected, engulfed 18,000 people, many of the coast towns being wholly and the remainder partially wiped out. In 1707 the volcano sent forth a cloud of ashes so dense that at midday in the streets of Naples the blackness of the darkest night reigned supreme. The shrieks of terror stricken women pierced the air and the churches were crowded by the populace. The relics of San Januarius--his skull among them--were carried in procession through the streets. Thirty years later a stream of lava one mile wide and containing 300,000,000 cubic feet burst from the mountain side. The next notable eruption was that of 1760, when new cones formed at the side and gave forth lava, smoke and ashes. Seven years later the king of Naples hastily retreated into the capital from the palace at Portici, threatened by a fresh outburst, and found the Neapolitans again in confusion. An eruption lasting a year and a half commenced in 1793. Lava was emitted for fifteen hours and the sea boiled 100 yards from the coast. That the Vesuvius eruptions are gaining in frequency is attested by the record of the nineteenth century, surpassing as it does that of the eighteenth. The first of note occurred in 1822, when the top of the great cone fell in and a lava stream a mile in width poured out. Twelve years later a river of lava nine miles long wiped out a town of 500 houses. Lava flowed almost to the gates of Naples in 1855 and caused a deplorable loss of property to the cultivated region above. Blocks of stone forty-five feet in circumference were hurled down the mountain by the spectacular outburst of 1872. Two lava floods rushed down the valley on two sides, ashes were shot thousands of feet in the air and the sea rose for miles. More than 20,000,000 cubic feet of lava was ejected in a single day. Since 1879 Vesuvius has been variously active there being two eruptions of note in 1900 and two others in 1903. But that of 1905 was more violent than any since 1872. Red hot stones hurled 1,600 feet above the cone dropped down the flanks of the mountain with deafening sound. One stone thrown out weighed two tons, while 1,844 violent explosions were recorded in a single day by the instruments of the seismic observatory. The cog railroad running nearly to the top has been badly damaged a number of times in recent years and the occupants of the meteorological observatory on or near the summit have had several narrow escapes. This institution is situated about a mile and a half from the cone, near the foot of the rope railway ascending that troubled apex. It is a handsome edifice of white stone and can be seen at a great distance against the black background of lava. It stands on the side toward Naples, on the top of a conspicuous ridge 2,080 feet above the level of the sea. On each side of this ridge flows a river of lava during eruptions, but the building has withstood all, unscathed, as yet. An observer is on duty, night and day, even during the most violent outbursts. During the late one, when a sheet of red-hot lava glowed on either side of the ridge and when fiery projectiles fell all about, the post was not deserted. Inside, mounted upon piers penetrating the ground, are delicate instruments whose indicating hands, resting against record sheets of paper, trace every movement made by the shuddering mountain. One sign by which these great outbursts may almost always be forecast is the falling of water in the wells of the neighboring villages. The Vesuvian volcanic region, like that of Ætna, is partly land and partly sea, including all of the Bay of Naples, sometimes called "the crater," lying at the very foot of Vesuvius, with a circuit of fifty-two miles and the metropolis at the extreme northern corner. The whole base of the mountain is skirted by a series of villages where abide 100,000 souls--birds nesting in the cannon's mouth. Between these settlements and even above, within the jaws of the fiery demon, the tourist sees scattered huts, tent shaped of straw interwoven. A road twenty miles long, commencing at Naples, extends southeastwardly along the shore of the bay and then, winding inland, completely encircles the mountain. This is dotted with villages, all within hearing of the volcanic rumblings and bellowings. Four miles down the bay road from Naples lies Portici, its 12,000 population dwelling upon lava thrown down to the sea by the eruption of 1631. On this black bed stands the royal palace, built by Charles III. in 1738. Resina, one mile further, is the favorite suburban seat of wealthy Neapolitans. Its 14,000 residents dwell partly upon the ruins of Herculaneum and of Retina, to which latter city Pliny the elder set out during the great eruption which destroyed these cities and Pompeii. The colossal brazier of Mount Vesuvius dealt most awfully and destructively with the towns on its declivities and near its base. The inhabitants of those villages naturally became panic-stricken and abandoned their homes for the open, although the atmosphere was dense with volcanic ashes and the sulphur fumes of subterranean fires. The people, so long as they dared remain near their homes, crowded the churches day and night, praying for deliverance from the impending peril, manifestations of which were hourly heard and felt in explosions which resembled a heavy cannonade, and in the tremblings of the earth, which were constantly recurring. The intense heat of the lava destroyed vegetation before the stream reached it. The peasants of Portici, at the west foot of Vesuvius, cleared their grounds of vineyards and trees in the effort to lessen the danger from the fire and resist the progress of the lava to the utmost. The streams of lava became resistless. They snapped like pipe stems the trunks of chestnut trees hundreds of years old and blighted with their torrid breath the blooms on the peach trees before the trees themselves had been reached. The molten streams did not spare the homes of the peasants, and when these have been razed they dash into the wells, as though seeking to slake their thirst, and, having filled them, continue their course down the mountain side. Everywhere in the vicinity of the volcano pitiful scenes were witnessed--women tearing their hair in their grief and old men crying aloud at the loss of their beloved homesteads, while in the distance, in striking contrast, were the sapphire-colored Mediterranean, the violet-hued mountains of the Sorrento peninsula and the island of Capri in the tranquil sea. The town of Bosco Trecase, on the mountain's southern declivity, had been transformed into a gray island of ruin by the ashes from the crater of the volcano. Torrents of liquid fire, resembling in the distance serpents with glittering yellow and black scales, coursed in all directions, amid rumblings, detonations and earth tremblings while a pall of sulphurous smoke that hovered over all made breathing difficult. While the inhabitants, driven before soldiers, were urged to seek safety in flight, fiery lava was invading their homes and the cemetery where their dead was buried. In about 48 hours after the eruptions began not a trace remained of Bosco Trecase, a city of 10,000 population. Several lads who were unharmed when the danger following the eruptions of Mount Vesuvius seemed most imminent subsequently ventured to walk on the cooling lava. They went too far and the crust broke under their weight. They were swallowed up before the helpless onlookers. About the same time the village of Bosco Reale, to the eastward, became threatened, and the women of the village, weeping with fright, carried a statue of St. Anne as near as they could go to the flowing lava, imploring a miracle to stay the advance of the consuming stream. As the fiery tide persisted in advancing the statue had to be frequently moved backward. Ottajano, at the northeast foot of the mountain, and 12 miles from Naples, was in the path of destruction and the scenes there when the first victims were unearthed were most terrible. The positions of the bodies showed that the victims had died while in a state of great terror, the faces being convulsed with fear. Three bodies were found in a confessional of one of the fallen churches. One body was that of an old woman who was sitting with her right arm raised as though to ward off the advancing danger. The second was that of a child about 8 years old. It was found dead in a position which would indicate that the child had fallen with a little dog close to it and had died with one arm raised across its face to protect itself and its pet from the crumbling ruins. The third body, that of a woman, was reduced to an unrecognizable mass. Other bodies which were found later caused such an impression among the already frantic population that the authorities did not deem it advisable to permit any more bodies to be identified for the time being. Five churches and ten houses fell under the weight of ashes and cinders, which lay over four feet deep on the ground. Many were killed and injured. One mile southward from the site of Bosco Trecase, on the shore of the Gulf of Naples, is Torre Annunziata, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, and the streams of lava having almost surrounded it the inhabitants deserted their homes in terror and fled to Naples and other points. This place was destroyed by an eruption in 1631. At the northern boundary of the town is a picturesque cypress-planted cemetery, and there the lava stream was halted and turned aside. It was as if the dead had effectually cried out to arrest the crushing river of flame, as at Catania the veil of St. Agatha is said to have stayed a similar stream from Mount Ætna. The visit of the King and Queen of Italy and the Duke of Aosta to the town caused a rumor to be started by the excited people, and particularly among the panic-stricken women, that their presence had resulted in a miracle, and, singularly enough, shortly after the arrival of the sovereigns, and while the King and Queen were trying to console the people, repeating frequently, "Courage! Be strong!" the wind suddenly changed and the atmosphere, which up to that moment had been impregnated with sulphurous gas and suffocating fumes, cleared away and the sun burst forth. The stream of lava stopped its march, after having destroyed a section of the northeast part of the suburb. The air rang with benedictions for the King from his devoted subjects. Hope at once returned and the King and Queen were preparing to move on, but the people insisted that they remain, begging that they be not abandoned. The King and Queen wished to visit Torre Del Greco, which is only seven miles distant from Naples, and was also in danger of being wiped out, and the people fled from it in dismay, amid a continued fall of sand and ashes, to points of reputed safety. This village had been eight times destroyed and as often rebuilt. A violent storm of sulphurous rain occurred at San Giuseppe, Vesuviana and Saviano. The town of Nola, an old place of 15,000 inhabitants, twenty-two miles from Naples, was almost buried under the shower of ashes coming from the crater, which were carried by the wind as far as the Adriatic sea. The inhabitants of the country in the vicinity of Caserta, a place of about 35,000 people, and termed the Versailles of Naples, were also endangered by cinder ashes and flowing lava. The village of San Gennaro was partially buried in sand and ashes and several houses were crushed. At that place three persons were killed and more than twenty injured. Sarno, Portici, Ciricello, Poggio and Morino became practically uninhabitable because of the ashes and fumes, and the people fled from the town. At Sarno three churches and the municipal buildings collapsed. The sand and cinders were six feet deep there and all the inhabitants sought safety in flight. Sarno is a town of some 10,000 people and is situated about ten miles east of Mount Vesuvius. It contains an old castle, some sulphur baths and manufactories of paper, copper wares, cotton goods and silk fabrics. Almost equal to the devastation wrought by the lava was the damage done by cinders and ashes, which in incredible quantities had been carried great distances. This has caused the practical destruction of San Guiseppe, a place of 6,000 inhabitants. All but 200 of the people had fled from there and of these 200 who had assembled in a church to attend mass about 100 were killed. While the priest was performing his sacred office the roof fell in and all who were not killed were badly injured. These unfortunates were for hours without surgical or medical assistance. The only thing left standing in the church was a statue of St. Anne, the preservation of which the poor, homeless people accepted as a miracle and promise of deliverance from their peril. A runaway train from San Guiseppe for Naples was derailed, owing to showers of stones from the crater. At some points near the mountain it was estimated that the sands and ashes reached a height of nearly 150 feet. San Georgio, Cremona, Somma Vesuviana, Resina and other inland and coast towns not mentioned above, also suffered terrible devastation. The most of the buildings in the villages were of flimsy construction with flat roofs and so were but poorly calculated to bear the weight of ashes and cinders that fell upon them. Inevitably it was found that a considerable number of persons perished by the falling of their homes. National and local authorities from the first evidences of danger attempted the evacuation of the threatened villages and towns, but adequate means to transport the inhabitants were lacking, although thousands of soldiers with artillery carts had been sent to the places where the sufferers were most in need of assistance. At many places the people were suffering from panic and a state of great confusion existed, which was added to by superstition. Some of the parish priests refused to open their churches to people who tried to obtain admittance, fearing that an earthquake would destroy the buildings when full of people and thus increase the list of disasters. Crowds of women thereupon attacked the churches, pulled down the doors and took possession of the pictures and statues of the saints, which they carried about as a protection against death. Many people camped along the roads and in the fields, where they thought they would be safer than in the towns, defying the elements, though nearly blinded by ashes, wet to the skin by rain and terrorized by the gigantic curved flaming mass above, resembling a scimitar ready to fall upon them. The atmosphere during the eruptions was oppressive and yellow with ashes from Vesuvius, causing a feeling of apprehension regarding what the future may hold in store for this city and its vicinity. The volcano was completely hidden in a dense mass of cinder-laden smoke, the only other signs of activity being frequent and very severe detonations and deep rumblings. All the trains from and to Naples were delayed owing to the tracks being covered with cinders and telegraphic communication with all points was badly congested. An excursion steamer attempting to reach Naples from the island of Capri had to return, as the passengers were being suffocated by the ashes. The quantity of ashes and cinders thrown during the eruptions was unprecedented. An analysis showed this discharge to be chiefly composed of iron, sulphur and magnesia. When dry the whole region seemed to be under a gray sheet, but after a fall of rain it appeared to have been transformed into an immense lake of chocolate. During the activity of the mountain several new craters had opened, especially on its north side and from which streams of lava flooded the beautiful, prosperous and happy land lying on the southeast shores of the Gulf of Naples. The whole of Vesuvius district as far as Naples, Caserta and Castellammare became one vast desert. The high cone of the volcano was almost entirely destroyed having been swallowed up, so that the height of the mountain is now several hundred feet less than formerly. Its falling in caused a great discharge of red hot stones, flame and smoke. Professor Di Lorenzo, the scientist and specialist in the study of volcanoes, estimated that the smoke from Vesuvius had reached the height of 25,000 feet. After one of the eruptions ashes from Vesuvius were noticeable in Sicily which is a large island near the extreme end of the peninsula on which Naples is situated and some 200 miles from the crater. [Illustration: =MISSION DOLORES.= This is the oldest building in San Francisco. It was founded October 8, 1776. Noted as a mission church.] [Illustration: =BUILDING CRUMBLED LIKE EGGSHELLS.=] [Illustration: =WRECKED BUILDINGS.=] CHAPTER XXII. SCENES IN FRIGHTENED NAPLES. =Blistering Showers of Hot Ashes--The People Frantic--Cry Everywhere "When Will It End?"--Atmosphere Charged with Electricity and Poisonous Fumes.= From the first outburst and glare of the eruption all Naples became aroused and trembled with anticipations of horror, and when the hot ashes from the crater of Vesuvius began to fall in blistering showers upon it the entire populace was seized with a fear, which for days was constant, that at any moment they might be crushed into eternity by the awful outpourings from the cauldron of the mountain which was in truth as veritable an inferno as that pictured by Dante. The streets for days, even up to the subsidence of the eruption, were packed with surging crowds, all of whom were fatigued from fear and loss of rest, yet there was hardly one in all the thousands who had not strength enough to pray to the Almighty for deliverance. At times the fall of sand and ashes appeared to be diminishing, but in the next instant it came again, apparently in greater force than before. The city became frantic from fear and everywhere was heard: "When will it all end?" The people deserted their shops, the manufactories were nearly all shut down, while the theaters, cafes and places of amusements throughout the city were all closed. The crowds were in a temper for any excess and it would only require a spark to start a conflagration that would have almost equalled that of Vesuvius itself. When the coating of ashes and cinders covered the ground and roofs of buildings the people believed that their loved and beautiful Naples was doomed, and would be known thereafter only to archaeologists like other cities which Vesuvius in its wrath had overwhelmed. All railroad service out of the city was interrupted, the engineers refusing to take out their trains because of the darkness caused by the heavy fall of ashes. Troops were kept constantly clearing the roofs of buildings of the accumulation of sand and ashes which endangered the structures. The large glass-covered galleries throughout the city, were ordered closed lest the weight upon the roofs should cause them to collapse. Warships and soldiers which had been ordered to the city did effective service in succoring the most distressed and in the removal of refugees. Their presence was also potent in keeping up public confidence and maintaining order. No danger was too great for the troops to encounter and no fatigue too severe for them. They earned the gratitude and admiration of the people by their devotion to duty and bravery. Not only were they credited with many acts of heroism but they displayed untiring perseverance in searching for the living and the dead among tottering walls, assisting fugitives to reach places of safety, giving aid to the wounded and in burying the dead, and all this while partly suffocated by the ash and cinder laden wind blowing from the volcano. The employes of a tobacco factory at Naples, thinking the roof was about to fall in fled in panic from the building and communicated their fears to so many people outside that the police were compelled to interfere and restore order. Many persons were injured during the panic. The prisoners in the city jail mutinied owing to fright and succeeded in breaking open some of the doors inside the building, but were finally subdued by the guards. King Victor Emmanuel and his Queen, the Duke and Duchess of Aosta and others of the royal household were active in rendering aid. The king placed the royal palace of Cappodimonti, situated above this city, at the disposal of the wounded refugees. Firemen and ambulance corps were sent from Rome to aid the sufferers. The work of succor was hampered owing to delays to the railway service, which was interrupted by red-hot stones thrown to a height of 3,000 feet falling on the tracks. Not for a century had Naples been so threatened nor its people thrown into such a state of panic. Men, women and children tramped about the streets, raving that their deity had forgotten them and that the end of the world was in sight. Thousands of people flocked from the towns and farms on the slopes of the mountain and the problem of feeding and caring for the horde had grown serious. These people were left homeless by the streams of lava, which lapped up all their property in some cases within a half hour after the owners had fled. Earthquake shocks which shattered windows and cracked the walls of buildings added to the terror and when a shock occurred the entire population rushed to the streets in terror, many persons crying, "The Madonna has forsaken us; the end of the world has come." Vessels lying in the harbor rapidly put to sea with hundreds of the wealthy families, who chartered them outright, while many other ships left because of fear of tidal waves similar to those accompanying the terrific eruption of a century ago, which wrecked scores of vessels and drowned thousands of people here. The atmosphere of the city became heavily charged with electricity, while breathing at times became almost impossible because of the poisonous fumes and smoke. The detonations from the volcano resembled those of terrible explosions and the falling of the hot ashes made life indeed a burden for the Neapolitans. The churches of the city were open during the days and nights and were crowded with panic-stricken people. Members of the clergy did their utmost to calm their fears, but the effects of their arguments went almost for naught when renewed earthquake shocks were experienced. While Mount Vesuvius continued active volumes of cinders and ashes emitted from the volcano fell upon the buildings and streets driving the inhabitants of the city into a condition bordering on frenzy. All night people roamed the streets praying and crying that they might be spared. The collapse of the Mount Oliveto market, in which 200 or more persons were caught, many being crushed beyond recognition and the continuous rain of sand and ashes throughout the city sent terror to the heart of every Neapolitan. This market covered a plot of ground 600 feet square. The scenes in the vicinity of the ruins were agonizing, relatives of the victims clamoring to be allowed to go to their dead or dying. The people seemed demented. They surrounded the market, in many cases tearing their hair, cursing and screaming, "Oh, my husband is there!" or, "Bring out my child!" and endeavoring with their own hands to move heavy beams, from beneath which the groans of the injured were issuing. The cries for help were so heart-rending that even rescuers were heard to sob aloud as they worked with feverish eagerness to save life or extract the bodies of the dead from the ruins. Some of the people about the market were heard to exclaim that a curse rested upon the people of Naples for repudiating their saints Monday, when Mount Vesuvius was in its most violent mood. Even with the sun shining high in the heavens the light was a dim yellow, in the midst of which the few people who remained in the stricken towns, their clothing, hair and beards covered with ashes, moved about in the awful stillness of desolation like gray ghosts. Railway and tramway travel to and from Naples was much hampered by cinders and ash deposits, and telegraphic communication with the towns farthest in the danger zone was also for a time interrupted. The scenic effects varied from hour to hour during the eruptions. At times in the north the sky was chocolate colored, lowering and heavy, under which men and women with their hair and clothing covered with ashes moved above like gray ghosts. Fort San Martino, as it towered above the town, could only just be seen, while Castel Dell'ovo was boldly marked in light, seeming like silver against the brown sky. To the south beyond the smoke zone lay smiling, sunny Posilipo and its peninsula, while far away glistened the sea a deep blue, on which the islands seemed to float in the glow of the setting sun. Adding to the strange picture, one of the French men of war, which arrived in the bay of Naples was so placed as to be half in the glow and half obscured by the belt of falling ashes. From the observatory of Mount Vesuvius, where Director Matteucci continued his work in behalf of science and humanity, the scene was one of great impressiveness. To reach the observatory one had to walk for miles over hardened but hot lava covered with sand until he came to a point whence nothing could be seen but vast, gray reaches, sometimes flat and sometimes gathered into huge mounds which took on semblance of human faces. Above, the heavens were gray like the earth beneath and seemed just as hard and immovable. In all this lonely waste there was no sign of life or vegetation and no sound was heard except the low mutterings of the volcano. One seemed almost impelled to scream aloud to break the horrible stillness of a land seemingly forgotten both by God and man. In many of the towns some of the inhabitants went about hungry and with throats parched with smoke and dust, seemingly unable to tear themselves away from the ruins of what so recently were their homes. The Italian minister of finance suspended the collection of taxes in the disturbed provinces and military authorities distributed rations and placed huts and tents at the disposition of the homeless. The property loss from the volcanic outbreak has been placed at more than $25,000,000, while some have estimated that the number of persons rendered homeless amounted to nearly 150,000. Probably less than one-half of that number would come near the exact figures. As an evidence of the widespread and far-reaching influences set in motion by the eruptions of Vesuvius it should be noted that Father Odenbach of St. Ignatius' college in Cleveland, O., the noted authority on seismic disturbances, reported that his microseismograph, the most delicate instrument known for detecting the presence of earthquakes in any part of the globe, had plainly recorded the disturbances caused by the eruption of Vesuvius. The lines made by the recorder, he said, had shown a wavy motion for several days, indicating a severe agitation in the earth's surface at a remote point. CHAPTER XXIII. VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES EXPLAINED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =The Theories of Science on Seismic Convulsions--Volcanoes Likened to Boils on the Human Body through Which the Fires and Impurities of the Blood Manifest Themselves--Seepage of Ocean Waters through Crevices in the Rock Reach the Internal Fires of the Earth--Steam is Generated and an Explosion Follows--Geysers and Steam Boilers as Illustrations--Views of the World's Most Eminent Scientists Concerning the Causes of Eruption of Mount Pelee and La Soufriere.= The earth, like the human body, is subject to constitutional derangement. The fires and impurities of the blood manifest themselves in the shape of boils and eruptions upon the human body. The internal heat of the earth and the chemical changes which are constantly taking place in the interior of the globe, manifest themselves outwardly in the form of earthquakes and volcanoes. In other words, a volcano is a boil or eruption upon the earth's surface. Scientists have advanced many theories concerning the primary causes of volcanoes, and many explanations relating to the igneous matter discharged from their craters. Like the doctors who disagree in the diagnosis of a human malady, the geologists and volcanists are equally unable to agree in all details concerning this form of the earth's ailment. After all theories relating to the cause of volcanoes have been considered, the one that is most tenable and is sustained by the largest number of scientific men is that which traces volcanic effects back to the old accepted cause of internal fires in the center of the earth. Only in this way can the molten streams of lava emitted by volcanoes be accounted for. The youngest student of familiar science knows that heat generates an upward and outward force, and like all other forces that it follows the path of least resistance. This force is always present in the internal regions of the earth, which for ages upon ages has been gradually cooling from its poles toward its center. When conditions occur by which it can outwardly manifest itself, it follows the natural law and escapes where the crust of the earth is thinnest. But something more than the mere presence of internal fire is necessary to account for volcanic action, although it may in a large degree account for minor seismic convulsions in the form of an earthquake. The elements which enter into the source of volcanic eruption are fire and water. The characteristic phenomenon of a volcanic eruption is the steam which issues from the crater before the appearance of the molten lava, dust, ashes and scoria. This accepted theory is plainly illustrated in the eruption of a geyser, which is merely a small water volcano. The water basin of a geyser is connected by a natural bore with a region of great internal heat, and as fast as the heat turns the water into steam, columns of steam and hot water are thrown up from the crater. One form of volcanic eruption, and its simplest form, is likewise illustrated in a boiler explosion. Observations of the most violent volcanic eruptions show them to be only tremendous boiler explosions at a great depth beneath the earth's surface, where a great quantity of water has been temporarily imprisoned and suddenly converted into steam. In minor eruptions the presence of steam is not noticeable in such quantities, which is simply because the amount of imprisoned water was small and the amount of steam generated was only sufficient to expel the volcanic dust and ashes which formed between the earth's surface and the internal fires of the volcano. The flow of lava which follows violent eruptions is expelled by the outward and upward force of the great internal heat, through the opening made by the steam which precedes it. The two lines of volcanoes, one north and south, the other east and west, which intersect in the neighborhood of the West Indies, follow the courses where the crust of the earth is thinnest and where great bodies of water lie on the shallowest parts of the ocean bed. The terrific heat of the earth's internal fires is sufficient to cause crevices leading from these bodies of water to the central fires of the volcano, and the character of the volcanic eruption is determined largely by the size of the crevices so created and the amount of water which finds its way through them. The temperature of these internal fires can only be guessed at, but some idea may be formed of their intense heat from the streams of lava emitted from the volcano. These will sometimes run ten or twelve miles in the open air before cooling sufficiently to solidify. From this it will be seen that the fires are much hotter than are required merely to reduce the rock to a liquid form. From this fact, too, may be seen the instantaneous action by which the water seeping or flowing into the volcano's heart is converted into steam and a tremendous explosive power generated. The calamity which befell Martinique and St. Vincent will unquestionably lead to a fresh discussion of the causes of volcanic disturbance. Not all of the phenomena involved therein are yet fully understood, and concerning some of them there are perceptible differences of opinion among experts. On at least one point, however, there is general agreement. At a depth of about thirty miles the internal heat of the earth is probably great enough to melt every known substance. Confinement may keep in a rigid condition the material which lies beneath the solid crust, but if an avenue of escape is once opened the stuff would soften and ooze upward. There is a growing tendency, moreover, to recognize the importance of gravitation in producing eruptions. The weight of several miles of rock is almost inconceivable, and it certainly ought to compel "potentially plastic" matter to rise through any crevice that might be newly formed. Russell, Gilbert and some other authorities regard this as the chief mechanical agent in an eruption, at least when there is a considerable outpouring of lava. As to the extent to which water operates there is some lack of harmony among volcanists. Shaler, Milne and others hold that substance largely, if not entirely, responsible for the trouble. They point to the fact that many volcanoes are situated near the coast of continents or on islands, where leakage from the ocean may possibly occur. Russell, on the other hand, regards water not as the initial factor, but as an occasional, though important, reinforcement. He suspects that when the molten rock has risen to a considerable distance it encounters that fluid, perhaps in a succession of pockets, and that steam is then suddenly generated. The explosive effects which ensue are of two kinds. By the expansion of the moisture which some of the lava contains the latter is reduced to a state of powder, and thus originate the enormous clouds of fine dust which are ejected. Shocks of greater or less violence are also produced. The less severe ones no doubt sound like the discharge of artillery and give rise to tremors in the immediate vicinity. In extreme cases enough force is developed to rend the walls of the volcano itself. Russell attributes the blowing up of Krakatoa to steam. The culminating episode of the Pelee eruption, though not resulting so disastrously to the mountain, would seem to be due to the same immediate cause. To this particular explosion, too, it seems safe to assign the upheaval which excited a tidal wave. The precise manner in which the plastic material inside of the terrestrial shell gets access to the surface, is not entirely clear. Nevertheless, it is possible to get some light on the matter. It is now well known that in many places there are deep cracks, or "faults," in the earth's crust. Some of them in the remote past have been wide and deep enough to admit molten material from below. The Palisades of the Hudson are believed to have been formed by such an intrusion, the adjacent rock on the eastern face having since been worn away by the weather or other agents. It has been observed that many volcanoes are distributed along similar faults. The existence of a chain of volcanic islands in the West Indies suggests the probability that it follows a crack of great antiquity, though the issue of lava and ashes for several centuries may have been limited to a few isolated points. Just how these vents have been reopened is one of the most difficult questions still left for investigation. Given a line of weakness in the rocks, though, and a susceptibility to fresh fracture is afforded. Professor McGee suggests that the overloading of the ocean bed by silt from the Mississippi river or other sources may have been the immediately exciting cause of the recent outbreaks. Other geologists have found a similar explanation acceptable in the case of eruptions elsewhere. The theory has much to commend it to favor. The Martinique disaster already has drawn from geologists and volcanists many expressions of opinion, and explanations of volcanic phenomena which set forth in detail the causes and effects of volcanic eruptions, in particular, and seismic convulsions, in general. Dr. A. R. Crook, a professor in Northwestern University, has made a special study of volcanoes. He has made an ascent of the two highest in the world, and has climbed many others for purposes of study. He is an authority upon volcanography. "There are two great circles of volcanoes about the earth," said Professor Crook. "One girdles the earth north and south, extending through Tierra del Fuego (called 'land of fire' because of its volcanoes), Mexico, the Aleutian islands and down through Australia; the other east and west through Hawaii, Mexico, West Indies, Italy (including Mount Vesuvius) and Asia Minor. "These two circles intersect at two points. One of these is the West Indies, which include Martinique, the scene of this terrible disaster; the other is in the islands of Java, Borneo and Sumatra. On the latter islands there are extinct volcanoes. On the former is the terrible Pelee. It is just at these points of intersection of the two volcanic rings that we expect unusual volcanic activity, and it is there that we find it. "There has been more or less theorizing as to volcanic disturbances moving in cycles, but it cannot be proved. One fact is established, and that is that a volcano is an explosion caused by water coming in contact with the molten mass below the surface of the earth. This is proved by the great clouds of steam that accompany the action. "The old theory that the very center of the earth is a molten mass," he says, "is no longer held." He asserts the latest idea is that the center of the earth is more rigid than glass, though less rigid than steel. About this there is more or less molten matter, and over all the surface crust of the earth. This molten matter causes the surface of the earth to give, to sag, and form what is called "wrinkling." When water comes in contact with the heated mass an explosion follows that finds its outlet through the places where there is least resistance, and the result is a volcano. "There is no part of the earth's surface which is exempt from earthquakes," said Professor Crook, "and there is no regularity in their appearance. Volcanic eruptions are almost always preceded by earthquakes somewhere in the circle. Recently there were earthquakes in the City of Mexico in which many lives were lost. As it is impossible to predict when the next will take place, it is also impossible to tell where it will be. It will certainly be somewhere in the line of the two circles. "All this is of interest as showing that the earth is still in process of formation just as much as it was a billion years ago. We see the same thing in Yellowstone Park. There most decided changes have taken place even in the last eight years. Old Faithful, which used to play regularly every sixty minutes, now does so only once in twice the time." With reference to contributions to science, which might be expected from investigations at Martinique, Professor Crook said: "Even new elements might be discovered, and seismic theories either confirmed or disproved. A volcano always throws off a great variety of materials, hydrochloric and sulphuric acids, iron, silica (sand), sulphur, calcium and magnesium. The lava is of two kinds. That which is easily fusible flows more rapidly than a horse can trot. A more viscous kind cools into shapes like ropes. The latter is common in Hawaii. "The danger of living in proximity to a volcano is usually well known, but the iron oxides render the soil extremely fertile. This is seen in Sicily about Ætna and Vesuvius. It is seen also in Martinique, where an area of forty miles square was occupied by 160,000 people. "Owing to the presence of the fumes of chlorine it is probable that many of the victims in St. Pierre were asphyxiated, and so died easily. Others doubtless were buried in ashes, like the Roman soldier in Pompeii, or were caught in some enclosed place which being surrounded by molten lava resulted in slow roasting. It is indeed a horrible disaster and one which we may well pray not to see duplicated. Science, however, has no means of knowing that it may not occur again." Professor Robert T. Hill, of the United States Geological Survey, who visited the French West Indies on a tour of scientific inspection, says: "Across the throat of the Caribbean extends a chain of islands which are really smoldering furnaces, with fires banked up, ever ready to break forth at some unexpected and inopportune moment. This group, commencing with Saba, near Porto Rico, and ending with Grenada, consists of ancient ash heaps, piled up in times past by volcanic action. For nearly one hundred years there has been not the slightest sign of explosion and we had grown to class these volcanoes as extinct. "Volcanism is still one of the most inexplicable and profound problems which defy the power of geologists to explain, and one of its most singular peculiarities is the fact that it sometimes breaks forth simultaneously in widely distant portions of the earth. A sympathetic relation of this kind has long been known between Hecla and Vesuvius, and it is very probable that the Carib volcanoes have some such sympathetic relation with the volcanoes of Central America and southern Mexico. At the time of the explosion of St. Vincent other explosions preceded or followed it in northern South America and Central America. "The outburst of Mount Pelee, in Martinique, is apparently the culmination of a number of recent volcanic disturbances which have been unusually severe. Colima, in Mexico, was in eruption but a few months previous, while Chelpancingo, the capital of the State of Guerrero, was nearly destroyed by earthquakes which followed. "Only a few days before Mount Pelee erupted, the cities of Guatemala were shaken down by tremendous earthquakes." Professor N. S. Shaler, of Harvard University, a world authority on volcanic disturbances, says: "Volcanic outbreaks are merely the explosion of steam under high pressure--steam which is bound in rocks buried underneath the surface of the earth and there subjected to such tremendous heat that when the conditions are right its pent up energy breaks forth, and it shatters its stone prison walls into dust. "The common belief is that water enters the rocks during the crystallization period, and that these rocks, through the natural action of rivers and streams, become deposited in the bottom of the ocean. Here they lie for many ages, becoming buried deeper and deeper under masses of like sediment, which are constantly being washed down upon them from above. This process is called the blanketing process. "When the first layer has reached a depth of a few thousand feet the rocks which contain the water of crystallization are subjected to a terrific heat. This heat generates steam, which is held in a state of frightful tension in its rocky prison. "It is at these moments that volcanic eruptions occur. They result from wrinkling in the outer crust of the earth's surface--wrinklings caused by the constant shrinking of the earth itself and by the contraction of the outer surface as it settles on the plastic center underneath. Fissures are caused by these foldings, and as these fissures reach down into the earth the pressure is removed from the rocks and the compressed steam in them and it explodes with tremendous force. "The rocks containing the water are blown into dust, which sometimes is carried so high as to escape the power of the earth's attraction and float by itself through space. After the explosions have occurred lava pours forth. This is merely melted rock which overflows like water from a boiling kettle. But the explosion always precedes the flow, and one will notice that there is always an outpouring of dust before the lava comes." Professor W. J. McGee, of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington, says: "It may be that a violent earthquake tremor came after the volcanic eruption, but it does not necessarily follow that the two travel together. Oftentimes we hear of earth tremors with no apparent accompaniment. This was true of the Charleston earthquake in 1886. Earthquakes are caused by mysterious disturbances in the interior of the earth. The most commonly accepted belief is that massive rock beds away down in the earth, at a depth of twelve miles or more, become disturbed from one cause or another, with the result that the disturbance is felt on the earth's surface, sometimes severely, sometimes faintly. "Probably the most violent earthquake in history occurred about ten years ago at Krakatoa. The explosion could be heard for more than one thousand miles, and the earth's tremors were felt for thousands of miles. The air was filled with particles of earth for months afterward. The air-waves following the explosion are believed to have passed two and one-half times around the globe. The face of the land and sea in the vicinity of the eruption was completely changed." Dr. E. Otis Hovey, professor in the Museum of Natural History, New York, offers the following explanation of the Martinique disaster: "A majority of volcanic eruptions are similar in cause and effect to a boiler explosion. It is now the accepted belief that sudden introduction of cold water on the great molten mass acts as would the pouring of water into a red hot boiler. It causes a great volume of steam, which must have an outlet. You can readily see how water could get into the crater, located as this one was--on an island, and not far from the coast. The volcanic chains crossed at that point. Such crossing would cause a tension of the crust of the earth, which might cause great fissures. If water were to search out those fissures and reach the great molten mass below it is not hard to imagine what the result would be. There are two classes of volcanoes--those which have explosive eruptions, like Vesuvius and Krakatoa, and this latest one, and those of no explosive nature, like Mauna Loa and Kilauea, in Hawaii, which boil up and flow over. It is the explosive eruption which brings widespread destruction, and it is astonishing to learn of the tremendous power one of those eruptions unleashes." Professor John Milne, of London, the highest authority in the world on volcanic explosions, classifies eruptions into two grades: Those that build up very slowly. Those that destroy most rapidly. [Illustration: Copyright 1906, by American-Journal-Examiner. All rights reserved. Any infractions of this copyright will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. =CRACK IN THE EARTH.= This photograph shows a crack in the earth in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, caused by the earthquake.] [Illustration: =GHOULISH THIEVES LOOTING THE DEAD.= This harrowing scene shows the way the dead and injured are frequently robbed after a disaster.] "The latter are the most dangerous to human life and the physical face of a country. Eruptions that build up mountains are periodical wellings over of molten lava, comparatively harmless. But in this building up, which may cover a period of centuries, natural volcanic vents are closed up and gases and blazing fires accumulate beneath that must eventually find the air. Sooner or later they must burst forth, and then the terrific disasters of the second class take place. It is the same cause that makes a boiler burst." Professor Milne was asked after Krakatoa's performance: "Is it likely that there are volcanoes in the world at present that have been quiet for a long time but will one day or another blow their heads off?" "It is almost certain there are." "Some in Europe?" "Many in Europe." "Some in the United States?" "Undoubtedly." Mount Pelee of Martinique has verified the eminent authority's word. Professor Angelo Heilprin, of Philadelphia, the eminent geologist and authority on volcanology, declares there is danger that all the West Indian reef islands will collapse and sink into the sea from the effects of the volcanic disturbances now in progress. More than that, he says, the Nicaraguan canal route is in danger because it is in the eruption zone. "In my opinion the volcano eruptions are not the only things to be feared," he continued. "It is altogether likely that the volcanic disturbance now going on may result in the collapse of the islands whose peaks spring into activity. The constant eruptions of rock, lava, and ashes, you must know, mean that a hole, as it were, is being made in the bosom of the earth. When this hole reaches a great size, that which is above will be without support, and then subsidence must follow. The volcanoes of Martinique and St. Vincent, and of the neighboring islands of the Caribbean, are situated in a region of extreme weakness of the earth's crust, which has its parallel in the Mediterranean basin on the opposite side of the Atlantic. This American region of weakness extends westward from the Lesser Antilles across the Gulf of Mexico into Mexico proper, where are located some of the loftiest volcanoes of the globe, Popocatepetl and Orizaba, both now in somnolent condition, and including the more westerly volcano of Colima, which has been almost continuously in eruption for ten years. "This same region of weakness includes nearly the whole of Central America. Volcanoes in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Guatemala have been repeatedly active, some almost to the present time, many with destructive effect, and it should be no surprise to have some of them burst out with the same vigor and intensity as Mount Pelee or the Soufriere." The National Geographic Society sent three geographers to make a special study of the eruptions in Martinique and St. Vincent: Professor Robert T. Hill of the United States Geological Survey; Professor Israel C. Russell of Ann Arbor, Mich., and C. E. Borchgrevink, the noted Antarctic explorer. Professor Hovey, after a careful examination of the desolated areas in Martinique and St. Vincent, related important scientific phases of the great eruptions. Speaking first of the work of his companions and himself in St. Vincent, he said: "Collection of data concerning the eruption of La Soufriere was immediately begun. The history of the eruption is practically that of the disturbance of 1851. Earthquakes occurred here about a year ago, and have occurred at intervals at various places in the West Indies and adjacent regions ever since. At least one resident of Kingstown--F. W. Griffiths--several months ago predicted that La Soufriere would soon break out. "Finally, on the day of the great eruption, a vast column of volcanic dust, cinders, blocks of lava and asphyxiating gases rose thousands of feet into the air, spreading in all directions. A large portion of this, having reached the upper current, was carried eastward. This, falling, was again divided, and the cinders and deadly gases were swept by the lower winds back upon the eastward side of the mountain. The wrecked houses show this, the windows on the side toward the crater being unaffected, while those on the farther side were wrecked by the back draught up the mountain. "There was no wind on the morning of the great outburst, a fact which facilitated the devastation of the country. The hot, asphyxiating gases rolled out of the crater, and many were scorched and suffocated. Hot mud falling from the cloud above stuck to the flesh of the unfortunate victims, causing bad wounds. Great blocks of stone were thrown out of the eastern side of the crater, which could be distinctly seen at a distance of four miles." Concerning the eruption of Mount Pelee, Mr. Hovey said: "An increase in the temperature of the lake in the old crater of Pelee was observed by visiting geologists as much as two years ago, while hot springs had long been known to exist near the western base of the mountain and four miles north of St. Pierre. The residents of Martinique, however, all considered the volcano extinct in spite of the eruption fifty-one years ago. The ground around the crater of Pelee was reported in 1901 to consist of hot mud, showing that the increase of temperature observed eighteen months earlier had continued. "Soon after the middle of April, this year, manifestations of renewed activity were more pronounced. Ashes began to fall in St. Pierre and heavy detonations were heard. The houses of the city shook frequently, suffocating gases filled the air at intervals, and the warning phenomena increased until they became very alarming. "The Guerin sugar factory, on Riviere Blanche, was overwhelmed on May 5 by a stream of liquid mud, which rushed down the west slope of the mountain with fearful rapidity. The pretty lake which occupied the crater of 1851, on the southwest slope of the cone, about a mile from the extreme summit and a thousand feet below it, had disappeared, and a new crater had formed on its site, spreading death and destruction on all sides. Three days later the eruption took place and devastated the city of St. Pierre, wiping out the inhabitants and changing a garden spot to a desert. "A vast column of steam and ashes rose to a height of four miles above the sea, as measured by the French artillerymen at Fort de France. After this eruption the mountain quieted somewhat, but burst forth again at 5:15 o'clock on the morning of May 20. This explosion was more violent than that which destroyed St. Pierre. "On this occasion the volume of steam and ashes rose to a height of seven miles, according to measurements made by Lieutenant McCormick. An examination of the stones which fell at Fort de France showed them to be of a variety of lava called hornblende and andesite. They were bits of the old lava forming a part of the cone. There was no pumice shown to me, but the dust and lapilli all seemed to be composed of comminuted old rock. "It is evident that the tornado of suffocating gas which wrecked the buildings asphyxiated the people, then started fire, completing the ruin. This accords with the statement which has been made that asphyxiation of the inhabitants preceded the burning of the city. The gas being sulphureted hydrogen, was ignited by lightning or the fires in the city. The same tornado drove the ships in the roadstead to the bottom of the sea or burned them before they could escape. "Mud was formed in two ways--by the mixture in the atmosphere of dust and condensed steam and by cloudbursts on the upper dust-covered slopes of the cone washing down vast quantities of fine light dust. No flow of lava apparently has attended the eruption as yet, the purely explosive eruptions thus far bringing no molten matter to the surface. The great emission of suffocating gas and the streams of mud are among the new features which Pelee has added to the scientific knowledge of volcanoes." Professor Hill was the first man who set foot in the area of craters, fissures, and fumaroles, and, because of his high position as a scientist, his story was valuable. He reported as follows: "There were three well marked zones: First, a center of annihilation, in which all life, vegetable and animal, was utterly destroyed--the greater northern part of St. Pierre was in this zone; second, a zone of singeing, blistering flame, which also was fatal to all life, killing all men and animals, burning the leaves on the trees, and scorching, but not utterly destroying, the trees themselves; third, a large outer, nondestructive zone of ashes, wherein some vegetation was injured. "The focus of annihilation was the new crater midway between the sea and the peak of Mount Pelee where now exists a new area of active volcanism, with hundreds of fumaroles or miniature volcanoes. The new crater is now vomiting black, hot mud, which is falling into the sea. Both craters, the old and the new, are active. "The destruction of St. Pierre was due to the new crater. The explosion had great superficial force, acting in radial directions, as is evidenced by the dismounting and carrying for yards the guns in the battery on the hill south of St. Pierre and the statue of the Virgin in the same locality, and also by the condition of the ruined houses in St. Pierre. According to the testimony of some persons there was an accompanying flame. Others think the incandescent cinders and the force of their ejection were sufficient to cause the destruction. This must be investigated. I am now following the nature of this." Professor Hill started on Monday, May 26, to visit the vicinity of Mount Pelee, and returned to Fort de France Wednesday morning, nearly exhausted. Professor Hill was near the ruins of St. Pierre on Monday night during the series of explosions from Mount Pelee, and was able to describe the volcanic eruption from close observation. Speaking personally of his expedition he said: "My attempt to examine the crater of Mount Pelee has been futile. I succeeded, however, in getting close to Morne Rouge. At seven o'clock on Monday night I witnessed, from a point near the ruins of St. Pierre, a frightful explosion from Mount Pelee and noted the accompanying phenomena. While these eruptions continue, no sane man should attempt to ascend to the crater of the volcano. Following the salvos of detonations from the mountain, gigantic mushroom-shaped columns of smoke and cinders ascended into the clear, starlit sky, and then spread in a vast black sheet to the south and directly over my head. Through this sheet, which extended a distance of ten miles from the crater, vivid and awful lightning-like bolts flashed with alarming frequency. They followed distinct paths of ignition, but were different from lightning in that the bolts were horizontal and not perpendicular. This is indisputable evidence of the explosive oxidation of the gases after they left the crater. This is a most important observation and explains in part the awful catastrophe. This phenomenon is entirely new in volcanic history. "I took many photographs, but do not hesitate to acknowledge that I was terrified. But I was not the only person so frightened. Two newspaper correspondents, who were close to Morne Rouge some hours before me, became scared, ran three miles down the mountain, and hastened into Fort de France. The people on the north end of the island are terrified and are fleeing with their cattle and effects. I spent Tuesday night in a house at Deux Choux with a crowd of 200 frightened refugees. "Nearly all the phenomena of these volcanic outbreaks are new to science, and many of them have not yet been explained. The volcano is still intensely active, and I cannot make any predictions as to what it will do." CHAPTER XXIV. TERRIBLE VOLCANIC DISASTERS OF THE PAST. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the Other Cities of the Plain--The Bible Account a Graphic Description of the Event--Ancient Writers Tell of Earthquakes and Volcanoes of Antiquity--Discovery of Buried Cities of which no Records Remain--Formation of the Dead Sea--The Valley of the Jordan and Its Physical Characteristics.= In the history of earthquakes, nothing is more remarkable than the extreme fewness of those recorded before the beginning of the Christian era, in comparison with those that have been registered since that time. This may be partly accounted for by the fact that before the birth of Christ, there was but a small portion of the habitable surface of the globe known to those who were capable of handing down a record of natural events. The vast increase in the number of earthquakes in recent times is, therefore, undoubtedly due to the enlargement of our knowledge of the earth's surface, and to the greater freedom of communication now subsisting among mankind. Earthquakes might have been as frequent throughout the entire globe in ancient times as now; but the writers of the Bible, and the historians of Greece and Rome might have known nothing of their occurrence. Even at the present time, an earthquake might happen in Central Africa, or in Central Asia, of which we would never hear, and the recollection of which might die out among the natives in a few generations. In countries, too, which are thinly inhabited, and where there are no large cities to be overthrown, even great earthquakes might happen almost unheeded. The few inhabitants might be awe-struck at the time; but should they sustain no personal harm, the violence of the commotion and the intensity of their terror would soon fade from their memories. Dr. Daubeny, in his work on volcanoes, cites an example of this complete oblivion, even when the event must have occurred not far from the ancient center of civilization. The town of Lessa, between Rome and Naples, and not far from Gaeta, stands on an eminence composed of volcanic rocks. In digging the foundations for a house at this place some years ago, there were discovered, many feet beneath the present surface, a chamber with antique frescoes and the remains of an amphitheater. Yet there is not only no existing account of the destruction of a town on this site, but not even a tradition of any volcanic eruption in the neighborhood. The earthquake which destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah is not only the oldest on record, but one of the most remarkable. It was accompanied by a volcanic eruption, it upheaved a district of several hundred square leagues, and caused the subsidence of a tract of land not less extensive, altering the whole water system and the levels of the soil. The south of Palestine contained a splendid valley dotted with forests and flourishing cities. This was the valley of Siddim, in which reigned the confederate sovereigns of Sodom, Gomorrah, Adniah, Zeboiim and Zoar. They had joined forces to resist the king of the Elamites, and they had just lost the decisive battle of the campaign when the catastrophe which destroyed the five cities and spread desolation in the flourishing valley took place. As the sun arose, the ground trembled and opened, red-hot stones and burning cinders, which fell like a storm of fire upon the surrounding country, being emitted from the yawning chasm. In a few words, the Bible relates the dread event: "And when the morning arose, the angels hastened Lot, saying, Arise, take thy wife, and thy two daughters, which are here, lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city. "And while he lingered, the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters, the Lord being merciful unto him, and they brought him forth and set him without the city. "And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain lest thou be consumed. "And Lot said unto them, Oh, not so, my Lord, behold now, thy servant hath found grace in thy sight, and thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou hast shewed unto me in saving my life; and I cannot escape to the mountain, lest some evil take me, and I die. Behold now, this city is near to flee unto, and it is a little one: Oh, let me escape thither, (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall live. "And he said unto him, See, I have accepted thee concerning this thing also, that I will not overthrow this city, for which thou hast spoken. Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything until thou be come thither. "Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar. The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar. "Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven. And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground. "But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt. "And Abraham got up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the Lord, and he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and lo, the smoke of the city went up as the smoke of a furnace." Nothing could be more succinct or terse than this description of the catastrophe. This was a sudden volcanic eruption like that which destroyed in one night the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum. At the time of the convulsion in Palestine while clouds of ashes were emitted from the yawning abyss and fell in fiery showers upon the ground, a vast tract of country, comprising the five cities and some land to the south of them, was violently shaken and overturned. Of the valleys watered by the Jordan, that of Siddim was the largest and the most populous. All the southern part of this valley, with its woods, its cultivated fields, and its broad river, was upheaved. While upon the other side the plain subsided, and for a distance of a hundred leagues was transformed into a vast cavern of unknown depth. Upon that day the waters of the Jordan, suddenly arrested by the upheaval of the soil lower down the stream, must have flowed rapidly back toward their source, again to flow not less impetuously along their accustomed incline, and to fall into the abyss created by the subsidence of the valley and the break-up of the bed of the stream. When, after the disaster, the inhabitants of neighboring regions came to visit the scene of it, they found the whole aspect of the district altered. The valley of Siddim had ceased to exist, and an immense sheet of water covered the space which it once occupied. Beyond this vast reservoir, to the south, the Jordan, which formerly fertilized the country as far as the Red Sea, had also disappeared. The whole country was covered with lava, ashes and salt; all the cultivated fields, the hamlets and villages, had been involved in the cataclysm. The record of this great catastrophe is preserved not only by Scripture, but by the living and spoken traditions of the East, all the legends of Syria, as well as ancient historians like Tacitus and Strabo, relating how Lake Asphaltite was formed during the terrible shock and how opulent cities were swallowed up in the abyss or destroyed by fire from out of the earth. But even if popular traditions had been forgotten, and if the writings of ancient authors had been lost, the very aspect of the country would suffice to show that it had suffered from some terrible subterranean convulsion. As it was upon the morrow of the catastrophe itself, so it has remained with its calcined rocks, its blocks of salt, its masses of black lava, its rough ravines, its sulphurous springs, its boiling waters, its bituminous marshes, its riven mountains, and its vast Lake Asphaltite, which is the Dead Sea. This sea, the depth of which has never been sounded, evokes by its origin and its mysterious aspect, the dolorous image of death. Situated about 690 feet below the level of the ocean, in the depression of the soil caused by the earthquake, its waters extend over an area of a hundred square leagues to the foot of the salt mountains and basaltic rocks which encircle it. One can detect no trace of vegetation or animal life; not a sound is heard upon its shores, impregnated with salt and bitumen; the birds avoid flying over its dreary surface from which emanate deadly effluvia, and nothing can exist in its bitter, salt, oily, and heavy waters. Not a breeze ever stirs the surface of this silent sea, nothing moves therein save the thick load of asphalt which now and again rises from the bottom to the surface and floats lazily on to the desolate strand. The Jordan has remained what it was in ancient times, the blessed stream, the vivifying artery of Palestine. Taking their source in the spotless snows and pure springs of Mount Hermon, its waters have retained the azure hues of the sky and the clearness of crystal. Before the catastrophe, the Jordan, after having traversed and fertilized Palestine, found its way into the Gulf of Arabia, but now, as upon the morrow of the shock which broke up its bed, its waters are lost in the somber abyss of the Dead Sea. The Bible mentions an earthquake in Palestine in the reign of Ahab, and one in the reign of Uzziah, which rent the temple. The latter was an event so great that the chroniclers of the time used it in dating occurrences, and Amos speaks of what happened "two years before the earthquake." The same convulsions of nature are mentioned many other times in the Bible, in connection with prophecy, revelation and the crucifixion. Nearly all writings about earthquakes prior to the last century tended to cultivate superstitious notions respecting them. Even Pliny, Herodotus, Livy, and the other classic writers, were quite ignorant of the true causes, and mythology entered into their speculations. In later times the investigation has become a science. The Chinese were pioneers in this direction, having appointed an Imperial Commission in A.D. 136 to inquire into the subject. It is to be doubted, however, if what they reported would be considered as of much scientific value to-day. By this time it is estimated that in the libraries of the world are more than 2,000 works treating of earth-motions. The phenomena are taken quite out of the realm of superstition. By means of delicate instruments of various kinds, called seismometers, the direction of earth-movements can be traced, and their force gauged, while by means of a simple magnet with a metal piece attached to it, an earthquake can be foretold. These instruments tell us that scarcely a day passes without an earthquake in some portion of the globe. The internal causes of these manifestations are ever active, whatever the causes may be. CHAPTER XXV. VESUVIUS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Most Famous Volcanic Eruption in History--Roman Cities Overwhelmed--Scenes of Horror Described by Pliny, the Great Classic Writer, an Eye-Witness of the Disaster--Buried in Ashes and Lava--The Stricken Towns Preserved for Centuries and Excavated in Modern Times as a Wonderful Museum of the Life of 1800 Years Ago.= Mount Vesuvius, the world-famed volcano of southern Italy, seen as it is from every part of the city of Naples and its neighborhood, forms the most prominent feature of that portion of the frightful and romantic Campanian coast. For many centuries it has been an object of the greatest interest, and certainly not the least of the many attractions of one of the most notable cities of Europe. Naples, with its bay constitutes as grand a panorama as any to be seen in the world. The mountain is a link in the historical chain which binds us to the past, which takes us back to the days of the Roman Empire. Before the days of Titus it seems to have been unknown as a volcano, and its summit is supposed to have been crowned by a temple of Jupiter. In the year 25 A.D., Strabo, an eminent historian of the time, wrote: "About these places rises Vesuvius, well cultivated and inhabited all round, except at its top, which is for the most part level, and entirely barren, ashy to the view, displaying cavernous hollows in cineritious rocks, which look as if they had been eaten by fire; so that we may suppose this spot to have been a volcano formerly, with burning craters, now extinguished for want of fuel." Though Strabo was a great historian, it is evident that he was not a prophet. The subsequent history of Vesuvius has shown that at varying periods the mountain has burst forth in great eruptive activity. Herculaneum was a city of great antiquity, its origin being ascribed by Greek tradition to Hercules, the celebrated hero of the mythological age of Greece; but it is not certain that it was actually founded by a Greek colony, though in the time of Sulla, who lived a hundred years before Christ, it was a municipal and fortified town. Situated on an elevated ground between two rivers, its position could not but be considered important, its port Retina being one of the best on the coast of Campania. Many villas of great splendor were owned in the neighborhood by Roman patricians; Servilia, the mother of Brutus, and the favorite mistress of Julius Cæsar, resided here on an estate which he had given to her. Pompeii, too, was a very ancient city, and was probably founded by a Grecian colony; for what is considered its oldest building, a Greek temple, from its similarity to the Praestum temples, fixes the date of construction with some certainty at about 650 B.C. This temple, by common consent, is stated to have been dedicated to Hercules, who, according to Solonus, landed at this spot with a procession of oxen. The situation of Pompeii possessed many local advantages. Upon the verge of the sea, at the mouth of the Sarno, with a fertile plain behind, like many an ancient Italian town, it united the conveniences of commerce with the security of a military station. According to Strabo, Pompeii was first occupied by the Oscans, subsequently by the Tyrrhenians and Pelasgians, and afterwards by the Samnites, in whose hands it continued until it came into the possession of the Romans. The delightful position of the city, the genial climate of the locality, and its many attractions, caused it to become a favorite retreat of the wealthier Romans, who purchased estates in the neighborhood; Cicero, among others, having a villa there. In A.D. 63, during the reign of Nero, an earthquake overthrew a considerable portion of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Scarcely had the inhabitants in some measure recovered from their alarm, and begun to rebuild their shattered edifices, when a still more terrible catastrophe occurred, and the first recorded eruption of Vesuvius, on the 23d of August, A.D. 79, completed the ruin of the two cities. Of this event we fortunately possess a singularly graphic description by one who was not only an eye-witness, but well qualified to observe and record its phenomena--Pliny, the Younger, whose narrative is contained in two letters addressed to the historian Tacitus. These letters run as follows: "Your request," he writes, "that I would send you an account of my uncle's death, in order to transmit a more exact relation of it to posterity, merits my acknowledgements; for should the calamity be celebrated by your pen, its memory, I feel assured, will be rendered imperishable. He was at that time, with the fleet under his command, at Misenum. On the 24th of August, about one in the afternoon, my mother desired him to observe a cloud which seemed of unusual shape and dimensions. He had just returned from taking the benefit of the sun, and after a cold water bath and a slight repast, had retired to his study. He immediately arose, and proceeded to a rising ground, from whence he might more distinctly mark this very uncommon appearance. "At that distance it could not be clearly perceived from what mountain the cloud issued, but it was afterward ascertained to proceed from Mount Vesuvius. I cannot better describe its figure than by comparing it to that of a pine tree, for it shot up to a great height like a trunk, and extended itself at the top into a kind of branches; occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden gust of air that impelled if, the force of which decreased as it advanced upward, or by the expansion of the cloud itself, when pressed back again by its own weight. Sometimes it appeared bright, and sometimes dark and spotted, as it became more or less impregnated with earth and cinders. This extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical curiosity to inquire into it more closely. He ordered a light vessel to be got ready for him, and invited me to accompany him if I pleased. I replied that I would rather continue my studies. "As he was leaving the house, a note was brought to him from Rectina, the wife of Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm at the imminent peril which threatened her; for her villa being situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, the only mode of escape was by the sea. She earnestly entreated him, therefore, to hasten to her assistance. He accordingly changed his first design, and what he began out of curiosity, now continued out of heroism. Ordering the galleys to put to sea, he went on board, with an intention of assisting not only Rectina, but several others, for the villas are very numerous along that beautiful shore. Hastening to the very place which other people were abandoning in terror, he steered directly toward the point of danger, and with so much composure of mind that he was able to make and to dictate his observations on the changes and aspects of that dreadful scene. "He was now so nigh the mountain that the cinders, which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into the vessel, together with pumice-stones and black pieces of burning rock; and now the sudden ebb of the sea, and vast fragments rolling from the mountain, obstructed their nearer approach to the shore. Pausing to consider whether he should turn back again, to which he was advised by his pilot, he exclaimed, 'Fortune befriends the brave: carry me to Pomponianus.' [Illustration: =EFFECT OF EARTHQUAKE ON MODERN STEEL BUILDING.= The steel framework of many of the modern skyscrapers stood intact after the shock, while the brick and stone walls were shaken out.] [Illustration: =UPPER PICTURE--VESUVIUS DURING RECENT ERUPTION.=] [Illustration: =LOWER PICTURE--ROAD LEADING UP TO VESUVIUS BEFORE ERUPTION.=] "Pomponianus was then at Stabiae, separated by a gulf which the sea, after several windings, forms upon the shore. He had already sent his baggage on board; for though not at that time in actual danger, yet being within prospect of it, he was determined, if it drew nearer, to put to sea as soon as the wind should change. The wind was favorable, however, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he found in the greatest consternation. He embraced him tenderly, encouraging and counselling him to keep up his spirits; and still better to dissipate his alarm, he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths to be got ready. After having bathed, he sat down to supper with great cheerfulness, or, what was equally courageous, with all the semblance of it. "Meanwhile, the eruption from Mount Vesuvius broke forth in several places with great violence, and the darkness of the night contributed to render it still more visible and dreadful. But my uncle, to soothe the anxieties of his friend, declared it was only the burning of the villages, which the country people had abandoned to the flames. After this, he retired to rest; and it is certain he was so little discomposed as to fall into a deep sleep; for being somewhat corpulent, and breathing hard, those who attended without actually heard him snore. "The court which led to his apartment being nearly filled with stones and ashes, it would have been impossible for him, had he continued there longer, to have made his way out; it was thought proper, therefore, to awaken him. He got up and joined Pomponianus and the rest of his company who were not unconcerned enough to think of going to bed. They consulted together which course would be the more prudent: to trust to the houses, which now shook from side to side with frequent and violent concussions; or to escape to the open country, where the calcined stones and cinders fell in such quantities, as notwithstanding their lightness, to threaten destruction. In this dilemma they decided on the open country, as offering the greater chance of safety; a resolution which, while the rest of the company hastily adopted it through their fears, my uncle embraced only after cool and deliberate consideration. Then they went forth, having pillows tied upon their heads with napkins; and this was their sole defence against the storm of stones that fell around them. "It was now day everywhere else, but there a deeper darkness prevailed than in the obscurest night, though it was in some degree dissipated by torches and lights of various kinds. They thought proper to go down further upon the shore, to ascertain whether they might safely put out to sea; but found the waves still extremely high and boisterous. There my uncle, having drunk a draught or two of cold water, flung himself down upon a cloth which was spread for him, when immediately the flames and their precursor, a strong stench of sulphur, dispersed the rest of the company, and compelled him to rise. He raised himself with the assistance of two of the servants, but instantly fell down dead; suffocated, I imagine by some gross and noxious vapor. As soon as it was light again, which was not until the third day after this melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and free from any sign of violence, exactly in the same posture that he fell, so that he looked more like one asleep than dead." In a second letter to Tacitus, Pliny in relating his own experiences, says: "Day was rapidly breaking, but the light was exceedingly faint and languid; the buildings all around us tottered; and though we stood upon open ground, yet, as the area was narrow and confined, we could not remain without certain and formidable peril, and we therefore resolved to quit the town. The people followed us in a panic of alarm, and, as to a mind distracted with terror every suggestion seems more prudent than its own, pressed in great crowds about us in our way out. "As soon as we had reached a convenient distance from the houses, we stood still, in the midst of a perilous and most dreadful scene. The chariots which we had ordered to be drawn out oscillated so violently, though upon level ground, that we could not keep them steady, even by supporting them with large stones. The sea seemed to roll back upon itself, and to be driven from its strands by the earth's convulsive throes; it is certain, at least, that the shore was considerably enlarged, and that several marine animals were left upon it. On the other side, a black and terrible cloud, bursting with an igneous serpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, resembling, but much larger than the flashes of lightning. "Soon after the black cloud seemed to descend and enshroud the whole ocean; as, in truth, it entirely concealed the island of Caprea and the headland of Misenum. The ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no considerable quantity. Turning my head, I perceived behind us a dense smoke, which came rolling in our track like a torrent. I proposed, while there was yet some light, to diverge from the highroad, lest my mother should be crushed to death in the dark by the crowd that followed us. Scarcely had we stepped aside when darkness overspread us; not the darkness of a cloudy night, or when there is no moon, but that of a chamber which is close shut, with all the lights extinct. "And then nothing could be heard but the shrieks of women, the cries of children, and the exclamations of men. Some called aloud for their little ones, others for their parents, others for their husbands, being only able to distinguish persons by their voices; this man lamented his own fate, that man the fate of his family; not a few wished to die out of very fear of death; many lifted their hands to the gods; but most imagined the last eternal night was come, which should destroy the world and the gods together. "At length, a glimmer of light appeared, which we imagined to be rather the foretoken of an approaching burst of flames, as in truth it was, than the return of day. The fire, however, having fallen at a distance from us, we were again immersed in dense darkness, and a heavy shower of ashes fell upon us, which we were compelled at times to shake off--otherwise we should have been crushed and buried in the heap. "After a while, this dreadful darkness gradually disappeared like a cloud of smoke; the actual day returned, and with it the sun, though very faintly, and as when an eclipse is coming on. Every object that presented itself to our eyes (which were extremely weakened) seemed changed, being covered with a crust of white ashes, like a deep layer of snow. We returned to Misenum, where we refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and passed an anxious night between hope and fear, though, indeed, with a much larger share of the latter; for the earthquake still continued, while several excited individuals ran up and down, augmenting their own and their friends' calamities by terrible predictions." The graphic accounts of Pliny the Younger have been confirmed in every respect by scientific examination of the buried cities. The eruption was terrible in all its circumstances--the rolling mud, the cloud of darkness, the flashes of electric fire, the shaking earth--but yet more terrible in its novelty of character and the seemingly wide range of its influence. These combined causes would appear to have exercised a fatal effect on the Pompeians, and but for them nearly all might have escaped. Thus, the amphitheatre was crowded when the catastrophe occurred, but only two or three skeletons have been found in it, which probably were those of gladiators already killed or wounded. The bold, the prompt, and the energetic saved themselves by immediate flight; those who lingered through love or avarice, supine indifference, or palsying fear, perished. Many sought refuge in the lower rooms or underground cellars of their houses, but there the steaming mud pursued and overtook them. Had it been otherwise, they must have died of hunger or suffocation, as all avenues of egress were absolutely blocked up. It is impossible to exaggerate the horrors of the last day of the doomed city. The rumbling of the earth beneath; the dense obscurity and murky shadow of the heaven above; the long, heavy roll of the convulsed sea; the strident noise of the vapors and gases escaping from the mountain-crater; the shifting electric lights, crimson, emerald green, lurid yellow, azure, blood red, which at intervals relieved the blackness, only to make it ghastlier than before; the hot, hissing showers which descended like a rain of fire; the clash and clang of meeting rocks and riven stones; the burning houses and flaming vineyards; the hurrying fugitives, with wan faces and straining eyeballs, calling on those they loved to follow them; the ashes, and cinders, and boiling mud, driving through the darkened streets, and pouring into the public places; above all, that fine, impalpable, but choking dust which entered everywhere, penetrating even to the lowest cellar, and against which human skill could devise no effectual protection; all these things must have combined into a whole of such unusual and such awful terror that the imagination cannot adequately realize it. The stoutest heart was appalled; the best-balanced mind lost its composure. The stern Roman soldier stood rigidly at his post, content to die if discipline required it, but even his iron nerves quailed at the death and destruction around him. Many lost their reason, and wandered through the city, gibbering and shrieking lunatics. And none, we may be sure, who survived the peril, ever forgot the sights and scenes they had witnessed on that day of doom. Three days and nights were thus endured with all the anguish of suspense and uncertainty. On the fourth day the darkness, by degrees, began to clear away. The day appeared, the sun shining forth; but all nature seemed changed. Buried beneath the lava lay temple and circus, the tribunal, the shrine, the frescoed wall, the bright mosaic floor; but there was neither life nor motion in either city of the dead, though the sea which once bore their argosies still shimmered in the sunshine, and the mountain which accomplished their destruction still breathed forth smoke and fire. The scene was changed; all was over; smoke and vapor and showers had ceased, and Vesuvius had returned to its normal slumber. Pompeii and Herculaneum were no more. In their place was a desolated plain, with no monuments visible, no house to be seen--nothing but a great surface of white ashes, which hardened and petrified, and finally disintegrated into soil upon which, years after, might be seen the fruitful vine, the waving corn, and wild flowers in all their loveliness and beauty, hiding the hideous tragedy of a bygone age. It was about the middle of the eighteenth century that systematic excavations in the ashes that covered Pompeii began. Since that time the work has been slow, though continuous, and great progress has been made in disinterring the buried city. To-day it is a municipal museum of the Roman Empire as it was 1,800 years ago. The architecture is almost unmarred; the colors of decorated tiles on the walls are still bright; the wheel marks are fresh looking; the picture of domestic life as it was is complete, except for the people who were destroyed or driven from the city. No other place in all the world so completely portrays that period of the past to us as does Pompeii, overwhelmed by Vesuvius, hidden for centuries, and now once more in view to the world to-day. CHAPTER XXVI. MOUNT ÆTNA AND THE SICILIAN HORRORS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =A Volcano with a Record of Twenty-five Centuries--Seventy-eight Recorded Eruptions--Three Hundred Thousand Inhabitants Dwelling on the Slopes of the Mountain and in the Valleys at its Base--Stories of Earthquake Shock and Lava Flows--Tales of Destruction--Described by Ancient and Modern Writers and Eye-Witnesses.= Mount Ætna, one of the most celebrated volcanoes in the world, is situated on the eastern sea-board of Sicily. The ancient poets often alluded to it, and by some it was feigned to be the prison of the giant Euceladus or Typhon, by others the forge of Hephæstus. The flames proceeded from the breath of Euceladus, the thunderous noises of the mountain were his groans, and when he turned upon his side, earthquakes shook the island. Pindar in his first Pythian ode for Hiero of Ætna, winner in the chariot race in 474 B.C., exclaims:--He (Typhon) is fast bound by a pillar of the sky, even by snowy Ætna, nursing the whole year's length her dazzling snow. Whereout pure springs of unapproachable fire are vomited from the inmost depth: in the daytime the lava streams pour forth a lurid rush of smoke, but in the darkness a red rolling flame sweepeth rocks with uproar to the wide, deep sea. Æschylus (525-456 B.C.) speaks also of the "mighty Typhon." Thucydides (471-402 B.C.) alludes in the last lines of his third book to three early eruptions of the mountain. Many other early writers speak of Ætna, among them Theocritus, Virgil, Ovid, Livy, Seneca, Lucan, Strabo, and Lucilius Junior. While the poets on the one hand had invested Ætna with various supernatural attributes, and had made it the prison of a chained giant, and the workshop of a god, Lucretius and others endeavored to show that the eruptions and other phenomena of the mountain could be explained by the ordinary operations of nature. If we pass to more modern times we find mention of Ætna by Dante, Petrarch, Cardinal Bembo, and other middle age writers. In 1541 Fazello wrote a brief history of the mountain, and described an ascent. In 1591 Antonio Filoteo, who was born on Ætna, published a work in Venice, in which he describes an eruption which he witnessed in 1536. He asserts that the mountain was then, as now, divided into three "regions"--the first very arid, rugged, uneven, and full of broken rocks; the second covered with forests; and the third cultivated in the ordinary manner. The great eruption of 1669 was described at length by the naturalist Borelli in the year of its occurrence, and a brief account of it was given by the Earl of Winchelsea, English ambassador at Constantinople, who was returning home by way of the Straits of Messina at the time. As the eruption of 1669 was the most considerable one of modern times, it attracted a great deal of attention, and was described by several eye-witnesses. The height of Ætna has been often determined. The earlier writers had very exaggerated notions on the subject, and a height of three and even four miles has been assigned. It must be borne in mind that the cone of a volcano is liable to variations in height at different periods, and a diminution of more than three hundred feet has occurred during the course of a single eruption of Ætna, owing to the falling of the cone of cinders into the crater. During the last sixty years, however, the height of the mountain has been practically constant at ten thousand eight hundred and seventy-four feet. There are two cities, Catania and Aci Reale, and sixty-three towns or villages on Mount Ætna. It is far more thickly populated than any other part of Sicily or Italy. No less than 300,000 people live on the mountain. A remarkable feature of Ætna is the large number of minor cones which are scattered over its sides. They look small in comparison with the great mass of the mountain, but in reality some of them are of large dimensions. The best period for making the ascent of Ætna is between June and September, after the melting of the winter snows, and before the falling of the autumnal rains. In winter there are frequently nine or ten miles of snow stretching from the summit downward, the paths are obliterated, and the guides sometimes refuse to accompany travelers. Moreover, violent storms often rage in the upper regions of the mountain, and the wind acquires a force which it is difficult to withstand, and is at the same time piercingly cold. A list of the eruptions of Ætna from the earliest times has been given by several writers. The first eruption within the historical period probably happened in the seventh century B.C.; the second occurred in the time of Pythagoras. The third eruption, which was in 477 B.C., is mentioned by Thucydides, and it must have been the same eruption to which Pindar and Æschylus allude. An eruption mentioned by Thucydides happened in the year 426 B.C. An outburst of lava took place from Monte di Moja, the most northerly of the minor cones of Ætna, in 396 B.C., and following the course of the river Acesines, now the Alcantara, entered the sea near the site of the Greek colony of Naxos (now Capo di Schiso). We have no record of any further eruption for 256 years, till the year 140 B.C. Six years later an eruption occurred, and the same authorities mention an eruption in the year 126 B.C. Four years later Katana was nearly destroyed by a new eruption. Another, of which we possess no details, occurred during the civil war between Cæsar and Pompey, 49 B.C. Livy speaks of an earthquake which took place in 43 B.C., shortly before the death of Cæsar, which it was believed to portend. In 38 B.C. and 32 B.C. eruptions took place. The next eruption of which we hear is that mentioned by Suetonius in his life of Caligula. This was in 40 A.D. An eruption occurred in 72 A.D., after which Ætna was quiescent for nearly two centuries, but in the year 253, in the reign of the Emperor Decius, a violent eruption lasting nine days is recorded. According to Carrera and Photius, an eruption occurred in the year 420. We now find no further record for nearly four hundred years. Geoffrey of Viterbo states that there was an eruption in 812, when Charlemagne was in Messina. After another long interval, in this case of more than three centuries and a half, the mountain again showed activity. In February, 1169, one of the most disastrous eruptions on record took place. A violent earthquake, which was felt as far as Reggio, destroyed Catania in the course of a few minutes, burying fifteen thousand people beneath the ruins. It was the vigil of the feast of St. Agatha, and the cathedral of Catania was crowded with people, who were all buried beneath the ruins, together with the bishops and forty-four Benedictine monks. The side of the cone of the great crater toward Taormina fell into the crater. There was a great eruption from the eastern side of the mountain in 1181. Lava descended in the same vicinity in 1285. In 1329 Speziale was in Catania, and witnessed a very violent eruption, of which he has left us an account. On the evening of June 28th, about the hour of vespers, Ætna was strongly convulsed, terrible noises were emitted, and flames issued from the south side of the mountain. A new crater, Monte Lepre, opened above the rock of Musarra, and emitted large quantities of dense black smoke. Soon after a torrent of lava poured from the crater, and red-hot masses of rock were projected into the air. Four years after the last eruption it is recorded by Silvaggio that a fresh outburst took place. A manuscript preserved in the archives of the cathedral of Catania mentions an eruption which took place on August 6, 1371, which caused the destruction of numerous olive groves near the city. An eruption which lasted for twelve days commenced in November, 1408. A violent earthquake in 1444 caused the cone of the mountain to fall into the great crater. An eruption of short duration, of which we have no details, occurred in 1447; and after this Ætna was quiescent for eighty-nine years. Cardinal Bembo and Fazello mention an eruption which took place toward the close of the fifteenth century. In March, 1536, a quantity of lava issued from the great crater, and several new apertures opened near the summit of the mountain and emitted lava. A year later, in May, 1537, a fresh outburst occurred. A number of new mouths were opened on the south slope near La Fontanelle, and a quantity of lava burst forth which flowed in the direction of Catania, destroying a part of Nicolosi, and St. Antonio. In four days the lava ran fifteen miles. The cone of the great crater suddenly fell in, so as to become level with the Piano del Lago. The height of the mountain was thus diminished by 320 feet. Three new craters opened in November, 1566, on the northeast slope of the mountain. In 1579, 1603, 1607, 1610, 1614, and 1619, unimportant eruptions occurred. In February, 1633, Nicolosi was partly destroyed by a violent earthquake, and in the following December, earthquakes became frequent around the mountain. In 1646 a new mouth opened on the northeast side, and five years later several new mouths opened on the west side of the mountain and poured out vast volumes of lava which threatened to overwhelm Bronte. We have a more detailed account of the eruption of 1669 than any previous one. It was observed by many men of different nations, and there are a number of narratives regarding it. The eruption was in every respect one of the most terrible on record. On March 8th, the sun was obscured and a whirlwind blew over the face of the mountain; at the same time earthquakes were felt, and they continued to increase in violence for three days, at the end of which Nicolosi was converted into a heap of ruins. On the morning of the 11th a fissure nearly twelve miles in length opened in the side of the mountain, and extended from the Piano di St. Leo to Monte Frumento, a mile from the summit. The fissure was only six feet wide, but it seemed to be of unknown depth, and a bright light proceeded from it. Six mouths opened in a line with the principal fissure, and discharged vast volumes of smoke, accompanied by low bellowing, which could be heard forty miles off. Toward the close of the day a crater opened about a mile below the others, and ejected red-hot stones to a considerable distance, and afterward sand and ashes, which covered the country for a distance of sixty miles. The new crater soon vomited forth a torrent of lava, which presented a front of two miles. It encircled Monpilieri, and afterward flowed toward Belpasso, a town of 8,000 inhabitants, which was speedily destroyed. Seven mouths of fire opened around the new crater, and in three days united with it, forming one large crater 800 feet in diameter. The torrent of lava had continued to flow, and it destroyed the town of Mascalucia on March 23d. On the same day the crater cast up great quantities of sand, ashes, and scoriae, and formed above itself the great double coned hill called Monti Rossi, from the red color of the ashes of which it is mainly composed. On the 25th very violent earthquakes occurred, and the cone of the great central crater was shaken down into the crater for the fifth time since the beginning of the first century A.D. The original current of lava had divided into three streams, one of which destroyed San Pietro, the second Camporotondo, and the third the lands about Mascalucia, and afterward the village of Misterbianco. Fourteen villages were afterward swept out of existence, and the lava made its way toward Catania. At Albanello, two miles from the city, it undermined a hill covered with corn fields, and carried it forward a considerable distance; a vineyard was also seen floating on its fiery surface. When the lava reached the walls of Catania, it accumulated without progression until it rose to the top of the wall, sixty feet in height, and it then fell over in a fiery cascade and overwhelmed a part of the city. Another portion of the same stream threw down 120 feet of the wall and carried death and destruction in its course. On April 23d the lava reached the sea, which it entered as a stream 1800 feet broad and forty feet deep. On reaching the sea the water, of course, began to boil violently, and clouds of steam arose, carrying with them particles of scoriae. The volume of lava emitted during this eruption amounted to many millions of cubic feet. Fewara considers that the length of the stream was at least fifteen miles, while its average width was between two and three miles, so that it covered at least forty square miles of surface. For a few years after this terrible eruption Ætna was quiescent, but in 1682 a new mouth opened on the east side of the mountain, and lava issued from it and rushed down the precipices of the Val del Bue. Early in January, 1693, clouds of black smoke poured from the great crater, and loud noises resembling the discharge of artillery, were heard. A violent earthquake followed, and Catania was shaken to the ground, burying 18,000 of its inhabitants. It is said that in all fifty cities and towns were destroyed in Sicily, together with approximately 100,000 inhabitants. The following year witnessed another eruption, but no serious disaster resulted. In March, 1702, three mouths opened in the Contrada del Trifaglietto, near the head of the Val del Bue. In 1723, 1732, 1735, 1744, and 1747, slight eruptions occurred. Early in the year 1775 Ætna began to show signs of disturbance; a great column of black smoke issued from the crater, from which forked lightning was frequently emitted. Loud detonations were heard and two streams of lava issued from the crater. A new mouth opened near Rocca di Musarra in the Val del Bue, four miles from the summit, and a quantity of lava was ejected from it. An extraordinary flood of water descended from Val del Bue, carrying all before it, and strewing its path with large blocks. Recupero estimated the volume of water at 16,000,000 cubic feet, probably a greater amount than could be furnished by the sudden melting of all the winter's snow on the mountain. It formed a channel two miles broad, and in some places thirty-four feet deep, and it flowed at the rate of a mile in a minute and a half during the first twelve miles of its course. The flood was probably produced by the melting not only of the winter's snow, but also of older layers of ice, which were suddenly liquified by the permeation of hot steam and lava, and which had been previously preserved from melting by a deposit of sand and ashes, as in the case of the ancient glacier found near the summit of the mountain in 1828. In November, 1758, a smart shock of earthquake caused the cone of the great crater to fall in, but no eruption followed. In 1759, 1763, 1766, and 1780, eruptions were noted, and on May 18, 1780, a fissure opened on the southwest side of the mountain and extended from the base of the great crater for seven miles, terminating in a new mouth from which a stream of lava emanated. This encountered the cone of Palmintelli in its course, and separated into two branches, each of which was about 4,000 feet wide. Other mouths opened later in the year, and emitted larger quantities of lava, while in 1781 and 1787 there were slight eruptions. Five years later a fresh outbreak occurred; earthquakes were prevalent, and vast volumes of smoke were carried out to sea, seeming to form a gigantic bridge between Sicily and Africa. A torrent of lava flowed toward Aderno, and a second flowed into the Val del Bue as far as Zuccolaro. A pit called La Cisterna, forty feet in diameter, opened in the Piano del Lago near the great cone, and ejected smoke and masses of old lava saturated with water. Several mouths opened below the crater, and the country round about Zaffarana was desolated. In 1797, 1798, 1799, 1800, 1802, 1805, and 1808 slight eruptions occurred. In March, 1809, no less than twenty-one mouths of fire opened between the summit of the mountain and Castiglione, and two years afterward more than thirty mouths opened in a line running eastward from the summit for five miles. They ejected jets of fire, accompanied by much smoke. In 1819 five new mouths of fire opened near the scene of the eruption of 1811; three of these united into one large crater, and poured forth a quantity of lava into the Val del Bue. The lava flowed until it reached a nearly perpendicular precipice at the head of the valley of Calanna, over which it fell in a cascade, and being hardened by its descent, it was forced against the sides of the tufaceous rock at the bottom, so as to produce an extraordinary amount of abrasion, accompanied by clouds of dust worn off by the friction. Mr. Scrope observed that the lava flowed at the rate of about three feet an hour nine months after its emission. Eruptions occurred in 1831, 1832, 1838, and 1842. Near the end of the following year, fifteen mouths of fire opened near the crater of 1832, at a height of 7,000 feet above the sea. They began by discharging scoriae and sand, and afterward lava, which divided into three streams, the two outer of which soon came to a standstill, while the central stream continued to flow at the rapid rate of 180 feet a minute, the descent being an angle of 25°. The heat at a distance of 120 feet from the current was 90° F. A new crater opened just above Bronte, and discharged lava which threatened the town, but it fortunately encountered Monte Vittoria, and was diverted into another course. While a number of the inhabitants of Bronte were watching the progress of the lava, the front of the stream was suddenly blown out as by an explosion of gunpowder. In an instant red-hot masses were hurled in every direction, and a cloud of vapor enveloped everything. Thirty-six persons were killed on the spot, and twenty survived but a few hours. A very violent eruption, which lasted more than nine months, commenced on the 26th of August, 1852. It was first witnessed by a party of six English tourists, who were ascending the mountain from Nicolosi in order to witness the sun rise from the summit. As they approached the Casa Inglesi the crater commenced to give forth ashes and flames of fire. In a narrow defile they were met by a violent hurricane, which overthrew both the mules and the riders, and forced them toward the precipices of Val del Bue. They sheltered themselves beneath some masses of lava, when suddenly an earthquake shook the mountain, and the mules fled in terror. They returned on foot toward daylight to Nicolosi, fortunately without having sustained injury. In the course of the night many rifts opened in that part of Val del Bue called the Balzo di Trifaglietto, and a great fissure opened at the base of Giannicola Grande, and a crater was thrown up, from which for seventeen days showers of sand and scoriae were ejected. During the next day a quantity of lava flowed down into the Val del Bue, branching off so that one stream flowed to the foot of Mount Finocchio, while the other flowed to Mount Calanna. The eruption continued with abated violence during the early months of 1853, and did not fully cease until May 27th. The entire mass of lava ejected is estimated to be equal to an area six miles long by two miles broad, with an average depth of about twelve feet. In October, 1864, frequent shocks of earthquake were felt by the dwellers on Ætna. In January, 1865, clouds of smoke were emitted by the great crater, and roaring sounds were heard. On the night of the 30th a violent shock was felt on the northeast side of the mountain, and a mouth opened below Monte Frumento, from which lava was ejected. It flowed at the rate of about a mile a day, and ultimately divided into two streams. By March 10th the new mouths of fire had increased to seven in number, and they were all situated along a line stretching down from the summit. The three upper craters gave forth loud detonations three or four times a minute. Since 1865, there have been occasional eruptions, but none of great duration, nor has there been any loss of life in consequence. It will be seen from the foregoing account that there is a great similarity in the general character of the eruptions of Ætna. Earthquakes presage the outburst; loud explosions are heard; rifts open in the sides of the mountain; smoke, sand, ashes, and scoriae are discharged; the action localizes itself in one or more craters; cinders are thrown out and accumulate around the crater in a conical form; ultimately lava rises through the new cone, frequently breaking down one side of it where there is least resistance, and flowing over the surrounding country. Out of the seventy-eight eruptions mentioned above, a comparatively small number have been of extreme violence, while many of them have been of a slight and harmless character. Italy does not contain a more beautiful or fertile province than Calabria, the celebrated region which the ancients called Magna Grecia, where once flourished Crotona, Tarentum, Sybaris, and so many other prosperous cities. Situated between the volcanoes of Vesuvius and Ætna, Calabria has always been much exposed to the destructive influence of earthquakes, but the most terrible shock ever felt in the province was that of February 5, 1783. The ground was agitated in all directions, swelling like the waves of the ocean. Nothing could withstand such shocks, and not a building upon the surface remained erect. The beautiful city of Messina, the commercial metropolis of Sicily, was reduced to a heap of ruins. Upon March 4, a fresh shock, almost as violent as the first, completed the work of destruction. The number of persons who perished in Calabria and Sicily during these two earthquakes is estimated at 80,000 and 320 of the 365 towns and villages which Calabria contained were destroyed. The greater number of those who lost their lives were buried amid the ruins of the houses, but many perished in fires that were kindled in most of the towns, particularly in Oppido, where the flames were fed by great magazines of oil. Not a few, especially among the peasantry dwelling in the country, were suddenly engulfed in fissures. Many who were only half buried in the ruins, and who might have been saved had there been help at hand, were left to die a lingering death from cold and hunger. Four Augustine monks at Terranova perished thus miserably. Having taken refuge in a vaulted sacristy, they were entombed in it alive by the masses of rubbish, and lingered for four days, during which their cries for help could be heard, till death put an end to their sufferings. Of still more thrilling interest was the case of the Marchioness Spadara. Having fainted at the moment of the first great shock, she was lifted by her husband, who, bearing her in his arms, hurried with her to the harbor. Here, on recovering her senses, she observed that her infant boy had been left behind. Taking advantage of a moment when her husband was too much occupied to notice her, she darted off, and, running back to her house, which was still standing, she snatched her babe from his cradle. Rushing with him in her arms toward the staircase, she found the stair had fallen, barring all further progress in that direction. She fled from room to room, chased by the falling materials, and at length reached a balcony as her last refuge. Holding up her infant, she implored the few passers-by for help; but they all, intent on securing their own safety, turned a deaf ear to her cries. Meanwhile her mansion had caught fire, and ere long the balcony, with the devoted lady still grasping her darling, was hurled into the devouring flames. A few cases are recorded of devotion similar to that of this heroic woman, but happily attended by more fortunate results. In the great majority of instances, however, the instinct of self-preservation triumphed over every other feeling, rendering the wretched people callous to the dangers and sufferings of others. Still worse was the conduct of the half savage peasantry. They hastened into the towns like vultures to their prey. Instead of helping the sufferers, they ransacked the smoking ruins for plunder, robbed the persons of the dead, and of those entangled alive among the rubbish. They robbed the very injured who would have paid them handsomely for rescuing them. At Polistena, a gentleman had been buried head downward beneath the ruins of his house, and when his servant saw what had happened he actually stole the silver buckles off his shoes, while his legs were in the air, and made off with them. The unfortunate gentleman, however, managed to rescue himself from his perilous position. Several cases occurred of persons being rescued alive from the ruins after a lapse of three, four, and even five days, and one on the seventh day after interment. Those who were thus rescued all declared that their direst sufferings were from thirst. CHAPTER XXVII. LISBON EARTHQUAKE SCOURGED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Sixty Thousand Lives Lost in a Few Moments--An Opulent and Populous Capital Destroyed--Graphic Account by an English Merchant Who Resided in the Stricken City--Tidal Waves Drown Thousands in the City Streets--Ships Engulfed in the Harbor--Criminals Rob and Burn--Terrible Desolation and Suffering.= More than once in its history has Lisbon, the beautiful capital of Portugal, on the Tagus river, been devastated by earthquakes and tidal waves. Greatest of all these was the appalling disaster of 1755, when in a few minutes thousands upon thousands of the inhabitants were killed or drowned. An English merchant, Mr. Davy, who resided in the ill-fated city at that time, and was an eye-witness of the whole catastrophe, survived the event and wrote to a London friend the following account of it. The narrative reproduced herewith brings the details before the reader with a force and simplicity which leaves no doubt of the exact truth. Mr. Davy wrote as follows: "On the morning of November 1st I was seated in my apartment, just finishing a letter, when the papers and the table I was writing on began to tremble with a gentle motion, which rather surprised me, as I could not perceive a breath of wind stirring. Whilst I was reflecting with myself what this could be owing to, but without having the least apprehension of the real cause, the whole house began to shake from the very foundation, and a frightful noise came from underground, resembling the hollow, distant rumbling of thunder. "Upon this I threw down my pen, and started upon my feet, remaining a moment in suspense, whether I should stay in the apartment or run into the street, as the danger in both places seemed equal. In a moment I was stunned with a most horrid crash, as if every edifice in the city had tumbled down at once. The house I was in shook with such violence that the upper stories immediately fell, and though my apartment, which was on the first floor, did not then share the same fate, yet everything was thrown out of its place in such a manner that it was with no small difficulty I kept my feet, and expected nothing less than to be soon crushed to death, as the walls continued rocking to and fro, opening in several places; large stones falling down on every side from the cracks, and the ends of most of the rafters starting out from the roofs. "To add to this terrifying scene, the sky in a moment became so gloomy that I could now distinguish no particular object; it was an Egyptian darkness indeed, such as might be felt. "As soon as the gloom began to disperse and the violence of the shock seemed pretty much abated, the first object I perceived in the room was a woman sitting on the floor with an infant in her arms, all covered with dust, pale and trembling. I asked her how she got hither, but her consternation was so great that she could give me no account of her escape. I suppose that when the tremor first began, she ran out of her own house, and finding herself in such imminent danger from the falling stones, retired into the door of mine, which was almost contiguous to hers, for shelter, and when the shock increased, which filled the door with dust and rubbish, she ran upstairs into my apartment. The poor creature asked me, in the utmost agony, if I did not think the world was at an end; at the same time she complained of being choked, and begged me to procure her some water. Upon this I went to a closet where I kept a large jar of water, but found it broken to pieces. I told her she must not now think of quenching her thirst, but saving her life, as the house was just falling on our heads, and if a second shock came, would certainly bury us both. "I hurried down stairs, the woman with me, holding by my arm, and made directly to that end of the street which opens to the Tagus. Finding the passage this way entirely blocked up with the fallen houses to the height of their second stories, I turned back to the other end which led to the main street, and there helped the woman over a vast heap of ruins, with no small hazard to my own life; just as we were going into this street, as there was one part that I could not well climb over without the assistance of my hands as well as feet, I desired her to let go her hold, which she did, remaining two or three feet behind me, at which instant there fell a vast stone from a tottering wall, and crushed both her and the child in pieces. So dismal a spectacle at any other time would have affected me in the highest degree, but the dread I was in of sharing the same fate myself, and the many instances of the same kind which presented themselves all around, were too shocking to make me dwell a moment on this single object. "I now had a long, narrow street to pass, with the houses on each side four or five stories high, all very old, the greater part already thrown down, or continually falling, and threatening the passengers with inevitable death at every step, numbers of whom lay killed before me, or what I thought far more deplorable, so bruised and wounded that they could not stir to help themselves. For my own part, as destruction appeared to me unavoidable, I only wished I might be made an end of at once, and not have my limbs broken, in which case I could expect nothing else but to be left upon the spot, lingering in misery, like those poor unhappy wretches, without receiving the least succor from any person. "As self-preservation, however, is the first law of nature, these sad thoughts did not so far prevail as to make me totally despair. I proceeded on as fast as I conveniently could, though with the utmost caution, and having at length got clear of this horrid passage, I found myself safe and unhurt in the large open space before St. Paul's church, which had been thrown down a few minutes before, and buried a great part of the congregation. Here I stood for some time, considering what I should do, and not thinking myself safe in this situation, I came to the resolution of climbing over the ruins of the west end of the church, in order to get to the river's side, that I might be removed as far as possible from the tottering houses, in case of a second shock. "This, with some difficulty, I accomplished, and here I found a prodigious concourse of people of both sexes, and of all ranks and conditions. There were several priests who had run from the altars in their sacerdotal vestments; ladies half dressed, and some without shoes; all these, whom their mutual dangers had here assembled as to a place of safety, were on their knees at prayer, with the terrors of death in their countenances. "In the midst of these devotions the second great shock came on, little less violent than the first, and completed the ruin of those buildings which had been already much shattered. The consternation now became so universal, that the shrieks and cries of the frightened people could be distinctly heard from the top of St. Catherine's hill, a considerable distance off, whither a vast number of the populace had likewise retreated. At the same time we could hear the fall of the parish church there, whereby many persons were killed on the spot, and others mortally wounded. On a sudden I heard a general outcry, 'The sea is coming in, we are lost!' Turning my eyes toward the river, which at this place is nearly four miles broad, I could perceive it heaving and swelling in a most unaccountable manner, as no wind was stirring. In an instant there appeared, at some small distance, a large body of water, rising as it were like a mountain. It came on foaming and roaring, and rushed toward the shore with such impetuosity, that we all immediately ran for our lives, as fast as possible; many were actually swept away, and the rest were above their waists in water, at a good distance from the bank. "For my own part, I had the narrowest escape, and should certainly have been lost, had I not grasped a large beam that lay on the ground, till the water returned to its channel, which it did with equal rapidity. As there now appeared at least as much danger from the sea as the land, and I scarce knew whither to retire for shelter, I took a sudden resolution of returning, with my clothes all dripping, to the area of St. Paul's. Here I stood some time, and observed the ships tumbling and tossing about as in a violent storm. Some had broken their cables and were carried to the other side of the Tagus; others were whirled around with incredible swiftness; several large boats were turned keel upward; and all this without any wind, which seemed the more astonishing. "It was at the time of which I am now writing, that the fine new quay, built entirely of rough marble, at an immense expense, was entirely swallowed up, with all the people on it, who had fled thither for safety, and had reason to think themselves out of danger in such a place. At the same time a great number of boats and small vessels, anchored near it, all likewise full of people, who had retired thither for the same purpose, were all swallowed up, as in a whirlpool, and never more appeared. "This last dreadful incident I did not see with my own eyes, as it passed three or four stone-throws from the spot where I then was, but I had the account as here given from several masters of ships, who were anchored within two or three hundred yards of the quay, and saw the whole catastrophe. One of them in particular informed me that when the second shock came on, he could perceive the whole city waving backwards and forwards, like the sea when the wind first begins to rise; that the agitation of the earth was so great, even under the river, that it threw up his large anchor from the mooring, which swam, as he termed it, on the surface of the water; that immediately upon this extraordinary concussion, the river rose at once nearly twenty feet, and in a moment subsided; at which instant he saw the quay, with the whole concourse of people upon it, sink down, and at the same time everyone of the boats and vessels that were near it were drawn into the cavity, which he supposes instantly closed upon them, inasmuch as not the least sign of a wreck was ever seen afterwards. "I had not been long in the area of St. Paul's, when I felt the third shock, which though somewhat less violent than the two former, the sea rushed in again and retired with the same rapidity, and I remained up to my knees in water, though I had gotten upon a small eminence at some distance from the river, with the ruins of several intervening houses to break its force. At this time I took notice the waters retired so impetuously, that some vessels were left quite dry, which rode in seven-fathom water. The river thus continued alternately rushing on and retiring several times, in such sort that it was justly dreaded Lisbon would now meet the same fate which a few years ago had befallen the city of Lima. The master of a vessel which arrived here just after the first of November assured me that he felt the shock above forty leagues at sea so sensibly that he really concluded that he had struck upon a rock, till he threw out the lead and could find no bottom; nor could he possibly guess at the cause till the melancholy sight of this desolate city left him no room to doubt it. "I was now in such a situation that I knew not which way to turn; I was faint from the constant fatigue I had undergone, and I had not yet broken my fast. Yet this had not so much effect on me as the anxiety I was under for a particular friend, who lodged at the top of a very high house in the heart of the city, and being a stranger to the language, could not but be in the utmost danger. I determined to go and learn, if possible, what had become of him. I proceeded, with some hazard, to the large space before the convent of Corpo Santo, which had been thrown down, and buried a great number of people. Passing through the new square of the palace, I found it full of coaches, chariots, chaises, horses and mules, deserted by their drivers and attendants, and left to starve. "From this square the way led to my friend's lodgings through a long, steep and narrow street. The new scenes of horror I met with here exceed all description; nothing could be heard but sighs and groans. I did not meet with a soul in the passage who was not bewailing the loss of his nearest relations and dearest friends. I could hardly take a single step without treading on the dead or dying. In some places lay coaches, with their masters, horses and riders almost crushed in pieces; here, mothers with infants in their arms; there, ladies richly dressed, priests, friars, gentlemen, mechanics, either in the same condition or just expiring; some had their backs broken, others great stones on their breasts; some lay almost buried in the rubbish, and crying out in vain for succor, were left to perish with the rest. "At length I arrived at the spot opposite to the house where my friend, for whom I was so anxious, resided; and finding this as well as the other contiguous buildings thrown down, I gave him up for lost, and thought only of saving my own life. "In less than an hour I reached a public house, kept by a Mr. Morley, near the English burying-ground, about a half a mile from the city, where I found a great number of my countrymen in the same wretched circumstances as myself. "Perhaps you may think the present doleful subject here concluded; but the horrors of the day are sufficient to fill a volume. As soon as it grew dark, another scene presented itself, little less shocking than those already described. The whole city appeared in a blaze, which was so bright that I could easily see to read by it. It may be said without exaggeration that it was on fire in at least a hundred different places at once, and thus continued burning for six days together, without intermission, or without the least attempt being made to stop its progress. "It went on consuming everything the earthquake had spared, and the people were so dejected and terrified that few or none had courage enough to venture down to save any part of their substance. I could never learn that this terrible fire was owing to any subterraneous eruption, as some reported, but to three causes, which all concurring at the same time, will naturally account for the prodigious havoc it made. The first of November being All Saint's Day, a high festival among the Portuguese, every altar in every church and chapel, some of which have more than twenty, was illuminated with a number of wax tapers and lamps, as customary; these setting fire to the curtains and timber work that fell with the shock, the conflagration soon spread to the neighboring houses, and being there joined with the fires in the kitchen chimneys, increased to such a degree, that it might easily have destroyed the whole city, though no other cause had concurred, especially as it met with no interruption. "But what would appear almost incredible to you, were the fact less notorious and public, is, that a gang of hardened villains, who had escaped from prison when the wall fell, were busily employed in setting fire to those buildings, which stood some chance of escaping the general destruction. I cannot conceive what could have induced them to this hellish work, except to add to the horror and confusion, that they might, by this means, have the better opportunity of plundering with security. But there was no necessity for taking this trouble, as they might certainly have done their business without it, since the whole city was so deserted before night, that I believe not a soul remained in it, except those execrable villains, and others of the same stamp. It is possible some of them might have had other motives besides robbing, as one in particular being apprehended--they say he was a Moor, condemned to the galleys--confessed at the gallows that he had set fire to the King's palace with his own hand; at the same time glorying in the action, and declaring with his last breath, that he hoped to have burnt all the royal family. "The whole number of persons that perished, including those who were burnt or afterwards crushed to death whilst digging in the ruins, is supposed, on the lowest calculation, to amount to more than sixty thousand; and though the damage in other respects cannot be computed, yet you may form some idea of it, when I assure you that this extensive and opulent city is now nothing but a vast heap of ruins; that the rich and poor are at present upon a level; some thousands of families which but the day before had been in easy circumstances, being now scattered about in the fields, wanting every convenience of life, and finding none able to relieve them. "In order that you may partly realize the prodigious havoc that has been made, I will mention one more instance among the many that have come under my notice. There was a high arched passage, like one of our old city gates, fronting the west door of the ancient cathedral; on the left hand was the famous church of St. Antonio, and on the right, some private houses several stories high. The whole area surrounded by all these buildings did not much exceed one of our small courts in London. At the first shock, numbers of people who were then passing under the arch, fled into the middle of this area for shelter; those in the two churches, as many as could possibly get out, did the same. At this instant, the arched gateway, with the fronts of the two churches and contiguous buildings, all inclined one toward another with the sudden violence of the shock, fell down and buried every soul as they were standing here crowded together." The portion of the earth's surface convulsed by this earthquake is estimated by Humboldt to have been four times greater than the whole extent of Europe. The shocks were felt not only over the Spanish peninsula, but in Morocco and Algeria they were nearly as violent. At a place about twenty-four miles from the city of Morocco, a great fissure opened in the earth, and the entire village, with all its inhabitants, upward of 8,000 in number, were precipitated into the gulf, which immediately closed over its prey. The earthquake was also felt as far to the westward as the West Indian islands of Antigua, Barbados, and Martinique, where the tide, which usually rises about two feet, was suddenly elevated above twenty feet, the water being at the same time as black as ink. Toward the northwest the shock was perceptible as far as Canada, whose great lakes were all disturbed. Toward the east it extended to the Alps, to Thuringia, and to Töplitz, where the hot springs were first dried up, and soon after overflowed with ochreous water. In Scotland the waters both of Loch Lomond and Loch Ness rose and fell repeatedly. Toward the northeast, the shock was sensibly felt throughout the flat country of northern Germany, in Sweden, and along the shores of the Baltic. At sea, 140 miles to the southward of Lisbon, the ship Denia was strained as if she had struck on a rock; the seams of the deck opened, and the compass was upset. On board another ship, 120 miles to the westward of Cape St. Vincent, the shock was so violent as to toss the men up perpendicularly from the deck. The great sea wave rose along the whole southern and western coasts of Portugal and Spain; and at Cadiz it is said to have risen to a height of sixty feet. At Tangier, on the northern coast of Africa, the tide rose and fell eighteen times in rapid succession. At Funchal in Madeira, where the usual ebb and flow of the tide is seven feet, it being half tide at the time, the great wave rolled in, and at once raised the level of the water fifteen feet above high water mark. This immense tide, rushing into the city, caused great damage, and several other parts of the island were similarly flooded. The tide was also suddenly raised on the southern coast of Ireland; the CHAPTER XXVIII. JAPAN AND ITS DISASTROUS EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =The Island Empire Subject to Convulsions of Nature--Legends of Ancient Disturbances--Famous Volcano of Fuji-yama Formed in One Night--More Than One Hundred Volcanoes in Japan--Two Hundred and Thirty-two Eruptions Recorded--Devastation of Thriving Towns and Busy Cities--The Capital a Sufferer--Scenes of Desolation after the Most Recent Great Earthquakes.= Japan may be considered the home of the volcano and the earthquake. Few months pass there without one or more earth shocks of considerable force, besides numerous lighter ones of too slight a nature to be worthy of remark. Japanese histories furnish many records of these phenomena. There is an ancient legend of a great earthquake in 286 B.C., when Mount Fuji rose from the bottom of the sea in a single night. This is the highest and most famous mountain of the country. It rises more than 12,000 feet above the water level, and is in shape like a cone; the crater is 500 feet deep. It is regarded by the natives as a sacred mountain, and large numbers of pilgrims make the ascent to the summit at the commencement of the summer. The apex is shaped somewhat like an eight-petaled lotus flower, and offers from three to five peaks to view from different directions. Though now apparently extinct, it was in former times an active volcano, and the histories of the country mention several very disastrous eruptions. Japanese poets never weary in celebrating the praises of Fuji-san, or Fuji-yama, as it is variously called, and its conical form is one of the most familiar in Japanese painting and decorative art. As Japan has not yet been scientifically explored throughout, and, moreover, as there is considerable difficulty in defining the kind of mountain to be regarded as a volcano, it is impossible to give an absolute statement as to the number of volcanoes in the country. If under the term volcano be included all mountains which have been in a state of eruption within the historical period, those which have a true volcanic form, together with those that still exhibit on their flanks matter ejected from a crater, we may conclude that there are at least 100 such mountains in the Japanese empire. Of this number about forty-eight are still active. Altogether about 232 eruptions have been recorded, and of these the greater number took place in the southern districts. This may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that Japanese civilization advanced from the south. In consequence of this, records were made of various phenomena in the south when the northern regions were still unknown and unexplored. The most famous of the active volcanoes is Asama-yama in Shinano. The earliest eruption of this mountain of which record now exists seems to have been in 1650. After that it was only feebly active for 133 years, when there occurred a very severe eruption in 1783. Even as late as 1870 there was a considerable emission of volcanic matter, at which time also violent shocks of earthquake were felt at Yokohama. The crater is very deep, with irregular rocky walls of a sulphur character, from apertures in which fumes are constantly sent forth. Probably the earliest authentic instance of an earthquake in Japan is that which is said to have occurred in 416 A.D., when the imperial palace at Kioto was thrown to the ground. Again, in 599, the buildings throughout the province of Yamato were all destroyed, and special prayers were ordered to be offered up to the deity of earthquakes. In 679 a tremendous shock caused many fissures to open in the provinces of Chikuzen and Chikugo, in Kiushiu; the largest of these chasms was over four miles in length and about twenty feet in width. In 829 the northern province of Dewa was visited in a similar manner; the castle of Akita was overthrown, deep rifts were formed in the ground in every direction, and the Akita river was dried up. To descend to more recent instances, in 1702 the lofty walls of the outside and inside moats of the castle of Yeddo were destroyed, tidal waves broke along the coast in the vicinity, and the road leading through the famous pass of Hakone, in the hills to the east of Fuji-yama was closed up by the alteration in the surface of the earth. A period of unusual activity was between the years 1780 and 1800, a time when there was great activity elsewhere on the globe. It was during this period that Mount Unsen was blown up, and from 27,000 to 53,000 persons (according to different accounts) perished; that many islands were formed in the Satsuma sea; that Sakura-jima threw out so much pumice material that it was possible to walk a distance of twenty-three miles upon the floating debris in the sea; and that Asama ejected so many blocks of stone--one of which is said to have been forty-two feet in diameter--and a lava-stream sixty-eight kilometres in length. In 1854 an earthquake destroyed the town of Shimoda, in the province of Idzu, and a Russian frigate, lying in the harbor at the time, was so severely damaged by the waves caused by the shock that she had to be abandoned. In 1855 came a great earthquake which was felt most severely at Yedo, though its destructive power extended for some distance to the west along the line of the Tokaido. It is stated that on this occasion there were in all 14,241 dwelling houses and 1,649 fire proof store houses overturned in the city, and a destructive fire which raged at the same time further increased the loss of life and property. What was possibly the gravest disaster of its class in this land of volcanoes, since the terrible eruptions which came in the twenty years ending in 1800, occurred in the Bandai-san region in northern Japan, on July 15, 1888. At about eight o'clock in the morning of that day, almost in the twinkling of an eye, Little Bandai-san was blown into the air, and wiped out of the map of Japan. A few moments later its debris had buried or devastated the surrounding country for miles, and a dozen or more of upland hamlets had been overwhelmed in the earthen deluge, or wrecked by other phenomena attending the outburst. Several hundreds of people had met with sudden and terrible death; scores of others had been injured; and the long roll of disaster included the destruction of horses and cattle, damming up of rivers, and laying waste of large tracts of rice-land and mulberry groves. A small party was organized in Tokio to visit the scene. As the travelers approached the mountain, they were told that twenty miles in a straight line from Bandai-san no noise or earthquake was experienced on the 15th, but mist and gloom prevailed for about seven hours, the result of a shower of impalpable blue-gray ash, which fell to a depth of half an inch, and greatly puzzled the inhabitants. An ascent of about 3,000 feet was made to the back of the newly formed crater, so as to obtain a clear view of it and of the country which had been overwhelmed. Only on nearing the end of the ascent was the party again brought face to face with signs of the explosion. Here, besides the rain of fine, gray, ashen mud which had fallen on and still covered the ground and all vegetation, they came upon a number of freshly opened pits, evidently in some way the work of the volcano. Ascending the last steep rise to the ridge behind Little Bandai-san, signs of the great disaster grew in number and intensity. The London Times correspondent, who was one of the party, wrote: "Fetid vapors swept over us, emanating from evil looking pools. Great trees, torn up by their roots, lay all around; and the whole face of the mountain wore the look of having been withered by some fierce and baleful blast. A few minutes further and we had gained the crest of the narrow ridge, and now, for the first time, looked forth upon the sight we had come to see. I hardly know which to pronounce the more astonishing, the prospect that now opened before our eyes or the suddenness with which it burst upon us. To the former no more fitting phrase, perhaps, can be applied than that of absolute, unredeemed desolation--so intense, so sad, and so bewildering that I despair of describing it adequately in detail. "On our right, a little above us, rose the in-curved rear wall of what, eight days before, had been Sho-Bandai-san, a ragged, almost sheer cliff, falling, with scarce a break, to a depth of fully 600 feet. In front of the cliff everything had been blown away and scattered over the face of the country before it, in a roughly fan-shaped deposit of for the most part unknown depth--deep enough, however, to erase every landmark, and conceal every feature of the deluged area. At the foot of the cliff, clouds of suffocating steam rose ceaselessly and angrily, and with loud roaring, from two great fissures in the crater bed, and now and then assailed us with their hellish odor. To our eyes, the base, denuded by the explosion, seemed to cover a space of between three and four square miles. This, however, can only be rough conjecture. Equally vague must be all present attempts to determine the volume of the disrupted matter. Yet, if we assume, as a very moderate calculation, that the mean depth of the debris covering a buried area of thirty square miles is not less than fifteen feet, we find that the work achieved by this great mine of Nature's firing was the upheaval and wide distribution of no fewer than 700,000,000 tons of earth, rocks, and other ponderous material. The real figure is probably very much greater." The desolation beyond the crater, and the mighty mass thrown out by the volcano which covered the earth, were almost incredible. "Down the slopes of Bandai-san, across the valley of the Nagase-gawa, choking up the river, and stretching beyond it to the foothills, five or six miles away, swept a vast, billowy sheet of ash-covered earth or mud, obliterating every foot of the erstwhile smiling landscape. Here and there the eyes rested on huge, disordered heaps of rocky debris, in the distance resembling nothing so much as the giant, concrete, black substructure of some modern breakwater. It was curious to see on the farther side the sharp line of demarkation between the brown sea of mud and the green forests on which it had encroached; or, again, the lakes formed in every tributary glen of the Nagase-gawa by the massive dams so suddenly raised against the passage of their stream waters. One lake was conspicuous among the rest. It was there that the Nagase-gawa itself had been arrested at its issue from a narrow pass by a monster barrier of disrupted matter thrown right across its course. Neither living thing nor any sign of life could be discerned over the whole expanse. All was dismally silent and solitary. Beneath it, however, lay half a score of hamlets, and hundreds of corpses of men, women and children, who had been overtaken by swift and painful deaths." Although the little village of Nagasaka was comparatively uninjured, nearly all its able-bodied inhabitants lost their lives in a manner which shows the extraordinary speed with which the mud-stream flowed. When Little Bandai-san blew up, and hot ashes and sand began to fall, the young and strong fled panic-stricken across the fields, making for the opposite hills by paths well known to all. A minute later came a thick darkness, as of midnight. Blinded by this, and dazed by the falling debris and other horrors of the scene, their steps, probably also their senses, failed them. And before the light returned every soul was caught by a swift bore of soft mud, which, rushing down the valley bed, overwhelmed them in a fate more horrible and not less sudden than that of Pharaoh and his host. None escaped save those who stayed at home--mostly the old and very young. A terrible earthquake convulsed central Japan on the morning of October 25, 1891. The waves of disturbance traversed thirty-one provinces, over which the earth's crust was violently shaken for ten minutes together, while slighter shocks were felt for a distance of 400 miles to the north, and traveled under the sea a like distance, making themselves felt in a neighboring island. In Tokio itself, though 170 miles from the center of disturbance, it produced an earthquake greater than any felt for nearly forty years, lasting twelve minutes. Owing, however, to the character of the movement, which was a comparatively slow oscillation, the damage was confined to the wrecking of some roofs and chimneys. Very different were its results in the central zone of agitation, concerning which a correspondent wrote as follows: "There was a noise as of underground artillery, a shake, a second shake, and in less than thirty seconds the Nagoya-Gifu plain, covering an area of 1,200 square miles, became a sea of waves, more than 40,000 houses fell, and thousands of people lost their lives. The sequence of events was approximately as follows: To commence at Tokio, the capital, which is some 200 miles from the scene of the disaster, on October 25th, very early in the morning, the inhabitants were alarmed by a long, easy swaying of the ground, and many sought refuge outside their doors. There were no shocks, but the ground moved back and forth, swung round, and rose and fell with the easy, gentle motion of a raft upon an ocean swell. Many became dizzy, and some were seized with nausea." These indications, together with the movements of the seismographs, denoted a disturbance at a considerable distance, but the first surmise that it was located under the Pacific Ocean, was unfortunately incorrect. The scene of the catastrophe was indicated only by tidings from its outskirts, as all direct news was cut off by the interruption of railway and telegraphic communication. An exploratory and relief party started on the second day from Tokio, not knowing how far they would be able to proceed by train, and the correspondent who accompanied them thus described his experiences: "Leaving Tokio by a night train, early next morning we were at Hamamatsu, 137 miles distant from Tokio, on the outside edge of the destructive area. Here, although the motion had been sufficiently severe to destroy some small warehouses, to displace the posts supporting the heavy roof of a temple, and to ruffle a few tiles along the eaves of the houses, nothing serious had occurred. At one point, owing to the lateral spreading of an embankment, there had been a slight sinkage of the line, and we had to proceed with caution. Crossing the entrance to the beautiful lake of Hamana Ko, which tradition says was joined to the sea by the breaking of a sand-spit by the sea waves accompanying an earthquake in 1498, we rose from the rice fields and passed over a country of hill and rock. Further along the line signs of violent movement became more numerous. Huge stone lanterns at the entrances of temples had been rotated or overturned, roofs had lost their tiles, especially along the ridge, sinkages in the line became numerous, and although there was yet another rock barrier between us and the plain of great destruction, it was evident that we were in an area where earth movements had been violent." The theatre of maximum destruction was a plain, dotted with villages and homesteads, supporting, under the garden-like culture of Japan, 500 and 800 inhabitants to the square mile, and containing two cities, Nagoya and Gifu, with populations respectively of 162,000 and 30,000, giving probably a round total of half a million human beings. Within about twelve miles of Gifu, a subsidence on a vast scale took place, engulfing a whole range of hills, while over lesser areas the soil in many places slipped down, carrying with it dwellings and their inmates. Gifu was a total wreck, devastated by ruin and conflagration, causing the destruction of half its houses. Ogaki, nine miles to the west, fared even worse, for here only 113 out of 4,434 houses remained standing, and one-tenth of the population were killed or wounded. In one temple, where service was being held, only two out of the entire congregation escaped. Nagoya, too, suffered heavily, and thousands of houses collapsed. The damage at this place was produced by three violent shocks in quick succession, preceded by a deep, booming sound. During the succeeding 206 hours, 6,600 earth spasms of greater or less intensity were felt at increasing intervals, occurring in the beginning probably at the rate of one a minute. The inhabitants were driven to bivouac in rude shelters in the streets, and there was great suffering among the injured, to whom it was impossible to give proper care for many days after the disaster. Some estimates placed the figure of the killed and wounded as high as 24,000, whilst not less than 300,000 were rendered homeless. Owing to the frequency of earthquake shocks in Japan, the study of their causes and effects has had a great deal of attention there since the introduction of modern science into the island empire. The Japanese have proved as energetic in this direction as they are in purely material progress on the lines of western civilization, and already they are recognized as the most advanced of all people in their study of seismology and its accompanying phenomena. CHAPTER XXIX. KRAKATOA, THE GREATEST OF VOLCANIC EXPLOSIONS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =The Volcano That Blew Its Own Head Off--The Terrific Crash Heard Three Thousand Miles--Atmospheric Waves Travel Seven Times Around the Earth--A Pillar of Dust Seventeen Miles High--Islands of the Malay Archipelago Blotted Out of Existence--Native Villages Annihilated--Other Disastrous Upheavals in the East Indies.= One of the fairest regions of the world is the Malay Archipelago of the East Indies. Here nature is prodigal with her gifts to man, and the cocoa-palm, cinnamon and other trees flourish, and rice, cotton, the sugar cane and tobacco yield their increase under cultivation. But beneath these scenes of loveliness, there are terrific energies, for this region is a focus of intense volcanic action. In the Sunda strait, between Sumatra and Java, there lies a group of small volcanic islands, the largest of which is Krakatoa. It forms part of the "basal wreck" of a large submarine volcano, whose visible edges are also represented by Velaten and Lang islands. For two hundred years the igneous forces beneath Krakatoa remained dormant; but in September, 1880, premonitory shocks of earthquake were heard in the neighborhood. At length the inhabitants of Batavia and Bintenzorg were startled on May 20, 1883, by booming sounds which came from Krakatoa, one hundred miles distant. A mail steamer passing through the strait, had her compass violently agitated. Next day a sprinkling of ashes was noticed at some places on each side of the strait, and toward evening a steam-column rising from Krakatoa revealed the locality of the disturbance. The commander of the German war ship Elisabeth, while passing, estimated the dust-column to be about thirty-six thousand feet, or seven miles high. Volcanic phenomena being common to that region, no fears were entertained by the inhabitants in the vicinity; and an excursion party even started from Batavia to visit the scene of action. They reached the island on May 27th, and saw that the cone of Perborwatan was active, and that a column of vapor arose from it to a height of not less than ten thousand feet, while lumps of pumice were shot up to about six hundred feet. Explosions occurred at intervals of from five to ten minutes, each of these outbursts uncovering the liquid lava in the vent, the glow of which lighted up the overhanging steam-cloud for a few seconds. Shortly after this visit the activity diminished. But on June 19th it was noticed at Anjer that the height of the dust and vapor-column, and likewise the explosions were again increasing. On the 24th a second column was seen rising. At length, Captain Ferzenaar, chief of the Topographical Survey of Bantam, visited Krakatoa island on August 11th. He found its forests destroyed, and the mantle of dust near the shores was twenty inches thick. Three large vapor-columns were noted, one marking the position of the crater of Perborwatan, while the other two were in the center of the island, and of the latter, one was probably Danan. There were also no less than eleven other eruptive foci, from which issued smaller steam-columns and dust. This was the last report prior to the great paroxysm. During the next two or three weeks there was a decline in the energy of the volcano, but on the afternoon of Sunday, August 26th, and all through the following night, it was evident that the period of moderate eruptive action had passed, and that Krakatoa had now entered upon the paroxysmal stage. From sunset on Sunday till midnight the tremendous detonations followed each other so quickly that a continuous roar may be said to have issued from the island. The full terrors of the eruption were now approaching. The distance of ninety-six miles from Krakatoa was not sufficient to permit sleep to the inhabitants of Batavia. All night volcanic thunders sounded like the discharges of artillery at their very doors. On the next morning there were four mighty explosions. The third was of appalling violence, and it gave rise to the most far-reaching effects. The entire series of grand phenomena at that spot extended over a little more than thirty-six hours. Captain Thompson, of the Media, then seventy-six miles northeast of Krakatoa, saw a black mass like smoke rising into the clouds to an altitude estimated at not less than seventeen miles. The eruption was also viewed by Captain Wooldridge at a distance of forty miles. He speaks of the vapory mass looking like "an immense wall, with bursts of forked lightning, at times like large serpents rushing through the air." After sunset this dark wall resembled "a blood-red curtain with the edges of all shades of yellow, the whole of a murky tinge, with fierce flashes of lightning." Two other masters of vessels, at about the same distance from the volcano, report seeing the mastheads and yardarms of their ships aglow with electric fire. Such effects seem to be easily explicable. When we consider how enormous must be the friction going on in the hot air, through the clash against each other of myriads of particles of volcanic dust, during ejection and in their descent, it is evident that such friction is adequate to produce a widespread electrical disturbance in the surrounding atmosphere. The rush of steam through craters or other fissures would also contribute to these disturbances. From these causes the compasses of passing ships were much disturbed. And yet the fall of magnetic oxide of iron (magnetite), a constituent of volcanic ash, possibly had some share in creating these perturbations. On the telephone line from Ishore, which included a submarine cable about a mile long, reports like pistol shots were heard. At Singapore, five hundred miles from Krakatoa, it was noted at the Oriental Telephone Company's station that, on putting the receiver to the ear, a roar like that of a waterfall was heard. So great was the mass of vapor and dust in the air, that profound darkness, which lasted many hours, extended even to one hundred and fifty miles from the focus of the eruption. There is the record, among others, that it was "pitch dark" at Anjer at two o'clock in the afternoon of the 26th. So great, too, was the ejective force that the fine volcanic dust was blown up to a height of fifty thousand feet, or over nine miles, into space. Another estimate gives the enormous altitude of seventeen miles to which the dust had been blown. The volcanic ash, which fell upon the neighboring islands within a circle of nine and one half miles radius, was from sixty-five to one hundred and thirty feet thick. At the back of the island the thickness of the ash beds was from one hundred and ninety-five to two hundred and sixty feet. Masses of floating pumice encumbered the strait. The coarser particles of this ash fell over a known area equal to 285,170 square miles, a space equal to the whole of the New England States, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. It is calculated that the matter so ejected must have been considerably over a cubic mile in volume. Another distinguishing feature of this display of nature's powers was the magnitude and range of the explosive sounds. Lloyd's agent at Batavia, ninety-four miles distant from Krakatoa, reported that on the morning of the 27th the reports and concussions were simply deafening. At Carimon, Java, which is three hundred and fifty-five miles distant, the natives heard reports which led them to suppose that a distant ship was in distress; boats put off for what proved to be a futile search. The explosions were heard not only all over the province of Macassar, nine hundred and sixty-nine miles from the scene of the eruption, but over a yet wider area. At a spot one thousand one hundred and sixteen miles distant--St. Lucia bay, Borneo--some natives heard the awful sound. It stirred their consciences, for, being guilty of murder, they fled, fearing that such sounds signified the approach of an avenging force. Again, in the island of Timor, one thousand three hundred and fifty-one miles away, the people were so alarmed that the government sent off a steamer to seek the cause of the disturbance. At that time, also, the shepherds on the Victoria plains, West Australia, thought they heard the firing of heavy artillery, at a spot one thousand seven hundred miles distant. At midnight, August 26th, the people of Daly Waters, South Australia, were aroused by what they thought was the blasting of a rock, a sound which lasted a few minutes. "The time and other circumstances show that here again was Krakatoa heard, this time at the enormous distance of two thousand and twenty-three miles." And yet there is trustworthy evidence that the sounds were heard over even greater distances. Thundering noises were heard at Diego Garcia, in the Chagos islands, two thousand two hundred and sixty-seven miles from Krakatoa. It was imagined that some vessel must be in distress, and search was accordingly made. But most remarkable of all, Mr. James Wallis, chief of police in Rodriguez, across the Indian ocean, and nearly three thousand miles away from Krakatoa, made a statement in which he said that "several times during the night of August 26th-27th reports were heard coming from the eastward like the distant roar of heavy guns. These reports continued at intervals of between three and four hours." Obviously, some time was needed for the sounds to make such a journey. On the basis of the known rate of velocity, they must have been heard at Rodriguez four hours after they started from their source. And yet, great as was the range of such vibrations, they could not be compared with that of the air-wave caused by the mighty outburst. This atmospheric wave started from Krakatoa at two minutes past ten on that eventful Monday morning, moving onward in an ever-widening circle, like that produced when a stone is thrown into smooth water. This ring-like wave traveled on at the rate of from six hundred and seventy-four to seven hundred and twenty-six miles an hour, and went around the world four, if not even seven times, as evidenced by the following facts: Batavia is nearly a hundred miles from the eruptive focus under review. There was connected with its gas-holder the usual pressure recorder. About thirteen minutes after the great outburst, this gauge showed a barometric disturbance equal to about four-tenths of an inch of mercury, that is, an extra air pressure of about a fifth of a pound on every square inch. The effects on the air of minor paroxysmal outbreaks are also recorded by this instrument; but barometers in the most distant places record the same disturbance. The great wave passed and repassed over the globe and no inhabitant was conscious of the fact. Barometers in the principal cities of the world automatically recorded this effect of the first great wave from Krakatoa to its antipodes in Central America, and also the return wave. The first four oscillations left their mark on upward of forty barograms, the fifth and sixth on several, and at Kew, England, the existence of a seventh was certainly established. At the same time that this immense aerial undulation started on its tour around the world, another wave but of awful destructiveness, a seismic sea-wave, started on a similar journey. There can hardly be a doubt that this so-called "tidal-wave" was synchronous with the greatest of the explosions. A wave from fifty to seventy-two feet high arose and swept with resistless fury upon the shores each side of the straits. The destruction to life and property will probably never be fully known. At least thirty-six thousand lives were lost; a great part of the district of North Bantam was destroyed; and the towns of Anjer, Merak, Tyringin, and neighboring villages were overwhelmed. A man-of-war, the Berouw, was cast upon the shore of Sumatra nearly two miles inland, and masses of coral from twenty to fifty tons in weight were torn from the bed of the sea and swept upon the shore. The formerly fertile and densely populated islands of Sibuku and Sibesi were entirely covered by a deposit of dry mud several yards thick, and furrowed by deep crevasses. Of the inhabitants all perished to a man. Three islands, Steers, Calmeyer, and the islet east of Verlaten, completely disappeared and were covered by twelve or fourteen feet of water. Verlaten, formerly one mass of verdure, was uniformly covered with a layer of ashes about one hundred feet thick. A few days after this eruption some remarkable sky effects were observed in different parts of the world. Many of these effects were of extraordinary beauty. Accordingly scientific inquiry was made, and in due time there was collected and tabulated a list of places from whence these effects were seen, together with the dates of such occurrences. Eventually it was concluded that such optical phenomena had a common cause, and that it must be the dust of ultra-microscopic fineness at an enormous altitude. All the facts indicated that such a cloud started from the Sunda straits, and that the prodigious force of the Krakatoa eruption could at that time alone account for the presence of impalpable matter at such a height in the atmosphere. This cloud traveled at about double the speed of an express train, by way of the tropics of Cancer and of Capricorn. Carried by westerly-going winds, in three days it had crossed the Indian Ocean and was rapidly moving over Central Africa; two days later it was flying over the Atlantic; then, for two more days over Brazil, and then across the Pacific toward its birth-place. But the wind still carried this haze of fine particles onward, and again it went around the world within a fortnight. In November, the dust area had expanded so as to include North America and Europe. Here are a few facts culled from the report of the Royal Society of London. On the 28th, at Seychelles, the sun was seen as through a fog at sunset, and there was a lurid glare all over the sky. At the island of Rodriguez, on that day, "a strange, red, threatening sky was seen at sunset." At Mauritius (28th), there is the record "Crimson dawn, sun red after rising, gorgeous sunset, first of the afterglows; sky and clouds yellow and red up to the zenith." 28th and 29th, Natal--"most vivid sunsets, also August 31st and September 5th, sky vivid red, fading into green and purple." On the last days of August and September 1st, the sun, as seen from South America, appeared blue, while at Panama on the 2nd and 3d of that month, the sun appeared green. "On the 2nd of September, Trinidad, Port of Spain--Sun looked like a blue ball, and after sunset the sky became so red that there was supposed to be a big fire." "On the 5th of September, Honolulu--Sun set green. Remarkable afterglow first seen. Secondary glow lasted till 7:45 P. M., gold, green and crimson colors. Corona constantly seen from September 5th to December 15th. Misty rippled surface of haze." It remains to be said that when this now famous island of Krakatoa was visited shortly after the great eruption, wonderful changes were noted. The whole northern and lower portion of the island had vanished, except an isolated pitchstone rock, ten yards square, and projecting out of the ocean with deep water all around it. What a tremendous work of evisceration this must have been is attested by the fact that where Krakatoa island, girt with luxuriant forests, once towered from three hundred to fourteen hundred feet above the sunlit waters, it is now, in some places, more than a thousand feet below them. There is no region more frequently visited by earthquakes than the beautiful lands in the Indian ocean, and nowhere has greater damage been done than on the beautiful island of Java. In former ages Sumatra and Java formed one single island, but in the year 1115, after a terrific earthquake, the isthmus which connected them, disappeared in the waves with all its forests and fertile fields. These two islands have more than 200 volcanoes, half of which have never been explored, but it is known that whenever there has been an eruption of any one of them, one or the other of the two islands has been visited by an earthquake. Moreover, earthquakes are so frequent in the whole archipelago that the principal ones serve as dates to mark time or to refer to, just as in our own country is the case with any great historic event. A month rarely passes without the soil being shaken, and the disappearance of a village is of frequent occurrence. In 1822 the earthquake which accompanied the eruption of the Javanese volcano of Yalung-Yung, utterly destroyed 144 towns and villages. In 1772, when the Papand-Yung was in a state of furious eruption, the island of Java was violently agitated, and a tract of nearly twenty-five square leagues, which but the day before had been covered with flourishing villages and farms, was reduced to a heap of ruins. In 1815 an earthquake, accompanied by an eruption of the volcano of Timboro, in the island of Sumatra, destroyed more than 20,000 lives. It is rare even in this archipelago that there occurs a cataclysm so terrible as that of 1883. When the first eruption of Krakatoa occurred on August 25, it seemed that it was a signal to the other volcanoes of Java and Sumatra. By midday Maha-Meru, the greatest, if not the most active of the Javanese volcanoes, was belching forth flame continuously. The eruption soon extended to the Gunung-Guntus and other volcanoes, until a third of the forty-five craters in Java were either in full blast, or beginning to show signs of eruption. While these eruptions were going on, the sea was in a state of tremendous agitation. The clouds floating above the water were charged with electricity, and at one moment there were fifteen large water-spouts to be seen at the same time. Men, women and children fled in terror from their crumbling habitations, and filled the air with their cries of distress. Hundreds of them who had not time to escape were buried beneath the ruins. On Sunday evening the violence of the shocks and of the volcanic eruptions increased, and the island of Java seemed likely to be entirely submerged. Enormous waves dashed against the shore, and in some cases forced their way inland, while enormous crevices opened in the ground, threatening to engulf at one fell swoop all the inhabitants and their houses. Toward midnight there was a scene of horror passing the powers of imagination. A luminous cloud gathered above the chain of the Kandangs, which run along the southeastern coast of Java. This cloud increased in size each minute, until at last it came to form a sort of dome of a gray and blood-red color, which hung over the earth for a considerable distance. In proportion as this cloud grew, the eruptions gained fresh force, and the floods of lava poured down the mountain sides without ceasing, and spread into the valleys, where they swept all before them. On Monday morning, about two o'clock, the heavy cloud suddenly broke up, and finally disappeared, but when the sun rose it was found that a tract of country extending from Point Capucine to the south as far as Negery Passoerang, to the north and west, and covering an area of about fifty square miles, had entirely disappeared. There stood the previous day the villages of Negery, and Negery Babawang. Not one of the inhabitants had escaped. They and their villages had been swallowed up by the sea. CHAPTER XXX. OUR GREAT HAWAIIAN AND ALASKAN VOLCANOES. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Greatest Volcanoes in the World Are Under the American Flag--Huge Craters in Our Pacific Islands--Native Worship of the Gods of the Flaming Mountains--Eruptions of the Past--Heroic Defiance of Pele, the Goddess of Volcanoes, by a Brave Hawaiian Queen--The Spell of Superstition Broken--Volcanic Peaks in Alaska, Our Northern Territory--Aleutian Islands Report Eruptions.= Under the American flag we are ourselves the possessors of some of the greatest active volcanoes in the world, and the greatest of all craters, the latter extinct indeed, for many years, but with a latent power that no one could conceive should it once more begin activity. Hawaii, Paradise of the Pacific, raised by the fires of the very Inferno out of the depths of the ocean centuries ago, to become in recent years a smiling land of tropic beauty and an American island possession! Hawaii is the land of great volcanoes, sometimes slumbering and again pouring forth floods of molten fire to overwhelm the peaceful villages and arouse the superstitious fears of the natives. Alaska, too, is a region of great volcanic ranges and eruptive activity, the Aleutian islands being raised from the bed of the Pacific by the same natural forces. The Hawaiian islands occupy a central position in the North Pacific ocean, about 2,000 miles west of the California coast. The group includes eight inhabited islands, all of volcanic origin, and they are, substantially, naught but solid aggregations of fused, basaltic rock shot up from the earth's center, during outbursts of bye-gone ages, and cooled into mountains of stone here in the midst of the greatest body of water on the globe. In many localities, however, the accretions of centuries have so covered them with vegetable growths that their general appearance is not greatly different from that of other sections of the earth's surface. The largest of the group is Hawaii, and it includes nearly two-thirds of the total area. Here stand the highest mountains found on any island in the known world. Only a few peaks of the Alps are as high as Mauna Loa (Long mountain), which towers 13,675 feet above the level of the sea, and Mauna Kea (White mountain), the height of which is 13,805 feet. In east Maui stands Haleakala, with an elevation about equal to that of Mount Ætna. This extinct volcano enjoys the distinction of having the largest crater in the world, a monstrous pit, thirty miles in circumference and 2,000 feet deep. The vast, irregular floor contains more than a dozen subsidiary craters or great cones, some of them 750 feet high. At the Kaupo and Koolau gaps the lava is supposed to have burst through and made its way down the mountain sides. The cones are distinctly marked as one looks down upon them; and it is remarkable that from the summit the eye takes in the whole crater, and notes all its contents, diminished, of course, by their great distance. Not a tree, shrub, nor even a tuft of grass obstructs the view. The natives have no traditions of Haleakala in activity. There are signs of several lava flows, and one in particular is clearly much more recent than the others. The greatest point of interest in the islands is the great crater of Kilauea. It is nine miles in circumference and perhaps a thousand feet deep. Nowhere else within the knowledge of mankind is there a living crater to be compared with it. Moreover, there is no crater which can be entered and explored with ease and comparative safety save Kilauea alone. There have been a few narrow escapes, but no accidents, and it is needless to add that no description can give anyone an adequate idea of the incomparable splendor of the scene. It is, indeed, a "bottomless pit," bounded on all sides by precipitous rocks. The entrance is effected by a series of steps, and below these by a scramble over lava and rock debris. The greater part of the crater is a mass of dead, though not cold, lava; and over this the journey is made to the farthest extremity of the pit, where it is necessary to ascend a tolerably steep hill of lava, which is the bank of the fiery lake. A step or two brings one close to the awful margin, and he looks down over smoking, frightful walls, three hundred feet or more, into a great boiling, bubbling, sizzling sea of fire. The tendency of the current, if it may be so called, is centripetal, though at times it varies, flowing to one side; while along the borders of the pit, waves of slumbering lava, apparently as unmovable as those over which the traveler has just crossed, lie in wrinkled folds and masses, heaped against the shore. If one watches those waves closely, however, he will presently observe what appears like a fiery, red serpent coming up out of the lake and creeping through and under them, like a chain of brilliant flame, its form lengthening as it goes, until it has circumscribed a large share of the entire basin. Then it begins to spread and flatten, as though the body had burst asunder and was dissolving back again, along its whole trail, into the fierce flood of turbulent fury whence it came. Soon the broad, thick mass of lava, thus surrounded, which seemed fixed and immovable, slowly drifts off from the shore to the center of the lake; reminding one of detached cakes of broken ice, such as are often seen in winter when the thaws come, or during spring freshets when the streams burst their encrusted chains. The force of this comparison is strengthened when those cakes reach the center, for there they go to pieces exactly after the manner of large pieces of ice, and turning upon their edges, disappear in the ravenous vortex below, which is forever swallowing up all that approaches it, giving nothing back in return. Two kinds of lava form on the face of the lake. One is stony, hard, and brittle; the other flexible and tough, similar to India-rubber. The flexible kind forms exclusively on one side of the basin and spreads over it like an immense, sombre blanket; and, as it floats down in slow procession to the central abyss, occasionally rises and falls with a flapping motion, by force of the generated gases underneath, like a sheet shaken in the wind. Occasionally, the fire forces its way through this covering and launches huge, sputtering fountains of red-hot liquid lava high into the air, with a noise that resembles distant bombs exploding; and again, multitudes of smaller founts burst into blossom all over the lake, presenting a spectacle of wild beauty across its entire surface. In Hawaiian mythology, Pele was the goddess of volcanoes, and she and her numerous family formed a class of deities by themselves. She with her six sisters, Hiiaka, her brother Kamohoalii, and others, were said to have emigrated from Kahiki (Samoa) in ancient times. They were said to have first lived at Moanalua in Oahu, then to have moved their residence to Kalaupapa, Molokai, then to Haleakala, and finally to have settled on Hawaii. Their headquarters were in the Halemaumau, in the crater of Kilauea, but they also caused the eruptions of Mauna Loa and Hualalai. In southern Hawaii Pele was feared more than any other deity, and no one dared to approach her abode without making her an offering of the ohelo-berries that grow in the neighborhood. Whenever an eruption took place, great quantities of hogs and other articles of property were thrown into the lava stream in order to appease her anger. In 1824, Kapiolani, the daughter of a great chief of Hilo, having been converted to Christianity by the missionaries, determined to break the spell of the native belief in Pele. In spite of the strenuous opposition of her friends and even of her husband, she made a journey of about 150 miles, mostly on foot, from Kealakekua to Hilo, visiting the great crater of Kilauea on her way, in order to defy the wrath of Pele, and to prove that no such being existed. On approaching the volcano, she met the priestess of Pele, who warned her not to go near the crater and predicted her death if she violated the tabus of the goddess. "Who are you?" demanded Kapiolani. "One in whom the goddess dwells," she replied. In answer to a pretended letter of Pele, Kapiolani quoted passages from the Bible until the priestess was silenced. Kapiolani then went forward to the crater, where Mr. Goodrich, one of the missionaries, met her. A hut was built for her on the eastern brink of the crater, and here she passed the night. The next morning she and her company of about eighty persons descended over 500 feet to the "Black Ledge." There, in full view of the grand and terrific action of the inner crater, she ate the berries consecrated to Pele, and threw stones into the burning lake, saying: "Jehovah is my God. He kindled these fires. I fear not Pele. If I perish by her anger, then you may fear Pele; but if I trust in Jehovah, and he preserve me when breaking her tabus, then you must fear and serve him alone...." It is needless to say that she was not harmed, and this act did much to destroy the superstitious dread in which the heathen goddess was held by the ignorant and credulous natives. The history of Hawaiian volcanic eruptions tells no such tales of horror as regards the loss of life and property as may be read in the accounts of other great volcanoes of the globe. This, however, is simply because the region is less populated, and their tremendous manifestations of power have lacked material to destroy. There have been fatal catastrophes, and ruin has been wrought which seems slight only in comparison with the greater disasters of a similar nature. In 1855 an eruption of Mauna Loa occurred. The lava flowed toward Hilo, and for several months, spreading through the dense forests which belt the mountain, crept slowly shorewards, threatening this beautiful portion of Hawaii with the fate of the Cities of the Plain. For five months the inhabitants watched the inundation, which came a little nearer every day. Should they flee or not? Would their beautiful homes become a waste of jagged lava and black sand, like the neighboring district of Puna, once as fair as Hilo? Such questions suggested themselves as they nightly watched the nearing glare, till the fiery waves met with obstacles which piled them up in hillocks eight miles from Hilo, and the suspense was over. Only gigantic causes can account for the gigantic phenomena of this lava-flow. The eruption traveled forty miles in a straight line, or sixty including sinuosities. It was from one to three miles broad, and from five to 200 feet deep, according to the contours of the mountain slopes over which it flowed. It lasted for thirteen months, pouring out a torrent of lava which covered nearly 300 square miles of land, and its volume was estimated at 38,000,000,000 cubic feet! In 1859 lava fountains 400 feet in height, and with a nearly equal diameter, played on the summit of Mauna Loa. This eruption ran fifty miles to the sea in eight days, but the flow lasted much longer, and added a new promontory to Hawaii. On March 27, 1868, a series of earthquakes began and became more startling from day to day, until their succession became so rapid that the island quivered like the lid of a boiling pot nearly all the time between the heavier shocks. The trembling was like that of a ship struck by a heavy wave. Late in the afternoon of April 2, the climax came. The crust of the earth rose and sank like the sea in a storm. Rocks were rent, mountains fell, buildings and their contents were shattered, trees swayed like reeds, animals ran about demented; men thought the judgment had come. The earth opened in thousands of places, the roads in Hilo cracked open; horses and their riders, and people afoot, were thrown violently to the ground. At Kilauea the shocks were as frequent as the ticking of a watch. In Kau, south of Hilo, 300 shocks were counted during the day. An avalanche of red earth, supposed to be lava, burst from the mountain side, throwing rocks high into the air, swallowing up houses, trees, men and animals, and traveling three miles in as many minutes, burying a hamlet with thirty-one inhabitants, and 500 head of cattle. The people of the valleys fled to the mountains, which themselves were splitting in all directions, and collecting on an elevated spot, with the earth reeling under them, they spent a night of terror. Looking toward the shore, they saw it sink, and at the same moment a wave, whose height was estimated at from forty to sixty feet, hurled itself upon the coast and receded five times, destroying whole villages and engulfing forever forty-six people who had lingered too near the shore. Still the earthquakes continued, and still the volcanoes gave no sign. People put their ears to the quivering ground and heard, or thought they heard, the surgings of the imprisoned lava sea rending its way among the ribs of the earth. Five days after the destructive earthquake of April 2, the ground south of Hilo burst open with a crash and a roar, which at once answered all questions concerning the volcano. The molten river, after traveling underground for twenty miles, emerged through a fissure two miles in length with a tremendous force and volume. Four huge fountains boiled up with terrific fury, throwing crimson lava and rocks weighing many tons from 500 to 1,000 feet. Mr. Whitney, of Honolulu, who was near the spot, says: "From these great fountains to the sea flowed a rapid stream of red lava, rolling, rushing, and tumbling like a swollen river, bearing along in its current large rocks that made the lava foam as it dashed down the precipice and through the valley into the sea, surging and roaring throughout its length like a cataract, with a power and fury perfectly indescribable. It was nothing else than a river of fire from 200 to 800 feet wide and twenty deep, with a speed varying from ten to twenty-five miles an hour. From the scene of these fire fountains, whose united length was about one mile, the river in its rush to the sea divided itself into four streams, between which it shut up men and beasts. Where it entered the sea it extended the coast-line half a mile, but this worthless accession to Hawaiian acreage was dearly purchased by the loss, for ages at least, of 4,000 acres of valuable agricultural land, and a much larger quantity of magnificent forest." The entire southeast shore of Hawaii sank from four to six feet, which involved the destruction of several hamlets and the beautiful fringe of cocoanut trees. Though the region was very thinly peopled, 100 lives were sacrificed in this week of horrors; and from the reeling mountains, the uplifted ocean, and the fiery inundation, the terrified survivors fled into Hilo, each with a tale of woe and loss. The number of shocks of earthquake counted was 2,000 in two weeks, an average of 140 a day; but on the other side of the island the number was incalculable. Since that time there have been several eruptions of these great Hawaiian volcanoes, but none so destructive to life and property. Only two years ago the crater of Mauna Loa was in eruption for some weeks, and travelers journeyed to the vicinity from all over the world to see the grand display of Nature's power in the fountains of lava and the blazing rivers flowing down the mountain side. The spectacle could be viewed perfectly at night from ships at sea, and from places of safety on shore. Across the North Pacific, from Kamschatka to Alaska, is a continuous chain of craters in the Aleutian islands, forming almost a bridge over the ocean, and from Alaska down the western coasts of the two Americas is a string of the mightiest volcanoes in existence. Iceland is a seething caldron under its eternal snows, and in a hundred places where some great, jagged cone of a volcano rises, seemingly dead and lifeless, only a fire-brand in the hand of nature may be needed to awaken it to a fury like that of which its vast lava beds, pinnacles, and craters are so eloquent. The world's record for the extent of an eruption probably belongs to the great volcano Skaptan Jokul, in Iceland. This eruption began on June 11, 1783, having been preceded by violent earthquakes. A torrent of lava welled up into the crater, overflowed it, and ran down the sides of the cone into the channel of the Skapta river, completely drying it up. The river had occupied a rocky gorge, from 400 to 600 feet deep, and averaging 200 feet wide. This gorge was filled, a deep lake was filled, and the rock, still at white heat, flowed on into subterranean caverns. Tremendous explosions followed, throwing boulders to enormous heights. A week after the first eruption another stream of lava followed the first, debouched over a precipice into the channel of another river, and finally, at the end of two years, the lava had spread over the plains below in great lakes twelve to fifteen miles wide and a hundred feet deep. Twenty villages were destroyed by fire, and out of 50,000 inhabitants nearly 9,000 perished, either from fire or from noxious vapors. The Skapta river branch of this lava stream was fifty miles long and in places twelve to fifteen miles wide; the other stream was forty miles long, seven miles broad, and the range of depth in each stream was from 100 to 600 feet. Professor Bischoff has called this, in quantity, the greatest eruption of the world, the lava, piled, having been estimated as of greater volume than is Mont Blanc. Regarding the volcanoes of the United States, Mount Shasta is one of the most interesting of them. It has an altitude of 14,350 feet, towering more than a mile above its nearest neighbor. Four thousand feet of its peak are above timber line, covered with glaciers, while the mountain's base is seventeen miles in diameter. Shasta is almost continually showing slight evidences of its internal fires. Another of the famous cones is that of Mount Hood, standing 11,225 feet, snow-capped, and regarded as an extinct volcano. As to the volcanic records of the great West, they may be read in the chains of mountains that stretch from Alaska 10,000 miles to Tierra del Fuego. In the giant geysers and hot springs of the Yellowstone Park are evidences of existing fires in the United States; while as to the extent of seismic disturbances of the past, the famous lava beds of Dakota, in which Captain Jack, the Modoc chief, held out against government troops till starved into submission, are volcanic areas full of mute testimony regarding nature's convulsions. How soon, if ever, some of these volcanic areas of the United States may burst forth into fresh activity, no one can predict. If the slumbering giants should arouse themselves and shake off the rock fetters which bind their strength, the results might be terrible to contemplate. Those who dwell in the shadow of such peaks as are believed to be extinct, become indifferent to such a possible threat after many years of immunity, but such a disaster as that of St. Pierre arouses thought and directs scrutiny once more upon the ancient volcanic peaks of the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevadas. CHAPTER XXXI. SOUTH AMERICAN CITIES DESTROYED. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Earthquakes Ravage the Coast Cities of Peru and the Neighboring Countries--Spanish Capitals in the New World Frequent Sufferers--Lima, Callao and Caracas Devastated--Tidal Waves Accompany the Earthquakes--Juan Fernandez Island Shaken--Fissures Engulf Men and Animals--Peculiar Effects Observed.= The discovery of America, in 1492, brought a great accession to the number of recorded earthquakes, as South and Central America and the islands near them have furnished almost innumerable instances of the phenomena. The first of the known earthquakes in the western hemisphere occurred in 1530, and the Gulf of Paria, with the adjacent coast of Cumana, in Venezuela, was the scene of the catastrophe. It was accompanied by a great sea-wave, the tide suddenly rising twenty-four feet, and then retiring. There were also opened in the earth several large fissures, which discharged black, fetid salt water and petroleum. A mountain near the neighboring Gulf of Caracas was split in twain, and has since remained in its cloven condition. The coast of Peru was visited by an earthquake in the year 1586, and again in 1687. On the first occasion the shock was accompanied by a great sea-wave eighty-four feet high, which inundated the country for two leagues inland. There was still another dreadful convulsion on this coast in 1746, when the sea twice retreated and dashed in again with a tremendous wave about eighty feet high, overwhelming Lima and four other seaports. A portion of the coast sank down, producing a new bay at Callao; and in several mountains in the neighborhood there were formed large fissures whence water and mud gushed forth. On May 24, 1751, the city of Concepcion, in Chili, was entirely swallowed up during an earthquake, and the sea rolled over its site. The ancient port was destroyed, and a new town was afterwards erected ten miles inland. The great sea-wave, which accompanied this earthquake, rolled in upon the shores of the island of Juan Fernandez, and overwhelmed a colony which had been recently established there. The coast near the ancient port of Concepcion was considerably raised on this occasion, and the high water mark now stands twenty-four feet below its former level. The coast of Caracas and the adjacent island of Trinidad were violently convulsed in 1776, and the whole city of Cumana was reduced to ruins. The shocks were continued for upwards of a year, and were at first repeated almost hourly. There were frequent eruptions of sulphurous water from fissures in the ground, and an island in the Orinoco disappeared. Rihamba must have stood, it would appear, almost immediately over the focus of the dreadful earthquake of February 4, 1797. This unfortunate city was situated in the district of Quito, not far from the base of the great volcano of Tunguragua. That mountain was probably the center of disturbance, and the shock was experienced with disastrous effects over a district of country extending about 120 miles from north to south and about sixty miles from east to west. Every town and village comprehended within this district was reduced to ruins. The shocks, however, were felt, though in a milder form, over a much larger area, extending upwards of 500 miles from north to south and more than 400 miles from east to west. At Riobamba the shocks, which began at about eight o'clock in the morning, are said to have been vertical. Some faint idea may be formed of the extreme violence of this motion from the fact mentioned by Humboldt that the dead bodies of some of the inhabitants who perished were tossed over a small river to the height of several hundred feet, and landed on an adjacent hill. Vertical movements, so powerful and so long continued, could not fail to produce an enormous displacement of the ground, and to be very destructive to all buildings which it sustained. The soil was rent, and, as it were, torn asunder and twisted in an extraordinary manner. Several of the fissures opened and closed again; many persons were engulfed in them; but a few saved themselves by simply stretching out their arms, so that, when the fissure closed, the upper parts of their bodies were left above the ground, thus admitting of their being easily extricated. In some instances whole cavalcades of horsemen and troops of laden mules disappeared in those chasms; while some few escaped by throwing themselves back from the edge of the cleft. The amount of simultaneous elevation and depression of the ground was in some cases as much as twelve feet; and several persons who were in the choir of one of the churches escaped by simply stepping on the pavement of the street, which was brought up to a level with the spot where they stood. Instances occurred of whole houses sinking bodily into the earth, till their roofs were fairly underground; but so little were the buildings thus engulfed injured, that their inhabitants were able still to live in them, and by the light of flambeaux to pass from room to room, the doors opening and shutting as easily as before. The people remained in them, subsisting on the provisions they had in store, for the space of two days, until they were extricated safe and sound. With the majority of the inhabitants, however, it fared otherwise. The loss of life in the city, and throughout the district most convulsed, was enormous, 40,000 persons altogether having perished. Of Riobamba itself the ruin was complete. When Humboldt took a plan of the place after the catastrophe, he could find nothing but heaps of stones eight or ten feet high; although the city had contained churches and convents, with many private houses several stories in height. The town of Quero was likewise entirely overthrown. At Tacunga the ruin was nearly as thorough, not a building having been left standing save an arch in the great square, and part of a neighboring house. The churches of St. Augustin, St. Domingo, and La Merced were at the moment thronged with people hearing mass. Not one escaped alive. All were buried, along with the objects of their worship, under the ruins of their consecrated buildings. In several parts of the town and its neighborhood there were opened larger fissures in the ground, whence quantities of water poured forth. The village of St. Philip, near Tacunga, containing a school in which upwards of forty children were assembled at the time, disappeared bodily in a chasm. A great many other villages with their inhabitants were destroyed, by being either overthrown or engulfed. Even at Quito, although so distant from the centre of the disturbance, a great deal of damage was done to the churches and other public buildings by the shock, several being wholly ruined. The private houses and other buildings of moderate height, however, were spared. The superstitious inhabitants of this fair city, having been greatly alarmed by an unwonted display of luminous meteors, had devoted the previous day to carrying in procession through their streets the graven images and relics of their saints, in the vain hope of appeasing divine wrath. They were doomed to learn by experience that these idols were powerless to protect even the consecrated edifices dedicated to their honor, and in which they were enshrined. The Bay of Caracas was the scene of a dreadful earthquake in 1812. The city of Caracas was totally destroyed, and ten thousand of its inhabitants were buried beneath its ruins. The shock was most severe in the northern part of the town, nearest to the mountain of La Silla, which rises like a vast dome, with steep cliffs in the direction of the sea. The churches of the Trinity and Alta Gracia, the latter of which was more than one hundred and fifty feet high, and the nave of which was supported by pillars twelve or fifteen feet thick, were reduced to a mass of ruins not more than five or six feet high. The subsidence of the ruins was such that scarcely a vestige of pillar or column could be found. The barracks of San Carlos disappeared altogether, and a regiment of infantry, under arms to take part in a procession, was swallowed up with the exception of a few men. Nine-tenths of the town was annihilated. The houses which had not collapsed were cracked to such an extent that their occupants did not dare to re-enter them. To the estimate of 10,000 victims caused by the earthquake, must be added the many who succumbed, weeks and months afterward, for want of food and relief. The night of Holy Thursday to Good Friday presented the most lamentable spectacle of desolation and woe which can well be conceived. The thick layer of dust, which, ascending from the ruins, obscured the air like mist, had again settled on the ground; the earthquake shocks had ceased, and the night was calm and clear. A nearly full moon lighted up the scene, and the aspect of the sky was in striking contrast with that of a land strewn with corpses and ruins. Mothers might be seen running about with their children whom they were vainly trying to recall to life. Distracted families were searching for a brother, a husband, or some other relative, whose fate was unknown to them, but who, they hoped, might be discovered in the crowd. The injured lying half buried beneath the ruins were making piteous appeals for help, and over 2,000 were extricated. Never did human kindness reveal itself in a more touching and ingenious fashion than in the efforts made to relieve the sufferers whose cries were so heart-breaking to hear. There were no tools to clear away the rubbish, and the work of relief had to be performed with the bare hands. The injured and the sick who had escaped from the hospitals were carried to the banks of the river Guayra, where their only shelter was the foliage of the trees. The beds, the lint for binding up wounds, the surgical instruments, the medicines and all the objects of immediate necessity were buried beneath the ruins, and for the first few days there was a scarcity of everything, even of food. Water was also very scarce inside the town, as the shock had broken up the conduits of the fountains and the upheaval had blocked the springs that fed them. In order to get water it was necessary to descend to the river Guayra, which had risen to a great height, and there were very few vessels left to get it in. It was necessary, also, to dispose of the dead with all dispatch, and in the impossibility of giving decent burial to so many thousand corpses, detachments of men were told off to burn them. Funeral pyres were erected between the heaps of ruins, and the ceremony lasted several days. The fierce shocks which had in less than a minute occasioned such great disasters could not be expected to have confined their destructive effects to one narrow zone of the continent, and these extended to a great part of Venezuela, all along the coast and specially among the mountains inland. The towns of La Guayra, Mayquetia, Antimano, Baruta, La Vega, San Felipe, and Merida were entirely destroyed, the number of deaths exceeding 5,000 at La Guayra and San Felipe. In November, 1822, the coast of Chile began to be violently convulsed by a succession of shocks, the first of which was of great severity. The heavings of the earth were quite perceptible to the eye. The sea rose and fell to a great extent in the harbor of Valparaiso, and the ships appeared as if they were first rapidly forced through the water, and then struck on the ground. The town of Valparaiso and several others were completely overthrown. Sounds like those produced by the escape of steam accompanied this earthquake, and it was felt throughout a distance of 1,200 miles along the coast, a portion of which--extending to about 100 miles--was permanently raised to a height varying from two to four feet. At Quintero the elevation was four feet, and at Valparaiso three feet; but about a mile inland from the latter place the elevation was as much as six or seven feet; while the whole surface raised is estimated at nearly 100,000 square miles. The year 1868 proved very disastrous in South America. On the 13th of August of that year a series of shocks commenced which were felt over a large extent of country, stretching from Ibarra on the northwestern border of Ecuador to Cabija on the coast of Bolivia, a distance of about 1,400 miles. The effects were most severe about the southern portion of the Peruvian coast, where the towns of Iquique, Arica, Tacna, Port Ilay, Arequipa, Pisco, and several others were destroyed, and in the northern parts of Ecuador, where the town of Ibarra was overthrown, burying nearly the whole of the inhabitants under its ruins. A small town in the same quarter, named Cotocachi, was engulfed, and its site is now occupied by a lake. The total loss of lives is estimated at upward of 20,000. On May 15, 1875, earthquake shocks of a serious character were experienced over large areas of Chile. At Valparaiso the shock lasted for forty-two seconds, with a vertical motion, so that the ground danced under foot. Two churches and many buildings were damaged. Another earthquake occurred at Valparaiso, July 8, when there were six shocks in succession. The inhabitants took refuge in the streets, several people were killed, and much damage was done to property. About the middle of May, 1875, a most disastrous earthquake visited New Granada, the region of its influence extending over an area 500 miles in width. It was first felt perceptibly at Bogota; thence it traveled north, gaining intensity as it went, until it reached the southeast boundary line of Magdalena, where its work of destruction began. It traveled along the line of the Andes, destroying, in whole or in part, the cities of Cucuta, San Antonio, and Santiago, and causing the death of about 16,000 persons. On the evening of May 17, a strange rumbling sound was heard beneath the ground, but no shock was felt. This premonitory symptom was followed on the morning of the 18th by a terrific shock. "It suddenly shook down the walls of houses, tumbled down churches, and the principal buildings, burying the citizens in the ruins." Another shock completed the work of destruction, and shocks at intervals occurred for two days. "To add to the horrors of the calamity, the Lobotera volcano, in front of Santiago, suddenly began to shoot out lava in immense quantities in the form of incandescent balls of fire, which poured into the city and set fire to many buildings." On the evening of April 12, 1878, a severe earthquake occurred in Venezuela which destroyed a considerable portion of the town of Cua. Immediately preceding the shock the sky was clear and the moon in perfect brightness. It lasted only two seconds, but in that time the center of the town, which was built on a slight elevation, was laid in ruins. The soil burst at several places, giving issue to water strongly impregnated with poisonous substances. The Isthmus of Panama was the scene of a succession of earthquakes in September, 1882, which, although the loss of life was small, were exceedingly destructive to property. On the morning of September 7, the inhabitants of Panama were roused from their beds by the occurrence of one of the longest and most severe shocks ever experienced in that earthquake-vexed region. Preceded by a hollow rumbling noise, the first shock lasted nearly thirty seconds, during which it did great damage to buildings. It was severely felt on board ship, passengers declaring that the vessel seemed as if it were lifted bodily from the sea and then allowed to fall back. Its effects on the Panama railway were very marked. The stone abutments of several of the bridges were cracked, and the earthworks sank in half a dozen places. In other places the rails were curved as if they had been intentionally bent. Other shocks less severe followed the first, until at 11:30, another sharp shock alarmed the whole city, and drove the inhabitants at once from their houses into the squares. This earthquake was also severely felt at Colon, where it lasted for fully a minute, moving many buildings from their foundations, and creating intense alarm. A deep fissure, 400 yards in length, was opened in the earth. To what extent this tendency to earthquake shocks threatens the proposed Panama Canal, it is difficult to say. Beyond question a great earthquake would do immense damage to such a channel and its lock gates, but the advocates of the Panama route argue with apparent truth that even so it has a great advantage over the Nicaragua route. In the latter, volcanoes are numerous, and eruptions not infrequent. Lake Nicaragua itself, through which the canal route passes, has in it several islands which are but volcanic peaks raised above the water, and the whole region is subject to disturbances from the interior of the earth. CHAPTER XXXII. EARTHQUAKES AND VOLCANOES IN CENTRAL AMERICA AND MEXICO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =A Region Frequently Disturbed by Subterranean Forces--Guatemala a Fated City--A Lake Eruption in Honduras Described by a Great Painter--City of San Jose Destroyed--Inhabitants Leave the Vicinity to Wander as Beggars--Disturbances on the Route of the Proposed Nicaraguan Canal--San Salvador is Shaken--Mexican Cities Suffer.= Central America is continually being disturbed by subterranean forces. Around the deep bays of this vast and splendid region, upon the shores laved by the waters of the Pacific, and also about the large inland lakes, rise, like an army of giants, a number of lofty volcanoes. Whilst most of them are wrapped in slumber which has lasted for centuries, others occasionally roar and groan as if in order to keep themselves awake, and to watch well over their sleeping companions. The fire which consumes their entrails extends far beneath the soil, and often causes it to tremble. Three times within thirty years the town of Guatemala has been destroyed by earthquakes, and there is not in all Guatemala, Honduras, or any other state of Central America a single coast which has not been visited by one or more violent subterranean shocks. When the earthquakes occur in remote regions, far from the habitations of men, in the midst of virgin forests, or in the vicinity of large lakes, they give rise to very singular phenomena. In 1856, a painter, entrusted with an official mission in Honduras, witnessed an event of this kind, and though he sought to conceal his identity, he was generally believed to be Herr Heine, the well-known painter and explorer of Central America. Upon the day in question he was sailing across a large lagoon named Criba, some twenty miles broad, the weather being calm, and the sun shining brilliantly. After having secured his boat to the shore, he had landed at the entrance to a beautiful little village commanding a view of the plain dotted with houses and with stately trees. Upon the opposite shore extended the forest, with the sea in the far distance. The chief inhabitant of the village having invited Herr Heine and his companions to come in and rest, the whole party were seated beneath the veranda of the house, engaged in pleasant conversation. Suddenly, a loud noise was heard in the forest. The birds flew off in terror; the cocoanut palms bent and writhed as if in panic, and large branches of them snapped off; shrubs were torn up from the ground and carried across the lake. All this was the effect of a whirlwind traveling through space from south to north. The whole affair lasted only a few seconds, and calm was re-established in Nature as suddenly as it had been disturbed. Conversation, of course, then turned upon the phenomenon just witnessed, and the natives maintained that atmospheric disturbances of this kind are the forerunners of severe earthquakes or violent volcanic eruptions; some of them declaring that a disaster of this character had doubtless just occurred somewhere. The host, an elderly man much esteemed in the district for his knowledge, went on to describe many such catastrophes which he himself had witnessed. He spoke more particularly of the eruption of the volcano of Coseguina, in Nicaragua, which had been preceded by a fierce whirlwind, which had been so strong that it carried pieces of rock and ashes to a distance of nearly a mile. The captain of a large sailing vessel had told him that upon the following day, when more than 100 miles from the coast, he had found the sea covered with pumice-stone, and had experienced great difficulty in threading a way for his vessel through these blocks of volcanic stone which were floating upon the surface like icebergs. Everyone, including the European, had his story to tell, and while the party were still in conversation, a terrible noise like thunder was heard, and the earth began to quake. At first the shocks were felt to be rising upward, but after a few seconds they became transformed into undulations traveling northward, just as the sudden whirlwind had done. The soil undulated like the surface of a stormy sea, and the trees were rocked to and fro so violently that the topmost branches of the palms came in contact with the ground and snapped off. The traveler and his friends, believing themselves to be out of danger, were able to follow with ever-increasing interest the rapid phases of the disturbance, when a strange and alarming phenomenon attracted their notice. "Our attention was called," relates Herr Heine, "to a terrible commotion in the direction of the lagoon, but I cannot express what I then saw, I did not know if I was awake or a prey to a nightmare; whether I was in the world of reality or in the world of spirits." The water of the lagoon disappeared as if it were engulfed in a sort of a subterranean cavern, or rather, it turned over upon itself, so that from the shore to the center of the lake the bed was quite empty. But in a few moments the water reappeared, and mounting toward the center of the enormous basin, it formed an immense column, which, roaring and flecked with foam, reached so high that it intercepted the sunlight. Suddenly, the column of water collapsed with a noise as of thunder, and the foaming waves dashed toward the shore. Herr Heine and his companions would have perished if they had not been standing upon elevated ground, and, as it was, they could not restrain an exclamation of horror as they saw this mass of water, like solid rock, rolling along the plain, carrying trees, large stones, and whole fields before it. "I saw all that without at first thinking of our own fate," recites Herr Heine, "and I think that the greatness of the peril which threatened the whole country made me indifferent as to the fate of myself and my companions. In any case, when I saw my familiar companion, Carib, nearly carried off, I remained indifferent, and it was only after two others of my followers, Manuel and Michel, had had very narrow escapes, that I succeeded in shaking off my apathy, and going to their assistance." When the travelers, whose boat had disappeared, started for the town of San Jose, whence they had come in the morning, they were able to judge for themselves as to the extent of the disaster. All the country which they had passed through had been laid waste. Large masses of rock had been detached from the mountains, and obstructed the course of streams which had overflown their banks or changed their course. Whole villages had been destroyed, and in all directions arose the lamentations of the unfortunate inhabitants. The region over which the waters of the lagoon had been carried was no longer to be identified as the same, covered as it was with debris of every kind, and with a thick layer of sand and rock. When they started in the morning, the travelers had left San Jose prosperous and full of cheerful stir, but when they returned at night they found it in ruins and almost deserted. The earthquake had overthrown all the houses with the exception of about twenty, and these were very badly damaged. All the buildings in solid masonry, including the massive church, were heaps of ruins; and most of the inhabitants had perished. The Indians who were prowling in the outskirts of the town took advantage of the catastrophe to carry off all they could from the houses which were still standing and from the ruins of the others. The agility with which these Indians move about among the ruins and escape the falling walls is something wonderful, and they never hesitate to risk their lives for a very trifle. In Central America disasters of this kind invariably cause many of the inhabitants to emigrate. Men, women, and children form themselves into groups, and travel through the country. They set the drama in which they have taken part to music, and they journey from one village to another, singing the rude verses they have composed, and then sending the hat around. After they have visited the whole of their own country, they cross into the neighboring state, where they are also assured of a profitable tour. Thus for more than a year Honduras and Nicaragua were visited by bands of homeless victims, chanting in monotone the eruption of Lake Criba and the terrible catastrophe of San Jose. The western half of Nicaragua, including the basin in which lie Lakes Managua and Nicaragua, is a volcanic center, including some of the largest of the twenty-five active cones and craters of Central America. Stretching from northwest to southeast, the string of craters beginning with Coseguina and Viejo reaches well into the lake basin. At the northern end of Lake Managua stands Momotombo, while from the lake itself rises Momotombito. On the northwestern shore of Lake Nicaragua lies the volcano Mombocho, while between the two lakes is the volcano Masaya. Near the center of Lake Nicaragua are the two volcanoes of Madera and Omotepe. Since 1835 there have been six eruptions in Nicaragua, one of them, in 1883, being an outbreak in the crater of Omotepe in Lake Nicaragua, the route of the proposed Nicaraguan canal. The Coseguina eruption, the uproar of which was heard more than 1,000 miles away, threw the headland upon which it stands 787 feet out into the sea, and rained ashes and pumice-stone over an area estimated at 1,200,000 square miles. Like all Spanish towns in America, San Salvador, capital of the republic of that name, covers a large area in proportion to its population. The houses are low, none of them having more than one story, while the walls are very thick in order to be capable of resisting earthquakes. Inside each house of the better class is a courtyard, planted with trees, generally having a fountain in the center. It was to these spacious courtyards that, in 1854, many of the inhabitants of San Salvador owed their lives, as they found in them a refuge from their falling houses. On the night of April 16, the city was reduced to a heap of ruins, only a single public building and very few private ones having been left standing. Nearly 5,000 of the inhabitants were buried in the ruins. There was a premonitory shock before the great one, and many took heed of its warning and escaped to places of safety, otherwise the loss of life would have been even more terrible. Guatemala was visited with a series of almost daily tremors from the middle of April to the middle of June, 1870. The most severe shock was on the 12th of June and was sufficiently powerful to overthrow many buildings. The republic of San Salvador was again visited by a great earthquake in October, 1878. Many towns, such as Incuapa, Guadeloupe, and Santiago de Marie, were almost totally destroyed, and many lives were lost. The shock causing the most damage had at first a kind of oscillatory movement lasting over forty seconds and ending in a general upheaval of the earth; the result being that solid walls, arches, and strongly braced roofs, were broken and severed like pipe-stems. In the vicinity of Incuapa a number of villages disappeared entirely. The mountainous region of Mexico is highly volcanic, and earthquakes are of frequent occurrence. Very few of them, however, in the historic period, have occasioned great loss of either life or property. One of the most disastrous occurred in January, 1835, when the town of Acapulco was totally destroyed. In April, ten years later, the City of Mexico was much shaken. Considerable damage was done to buildings, especially to churches and other edifices of large size, several of which were reduced to ruins. The loss of life was limited to less than twenty. Probably the most serious convulsion the country has experienced was in 1858, when shocks were felt over almost all the republic, causing many deaths, and destroying much property. Over 100 people lost their lives on May 11 and 12, 1870, when the city of Oaxaca was visited by a succession of severe shocks, which tore down many buildings. Since this time Mexico has been free from convulsions of any great magnitude, although slight earth tremors are of frequent occurrence in different parts of the country. Mexican volcanoes, likewise, are famous for their size, though of late years no great eruptions have occurred. There are many isolated peaks, all of volcanic origin, of which Orizaba, with a height of 18,314 feet, and Popocatepetl, 17,300 feet, the most renowned, are both active. The latter has one crater 5,000 feet in diameter. From the summit the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico are both visible. This crater has not erupted for many years, but in former times it threw its ashes a distance of sixty miles. One can descend into its depths fully 1,000 feet, and view its sulphur walls, hung with stalactites of ice, or see its columns of vapor spouting here and there through crevices that extend down into the interior of the earth. In the ancient Aztec and Toltec mythology of Mexico, this was the Hell of Masaya. Nowadays great sulphur mines on the peak bring profit to the owners, and ice is quarried from the same vicinity to supply the neighboring city of Puebla. CHAPTER XXXIII. CHARLESTON, GALVESTON, JOHNSTOWN--OUR AMERICAN DISASTERS. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Earthquake Shock in South Carolina--Many Lives Lost in the Riven City--Flames Follow the Convulsion--Galveston Smitten by Tidal Wave and Hurricane--Thousands Die in Flood and Shattered Buildings--The Gulf Coast Desolated--Johnstown, Pennsylvania, Swept by Water from a Bursting Reservoir--Scenes of Horror--Earthquakes on the California Coast.= Our own land has experienced very few great convulsions of nature. True, there have been frequent earthshocks in California, and all along the Western coast, and occasionally slight tremors have been felt in other sections, but the damage done to life and property has been in almost every instance comparatively light. The only really great disaster of this class that has been recorded in the United States since the white man first set his foot upon the soil, occurred in 1886, when the partial destruction of Charleston, South Carolina, was accomplished by earthquake and fire. On the morning of August 28, a slight shock was felt throughout North and South Carolina, and in portions of Georgia. It was evidently a warning of the calamity to follow, but naturally was not so recognized, and no particular attention was paid to it. But on the night of August 31, at about ten o'clock, the city was rent asunder by a great shock which swept over it, carrying death and destruction in its path. During the night there were ten distinct shocks, but they were only the subsiding of the earth-waves. The disaster was wrought by the first. Its force may be inferred from the fact that the whole area of the country between the Atlantic coast and the Mississippi river, and as far to the north as Milwaukee, felt its power to a greater or lesser degree. Charleston, however, was the special victim of this elemental destruction. The city was in ruins, two-thirds of its houses were uninhabitable. Railroads and telegraph lines were torn up and destroyed. Fires burst forth in different sections of the city, adding to the horror of the panic-stricken people. Forty lives were lost, over 100 seriously wounded were reported, and property valued at nearly $5,000,000 was destroyed. A writer in the Charleston News and Courier gave a vivid account of the catastrophe. Extracts from his story follow: "It is not given to many men to look in the face of the destroyer and yet live; but it is little to say that the group of strong men who shared the experiences of that awful night will carry with them the recollection of it to their dying day. None expected to escape. A sudden rush was simultaneously made for the open air, but before the door was reached all reeled together to the tottering wall and stopped, feeling that hope was vain; that it was only a question of death within the building or without, to be buried by the sinking roof or crushed by the toppling walls. Then the uproar slowly died away in seeming distance. "The earth was still, and O, the blessed relief of that stillness! But how rudely the silence was broken! As we dashed down the stairway and out into the street, already on every side arose the shrieks, the cries of pain and fear, the prayers and wailings of terrified women and children, commingling with the hoarse shouts of excited men. Out in the street the air was filled with a whitish cloud of dry, stifling dust, through which the gaslights flickered dimly. On every side were hurrying forms of men and women, bareheaded, partly dressed, many of whom were crazed with fear and excitement. Here a woman is supported, half fainting, in the arms of her husband, who vainly tries to soothe her while he carries her to the open space at the street corner, where present safety seems assured; there a woman lies on the pavement with upturned face and outstretched limbs, and the crowd passes her by, not pausing to see whether she be alive or dead. "A sudden light flares through a window overlooking the street, it becomes momentarily brighter, and the cry of fire resounds from the multitude. A rush is made toward the spot. A man is seen through the flames trying to escape. But at this moment, somewhere--out at sea, overhead, deep in the ground--is heard again the low, ominous roll which is already too well known to be mistaken. It grows louder and nearer, like the growl of a wild beast swiftly approaching his prey. All is forgotten in the frenzied rush for the open space, where alone there is hope of security, faint though it be. "The tall buildings on either hand blot out the skies and stars and seem to overhang every foot of ground between them; their shattered cornices and coping, the tops of their frowning walls, appear piled from both sides to the center of the street. It seems that a touch would now send the shattered masses left standing, down upon the people below, who look up to them and shrink together as the tremor of the earthquake again passes under them, and the mysterious reverberations swell and roll along, like some infernal drumbeat summoning them to die. It passes away, and again is experienced the blessed feeling of deliverance from impending calamity, which it may well be believed evokes a mute but earnest offering of mingled prayer and thanksgiving from every heart in the throng." One of the most awful tragedies of modern times visited Galveston, Texas, on Saturday, September 8, 1900. A tempest, so terrible that no words can adequately describe its intensity, and a flood which swept over the city like a raging sea, left death and ruin behind it. Sixty-seven blocks in a thickly populated section of the city were devastated, and not a house withstood the storm. The few that might have held together if dependent upon their own construction and foundations, were buried beneath the stream of buildings and wreckage that rushed west from the Gulf of Mexico, demolishing hundreds of homes and carrying the unfortunate inmates to their death. A terrific wind, which attained a velocity of from 100 to 120 miles an hour, blew the debris inland and piled it in a hill ranging from ten to twenty feet high. Beneath this long ridge many hundred men, women, and children were buried, and cattle, horses and dogs, and other animals, were piled together in one confused mass. The principal work of destruction was completed in six short hours, beginning at three o'clock in the afternoon and ending at nine o'clock the same night. In that brief time the accumulations of many a life time were swept away, thousands of lives went out, and the dismal Sunday morning following the catastrophe found a stricken population paralyzed and helpless. Every hour the situation changed for the worse, and the mind became dazed midst the gruesome scenes. The bodies of human beings, the carcasses of animals, were strewn on every hand. The bay was filled with them. Like jelly-fish, the corpses were swept with the changing tide. Here a face protruded above the water; there the foot of a child; here the long, silken tresses of a young girl; there a tiny hand, and just beneath the glassy surface of the water full outlines of bodies might be seen. Such scenes drove men and women to desperation and insanity. A number sought freedom in the death which they fought so stoutly. A young girl, who survived to find mother, father and sisters dead, crept far out on the wreckage and threw herself into the bay. During the storm and afterward a great deal of looting was done. Many stores had been closed, their owners leaving to look after their families. The wind forced in the windows, and left the goods prey for the marauders. Ghouls stripped the dead bodies of jewelry and articles of value. Captain Rafferty, commanding the United States troops in the city, was asked for aid, and he sent seventy men, the remnant of a battery of artillery, to do police duty. Three regiments were sent from Houston and the city was placed under martial law. Hundreds of desperate men roamed the streets, crazed with liquor, which many had drunk because nothing else could be obtained with which to quench their thirst. Numberless bottles and boxes of intoxicating beverages were scattered about and easy to obtain. Robbery and rioting continued during the night, and as the town was in darkness, the effort of the authorities to control the lawless element was not entirely successful. Big bonfires were built at various places from heaps of rubbish to enable troops the better to see where watchfulness was needed. Reports said that more than 100 looters and vandals were slain in the city and along the island beach. The most rigid enforcement of martial law was not able to suppress robbery entirely. Thirty-three negroes, with effects taken from dead bodies, were tried by court-martial. They were convicted and ordered to be shot. One negro had twenty-three human fingers with rings on them in his pocket. An eye-witness of the awful horror said: "I was going to take the train at midnight, and was at the station when the worst of the storm came up. There were 150 people in the depot, and we all remained there for nine hours. The back part of the building blew in Sunday morning and I returned to the Tremont house. The streets were literally filled with dead and dying people. The Sisters' Orphan Hospital was a terrible scene. I saw there over ninety dead children and eleven dead Sisters. We took the steamer Allen Charlotte across the bay, up Buffalo bay, over to Houston in the morning, and I saw fully fifty dead bodies floating in the water. I saw one dray with sixty-four dead bodies being drawn by four horses to the wharves, where the bodies were unloaded on a tug and taken out in the gulf for burial." Mr. Wortham, ex-secretary of state, after an inspection of the scene, made this statement: "The situation at Galveston beggars description. Fully seventy-five per cent. of the business portion of the town is wrecked, and the same percentage of damage is to be found in the residence district. Along the wharf front great ocean steamers have bodily dumped themselves on the big piers, and lie there, great masses of iron and wood that even fire cannot totally destroy. The great warehouses along the water front are smashed in on one side, unroofed and gutted throughout their length; their contents either piled in heaps or along the streets. Small tugs and sailboats have jammed themselves into buildings, where they were landed by the incoming waves and left by the receding waters. "Houses are packed and jammed in great confusing masses in all the streets. Great piles of human bodies, dead animals, rotting vegetation, household furniture, and fragments of the houses themselves, are piled in confused heaps right in the main streets of the city. Along the Gulf front human bodies are floating around like cordwood." As time passed on the terrible truth was pressed home on the minds of the people that the mortality by the storm had possibly reached 8,000, or nearly one-fourth of the entire population. The exact number will never be known, and no list of the dead could be accurately made out, for the terrible waters carried to sea and washed on distant and lonely shores many of the bodies. The unknown dead of the Galveston horror will forever far surpass the number of those who are known to have perished in that awful night, when the tempest raged and the storm was on the sea, piling the waters to unprecedented heights on Galveston island. One of the great catastrophes of the century in the United States was the flood that devastated the Conemaugh valley in Pennsylvania, on May 31, 1889. Though the amount of property destroyed was over $10,000,000 worth, this was the slightest element of loss. That which makes the Johnstown flood so exceptional is the terrible fact that it swept away half as many lives as did the battle of Gettysburg, one of the bloodiest of the Civil War, and transformed a rich and prosperous valley for more than twenty miles into a vast charnel-house. Johnstown is located on the Pennsylvania Railroad, seventy-eight miles southeast of Pittsburg, and was at the time mentioned a city of about 28,000 inhabitants. It was the most important of the chain of boroughs annihilated; and as such has given the popular title by which the disaster is known. The Conemaugh valley has long been famous for the beauty of its scenery. Lying on the lower western slope of the Alleghany mountains, the valley, enclosed between lofty hills, resembles in a general way an open curved hook, running from South Fork, where the inundation first made itself felt, in a southwesterly direction to Johnstown, and thence sixteen miles northwest to New Florence, where the more terrible effects of the flood ended, though its devastation did not entirely cease at that point. A lateral valley extends about six miles from South Fork in a southeasterly direction, at the head of which was located the Conemaugh Lake reservoir, owned and used as a summer resort by the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club of Pittsburg. In altitude this lake was about 275 feet above the Johnstown level, and it was about two and one-half miles long and one and one-half miles in its greatest width. In many places it was 100 feet deep, and it held a larger volume of water than any other reservoir in the United States. The dam that restrained the waters was nearly 1,000 feet in length, 110 feet in height, ninety feet thick at the base, and twenty-five feet wide at the top, which was used as a driveway. For ten years or more this dam was believed to be a standing menace to the Conemaugh valley in times of freshet, though fully equal to all ordinary emergencies. With a dam which was admitted to be structurally weak and with insufficient means of discharging a surplus volume, it was feared that it was only a matter of time before such a reservoir, situated in a region notorious for its freshets, would yield to the enormous pressure and send down its resistless waters like an avalanche to devastate the valley. This is precisely what it did do. A break came at three o'clock in the afternoon of May 31, caused by protracted rains, which raised the level of the lake. Men were at once put to work to open a sluice-way to ease the pressure, but all attempts were in vain. Two hours before the break came, the threatened danger had been reported in Johnstown, but little attention was paid to it, on the ground that similar alarms had previously proved ill-founded. There is no question that ample warning was given and that all the people in the valley could have escaped had they acted promptly. When the center of the dam yielded at three o'clock, it did so in a break of 300 feet wide. Trees and rocks were hurled high in the air, and the vast, boiling flood rushed down the ravine like an arrow from a bow. It took one hour to empty the reservoir. In less than five minutes the flood reached South Fork, and thence, changing the direction of its rush, swept through the valley of the Conemaugh. With the procession of the deluge, trees, logs, debris of buildings, rocks, railroad iron, and the indescribable mass of drift were more and more compacted for battering power; and what the advance bore of the flood spared, the mass in the rear, made up of countless battering rams, destroyed. The distance from Conemaugh lake to Johnstown, something over, eighteen miles, was traversed in about seven minutes; and here the loss of life and the damage to property was simply appalling. Survivors who passed through the experience safely declare its horrors to have been far beyond the power of words to narrate. After the most thorough possible CHAPTER XXXIV. ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE, ANNIHILATED BY A VOLCANO. BY TRUMBULL WHITE. =Fifty Thousand Men, Women and Children Slain in an Instant--The Island Capital Obliterated--Molten Fire and Suffocating Gases Rob Multitudes of Life--Death Reigns in the Streets of the Stricken City--The Governor and Foreign Consuls Die at their Posts of Duty--Burst of Flame from Mount Pelee Completes the Ruin--No Escape for the Hapless Residents in the Fated Town--Scenes of Suffering Described--St. Pierre the Pompeii of Today--Desolation over All--Few Left to Tell the Tale of the Morning of Disaster.= Behold a peaceful city in the Caribbean sea, beautiful with the luxuriant vegetation of a tropic isle, happy as the carefree dwellers in such a spot may well be, at ease with the comforts of climate and the natural products which make severe labor unnecessary in these sea-girt colonies. Rising from the water front to the hillsides that lead back toward the slopes of Mount Pelee, St. Pierre, metropolis of the French island of Martinique, sits in picturesque languor, the blue waves of the Caribbean murmuring on the beaches, the verdure-clad ridges of the mountain range forming a background of greenery for the charming picture. Palms shade the narrow, clean, white, paved streets; trade goes on at the wharves; the people visit in social gaiety, dressed in white or bright-colored garments, as is the fashion in these islands, where somberness seldom rules; all the forms of life are cheerful, light-hearted, even thoughtless. Suddenly a thrall of black despair is cast over the happy island. The city of pleasure becomes one great tomb. Of its 30,000 men, women and children, all but a few are slain. The Angel of Death has spread his pall over them, a fiery breath has smitten them, and they have fallen as dry stubble before the sweep of flame. A city is dead. An island is desolate. A world is grief-stricken. And what was the awful power of evil that robbed of life 50,000 in city and neighboring villages almost in a moment? It was this verdure-clad Mount Pelee, their familiar sentinel, in the shade of whose sheltering palms they had built their summer resorts or found their innocent pleasures. It was this shadowing summit, now suddenly become a fiery vent through which earth's artilleries blazed forth their terrible volleys of molten projectiles, lava masses, huge drifts of ashes, and clouds of flaming, noxious, gaseous emanations to suffocate every living thing. Nothing could withstand such a bombardment from the exhaustless magazines within the vast chambers of the planet, no longer kindly Mother Earth, benign in the beauty of May-time, but cruel, relentless, merciless alike to all. St. Pierre and the island of Martinique are no strangers to destructive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. In August, 1767, an earthquake killed 1,600 persons in St. Pierre. In 1851 Mount Pelee threatened the city with destruction. St. Pierre was practically destroyed once before, in August, 1891, by the great hurricane which swept over the islands. The harbor of St. Pierre has been a famous one for centuries. It was off this harbor on April 12, 1782, that Admiral Rodney's fleet defeated the French squadron under the Comte de Grasse and wrested the West Indies from France. St. Pierre was the largest town and the commercial center of the island. It was the largest town in the French West Indies, and was well built and prosperous. It had a population of about 30,000. It was divided into two parts, known as the upper and lower towns. The lower town was compact with narrow streets, and unhealthy. The upper town was cleaner, healthier, and handsomely laid out. There was in the upper town a botanical garden and an old Catholic college, as well as a fine hospital. Mount Pelee, the largest of the group of volcanic mountains, is about 4,400 feet high. It had long been inactive as a volcano, although in August, 1851, it had a violent eruption. It is in the northwestern end of the island, and near the foot of its western slope, fronting the bay, St. Pierre was built. The Consuls resident at St. Pierre were: For the United States, T. T. Prentis; Great Britain, J. Japp; Denmark, M. E. S. Meyer; Italy, P. Plissonneau; Mexico, E. Dupie; Sweden and Norway, Gustave Borde. There were four banks in the city--the Banque de la Martinique, Banque Transatlantique, Colonial Bank of London, and the Credit Foncier Colonial. There were sixteen commission merchants, twelve dry-goods stores, twenty-two provision dealers, twenty-six rum manufacturers, eleven colonial produce merchants, four brokers, and two hardware dealers. The whole area of the island, near 400 square miles, is mountainous. Besides Mount Pelee, there are, further south and about midway of the oval, the three crests of Courbet, and all along the great ridge are the black and ragged cones of old volcanoes. In the section south of the deep bay there are two less elevated and more irregular ridges, one running southeast and terminating in the Piton Vauclin, and the other extending westward and presenting to view on the coast Mounts Caraibe and Constant. The mountainous interior is torn and gashed with ancient earthquake upheavals, and there are perpendicular cliffs, deep clefts and gorges, black holes filled with water, and swift torrents dashing over precipices and falling into caverns--in a word, all the fantastic savagery of volcanic scenery, but the whole covered with the rich verdure of the tropics. The total population of the island was reckoned at 175,000, of whom 10,000 were whites, 15,000 of Asiatic origin, and 150,000 blacks of all shades from ebony to light octoroon. Martinique has two interesting claims to distinction in that the Empress Josephine was born there and that Mme. de Maintenon passed her girlhood on the island as Francoise d'Aubigne. At Fort de France there is a marble statue of the Empress Josephine. It was just before eight o'clock on the morning of Thursday, May 8, 1902, that the lava and gases of the crater of Mount Pelee burst their bounds and bore destruction to the fated city. Within thirty seconds perhaps 50,000 persons were killed, and the streets of St. Pierre were heaped with dead bodies, soon to be incinerated or buried in the ashes that fell from the fountain of flame. Within ten minutes the city itself had disappeared in a whirling flame vomited from the mountain, though for some hours the inflammable portions of the buildings continued to burn, until all was consumed that could be. The volcano whose ancient crater for more than fifty years had been occupied by a quiet lake in which picnic parties bathed, discharged a torrent of fiery mud, which rolled toward the sea, engulfing everything before it. The city was no more. St. Pierre was destroyed, not by lava streams and not by showers of red-hot rocks, but by one all-consuming blast of suffocating, poisonous, burning gases. Death came to the inhabitants instantly. It was not a matter of hours or minutes. It was a matter of seconds. They did not burn to death. They died by breathing flame and their bodies were burned afterward. It is not merely true that no person inside the limits of the town escaped, but it is probably a literal fact that no person lived long enough to take two steps toward escape. These facts will go on record as the most astounding in the history of human catastrophes. The manner of the annihilation of St. Pierre is unique in the history of the world. Pompeii was not a parallel, for Pompeii was eaten up by demoniac rivers of lava, and lava became its tomb. But where St. Pierre once stood there is not even a lava bed now. The city is gone from the earth. The half-dead victims who escaped on the Roddam or were brought away by the Suchet, talked of a "hurricane of flame" that had come upon them. That phrase was no figure of speech, but a literal statement of what happened. When the first rescue parties reached the scene they found bodies lying in the streets of the city--or rather on the ground where streets once were, for in many places it was impossible to trace the line between streets and building sites--to which death came so suddenly that the smiles on the faces did not have time to change to the lines of agony. That does not mean death by burning, though the bodies had been charred and half-consumed, nor does it mean suffocation, for suffocation is slow. It can mean only that the bath of burning fumes into which the city was plunged affected the victims like a terribly virulent poison when the first whiff of the gases entered their lungs. There were many of the victims who died with their hands to their mouths. That one motion of the arm was probably the only one that they made before they became unconscious. Others fell to their faces and died with their lips pressed into the earth. There was no time to run, perhaps no time even to cry out, no time to breathe a prayer. It was as if St. Pierre had been just dipped into an immense white-hot furnace and then set out to cool. Mount Pelee went sputtering on, but that made no longer any difference. In the city all life was destroyed. Every combustible thing was burned. Animal bodies, full of moisture, glowed awhile and then remained charred wrecks. Wood and other easily combustible things burned to ashes. On the ground lay the bodies, amidst heaps of hot mud, heaps of gleaming ashes and piles of volcanic stones. That was all. That St. Pierre and the strip of coast to the north and south of it were burned in an instant was probably due to the first break in the mountain coming on its western side and immediately above them, though the direction of the wind may have had a little to do with it. In this way one can understand how the mountain resort of Morne Rouge, where about 600 people were staying, escaped annihilation. Rocks and dust and boiling mud fell upon it, no doubt harming it, but they did not destroy it, for it was out of the pathway of the first awful blast. For days after this most awful of blasts, beginning indeed immediately after the first explosion, Mount Pelee continued sending down lava streams in many directions. They filled the ravines and followed river courses and made their way to the sea. They did great destruction, but most of the inhabitants in their course had some chance at least to escape. From Le Precheur around the northern end of the island, to Grande Riviere, Macouba, and Grande Anse, directly across the island from St. Pierre, the lava was flowing. Great crevasses opened from time to time in the hills. The earth undulated like waves. Rivers were thrown out of their courses by the change in land levels. In some places they submerged the land and formed lakes. In other places they were licked up by the lava that flowed on them and turned them to steam. Constant rumblings, thunder and lightning storms made the surroundings so terrible that many persons actually died of fright. The West Indian newspapers printed just before the day of the great eruption, and received in foreign countries after the catastrophe, serve to give a graphic picture of the situation in St. Pierre as it was before the outer world knew of the threat of danger. To them, and the letters written and mailed to foreign correspondents before the fatal day, we owe the clear idea of what was going on. The Voice of St. Lucia, printed at Castries, had this story on May 8 of the days preceding the destruction of St. Pierre: "Mount Pelee began to show signs of uneasiness in the last days of April. On the 3d inst. it began to throw out dense volumes of smoke, and at midnight belched out flames, accompanied by rumbling noises. Flames were again visible at half-past five o'clock the next morning, and similar noises were audible. At the foot of Mount Pelee are the villages of Precheurs and Ste. Philomene. The inhabitants were thrown into great consternation by the sights and sounds, and especially by the darkening of the day by volumes of thick smoke and clouds of ashes, which were falling. There was an exodus from all over the district. "St. Pierre was on the morning of May 3 covered with a layer of ashes about a quarter of an inch thick, and appeared as if enveloped in a fog. The mountain was wrapped in the smoke which issued from it. The greatest anxiety prevailed, and all business was suspended. "A very anxious morning was passed on the island May 4. Thanks, however, to a sea breeze, the situation appeared better at eleven o'clock, but as the breeze died away at sunset, ashes again began to fall, and the mountain and its environs presented a most dismal spectacle, causing much alarm as to what the night would bring forth. Nothing happened, however, and on Monday morning May 5, although everything was not quite serene, the aspect was decidedly encouraging. Less excitement was visible. "At about nine o'clock on the morning of the 6th a private telegram came from Martinique, stating that the Plissonneau family had chartered the steamer Topaze, one of the boats of the Compagnie Girard, and had started for St. Lucia. At about eleven o'clock the Topaze arrived with Mrs. Plissonneau, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Plissonneau and three children, Mrs. Pierre Plissonneau and child, and others. "They report that at noon on Monday a stream of burning lava suddenly rushed down the southwestern slope of the mountain, and, following the course of the Riviere Blanche, the bed of which is dry at this season of the year, overwhelmed everything which obstructed its rush to the sea. Estates and buildings were covered up by the fiery wave, which appeared to rise to a height of some twenty feet over an area of nearly a quarter of a mile. When the torrent had poured itself into the sea, it was found that the Guerin sugar factory, on the beach, five miles from the mountain and two from St. Pierre, was imbedded in lava. The burning mass of liquid had taken only three minutes from the time it was first perceived to reach the sea, five miles away. "Then a remarkable phenomenon occurred. The sea receded all along the western coast for about a hundred yards and returned with gentle strength, covering the whole of the sea front of St. Pierre and reaching the first houses on the Place Bertin. This created a general panic, and the people made for the hills. Though the sea retired again, without great damage being done ashore or afloat, the panic continued, intensified by terrible detonations, which broke from the mountain at short intervals, accompanied with dense emissions of smoke and lurid flashes of flame. "This was awful in daylight, but, when darkness fell, it was more terrible still, and, at each manifestation of the volcano's anger, people, in their nightclothes, carrying children, and lighted by any sort of lamp or candle they had caught up in their haste, ran out into the dark streets, wailing and screaming, and running aimlessly about the town. "The mental strain becoming unendurable, the Topaze was got ready, and the refugees hurriedly went on board and started for St. Lucia. In the afternoon the gentlemen of the party, having placed their families in safety, returned by the Topaze to Martinique. "In the meantime, telegrams were being sent from Martinique, imploring that a steamer be chartered to bring away terrified people from St. Pierre. But the superintendent of the Royal Mail company, at Barbados, would not allow one of the coasting boats, the only steamer available, to go to Martinique. At a little before five o'clock in the afternoon cable communication was interrupted and remains so." Martinique mails, forwarded just prior to the disaster, arrived in Paris on May 18. The newspapers printed a number of private letters from St. Pierre, giving many details of events immediately preceding the catastrophe. The most interesting of these was a letter from a young lady, who was among the victims, dated May 3. After describing the aspect of St. Pierre before dawn, the town being lit up with flames from the volcano, everything covered with ashes, and the people excited, yet not panic-stricken, she said: "My calmness astonished me. I am awaiting the event tranquilly. My only suffering is from the dust which penetrates everywhere, even through closed windows and doors. We are all calm. Mama is not a bit anxious. Edith alone is frightened. If death awaits us there will be a numerous company to leave the world. Will it be by fire or asphyxia? It will be what God wills. You will have our last thought. Tell brother Robert that we are still alive. This will, perhaps, be no longer true when this letter reaches you." The Edith mentioned was a lady visitor who was among the rescued. This and other letters inclosed samples of the ashes which fell over the doomed town. The ashes were a bluish-gray, impalpable powder, resembling newly ground flour and slightly smelling of sulphur. Another letter, written during the afternoon of May 3, says: "The population of the neighborhood of the mountain is flocking to the city. Business is suspended, the inhabitants are panic-stricken and the firemen are sprinkling the streets and roofs, to settle the ashes, which are filling the air." The letters indicate that evidences of the impending disaster were numerous five days before it occurred. Still another letter says: "St. Pierre presents an aspect unknown to the natives. It is a city sprinkled with gray snow, a winter scene without cold. The inhabitants of the neighborhood are abandoning their houses, villas and cottages, and are flocking to the city. It is a curious pell-mell of women, children and barefooted peasants, big, black fellows loaded with household goods. The air is oppressing; your nose burns. Are we going to die asphyxiated? What has to-morrow in store for us? A flow of lava, rain or stones or a cataclysm from the sea? Who can tell? Will give you my last thought if I must die." A St. Pierre paper of May 3 announces that an excursion arranged for the next day to Mount Pelee had been postponed, as the crater was inaccessible, adding that notice would be issued when the excursion would take place. An inhabitant of Morne Rouge, a town of 600 inhabitants, seven kilometers from St. Pierre, who was watching the volcano at the moment of the catastrophe, said that there were seven luminous points on the volcano's side just before it burst. He said that all about him when the explosion came, there was a terrible suction of air which seemed to be dragging him irresistibly toward the mountain in spite of all his resistance. The volcano then emitted a sheet of flame which swept down toward St. Pierre. There was no sharp, distinct roar of explosion as when a great cannon is fired, but only awful jarring rumblings. He thought that the entire outburst that did all the work of havoc did not last more than thirty seconds. Then there was complete darkness for ten minutes, caused by the dense volumes of sulphurous smoke and clouds of dust and shattered rocks. The entire country all about St. Pierre was turned into a chaotic waste. All the trees were either torn up by the roots or snapped off, to lie level with the ground. The outlines of the town but imperfectly remained. The tangle of debris was such that after the rescuers came, it was with difficulty that the course of streets could be followed. In spite of the horrible surroundings, and the universal wave of human sympathy which had been evoked, looting began almost as soon as relief. As soon as it was possible to land, ghouls began to rob the bodies of the victims. The monsters plied their nefarious trade in small boats. Skimming along the shore they would watch for an opening when troops and rescue parties were elsewhere, then land, grab what they could, and sail away again. The United States government tug Potomac, while on her way to Fort de France with supplies from San Juan, Porto Rico, overhauled a small boat containing five negroes and a white man. Something in the appearance of the men excited the suspicions of the commander of the Potomac, Lieutenant McCormick, and he ordered them to come on board. When they were searched, their pockets were found to be filled with coin and jewelry. Rings in their possession had evidently been stripped from the fingers of the dead. Lieutenant McCormick placed them all under arrest, and later turned them over to the commander of the French cruiser Suchet for punishment. Thus it was that no detail of grewsome horror was lacking to make the shocking tale of the destruction of St. Pierre complete. The hour of the disaster is placed at about eight o'clock. A clerk in Fort de France called up another by telephone in St. Pierre and was talking with him at 7:55 by Fort de France time, when he heard a sudden, awful shriek, and then could hear no more. "The little that actually happened then can be briefly, very briefly told," says W. S. Merriwether, the New York Herald correspondent. "It is known that at one minute there lay a city smiling in the summer morning; that in another it was a mass of swirling flames, with every soul of its 30,000 writhing in the throes of death. One moment and church bells were ringing joyful chimes in the ears of St. Pierre's 30,000 people--the next the flame-clogged bells were sobbing a requiem for 30,000 dead. One waft of morning breeze flowed over cathedral spires and domes, over facades and arches and roofs and angles of a populous and light-hearted city--the next swept a lone mass of white hot ruins. The sun glistened one moment on sparkling fountains, green parks and fronded palms--its next ray shone on fusing metal, blistered, flame-wrecked squares and charred stumps of trees. One day and the city was all light and color, all gayety and grace--the next its ruins looked as though they had been crusted over with twenty centuries of solitude and silence." St. Pierre was a vast charnel-house. Skirting for nearly a league the blue waters of the Caribbean, its smoking ruins became the funeral pyre of 30,000, not one of whom lived long enough to tell adequately a story that will stand grim, awful, unforgotten as that of Herculaneum, when the world is older by a thousand years. St. Pierre was as dead as Pompeii. Most of her people lay fathoms deep in a tomb made in the twinkling of an eye by the collapse of their homes, and sealed forever under tons of boiling mud, avalanches of scoria and a hurricane of volcanic dust. Over the entombed city the volcano from a dozen vents yet poured its steaming vapors in long, curling wreaths, that mounted thousands of feet aloft, like smoking incense from a gigantic censer above the bier of some mighty dead. Such was the disaster which burst upon the hapless people of the island of Martinique, while almost at the same moment a sister isle, St. Vincent, was suffering a kindred fate. Similar in natural conditions, these two little colonies of the West Indies, one French and one English by affiliation, underwent the shock of nature's assault and sank in grief before a horror-stricken world. Transcriber's Note There are some inconsistencies in the chapter subheadings between the Table of Contents and chapters themselves; these have been left as printed. There is some variation in factual information--for example, the amount held in the Mint. These occurrences have all been preserved as printed. There is some variable spelling; this has been repaired where there was an obvious prevalence of one form over the other, but is otherwise left as printed. There is a reference on page 112 to "gambling hells", which seems to be a genuine term, although it could be a typo for "gambling halls". Since there is no way to be certain, it has been preserved as printed. Archaic spelling has been preserved as printed. Typographic errors in punctuation and spelling (omitted or transposed letters, etc.) have been repaired. Hyphenation has been made consistent where there was a prevalence of one form over the other. The following errors have also been repaired: Page 18--John amended to James--"Former Mayor James D. Phelan" Page 47--aids amended to aides--"It was not without a struggle that Mayor Schmitz and his aides let this, ..." Page 93--omitted word 'he' added, for sense--"Kanaka Pete chased the man he had marked ..." Page 160--omitted 0 added to tabular entry for Connecticut. Page 317--damage to the bottom of the page has left one word partially obscured. From the visible letters and available space, the word is most likely 'gradually', which has been used in this e-text. Page 372--Callas amended to Callao--"... producing a new bay at Callao; and in several mountains ..." Page 373--XXXII amended to XXXI--"CHAPTER XXXI." Page 382--XXXI amended to XXXII--"CHAPTER XXXII." Page 401--omitted word 'if' added following 'as'--"It was as if St. Pierre had been just dipped ..." The frontispiece illustrations have been moved to follow the title page. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. 
37588	----	The Island of Gold A Sailor's Yarn By Gordon Stables Illustrations by Allan Stewart Published by Thomas Nelson and Sons, London, Edinburgh and New York. The Island of Gold, by Gordon Stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE ISLAND OF GOLD, BY GORDON STABLES. Book 1--CHAPTER ONE. TWO MITHERLESS BAIRNS. Ransey Tansey was up much earlier than usual on this particular morning, because father was coming home, and there was a good deal to do. As he crawled out of his bed--a kind of big box arrangement at the farther end of the one-roomed cottage--he gave a glance towards the corner where Babs slept in an elongated kind of basket, which by courtesy might have been called a bassinette. Yes, Babs was sound and fast, and that was something Ransey Tansey had to be thankful for. He bent over her for a few seconds, listening as if to make sure she was alive; for this wee three-year-old was usually awake long before this, her eyes as big as saucers, and carrying on an animated conversation with herself in lieu of any other listener. The boy gave a kind of satisfied sigh, and drew the coverlet over her bare arm. Then he proceeded to dress; while Bob, a beautiful, tailless English sheep-dog, lay near the low hearth watching his every movement, with his shaggy head cocked a trifle to one side, as if he had his considering cap on. In summer time--and it was early summer now--dressing did not take Ransey long. When he opened the door at last to fetch some sticks to light the fire, and stood for a moment shading his brow with his hand against the red light of the newly-risen sun, and gazing eastwards over a landscape of fields and woods, he looked a strange little figure. Moreover, one could understand now why he had taken such a short few minutes to dress. The fact is, Ransey Tansey hadn't very much to wear just then. Barely eight years of age was Tansey, though, as far as experience of the world went, he might have been called three times as old as that; for, alas, the world had not been over-gentle with the boy. Ransey wore no cap, just a head of towy hair, which was thick enough, however, to protect him against summer's sun or winter's cold. The upper part of his body was arrayed in a blue serge shirt, very much open at the neck; while below his waist, and extending to within nine inches of his bare feet, where they ended in ragged capes and promontories like a map of Norway, he wore a pair of pants. It would have been difficult, indeed, to have guessed at the original colour of these pants, but they were now a kind of tawny brindle, and that is the nearest I can get to it. They were suspended by one brace, a bright red one, so broad that it must have belonged to his father. I think the boy was rather proud than otherwise of this suspender, although it had a disagreeable trick of sliding down over his shoulder and causing some momentary disarrangement of his attire. But Ransey just hooked it back into its place again with his thumb, and all was right, till the next time. A rough little tyke you might have called Ransey Tansey, with his sun-burnt face, neck, and bosom. Yet there was something that was rather pleasing than otherwise in his clear eyes and open countenance; and when his red and rather thin lips parted in a smile, which they very often did, he showed a set of teeth as clean and white as those of a six-months-old Saint Bernard puppy, and you cannot better that. Had this little lad been a town boy, hands and face and feet would have been far from clean; but Ransey lived away down in the cool, green country, in a midland district of Merrie England, and being as often in the water as a duck, he was just as clean as one. Away went Ransey Tansey now, and opened a rough old door in a rock which formed part of the hill by the side of which the humble cottage stood. The door opened into a kind of cave, which was a storehouse for all kinds of things. He was soon back again, and in five minutes' time had lit the fire, swept the hearth as tidily as a girl could have done it, and hung the kettle on a hook and chain. By this time another member of this small family came in, a very large and handsome tabby cat, with a white chest and vandyked face. Murrams, as he was called, was holding his head very high indeed. In fact he had to, else the nice young leveret he carried would have trailed on the ground. Bob jumped up to meet him, with joy in his brown eyes. Had Bob possessed a tail of any consequence, he would have wagged it. Bob's tail, however, was a mere stump, and it was quite buried in the rough, shaggy coat that hung over his rump. But though honest Bob had only the fag-end of a tail, so to speak, he agitated this considerably when pleased. He did so when he saw that leveret. "Oh, you clever old Murrams!" Bob seemed to say. "What a nice drop of soup that'll make, and all the bones for me!" Murrams walked gingerly past him, and throwing the leveret on the hearth, proceeded to wash his face and warm his nose at the blaze. Ransey put away the young hare, patted pussy on his broad, sleek forehead, then took down a long tin can to go for the morning's milk. He left the door open, because he knew that if Babs should awake and scramble out of her cot, she would toddle right out to clutch at wild flowers, beetles, and other things, instead of going towards the fire. Ransey Tansey happened to look round when he was about thirty yards from the cottage. Why, here was Bob coming softly up behind. Murrams himself couldn't have walked more silently. His ears disappeared backwards when he was found out, and he looked very guilty indeed. Ransey Tansey shook his finger at him. "Back ye goes--back ye goes to look after Babs." Bob lay down to plead. "It ain't no go, Bob, I tell ye," continued Ransey Tansey, still shaking his finger. "Back to Babs, Bob--back to Babs. We can't both on us leave the house at the same time." This latter argument was quite convincing, and back marched Bob, with drooping head and with that fag-end of a tail of his drooping earthwards also. There grew on the top of the bank a solitary brown-stemmed pine-tree. Very, very tall it was, with not a branch all the way up save a very strong horizontal limb, which was used to hang people from in the happy days of old. The top of this tree was peculiar. It spread straight out on all sides, forming a kind of flat table of darkest green needled foliage. Had you been sketching this tree, then, after doing the stem, you could easily have rubbed in the top of it by dipping your little finger in ink and smudging the paper crosswise. When not far from this gibbet-tree, as it was generally called, Ransey looked up and hailed,-- "Ship ahoy! Are ye on board, Admiral?" And now a somewhat strange thing happened. No sooner had the boy hailed than down from a mass of central foliage there suddenly hung what, at first sight, one might have taken for a snake. It was really a bird's long neck. "Craik--craik--crik--cr--cr--cray!" "All right," cried Ransey, as if he understood every word. "Ye mebbe don't see nuthin' o' father, do ye?" "Tok--tok--tok--cr--cray--ay!" "Well, ye needn't flop down, Admiral. I'll come up myself." No lamplighter ever ran quicker up a ladder than did Ransey Tansey swarm up that pine-tree. In little over two minutes he was right out on the green roof, and beside him one of the most graceful and beautiful cranes it is possible to imagine. The boy's father had bought the bird from a sailor somewhere down the country; and, except on very stormy nights, it preferred to roost in this tree. The neck was a greyish blue, as was also the back; the wings were dark, the legs jet black, the tail purple. Around the eyes was a broad patch of crimson; and the bill was as long as a penholder, more or less slender, and slightly curved downwards at the end. [A species of what is popularly known an the dancing crane.] The Admiral did all he could to express the pleasure he felt at seeing the boy, by a series of movements that I find it difficult to describe. The wings were half extended and quivering with delight, the neck forming a series of beautiful curves, the head at times high in air, and next moment down under Ransey's chin. Then he twisted his neck right round the boy's neck, from left to right, then from right to left, the head being laid lovingly each time against his little master's cheek. "Now then, Admiral, when ye're quite done cuddlin' of me, we'll have a look for father's barge." From his elevated coign of vantage, Ransey Tansey could see for many miles all around him. On this bright, sunny summer morn, it was a landscape of infinite beauty; on undulating, well-wooded, cultivated country, green and beautiful everywhere, except in the west, where a village sheltered itself near the horizon, nestling in a cloudland of trees, from which the grey flat tower of a church looked up. To the left yonder, and near to the church, was a long strip of silver-- the canal. High on a wooded hill stood the lord of the manor's house, solid, brown, and old, with the blue smoke therefrom trailing lazily along across the tree-tops. But the house nearest to Ransey's was some distance across the fields yonder--an old-fashioned brick farm-building with a steading behind it, every bit of it green with age. "So ye can't see no signs o' father, or the barge, eh? Look again, Admiral; your neck's a bit longer'n mine." "Tok--tok--tok--cray!" "Well, I'm off down. There's the milk to fetch yet; and if I don't hurry up, Bob and Babs are sure to make a mess on't afore I gets back. Mornin' to ye, Admiral." And Ransey Tansey slid down that tree far more quickly even than he had swarmed up it. Scattering the dew from the grass and the milk-white clover with his naked feet, the lad went trotting on, and very quickly reached the farm. He had to stop once or twice by the way, however. First, Towsey, the short-horned bull, put his great head over a five-barred gate, and Ransey had to pause to scratch it. Then he met the peacock, who insisted on instant recognition, and walked back with him till the two were met by Snap, the curly-coated retriever. "I don't like Snap," said the peacock. "I won't go a bit further. The ugly brute threatened to snap my head off; that's the sort of Snap he is." The farmer's wife was fat and jolly looking. "Well, how's all the family?" "Oh, they're all right, ye know; especially Babs, 'cause she's asleep. And we kind of expect father to-day. But even the Admiral can't see 'im, with _his_ long neck." She filled his can, and took the penny. That was only business; but the kindly soul had slyly slipped two turkey's eggs into the can before she poured in the milk. When he got back to his home, the first thing he saw was that crane, half hopping, half flying round and round the gibbet-tree. The fact of the matter is this: the bird did not wish to go far away from the house just yet, as he generally followed his little master to the brook or stream; but, nevertheless, on this particularly fine morning he found himself possessed of an amount of energy that must be expended somehow, so he went hopping round the tree, dangling his head and long neck in the drollest and most ridiculous kind of way imaginable. Ransey Tansey had to place his milk-can on the ground in order to laugh with greater freedom. The most curious part of the business was this: crane though he was, wheeling madly round like this made him dizzy, so every now and then he stopped and danced round the other way. The Admiral caught flies wherever he saw them; but flies, though all very well in their way, were mere tit-bits. Presently he would have a few frogs for breakfast, and the bird was just as fond of frogs as a Frenchman is. Ransey Tansey opened the door of the little cottage very quietly, and peeped in. Bob was there by the bassinette. He agitated that fag-end of a tail of his, and looked happy. Murrams paused in the act of washing his ears, with one paw held aloft. He began to sing, because he knew right well there was milk in that can, and that he would have a share of it. Babs's blue eyes had been on the smoke-grimed ceiling, but she lowered them now. "Oh," she said, "you's tome back, has 'oo?" "And Babs has been so good, hasn't she?" said Ransey. "Babs is dood, and Bob is dood, and Murrams is dooder. 'Ift [lift] me up twick, 'Ansey." Two plump little arms were extended towards her brother, and presently he was seated near the fire dressing her, as if he had been to the manner born. There was a little face to wash presently, as well as two tiny hands and arms; but that could be done after they had all had breakfast. "Oh, my!" cried Ransey Tansey; "look, Babs! Two turkey's eggs in the bottom of the can!" "Oh, my! 'Ansey," echoed the child. "One tu'key's egg fo' me, and one fo' 'oo." The door had been left half ajar, and presently about a yard of long neck was thrust round the edge, and the Admiral looked lovingly at the eggs, first with one roguish eye, then with the other. This droll crane had a weakness for eggs--strange, perhaps, but true. When he found one, he tossed it high in air, and in descending caught it cleverly. Next second there was an empty egg-shell on the ground, and some kind of a lump sliding slowly down the Admiral's extended gullet. When it was fairly landed, the bird expressed his delight by dancing a double-triple fandango, which was partly jig, partly hornpipe, and all the rest a Highland schottische. "Get out, Admiral!--get out, I tell ye!" cried the boy. "W'y, ye stoopid, if the door slams, off goes yer head." The bird seemed to fully appreciate the danger, and at once withdrew. Ransey placed the two turkey's eggs on a shelf near the little gable window. One pane of glass was broken, and was stuffed with hay. Well, the Admiral had been watching the boy, and as soon as his back was turned, it didn't take the bird long to pull out that hay. "O 'Ansey, 'ook! 'ook!" cried Babs. It was too late, however, for looking to do any good. For the same yard of neck that had, a few minutes before, appeared round the edge of the doorway, was now thrust through the broken pane, and only one turkey's egg was left. Babs looked very sad. She considered for a bit, then said solemnly,-- "'Oo mus' have the odel [other] tu'key's _egg_. You is dooder nor me." But Ransey didn't have it. He contented himself with bread and milk. And so the two mitherless bairns had breakfast. Book 1--CHAPTER TWO. LIFE IN THE WOODS. I trust that, from what he has already seen and heard of Ransey Tansey, the reader will not imagine I desire this little hero of mine to pose as a real saint. Boys should be boys while they have the chance. Alas, they shall grow up into men far too soon, and then they needn't go long journeys to seek for sorrow; they will find it near home. And now I think, reader, you and I understand each other, to some extent at all events. Though I believe he was always manly and never mean, yet, as his biographer, I am bound to confess that there was just as much monkey-mischief to the square inch about Ransey Tansey, as about any boy to whom I have ever had the honour of being introduced. It was said of the immortal George Washington that when a boy at school he climbed out of a bedroom window and robbed a wall fruit tree, because the other boys were cowards and afraid to do so. But George refused to eat even a bite of one of these apples himself. I think that Ransey Tansey could have surpassed young Washington; for not only would he have taken the apples, but eaten his own share of them afterwards. To do him justice, however, I must state that on occasions when his father went in the barge to a distant town on business, as he had been now for over a week, Ransey being left in charge of his tiny sister and the whole establishment, the sense of his great responsibility kept him entirely free from mischief. Now a very extraordinary thing happened on this particular morning-- Ransey Tansey received a letter. The postman was sulky, to say the least of it. "Pretty thing," he said, as he flung the letter with scant ceremony in through the open doorway; "pretty thing as I should have to come three-quarters of a mile round to fetch a letter to the likes o' you!" "Now, look 'ee here," said Ransey, "if ye're good and brings my letters every day, and hangs yer stockin' out at Christmas-time, I may put somethin' in it." "Gur long, ye ragged young nipper!" Ransey was dandling Babs upon his knee, but he now put her gently down beside the cat. Then he jumped up. "I'se got to teach you a lesson," he said to the boorish postman, "on the hadvantages o' civeelity. I ain't agoin' to waste a good pertater on such a sconce as yours, don't be afeard; but 'ere's an old turmut [turnip] as'll meet the requirements o' the occasion." It was indeed an old turnip, and well aimed too, for it caught the postman on the back of the neck and covered him with slush from head to toe. The lout yelled with rage, and flew at Ransey stick in hand. Next moment, and before he could deal the boy a blow, he was lying flat on the grass, with Bob standing triumphantly over him growling like a wild wolf. "Call off yer dog, and I won't say no more about it." "Oh, ye won't, won't ye? I calls that wery considerate. But look 'ee here, I ain't agoin' to call Bob off, until ye begs my parding in a spirit o' humility, as t'old parson says. If ye don't, I'll hiss Bob on to ye, and ye'll be a raggeder nipper nor me afore Bob's finished the job to his own satisfaction." Well, discretion is the better part of valour, and after grumbling out an apology, the postman was allowed to sneak off with a whole skin. Then Ransey kissed Bob's shaggy head, and opened his letter. "Dear Sonnie,--Can't get home before four days. Look after Babs. Your Loving Father." That was all. The writing certainly left something to be desired, but it being the first letter the boy had ever received, he read it twice over to himself and twice over to Babs; then he put it away inside his New Testament. "Hurrah, Babs!" he cried, picking the child up again, and swinging her to and fro till she laughed and kicked and crowed with delight--"hurrah, Babs! we'll all away to the woods. Murrams shall keep house, and we'll take our dinner with us." It was a droll procession. First walked Bob, looking extremely solemn and wise, and carrying Ransey's fishing-rod. Close behind him came the tall and graceful crane, not quite so solemn as Bob; for he was catching flies, and his head and neck were in constant motion, and every now and then he would hop, first on one leg, and then on the other. Ransey Tansey himself brought up the rear, with a small bag slung in front of him, and Babs in a shawl on his back. Away to the woods? Yes; and there was a grand little stream there, and the boy knew precisely where the biggest fish lay, and meant to have some for supper. The leveret could hang for a few days. Arrived at his fishing-ground, where the stream swept slowly through the darkling wood, Ransey lowered his back-burden gently on the moss, and lay down on his face in front of her to talk Babs into the best of tempers. This was not difficult to do, for she was really a good-natured child; so he gave her his big clasp-knife and his whistle, and proceeded to get his rod in order and make a cast. Bob lay down beside the tiny mite to guard her. She could whistle herself, but couldn't get Bob to do the same, although she rammed the whistle halfway down his throat, and afterwards showed him how she did it. Well, there are a few accomplishments that dogs cannot attain to, and I believe whistling is one of them. The fish were very kind to-day, and Ransey was making a very good bag. Whenever he had finished fishing in about forty yards of stream, he threw down his rod and trotted off back for Babs, and placed her down about twenty yards ahead of him, fished another forty yards and changed her position again, Bob always following close at the boy's heels and lying down beside his charge, and permitting himself to be pulled about, and teased, and cuddled, and kissed one moment, and hammered over the nose with that tin whistle the next. Even when Babs tried to gouge his eye out with a morsel of twig, he only lifted his head and licked her face till, half-blinded, she had to drop the stick and tumble on her back. "You's a funny dog, Bob," she said; "'oor tisses is so lough [rough]." Of course they were. He meant them to be, for Bob couldn't afford to lose an eye. I think the Admiral enjoyed himself quite as much as any one. He chose a bit of the stream for himself where the bank was soft, and there he waded and fished for goodness only knows what--beetles, minnows, tiny frogs, anything alive and easy to swallow. I don't think, however, that the Admiral was a very good Judge of his swallowing capabilities. That neck of his was so very, very long, and though distensible enough on the whole, sometimes he encountered difficulties that it was almost impossible to surmount. Tadpoles slid down easily enough, so did flies and other tiny insects; but a too-big frog, if invited to go down head-foremost, often had a disagreeable way of throwing his hind-legs out at right angles to the entrance of the Admiral's gullet. This placed the Admiral in a somewhat awkward predicament. No bird can look his best with its beak held forcibly agape, and the two legs of a disorderly frog sticking out one at each side. The crane would hold his head in the air and consider for a bit, then lower his face against the bank and rub one leg in, then change cheeks and rub the other in; but lo! while doing so, leg number one would be kicked out again, and by the time that was replaced out shot leg number two. It was very annoying and ridiculous. So the Admiral would step cautiously on to the green bank, and stride very humbly down the stream to Ransey Tansey, with his neck extended and his head on a level with his shoulders. "You see the confounded fix I'm in," he would say, looking up at his master with one wonderfully wise eye. Then Ransey would pull out the frog, and the little rascal would hop away, laughing to himself apparently. "Crok--crok--cray--ay!" the Admiral would cry, and go joyfully back to his fishing-ground. But sometimes Mr Crane would swallow a big water-beetle, and if this specimen had a will of its own, as beetles generally have, it would catch hold of the side of the gullet and hang on halfway down. "I ain't going another step," the beetle would say; "it isn't good enough. The road is too long and too dark." So this disobliging beetle would just stop there, making a kind of a mump in the poor Admiral's neck. When Ransey saw his droll pet stride out of the pool and walk solemnly towards a tree and lean his head against it, and close his eyes, the lad knew pretty well what was the matter. There is nothing like patience and plenty of it, and presently the beetle would go to sleep, relax its hold, and slip quietly down to regions unknown. There would be no more mump now, and the crane would suddenly take leave of his senses with joy. "Kaik--kaik--kay--ay?" he would scream, and go madly hopping and dancing round the tree, a most weird and uncanny-looking object, raising one leg at a time as high as he could, and swinging his head and neck fore and aft, low and aloft, from starboard to port, in such a droll way that Ransey Tansey felt impelled to throw himself on his back, so as to laugh without bursting that much-prized solitary suspender of his, while Bob sat up to bark, and Babs clapped her tiny hands and crowed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ransey got tired of fishing at last, and made up his rod. There was some sort of silent joy or happiness away down at the bottom of the boy's heart, and for a moment he couldn't make out what was causing it. The big haul of fish he had caught? Oh, no; that was a common exploit. Having smashed the postman with a mushy turnip? That was capital, of course, but that wasn't it. Ah! now he has remembered--father was coming home in four days. Hurrah! he must have some fun on the head of it. Ransey loved to have a good time. But, duty first. Babs was a good little girl--or a "dood 'ittle dirl," as she phrased it--but even good girls get hungry sometimes. Babs must be fed. She held her arms straight out towards him. "Babs is detting tired," she lisped. So he took her up, kissed her, and made much of her for a minute, then set her against a tree where the moss was green and soft. With a bit of string and a burdock leaf he made her a beautiful bib; for though Ransey himself was scantily attired, the child was really prettily dressed. And now the boy produced a pickle bottle from the luncheon bag, likewise a small horn spoon. The pickle bottle contained a pap of bread and milk; and with this he proceeded to feed Babs somewhat after the manner of cramming turkeys, until she shook her head at last, and declared she would _never_ eat any more--"Never, never, _never_!" There was a turnip-field not far off. Now Bob was as fond of raw turnips as his master. He knew where the field was, too. "Off ye go for a turmut, Bob; and mind ye bring a big 'un. I'll look after Babs till ye comes back." Bob wasn't long gone. He had obeyed his master's instructions to the very letter--in fact, he had pulled more than six turnips before he found one to please him. [It is easy to teach a dog this trick, only stupid farmer folks sometimes don't see the fun of it. Farmer folks are obtuse.--G.S.] That "turmut" made Bob and Ransey an excellent luncheon, and Babs had a slice to amuse herself with. The day was delightfully warm, and the wind soft and balmy. The sunshine filtered down through a great beech-tree, and wherever it fell the grass was a brighter green or the dead leaves a lighter brown. Now and then a May beetle would go droning past; there were flies of all sorts and sizes, from the gnats that danced in thousands over the bushes to the great rainbow-like dragonfly that darted hither and thither across the stream; grasshoppers green and brown that alighted on a leaf one moment, gave a click the next, and hurled themselves into space; a blackbird making wild melody not far off; the bold lilt of a chaffinch; the insolent mocking notes of a thrush; and the coo-cooing of wood-pigeons sounding mournfully from a thicket beyond the stream. High up in that beech-tree myriads of bees were humming, though they could not be seen. No wonder that under such sweet drowsy influences Babs began to wink and wink, and blink and blink, till finally her wee head fell forward on her green-bough bib. Babs was sound asleep. Book 1--CHAPTER THREE. "O EEDIE, I'VE FOUND A CHILD." Ransey Tansey took his tiny sister tenderly up and spread her, as it were, on the soft moss. "She's in for a regular forenooner, Bob," said the boy, "and I'm not sure I don't like Babs just as well when she is asleep. Seems so innercent-like, you know." Bob looked as if he really did understand, and tried by means of his brown eyes and that fag-end of a tail to let his master know that he too liked Babs best asleep, because then no attempts were made to gouge his eyes out with pieces of stick, or to ram the business end of a tin whistle halfway down his throat. "Bob!" said Ransey. "Yes, master," said Bob, raising his ears. "Babs is a sailor's darter, ye know." Bob assented. "Well, she ought'er sleep in a hammock." "To be sure. I hadn't thought of that," said Bob. "I can make one in a brace o' shakes, and that's sailor langwidge. Now just keep your eyes on me, Bob." Ransey Tansey was busy enough for the next five minutes. He took that shepherd-tartan shawl, and by means of some pieces of string, which he never went abroad without, soon fashioned it into a neat little hammock. Two saplings grew near, and by bending a branch downward from each, he slung that hammock so prettily that he was obliged to stand back for a little while to smile and admire it. When he lifted Babs and put her in it, and fastened the two sides of the hammock across her chest with some more string and a horse-shoe nail, so that she could not fall out, the whole affair was complete. "Hush-a-bye, baby, upon the tree-top, When the wind blown the cradle will rock." Well, the wind did blow, but ever so softly, and the little hammock swayed gently to and fro. And the blackbird's voice seemed to sound more melodiously now; the thrush went farther away; only the wild pigeons continued to coo, coo, and the bees to hum, high, high up in the green beech-tree. No wonder that the baby slept. "Come along now, Bob. We've a whole hour at least." The boy placed his rod and bag on the branches of a tree. "A whole hour, Bob, to do as we likes. No good me askin' that idiot of an Admiral to watch Babs. He'd only begin scray-scrayin' and hopping around the hammock, and Babs would wake. I'm goin' to run wild for a bit, are you?" And off he bounded, with Bob at his heels. The Admiral, whose feet were getting cold now, hopped out of the stream, stretched out his three-foot neck, and looked after them. "They think they're going to leave me behind, do they? Tok--tok-- tok,"--which in craneish language means "No--no--no." So away _he_ went next, with his head and his long neck about a yard in front of him, and his wings expanded. It would have puzzled any one to have told whether the Admiral was running or flying. If Ransey Tansey climbed one tree he climbed a dozen. Ransey walked through the wood with upturned face, and whenever he saw a nest, whether it belonged to magpie, hawk, or hooded crow, skywards he went to have a look at it. He liked to look at the eggs best, and sometimes he brought just one down in his mouth if four were left behind, because, he thought, one wouldn't be missed. But even this was sinful; for although birds are not very good arithmeticians, every one of them can count as far as the number of its eggs--even a partridge or a wren can. Sometimes the Admiral wanted to investigate the nests, but Ransey sternly forbade him. He might dance round the tree as much as he liked, but he must not fly up. Bob used to bark at his master as he climbed up and up. Indeed, when perched on the very, _very_ top of a tall larch-tree Ransey himself didn't look much bigger than a rook. Yet I think the ever-abiding sorrow with Bob was not that he had not a tail worth talking about, but that he could not climb a tree. Different birds behaved in different ways when Ransey visited their nests. Thus: a linnet or a robin, flying from its sweet, cosy little home in a bush of orange-scented furze, would sit and sing at no great distance in a half-hysterical kind of way, as if it really didn't know what it was about. A blackbird from a tall thorn-tree or baby spruce, would go scurrying off, and make the woods resound with her cries of "beet, beet, beet," till other birds, crouching low on their nests, trembled with fear lest their turn might come next. A hooded crow would fly off some distance and perch on a tree, but say nothing: hooded crows are philosophers. A magpie went but a little distance away, and sat nodding and chickering in great distress. A hawk would course round and round in great circles in the air, uttering every now and then a most distressful scream. But one day, I must tell you, a large hawk played the lad a very mischievous trick. Ransey was high up near the top of a tall, stone-pine-tree, and had hold of a sturdy branch above, being just about to swing himself in through the needled foliage, when, lo! the stump on which one foot was resting gave way, leaving him suspended betwixt heaven and earth, like Mohammed's coffin--and kicking too, because he could not for some time swing himself into the tree. Now that hawk needn't have been so precious nasty about it. But he saw his chance, and went for Ransey straight; and the more the boy shouted at the hawk, and cried "Hoosh-oo!" at him, the more that hawk wouldn't leave off. He tore the boy's shirt and back, and cut his suspender right through, so that with the kicking and struggling his poor little pants came off and fluttered down to the ground. Ransey Tansey was only second best that day, and when--a sadder and a wiser boy--he reached the foot of the tree, he found that Bob had been engaged in funeral rites--obsequies--for some time. In fact, he had scraped a hole beneath a furze bush and buried Ransey's pants. Whether Bob had thought this was all that remained of his master or not, I cannot say. I only state facts. But to hark back: after Ransey Tansey had seen all the nests he wanted to see, he and his two companions rushed off to a portion of the wood where, near the bank of the stream, he kept his toy ship under a moss-covered boulder. He had built this ship, fashioning her out of a pine-log with his knife, and rigged her all complete as well as his somewhat limited nautical knowledge permitted him to do. In Ransey's eyes she was a beauty-- without paint. Before he launched her to-day he looked down at Bob and across at the Admiral, who was quite as tall as the boy. "We're going on a long and dangerous voyage, Bob," he said. "There's no sayin' wot may happen. We may run among rocks and get smashed; we may get caught-aback-like and flounder,"--he meant founder--"or go down wi' all han's in the Bay o' Biscay--O." Bob tried to appear as solemn and sad as the occasion demanded, and let his fag-end drop groundwards. But the crane only said "Tok," which on this occasion meant "All humbug!" for he knew well enough that Ransey Tansey was seldom to be taken seriously. Never mind, the barque was launched on the fathomless deep, the summer breeze filled her sails--which, by the way, had been made out of a piece of an old shirt of the boy's father's--and she breasted the billows like a thing of life. Then as those three young inseparables rushed madly and delightedly along the bank to keep abreast of the ship, never surely was such whooping and barking and scray-scraying heard in the woods before. But disaster followed in the wake of that bonnie barque on this voyage. I suppose the helmsman forgot to put his helm up at an ugly bend of the river, so the wind caught her dead aback. She flew stern-foremost through the water at a furious rate, then her bows rose high in air, she struggled but for a moment ere down she sank to rise no more, and all on board must have perished! When I say she sank to rise no more I am hardly in alignment with the truth. The fact is, that although Ransey Tansey could easily have made another ship with that knife of his, he was afraid he could not requisition some more shirt for sails. "Oh, I ain't agoin' to lose her like that, Bob," said Ransey. Bob was understood to say that _he_ wouldn't either. "Admiral, ye're considerabul longer nor me in the legs and neck; couldn't ye wade out and make a dive for her?" The crane only said, "Tok!" By this time Ransey was undressed. "Hoop!" he cried, "here goes," and in he dived. "Wowff!" cried Bob, "here's for after," and in _he_ sprang next. "Kaik--kaik!" shrieked the crane, and followed his leader, but he speedily got out again. The water was deep, and as a swimmer the Admiral was somewhat of a failure. But the barque was raised all and whole, and after a good swim Ransey and Bob returned to the bank. Bob shook himself, making little rainbows all round him, and the boy rolled in the moss till he was dry, but stained rather green. Then he dressed himself, and looked at his watch--that is, he looked at the sun. "Why, Bob," he cried, "it is time to go back to Babs." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was such a lovely forenoon that day that the elderly Miss Scragley thought a walk in the woods and wilds--as she phrased it--would do her good. So she took her little six-year-old niece Eedie with her, and started. The butler wanted to know if he would send a groom with her. But she declined the service. "It is ever so much better," she told Eedie, "going all alone and enjoying things, than having a dressed-up doll of a flunkey dawdling behind you carrying wraps." I think Miss Scragley was right. The Scragleys were a very old family, and that was their mansion I have already mentioned as standing high up on the hill in a cloudland of glorious trees. But excepting Miss Scragley herself, and this little niece, Miss Eedie Moore, the rest of the Scragleys were all dead and away. Though the family estates were intact and financially secure, afflictions of all sorts had decimated the Scragleys. No less than two had died on the hunting-field; one, a soldier, had fallen on the field of fame in far Afghanistan; another, a captain in the royal navy, had succumbed to fever at sea; and still another had sailed away in a ship that never returned. Others had died in peace and at home. So Miss Scragley was indeed a relic of the past, but she was lord of the manor for the time being. Her heart was bound up in little Eedie; and the girl would have to change her name when of age, as she would then be heir to all the Scragley estates. Even if she married, her husband must become a Scragley. It would never do to let the glorious name of Scragley die out. But Miss Scragley was somewhat antiquated though not very old; somewhat set up and starchy in manner too. She preferred to import good people from London to mixing with the residents around, with the exception of the kindly-faced, white-haired old rector, Captain Weathereye, R.N., and Dr Fairincks. In bygone ages it was currently believed that this rough old sea-dog of a captain, Weathereye would lead the then graceful Miss Scragley to the altar, and the lady herself still believed that the happy event would yet come off. And she was quite gay when she thought of it. At Christmas-time, when she imported more good people from London than usual, and turned on the family ghost for the occasion, when she had the special brand of port decanted that old Weathereye so dearly loved, and when Scragley Hall resounded with mirth and laughter, and was lighted up from basement to attics, Miss Scragley nursed the fond hope that the captain was almost sure to pop the question. Old Captain Weathereye praised the port. But--well, he loved to hear corks popping, only he wouldn't pop himself. Poor Miss Scragley! "I wonder will he _ever_?" she used to remark to herself, when she had finished saying her prayers and was preparing to undress--"ever--_ever_?" "Never--never," old Weathereye would have unfeelingly replied had he heard her. On this particular occasion Miss Scragley extended her walk far into the very wood--forest, she romantically called it--where Ransey Tansey and his pets were enjoying themselves. She and her niece wandered on and on by the banks of the stream, till they came to the place where little Babs lay, still sound asleep in her hammock, and this was swaying gently to and fro in the summer wind. "O Eedie!" cried Miss Scragley, "why, I've found a child!" "Oh, the wee darling!" exclaimed Eedie; "mayn't I kiss it, auntie?" "If you kissed it," said the lady, as if she knew all about babies and could write a book about them--"if you kissed it, dear, it would awake, and the creature's yells would resound through the dark depths of the forest." "But there is no one near," she continued; "it must be deserted by its unfeeling parents, and left here to perish." She went a little nearer now and looked down on the sleeping child's face. A very pretty face it was, the rosy lips parted, the flush of sleep upon her face; and one wee chubby hand and arm was lying bare on the shawl. "Oh dear!" cried Miss Scragley, "I feel strangely agitated. I cannot let the tiny angel perish in the silvan gloom. I must--_you_ must, Eedie--well, _we_ must, dear, carry it home with us." "Oh, will ye, though?" The voice was close behind her. "Just you leave Babs alone, and attend to yer own bizness, else Bob will have somethin' till say to ye." Miss Scragley started, as well she might. "Oh," she cried, looking round now, "an absurd little gipsy boy!" "_Yes_," said Ransey Tansey, touching his forelock, "and I'm sorry for bein' so absurd. And ashamed all-so. If a rabbit's hole was handy, I'd soon pop in. But, bless yer beautiful ladyship, if I'd known I was to 'ave the perleasure o' meetin' quality, I'd 'ave put on my dress soot, and carried my crush hat under my arm. "Don't be afeard, mum," he continued, as the crane came hopping out of the bush. "That's only just the Admiral; and this is Bob, as would die for me or Babs." "And who is Babs, you droll boy?" "Babs is my baby, and no one else's 'cept Bob's. And Bob and I would make it warm for anybody as tried to take Babs away. Wouldn't us, Bob?" Just then his little sister awoke, all smiles and dimples as usual. Ransey Tansey went to talk to her, and for a time the boy forgot all the world except Babs. Book 1--CHAPTER FOUR. "RANSEY, FETCH JIM; WE'RE GOIN' ON." "I'se glad 'oo's tome back, 'Ansey. Has I been afeep [asleep], 'Ansey?" "Oh, yes; and now I'm goin' to feed Babs, and Babs'll lie and look at the trees till I cook dinner for Bob and me." "That wady [lady] won't take Babs away, 'Ansey?" "No, Babs, no." Ransey Tansey fed Babs once more from the pickle bottle with the horn spoon, much to Miss Scragley's and little Eedie's astonishment and delight. Then he commenced to build a fire at a little distance, and laid out some fish all ready to cook as soon as the blazing wood should die down to red embers. "You're a very interesting boy," said Miss Scragley politely. "May I look on while you cook?" "Oh, yes, mum. Sorry I ain't got a chair to offer ye." "And oh, please, interesting boy," begged Eedie, "may I talk to Babs?" "Cer--tain--lee, pretty missie.--Babsie, sweet," he added, "talk to this beautiful young lady." "There's no charge for sittin' on the grass, mum," said Ransey the next minute. And down sat Miss Scragley smiling. The boy proceeded with the preparation of the meal in real gipsy fashion. He cooked fish, and he roasted potatoes. He hadn't forgotten the salt either, nor a modicum of butter in a piece of paper, nor bread; and as he and Bob made a hearty dinner, he gave every now and then the sweetest of tit-bits to Babs. Eedie and the child got on beautifully together. "May I ask you a question or two, you most interesting boy?" said Miss Scragley. "Oh, yes, if ye're quite sure ye ain't the gamekeeper's wife. The keeper turned me out of the wood once. Bob warn't there that day." "Well, I'm sure I'm not the gamekeeper's wife. I am Miss Scragley of Scragley Hall." The boy was wiping his fingers and his knife with some moss. "I wish I had a cap on," he said. "Why, dear?" "So as I could take her off and make a bow," he explained. "And what is your name, curious boy?" "Ransey; that's my front name." "But your family name?" "Ain't got ne'er a family, 'cepting Babs." "But you have a surname--another name, you know." "Ransey Tansey all complete. There." "And where do you live, my lad?" "Me and Babs and Bob and Murrams all lives, when we're to home, at Hangman's Hall; and father lives there, too, when 'ee's to home; and the Admiral, yonder, he roosts in the gibbet-tree." "And what does father do?" "Oh, father's a capting." "A captain, dear boy?" "No, he's not a boy, but a man, and capting of the _Merry Maiden_, a canal barge, mum. An' we all goes to sea sometimes together, 'cepting Murrams, our pussy, and the Admiral. We have such fun; and I ride Jim the canal hoss, and Babs laughs nearly all the time." "So you're very happy all of you, and always were?" "Oh, yes--'cepting when father sometimes took too much rum; but that's a hundred years ago, more or less, mum." "Poor lad! Have you a mother?" "Oh, yes, we has a mother, but only she's gone dead. The parson said she'd gone to heaven; but I don't know, you know. Wish she'd come back, though," he added with a sigh. "I'm so sorry," said Miss Scragley, patting his hand. "Oh, don't ye do that, mum, and don't talk kind to me, else I'll cry. I feels the tears a-comin' now. Nobody ever, ever talks kindly to me and Babs when at home, 'cepting father, in course, 'cause we're on'y common canal folks and outcasts from serciety." Ransey Tansey was very earnest. Miss Scragley had really a kind heart of her own, only she couldn't help smiling at the boy's language. "Who told you so?" "W'y, the man as opens the pews." "Oh, you've been to church, then?" "Oh, yes; went the other Sunday. Had nuthin' better to do, and thought I'd give Babs a treat." "And did you go in those--clothes?" "Well, mum, I couldn't go with nuthin' on--could I, now? An' the pew-man just turned us both out. But Babs was so good, and didn't cry a bit till she got out. Then I took her away through the woods to hear the birds sing; and mebbe God was there too, 'cause mother said He was everywhere." "Yes, boy, God is everywhere. And where does your mother sleep, Ransey?" "Sleep? Oh, in heaven. Leastways I s'pose so." "I mean, where was your gentle mother buried?" "Oh, at sea, mum. Sailor's grave, ye know." Ransey looked very sad just then. "You don't mean in the canal, surely?" "Yes, mum. Father wouldn't have it no other way. I can't forget; 'tain't much more'n a year ago, though it looks like ten. Father, ye know, 'ad been a long time in furrin parts afore he was capting o' the _Merry Maiden_." The lad had thrown himself down on the grass at a respectable distance from Miss Scragley, and his big blue, eyes grew bigger and sadder as he continued his story. "'Twere jest like this, mum. Mother'd been bad for weeks and so quiet like, and father _so_ kind, 'cause he didn't never touch no rum when mother was sick. We was canal-ing most o' the time; and one night we stopped at the `Bargee's Chorus'--only a little public-house, mum, as perhaps you wouldn't hardly care to be seen drinkin' at. We stopped here 'cause mother was wuss, and old dad sent for a doctor; and I put Jim into the meadow. Soon's the doctor saw poor mother, he sez, sez he, `Ye'd better get the parson. No,' he sez, `I won't charge ye nuthin' for attendance; it's on'y jest her soul as wants seein' to now.' "Well, mum, the parson came. He'd a nice, kind face like you has, mum, and he told mother lots, and made her happy like. Then he said a prayer. I was kind o' dazed, I dussay; but when mother called us to her, and kissed me and Babs, and told us she was goin' on to a happier land, I broke out and cried awful. And Babs cried too, and said, `An' me too, ma. Oh, take Babs.' "Father led us away to the inn, and I jest hear him say to the parson, `No, no, sir, no. No parish burial for me. She's a sailor's wife; she'll rest in a sailor's grave!' "I don't know, mum, what happened that night and next day, for me and Babs didn't go on board again. "Only, the evenin' arter, when the moon and stars was ashinin' over the woods and deep down in the watur, father comes to me. "`Ransey,' sez father, `fetch Jim; we're goin' on.' And I goes and fetches Jim, and yokes him to and mounts; and father he put Babs up aside me, 'cause Jim's good and never needs a whip. "`Go on, Ransey,' sez he, an' steps quietly on board and takes the tiller. "Away we went--through the meadows and trees, and then through a long, quiet moor. "Father kep' the barge well out, and she looked sailin' among the stars--which it wasn't the stars, on'y their 'flection, mum. Well, we was halfway through the moor, and Babs was gone sound asleep 'cross my arm, when I gives Jim his head and looks back. "An', oh, mum, there was old dad standin' holdin' the tiller wi' one hand. The moon was shinin' on his face and on his hair, which is grey kind, and he kep' lookin' up and sayin' somethin'. "Then there was a plash. Oh, I knew then it was dead mother; and--and-- I jest let Jim go on--and--and--" But Ransey's story stopped right here. He was pursing up his lips and trying to swallow the lump in his throat; and Miss Scragley herself turned her head away to hide the moisture in her eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Grief does not stay long at a time in the hearts of children. It comes there all the same, nevertheless, and is quite as poignant while it does last as it is in the breasts of older folks. Children are like the traditional April day--sunshine and showers. "I think, mum," said Ransey after a while, "it is time for us to bundle and go." Miss Scragley watched the lad with considerable interest while he struck his little camp. First he scattered the remains of his fire and ashes carefully, so that there should be no danger to the wood. Then he prepared to hide his ship. "Did you make that pretty ship?" said Eedie. "Oh, yes; I can make beautiful ships and boats, 'cause I seed lots on 'em w'en father took me to Southampton. Oh, that seems millions and millions o' years ago. And ye see, miss," he added, "I'm goin' to be a sailor anyhow, and sail all over the wide world, like father did, and by-and-by I'll be rich enough to have a real ship of my own." "Oh, how nice! And will Babs go with you?" "As long as Babs is quite little," he answered, "I can't go to sea at all, 'cause Babs would die like dead mother if I went away." He had Babs in his arms by this time, and it was evident enough that the affection between these two little canal people was very strong indeed. Seated on his left shoulder, and hugging Ransey's head towards her, Babs evidently thought she was in a position to give a harangue. She accordingly addressed herself to Eedie:-- "My bloder 'Ansey is doin' to drow a big, big man. As big as dad. My bloder 'Ansey is doin' to be a sailor in s'ips, and Babs is doin'. 'Oo _mufn't_ [mustn't] take my bloder away from Babs. 'Oor mudder mufn't, and noboddy mufn't." Meanwhile her brother was nearly strangled by the vehemence of her affection. But he gently disengaged the little arm and set her on the moss once more. He speedily enveloped her in the shawl, and then hoisted her on his back. Next he hung his bag in front, and handed the fishing-rod to Bob. "We must all go now, lady." "Oh, yes, and we too must go. We have to thank you for a very interesting half-hour." Ransey wasn't used to such politeness as this little speech indicated. What to say in reply did not readily occur to him. "Wish," he said awkwardly and shyly, "I could talk as nice like as you and t'other young lady." Miss Scragley smiled. She rather liked being thought a young lady even by a little canal boy like Ransey. "Oh, you will some day. Can you read?" "Ye-es. Mother taught me to read, and by-and-by I'll teach Babs like one o'clock. I can read `Nick o' the Woods' and the `Rev'lations o' Saint John;' but Babs likes `Jack the Giant Killer' better'n the Bible. An' oh," he added, somewhat proudly, "I got a letter to-day, and I could read that; and it was to say as how father was comin' home in four days. And the postman cheeked us, and shook his head, threat'nin' like, and I threw a big turmut and broke it." "What! broke his head?" "Oh, no, mum, only jest the turmut. An' Bob went after him, and down went postie. Ye would have larfed, mum." "I'm afraid you're a bad boy sometimes." "Yes, I feels all over bad--sometimes." "I like bad boys best," said Eedie boldly, "they're such fun." "Babs," said Ransey, "you'll hang me dead if you hold so tight." "Well, dears, I'm going to come and see you to-morrow, perhaps, or next day, and bring Babs a pretty toy." "Babs," said the child defiantly, "has dot a dolly-bone, all dlessed and boo'ful." This was simply a ham-bone, on the ball of which Ransey had scratched eyes and a mouth and a nose, and dressed it in green moss and rags. And Babs thought nothing could beat that. As she rode off triumphantly on Ransey's back, Babs looked back, held one bare arm on high, and shouted, "Hullay!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "What strange children!" said Miss Scragley to her niece. "They're not at all like our little knights of the gutter down in the village where we visit. This opens up life to me in quite a new phase. I'm sure Captain Weathereye would be much interested. There is good, in those poor canal children, dear, only it wants developing. I wonder how we could befriend them without appearing officious or obtrusive. Consult the captain, did you say?" "I did not speak at all, aunt." "Didn't you? However, that _would_ be best, as you suggested." Miss Scragley did not call at Hangman's Hall next day--it looked showery; but about twelve o'clock, while Ransey Tansey was stewing that leveret with potatoes and a morsel of bacon, and Babs was nursing her dolly-bone in the bassinette, where Ransey had placed her to be out of the way, some one knocked sharply and loudly at the door. The Admiral, swaying aloft in the gibbet-tree, sounded his tocsin, and Bob barked furiously. "Down, Bob!" cried Ransey, running to the door. He half expected the postman. He was mistaken, however, for there stood a smart but pale-faced flunkey in a brown coat with gilt buttons. Now Ransey could never thoroughly appreciate "gentlemen's gentlemen" any more than he could gamekeepers. The flunkey had a large parcel under his arm, which he appeared to be rather ashamed of. "Aw!" he began haughtily, "am I right in my conjecture that this is 'Angman's 'All?" "Your conjecture," replied Ransey, mimicking the flunkey's tone and manner, "is about as neah wight as conjectures gener'ly aw. What may be the naychure of your business?" "Aw! An' may I enquiah if you are the--the--the waggamuffin who saw Miss Scwagley in the wood yestah-day?" "I'm the young _gentleman_" said Ransey, hitching up his suspender, "who had the honah of 'alf an hour's convehsation with the lady. I am Ransey Tansey, Esq., eldest and only son of Captain Tansey of the _Mewwy Maiden_. And," he added emphatically, "this is my dog _Bob_." Bob uttered a low, ominous growl, and walked round behind the flunkey on a tour of inspection. The only comfort the flunkey had at that moment arose from the fact that his calves were stuffed with hay. "Aw! Beautiful animal, to be shuah. May I ask if this is the doag that neahly killed the postman fellah?" "That's the doag," replied Ransey, "who _would_ have killed the postman fellah dead out, if I had tipped him the wink." "Aw! Well, my business is vewy bwief. Heah is a pawcel from Miss Scwagley, of which she begs your acceptance." "Ah, thank you. Dee--lighted. Pray walk in. Sorry my butler is out at pwesent. But what will you dwink--sherry, port, champagne--wum? Can highly wecommend the wum." "Oh, thanks. Then I'll have just a spot of wum." Ransey brought out his father's bottle--a bottle that had lain untouched for a long time indeed--and his father's glass, and the flunkey drank his "spot," and really seemed to enjoy it. Ransey opened the door for him. "Convey my best thanks to Miss Scwagley," he said, "and inform her that we will be ree--joiced to receive her, and that Miss Tansey and myself will not fail to return the call at a future day. Good mo'ning." "Good mawning, I'm shuah." And the elegant flunkey lifted his hat and bowed. Ransey ran in, gave the leveret stew just a couple of stirs to keep it from burning, then threw himself into his father's chair, stretched out his legs, and laughed till the very rafters rang. Book 1--CHAPTER FIVE. "OH, NO! I'LL NEVER LEAVE 'ANSEY TILL WE IS BOF DEADED." The day had looked showery, but the sun was now shining very brightly, and so Ransey Tansey laid dinner out of doors on the grass. As far as curiosity went, Babs was quite on an equality with her sex, and the meal finished, and the bones eaten by Bob, she wanted to know at once what the man with the pretty buttons had brought. Ransey's eyes, as well as his sister's, were very large, but they grew bigger when that big parcel was opened. There was a note from Miss Scragley herself right on the top, and this was worded as delicately, and with apparently as much fear of giving offence, as if Ransey had been the son of a real captain, instead of a canal bargee. Why, here was a complete outfit: two suits of nice brown serge for Ransey himself, stockings and light shoes, to say nothing of real Baltic shirts, a neck-tie, and sailor's cap. "She's oceans too good to live, that lady is!" exclaimed Ransey, rapturously. "Me see!--me see! Babs wants pletty tlothes." "Yes, dear Babs, look! There's pretty clothes." That crimson frock would match Babs's rosy cheeks and yellow curly hair "all to little bits," as Ransey expressed it. After all the things had been admired over and over again, they were refolded and put carefully away in father's strong locker. I think that the Admiral knew there was gladness in the children's eyes, for he suddenly hopped high up the hill, and did a dance that would have delighted the heart of a Pawnee Indian. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "No," said Miss Scragley that same day after dinner, as she and her friends sat out in the great veranda, "one doesn't exactly know, Mr Davies, how to benefit children like these." The parson placed the tips of his fingers together meditatively, and looked down at Miss Scragley's beautiful setter. "Of course," he said, slowly and meditatively, "teaching is essential to their bodily as well as to their spiritual welfare." "Very prettily put, Mr Davies," said Miss Scragley; "don't _you_ think so, Dr Fairincks?" "Certainly, Miss Scragley, certainly; and I was just wondering if they had been vaccinated. I'd get the little one into a home, and the boy sent to a Board school. And the father--drinks rum, eh?--get him into the house. Let him end his days there. What should you propose, Weathereye?" "Eh? Humph! Do what you like with the little one. Send the boy to school--a school for a year or two where he'll be flogged twice a day. Hardens 'em. So much for the bodily welfare, parson. As to the spiritual, why, send him to sea. Too young, Miss Scragley? Fiddlesticks! Look at me. Ran away to sea at ten. In at the hawse-hole, in a manner o' speaking. Just fed the dogs and the ship's cat at first, and emptied the cook's slush-bucket. Got buffeted about a bit, I can tell you. When I went aft, steward's mate kicked me for'ard; when I got for'ard, cook's mate kicked me aft. No place of quiet and comfort for me except swinging in the foretop with the purser's monkey. But--it made a man of me. Look at me now, Miss Scragley." Miss Scragley looked. "Staff-commander of the Royal Navy. Three stripes. Present arms from the sentries, and all that sort of thing. Ahem!" And the bold mariner helped himself to another glass of Miss Scragley's port. "But you won't go to the wars again, Captain Weathereye?" ventured Miss Scragley. The Captain rounded on her at once--put his helm hard up, so to speak, till he was bows on to his charming hostess. His face was like a full moon rising red over the city's haze. "How do _you_ know, madam? Not so very old, am I? War, indeed! Humph!--I'll be sorry when that's done," he added. "What! the war, Captain Weathereye?" said the lady. "Fiddlesticks! No, madam, the _port_--if you will have it." "As for the father of these children," he continued, after looking down a little, "if he's been a sailor, as you say, the house won't hold him. As well expect an eagle to live with the hens. Rum? Bah! I've drunk as much myself as would float the _Majestic_." "But I say, you know," he presently remarked as he took Eedie on his knee; "Little Sweetheart here and I will run over to see the children to-morrow forenoon, and we'll take the setter with us. Anything for a little excitement, when one can't hunt or shoot. And we'll take you as well, madam." Miss Scragley said she would be delighted; at the same time she could not help thinking the gallant captain's sentences might have been better worded. He might have put _her_ before the setter, to say the least. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Next morning was a very busy one at Hangman's Hall. Ransey Tansey was up betimes, but he allowed Babs to sleep on until he had lit the fire, hung on the kettle, and run for the milk. Ransey was only a boy, and boys will be boys, so he could not help telling kind Mrs Farrow, the farmer's wife, of his luck, and how he expected real society people to visit himself and Babs that day, so he must run quickly home to dress. "Certainly, dear," said Mrs Farrow; "and here are some lovely new-laid eggs. You brought me fish, you know; and really I have so many eggs I don't know what to do with them all. Good-bye, Ransey. Of course you'll run across and tell me all about it to-night, and bring Babs on your back." Babs was a "dooder dirl" than usual that morning, if that were possible. Ransey was so glad that the sun was shining; he was sure now that the visit would be paid. But he had Babs to wash and dress, and himself as well. When he had washed Babs and combed her hair, he set her high up on the bank to dry, as he phrased it, and gave her the new doll to play with. Very pretty she looked, too, in that red frock of hers. Well, away went Ransey to the stream, carrying his bundle. Bob was left to mind Babs. Ransey was gone quite a long time, and the child grew weary and sighed. "Bob!" said Babs. "Yes, Babs," said Bob, or seemed to say. "Tiss my new dolly." Bob licked the doll's face. Then he licked Babs's hand. "Master'll soon be back," he tried to tell her. She was quiet for a time, singing low to her doll. "Bob!" she said, solemnly now; "does 'oo fink [think] 'Ansey 'as fallen in and dlowned hisself?" "Oh, look, look, Bob," she cried the next moment, "a stlange man toming here!" Bob started up and barked most savagely. He was quite prepared to lay down his life for his little charge. But as he rushed forward he quickly changed his tune. It was Ransey Tansey right enough, but so transformed that it was no wonder that Babs and Bob took him for a stranger. Even the Admiral must fly down from the gibbet-tree and dance wildly round him. Murrams, the great tom-cat, came out and purred aloud; and Babs clapped her tiny hands and screamed with delight. "'Oo's a zentleman now," she cried; "and I'se a lady. Hullay!" Ransey didn't feel quite comfortable after all, especially with shoes on. To go racing through the woods in such a rig as this would be quite out of the question. The only occupation that suggested itself at present was culling wild flowers, and stringing them to put round Bob's neck. But even gathering wild flowers grew irksome at last, so Ransey got his New Testament, and turning to Revelation, read lots of nice sensational bits therefrom. Babs was not so well pleased as she might and ought to have been; but when her brother pulled out "Jack the Giant Killer," she set herself to listen at once, and there were many parts she made Ransey read over and over again, frequently interrupting with such questions as,-- "So Jack killed the big ziant, did he? 'Oo's _twite_ sure o' zat?" "And ze axe was all tovered wi' blood and ziant's hair? My! how nice!" "Six 'oung ladies, all stlung up by ze hair o' zer heads? Boo'ful! 'Oo's _twite_ sure zer was six?" "An' the big ziant was doin' to kill zem all? My! how nice!" Ransey was just describing a tragedy more ghastly than any he had yet read, when from the foot of the slope came a stentorian hail:-- "Hangman's Hall, ahoy! Turn out the guard!" The guard would have turned out in deadly earnest--Bob, to wit--if Ransey hadn't ordered him to lie down. Then, picking up Babs, he ran down the hill, heels first, lest he should fall, to welcome his visitors. Miss Scragley was charmed at the change in the lad's personal appearance, and Eedie frankly declared him to be the prettiest boy she had ever seen. Captain Weathereye hoisted Babs and called her a beautiful little rogue. Then all sat down on the side of the hill to talk, Babs being perfectly content, for the time being, to sit on the captain's knee and play with his watch and chain. "And now, my lad," said bold Weathereye, "stand up and let us have a look at you. Attention! That's right. So, what would you like to be? Because the lady here has a heart just brimful of goodness, and if you were made of the right stuff she would help you to get on. A sailor? That's right. The sea would make a man of you, lad. And if you were in a heavy sea-way, with your masts gone by the board, bothered if old Jack Weathereye wouldn't pay out a hawser and give you a helping hand himself. For I like the looks of you. Glad you paid the postman out. Just what I'd have done myself. Ahem!" Ransey felt rather shy, though, to be thus displayed as it were. It was all owing to the new clothes, I think, and especially to the shoes. "Now, would you like to go to school?" "What! and leave Babs? No, capting, no. I'd hate school anyhow; I'd fight the small boys, and bite the big uns, and they'd soon turn me adrift." "Bravo, boy! I never could endure school myself.--What I say is this, Miss Scragley, teach a youngster to read and write, with a trifle of 'rithmetick, and as he gets older he'll choose all the knowledge himself, and tackle on to it too, that's needed to guide his barque across the great ocean of life. There's no good in schools, Miss Scragley, that I know of, except that the flogging hardens them.--Well, lad, you won't go to school? There! And if you'll get your father to allow you to come up to the Grange, just close by the village and rectory, I'll give you a lesson myself, three times a week." "Oh, thank you, sir! I'm sure father'll be pleased to let me come when I'm at home and not at sea." "Eh? at sea? Oh, yes, I know; you mean on the barge, ha, ha, ha! Well, you'll live to face stormier seas yet." "An' father's comin' to-morrow, sir, and then we're goin' on." "Going on?" "He means along the canal," said Miss Scragley. "To be sure, to be sure. What an old fool I am! And now, lad, let me think what I was going to say. Oh, yes. Don't those shoes pinch a bit?" "Never wears shoes and stockin's 'cept in winter, sir. I keeps 'em in dad's locker till snow time." "Now, in you go to your house or hut and take them off." "Ha!" said Weathereye, when Ransey returned with bare feet and ankles, "that's ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Now, lad, listen. If Miss Scragley here asks you to come and see her--and I'm sure she will, for she's an elderly lady, and likes to be amused,"--Miss Scragley winced a little, but Weathereye held on--"when you're invited to the ancestral home of the Scragleys, then you can wear them togs and your shoes; but when you come to the Grange, it'll be in canvas bags, bare feet, a straw hat, and a blue sweater--and my own village tailor shall rig you out. Ahem!" Captain Weathereye glanced at Miss Scragley as if he owed her a grudge. The look might have been interpreted thus: "There are other people who can afford to be as generous as you, and have a far better notion of a boy's requirements." "And now, Babs," he continued, kissing the child's little brown hand, "I've got very fond of you all at once. Will you come and live with me?" "Tome wiz 'oo and live! Oh, no," she replied, shaking her yellow curls, "I'll never leave 'Ansey till we is bof deaded. Never!" And she slid off the captain's knee and flew to Ransey with outstretched arms. The boy knelt on one knee that she might reach his neck. Then he lifted her up, and she looked defiantly back at the captain, with her cheek pressed close to Ransey's. Weathereye glanced towards Miss Scragley once again, and his voice was a trifle husky when he spoke. "Miss Scragley," he said, "old people like _you_ and me are apt to be faddy. We will both do something for these poor children, but, bless them, there's a bond of union betwixt their little hearts that we dare not sever. The bairns must not be parted." Book 1--CHAPTER SIX. CHEE-TOW, THE RED CHIEF OF THE SLIT-NOSED INDIANS. During the time the memorable visit lasted no one took much notice of Ransey Tansey's pets. Yet each one of the three of them was interested, and each showed his interest in his own peculiar way. The Admiral had flown gracefully down from the gibbet-tree, and alighted on the ground not more than a dozen yards from the group. "Craik--a-raik--a--r-r-r--a--cray--ay!" he said to himself, which being interpreted seemed to signify, "What do _they_ want here, anyhow? That's about the same gang I saw in the woods. Curr-r-r! Well, they haven't guns anyhow, like the beastly biped called a keeper, who tried to shoot my hind-legs off because I was a strange bird. I was only tasting some partridge's eggs, nothing else. Shouldn't I have liked just to have gouged out his ugly eyes, thrown 'em one by one into the air, caught 'em coming down, and swallowed 'em like eggs." All the time the talking was going on the Admiral stood twisting his body about, sometimes crouching low to the ground, his neck stretched straight out towards them, the head on one side and listening, the next moment erect as a bear pole, and seeming to look surprised and angry at what he heard them saying. Bob had rushed to see about the setter. He lay down at some distance off, with his nose between his paws, and the setter _set_, and finally _sat_. "Not a yard nearer, Mr Sportsman, if _you_ please," said Bob; "I'm a rough 'un to look at, and a tough 'un to tackle. I suppose you call yourself a gentleman's dog; you live in marble halls, sleep on skins, and drink from a silver saucer. I'm only a poor man's doggie; I sleep where I can, eat what I can get, and drink from bucket or brook. But I love my master maybe more than you love yours. Yonder is my home, and yonder is our cat in the door of it; but my humble home is my master's castle. Just try to come a yard or two nearer, if you're tired of your silly life." But Dash preferred to stay where he was. Murrams the cat behaved with the utmost dignity and indifference. He sat in the doorway washing his face, with dreamy, half-shut eyes. To have seen him you would have said that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, so cool was he; yet if Mr Dash had come round that way, Murrams would have mounted his back and never ceased clawing the dog till he had ridden him half a mile at least from Hangman's Hall. It wasn't, however, until the visitors had taken their departure that the grand jubilee commenced. "_They're_ gone!" said Bob, running up and licking the pussy's ear. "That's a jolly good job!" "_They're_ gone!" said pussy in reply, as he rubbed shoulders with Bob. "_They're_ gone!" cried the crane, hopping madly round the pair of them. And as she nestled closer in her brother's arms, Babs sighed and said just the same thing. "Hurrah!" cried Ransey Tansey; "let's run off to the woods." "Let's wun off to ze woods at wance," echoed Babs. Had little Eedie seen Ransey five minutes after this, I question whether she would have pronounced him the prettiest boy she had ever known. Ransey was himself again, old shirt, ragged pants, and all. I think that the children and Bob, not to mention the gallant Admiral, enjoyed themselves that afternoon in the woods as much as ever they had done in their young lives. Babs insisted on taking her ragged old dolly-bone with her, and leaving the new one at home upside down in a corner. Well, Ransey fished for just an hour, but had glorious luck and a good string to take to Mrs Farrow. This was enough, so he put away his rod, and read some more horrors to Babs from "Nick o' the Woods." The torture scenes and the scalping took her fancy more than anything else. So Ransey Tansey invented a play on the spot that would have brought down the house in a twopenny theatre if properly put on the stage. He, Ransey Tansey, was to be a wild Indian, Babs would be the white man, Bob the bear, and the Admiral the spirit of the wild woods and ghost of the haunted canon. The play passed off without a hitch. Only Ransey Tansey himself required to dress for his part. This he did to perfection. He retired to a secluded spot by the river's bank for the purpose. He divested himself of his pants and his solitary suspender. These were but the evidences of an effete civilisation. What could such things as these have to do with the red man of the wild West, the solitary scalp-hunter of the boundless prairie? But a spear and a tomahawk he must have, and these were quickly and easily fashioned from the boughs of the neighbouring trees. He tied a piece of cord around his waist, and in this he stuck his knife, open and ready for every emergency. He fuzzed up his rebellious hair, and stuck rooks' feathers in it; he thrust his feet into the darkest and grimiest of mud to represent moccasins, and streaked his face with the same. When enveloped in his blanket (the big shawl) he stalked into the open in all the ghastliness of his wur-paint, and said "Ugh!" He was Ransey Tansey no longer, but Chee-tow, the Red Chief of the Slit-nosed Indians. On beholding the warrior, Babs's first impulse was to scream in terror; her next--and this she carried out--was to roll on her back, her two legs pointing skywards, and scream with laughter. "Oh," she cried delightedly, "'oo _is_ such a boo'ful wallio! [warrior]; be twick and tell somefing." For the time being Babs was only the audience. When she became an actor in this great forest drama she would have to behave differently. And now the red chief went prowling around, and presently out from a bush darted a grizzly bear. The bear was Bob. Chee-tow uttered his wildest war-cry, and rushed onwards to the charge. The grizzly held his ground and scorned to fly. "Then began the deadly conflict, Hand to hand among the mountains; From his eerie screamed the eagle [the crane] ...the great war-eagle, Sat upon the crags around them, Wheeling, flapped his wings above them. * * * * *. "Till the earth shook with the tumult And confusion of the battle. And the air was full of shoutings, And the thunder of the mountains Starting, answered `Baim-wa-wa.'" This fierce fight with the terrible grizzly was so realistic that the audience sat silent and enthralled, with its thumb in its mouth. But it ended at last in the victory of the red chief. The bear lay dead, and the first Act came to a close. In Act Two an Indian maiden has been stolen, and borne away by a white man across the boundless prairie to his wigwam in the golden East. The red chief squats down on the moss with drooping head to bewail the loss of his daughter, during which outburst of grief his streaks of war-paint get rather mixed; but that can't be helped. Then the spirit of the wild woods appears to him--the ghost of the haunted canon (that is, between you and me, the Admiral comes hopping up with his neck stretched out, wondering what it is all about)--and whispers to him, and speaks in his ear, and says:-- "Listen to me, brave Chee-tow-wa, Lie not there upon the meadow; Stoop not down among the lilies, Lest the west wind come and harm you. Follow me across the prairie, Follow me across the mountains, I will find the maiden for you, The maid with hair like sunshine, Who has vanished from your sight." So Chee-tow gets up, seizes his arms, and follows the spirit, who goes hopping on in front of him in a very weird-like manner indeed. Meanwhile Babs, knowing her part, has hidden herself in a bush, and in due time is led back in triumph as the white man who stole the maiden. He is tied to a tree, scalped, and tortured. Then a fire is lit, and thither the white man is dragged towards it to be burned alive. But another bear (Bob again) rushes in to his assistance and enables him to escape. The same fire built to burn the white man (Babs) is being utilised to roast potatoes for supper; only this is a mere detail. And the play ends by the spirit of the wild woods bringing the maiden back (Babs again) to the camp fire in the forest, and--and by a supper of baked potatoes with salt. All's well that ends well. And shortly after the denouement there may be seen, wending its way in the calm summer gloaming up the little footpath that leads through the green corn, the following procession. First, Bob solemnly carrying the fishing-rod; then Ransey Tansey with a string of red-finned fish in front of him, and Babs on his back, wrapped in the Indian's blanket; and last, but not least, the Admiral himself, nodding his head not unlike a camel, and lifting his legs very high indeed, because the dew was beginning to fall. Babs had gone soundly to sleep by the time they reached the farm, but she was lively enough a few minutes after this. And Mrs Farrow made them stay to supper, every one of them, including even the Admiral, although he said "Tok--tok--tok" several times, out of politeness, perhaps when first invited in. The kitchen at the farm was in reality a sitting-room, and a very jolly, cosy one it was; nor did the fire seem a bit out of place to-night. It took Ransey quite a long time to tell all his adventures, and dilate upon the kindness of his visitors, especially rough but kindly Captain Weathereye. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was almost dark before they got to the little cot at the foot of the hill that they called their home; and here a fresh surprise awaited them, for a light was shining through the little window, and through the half-open door as well. Babs herself was the first, I believe, to notice this. "O 'Ansey," she cried, struggling with excitement on the boy's back, "O 'Ansey, look! fazer [father] has tomed! Be twick, 'Ansey, be twick." And Ransey quickened his pace now, while Bob ran on in front. "Wowff, wowff," he barked, "wowff--wowff--wow!" But it was in a half-hysterical kind of way, as if there were a tear of joy mixed up with it, joy at the hope of seeing a kind old master again. Even the crane felt it his bounden duty to indulge in an extra hop or two, and to shout, "Scray--scray--scray--ay--ay!" It was the Admiral's voice that caused honest Tom Tandy to get up from his chair, lay down his pipe, and hurry to the door. "Hill--ll--o!" he shouted. "Here we all are, Ransey Tansey, Babs, and Bob, and all. Why, this _is_ a merry meeting. Come, Babs. Hoist away, Ransey. Hee--hoy--ip! and there she is safely landed in harbour. So you missed your old father, little lass, did you? Bless it. But we're all going on to-morrow, and the _Merry Maiden_ has got a new coat o' paint, and new furniture for the cuddy, and it's no end of a jolly time we'll all have." Yes, it _was_ a merry meeting, and a right happy one. I only wish that both Miss Scragley and Captain Weathereye had seen it. "Why," the former would have said to herself, "this good fellow could surely never have been a slave to the bottle!" Mr Tandy had never really been a constant imbiber of that soul-killing curse of our country--drink; but some years gone by, like many another old sailor, he was liable to slide into an occasional "bout," as it is called, and it was with sorrow he thought of this now. But Miss Scragley and many others have yet to learn that it is often the best-hearted and the brightest that fall most easily into temptation. As for Weathereye, had he been a witness of this little reunion, he too would have given his opinion about the sturdy old sailor. "Why!" he would have cried frankly to Mr Tandy, [pronounced Tansey only by the children] "why, my good fellow, Miss Scragley, who is faddy and elderly, and myself, old fool that I am at the best, were considering what best we could do for your children. We were to do all kinds of pretty things. The boy was going to a school, the child to a home, and you--ha, ha, ha--you, with your bold face and your sturdy frame, a man of barely forty, were going to be sent to the house. Ha, ha, no wonder I laugh. But tip us your flipper, Tandy, you're a man every inch--a man and a sailor." That is what Weathereye would have said had he seen Tandy sitting there now. They are right in saying that those whom animals and children love are possessed of right good hearts of their own. And here was this old sailor--the word "old" being simply a term of endearment, for none but the sickly are old at forty, and they've been old all the time--sitting erect in his chair, Babs on one knee, the great cat on the other; Ransey on the hearth looking smilingly up at father's bronzed face, silver-sprinkled hair and beard; the Admiral standing on one leg behind the chair; and poor Bob asleep before the fire, with his chin reposing on his old master's boot. It was a pretty picture. "Children," says Tandy at last, "it is getting late, and--just kneel down. I think we'll say a bit of a prayer to-night." Book 1--CHAPTER SEVEN. ON SILENT HIGHWAYS. It was early next morning when Ransey Tansey ran off through the fields for a double allowance of milk. "Double allowance to-day, Mrs Farrow," he shouted. "Oh, yes, father's come; and we're goin' on to-day. Isn't it just too awfully jolly for anything?" "Well, I'm sorry to lose you and Babs." "Back in a month, Mrs Farrow. It'll soon pass, ye know. But I--I am a kind o' sorry to leave you too, for ye've been so good to Babs and Bob and me." There was a tear in Ransey's eye as he took the milk-can and prepared to depart. "The Admiral can take care o' his little self," he said, "but there's Murrams." "Yes, dear boy, and our nipper shall go over every morning, and put Murrams's bowl of milk in through the broken pane." "Oh, now I'm happy, just downright happy." "Well, off you run. Mind never to forget to say your prayers." "No; and I'll pray for Murrams, for the Admiral, for you, and all." He waved his hand now, and quickly disappeared. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The world wasn't a very wide one just yet to these poor children, Ransey and Babs. It was chiefly made up of that little cottage which went by the uncanny name of Hangman's Hall, and of the carrying barge or canal-boat yclept _Ye Merry Maiden_. But when at home, at the hut, they had all the sweet, green, flowery fields around them, the stream, and the wild woods. These formed the grand seminary in which Ransey studied nature, and moreover, studied it without knowing he was studying anything. To him every creature, whether clad in fur or in feather, was a friend. He knew all their little secrets, and they _knew_ that he knew them. Not a bird that sang was there that he did not know by its eggs, its nest, or its notes; not a rabbit, hare, vole, or field-mouse that he could not have told you the life-story of. His was a-- "Knowledge never learned at schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wild flowers' time and place; Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell; How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground mole makes his well; How the robin feeds her young; How the oriel's nest is hung; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay; And the architectural plans Of grey hornet artisans." It is true enough that this family was poor in the eyes of the world. I am sure they were not ashamed of it, however. The poverty that goes hand in hand with honesty may hold up its head before the Queen. "Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that?" So sang the immortal Robert Burns. But could any boy, or girl either, be really poor who had so many friends in field and forest, and by the winding stream? No; and such a one as this, who has been in touch with nature in his or her early days, may grow up, grow old, but never forget the days of youth, and never, never lose faith in Heaven and a happy Beyond. The cottage and the surrounding country, however, did not constitute all the children's world. There was the ship--as I have said--the barge that went to sea, and in which they so often sailed. For to them as yet the barge was a brig, and the canal the ocean wide and wild. Well, I might on second thoughts withdraw those "wee wordies," _wide_ and _wild_. The canal was not a very wide one, nor was it ever very wild, in summer time at all events. Never mind, to the imagination of Ransey, Babs, and Bob, the _Merry Maiden_ was-- "A gallant ship, with a crew as brave As ever sailed the ocean wave." The crew of the _Merry Maiden_, I may tell you at once, was a very small one indeed, and consisted--all told, that is--of the captain himself, who was likewise cook, boatswain, and bedmaker all combined; one sturdy, great boy of sixteen, strong enough to lift almost any weight, Sammy by name, who was first lieutenant, supercargo, and chief engineer, and who often took his trick at the wheel--that is, he took the tiller and relieved his captain, or mounted Jim and relieved Ransey; Ransey himself, who was second engineer--Jim, the stout old bay nag, being the engine itself, the moving power when no fair wind was blowing; and Bob, whose station was at the bows, and his duty to keep a good look-out and hail those aft if any other ship hove in sight or danger was near. The _Merry Maiden_ rejoiced in one mast, which had to be cleverly lowered when a bridge had to be negotiated. The sail was a fore-and-aft one, though very full at times. Picturesquely reddish-brown it was, and looked so pretty sometimes against the green of the trees that, as the craft sailed slowly on in the sunshine, dreamy artists, seated smoking at their out-door easels, often made the _Merry Maiden_ part and parcel of the landscape they were painting. I think that Tandy himself liked being on board. The barge was his own, and carrying light wares or parcels from village to village, or town to town, his trade. Things had gone backwards with Tandy as long as he looked upon the rum when it was red; he had got into debt. But now he was comfortable, jolly once more, because his keel was clear, as he phrased it; and as he reclined to-day on the top of the cuddy, or poop, with the tiller in his hand, Babs nestling near him, with the greenery of the woods, the fields, and little round knolls floating dreamily past him in the silvery haze of the sunshine, he looked a picture of health, happiness, and contentment. Ransey and Babs took their canal life very easily. They never knew or cared where they were going to, nor thought of what they might see. Even the boy's knowledge of the geography of his own country was very limited indeed. He had some notion that his father's canal--he grandly termed it so occasionally--was somewhere away down in the midlands. And he was right. He hadn't learned to box the compass, however; and even had he possessed the knowledge, there wasn't a compass on board the _Merry Maiden_ to box or be boxed. Besides, the ship's head was seldom a whole hour in any one particular direction. The canal was a very winding one, its chief desire seeming to be to visit all the villages it could reach without being bothered with locks. These last were few and far between, because the country was rather a level one on the whole. Nevertheless the fact of their not knowing exactly where they were going to, or what they would see next, lent an additional charm to the children's canal life. It was like the game children play on moonlight nights in Scotland. This is a very simple one, but has a great fascination for tiny dwellers in the country, and, besides, it gives excellent scope for the imagination. One child blindfolds another, and leads him here, there, and everywhere, without going far away from home--round the stackyards, over the fields by the edge of the woods, or across bridges, the blindfolded wondering all the time where he is, but feeling as if he were in fairyland, till at last his eyes are free, and he finds himself--well, in the very last place he could have dreamt of being. There is no reason why canal life in England should not be most pleasant, and canal people just as happy as was the crew, all told, on board the _Merry Maiden_. The saloon of the _Maiden_, as Tandy grandly called it, was by no means very large. It was simply a dear little morsel of a doll's-house, but the taste of the owner was shown in many different ways. By day the beds were folded up and were prettily draped with bright curtains. There were a lounge, an easy-chair, a swing-lamp, a beautiful brass stove, and racks above and at both sides of it for plates and mugs and clear, clean tin cooking utensils; there were tiny cupboards and brackets and mirrors, and in almost every corner stood vases of wild flowers, culled by Babs and Ransey whenever they had a chance. And this was often enough, for really Jim was so wise a horse that he never required any urging to do his duty. He was never known to make either break or stumble. But when sail was on the ship, Jim had nothing to do except to walk after her and look about him. Sometimes the oats or the wheat grew close to the path, and then, although a very honest horse, Jim never failed to treat himself to a pluck. So he was as sleek and fat as any nag need be. The weather was not always fine, of course, but on wet days Babs could be sent below, with Bob to mind her, to play with her picture-books, her lady doll, and her dolly-bone. Ransey's father had made him discard now, for ever and ay, his ragged garments, although the boy had not done so without a sigh of regret-- they were so free and easy. His best clothes, presented by Miss Scragley, were stowed away for high days and holidays, and the suit his father bought him and brought him was simply neat and somewhat nautical. Let us take a little cruise in the _Merry Maiden_. Shall we, reader? It will be a cruise in imagination certainly, but very real for all that, because it is from the life. It is very early, then, in the joyous month of June, and the _Merry Maiden_ is lying alongside a green bank. There is no pier here. It is a country place. Yonder on the right is a pretty little canal-side inn, the "Jolly Tapsters." You can read its name on the sign that is swinging to and fro beneath a wide-spreading elm-tree. Under this tree is a seat, and a table also; and on fine evenings, after their day's work is done, honest labourers, dressed in smocks, who have been haymaking all day, come here to smoke long clays, to talk to their neighbours, and now and then beat the table with their pewters to ask for "another pint, landlord, if _you_ please." Tandy lay in here last night and left a whole lot of parcels and things at that cosy hostelry; for the country all about is an agricultural one, beautifully wooded with rolling hills, with many a smiling mansion peeping grey or red above the trees, and many a well-tilled farm. The parcels will all be called for in due time. The barge-master is up before even Ransey is stirring. He has lit the fire and made ready for breakfast. Before going on shore by the little gangway, he stirs Sammy up. Sammy, the sixteen-year-old boy, has been sleeping among the cargo with a morsel of tarpaulin for a blanket. He rubs his eyes, and in a few seconds pulls himself up, and begins, lazily enough, to sort and arrange the parcels and make notes for the next stop in a small black book, with a very thick pencil that he sticks in his mouth about once every three seconds to make it write more easily. "What a lovely morning!" thinks Tandy, and Bob, who has come bounding after him, thinks so too. The sun is already up, however. From every copse and plantation comes the melody of birds. Flocks of rooks are flying heavily and silently away to the distant river, where among the reeds they will find plenty to eat. Swimming about in the canal yonder are half a score of beautiful ducks. No, not wild; wild birds seldom build on a busy canal side. They are the innkeeper's Rouens, and that splendid drake is very proud indeed. He lifts himself high out of the water and claps his wings in defiance as Bob passes. Yonder is a lark lilting loudly and sweetly high above the green corn. There are linnets and greenfinches in the hedges, and warblers among the snow-white blossoms of the may. There is a wealth of wild flowers everywhere--blue-eyed speedwells, the yellow celandine, the crimson of clover, the ragged robin, and ox-eye daisies weeping dew. So balmy is the air and fresh that the barge-master has wandered further than he had intended. Hunger warns him to beat a retreat. Canal people, like caravan folks, have excellent appetites. But here he is on board again. Ransey has already cooked and laid the breakfast, dressed Babs, and folded up the beds. With the ports all open the tiny saloon is sweet and clean. "For what we are about to receive," the father begins, and little Ransey's head is bent and Babs's hands are clasped till grace is said. Those eggs are fresh. The fish was caught but yesterday. Butter and beautiful bread are always to be had cheap all along the canal. Sammy's breakfast and Bob's are duly handed up the companion-way, and in half an hour after this the horse is yoked, the landlord has wished them all good luck, and they have gone on. But the wind, though slight, is dead ahead for miles, and Jim has a heavy drag. Jim doesn't mind that a bit. He jingles his light harness, strains nobly to his work, and jogs right merrily on. Gradually the country wakens up to newness of life. Smoke comes curling up from many a humble cottage; cocks are crowing here and there; and busy workman-like dogs are hurrying to and fro as they drive cattle or sheep to distant pasture lands. There are houses dotted about everywhere, some very close to the canal side, from the doors of which half-dressed children rush out to wave naked arms and "hooray" as the barge goes slowly floating past. To these Babs must needs wave her wee hands and give back cheer for cheer. Many of those cots, humble though they be, have the neatest of gardens, with flowers already blooming in beds and borders, in tubs and in boxes; neat little walks all sanded and yellow; and strings along the walls, up which, when summer is further advanced, climbers will find their way and trail in their loveliness over porch and windows. There are orchards behind many of these, the gnarled trees snowed over with bloom, many clad in pink or crimson. All this brings to one's mind snatches from Mrs Hemans:-- "The cottage homes of England, By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet-fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves, And fearless there the lowly sleep As the bird beneath their eaves." The sun climbs higher and higher, and the mists have disappeared from the far-off hills, and now you can tell it is school time. Well-dressed children, in groups, are wending their way all in one direction. But they find time to cull wild flowers for teacher; and see, a bold, bright-faced lad comes near to the edge of the canal. Perhaps he is charmed by the innocent beauty of little Babs. Who can tell? One thing we _are_ sure of--he has learned a little French, and is proud to air it. "_Bon voyage_," he shouts. And next moment a bonnie bunch of flowers falls right into the child's lap. "Kiss your hand to him, dear," says father. Babs smilingly does as she is told. No actress could do so more naturally. Then the boy runs off, looking happy, and the barge floats on. Book 1--CHAPTER EIGHT. "POOR MARY! SHE HAS GONE ON." The barge floats on, and soon the village appears in sight. Yes, thoroughly English, and therefore pretty: the old grey houses only half seen in the midst of the foliage; the wreaths of blue smoke; the broad, squat steeple; wooded hills behind, and amongst these latter here and there a tall Elizabethan house sheltering itself in a hollow, for wildly in winter do the winds sweep through the leafless oaks and elms now clad in all the glory of summer's green. The canal makes a sweep just before it comes up to the village, as if it had entertained some thoughts of going past without calling. But it hasn't the heart to do so, and presently the barge is close alongside a kind of wooden platform which is dignified by the name of wharf. Ransey dismounts to water his horse and slip on the nose-bag. Then, while Sammy is busy with his note-book, handing out cargo and taking fresh orders, he takes delighted Babs and Bob on shore to look at the shops. These visits to villages are much appreciated by her tiny ladyship, but if the streets are steep Ransey Tansey must take her on his back, and thus the two go on. No fear of the "ship" leaving without them; and why, here is father himself, his hands deep in the pockets of his pilot jacket, and smoking. A penny to Ransey and a halfpenny to Babs secure them additional happiness; but in less than an hour the anchor is weighed, and the _Merry Maiden_ is once more going on. The wind changes, or the canal, or something; anyhow sail can now be set, and Jim thinks himself about the happiest horse in all creation. On and on through the quiet country, by the most silent of all thoroughfares, goes the barge. Babs is getting drowsy; father makes her a bed with a bundle of sacks, shading her face from the sun; and soon she is in the land of forgetfulness. Were it not for the breeze that blows freshly over the meadows, the day would be a warm and drowsy one. No fear of Sammy falling asleep, however, for as the canal winds in and out he has to tighten or loosen the sheet according to the shift. Just at present the sounds that are wafted towards the barge are all lulling and dreamy: the far-off singing of birds; the sound of the woodman's axe in the distant wood; the rattle of a cart or carriage on a road that is nowhere visible; the jangle of church bells from a village that may be in the sky for anything any one can tell; and now the merry laughter of young men and maidens making hay, and these last come in sight just round the next green bend. It suddenly occurs to Jim that a dance wouldn't be at all a bad idea. Ransey is some distance behind his horse, when he sees him lower his head and fling his heels high in air. This is merely preparatory; next minute he is off at a gallop, making straight for that meadow of fragrant hay, the wind catching mane and tail and blowing it straight out fore and aft. When tired of galloping round the field, Jim bears right down upon the haymakers themselves. "That stuff," he says, with distended nostrils, "smells uncommonly nice. Give us a tuft." He is fed handsomely by both lads and lasses gay. But they get gayer than ever when Jim throws himself down on his back, regardless of the confused entanglement of bridle and traces. But Jim knows better than to roll on the bare ground. He has thrown down a hay-cock for himself, and it is as good as a play to witness the girls bury him up till there is nothing to be seen of him except his four legs kicking skywards. He gets up at last, and looks very sober and solemn. One girl kisses him on the muzzle; another is busy doing something that Ransey cannot make out, but a minute or two after this, when Jim comes thundering back, there is a huge collar of hay around his neck. Ransey mounts him bareback, and, waving his hand to the haymakers, goes galloping off to overtake the barge, and throw the hay on board. A nice little snack it will make for Jim some time later on! To-day Mr Tandy has bought a newspaper. He had meant to read it, but he is too fond of country sights and sounds to bother about it now. In the evening, perhaps, over a pipe. On, ever on. There are locks to get through now, several of them, and lockmen are seldom, if ever, more than half awake; but everybody knows Tandy, and has a kindly word to say to Ransey Tansey, and perhaps a kiss to blow to Babs, who has just awakened, with eyes that shine, and lips and cheeks as red as the dog-roses that trail so sweetly over a hedge near by. The country here is higher--a bit of Wales in the midlands, one might almost say. And so it continues for some time. Sammy takes his trick at the wheel, and prefers to steer by lying on his back and touching the tiller with one bare foot. Sammy is always original and funny, and now tells Babs wonderful stories about fairies and water-babies that he met with a long time ago when he used to dwell deep down beneath the sea. Babs has never seen the real sea, except in pictures, and is rather hazy about it. Nevertheless, Sammy's stories are very wonderful, and doubtless very graphic. The sail is lowered at last, and the saucy _Merry Maiden_ moored to a green bank. The dinner is served, and all hands, including Jim, do justice to it. I said the barge was "moored" here. Literal enough, for a wide, wild moor stretches all around. Sheep are feeding not far off, and some droll-looking ponies that Jim would like to engage in conversation. There are patches of heath also, and stunted but prettily-feathered larch-trees now hung with points of crimson. Great patches of golden gorse hug the ground and scent the air for yards around. Linnets are singing there, and now and then the eye is gladdened by the sight of a wood-lark. Sometimes he runs along the ground, singing more sweetly even than his brother musician who loves to soar as high as the clouds. Here is a cock-robin, looking very independent and lilting defiance at everybody. Robins do not always live close to civilisation. This robin comes close enough to pick up the crumbs which Ransey throws towards him. He wants Ransey to believe that all the country for miles and miles around belongs to him--Cock-Robin--and that no bird save him has any real business here. There are pine-trees waving on the hills yonder, and down below, a town much bigger than any they yet have arrived at. But see, there is a storm coming up astern, so, speedily now, the _Merry Maiden_ is once more under way. Babs is bundled down below, and Bob goes with her. Presently the air is chilly enough to make one shiver. A puff of high wind, a squall we may call it, brings up an army of clouds and darkness. Thunder rolls, and the swift lightning flashes--red, bright, intense-- then down come the rain and the big white hailstones. These rattle so loudly on the poop deck, and on the great tarpaulin that covers the cargo, that for a time the thunder itself can scarcely be heard. But in twenty minutes' time the sun is once more shining, the clouds have rolled far to leeward, the deck is dry, and but for the pools of water that lie in the hollows of the hard tarpaulin, no evidence is left that a summer storm had been raging. But away with the storm has gone the wind itself, and Jim is once more called into requisition. Then onwards floats the barge. Through many a bridge and lock, past many a hamlet, past woodlands and orchards, and fields of waving wheat, stopping only now and then at a village, till at last, and just as the sun is westering, the distant town is reached. Oh, a most unsavoury sort of a place, a most objectionable kind of a wharf, at which to pass a night. Tandy sends Babs and Bob below again; for a language is spoken here he does not wish the child to listen to, sights may be seen he would not that her eyes should dwell upon. Yonder is an ugly public-house with broken windows in it, and a bloated-faced, bare-armed woman, the landlady, standing with arms akimbo defiantly in the doorway. Ah! there was a time when Tandy used to spend hours in that very house. He shudders to think of it now. There is one dead tree at the gable of this inn, which--half a century ago, perhaps--may have been a country hostelry surrounded by meadows and hedges. That tree would then be green, the air fresh and sweet around it, the mavis singing in its leafy shade. Now the sky is lurid, the air is tainted, and there is smoke everywhere. Not even the bark is left on the ghastly tree. It looks as if it had died of leprosy. But the work is hurried through, and in a comparatively short time the _Merry Maiden_ is away out in the green quiet country. What a blessed change from the awful town they have just left! The sun has already gone down in such a glory of crimson, bronze, and orange, as we in this country seldom see. This soon fades away, however, as everything that is beautiful to behold must fade. The stars come out now in the east, and just as gloaming is merging into night the boat draws near to a little canal-side inn, and Jim, the horse, who is wiser far than many a professed Christian, stops of his own accord. For Ransey had gone to sleep--oh, he often rode thus and never fell. He awakes now, however, with a start, and gazes wonderingly around him. His eyes fall upon the sign. And there, in large white letters, the boy can read easily enough though the light is fading--the "Bargee's Chorus." And not only could he read, but he could remember: it was here they lay that sad, sad night--what a long time ago it seemed--when mother died. Here was the landlord himself with his big apron on, a burly fellow with a kindly face, and as Tandy stepped on shore he was welcomed with a hearty handshake. "Ah: Cap'en Tandy, and 'ow's you. And here is Ransey Tansey, bright and bobbish, and little Babs, and Bob, and everybody. How nice you all look! But la!" he added, "it do seem such a long, long time since you were here before." "I've not had the heart to come much this way, Mr Shirley. I've been trading at the southern end o' the canal." "And ye've never been here once since you put up the bit of marble slab to mark the spot where _she_ lies?" Ransey knew his mother was referred to, and turned aside to hide the tears. "Never since," says Tandy. "Ah, cap'en, many's the one as asks me about that slab. And the old squire himself stopped here one day and got all the story from me. And when I'd finished, never a word he said. He just heaved a biggish sort of a sigh, and went trotting on. "But come in, Ransey, Babs, and Bob, and all. The night's going to be chilly, and an air of the fire will do the children good. "Sammy, just take the horse round to the stable. We'll have a bit o' frost to-night, I thinks." Ransey runs on board for a few minutes to touch up the fire, put on the guard, and make down the beds; then he joins the group around the cosy parlour fire. The kindly landlady, as plump and rosy as her husband, makes very much of the children, and the supper she places before them is a right hearty one, nor is Bob himself forgotten. A very quiet and pleasant evening is spent, then good-nights are said, and the seafaring folks, as they humorously call themselves, go on board to bed. Sammy is already sound asleep beneath the tarpaulin, and Ransey takes his little sister below to bed at once. But father stops on deck a little while, to think and muse. How still the night is! Not a breath of wind now; not a sound save the distant melancholy hooting of an owl as he flies low across the fields, the champ-champing of the horse in the stable, and an occasional plash in the canal as some great frog leaps off the bank. Nothing more. But high above shine God's holy stars. There may be melancholy in the old sailor's heart as he gazes skywards, but there is hope as well, for these little points of dazzling light bear his thoughts away to better worlds than this. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It is early morning again, and soon the barge is well on its way. But when it is stopped in the middle of a somewhat lonesome moor, and Tandy takes his children on shore, the boy knows right well where they are going, though innocent little Babs doesn't. "Father," he says presently, as they are near to a clump of tall trees, "isn't it just _here_ where mother was laid?" The rough weather-beaten old sailor uncovers his head. He points to a spot of the canal that is gleaming bright in the rays of the morning sun. "Just down there, dear boy," he says. "The coffin was leaded; it could never rise." The last words are spoken apparently to himself, as he turns sadly away towards the trees. Still holding Ransey's hand, and with Babs in his arms, he points to the tallest, strongest tree of all. It is a beautiful beech. And there, about eight feet from the ground, and evidently let deeply into the tree, is a small and lettered slab of marble. The bark has begun to curl in a rough lip over its edge all round as if to hold it more firmly in its place. POOR MARY. She has gone on. _Feby. 19th--82_. The letters were not over-well formed. Perhaps they were cut by Tandy's own hand. What mattered it? The little tablet was meant but for _his_ eyes. Simplicity is best. "Poor Mary! She has gone on." And the words are written not only there upon the marble, but upon the honest sailor's heart. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ End of Book One. Book 2--CHAPTER ONE. "JUST THREE YEARS SINCE RANSEY WENT TO SEA." "O father," said Babs one autumn evening, "aren't _you_ frightened at the roaring of the sea?" Tandy and his child were sitting together, that autumn evening, in the best parlour. They were waiting for the postman to come round the corner; and as the waves were making a clean breach over the black, smooth rocks down yonder, and the spray was dashing high over the road and rattling like hail upon the panes of glass in the little cottage window, the postman would be wearing his waterproof cape to-night to keep the letters dry. Babs had been watching for a man in a glittering oilskin, very anxiously, too, with her little face close to the glass, when a bigger wave than any she had yet seen rolled green and spumy and swiftly across the boulders, till meeting the resistance offered by the cliff it rose into the air for twenty feet at least, then broke like a waterfall on the asphalt path which was dignified by the name of esplanade. No wonder she rushed back from the window, and now stood trembling by her father's side. He took her gently on his knee. Though five years have elapsed since the night they had visited mother's tree, and she is now eight years of age, she is but a little thing. Ay, and fragile. As she sits there, with one arm about his neck, he looks at her, and talks to her tenderly. She has her mother's eyes. But how lonely he would be, he cannot help thinking, if anything happened to his little Nelda--to Babs. The thought causes him to shiver as he sits there in his easy-chair by the fire, for chill is the breeze that blows from off the sea to-night. "Daddy!" "Yes, dear." "To-morrow, when it comes, will make it just three years since Ransey went to sea." "Three years? Yes, Babs, so it will. Oh, how quickly the time has flown! And how good your memory is, darling!" "Flown quickly, father? Oh, I think every one of those years has been much, much longer than the other. And I think," she added, "lazy postie will never come to-night. But I dreamt, daddy, we would have a letter from Ransey, and it is sure to come." Three years. Yes, and years do fly fast away when men or women get elderly. Those years though--ay, and the whole five--had been very busy ones with Ransey Tansey, very eventful, I might almost say. Old Captain Weathereye had proved a right good friend to Ransey. Nor did he take the least degree of credit to himself for being so. "The boy has got the grit in him," he told Miss Scragley, "and just a spice of the devil; and without that, I can assure you, madam, no boy is going to get well on in this world." Miss Scragley didn't care to swallow this doctrine quite; but Eedie, whom Ransey looked upon as a kind of fairy, or goddess, immeasurably better than himself, took the captain's view of the matter. "Oh, yes," she astonished Miss Scragley by exclaiming, "the devil is everywhere, auntie. Mr Smith himself said so in the church. He is in roaring lions and in lambs when they lie down together, and in little boys, and then they are best and funniest." Miss Scragley sighed. "It is a world of sin and sorrow," she murmured. "A world of fiddlesticks, madam!" cried Weathereye. "I tell you, it is a splendid world, a grand old world; but you've got to learn how to take your own part in it. Take my word for it, Miss Scragley, the world wasn't made for fools. Fools have got to take a back seat, and just look on, while men of grit do the work and enjoy the reward. Ahem!" "I've got to make a man of that lad," he went on, "and, what's more, I'm doing it. He needs holy-stoning--I'm holy-stoning him. He may want a little polishing after, but rubbing against the world will do that." "You're very good, Captain Weathereye; you will be rewarded, if not in this world, in the next--" "Tut--tut--tut," cried the old sailor impatiently, and it must be admitted somewhat brusquely, "women folks will talk, especially when they don't know what to say; but pray keep such sentiments and platitudes as these for your next Dorcas meeting, madam. Reward, indeed! Next world, forsooth! I tell you that I'm having it in _this_. I live my own early days over again in the boy's youth. It is moral meat and drink for the old--well, the middle-aged, like myself, ahem!-- to mingle with the young and get interested, not so much in their pursuits, because one's joints are too stiff for that, but in their hopes and aspirations for the future which is all before them. Ever hear these lines, Miss Scragley? "`In the lexicon of youth That fate reserves for a bright manhood, There is no such word as fail.' "I'd have them printed on the front page of every copybook laid before a child in school, and I'd have him to learn them as soon as he can lisp." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Well, right happy years these had been for Ransey Tansey, and little Babs as well, to say nothing of gentle Eedie. As the world began to smile upon Tandy himself, he tried to do all he could for his children's comfort. Even the little cottage at the foot of the hill was made more ship-shape, and furnished with many a comfort it had previously lacked. Tandy was a man of a speculative turn of mind, and moreover inventive. His speculations, however, did not succeed so well as he could have wished. I am never sorry for the downfall of speculators; for, after all, what is speculation but a species of gambling--gambling for high stakes? And supposing that a man wins, which once in a way he may; supposing even that he is strong enough in pocket to establish a "corner," as it is called in Yankee-land, to buy up the whole of some great commodity, and shut it up until the people are starving for it and glad to pay for it at three times the original value, well, the corner knight becomes a millionaire. Yes; and very often a miser, and miserable at that. Can a millionaire enjoy sport or play any better than you or I, reader? No, nor so much. Has he a better appetite from the fact that he can afford to coax it with every costly dainty that cash can purchase? More likely a worse. Is he more healthy? That were impossible. Is he more happy? Ah, here we come to the test question. Well, he can have a larger and a finer house than most people, and it may be furnished like a palace. Pictures of the old masters may adorn its walls; musical instruments of rare value, works of art and vertu, may meet the eye at every turn; the gardens, and rose lawns, and conservatories may be more gorgeous than the dream of an Eastern prince. But can he live in more than one room at a time, or enjoy anything around him a bit better than the friends do whom he invites to his home that they may admire everything and envy _him_? But even the millionaire tires of home. He is satiated with the good things his gold has brought him; and if he travels abroad he will not find half the enjoyment in those beauties of nature--which even the millionaire's gold cannot deprive the poorest man of--that the poet or the naturalist does. I think there is one thing that most of us have to be thankful for-- namely, that we are not over-ambitious, and have no desire to become millionaires. Yes, but Tandy's ambition was not a morbid one; it was not selfish. He felt that he could die contentedly enough, could he make as sure as any one can be sure that his boy and girl would not become waifs and strays on the great highway of life. How to make sure? That had been the question he had tried to answer many and many a time as he lay on the poop of his little craft and sailed slowly through the meadows and moors. I have said he was inventive. His inventive faculties, however, took him far too high at first, like a badly ballasted balloon. He thought of ministering to governments of nations--of putting into their hands instruments for the destruction of his fellow mortals that should render war impossible, and many other equally airy speculations. He failed, and had to come down a piece. There is no use in soaring too high above the clouds if one would be a useful inventor and a benefactor to mankind. Darning-needles are of more service to the general public than dynamite guns, and they are more easily manufactured. So Tandy failed in all his big things. That balloon of his was still soaring too high. "I guess," he said to himself, "I'll have to come a little lower still before I find out just what the world wants, and what _all_ the world wants." Food? Physic? Fire? Ha! he had it. Fire, of course. How many a poor wretch starves to death in a garret just because coals are too dear to purchase. "And why?" he asked himself; and the answer came fast enough, "Because coals are wasted by the rich." Then Tandy set his brains on to simmer, and invented one of the simplest contrivances in the world for saving waste. Yes, he had it at last, and in two years' time he began to gain a competence, which was gradually increasing. This little cottage down by the sad, sad sea, as sentimental old maids call it, was his own. He and Babs--or little Nelda, as we may now call her--had only been here for six months. The place was by no means a fashionable one, although many people came here in summer to seek for health on the glorious sands and rocks, and among the fields and woods that stretched northwards into the interior. As for Ransey Tansey, Captain Weathereye had really done his best to secure the welfare of this half-wild lad, just as Miss Scragley tried to assist his wee sister. Impressionable children learn very quickly, and in a year's time Ransey was so much improved in manners that Miss Scragley rather encouraged his visits to the Hall than otherwise, especially when the Admiral and Bob came along with him. Grand old lawns and shrubberies surrounded the Hall, and these ended in woods. There were artificial lakes and islands in them too. These islands were the especial property of many beautiful ducks; but one was so large, and surrounded by such a big stretch of water, that the only thing to make it perfect--so Ransey thought--was a boat or skiff. Eedie was of the same opinion; so was Babs and Bob. "Isn't it possible to build one?" thought Ransey. He felt sure it was; so did Eedie. Before two months had passed, that skiff, with the assistance of Weathereye, was a _fait accompli_; and the old captain was just as proud of it as the children themselves. The ducks didn't have it all their own way now on the island. For here a wigwam was built, and almost every fine day--that is, when Ransey was not at his lessons--the children played at Crusoes and wild Indians, and I don't know what all. There was no end to Tansey's imagination, no end to his daring, no end to his tricks, and in these last, I fear, Eedie encouraged him. She was but two years younger than Ransey, but she was four years older as far as worldly wisdom was concerned; and with her assistance the dramas, or theatrical performances, carried out on the island were at times startling in the extreme. When Eedie brought children friends of hers to see these plays, Ransey would have felt very shy indeed had he not had, figuratively speaking, Eedie's wing to shelter under. Encouraged by her, he soon found out that real talent can make its own way, and be appreciated, however humble its possessor may be. When Tandy first met Captain Weathereye, he wanted to be profuse in his thanks to this kindly staff-commander. But the latter would have none of this. "Tandy," he said, "I know by your every action that you are a true sailor, like--ahem!--myself. Perhaps what you call kindness to your boy is only a fad of mine, and therefore selfishness after all." "No, no." "But I can say `Yo, yo,' to your `No, no.' Besides, we are all of us sailing over the sea of life for goodness knows where, and we are in duty bound to help even little boats we may sight, if we see they're in distress." Tandy and Weathereye had soon became good friends, and smoked many a pipe together; nor did Tandy hesitate to tell the navy sailor about all his inventions and little speculations, to which account the latter listened delightedly enough. "I say," he said to Tandy one day, "your lad is now over ten, and we should send him right away to sea. I tell you straight, Tandy, I'd get him into the Royal Navy if it were worth while. But he'd never be a sailor, never learn seamanship." "Confound their old tin-kettles," he added, bringing his fist down on the table with a force that made the glasses jingle, "there isn't a sailor on board one of them; only gunners and greasers. [Greaser, a disparaging name for an engineer in the Royal Navy.] Let Ransey rough it, Mr Tandy, and you'll make a man of him." An apprenticeship in a Dundee trader, owned in Belfast, and sailing from Cardiff, this was secured; though what use a lad not yet eleven might be put to on board such a craft, I confess I hardly know. But this I _do_ know, that the sooner a boy who is to be a British sailor goes to sea the better. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Babs ventured back to the window at last, and glanced once more out into the now gathering gloom. Far away beyond Selsea Bill the sun had set behind lurid coppery clouds, that boded little good for ships that were toiling up the Channel. "O daddy, here is postie at long, long last, and he's all, all dressed in oilskins! He is coming to the door! Oh!" She could not say another word for a few moments, but flew toward her father. "It is--it is--O daddy! _it's Ransey_!" Book 2--CHAPTER TWO. "SHIP-SHAPE AND SEAMAN-FASHION." There wasn't a doubt about that, and no lad surely ever got a happier welcome home. Bob and Murrams knew him, and the Admiral too, who danced for joy in the back-garden when Ransey Tansey went to see him. Everybody, with the exception of the father, seemed to walk on air that night. Mr Tandy was simply quietly happy. Ransey was quite a man, Babs told him, and she felt sure he would soon have a moustache. Indeed, she brought a small magnifying-glass to strengthen her convictions on this point. What a lot lads have to tell when they return from sea for the first time! and their friends cannot give them greater pleasure than by listening to all their adventures and "hairbreadth scapes;" sympathising with them in sorrows past and gone, and dangers encountered, and thanking Providence that they have been spared to come safely home from off the stormy ocean. Ransey had gone to the old cottage first, not knowing anything about the change. He had found strangers there, and his heart had sunk to zero. "Perhaps," he thought, "they are dead and gone." No Bob to meet him! no Babs! no dancing crane! He hadn't had the heart to go in; he just ran right away to Captain Weathereye's, and he told him all. Ransey had had to sling his hammock here the first night, and visit Miss Scragley's next day. And Eedie was now ten years of age, and shy, but welcomed Ransey with a soft handshake and a bonnie blush, and in her little secret morsel of a heart admired him. "Didn't I tell you I'd make a man of him, Miss Scragley? See how tall he is. Look at those bold blue eyes of his, and the sea-tan on his cheeks," said the captain. No wonder that it was Ransey's turn to blush. "Tell your father, dear boy, that in four or five days I'm coming down to B--to see him. A breath of the briny will do an old barnacle like me a power of good." "That I will," the boy had replied. Then, after saying good-bye, Ransey went off to see Mrs Farrow; and that good lady was indeed pleased, for she had always had an idea that those who went to sea hardly ever returned. She had to put the corner of her apron to her eyes now; but, if she did shed a tear, it was one of joy and nothing else. Well, it would have done your heart good to have witnessed the happiness of Ransey and Babs, as they wandered hand in hand along the golden sands. Bob, too, was so elated that he hardly knew what to do with himself at first. This joy, however, settled down into a watchful kind of care and love for his young master; and he used to walk steadily behind him on the beach as if afraid that, if he once let him out of sight, he might be spirited away and never be seen again. The Admiral was quite a seafarer now, and wonderful and sweet were the morsels he found or dug up for himself on the wet stretches of sand. The sea-gulls at first had taken him for something uncanny; but they now took him for granted, and walked about quite close to him, although at times, when this marvellous bird took it into his long head that a dance would do him good and increase his circulation, they were scared indeed, and flew screaming seawards. But the Admiral didn't mind that a bit; he just kept dancing away till there really didn't seem to be a bit more dance left in him. Then he desisted, and went in for serious eating once more. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ One beautiful day, while the dancing crane was holding a levee of sea-gulls, with a sprinkling of rooks, far seawards on the wet sands, while Mr Tandy was seated, smoking as usual, on a bench with his children near him, Bob uttered a defiant kind of a growl, and stood up with his hair on end from ears to rump. A gentleman dressed in blue, with sailor's cap on his head, and reading a newspaper, was approaching the seat, on which there was plenty of room for one more. But it was not at him that Bob was growling. No, but at a beautiful Scottish collie which was walking by his side. Bob rushed forward at once, and the two met face to face and heads up. Scottie carried his tail defiantly high. Young England would have done the same with his, had he had anything to show. The conversation seemed to be somewhat as follows:-- "You and I are about the same size, aren't we?" said Bob. "There isn't much to figure on between us, I think," replied Scottie. "Lower your flag, then, or I'll shake you out of your skin." "Scotland never lowered flag to a foreigner yet. Why don't you raise your standard? Why, because you haven't got one to raise. Ha, ha! what a fright you are! I only wonder your master lets you go about like that." "Yah--ah--r-r--r-r--r-r!" "Waugh--r-r--r-r--r-r--r!" And there _was_ war next second. Tandy rushed to the scene of action. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said. "Which dog, do you think, began the fight?" "I think they both began it," said the newcomer, laughing. Scotland and England were having a terrible tulzie, as Scotland and England have often had in days long, long gone by. They were rolling over each other, sometimes Bob above, sometimes Bob below, and the yellow sands were soon stained with blood. Little Nelda was in tears, and the Admiral scray-scraying and dancing with joy. "I think," said the stranger, "they've both had enough of it, and my proposal is this--I'll pull my dog off by the tail, and you do the same by yours." "I'd gladly do so," said Tandy, laughing, "but, my dear sir, the fact is that my dog is like Tam o' Shanter's mare after she escaped from the witches-- "`The ne'er a tail has he to shake.'" Dogs are just like men, however, and these two, seemingly satisfied that neither could kill the other, soon made it up, and presently they went galloping off together to the sea to wash the sand out of their shaggy jackets. Down sat the stranger between Ransey and his father. He rolled up his paper and lit his pipe, and soon the two were engaged in a very animated conversation. Sailors all three. No wonder that the acquaintance thus brought about by their honest dogs ripened into friendship in a few days. Captain Halcott--for so this new friend was named--had, some months before this, reached England after a very long and strangely adventurous cruise. "Are you like me, I wonder?" he said to Tandy, as they sat smoking the calumet of peace together on a breezy cliff-top, while Ransey and his sister were fishing for curios in the pools of water left among the rocks by the receding tide. "Are you like me, I wonder? for I am no sooner safely arrived in Merrie England than I begin once more to long for life on the heaving billows." "You're a free man, Captain Halcott; I've got a little family; and you're a somewhat younger man, as well." "Yes, yes; granted. But, before going further, tell me what is your Christian name?" "Dick." "Well, and mine's Charlie. We're both seafarers; don't let us `Mr' each other, or `captain' each other either. You're Tandy or you're Dick, I'm Halcott or I'm Charlie, just as, for the time being, the humour may suit us. Is that right?" "That's right--ship-shape and seaman-fashion." Two brown fists met and were shaken--no mincing landlubber's shake, but a firm and hearty grip and wholesome pressure; a grip that seemed to speak and to say,--"Thine, lad, thine! Thine in peace or war; in calm or tempest, thine!" How is it that sailors so often resemble one another? I cannot answer the question. But it is none the less true. Tandy and Halcott appeared to have been cast in the same mould; the same open, bronzed, and weather-beaten faces, the same eyes--eyes that could twinkle with merriment one moment and be filled with pity the next. Even Captain Weathereye himself, although older than either, and somewhat lighter in complexion, might easily have passed as brother to both. "Well," said Halcott, "I daresay you have a story to tell." "I've had strange experiences in life, and some were sad enough. For the sake of that dear boy and girl, I thank God I am no longer in the grip of poverty; but, my friend, I've seen worse days." "Tell us, Tandy." Tandy told him, sitting there, all the reader already knows and much more, receiving silent but heartfelt sympathy. "So you've sold the _Merry Maiden_!" "Yes; although some of the happiest years of my life were spent on board of her, and in the little cottage. Heigho! I wish I could bring back the past; but if I live to be able to afford it, I shall build a house where the old cot stands, and will just end my days there, you know. And now for your story." "Oh, that is a strange and a sad one; but as your friend is coming down to-morrow, I propose postponing it. This Captain Weathereye must, from all you say, be a real jolly fellow." This was agreed to; and next morning Tandy met bluff old Weathereye at the little railway station. "I'll stay a week, Tandy, a whole week. Yes, my hearty, I'll gladly make your house my home, and shall rejoice to see your friend, and hear the yarn he has got to spin." Book 2--CHAPTER THREE. A QUARTERDECK DREAM. "Once a sailor, gentlemen," began Halcott, as he filled his pipe, gazing thoughtfully over the sea, "always a sailor. "That's a truism, I believe. Why, the very sight of the waves out yonder, with the evening sunlight dancing and playing on their surface, makes me even at this moment long to tread the deck again. "And there are, perhaps, few seafarers who have more inducements to stay at home than I, Charlie Halcott, have. "I have a beautiful house of my own, and some day soon, I hope, you will both come and see it, and judge for yourselves. "My house has a tower to it. Many a night, while walking the quarterdeck keeping my watch, with no companions save the silver-shining stars, I have said to myself--`Charlie Halcott,' I have said, `if ever you leave off ploughing the ocean wave, and settle down on shore, you must have a house with a tower to it.' "And now I've got it. "A large, square, old-fashioned tower it is, with a mullioned window on each side of it; and up the walls the dense green ivy climbs, with just enough Virginia creeper to cast a glamour of crimson over it in autumn, like the last red rays of the setting sun. "One window looks up the valley of the Thames, where not far off is a little Niagara, a snow-white weir: I can hear the drowsy monotone of its foaming waters by night and by day, and its song is ever the same. Another window looks away down the valley, and the river here goes winding in and out among the meadows and the green and daisied leas, till, finally, it takes the appearance of a silver string, and loses itself, or is lost to me, amidst the distant trees. A third window, from which I dearly like to look early on a summer's morning, while the blackbirds are yet in fullest, softest song, shows an English landscape that to me is the sweetest of the sweet. As far as eye can reach, till bounded by the grey horizon's haze, are woods and wilds and meadows green, with the red gables or the roofs of many a stately farm peeping up through the rolling cloudland of foliage; and many a streamlet too, seen here and there in the sunbeams, as it goes speeding on towards the silent river. "But though this house of mine has a tower to it, it is not a castle by any means, apart from the fact that every Englishman's house is his castle. I have a tower, but no donjon keep. My castle is a villa--`a handsome modern-built villa,' the agent described it when I commenced correspondence with a view to its purchase. It is indeed a beautiful villa, and it is situated high up on the brow of a hill, all among the dreamy woods. "Though I have been but a short spell on shore, my town friends already call me the `Sailor hermit,' because I stick to my castle and its woods and gardens. Not for a single day can they prevail upon me to exchange it for the bustle and din of hideous London. But I retaliated on my city friends by bringing them down to my `castle' in spring time, when the early flowers were opening their petals in the warm sunshine, and the very tulips seemed panting in the heat, and when there was such a gush of bird-melody coming from grove and copse and hedgerow that every leaf seemed to hide a feathered songster. And I rejoiced to see those friends of mine struck dumb by the wealth of beauty they beheld around them. For Philomel was making day melodious with a strange, unearthly music. "All through the darkness the bird sang to his mate, and all through the day as well. No bolder birds than our nightingales live. They sing at our side, at our feet; they sing as they fly, sing as they alight, sing _to_ us, ay and _at_ us defiantly. No wonder we all love this sweet bird, this sweet spirit of the spring. "So my quarterdeck dream has become a dear reality. "Strange to say, it is always at night that I think most of the ocean. And on nights of storm--then it is that I lie awake listening to the wind roaring through the stately elms, with a sound like the sough of gale-tossed waves. It is then I long to tread once more the deck of my own bonnie barque, and feel her move beneath me like a veritable thing of life and reason. My house with the ivied tower is well away among the midlands; and yet on nights of tempest, sea-birds--the gull, and the tern, and the light-winged kittywake--often fly around the house and the trees. I can hear their voices rising shrill and high above the roar of the wind. "`Kaye--kay--ay--ay,' they scream. `Come away--come away--ay,' they seem to cry. `Why have you left us? why have you left the seas? We miss you. Come away--come away--ay--ay.' "Never into my quarterdeck dreams, gentlemen, had there come, strange to say, a companion fair of womankind. My house with the tower to it should be just as it is to-day, just what--following out my dreams--I have made it. Its gardens all should bloom surpassing fair, my woods and trees be green; the rose lawns should look like velvet; my ribboned flower-beds like curves of coloured light; the nightingales in spring should bathe in the spray of my fountains,--there should be joy and loveliness and bird-song everywhere, but a wife?--well, I had somehow never dreamt of that. If any of the officers--for I was captain and part owner of the good barque _Sea Flower_--had been bold enough to suggest such a thing--I mean such a _person_, I should have laughed at him where he stood. `Who,' I should have said, `would many a simple sailor like me, over thirty, brown-red in face, and hard in hands. Who indeed?' "But into my quarterdeck dreams companions had come. Should I not have jolly farmers and solid-looking red-faced squires to dine with me, and to smoke with me out of doors in the cool of midsummer evenings, or in the cosy red parlour around the fire in the long forenights of winter, and listen to my yarns of the dark blue sea, or talk to me of the delights of rural life? Well, it was a pretty dream, it must be admitted. "But it never struck me then, as it does now, that all the joys of life are tame indeed, unless shared by some one you love more than all things bright and fair. "A pretty dream--and a beautiful dream. A piece of ice itself is beautiful at times; but perhaps, as we stand and admire it, the sunshine may steal down and melt it. Then we find that we love the sunshine even more than we loved the ice. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "It is not every sailor who has the luck to be captain, or, to speak more correctly, master, of so fine a sailing craft as the _Sea Flower_, at the age of twenty-six. But such had been my fortune; and I had sailed the seas in her for six long years, and, with the exception of the few accidents inseparable from a life at sea, I had never had a serious mishap. Many a wild gale had we weathered in her, my mate and I; many a dark and tempestuous night had we staggered along under bare poles; more than once had we sprung a leak, and twice had we been on fire. "But all ended well, and during our brief spells on shore, either in England or in some foreign port, though James and I always managed to enjoy ourselves in our own quiet way, yet neither he nor I was sorry when we got back home again to our bonnie barque, and were once more afloat on the heaving sea. "James was perhaps more of a sailor than I. Well, he was some years my senior, and he was browner and harder by far, and every inch a man. And though a very shy one, as far as female society is concerned, he was a very bold one nevertheless. But for his courageous example on the night of our last fire, the _Sea Flower_ would have helped to swell the list of those ships that go to sea and are heard of no more. "When we were taken aback in a white squall in the Indian Ocean, and it verily seemed that we had but a few minutes to float, James was here, there, and everywhere, his manly voice, calm and collected, ringing high above the roaring of the wind and the surging of the terrible seas. The very fire of his bravery on that occasion affected the men, and they worked as only bold men can work in face of death and danger, till our craft was once more righted and tearing along before the wind. "And just as brave on shore as afloat was sturdy James Malone. "When our steward was attacked by fifty spear-armed savages on shore at the Looboo Island, my mate seized a club that a gorilla could hardly have wielded, and fought his way through the black and vengeful crowd, till he reached and saved our faithful steward. "And, that day, it was not until he had almost reached the ship that he told me, with that half-shy and quiet smile of his, that he believed he was slightly wounded. Then he fainted dead away. "I nursed poor James back to health. Yes, but more than once, both before and after that event, he nursed me, and I doubt if even a brother could have been half so kind as my mate James. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "For many a long year, then, James and I had sailed the salt seas together. Without James sitting opposite me at the table at breakfast or at dinner, the neatly painted and varnished saloon, with all its glittering odds and ends, wouldn't have seemed the same. Without James sitting near me on the quarterdeck on black-dark evenings in the tropics, I should have felt very strange and lonesome indeed. "But James and I didn't agree on every subject on which we conversed. Had we done so, conversation would have lost its special charm. No, he aired his opinions and I shook out mine. There were times when I convinced James; there were times when James convinced me; there were times when neither convinced the other, and then we agreed to differ. "`Very well, sir,' James would say, `you has your 'pinions, and I has mine. You keeps to your 'pinions, and I sticks to mine.' "It will be noted that James's ordinary English would scarcely have passed muster in the first families of Europe. But, like many of his class, James could talk correctly enough when he set himself the task. But there was no better sailor afloat for all that, and on the stormiest night or squalliest day I always felt safe when my first mate trod the planks. "James could tell a good story too, and I used to keep him at it of an evening--any evening save Sunday. On Sunday, James did nothing in the intervals of duty except read the Bible--the `Good Book,' as he called it. This New Testament was one of those large type editions which very old people use. "His mother--dead and gone--had left him that Book, and also her gold-rimmed specs, and it was interesting, on a Sunday afternoon, to see James sitting solemnly down to the Book, and shipping those specs athwart his nose. "`What on earth,' I said once to him, `do you use the specs for, my friend?' "When James looked up at me, half-upbraidingly, those eyes of his, seen through the powerful lenses, looked as big and wild and round as a catamount's. It was unearthly. "`My mother bade me. Would you disobey your mother?' "This was a bombshell, and I said no more. "But there was one subject on which James and I never disagreed--namely, `the ladies,' as he called women folks. `They are deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked,' James would say, `and I means to steer clear on 'em.' And James always did. "There was one pleasure James and I had in common--namely, witnessing a good tragedy on the boards of Liverpool theatre. You see this was our port of destination on our return from the far, far south. Mind, we wouldn't go to see a drama, because there might be too much nonsensical love business in it, and too many of `the frivolous antics of women'-- James's own words. But in a tragedy the women often came to grief, which James thought was only natural. "So we chose tragedy. "Now, one night at this same theatre, I had one of the strangest experiences of my life; and never yet have I found any one who could explain it. "James and I had gone early that evening, because there was something specially tragic on, and we desired to secure good seats. We sat in the front row, and at the left end of the row, because we wished to leave the theatre between each act to enjoy a few whiffs of tobacco. "The play was well begun, and my eyes were riveted on the stage. There was a momentary silence, and during this time I was sensible, from a slight rustling noise, that the private box behind and above me was being occupied. "Did you ever hear psychologists mention the term or feeling `ecstasy'? That was what stole over me now. For a few minutes I saw nothing on the stage; only a feeling of intense happiness, such as I have seldom experienced since that night, stole over me, occupying, bathing, I may say, my whole soul and mind. "I turned at last, and my eyes met those of a young lady in that private box. Never before had I seen such radiant beauty. Never had I been impressed with beauty of any kind before. My heart almost stood still. It was really an awful moment--that is, if intense happiness can ever be awful. "Well, if it is possible for a sailor, with a face as brown as the back of a fiddle, to blush, I blushed. She, too, I think, coloured just a little. "What was it? What could it mean? "I know not how I sat out the act. When I rose with James to go out, I dared one other glance towards the box. The lady had gone, and a feeling of coldness crept round my heart. I felt as depressed now as I had recently felt happy. "`James,' I said, `take me home, I--I believe I'm ill.' "`Why,' said James, `you look as though you had seen a ghost.' "I got home. Something, I knew not what, was going to happen; but all that night dream after dream haunted my pillow, and of every dream, the sweet young face I had seen in the private box was the only thing I could remember when daylight broke athwart the eastern sky." Book 2--CHAPTER FOUR. "DEAR, UNSELFISH, BUT SOMEWHAT SILLY FELLOW." "I never had a secret from James Malone; no, not so much as one. Had I known what was the matter with me on the evening before, I should have told James manfully and in a moment. "But when he came to my rooms in the morning, to share my humble breakfast, and consult about the duties of the day, we being just then fitting out for sea,-- "`James,' I began-- "And then--well, then I told him all the story, even down to my strange dreams and the sweet young face that had haunted them. "`Why, James,' I concluded, `I have only to close my eyes now to see her once again, and I can neither read nor write without thinking of her.' "James sat silently beholding me for fully a minute. His face was clouded, and pity and anxiety were in every lineament of his manly features. "`I'm taken aback,' he stammered at last. `White squalls is nothin' to it. Charlie Halcott, you're _in love_. It's an awful, fearful thing. No surgical operation can do anything for you. It's worse by far than I thought. A mild touch of the cholera would be mere moonshine to this. A brush wi' Yellow Jack wouldn't be a circumstance to it. O Halcott, Halcott! O Charlie! what _am_ I to do with you?' "`James,' I interrupted, `light your pipe. Did _you_ see the beautiful vision--the lovely child?' "`I followed your eyes.' "`And what saw you, James?' I asked, leaning eagerly towards him. "`I saw what appeared to be--a woman. Nothin' more and nothin' less.' "`James, did you not notice her blue and heavenly eyes, that seemed to swim in ether; her delicately pencilled eyebrows; the long lashes that swept the rounded rosy cheeks; her golden hair like sunset's glow; her little mouth; her lips like the blossom of the blueberry, and the delicate play of her mobile countenance?' "`Delicate play of a mobile marling-spike!' cried James, jumping up. He rammed a piece of paper into his pipe and thrust it into his pocket. "`Charles Halcott, I'm off,' he cried. "`Off, James?' "`Yes, off. Every man Jack shall be on board the _Sea Flower_ to-day, bag and baggage. We'll drop down stream to-morrow morning early, ship a pilot, and get away to sea without more ado.' "He was at the door by the time he had finished but he stopped a moment with a look of wondrous pity on his handsome face, then came straight back and clasped my hand in brotherly affection, and so, without another word, walked out and away. "Now, I was master of the _Sea Flower_, but in the matter of sailing next day--three or four whole days before I had intended--I should no more have thought of gainsaying honest James Malone than of disobeying my father had he been alive. James was acting towards me with true brotherly affection, quite disinterestedly in my behalf, and--_quien sabe_?--probably saving me from a lifetime's misery. "I would be advised by James. "So after he had left, and I had smoked in solitary sadness for about an hour, I rose with a sigh, and commenced throwing my things together in the great mahogany sea-chest that while afloat stood in my state-room, and which on shore I never travelled without. "For the whole of that forenoon I wandered about the streets of Liverpool, looking chiefly at the photographers' windows. I was bewitched, and possessed some faint hope of seeing a photograph of her who had bewitched me. I even entered the shops under pretence of bargaining for a likeness of my sailor-self, and looked over their books of specimens. "Had I come across her picture, the temptation to purchase it would, I fear, have proved irresistible. "Suddenly I pulled myself taut up with a round turn, and planked myself, so to speak, on my mental quarterdeck before Commander Conscience. "`What are you doing, or trying to do, Charles Halcott?' said Commander Conscience. "`Only trying,' replied Charles Halcott, `to procure a photograph of the loveliest young lady on earth, whose eyes shine like stars in beauty's night.' "`Don't be a fool, Charles Halcott. Are you not wise enough to know that, even if you procure this photograph, you will have to keep it a secret from honest James Malone? His friendship is better far than love of womankind. Besides,' added Commander Conscience, `you need no photograph. Is not the image of the lady who has bewitched you indelibly photographed upon your soul? Charles Halcott, I am ashamed of you!' "I stood at a window for a few minutes, looking sheepish enough; then I threw temptation to the winds, put about, and sailed right away back to my chambers, studding-sails set low and aloft. "I finished packing, saw my owners in the afternoon, and when James came off to the ship he found me quietly smoking my biggest pipe in the saloon of the _Sea Flower_. "He smiled now. "`Better already,' he said; `His name be praised!' "James was a strange man in some ways. This was one: he thanked Heaven for every comfort, even the slightest, and did nothing without, in a word or two, asking a blessing thereon. "In three days' time we were staggering southwards, and away across Biscay's blue bay, with every inch of canvas set. And a pretty sight we were--our white sails flowing in the sunshine--the sea as blue as the sky, and the waves sparkling around us as if every drop of water contained a diamond. "All the way to the Cape, and farther, James treated me as tenderly and compassionately as if I had been an invalid brother. He never contradicted me even once. He used to keep me talking and yarning on the quarterdeck, when he wasn't on watch, for whole hours at a stretch; and in the evenings, when tired spinning me yarns, he would take his banjo and sing to me old sea-songs in his bold and thrilling voice. And James could sing too; there were the brine, and the breeze, and the billows' roll in every bar of the grand old songs he sang, and indeed I was never tired of listening to them. Sometimes I closed my eyes as I sat in my easy-chair; then James's banjo notes grew softer and softer, and ever so much farther away like, till at last it was ghostly music, and I was in the land of dreams. "When I awoke, perhaps it would be four bells or even six, and there would be James, with his specs athwart his great jibboom of a nose, poring earnestly over his mother's Bible. "`You've had a nice little nap,' he would say cheerfully. `Now you'll toddle off to your bunk, and when you're safe between the sheets I'll bring you a tiny little drop of rum and treacle.' "Poor James! Rum and treacle was his panacea for every ill; and yet I don't believe any one in the wide world ever saw James the worse of even rum and treacle. "When we got as far as to Madeira, he proposed we should anchor here for a few days and dispose of some of our notions. Notions formed our cargo; and notions must be understood to mean, Captain Weathereye, all kinds of jewellery and knick-knacks, including table-knives and forks, watches, strings of bright beads, cotton cloths, parasols, and guns. Now I knew very well that we could easily dispose of all our cargo at the Cape and other parts; but I also knew very well that James's main object in stopping at Madeira was to give me a few delightful days on shore. "This was part of the cure, and I had to submit with the best grace I could. "We had, at that time, as handy and good a second mate as any one could wish on the weather side of a quarterdeck. So it was easy enough for myself and James to leave the ship both at the same time, though this had very seldom been our custom, except when in dock or in harbour. "To put it in plain language, James did not seem to know how good to be to me, nor how much to amuse me. The honest, simple soul kept talking and yarning to me all the while, and pointing out this, that, and the other strange thing to me, until I was obliged to laugh in his face. But James was not offended; not he. He was working according to some plan he had formulated in his own mind, and nothing was going to turn him aside from his purpose. "About midday we entered the veranda of a cool and delightful hotel, and seating ourselves at a little marble table, James called for cigars and iced drinks. Then he proposed we should luncheon. No, he would pay, he said; it was not often he had the honour or pleasure of lunching with his captain, in a marble palace like this. So he pulled out an old sock tied round with a morsel of blue ribbon, and thrusting his big brown paw into it, brought forth money in abundance. "`Never been here before?' he asked me quietly. "`No,' I said; `strange to say I've touched at nearly every port in the world except this place.' "`Well, I have,' said James, `and I'm going to put you up to the ropes.' "`Now,' he continued, when we stood once more under the greenery of the trees that bordered the broad pavement, `will you have a hammock or a horse?' "Not knowing quite what he meant, I replied that I would leave it to him. "`Well,' he said, `this must be considered a kind of picnic, them's my notions, and as you're far from well yet, I'll have a horse and you a hammock.' "Both horse and hammock were soon brought round to the door. The hammock was borne by two perspiring half-caste Portuguese, and was attached to a pole, and on board I swung, while James got on board the horse. The saddle was a hard and horrid contrivance of leather and wood, the stirrups a pair of old slippers, and the horse himself--well, he was a beautiful study in equine osteology, and I really did not know which to pity most, James or his Rosinante. But in my hammock I felt comfortably, dreamily happy. "We passed through the quaint old town of Funchal, then upwards, and away towards the mountains. The day was warm and delightful--hot indeed James must have found it, for he soon divested himself of coat and waistcoat, and even then he had to pause at times to wipe his streaming brow. The peeps at the beautiful gardens I caught while being carried along were charming in the extreme; the verandaed and trellised villas, canopied with flowers of every hue and shape, the bright green lawns where fairy-like children played, and the flowering trees--the whole forming ever-changing scenes of enchantment--I shall never forget. Then the soft and balmy air was laden with perfume. "`How nice,' I thought, `to be an invalid! How kind of James to treat me as one! And he jogging along there on that bony horse's back, with the boy holding fast by the tail! Dear, unselfish, but somewhat silly fellow!' "Upwards still, steeper and steeper the hill. And now we seemed to have mounted into the very sky itself, and were far away from the tropics and tropical flora. "We came at last to a table-land. For the life of me I could not help thinking of the story of `Jack and the Bean-stalk.' Here gorgeous heaths and heather bloomed and grew; here birds of sweet song flitted hither and thither among the scented and the yellow-tasselled broom; and here solemn weird-like pine-trees waved dark against the far-off ocean's blue. "Under some of these trees, and close to the cliff, we disembarked to rest. We were fully half a mile above the level of the sea. Yet not a stone's throw from where we sat was the edge of the awful cliff that led downwards without a break to that white line far beneath where the waves frothed and fumed against the rocks. "But far as the eye could reach, till lost in distance and merged into the blue of the sky, lay the azure sea, with here and there a sail, the largest of which looked no bigger than a white butterfly with folded wings. "A delicious sense of happiness stole over me, and for the first time, perhaps, since leaving England I forgot the sweet young face that had so completely bewitched me. "I think I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I was sensible of was James tuning a broad guitar. "Then his voice was raised in song, and I closed my eyes again, the better to listen. "Poor James, he played and sang for over an hour; no wild, wailing sea-songs this time, however, but verses sweet and plaintive, and far more in harmony with the notes of the sad guitar. The romance of our situation, the stillness of our surroundings, unbroken save in the intervals of song by the flitting of a wild bird among the broom, and the low whisper of the wind through the pine-trees overhead, with the balmy ozonic air from the blue ocean, continued to instil into my soul a feeling of calm and perfect joy to which I had hitherto been a stranger. "Just as the sun was sinking like a great blood orange through a purple haze that lay along the western horizon, James laughingly handed the guitar to the boy who had carried it. Then laughing still--he was so strange and good this James of mine--he pulled out a silver-mounted flask and poured me out a portion of its contents. "It was a little rum and treacle. "`The dews of night isn't going to harm you after that,' said James. "Lights were glimmering here and there on the hills like glow-worms, and far beneath us in the town, long before we reached the streets of Funchal. "We went straight to the hotel and discharged both horse and hammock. "Then we dined. "I thought I should be allowed to go on board after this. Not that there was the slightest hurry. "However, I was mistaken for once. James had not yet done with me for the night. I had still another prescription of his to use; and as I knew it was part and parcel of James's love cure, I could not demur. He had given me so much pleasure on that day already, that when he asked me to get up and follow him I did so as obediently as the little lamb followed Mary. "But that he, James Malone, who feared womankind, if he did not positively hate them, should lead me to a Portuguese ballroom of all places in the world, surprised me more than anything. "I could hear the tinkling of guitars, the shuffling of feet, and the music of merry, laughing voices, long before we came near the door. "I stopped short. "`James,' I said, `haven't you made some mistake?' "His only answer was a roguish laugh. "I repeated the question. "`Not a bit of it,' he answered gaily. "`Charlie Halcott,' he added, `if you were simply suffering from Yellow Jack I'd hand you over to a doctor, but, Charles Halcott, it takes a _man_ to cure love. And you've been sorely hit.' "This had been a day of surprises, but when I entered that ballroom there came the greatest surprise of all. Those here assembled were not so-called gentle-folks. They were the sons and daughters of the ordinary working classes; but the taste displayed, the banks of flowers around the orchestra, the gay bouquets and coloured lights along the walls, the polished and not overcrowded floor, the romantic dresses of the gallants that transported one back to the middle ages, the snow-white costumes of the ladies, and, above all, their innocent, ravishing beauty, formed a scene that reminded me strongly of stories I had read in the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. "I was almost ashamed of my humble attire, but the courtesy of the master of ceremonies was charming. Would the strangers dance? Surely the stranger sailors would dance? He would get us, as partners, the loveliest senoritas in all the room. "So he did. "I forgot everything in that soft, dreamy waltz--everything save the thrilling music and the sylph-like form of my dark-eyed partner, who floated with me through the perfumed air, for surely our feet never touched the floor. "But the drollest thing of all was this--James was dancing too. James with his--well, I must not say aversion to, but fear and shyness of womankind, was dancing; and I knew he was only doing so to encourage me. A handsome fellow he looked, too, almost head and shoulders taller than any man there, and broad and well-knit in proportion. The master of ceremonies had got him a partner `for to match,' as he expressed it; certainly a beautiful girl, with a wealth of raven hair that I had never seen equalled, far less surpassed. I daresay she could dance lightly; but James's waltzing was of a very solid brand indeed, and he swung his pretty partner round the room in a way that seemed to indicate business rather than pleasure. Several couples cannoned off James and went ricochetting to the farther end of the room, and one went down. James swung past me a moment after, apparently under a heavy press of canvas, and as he did so I heard him say to his partner, referring to the couple he had brought to deck,-- "`They should keep out o' the way, then, when people are dancing.' "The hours sped quickly by, as they always do in a ballroom, and by the time James and I got on board the _Sea Flower_ four bells in the middle-watch were ringing out through the still, dark night. But all was safe and quiet on board. "I took a turn on deck to enjoy a cigar before going below, just by way of cooling my brow. When I went down at last, why, there was James seated at the table, his mother's Bible before him, and, as usual, the awful specs across his nose. "Poor James, he was a strange man, but a sincere friend, as the sequel will show." Book 2--CHAPTER FIVE. "TILL THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD." From Madeira, where we stayed for many days, going on shore every forenoon to sell some of our cargo to the shopkeepers, and every afternoon for a long ride--horse and hammock--over some part or other of this island of enchantment, sometimes finishing up with a dance--from all this pleasure and delight, I say, we sailed away at last. "South and away we sailed, and in due time we reached and anchored off Saint James's Town, Saint Helena. "Now, Saint Helena had not figured in our programme when we left Merry England. But here we were, and a most delightful place I found it. Hills and dells, mountains and glens; wild flowers everywhere; and the blue eternal sea dotted with many a snow-white sail, engirdling all. This, then, was the `lonely sterile rock in the midst of the wild tempestuous ocean,' to which Napoleon had been banished. "James had been here before, although I had not, so everything was of interest to me, and everything new. And my good mate determined to make it as pleasant for me as possible. He seemed to know every one, and every one appeared delighted to see him. Such remarks as the following fell upon our ears at every corner:-- "`Well, you've got back again, James?' "`What! here you are once more, James, and welcome.' "`Dee--lighted to see you, certain--lee!' "`Ah! Jeames,'--this from a very aged crone, who was seated on a stone dais near her door, basking in the warm, white sunshine--`ah! Jeames, and sure the Lord is good to me. And my old eyes are blessed once more wi' a sight o' your kindly face!' "`Glad to see you alive, Frilda. And look, I have got a pound of tea for you. And I'll come to-night and read a bit out of my mother's Good Book to you.' "`Bless you, Jeames--bless you, my boy.' "We went rambling all over the island that day. We visited the fort, where James had many friends; then we went up a beautiful glen, and on reaching the top we struck straight off at right angles, and a walk of about half a mile took us to one of the most pleasantly situated farms I have ever seen. It was owned by the farmer, a Scotsman of the name of MacDonald. Nothing flimsy about this fine house. The walls were built of sturdy stone, and must have been some feet thick, so that indoors in the cheerful parlour it was cool and delightful, especially so with the odour of orange blossom blowing through the open window and pervading the whole room. "`Man, James, I'm so pleased. Here! Hi! Mrs Mac, where are you? Here's James Malone, the honest, simple sumph come back again. Jamie, man, ye must stop all night and give us a song.' "`We--ll--I--' "`No _wells_ nor _I's_ about it. And your friend here too.' "Mrs Mac was a very little body, with rosy cheeks, a merry voice, and blue eyes that looked you through and through. "A little girl and boy came running in, and James soon had one on each knee; and while I and MacDonald talked in the window recess, he was deep in the mysteries of a mermaid story, his tiny audience listening with wondering eyes and rosy lips apart. "Mrs Mac had gone bustling away to send in a dram of hollands, cunningly flavoured with seeds and fruit rind. She disappeared immediately again, to send orders down to James's Town for fish and fowl. "Of course we would stay all night? "`Well,' I said, `the ship is safe, unless a tornado blows.' "`There will be no tornado, sir,' said Farmer Mac. "`I'll send off, then, and tell the second mate.' "`My henchman is at your service, Captain Halcott.' "`And look, see,' cried James, `just tell your henchman to bring my Good Book and specs. I haven't the heart to disappoint old Mother Banks.' "`And the guitar,' I added. "`Well--well, yes.' "The children clapped their hands with glee, and Maggie, the girl, pulled James's face towards her by the whiskers and kissed him. "We started next for Longwood and Napoleon's tomb. Maggie and Jack--ten and nine years old respectively--came with us, and a right pleasant day we spent. There were bright-winged birds flitting hither and thither in the dazzling sunshine, and singing sweet and low in trees of darkest green; but the happy voices of the children made sweeter music far to my ears, and I'm sure to James's too. "All along the roadsides at some parts grew the tall cacti; they were one mass of gorgeous crimson bloom, and here and there between, the ground was carpeted with trailing blossoms white and blue; yet, in my opinion, the laughing rosebud lips of Maggie and Jack's saucy eyes of blue were prettier far than the flowers. "And here, on the top of the dingle or glen, and overlooking the sea, were Napoleon's house and garden. "`Why, James,' I cried, `this isn't a dungeon any more than Saint Helena is a rock. It strikes me--a simple sailor--that Nap must have had fine times of it.' "`No, sir, no,' said James, shaking his head. `Plenty to eat and drink, plenty o' good clothes to wear, but ah! Charles Halcott, he wasn't free, and there burned inside him an unquenchable fire. When in action, on the field, or on the march, he had little time to think; but here, in this solitude, the seared conscience regained its softness, and in his thoughts by day and in his dreams at the dead hours o' night, Charles Halcott, rose visions of the terrible misery he brought on Europe, and the black and awful deeds he did in Egypt. O sir, if you want to punish a man, leave him alone to his conscience!' "James Malone was in fine form that evening at Farmer Mac's. He sang and he yarned time about--the songs for the children, the yarns for us. Parodying Tam o' Shanter, I might say:-- "`The nicht drave on wi' sangs and clatter, Wi' childish glee, wi' bairnies' patter; The sailor tauld his queerest stories, The farmer's laugh was ready chorus; Till, hark! the clock strikes in the hall The wee short oor ayont the twal.' "Before dinner that evening simple James had gone to see old Mother Banks, and he spent a whole hour with her. "`Good-bye, dear laddie,' she said, when he rose to leave; `I'll pray for ye on the ragin' sea, but I know the Lord will never let me behold ye again.' "And simple James's eyes were wet with tears as he held her skinny hand for a moment, then dropped it and bore away up the street, never once looking back, so full was his heart. "When the clock struck one, James shyly proposed a few moments' devotion. Then he mounted the awful specs and opened the Good Book. "Half an hour after this, all in the great house were asleep, and not a sound could I hear--for I lay long awake thinking--save the sighing of the wind in the trees above my open jalousies, to me a very sweet and soothing sound. "`Heigho!' I murmured to myself. `Will I _ever_ have a home on the green earth, I wonder, or shall I die on the blue sea?' "Then I began to doze, and mingling with my waking thoughts came dreams which proved that poor James's prescriptions had not yet been entirely successful. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Just three weeks after this we were far away in the centre of the South Atlantic Ocean, and bearing up for Rio de Janeiro. The sea around us was of the darkest blue, but sparkling in the sunshine, and there was just sufficient wind to gladden the heart of a sailor. "What induced James and me to change our plans and sail west instead of south and east, I never could tell, though I have often thought about it. A friend of mine says it was Fate, and that Fate often rules the destinies of men, despite all that can be done to alter her plans and intentions. This line of reasoning may be right; my friend is so often right that I daresay it must be. "But one thing now occurred to me that at times rendered me rather uneasy, and which, when I tried to describe it to James, caused that honest sailor some anxiety also. I have spoken of it more than once to so-called psychologists and even to so-called mediums; but their attempted explanations, although seemingly satisfactory enough to themselves, sounded to me like a mere chaos of words, the meaning of which as a whole I never could fathom. But the mystery with me was this: I seemed at times to be possessed of a second self, or rather, a second soul. "I struggled against the feeling all I could, but in vain. James read his mother's Bible to me, and otherwise, not in a spiritual way, he did all he could to cheer me up, as he phrased it. But--and here comes in the most curious part of it--I did not feel that I wanted any cheering up. I was happy enough in the companionship of my second self. This was not always present. Sometimes absent for days indeed, and never as yet did it talk to me in my dreams. At other times it came, and would be with me for hours; and it spoke to my mind as it were, I being compelled to carry on a conversation, in thought, of course, but never once did I have any notion beforehand as to what the remarks made were to be. They were simple in the extreme, and usually had reference to the working or guidance of the ship, the setting or shortening of sail, and making the good barque snug for the night. "We called at Rio. The harbour here could contain all the war fleets in the world; grand old hills; a city as romantic as Edinburgh--that is, when seen from the sea--quaintness of streets, a wealth and beauty of vegetation, of treescape and flowerscape, that I have never seen equalled anywhere, and a quaintly dressed, quiet, and indolent people. "We landed much stores here and filled up with others. On the whole, James and I were not sorry we had come, we drove such excellent bargains. "Again, at Buenos Ayres, with its fine streets and public buildings, and its miles upon miles of shallow sea all in front, we did trade enough to please us. "`When I retire from sailing the salt seas, sir,' said James, `it's 'ere and nowhere else I'm goin' to make my 'ome; and I only wish the old lady were livin', for then I'd retire after the very next voyage.' "Shortly after resuming our voyage southwards towards the stormy Cape Horn, we encountered gale after gale of wind that taxed all the strength of our brave barque, as well as the skill of the officers and seamen. Again and again had we to lie to for long dark days and nights; and when we ventured to run before the storm, we had literally to stagger along under bare poles. "But when we reached the Cape at last, and stood away to the west around the bleak and inhospitable shores of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire, never before in all the years I had been to sea had I encountered weather so fearful or waves so high and dangerous. So stormy, indeed, did it continue, that hardly did either James or I dare to hope we should ever double the Cape. But we both had a sailor's aversion to turning back, and so struggled on and on. "The danger seemed to culminate and the crisis come in earnest, when one weird moonlight midnight we suddenly found ourselves bows on to a huge iceberg, or rather one vast island of ice that appeared to have no horizon either towards the north or towards the south. The barrier presented seemed impassable. We could only try, so we put about on the port tack, the wind blowing there with great violence from the west and north. "This course took us well off the great ice island. It took us southwards, moreover. "`But why not steer northwards?' said James. `We'd have to tack a bit, it is true, only we'd be lessening our danger; leastways that's my opinion. This berg may be twenty or thirty miles long, and every mile brings us closer to great bergs that, down yonder, float in dozens. Before now, Charles Halcott, I've seen a ship sunk in the twinkling of a marling-spike by a--' "`By striking against a berg, James?' I interrupted. `So have I.' "`No, sir, no; you're on the wrong tack. Wherever big bergs are there are small ones too--little, hard, green lumps of ice, not bigger than the wheel-house, that to hit bows on would scarcely spill your tea. But, friend, it is different where there are mountain seas on. These little green bergs are caught by a wave-top and hurled against the ship's side with the strength of a thousand Titans. And--the ship goes down.' "There was something almost solemn in the manner James brought out the last four words. It kept me silent for minutes; and shading my eyes with my hand, I kept peering southwards into the weird-like moonshine, the ice away on the right, a strange white haze to leeward, and far ahead the foam-tipped waves, wild-maned horses of the ocean, careering along on their awful course. "`James,' I said at last, `danger or not danger, southwards I steer. Something tells me to do so; everything bids me. "Steer south--steer south," chimes the bell when it strikes; "steer south," ticks the clock. James Malone, my very heart's pulse repeats the words; and I hear them mournfully sung by the very waves themselves, and by the wind that goes moaning through the rigging. And--I'm going to obey.' ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "For nights I had hardly slept a wink, but now I felt as if slumber would soon visit my pillow if I but threw myself on the bed. The moon, a full round one, was already declining in the west when I went below and turned in all standing, and in three minutes' time I had sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep. "James told me afterwards that it had taken him one long minute of solid shaking and shouting to arouse me, but he succeeded at last. "`Anything wrong, James?' I said anxiously, as I sat up in my cot. "`Can't say as there's anything radically wrong, sir,' he replied slowly. `Leastways, our ship's all right. Wind and sea have both gone down. We've doubled the berg at last, and a good forty mile she was, and now we're nearing another. But the strange thing is this, sir. There is men on it, a-waving their coats and things, and makin' signs. I can just raise 'em with our Mons Meg glass.' "`Some natives of Tierra del Fuego, perhaps,' I said. `Anyhow, James,' I added, `keep bearing up towards them.' "`Ay, ay, sir.' "In ten minutes' time I was on deck, glass in hand. "It was a grey uncertain morning, the sun just rising astern of us, and tingeing the wave-tops with a yellow glare. "I could see the people on the ice with the naked eye. But I steadied Mons Meg on the bulwark, and had a look through that. "`Mercy on us, James!' I cried, `these are no savages, but our own countrymen or Americans. I can count five alive, and oh, James, three lie at some little distance stretched out dark and stiff. Shake another reef out--those people want us. A sad story will be theirs to tell.' ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "We got them all on board at last, though with difficulty, for the surf was beating high above the snow-clad ice, and twice our boat was dashed against the hard, green edge of the monster berg, her timbers cracking ominously. We brought off the dead too, and buried them in a Christian way, James himself reading over them the beautiful service of the English Church. Though they were strangers to us, yet, as their bodies dropped down into the darkling sea, many a tear was shed that our fellows scarce took pains to hide. "`And there they'll sleep,' said a voice behind me, `till the sea gives up its dead.' "I turned slowly round, and the eyes of the speaker met mine. Hitherto I had paid most attention to the lifeless, and scarce had noticed the living. "But now a strange thrill went through me as this man, who was the skipper of the lost ship, advanced with a sad kind of smile on his face and held out his hand. "`We have met before,' he said. "`We seem to have met before,' I answered falteringly, `but where I cannot tell. Perhaps you--' "`Yes, I can; I have seen you in a dream. We must both have dreamt.' "I staggered as if shot, and pressed my hand to my brow. "`You seem puzzled,' he continued, `yet I am not. I am a man who has studied science somewhat. I am often called a visionary on account of my theories, yet I am convinced that there are times when, in answer to prayer, the mind during sleep may be permitted to leave the body. You, sir, have saved the few poor fellows of my ship's crew who have escaped death, and I thank you. Think nothing strange, sir, in this world simply because you do not understand it. But you have an errand of mercy yet to perform. Heaven grant you may be as successful in that as you have been in taking our poor helpless men from off the ice.' "`Come below,' I said, `Captain--a--' "`Smithson,' he put in. "`Come below, Captain Smithson, and tell your story. James, will you bear us company?' "I and James sat on one side of the table, our guest, with his thin, worn face and dark eyes that seemed to pierce us with their very earnestness, on the other. He told his story rapidly--ran over it, as it were, as a school-boy does something he has learned by heart. "`It is but little more than five weeks since the good yacht _Windward_ cleared away from San Francisco--' "`James,' I said, interrupting him, `how long have we been at sea?' "`Wellnigh four months, sir.' "`How the time has flown! Pray, sir, proceed.' "`I have never known a quicker passage than we had. The wind was fair all the way, and our little craft appeared to fly with it. But it fell dead calm about the latitude of 20 degrees south of the line. My only passengers--in fact, it was they who had chartered the _Windward_ to take them to Monte Video--a lady and her daughter, began to be very uneasy now. They had heard so much about the fleetness of the _Windward_ that they never expected a hitch. No wonder they were uneasy. Their business in Monte Video was a matter of life or death. The doctor there had assured them that if they were not out by a certain time, the husband and father would never again be seen by them alive. "`But the calm was not of long duration. Worse was to come--a tornado burst upon us with awful fury, and all but sunk us. We were carried far to the west out of our course. Fierce gales succeeded the tempest; and when the wind once more sank to rest we found ourselves surrounded by a group of islands that, although I have sailed the South Pacific for many a long year, I had never seen before. "`That the natives of the largest and most beautiful of these islands are savages and man-hunters I have not the slightest doubt. The king himself came off, evincing not the slightest fear of us; but both he and his people remained so strangely pacific that it excited our suspicions for a time. We were glad, however, to be able here to repair damages and to take on board fresh water; and the kindness of the natives was so marked that our suspicions were entirely lulled, and for days we lived almost among them, even going on shore unarmed in the most friendly way. "`I must tell you, sir, that, owing to the heat and closeness of the atmosphere, a screen-berth or tent had been rigged for the ladies close to the bulwark on the port side, and almost abreast of the main-mast. The first part of the night of the tenth was exceedingly dark, and it was also hot and sultry. The ladies had retired early, for a thunderstorm that had been threatening about sunset broke over us with tropical fury about ten by the clock, or four bells--the first watch. "`And now, sir, comes the mystery. The moon rose at twelve and silvered all the sea, shedding its earth light upon the green-wooded hills of the mainland till everything looked ethereal. Not a sound was to be heard, except now and then the plaintive cry of a sea bird, and the dull, low moan of the breakers on the coral sand. "`As was her custom just before turning in, the ladies' maid drew aside their curtain to see if they wanted anything, and to say good-night. "`I was walking the quarterdeck smoking, when pale and scared she rushed toward me. "`Oh!' she almost screamed, `they are gone! The ladies have gone!' "`No one thought of turning in that dreadful night; and when in the morning the sun, red and flaming, leapt out of the sea, arming a boat as well as I could, I rowed on shore and demanded audience of the king. "`But we were not allowed to land. The savages had assumed a very different attitude now, and a shower of spears was our welcome. One poor fellow was killed outright, another died of his wounds only an hour afterwards. In fact, we were beaten off; and in an hour's time, observing a whole fleet of boats coming off to attack our vessel, we were forced to hoist sail and fly. "`That is my story, and a sad one it is. I was on my way to the nearest town to seek assistance, when our vessel was crushed in the ice and sank in less than twenty minutes, with all on board except those you have seen.' "Smithson was silent now. With his chin resting on his hand he sat there looking downwards at the deck, but apparently seeing nothing. For many minutes not a word was spoken by any one. The vessel rose and fell on the long, rolling seas; there was the creak of the rudder chains; there was occasionally the flapping of a sail; all else was still. "James Malone was the first to speak. "`Charles Halcott,' he said--and I think I hear the earnest, manly tones of his voice at this moment--`Charles Halcott, we have a duty to perform, and it leads us to the northward and west.' "I stood up now, and our hands met and clasped. "`James Malone,' I replied, `Heaven helping us, we will perform that duty faithfully and well.' "`Amen, sir! Amen!'" Book 2--CHAPTER SIX. "O MY FRIEND, MY BROTHER," I CRY. "That same forenoon," continued Halcott, "the wind went veering round to the southward and east. The sea was darkly, intensely blue all day. The sky was intensely blue at night, and the stars so big and bright and near they seemed almost to touch the topmasts. But here and there in the darkness, on every side of us, loomed white icebergs like sheeted ghosts, and every now and then there rolled along our beam--thudding against the timbers as they swept aft--the smaller bergs or `bilts' we could not avoid. "James was on deck, and determined to remain there till morning, in order, as he said, to give me the quiet and rest my health so much required. "In two days' time we had weathered the stormy Cape, bidden farewell to the ice, and, with every stitch of canvas set which it was possible to carry safely, were sailing westward and north, away towards the distant islands of the South Pacific. "In a few days we got into higher latitudes, and the weather became delightfully warm and pleasant. The sky was more than Italian in its clear and cloudless azure; the rippling waves were all a-sparkle with light; they kissed the bows of our bonnie barque, and came lapping and laughing aft along our counter, their merry voices seeming to talk to us and bid us welcome to these sunny seas. "Birds, too, came wheeling around our ship--strange, swift gulls, the lonesome frigate-bird, and the wondrous albatross, king of storms, great eagle of the ocean wave. "Had we not been upon the strange mission on which we were now bound, and the outcome of which we could not even guess, both James and I would have enjoyed this delightful cruise; for, like myself, he was every inch a sailor, and loved his ship as a landsman may love his bride. "`In five days' time,' said Captain Smithson to me one forenoon, `if it holds like this, we ought to reach the Unfortunate Islands.' "`Is that what you call them, captain?' I said, smiling; `well, my first mate and I mean to change their name.' "`Heaven grant you may,' he answered. `O sir, the loss of this yacht, clipper though she was, and a beauty to boot, is nothing to mourn for-- she was well insured; even the death of my poor men is but an accident that we sailors are liable to at any moment; but the fate of those two innocent ladies--the mother so good and gentle, the daughter so childlike and beautiful--is one that, if it is to remain a mystery, will cloud my whole life. Think of it, sir. The savages must have crept on board in the midst of the thick darkness and the storm, crept on board like wet and slimy snakes, gagged their poor victims, and borne them silently away--to what?' "`It is all very terrible,' I said. "`Well, now,' said James, `it strikes me talkin' about it isn't goin' to help us. Charles Halcott, I served on board a man-o'-war for seven years.' "`Yes, James.' "`Well, sir, I know what they'd do now in a case like this.' "`Yes, James.' "`They'd muster their forces, and prepare for 'ventualities.' "`You see, gentlemen,' he added, `we may have a bit o' good, solid fightin' to do. Heaven knows that, if it would do any good, I'd gird up my loins and go all unarmed, save with the Word o' God--my mother's Bible--among those poor, benighted heathens, and try to bring 'em to their senses. But I fear that would do but little good. When we go among the more humble and simple savages of lonely islands in the sea, or on the mainland of Africa itself, our work o' conversion is easy, because the creatures have no form o' religion to place against the gospel. But these head-hunters--and I know them of old--have their own ghastly, blood-stained rites and sacrifices--I cannot call it religion, sir--and these they set up as an awful barrier against the glad tidings we fain would bring to their doors, to their lives. "`No, gentlemen, we may have to crack skulls before we get the Word in. But to save those helpless ladies Is a duty, a sacred duty we owe to our own white race, as well as to our own consciences, for we'd ne'er be happy if we didn't try.' "`Heaven grant,' I said, `they may still be alive!' "`That we must find out,' said James. `Now, sir, shall we call all hands, and see to rifles and ammunition?' "James's suggestion was at once acted upon. "The _Sea Flower_ was a very large barque, and once had been a full-rigged ship. And our hands were more numerous than are generally carried, for many were working their voyage out, and might have been called passengers. "So now forty bold fellows, including two strong and sturdy black men, and the negro boy we called the cook's mate, put in an appearance, and drew shyly aft. There were, in addition to these, Captain Smithson and his four men. "But these latter we determined the savages must not see, else their suspicions would at once be raised, and, instead of our being able to act peacefully and by strategy, we should have at once to declare red-eyed war. "`Will you speak first?' I said to Captain Smithson. "Without a word he strode forward, and, when he held up his hand, the men came crowding round him. "`Men of the _Sea Flower_!' he began, `I am going to tell you a story. It is short and simple, but also a very sad one. Maybe you know most of the outs and ins and particulars of it already. My men must have told you all about our voyage and our lady passengers.' "`Repeat, repeat!' cried the men; `we would have it all again from your own lips, sir.' "Briefly and pathetically Smithson did so, relating to them all the particulars we already know. "`Men,' he continued, `you are Christians, and you are Englishmen. It is on this latter fact I rely chiefly, in case we have to fight with the savages of those Unfortunate Islands. The elder of the two ladies we are going to try to save is English, though she married an American, though her home was on the Pacific slope, and her innocent and beautiful daughter was born in San Francisco. They are your country-people, then, as much as ours. But, apart from that, when I say they are women in bondage and distress, I have said enough, I know, to appeal to the brave heart of every Englishman who now stands before me.' "A wild, heroic shout was the only reply. "`Thank you,' said Smithson, `for that expression of feeling! and I will only add that these ladies, especially the younger, were, all the way out, the light and life of our poor, lost yacht, and that, by their winning ways, they made themselves beloved both fore and aft.' "`Now, lads,' cried James, and as he spoke he seemed a head taller than I had ever seen him, `if we've got to fight, why, then, we'll fight. But against these terrible savages we can't fight with porridge-sticks. Luckily, in our cargo we have a hundred good rifles, and that is two for each of us; and we have revolvers, too, and plenty of ammunition. All good, mind you; for I chose the whole cargo myself. So now, bo's'n, pipe up the guns; and this afternoon, men, and every day till we touch at the Unfortunate Islands, I'll put you through your drill--which, bein' an old navy man, I fancy I'm capable of doing. Are you all willing?' "The cheer that shook the ship from stem to stern was a truly British one. It was their only answer, and the only answer needed or required. "So the drilling was commenced, and entered into with great spirit. After all, this drill was merely preparation for `possible 'ventualities,' as honest James called it, for fighting would be our very last resort, and we earnestly prayed that we might not be driven to it. "At last, and early one morning, just as the sun was beginning to pencil the feathery clouds with gold and green and crimson, land was discovered on the lee bow. "I brought the big telescope which James had named Mons Meg to bear upon it. Then I handed Meg to Smithson. He looked at the land long and earnestly, and glanced up at me with beaming face. "`That's the principal island, Captain Halcott,' he said; `the king's own. How well we have hit it!' "That same forenoon we cast anchor in Treachery Bay, close to the spot where the yacht had lain not many weeks before. "Our sails were furled in quite a business-like way. We wanted to show the savages that we were not one whit afraid of them, that we had come to stay for a short spell, and hadn't the remotest intention of running away. "That you may better understand the shape or configuration of this strange island, gentlemen, here I show you a rough sketch-map. This will enable you also to follow more easily our subsequent adventures in the fastnesses of these terrible savages. "Rude and simple though this plan is, a word or two will suffice to explain it. The island trends west and east, and is not more than sixteen miles long by about ten to twelve in width. It is divided into two almost equal parts by a very rapid and dark-rolling river, which rushes through rocky gorges with inconceivable speed, forming many a thundering cataract as it fights its way to the sea. It is fed from the waters that flow from the mountains, and, probably, by subterranean springs. The whole western portion of the island, with the exception of some green woods around the bay, is pretty low, but covered throughout with the remains of a black and burned forest. This forest is supposed by the natives to be inhabited by fearsome demons and witches, and is never visited, except for the purpose of sorcery by the medicine-men of the tribe, and to bury the dead. In the centre of the eastern portion of the island, which is beautifully clad with woodlands, and rugged and wild in the extreme, is a lake with one small, lonely isle; and around this the mountains tower their highest, but are clad to their very summits with forest trees, many of them bearing the most luscious of fruits, and all draped with wild flowers, and sweetly haunted by bird and bee. "The only things else in the map I wish to draw your attention to, gentlemen, are the parallel lines. These mark the spot where was the only bridge leading into the fastnesses of these savages, and the only mode of communication with the lower land and bay, without walking round by the head of the river, or following its course to the sea and crossing in a boat. "This bridge was primitive in the extreme, consisting merely of three straight tree stems, and a rude life-line composed of the twisted withes of a kind of willow. "I have sad reason to remember that bridge, and shall not forget it while life lasts. "I have said nothing in my story yet about Lord Augustus Fitzmantle. But it is time to do so. Lord Augustus was our cook's mate. It is well to give a nigger boy a high-sounding name, and, if possible, a title. He always tries to act up to it. Lord Augustus was very, very black. The other niggers were black enough certainly, but they looked brown beside his merry, laughing little lordship. Yes, always laughing, always showing those white teeth of his and rolling his expressive eyes, and good-tempered all day long. Even a kick from the cook only made him rub a little and laugh the more. Lord Augustus wore a string of sky-blue beads about his neck, and on warm days he wore very little else. But if Lord Augustus was black, he was also bright. The sunshine glittered and glanced on his rounded arms and cheeks, and he had sunshine in his heart as well. It goes without saying he was the pet of the _Sea Flower_ and everybody's friend, and though all hands teased as well as petted him, he took it all in good part. "So long as Lord Fitzmantle kept his mouth shut, and didn't show those flashing teeth of his, he was as invisible as Jack the Giant Killer on a dark night. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Seeing our independence, the savages for hours held aloof. At last a white-headed, fearful-looking old man paddled alongside in a dug-out. From the fact that he had a huge snake coiled around his chest and neck, I took him to be the medicine-man, or sorcerer, of the tribe, and I was not mistaken. "He was certainly no beauty as he sat there grinning in his dark dug-out. His face was covered with scars in circles and figures, so, too, was his chest; his eyes were the colour of brass; his teeth crimson, and filed into the form of triangles. But he climbed boldly on board when beckoned to, and we loaded him with gifts of pretty beads, and engirdled his loins with red cloth, then sent him grinning away. "This treatment had the desired effect, and in half an hour's time the bay was alive with the boats and canoes of the head-hunters. Each of their tall, gondola-like prows bore a grinning skull, the cheek bones daubed with a kind of crimson clay, and the sockets filled with awful clay eyes--not a pretty sight. "Presently the king himself came off, and we received him with great ceremony, and gave him many gifts. To show our strength, James drew up his men in battle array, and to the terror of all in the boats, they fired their guns, taking aim at some brown and ugly kites that flew around. When several of these fell dead, the alarm of the king knew no bounds. But he soon recovered; and when, a little later on, I with a dozen of my best men went on shore, the king placed a poor slave girl on the beach and made signs for us to shoot. I would sooner have shot the king himself. "Lord Augustus came with us, and we soon found that he understood much that the king said, and could therefore act as our interpreter. "It is needless to say that the men of the lost yacht were kept out of sight. "Our walk that day was but a brief one. The king did not seem to want us ever to cross the bridge. On climbing a hill, however, I could see all over the wild and beautiful country. I pointed to the lake and little island, and was given to understand that the medicine-men dwelt there. But from the shiftiness of the savage's eyes, I concluded at once that, if they were alive, that was the prison isle of the unhappy ladies. The king dined with us next day, and we considered it policy to let him have a modicum of fire-water. His heart warmed, and not only did he permit our party to cross the bridge, but to visit his palace. The sights of horror around it I will not dare to depict, but, much to my joy, I noticed from the king's veranda the flutter of white dresses on the little prison isle. "My mind was made up, and that night I dispatched Lord Augustus on shore with a note. It was a most hazardous expedition, and none save the boy could have undertaken it with any hope of success. In my letter I had told the ladies to be of good cheer; there would be a glimmer of moonlight in a week's time, and that then we should attempt their rescue; anyhow they were to be prepared. "Three whole days elapsed, and yet no Lord Augustus appeared, but on the night of the fourth, when we had given him up for lost, he swam off to the ship. Poor boy, he had hardly eaten food, save fruit, since he had left, and his adventure had been a thrilling one. Yet he was laughing all over just the same. "Yes, he had managed to give the note, and had brought back a message. The ladies had not, strange to say, been subjected to either insult or injury by the king. They were well fed on fruit and milk and cooked fowls, but were guarded day and night by priests. "The most startling portion of the message, however, was this: in a fortnight's time a great feast and sacrifice were to take place, and during that they knew not what might occur. They begged that the boy might be sent again, and with him a sleeping-powder, which they might administer to the priests on the night of the attempted rescue. I confess my heart beat high with anxiety when the boy told us all this, for not one word of his message had he forgotten. "I consulted now with James and Smithson. Would it not be as well, I advanced, to attempt to rescue the ladies by force? "This was at once vetoed. Both James and the captain of the yacht knew more of savage nature than I did, and they most strongly affirmed that any show of force would assuredly result in the putting to death of the two unhappy ladies we had come to rescue. "So it was finally agreed that stratagem, not force, must be resorted to, in the first place, at all events. So a night was chosen, and on the previous evening faithful Lord Fitzmantle was dispatched once more, taking with him a powder for the medicine-men, or priests. "To our great joy and relief, the messenger returned before daylight with the news that all would be ready, and that they, the ladies, would be found at midnight in a cave by the banks of the lake, if they were successful in escaping in a canoe from the island. "`And you know this cave, Fitz?' I asked. "Fitz's eyes snapped and twinkled right merrily. "`I done know him, him foh true, sah!' he said, which signified that he had a perfect knowledge of the position of the cave. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "As I speak to you even now, gentlemen, a portion of the anxiety I felt on that terrible night when, with muffled oars, our boat left the ship, comes stealing over my senses. I could not tell then why my feelings should be worked up to so high a pitch, for I'd been in many a danger and difficulty before. But so it was. "The king had dined with us, and we sent home with him a supply of fire-water, which has worked such ruin among many savage races. But surely on this occasion we were partially justified in doing so. We knew, therefore, that the king and some of his principal officers were safe enough for one night. "The largest boat was cautiously lowered about an hour before midnight, when everything was still as the grave on the island; a long and plaintive howl, however, being borne on the gentle breeze towards us every now and then, telling us that sentries were here and there in the woods. "We were fifteen men in all, including James and myself, and excluding our little black guide, Lord Fitzmantle. During the nights of terror he had spent in hill and forest he had surveyed the country well, and so we could safely trust to him. "We rowed with muffled oars to the beach near the haunted forest, and drew up our boat under some banana-trees; then, silent as the red men of the North American forests, we made our way towards the bridge. "The moon was about five days old, and served to give us all the light we desired. We took advantage of every bush and thicket, and finally, when within seventy yards of the river--the hustling and roaring of which we could distinctly hear--we dispatched little Fitz to reconnoitre. "He returned in a few minutes and reported all safe, and no one on watch upon the bridge. "We marched now in Indian file, taking care not even to snap a twig, lest we should arouse the slumbering foe. I do not know how long we took to reach the cave. To me, in my terror and anxiety, it seemed a year. They were there, and safe. "We waited not a moment to speak. I lifted the young lady in my arms. How light she was! James escorted the elder, sometimes carrying her, sometimes permitting her to walk. "Then the journey back was commenced. "But in the open a glimmer of moonlight fell on the face of the beautiful burden I bore. She had fainted. That I could see at a glance. "But something more I saw, and, seeing, tottered and nearly fell; for hers was the same lovely and childlike face I had seen that evening, which now appeared so long ago, in the Liverpool theatre. "I felt now as if walking in the air. But I cannot describe or express my feelings, being only a sailor, and so must not attempt to. "We might have still been a hundred yards from the bridge and river, when suddenly there rang out behind and on each side of us the most awful yells I had ever listened to, while the beating of tom-toms, or war-drums, sounded all over the eastern part of the island. "`On, men, on to the bridge!' shouted brave James. No need for concealment now. "It was a short but fearful race, but now we are on it, on the bridge! "On and over! "All but James! "Where is he? The moon escapes from behind a cloud and shines full upon his sturdy form, still on the other side, and at the same time we can hear the sharp ring of his revolver. Then, oh! we see him tearing up the planks of the bridge, and dropping them one by one into the gulf beneath. We pour in a volley to keep the savages back. "`Fly for your lives!' shouts brave James. `Save the ladies; I'll swim.' "Next minute he dives into the chasm! For one brief moment we see his face and form in the pale moonlight. Then he disappears. He is gone. "`O my friend, my brother!' I cry, stretching out my arms as if I would plunge madly into the pool that lies far beneath yonder, part in shade and part in shine. "But they dragged me away by main force. They led me to the boat. The savages could not follow. But I seemed to see nothing now, to know nothing, to feel nothing, except that I had lost the dearest friend on earth. He had sacrificed himself to save us!" Book 2--CHAPTER SEVEN. "I THINK YOU'RE GOING ON A WILD-GOOSE CHASE." Halcott paused, and gazed seawards over the great stretch of wet beach. So wet was it that the sun's parting rays lit it up in great stripes of crimson chequered with gold. And yonder are the children coming slowly home across these painted sands. A strange group, most certainly, but united in one bond of union--oh, would that all the world were so!--the bond of love. The brother's arm is placed gently around his sister's waist; the Admiral is stepping drolly by Ransey's side, with his head and neck thrust through the lad's arm. Something seems to tell the bird that fate, which took away his master before, might take him once again. Bob brings up the rear. His head is low towards the sands, but he feels very happy and satisfied with his afternoon's outing. Halcott once more lit his pipe. The two others were silent, and Mr Tandy nodded when Halcott smiled and looked towards him. "Yes," he said, "there is a little more of my story yet untold; there is a portion of it still in the future, I trust. With this, however, destiny alone has to do. Suffice it to say, that as far as Doris and myself--my simple sailor-self--are concerned, we shall be married when I return from my next cruise, if all goes well, and, like two vessels leaving the harbour on just such a beautiful night as this, sail away to begin our voyage of life on just such a beautiful sea. "You must both know Doris before I start. But where, think you, do I mean to sail to next? No, do not answer till I tell you one thing. Neither Doris nor her mother received, while in that little lake island, the slightest injury or insult." "Then there is some good in the breast of even the wildest savage," put in Weathereye. "I always thought so; bother me if I didn't. Ahem!" "Ah, wait, Captain Weathereye, wait! I fear my experience is different from yours. Those fiendish savages on that Isle of Misfortune were reserving my dear Doris and her mother for a fate far more terrible than anything ever described in books of imagination. "We rescued them, by God's mercy, just in time. They were then under the protection of the awful priests, or medicine-men, and were being fed on fruits and on the petals of rare and beautiful flowers. Their hut itself was composed of flowers and foliage. "The king, no, not even he, could come near them, until the medicine-men had propitiated the demons that live, according to their belief, in every wood and in every ravine and gully in the island. "Then, at the full of the moon, on that tiny islet I have marked on the map, the king and his warriors would assemble at midnight, and the awful orgies would commence. "I shudder even now when I think of it. I happily cannot describe to you the tortures these poor ladies would have been put to before the final, fearful act. But the king would drink `white blood.' He would then be invulnerable. No foe could any more prevail against him. "While the blood was still flowing, the stake-fires would-be lit, and-- "But I'll say no more; a cannibal feast would have concluded the ceremonies." "You mean to say," cried Weathereye, bringing his fist, and a good-sized one it was, down with a bang on the sill of the open window by which he sat--"do you mean to tell me that these devils incarnate would have burned the poor dear ladies alive, then? Oh, horrible!" "I said that they meant to; but look at this!" He handed Weathereye a small yellow dagger. "What a strange little knife! But why, I say, Halcott, Tandy, this knife is made of gold--solid, hammered gold!" "Yes," said Halcott; "and it is this dagger of hammered gold that would have saved my poor Doris and her mother from the torture and the stake. "But," he added, "not this dagger only, but every implement in the cave of those fearsome priests was fashioned from the purest gold." "This is indeed a strange story," said Tandy. "And now, gentlemen," added Halcott, "can you guess to what seas my barque shall sail next?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tandy rose from his seat and took two or three turns up and down the floor. He was a man who made up his mind quickly enough, and it is such men as these, and only such, who get well on in the world. Weathereye and Halcott both kept silence. They were watching Tandy. "Halcott," said the latter, approaching the captain of the _Sea Flower_--"Halcott, have you kept your secret?" "Secret?" "Yes. I mean, do many save yourself know of the existence of gold on that island of blood?" "None save me. No one has even seen the knife but myself and you." "Good. You love the _Sea Flower_?" "I love the _Sea Flower_ as every sailor loves, or ought to love, his ship. I wish I could afford to buy her out and out." "The other shares are in the market then?" Tandy was seated now cross-legged on a chair, and leaning over the back of it, bending towards Halcott with an earnest light, in his eyes, such as few had ever seen therein. "The other shares _are_ for sale," said Halcott. It was just at this moment that Ransey Tansey and little Nelda came, or rather burst into the room. Both were breathless, both were rosy; and Bob, who came in behind them, was panting, with half a yard of tongue-- well, perhaps, not _quite_ so much--hanging red over his alabaster teeth. "O daddy," cried Babs, as father still called her, "we've had such fun! And the 'Ral," (a pet name that the crane had somehow obtained possession of) "dug up plenty of pretty things for us, and he wanted Bob to eat a big white worm, only Bob wouldn't." One of his children stood on each side of him, and he had placed one arm round each. Thus Tandy faced Halcott once more, smiling, perhaps, a little sadly now. "_I_ can buy those shares, Halcott. Do not think me ambitious. A money-grabber I never was. But, you see these little tots. Ransey here can make his way in the world.--Can't you, Ransey?" "Rather, father," said Ransey. "But, Halcott, though I am not in the flower of my youth, I'm in the prime of my manhood, and I'd do everything I know to build up a shelter for my little Babs against the cold winds of adversity before I--But I must not speak of anything sad before the child." "You have a long life before you, I trust," said Weathereye. Tandy seemed to hear him not. "I'd go as your mate." The two sailors shook hands. "You'll go as my friend, and keep watch if you choose." "Agreed!" "Bravo!" cried Weathereye. "Shiver my jib, as sailors say in books, if I wouldn't like to go along with both of you!" "Why not, Captain Weathereye?" The staff-commander laughed. "Not this cruise, lads, though I'm not afraid for my life, or the little that may be left of it, and you must take care of yours. I think myself you are going on a kind of wild-goose chase, and that the goose--that is, the gold--will have the best of it, by keeping out of your way. Well, anyhow, I'll come and see you both over the bar. Where do you sail from?" "Southampton." "Good! and the last person you'll see as you drop out to sea will be old Weathereye in a boat waving his red bandana to wish you luck. Good-night! "Good-night, little Babs! How provokingly pretty she is, Tandy! better leave her at Scragley Hall, and the crane too. She'll be well looked after, you may figure upon that. Come and give the old man a kiss, dear." But Nelda hung her head. "Not if you say that, Captain Weathereye. Wherever _ever_ daddy goes, I go with him. I'm _not_ going to let my brother run away to sea and leave me again." "And you won't give me Bob?" said Weathereye. "Oh, _no_!" "Nor the Admiral?" Nelda looked up in the old captain's face now. "I'm just real sorry for you," she said; "but the Hal's going and all--_you_ may figure on that." Weathereye laughed heartily. Then he drew the child gently towards him and kissed her little sun-browned hand. "May God be with you, darling, where'er on earth you roam! And with you all. Good-night again." And away went honest Captain Weathereye. Book 2--CHAPTER EIGHT. AT SEA--MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. So long as the wind blew free, even though it did not always blow fair, there was joy, and jollity, too, in every heart that beat on board the saucy _Sea Flower_, fore as well as aft. She looked a bonnie barque now, in every sense of the word. Tandy and Halcott had spared neither expense nor pains in rigging her well out. Had not her timbers been stanch and sound they certainly would not have done so. She had new sails, a new jibboom, and several new spars; and before she got clear and away out of the English Channel the crew of many a homeward-bound ship manned their riggings and gave her a hearty cheer. Halcott had left the whole rig-out of the _Sea Flower_ to Mr Tandy, and had not come near her for six long weeks. He was better employed, perhaps, and more happy on shore. But pleased enough he was on his return. "Why, Tandy, my dear fellow, this isn't a ship any more; it's a yacht?" "A pot of paint and a bucket of tar go a long way," Tandy replied smiling. "Ah! there's a good deal more than tar here; but how you've managed to get her decks and spars so white and beautiful, bother me if I can tell. And her ebony is ebony no longer, it is polished jet, while her brass work is gold." Down below the two had now gone together. Tandy could not have made the cabin a bit bigger if he had tried, but he had removed every morsel of her lumbering old lockers and tables, and refurnished it with all he could think of that was graceful and beautiful. Mirrors, too, were everywhere along the bulk-heads, and these made the saloon look larger. The only wonder is that, in a lit of absent-mindedness, some one did not walk right through a mirror. Hanging tables, beautiful crystal, brackets, and artificial flowers gave a look that was both lightsome and gay. On the port side, when you touched a knob, a mirrored door opened into the captain's cabin--small but pretty, and lighted by an airy port that could be carried open in good weather, and all along in the trades. The other state-room was larger. This Halcott had insisted upon Tandy taking; and it contained not only his own bunk, but a lower one for Nelda, and was better decorated and furnished than even the captain's. "Oh, gaily goes the ship when the wind blows free." And right gaily she had gone too, as yet. Halcott was a splendid sailor and navigator. It might have been thought, however, that Tandy, from his long residence on shore, had turned a little rusty in his seamanship. If he had, the rust had not taken long to rub off; and as he trod the ivory-white quarterdeck in his duck trousers, neat cap, and jacket of navy blue, he really looked ten years younger than in the days when he sailed the _Merry Maiden_ up and down the canal. The crew were well-dressed, and looked happy and jolly enough for anything. I need hardly say that Nelda was the pet of the _Sea Flower_, fore and aft. There was no keeping the child to any one part of the ship. In fine weather--and, with the exception of a "howther" in the Bay, it had up till now been mostly fine--she was here, there, and everywhere: in the men's quarters; down below in the forecastle; at the forecastle-head itself, when the men leaned over the bows there, smoking, yarning, and laughing; and in the cook's galley, helping to make the soup. But she ventured even further than this, and more than once her father started to find her in the foretop, and standing beside her that tall, imperturbable Admiral. The bird was pet number two; but Bob made an equal second. At first the 'Ral was inclined to mope. Perhaps he was sea-sick. It is a well-known fact that if a Cape pigeon, as a certain gull is called, is taken on board, it can fly no more, but walks slowly and stupidly round the deck. Sea-sickness had not troubled Bob in the slightest. When he saw the 'Ral standing in the lee-scuppers, with his neck hitched right round till the head lay right on the top of his tail, Bob looked at him comically with _his_ head cocked funnily to one side. Then he seemed to laugh right away down both sides, so to speak. Bob was a droll dog. "My eyes, Admiral," he said, "what a ridiculous figure you do cut, to be sure! Why, at first I couldn't tell which was the one end of you and which was the other." "I don't care what becomes of me," the Admiral replied, talking over his tail. "It is a very ordinary world. I'll never dance again." But, nevertheless, in three days' time the Hal did dance, and so droll and comical were his capers on the heaving deck that the crew lay aft in a body and laughed till they nearly burst their belts. The Admiral took kindly to his meal-worms after that, and didn't despise potted salmon and morsels of mutton. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Now it must not be supposed that the _Sea Flower_ was going out in ballast, on the mere chance of filling up with gold. They might never see the Isle of Misfortune, and all their dreams of gold might yet turn out as dreams so often do. Halcott and Tandy were good sailors, and but little likely to trust overmuch to blind chance. They took out with them, therefore, a good-paying cargo of knick-knacks and notions to barter with the natives along the coast of Africa. Having made a good voyage--and they knew they should--and having filled up with copal, nutmegs, arrowroot, spices, ivory, and perhaps even gold-dust and ostrich feathers from the far interior, they would stretch away out and over the broad Atlantic, and rounding the Horn, make search for the Isle of Misfortune, which they hoped to find an island of gold. If unsuccessful, they should then bear up for the northern Pacific Islands, taking their chance of doing something with pearls or mother-of-pearl, and so on and away to San Francisco, where they were sure of a market, even if they wished to sell the _Sea Flower_ herself. But the best of sailors get disheartened far sooner in calms than even in tempests. In the latter, one has all the excitement of a battle with the elements; in the former, one can but wait and think and long for the winds to blow. "The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free." Yes; but although in the region of calms some ships seem to have luck, the _Sea Flower_ had none. "Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And they did speak only to break The silence of the sea." A week, a fortnight, nearly three weary weeks went past like this. There was no singing now forward among the men. Even little Fitz the nigger, who generally _was_ trolling a song, at times high over the roar of the wind, was silent now. So, too, was Ransey Tansey. He and Nelda had been before the life of the good ship. It seemed as if they should never be so again. Bob took to lying beside the man at the wheel. As far as the latter was concerned, there might just as well have been no man there at all. The sea all round was a sea of heaving oil. The waves were houses high--not long rollers, but a series of hills and valleys, in which the _Sea Flower_ wallowed and tumbled; while the fierce heat of the sun caused the pitch to melt and bubble where the decks were not protected by an awning. The motion of the good ship was far indeed from agreeable. Any seaman can walk easily even when half a gale of wind is roaring through the rigging. There is a method in the motion of a ship in such a sea-way. There is no method in the motion of a vessel in the doldrums; and when one puts one's foot down on the quarterdeck, or, rather, where it seemed to be a second before, it finds but empty space. The body lurches forward, and the deck swings up to receive it. A grasp at a stay or sheet alone can avert a fall. In such a sea-way there is no longer any leeward or windward. The sails go flapping to and fro, however: they are making wind for themselves as the vessel rolls and tumbles; and if this wind carries her forward a few yards one minute, it hurls her back again the next. No wonder Nelda often asked her father if the wind would never, never blow again, or whether it would be always, always like this. No birds either, save now and then a migrant gull that floated lazily on a wave to rest, or perched on the fin of a basking shark. So day after day passed wearily on, and you could not have told one day from the other. But when, at six o'clock, the sun hurriedly capped the great heaving waves with crimson, leaving the hollows in deepest purple shade, and soon after sank, then, in the gloaming that for a brief spell hung over the ocean, the stars came out; and very brightly did they shine, so that night was even more pleasant than day. Banks of clouds sometimes lay along the horizon. By day they appeared like far-off, snow-capped, serrated mountains; at night they were dark, but lit up every few moments by flashes of lightning, which spread out behind them and revealed their form and shape. No thunder ever followed this lightning; it brought no wind; nor did the clouds ever rise or bring a drop of rain. Phantom lightning; phantom clouds! There were times on nights like these when Ransey took his sister on deck to look at the sky, and wonder at the lightning and that strange mountain-range of clouds. She was not afraid when Ransey was with her. But she would not have gone "upstairs," as she called it, with even the stewardess herself. Ransey, I may mention, lived in the saloon with his father and the captain, the second and third mates having comfortable quarters in the midship decks. A stewardess only was carried on the _Sea Flower_, and she acted in another capacity--that of maid to Nelda. A black girl she was, but clean, smart, and tidy and trim, full of merriment and good-nature. Her assistant was Fitz, and with him alone she deemed it her duty to be a little harsh now and then. Because Fitz wouldn't keep his place, so she said. Poor Janeira, she always forgot she was a nigger herself, seeing so many white faces all around her. But when she looked into the little mirror that hung in her pantry, she used to go into fits of laughter at her face therein displayed. She was a funny girl. Ransey used to take Nelda up on these nights, and hoist her on to the grating abaft the quarterdeck, and she would cling to his arm, while he held on to the bulwark. Thus they would stand, silent and awed, for long minutes at a time. Was there nothing to break the dread stillness? There was occasionally the flap of a sail, or a footstep forward; but no song from the men, no loud talking--they hardly cared to speak above a whisper. But more than once a plash was heard, and a great dark head would appear from the side of a billow, seen distinctly enough in the gleam of the starlight, then sink and disappear. "Oh, the awful beast, 'Ansey! Can it climb up and swallow us?" "No, dear silly, no." But older people than Nelda have been frightened by such dread spectres appearing close to a ship at night while in the doldrums, and wiser heads than hers have been puzzled to account for them. Are they sharks? No, no. Five times as large are they as any shark ever seen. Whales? No, again. A whale lives not under the water but on it. In the ocean wild and wide, reader, we sailors find many a strange mystery, see many a fearsome sight at night we can neither describe nor explain. And if we talk of these when we come on shore, you landsmen look incredulous. But after a time the child became accustomed to scenes like these. Indeed the sea by night appeared to have a kind of fascination for her. In beholding it, she appeared to be looking through it into some strange land, the abode of the fairies and elves and mermaids with which her imagination had peopled it. "Deep, deep down among the rocks," she would say to Ransey, "who lives there? Tell us, tell us." Ransey had therefore to become the story-teller whether he would or not. He spoke to her then of mermaid-land deep down below the dark, heaving ocean. "Deep, deep, _deep_ down, 'Ansey?" "Very, very deep. You see only a glimmer of light below you as you sink and sink; and this light is greenish and clear, and the farther down you get the brighter and more beautiful does it become." "And you're not drowned?" "No! oh, no! not if you're good. Well, then you come to--oh, ever so beautiful a country! The trees are all of sea-weed, and underneath them is the yellow, yellow sand; but here and there are beautiful rockeries, and beds of such bright and lovely flowers that they would dazzle your eyes to look upon. And the strange thing about these flowers is this, Babs, they are all alive." "All alive? My! and can they talk to you?" "Yes, and sing too. A sailor man who had been there told me. And he said their voices were so low and sweet that you had to put your ear quite close down before you could hear and understand; for at a little distance, he said, it was just like the tinkling of tiny silver bells. The danger is in stopping too long, and being enchanted or slain." "Enchanted? Whatever is that, 'Ansey?" "Oh, you stay so long listening that you feel like in a dream, and before you know what has happened you are a flower yourself; and then, though you can see and hear everything that goes on around you, you cannot move away from the rock you are growing on, and you never get back again out of the water." "Never, never, 'Ansey?" "Never, never, Babs." "But in the deep, dark, beautiful woods that you come to and enter there is many a terrible monster living--horned, shelly, warty monsters. And they are all waiting to catch you." "Terrible, 'Ansey!" "Are you afraid, dear?" "Oh, no, 'Ansey! Be terrible some more." "Well, there is danger all around you now, for some of these monsters are quite hidden among the sand, with only one eye protruding, and this looks like a flower because it grows on a stalk. But when you go to look at it, suddenly the sandy ground gives way under you. You are caught and killed, and know no more. "Some of these monsters, Nelda, live in caves, and if you go too near the entrance a great, long, skinny arm is thrust out, and you are dragged into the dark and devoured." "But I would turn quickly away out of that terrible wood, 'Ansey," said Nelda. "Yes, that is just what the sailor did." "And then he was saved?" "Not yet. He came to a lovely wide patch of clear, hard sand, and he was looking down to admire it. He had taken up some to examine, and was pouring it from one hand into the other--for the sand was pure gold mixed with pearls and rubies--when all at once it began to get dark, and looking up he saw a creature that was nearly all one horrible, cruel, grinning head, with eight long arms round it. It stopped high up, just hovering, Nelda, like a hawk over a field. The sailor man was spell-bound. He could only stare up at it with starting eyes and utter a long, low, frightened moan. But from the creature above a tent was lowered, just like a huge bell, and he knew it would soon fall over him and he would be sucked up to the sea-demon's body and slowly eaten alive. "But at that very moment, sissie, the creature uttered a terribly wild and mournful cry, and darted off through the water, which was all just like ink now." "And the sailor was dead?" "No; a voice that sounded like the sweetest music ever he had heard in his life was heard, and a hand grasped his. "`Quick, quick,' she cried, for it was a mermaid, `I will lead you into safety. Stay but another moment here and you are doomed.' "`I'll follow you to the end of the world, miss,' said the gallant sailor. "It did seem queer to call a mermaid miss, but Jack Reid couldn't help it. "`You won't have to follow so far,' she said, with a sweet smile that put Jack's heart all in a flutter. "And in five minutes' time they were out of danger, and there was Jack with his hat in his hand, which he had taken off for politeness' sake, being led along by the most charming young lady he had ever clapped eyes on. "`Her beauty,' he said to me, `was radiant, and her long yellow hair floated behind her in the water till I was ravished; on'y the wust of it was, that all below the waist wasn't lady at all, but ling or some other kind of fish.' "But Jack wouldn't look at the ling part at all, only just at the mermaid's face and hair and hands. "However dark it might have been, you could have seen to read by the light of the diamonds around her brow and neck. "They soon came to a rock of quartz and porphyry, and next minute Jack found himself in a hall of such dazzling delight that he had to rub his eyes and pinch himself hard to make sure he was not in a dream. This was the mermaids' and sea-fairies' great ballroom. "Tier upon tier of galleries rose up towards the beautiful, star-studded ceiling, and every gallery was filled with beautiful ladies. Jack knew that they all ended in ling, but the tails could not be seen. "There was light and loveliness everywhere, and flowers everywhere--" "Go on, 'Ansey. Your story is better than the Revelations, better even than `Jack the Giant Killer.'" "I must stop, siss, because even _I_ don't know much more, only that the music was so ravishing that Jack himself danced till he couldn't dance a bit more." "And did he sit down?" "No; he thought he would like a smoke, so he floated away down to the entrance to a cave at the far, far end. "`That must be the smoking-room,' he thought to himself, so he pushed aside the curtain and floated boldly in. "But lo and behold, this inner cave was filled with little shrivelled-up old men, uglier far in the face than toads. "These, sissie, were the mermen, and they were all sitting on rough blocks of coral, which must have hurt them dreadful, nursing their tails. These mermen sat there swaying their yellow, wrinkled bodies back and fore, to and fro, but taking not the slightest notice of Jack. The sailor stood staring at them; and well he might, for whatever motion one made the others all made the same. If one lifted a skeleton hand to rub its bald head, every hand was raised, every bald head was rubbed; whichever way one swayed all the rest swayed; sometimes every blear eye was directed to the ceiling, or lowered towards their tails, as the case might be; and when one gaped and yawned they all gaped and yawned, and Jack told me that he had never seen such a set of ugly, toothless mouths in his life before. "But as _they_ wouldn't speak, Jack Reid himself--and he was a very brave sailor, sissie--did speak. "`Ahoy, maties!' he cried, `ye don't seem an over-lively lot here, I must say, but has e'er a one o' ye got sich a thing as a bit o' baccy?' "Jack told me, Babs, that when he made this speech he got a fearful fright. Every merman stood up straight on its stool, its skinny arms and claw-like hands held straight above its head, and a yell rang through the hall that Jack says is ringing in his ears till this day. "`Oh!' he cried, `if that's your little game, here's for off.' "Jack must have been glad enough to get back to the ballroom, but this was now deserted. No one was there at all except the lovely mermaid who had saved him from being devoured by the terrible devil-fish. "She smiled upon him as sweetly as ever. "`I'm going to guide you,' she said, `to the nursery grotto; it is time that all sailor boys went to by-by.' "`Go on, missie,' Jack said, `go on, yer woice is sweeter far than the song of--of a Mother Carey's chicken. Wot a lovely lady ye'd be, miss, if ye didn't end in ling!' "She smiled, and combed her hair with her long white fairy fingers as she glided on. "`Going to by-by am I? Well, the mum did used to call it that like, miss, but we grown-up sailor lads calls it a bunk or an 'ammock. Ain't got ne'er a bit o' baccy about ye, has ye, miss?' "But the fairy mermaid only smiled. "So soft and downy was the bed that Jack fell asleep singing low to himself-- "`All in the downs the fleet was moored.' "And that is the end of the story, siss." "Oh, no! What did he see when he woke up again?" "Well, when he awoke in the morning, much to his amazement, he found himself in his own bed in his mother's little cottage at home. "He rubbed his eyes twice before he spoke. "`What! mother?' he cried. "`Yes, it is your own old mother, dearie, and I've been sittin' up with you, and sich nonsense you has been a-talkin', surely.' "`I'm not a merman, or anything, am I, mother? I don't end in ling, do I, mother?' "`No, Jack Reid, you end in two good strong legs; but strong as they are, my boy, they weren't strong enough to keep you from tumbling down last night. O Jack, Jack!'" Book 2--CHAPTER NINE. WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF THE DANCING CRANE. Hardly had Ransey finished his story ere a bright flash of lightning lit up the ship from stem to stern--a flash that seemed to strike the top of every rolling wave and hiss in the hollows between; a flash that left the barque in Cimmerian though only momentary darkness, for hardly had the thunder that followed--deep, loud, and awful--commenced, ere flash succeeded flash, and the sea all around seemed an ocean of fire. For a time little Nelda could not be prevailed upon to go below. She was indeed a child of the wilds, and a thunderstorm was one of her chief delights. Ah! but this was going to be somewhat more than a thunderstorm. "Hands, shorten sail! All hands on deck!" It was Tandy's voice sounding through the speaking trumpet--ringing through it, I might say, and yet it scarce could be heard above the incessant crashing of the thunder. The men came tumbling up, looking scared and frightened in the blue glare of the lightning. "Away aloft! Bear a hand, my hearties! Get her snug, and we'll splice the main-brace. Hurrah, lads! Nimbly does it!" Swaying high up on the top-gallant yards they looked no bigger than rooks, and with every uncertain lurch and roll the yard-ends seemed almost to touch the water. It was at this moment that the stewardess came staggering aft. "Don't go, 'Ansey--don't go," cried Nelda. "Duty's duty, dear, and it's `all hands' now." He saw her safely down the companion-way, and next minute he was swarming up the ratlines to his station. But he had to pause every few seconds and hang on to the rigging, with his back right over the water-- hang on for dear life. The sails were reefed, and some were got in, and not till the men had got down from aloft did the rain come on. For higher and higher had the clouds on the northern horizon banked up, till they covered all the sky. So awful was the rain, and so blinding, that it was impossible to see ten yards ahead, or even to guess from which direction the storm would actually come. The wind was already whirling in little eddies from end to end of the deck, but hardly yet did it affect the motion of the ship, or give her way in any one direction. The men were ordered below in batches, to get into their oilskins, for right well Tandy knew that a fearful night had to be faced. The men received their grog now, and well did they deserve it. Another hand was put to the wheel (two men in all), and near them stood the bold mate Tandy, ready to give orders by signal or even by touch, should they fail to hear his voice. All around the deck the men were clinging to bulwark or stay. Waiting for the inevitable! Ah! now it came. The rain had ceased for a time. So heavy had it been that the waves themselves were levelled, and Tandy could now see a long line of white coming steadily up astern. He thanked the God who rules on sea as well as on dry land that the squall was coming from that direction. Had it taken the good ship suddenly aback she might have gone down stern-foremost, even with the now limited spread of canvas that was on her. As it was, the first mountain wave that hit the good barque sent her flying through the sea as if she had been but an empty match-box. That wave burst on board, however--pooped her, in fact--and went roaring forward, a sea of solid foaming water. The good vessel shivered from stem to stern like a creature in the throes of death. For a few minutes only. Next minute she had shaken herself free, and was dashing through the water at a pace that only a yacht could have beaten. The thunder now went rolling down to leeward, and the rain ceased, but the gale increased in force, and in a short time she had to be eased again, and now she was scudding along almost under bare poles. It would be hours before mate Tandy could get below; but Ransey's watch was now off deck, so he went down to ask Janeira, the stewardess, if Nelda was in bed. She was in bed most certainly, but through the half-open doorway she could hear Ransey's voice, and shouted to him. "I fink, sah," Janeira said, "she am just one leetle bit afraid." There was no doubt about that, and the questions with which she plied her brother, when he took a seat by her bunk to comfort her, were peculiar, to say the least. "Daddy won't be down for a long, long time?"--that was one. "The poor men, though, how many is drownded?"--another. "The ship did go to the bottom though, didn't it, 'cause I heard the water all rush down?"--a third. "You are quite, quite sure father isn't drownded? And you are sure no awful beasts have come up with long arms? Well, tell us some stories." _Nolens volens_, Ransey had to. But Babs got drowsy at last, the white eyelids drooped and drooped till they finally closed; then Ransey went quietly away and turned into his hammock. Young though he was, the heaviest sea-way could not frighten him, nor the stormiest wind that could blow. The sound of the wind as it went roaring through the rigging could only make him drowsy, and the ship herself would rock him to sleep. The barque was snug, too, and it was happiness itself to hear his father's footsteps, as he walked the quarterdeck, pausing now and then to give an order to the men at the wheel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Behaved like an angel all through, Halcott!" That was what Tandy told the skipper next morning at breakfast. "I knew she would, Tandy. I'm proud of our _Sea Flower_, and, my friend, I'm just as proud of you. I'd have stopped on deck to lend a hand, but that wouldn't have done any good. "Jane," he cried. Jane was the contraction for "Janeira." "Iss, sah; I'se not fah off." "Is there no toast this morning?" "No, sah; Lord Fitzmantle he done go hab one incident dis mawnin'. He blingin' de toast along, w'en all same one big wave struckee he and down he tumble, smash de plate, and lose all de toast foh true." "Oh, the naughty boy!" said Nelda, who was hurrying through her breakfast to go on deck to "see the sea," as she expressed it. "No, leetle Meess Tandy, Lord Fitzmantle he good boy neahly all de time. It was poorly an incident, meesie, for de big sea cut his legs clean off, and down he come." "Well, I'm sorry for Fitz," said Nelda with a sigh; "I suppose it was only his sea-legs though. And I'm going to have mine to-day. I asked the carpenter, and he said he would make me some soon, and it wouldn't be a bit sore putting them on." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ With varying fortunes the good ship _Sea Flower_ sailed south and away, till at last the Cape of Good Hope was reached and rounded. Here they experienced very heavy weather indeed, with terrible storms of thunder and lightning, and bigger seas than Tandy himself had ever seen before. But by this time little Nelda was quite a sailor, and a greater favourite fore and aft than ever. Sea-legs had, figuratively speaking, been served out to all the green hands. Nelda had a capital pair, and could use them well. Fitz had to make his old ones do another time; but Bob had received two pairs from Neptune, when he came aboard that starry still night when crossing the line. As for the Hal, it must be confessed that there wasn't a pair in Neptune's boat long enough to fit him. However, in ordinary weather he managed to run along the deck pretty easily, his jibboom, as the sailors called his neck, held straight out in front of him, and helping himself along with his wings. Sometimes on the quarterdeck it would suddenly occur to the 'Ral that a step or two of a Highland schottische would help to make time pass more quickly and pleasantly. The 'Ral wasn't a bird to spoil a good intention, so, with just one or two preliminary "scray--scrays" he would start. Bother the deck though, and bother the heaving sea, for do what he would the bird could no longer dance with ease and grace; so he would soon give it up, and go and lean his chin wearily over the lee bulwark, and thus, with his drooping wings, he did cut rather a ridiculous figure as seen from behind. He looked for all the world like some scraggy-legged little old man, who had got up in the morning and put nothing on except a ragged swallow-tailed coat. The men liked the 'Ral though. He made them laugh, and was better than an extra glass of rum to them. So, as the bird seemed always rather wretched in dirty weather, the carpenter was solicited to make him some sort of shelter. The carpenter consulted the sailmaker. The carpenter and sailmaker put their heads together. Something was sure to come of that. "He's sich an awkward shape, ye see," said old Canvas. "That's true," said Chips; "and he won't truss hisself, as ye might call it." "No; if he'd on'y jest double up his legs, Chips, and close reef that jibboom o' his, we might manage some'ow." "A kind o' sentry-box would just be _the_ thing, old Can." "Humph! yes. I wonder why the skipper didn't bring a grandfather's clock with 'im; that would suit the 'Ral all to pieces." But a sort of sentry-box, with a tarpaulin in front of it, was finally rigged up for the 'Ral, and placed just abaft the main-mast, to which it was lashed. The 'Ral didn't take to it quite kindly at first, but after studying it fore and aft he finally thought it would fit him nicely. It would be protection from the sun on hot days, and when it blew a bit the men would draw down the tarpaulin, and he would be snug enough. But in sunny weather it must be confessed that, solemnly standing there in his sentry-box, the Admiral did look a droll sight. The 'Ral was a very early riser. He always turned out in time to go splashing about while the hands were washing decks, and although they often turned the hose on him he didn't mind it a bit. One very hot day, the poor 'Ral was observed standing pensively up against the capstan. His head was out of sight, thrust into one of the holes. This was unusual, but the bird did so many droll things that, for an hour or more, nobody took much notice; but Ransey came round at last, carrying Babs, who was riding on his shoulders. "Hillo!" cried Babs, "here's the 'Ral with his head buried in a hole." "Which he stowed hisself away there, missie, more'n an hour ago," said a seaman. "Afraid o' gettin' sunstroke, that's my opinion." "Poor Hallie," cried Babs, sympathisingly, "does your headie ache?" The Admiral drew out his head, and looked at the child very mournfully indeed. "He's got some silent sorrow hevidently, I should say," remarked another of the crew. There was quite a little circle now around the capstan. "Cheer up," cried Ransey Tansey. "Come along and have a dance, 'Rallie." "I don't feel like dancing to-day," the crane replied, or appeared to reply. "Fact is, I don't feel like moving at all." No wonder, poor bird; the truth is, he was glued to the deck with melted pitch. What a job it was getting him clear too--or "easing him off," as Chips called it. But with the help of putty knives the 'Ral got free at last, though it took a deal of orange-peel to clean his poor feet. Then they were found to be so red and swollen that a hammock was slung for him forthwith atween decks, and the Admiral was laid at full length in it--his head on a pillow at one end, his feet away down at the other, his body covered with the carpenter's lightest jacket. Very funny he did appear stretched like that, but he himself appreciated, not the joke, but the comfort. He lay there for days, only getting up a little in the cool of the evening, if there was any cool in it. Ransey fed him, and attended to his feet twice a day, so he was soon on deck again, as right as a trivet. But the Admiral had learned a lesson, and ever after this, on hot days, to have seen the bird coming along the deck, you would have sworn he was playing at hop-Scotch, so careful was he to hop over the seams where the pitch was soft, his long neck bent down, and one eye curiously examining the planks. Yes, the 'Ral was a caution, as old Canvas said. But one of the bird's drollest adventures occurred one day when the ship was lying becalmed in the Indian Ocean, or rather in the Mozambique Channel. The _Sea Flower_ was within a measurable distance of land; for though none was in sight, birds of the gull species flew around the ship, tack and half-tack, or floated lazily on the smooth surface of the sea. The 'Ral slowly left his sentry-box, stretched his wings a bit, uttered a mild scray--scray--ay or two, then did a hop-Scotch till he got abreast of the man at the wheel. This particular sailor was somewhat of a dandy, and had a morsel of red silk handkerchief peeping prettily out from his jacket pocket. The 'Ral eyed it curiously for a moment, then cleverly plucked it out and jumped away with it. He dropped it on a portion of the quarterdeck where the pitch was oozing, kicked it about with his feet to spread it out, as a man does with a handful of straw, and stood upon it. "Well, I do call that cheek! My best silk handkerchief, too," cried the man at the wheel. The crane only looked at him wonderingly with one eye. "You've no idea," he told this man, "how soft and nice it feels. I--I-- yes, I verily believe I shall dance. Craik--craik--cray--ay--y!" And dance he did, Nelda and half the crew at least clapping their hands and cheering with delight. The 'Ral was just in the very midst of his merriment, when the man, after giving the wheel an angry turn or two to port, made a dart to recover his favourite bandana. With such a rush did he come that the 'Ral took fright, and flew to the top of the bulwark. There was some oiled canvas here, and this was so hot that the bird had to keep lifting one foot and putting down the other all the time, just like a hen on a hot griddle. "How delightfully sweet it must be up there," he said to himself, gazing at the gulls that were screaming with joy as they swept round and round in the blue sky. "I think I'll have a fly myself. Scray--ay!" And greatly to every one's astonishment away he flew high into the air. Alarmed at first, the gulls soon regained courage, and made a daring attack on the 'Ral. But he speedily vanquished the foe, and one or two fell bleeding into the water. A gull was perched on the back fin of a shark. The 'Ral flew down. "It's nice and snug _you_ look," said the 'Ral. "Get off at once, the king's come. Get off, I say, or I'll dig both your impudent eyes out." And next moment the Admiral was perched there, as coolly as if he had been used to riding on sharks ever since his babyhood. But Nelda was in tears. She would never see the 'Ral again, and the awful beast would eat him, sea-legs and all. So a boat was called away to save him. None too soon either. For the 'Ral had commenced to investigate that fin with his long beak. No respectable basking shark could be expected to stand that, so down he dived, leaving the bird screaming and swaying and scrambling on the top of the water. "Scray--scray--craik--craik-- cray!" But for the timely aid of the boat, the Admiral would have met with a terrible fate, for his screaming and struggling brought around him three sharks at least, all eager to find out what a long-legged bird like this tasted like. Every fine day the crane now indulged himself in the pleasure of flight, but he never evinced the slightest inclination to perch again on the back of a basking shark. It wasn't good enough, he would have told you, had you asked him. "As regards the backs of basking sharks," he might have said, "I'm going to be a total abstainer." Up the east coast of Africa went the bonnie barque _Sea Flower_. Tandy knew almost every yard of the ground he was now covering, and could pilot the vessel into creeks and over sand-banks or bars with very little danger indeed. But still the coast here is so treacherous, and the sands and bottom change so frequently, that, night and day, men had to be in the chains heaving the lead. The natives, also, across the line in Somaliland, are as treacherous as the coral rocks that guard their clay-built towns, and more treacherous than either are the semi-white, slave-dealing Arabs. Book 2--CHAPTER TEN. A BRUSH WITH THE SOMALIS--THE DERELICT. All along the Somali coast was Tandy's "chief market ground," as he called it. Here he knew he could drive precisely the kind of bargains he wished to make; and as for the Somalis, with their shields, spears, ugly broad knives, and grinning sinister faces, this bold seaman did not care anything. Nor for the Arabs either. He soon gave both to understand that he was a man of the wide, wide world, and was not afraid of any one. He had come to trade and barter, he told the Arabs, and not to study their slave-hunting habits; so if they would deal, they had only to trot out their wares--_he_ was ready. And if they didn't want to deal, there was no harm done. He even took Ransey with him sometimes, and once he took Nelda as well. The savages just here were a bad, bloodthirsty lot, and he knew it, but he had with him five trusty men. Not armed--that is, not visibly so. But on this particular day there was blood in those natives' eyes. Tall, lithe, and black-brown were they, their skins oiled and shining in the sun. But smiling. Oh, yes, these fiends will smile while they cut a white man's throat. Every eye was fixed hungrily on the beautiful child. What a present she would be for a great chief who dwelt far away in the interior and high among the mountains! The bartering went on as usual, but Tandy kept his weather eye lifting. Leopards' skins, lions' skins and heads, ostrich feathers, gum-copal, ivory tusks, and gold-dust. The boat was already well filled, Nelda was on board, so was Tandy himself, and his crew, all save one man, who was just shoving her off when the rush was made. The prow of the boat was instantly seized, and the man thrown down. Pop--pop--pop--pop--rang Tandy's revolver, and the yelling crowd grew thinner, and finally fled. A spear or two was thrown, but these went wide of the mark. Human blood looks ghastly on white coral sands, but was Tandy to blame? Nelda was safe, and in his arms. "O daddy," she cried, kissing his weather-beaten face, "are we safe?" "Yes, darling; but I mustn't land here again." Salook was the village king here, a big, burly brute of an Arab, with a white, gilded turban and a yellow, greasy face beneath it. Tandy had known some of his tricks and manners in days gone by. At sunset that very same evening Salook was surrounded by his warriors. "Everything yonder," he said in Swahili, as he pointed to the _Sea Flower_, "is yours. The little maiden shall be my slave. Get ready your boats, and sharpen your spears. Even were the ship a British man-of-war I'd board her." At sunset that evening Tandy was surrounded by _his_ men, and pistols and cutlasses were served out to all. "We'll have trouble to-night, men," he said, "as soon as the moon rises. If there was a breath of wind off-shore I'd slip. We can't slip--but we'll fight." A cheer rose from the seamen, which Tandy quickly suppressed. "Hush! Let us make them believe we suspect no treachery. But get up steam in the donkey engine, and connect the pipes." This is a plan of defence that acts splendidly and effectively against all kinds and conditions of savages. Boiling water on bare skins causes squirming, so Tandy felt safe. The ship carried but one big gun, and this was now loaded with grape. There wasn't a sound of life to be heard on board the barque, when about seven bells that night a flood of moonlight, shining softly o'er the sea, revealed the dark boats of the Somalis speeding out to the attack. But every man on board was at his station. This was to be a fight to the very death, and all hands knew it. Nearer and nearer they come--those demon boats. The biggest boat of all is leading, and, sword in hand, Salook stands in the prow. It is crowded with savages, their spear-heads glittering in the moonbeams. On this boat the gun is trained. The rocks re-echo the crash five seconds after, but the echo is mingled with the yelling of the wounded and the drowning. Ah! a right merry feast for the sharks, and Salook goes down with the bottomless boat. The fight does not end with this advantage. Those Somalis are like fiends incarnate. Not even the rifles and revolvers can repel their attack. See, they swarm on the bulwarks round the bows, for the ship has swung head on to the shore with the out-flowing tide. "Give it to them. The water now, boys. Warm them well!" Oh, horror! The shrieking is too terrible to be described. In their boats the unwounded try to reach the shore; but the rifles play on these, and they are quickly abandoned, for the Somalis can swim like eels. "Now for loot, lads," cries Tandy. "They began the row. Man and arm the boats." When the _Sea Flower's_ men landed on the white sands, led on by Tandy and Ransey, the conquest was easy. A few volleys secured victory, and the savages were driven to their crags and hills. "Let us spoil the Egyptians," said Tandy, "then we shall return and splice the main-brace." The loot obtained was far more valuable than the cargoes they had obtained by barter, and I need hardly say that the main-brace _was_ spliced. Towards morning the wind came puffing off the land. It ought to have died away at sunrise, but did not. So the _Sea Flower_ soon made good her offing, and before long the land lay like a long blue cloud far away on the weather-beam. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The ship was reprovisioned at Zanzibar, and one or two sick hands were allowed to land to be attended to at the French hospital. In less than a fortnight she once more set sail, and in two months' time, everything having gone well and cheerily, despite a storm or two, the _Sea Flower_ was very far at sea indeed, steering south-west, and away towards the wild and stormy Cape Horn. On going on deck one morning, Halcott found Tandy forward, glass in hand, steadying himself against the foremast, while he swept the sea ahead. "Hallo! Tandy. Land, eh?" "No, it isn't land, Halcott. A precious small island it would be. But we're a long way to the west'ard of the Tristan da Cunha, and won't see land again till we hail the Falklands. Have a squint, sir." "What do you make of her, sir?" asked Tandy. "Why, a ship; but she's a hulk, Tandy, a mere hulk or derelict." "There might be some poor soul alive there notwithstanding." "I agree with you. Suppose we overhaul her," said Halcott, "and set her on fire. She's a danger to commerce, anyhow, and I'll go myself, I think." So the whaler was called away, and in a few minutes the boat was speeding over the water towards the dismantled ship, while the _Sea Flower_, with her foreyard aback, lay floating idly on the heaving sea. It was early summer just than, in these regions--that is, December was well advanced, and the crew were looking forward to having a real good time of it when Christmas came. Alas! little did they know what was before them, or how sad and terrible their Christmas would be. "Pull easy for a bit, men," cried Halcott; "she is a floating horror! Easy, starboard! give way, port! We'll get the weather gauge on her, for she doesn't smell sweet." Not a living creature was there to answer the hail given by Halcott. Abandoned she evidently had been by the survivors of her crew, for the starboard boats still hung from her davits, while the ports were gone, and at this side a rope ladder depended. The boat-hook caught on; with strange misgivings Halcott scrambled on board followed by two men. He staggered and almost fell against the bulwark, and no wonder, for the sight that met his eyes was indeed a fearful one. On the lower deck was a great pile of wood, and near it stood a big can of petroleum. It was evident that the crew had intended firing the ship before leaving her, but had for some reason or other abandoned the idea. Halcott, however, felt that he had a duty to perform, so he gave orders for the paraffin to be emptied over the pile and over the deck. As soon as this was done lighted matches were thrown down, and hardly had they time to regain the boat and push off, ere columns of dark smoke came spewing up the hatchways, followed high into the air by tongues and streams of fire. Before noon the derelict sank spluttering into the summer sea, and only a few blackened timbers were left to mark the spot where she had gone down. A few days after this the wind fell and fell, until it was a dead calm. Once more the sea was like molten lead, and its surface glazed and glassy, but never a bird was to be seen, and for more than a week not a cloud was in the sky as big as a man's hand. Nor was the motion of the ship appreciable. By day the sun shone warm enough, but at night the stars far in the southern sky shone green and yellow through a strange, dry haze. On Saturday night Tandy as usual gave orders to splice the main-brace. He, and Halcott also, loved the real old Saturday nights at sea, of the poet Dibdin's days. And hitherto, in fair weather or in foul, these had been kept up with truly British mirth and glee. There was no rejoicing, however, on this particular evening, for two of the hands lay prostrate on deck. Halcott himself ministered to them, sailor fashion. First he got them placed in hammocks swung under a screen-berth on deck. This was for the sake of the fresh air, and herein he showed his wisdom. Then he took a camp-stool and sat down near them to consider their symptoms. But these puzzled him; for while one complained of fierce heat, with headache, and his eyes were glazed and sparkling, the other was shivering and blue with cold. He had no pain except cramps in his legs and back, which caused him an agony so acute that he screamed aloud every time they came on. Halcott went aft to study. He studied best when walking on his quarterdeck. Hardly knowing what he did, he picked up a bone that honest Bob had been dining off, and threw it into the sea. There was still light enough to see, and the man at the wheel looked languidly astern. When three monster sharks dived, nose on, towards the bone, he looked up into the captain's face. "Seen them before?" said Halcott, who was himself superstitious. "Bless ye, yes, sir. It's just four days since they began to keep watch, and there they be again. Ah, sir! it ain't ham-bones they's a-lookin' arter. They'll soon get the kind o' meat they likes best." "What mean you, Durdley?" "I means the chaps you 'as in the 'ammocks. Listen, sir. There's no deceivin' Jim Durdley. We've got the plague aboard! I've been shipmate with she afore to-day." Halcott staggered as if shot. "Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed. No one on board cared much for this man Durdley. Nor is this to be wondered at. In his own mess he was quarrelsome to a degree. Poor little Fitz fled when he came near him, and many a brutal blow he received, which at times caused fierce fights, for every one fore and aft loved the nigger boy. Durdley was almost always boding ill. His only friends were the foreigners of the crew, men that to make a complement of five-and-twenty Tandy had hired in a hurry. Mostly Finns they were, and bad at that, and if there was ever any grumbling to be done on board the _Sea Flower_ these were the fellows to begin it. Halcott recovered himself quickly, gave just one glance at Durdley's dark, forbidding countenance--the man was really ugly enough to stop a church clock--and went below. He met Tandy at the saloon door, and told him his worst fears. Alas! these fears were fated to be realised all too soon. The men now stricken down were those who had boarded the derelict with Halcott. One died next evening, and was lashed in his hammock and dropped over the bows a few hours afterwards. No doubt, seeing his fellow taken away, the other, who was one of the best of the crew, lost heart. "I'm dying, sir," he told Halcott. "No use swallowing physic, the others'll want it soon." By-and-by he began to rave. He was on board ship no longer, but walking through the meadows and fields far away in England with his sister by his side. "I'll help you over the old-fashioned stile," Fitz, who was nursing him, heard him say--"yes, the old-fashioned stile, Lizzie. Oh, don't I love it! And we'll walk up and away through the corn-field, by the little, winding path, to the churchyard where mother sleeps. Look, look at the crimson poppies, dear siss. How bonnie they are among the green. Ah-h!" That was a scream which frightened poor Fitz. "Go not there, sister. See, see, the monster has killed her! Ah, me!" Fitz rushed aft to seek for assistance, for the captain had told him to call him if Corrie got worse. Alas! when the two returned together, Corrie's hammock was empty. No one had heard even a plash, so gently had he lowered himself over the side, and sunk to rise no more. Book 2--CHAPTER ELEVEN. MUTINY ON BOARD--FAR TO THE SOUTH'ARD. "Nothing certain at sea except the unexpected." The truth of this was sadly exemplified by the terrible calamity which had befallen the _Sea Flower_--and befallen her so suddenly, too! Only one week ago she was sailing over a rippling sea on the wings of a favouring breeze, every wavelet dancing joyously in the sunlight. On board, whether fore or aft, there was nothing but hope, happiness, and contentment. Till-- "The angel of death spread his wings on the blast." Now all is terror and gloom--a gloom and a terror that have struck deep into the heart of every one who knows what death and sorrow mean. A breeze has sprung up at last, and both Halcott and Tandy have reluctantly come to the conclusion that it will be better to steer for colder weather. So southward the _Sea Flower_ flies, under every stitch of canvas, with studding-sails low and aloft. Shall the plague be stayed? Heaven alone can tell! As it is, the depression hangs like a dark, foreboding cloud over the ship. No one cares to talk much by day or by night. The men sit silently at their meals, with lowered brows and frightened looks. They eye each other askance; they know not who may be the next. They even avoid each other as much as possible while walking the decks. Hardly will a man volunteer to nurse the sick. The hammocks containing these hang on the lee side, and the crew keep far away indeed. But they smoke from morn till night. Halcott himself and little Fitz are the only nurses, and both are worn out for want of rest. With their own hands they sew up the hammock of the dead, unhook it, lift the gruesome burden on to the top of the bulwark, and, while the captain with uncovered head raises his eyes to heaven and utters a prayer, the body is committed to the deep, to be torn in pieces next minute by the tigers of the sea. Poor little Nelda! She is as merry as ever, playing with Bob or the 'Ral on the quarterdeck, and it is strange, in this ship of death, to hear her musical voice raised in song or laughter in the midst of silence and gloom! No wonder that, hearing this, the delirious or the dying fancy themselves back once more in their village homes in England. Nelda wonders why the captain, who used to romp and play with her, tries all he can now to avoid her; and why little Fitz, the curious, round-faced, laughing, black boy, with the two rows of alabaster teeth, never comes aft. Halcott himself never goes below either. He insists upon taking his meals on deck. Nor will he permit Tandy or Ransey to come forward. If _he_ can, he means to confine the awful plague to the fore part of the ship. They say that in a case of this kind it is always the good who go first. In this instance the adage spoke truly. Terrible to say, in less than a fortnight no less than thirteen fell victims to the scourge. But still more, more awful, the crew now became mutinous. Luckily, all arms, and ammunition as well, were safely stored aft. Durdley was chief mutineer--chief scoundrel! Out of the fourteen men left alive, only four were true to the captain, the others were ready to follow Durdley. This fellow became a demon now--a demon in command of demons; for they had found some grog which had been in charge of the second mate--who was dead--and excited themselves into fury with it. Durdley, the dark and ugly man, rushed to the screen-berth where Halcott was trying to ease the sufferings of a poor dying man. He was as white as a ghost; even his lips were pale. Beware of men, reader, who get white when angry. They are dangerous! "Here, Halcott," cried Durdley, "drop your confounded mummery, and listen to _me_. Lay aft here, my merry men, lay aft." Nine men, chiefly Finns and other foreigners, armed with ugly knives and iron marline-spikes, quickly stationed themselves behind him. "Now, Halcott, your game's up. You brought this plague into the ship yourself. By rights you should die. But I depose you. I am captain now, and my brave boys will obey me, and me alone. "You _hear_?" he shouted, for Halcott stood a few paces from him, calmly looking him in the face. "I _hear_." "Then, cusses on you, why don't ye speak? You'll be allowed to live, I say, both you and Tandy, on one condition." "And that is--?" "That you alter your course, and steer straight away to the nearest land--the Falkland Isles--at once." "I refuse. Back, you mutinous dog! back! I say. Would you dare to stab your captain? Your blood be,"--here the captain's revolver rang sharp and clear, and Durdley fell to the deck--"on your own cowardly head." There was a wild yell and a rush now, and though the captain fired again and again, he was speedily overpowered. The revolver was snatched from his hand, and he was borne down by force of numbers. But assistance was at hand. "Now, lads, give it to them! Hurrah!" It was Tandy himself, with the four good men and true, who had run aft between decks to inform the mate of the mutiny. All were armed with rifles, but these they only clubbed. So fiercely did they fight, that the mutineers speedily dropped their knives and iron marline-spikes, and were driven below, yelling for mercy like the cowards they were. The captain, though bruised, was otherwise intact. Nor was Durdley dead, though he had lost much blood from a wound--the revolver bullet having crashed through the arm above the elbow, and through the outside of the chest as well. But two Finns lay stark and stiff beside the winch. Even to tragedy there is always a ridiculous side or aspect, and on the present occasion this was afforded by the strange behaviour of Bob and the Admiral during the terrible _melee_. It is not to be supposed that Bob would be far away from his master when danger threatened him. Seeing Ransey Tansey, rifle in hand, follow his father to join in repelling the mutineers, it occurred to him at once that two might be of some assistance. It did not take the faithful tyke a moment to make up his mind, but he thought he might be of more use behind the mutineers than in front of them. So he outflanked the whole fighting party, and the attack he made upon the rear of Durdley's following was very effective. The 'Ral could not fight, it is true, but his excitement during the battle was extreme. Round and round the deck he ran or flew, with his head and neck straight out in front of him, and his screams of terror and anger added considerably to the clamour and din going on forward. The poor bird really seemed to know that men were being killed, and seeing his master engaged, he would fain have helped him had he been able. Of the ten men then who had mutinied three were wounded, including the ringleader, two were dead, and the remaining five were now taken on deck and roped securely alongside the winch to await their sentence. The deck was quickly cleared of the dead, and all evidences of the recent struggle were removed. Durdley resembled nothing more nearly than a captured bird of prey. He was stern, silent, grim, and vindictive. Had he not been utterly prostrate and powerless, he would have sprung like a catamount at the throats of the very men who were dressing his wounds, and these were Tandy and Halcott himself. Yet it was evident that he was not receiving the treatment he had expected, nor that which he would have dealt out to Halcott had he fallen into his hands. "Why don't you throw me overboard?" he growled at last, with a fearful oath. "Sharks are the best surgeons; their work is soon over. I'd have served you so, if my lily-livered scoundrels had only fought a trifle better, hang them! "Ay, and you too, Mr Tandy, with your solemn face, if you hadn't consented to take us straight to land!" "Keep your mind easy," said Halcott, quietly. "I'll get rid of you as soon as possible, you may be well sure." "Do your worst--I defy you. But if that worst isn't death, I'll bide my time. I'd rather die three times over than lie here like a half-stuck pig." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ During the fight little Nelda was in terrible distress, and, but for Janeira, she would doubtless have rushed forward, as she wanted to do, in order to "help daddy and 'Ansey." Bob was the first to bring her tidings of the victory. He came aft at full gallop, almost threw himself down the companion-way, and next moment was licking the child's tear-bedewed cheeks. She could see joy in the poor dog's face. He was full of it, and trying as much as ever dog did try to talk. Perhaps he never fully realised till now how awkward it is for a doggie to want a tail. But he did what he could, nevertheless, with the morsel of fag-end he had. "Don't cry, little mistress," he was trying hard to say, "don't cry. It's all right now. And it was such fun to see them fighting, and I fought too. Oh, didn't I bite and tear the rascals just." Even the 'Ral seemed to know that the danger was past and gone for a time, and nothing would suffice to allay his feelings save executing a kind of wild jig right on the top of the skylight--a thing he had never done before. But although quieted now, Nelda was not quite content, till down rushed Ransey Tansey himself. With a joyful cry she flew to his arms, and he did all he could to reassure her; so successfully, too, that presently she was her happy little self once more, playing with Bob on the quarterdeck, as if nothing had happened. Blissful childhood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The condition of affairs, after the ship had penetrated into the regions of ice and snow, was not an enviable one, although there was now a rent in the dark cloud that hovered over the _Sea Flower_--a lull in the terrible storm. Durdley was progressing favourably, and making so rapid a recovery that, in case he might cause more mischief, he was put in irons. But the other wounded men, probably owing to their weak condition, had died. The five others were allowed to go on duty. Halcott refused to accept their offered promise to behave leal and true. What is a promise, even on oath, from such bloodthirsty villains as these? "I do not wish either promise or apology," he told them plainly. "Your conduct from this date will in some measure determine what your future punishment may be. Remember this, we do not trust you. The four good Englishmen, who fought for myself and mate, are all armed, and have orders to shoot you down without one moment's grace if they observe a suspicious movement on your part, or hear one single mutinous word. There! go." The ship's course was altered now, and all sail made to round Cape Horn. No doubt the cold had been the means of eradicating the dreadful plague. Yet Halcott was a man whom no half-measures would satisfy. There was plenty of clothing on board, so a new suit was served out to every seaman, the old being thrown overboard. Then the bedding and hammocks were scoured, and when dry fumigated. Sulphur was burned between decks, and hatches battened down for a whole day. Every portion of the woodwork was afterwards scrubbed, and even the masts were scraped. This work was given to the mutineers, and a cold job it was. The men sat each one in the bight of a rope, and were lowered up or down when they gave the signal. Halcott was very far indeed from being vindictive, but long experience had taught him that mutinous intentions are seldom carried out if active occupation be found for body and mind. "I breathe more freely now," said the captain, as Tandy and he walked briskly up and down the quarterdeck. "Heigho!" said Tandy, "we no doubt have sinned--we certainly have suffered. But," he added, "I thank God, Halcott, from my inmost soul, first that you are spared, and secondly, that my little innocent child here and my brave boy Ransey Tansey are still alive and happy." "Amen! And now, Tandy, we've got to pray for fine weather. We are rather underhanded--those wretched Finns may break out again at any moment. They will, too, if not carefully watched." "You have a kinder heart than I have, Halcott, else you'd have made that scoundrel Durdley walk the plank, and hanged the rest at the yardarm, one by one." "The worst use you can put a man to is to hang him," said Halcott, laughing. "But will you care to land on the island we are in search of, with these fellows?" asked Tandy. "Mind," he added, before Halcott could answer, "I take no small blame to myself for having engaged such scoundrels. Want of time was no excuse for me. Better to have sacrificed a month than sail as shipmates with such demons as these." "Keep your mind easy, my dear friend; I'll get rid of them, by hook or by crook, before we reach our island." "It relieves me to hear you say so, but indeed, Halcott, 'twixt hook and crook, if I had my way, I should choose the crook. I'd give the beggars a bag of biscuit and a barrel of pork, and maroon them on the first desert island we come in sight of." I do not know that Halcott paid much attention to the latter part of Tandy's speech. He was at this moment looking uneasily at a bank of dark, rock-like clouds that was rising slowly up to the north and east. "Have you noticed the glass lately, Tandy?" he said quietly. "I'll jump down and see it now." "Why," he said, on returning, "it is going tumbling down. I'll shorten sail at once. We're going to have it out of that quarter." There was little time to lose, for the wind was already blowing over the cold, dark sea in little uncertain puffs and squalls. Between each there was a lull; yet each, when it did come, lasted longer and blew stronger than those that had preceded it. The barque was snug at last. Very little sail indeed was left on her; only just enough to steer by and a bit over, lest a sail or two should be carried away. Of the four trustworthy men, one was Chips the carpenter, the other old Canvas the sailmaker. The latter kept a watch, the former had been placed in Tandy's. It was hard times now with all. Watch and watch is bad enough in temperate zones, but here, with the temperature far below freezing-point, and dropping lower and lower every hour, with darkness and storm coming down upon them, and the dangers of the ice to be encountered, it was doubly, trebly hard. It takes a deal to damp the courage of a true British sailor, however, and strange as it may seem, that very courage seems to rise to the occasion, be that occasion what it may. But now, to quote the wondrous words of Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner--" ... "The storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. "With sloping masts and dipping prow. As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head. The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward ay we fled. "And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold; And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. "And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: * * * * *. "The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!" Yes, the good barque _Sea Flower_ was driven far, far to the southward, far, far from her course; but happily, before they reached the icy barrier, the wind had gone down, so that the terrible noises in the main pack which the poet so graphically describes had few terrors for them. The wind fell, and went veering round, till it blew fair from the east. A very gentle wind, however, and hardly did the barque make five knots an hour on her backward track. Others might be impatient, but there was no such thing as impatience about Nelda, and little about Ransey Tansey either. Everything they saw or passed was as fresh and new to them as if they were sailing through a sea of enchantment. The cold affected neither. They were dressed to withstand it. The keen, frosty air was bracing rather than otherwise, and warm blood circulated more quickly through every vein as they trod the decks together. How strange, how weird-like at times were the snow-clad icebergs they often saw, their sides glittering and gleaming in the sunshine with every colour of the rainbow, and how black was the sea that lay between! The smaller pieces through which the ship had often to steer were of every shape and size, all white, and some of them acting as rafts for seals asleep thereon--seals that were drifting, drifting away they knew not, cared not whither. Sometimes a great sea-elephant would raise his noble head and gaze curiously at the passing barque, then dive and be seen no more. Shoals of whales of a small species afforded our little seafarers great delight to watch. But these went slowly on their way, dipping and ploughing, and looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. The porpoises were still more interesting, for they seemed to live but to romp and play and chase each other, sometimes jumping right out of the water, so that it is no wonder Nelda imagined they were playing at leap-frog. Nelda, when told that these were schools of porpoises, said,-- "Oh, well, and school is just let out, I suppose; no wonder they are happy. And the big whales are their mothers! They are not happy because they are all going to church, quiet and 'spectable like." The myriads of birds seen everywhere it would be impossible here to describe. Suffice it to say that they afforded Nelda great delight. Bob was as merry as ever; but when one day the 'Ral walked solemnly aft wearing a pair of canvas stockings right up as far as his thighs, both Tandy and Halcott joined with the youngsters in a roar of hearty laughter. There was no more dance in that droll bird, and wouldn't be for many a long day. "A sail in sight, sah! A steamer, sah!" It was little Fritz who reported it from the mast-head one morning, some time after the _Sea Flower_ had regained her course, had doubled the Cape, and was steering north-west by west. The stranger lay to on observing a flag of distress hoisted, and soon a boat was seen coming rapidly on towards the _Sea Flower_. The steamer was the _Dun Avon_, homeward-bound from San Francisco, with passengers and cargo. The captain himself boarded her with one of his men, and to him was related the whole sad story as we know it. "We have a clean bill of health now though," added Halcott; "but we are short-handed--one man in irons, and five more that we cannot trust." "Well," said the steamer captain, "I cannot relieve you of your black hats, but I'll tell you what I can do: I shall let you have four good hands if they'll volunteer, and if you'll pay them well. And I should advise you to set your mutineers on shore at the entrance to the Strait of Magellan, and let them take their chance. You're not compelled to voyage with mutineers, and risk the safety of yourselves and your ship. Now write your letters home, for my time is rather short." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The four new hands were four hearties, as hard as a mainstay, as brown as bricks, and with merry faces that did one's heart good to behold. Was it marooning, I wonder? Well, it doesn't matter a great deal, but just ten days after this the mutineers were landed, bag and baggage, on the north cape of Desolation Island, not far from the route through the far-famed strait. With them were left provisions for six weeks, guns, ammunition, and tools. I never heard what became of them. If they were picked up by some passing ship, it was more than they deserved. "At last," said Halcott, when the boat returned--"at last, friend Tandy, an incubus is lifted off my mind, and now let us make-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "All Sail for the Island of Gold." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ End of Book Two. Book 3--CHAPTER ONE. "A SIGHT I SHALL REMEMBER TILL MY DYING DAY." Captain Halcott sat on the skylight, and near him sat Tandy his mate, while between them--tacked down with pins to the painted canvas, so that the wind might not catch it--lay a chart of a portion of the South Pacific Ocean. At one particular spot was a blue cross. "I marked it myself," said Halcott; "and here, on this piece of cardboard, is the island, which I've shown you before--every creek and bay, every river and hill, so far as I know them, distinctly depicted." "The exact longitude and latitude?" said Tandy. "As near as I could make them, my friend." "And yet we don't seem to be able to discover this island. Strange things happen in these seas, Halcott; islands shift and islands sink, but one so large as this could do neither. Come, Halcott, we'll work out the reckoning again. It will be twelve o'clock in ten minutes." "Everything correct," said Halcott, when they had finished, "as written down by me. Here we are on the very spot where the Island of Misfortune should be, and--the island is gone!" There was a gentle breeze blowing, and the sky was clear, save here and there a few fleecy clouds lying low on a hazy horizon. Nothing in sight! nor had there been for days and days; for the isle they were in search of lies far out of the track of outward or homeward-bound ships. "Below there!" It was a shout from one of the new hands, who was stationed at the fore-topgallant cross-trees. "Hallo, Wilson!" cried Tandy running forward. "Here we are!" "Something I can't make out on the lee bow, sir." "Well, shall I come up and bring a bigger glass?" "One minute, sir!" "It's a steamer, I believe," he hailed now; "but I can't just raise her hull, only just the long trail of smoke along the horizon." Tandy was beside the man in a few minutes' time. "This will raise it," he said, "if I can focus aright. Why!" he cried next minute, "that is no steamer, Tom Wilson, but the smoke from a volcanic mountain or hill." Down went Tandy quickly now. "Had your island of gold a chimney to it?" he said, laughing. He could afford to laugh, for he felt convinced this was _the_ island and none other. "There wasn't a coal mine or a factory of any kind on it, was there? If not, we will soon be in sight of the land of gold. Volcanic, Halcott--volcanic!" "Keep her away a point or two," he said to the man at the wheel. "There were hills on the Island of Misfortune, but no signs of a volcano." "Not then; but in this mystery of an ocean, Halcott, we know not what a day or an hour may bring forth. "Let me see," he continued, glancing at the cardboard map; "we are on the east side of the island, or we will be soon. Why, we ought soon to reach your Treachery Bay. Ominous name, though, Halcott; we must change it." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nearer and nearer to the land sailed the _Sea Flower_. The hills came in sight; then dark, wild cliffs o'ertopped with green, with a few waving palm-trees and a fringe of banana here and there; and all between as blue a sea as ever sun shone on. "It is strangely like my island," said Halcott; "but that hill, far to the west yonder, from which the smoke is rising, I cannot recognise." "It may not have been there before." "True," said Halcott. But still he looked puzzled. Then, after bearing round to the north side of the island, past the mouth of a dark gully, and past a rocky promontory, the land all at once began to recede. In other words, they had opened out the bay. "But all the land in yonder used to be burned forest, Tandy." Tandy quietly handed him the glass. The forest he now looked upon was not composed of living trees, but of skeletons, their weird shapes now covered entirely by a wealth of trailing parasites and flowery climbing plants. "I am satisfied now, and I think we may drop nearer shore, and let go the anchor." In an hour's time the _Sea Flower_ lay within two hundred yards of the beach. This position was by no means a safe one were a heavy storm to blow from either the north or the west. There would be nothing for it then but to get up anchor and put out to sea, or probably lie to under the shelter of rocks and cliffs to the southward of the island. The bay itself was a somewhat curious one. The dark blue which was its colour showed that it was deep, and the depth continued till within seventy yards of the shore, when it rapidly shoaled, ending in a snow-white semicircle of coral sands. Then at the head of the bay, only on the east side, stretching seawards to that bold promontory, was a line of high, black, beetling cliffs, the home of those wheeling sea-birds. These cliffs were of solid rock of an igneous formation chiefly, but marked here and there with veins of what appeared to be quartz. They were, moreover, indented with many a cave: some of these, it was found out afterwards, were floored with stalagmites, while huge icicle-like stalactites depended from their roofs. Rising to the height of at least eight hundred feet above these cliffs was one solitary conical hill, green-wooded almost to its summit. The western side of the bay, and, indeed, all this end of the island, was low, and fringed with green to the water's edge; but southwards, if one turned his eye, a range of high hills was to be seen, adding materially to the beauty of the landscape. The whole island--which was probably not more than sixteen miles in length, by from eight to nine in width--was divided by the river mentioned in Captain Halcott's narrative into highlands and lowlands. The day was far advanced when the _Sea Flower_ dropped anchor in this lovely bay, and it was determined therefore not to attempt a landing that night. Halcott considered it rather an ominous sign that no savages were visible, and that not a single outrigger boat was drawn up on the beach. Experience teaches fools, and it teaches savages also. Just a little inland from the head of the bay the cover was very dense indeed; and though, even with the aid of their glasses, neither Halcott nor Tandy could discover a sign of human life, still, for all they could tell to the contrary, that green entanglement of bush might be peopled by wild men who knew the _Sea Flower_ all too well, and would not dare to venture forth. The wind went down with the sun, and for a time scarce a sound was to be heard. The stars were very bright, and seemed very near, the Southern Cross sparkling like a diamond pendant in the sky. By-and-by a yellow glare shone above the shoulder of the adjacent hill, and a great round moon uprose and sailed up the firmament as clear and bright as a pearl. It was just after this that strange noises began to be heard coming from the woods apparently. They were intermittent, however. There would be a chorus of plaintive cries and shrieks, dying away into a low, murmuring moan, which caused Nelda, who was on deck, to shiver with fear and cling close to her brother's arm. "What on earth can it be?" said Tandy. "Can the place be haunted?" "Haunted by birds of prey, doubtless. These are not the cries that savages utter, even during an orgie. But, strangely enough--whatever your experience may be, Tandy--I have seldom found birds of prey on the inhabited islands of the South Pacific." "Nor I," said Tandy. "Look yonder!" he added, pointing to a balloon-shaped cloud of smoke that hovered over a distant hill-top, lit up every now and then by just such gleams of light as one sees at night penetrating the smoke from some village blacksmith's forge. But yonder was Vulcan's forge, and Jupiter was his chief employer. "Yes, Tandy, that is the volcano. But I can assure you there was no such fire-mountain, as savages say, when I was here last." "To-morrow," said the mate, "will, I trust, make every thing more plain to us." "To-morrow? Yes, I trust so, too," said Halcott, musingly. "Shall we go below and talk a little?" "I confess, my friend," Halcott continued, after he had lit his pipe and smoked some time in silence--"I confess, Tandy, that I don't quite like the look of that hill. Have you ever experienced the effects of a volcanic eruption in any of these islands?" "I have not had that pleasure, if pleasure it be," replied the mate. "Pleasure, Tandy! I do not know of anything more hideous, more awful, in this world. "When I say `any of these islands,' I refer to any one of the whole vast colony of them that stud the South Pacific, and hundreds of these have never yet been visited by white men. "Years ago," he continued, "I was first mate of the _Sky-Raker_, as bonnie a brig as you could have clapped eyes upon. It afterwards foundered with all hands in a gale off the coast of Australia. When I trod her decks, second in command, I was a bold young fellow of twenty, or thereabouts; and I may tell you at once we were engaged in the Queensland black labour trade. And black, indeed, and bloody, too, it might often be called. "We used to go cruising to the nor'ard and east, visiting islands here and islands there, to engage hands for working in the far interior. We arranged to pay every man well who would volunteer to go with us, and to land them again back home on their own islands, if they _did_ wish to return. "On these expeditions we invariably employed `call-crows.'" "What may a `call-crow' be, Halcott?" "Well, you know what gamblers mean on shore by a `call-bird' or `decoy-duck.' Your `call-crow' is the same, only he is a black who has lived and laboured in Queensland, who can talk `island,' who can spin a good yarn in an off-hand way, and tell as many lies as a recruiting-sergeant. "These are the lures. "No matter how unfriendly the blackamoors among whom we may land may be, our `call-rooks' nearly always make peace. Then bartering begins, and after a few days we get volunteers enough." "But they do attack you at times, these natives?" "That's so, Tandy; and I believe I was a braver man in those days than I am now, else I'd hardly have cared to make myself a target for poisoned arrows, or poisoned spears, so coolly as I used to do then." Nelda, who had come quietly down the companion-way with her brother, seated herself as closely to Captain Halcott as she could. She dearly loved a story, especially one of thrilling adventure. "Go on, cap'n," she said, eagerly. "Never mind me. `Poisoned spears,'--that is the prompt-word." "These black fellows were not of great height, Tandy," resumed Halcott. "Savages," said Nelda. "Please say savages." "Well, dear, savages I suppose I must call them. They were almost naked, and many of the elder warriors were tattooed on cheeks, chest, and arms. All had bushy heads of hair, and were armed with bows and arrows, spears and clubs, and tomahawks. "But," he added, "it was generally with the natives of those islands from which we had already obtained volunteers that we had the greatest trouble. The ship I used to sail in, Tandy, was as honest as it is possible for such a ship to be, and I never saw natives ill-treated by any of our crew, though more than once we had to fight in self-defence. The reason was this. Many ships that had agreed to bring the blacks back home, broke their promise, which, perhaps, they had never intended to keep. When they returned to the islands, therefore, to obtain more recruits, bloodshed was almost certain to ensue. If one white man was killed, then the revenge taken was fearful. At a safe distance the whites would bring their rifles and guns to bear upon the poor savages, and the slaughter would be too dreadful to contemplate. If the unhappy wretches took shelter in their woods or jungles, these would be set on fire, till at last a hundred or more of them would fling their arms away, hold up the palms of their hands in token of submission, or as on appeal for mercy, and huddle together in a corner like fowls, and just as helpless. The whites could then pick and choose volunteers as they pleased, and it is needless to tell you there was nothing given in exchange. "Our trouble took place when we returned to an island, having found it impossible to bring the natives we had taken off back with us. This they looked upon as cheating, and they would rush to arms, compelling us to fire upon them in self-defence. "Well, we were constantly on the search for new islands. The natives on these might threaten us for a time, but the `call-crows' soon pacified them. The beads and presents we distributed, coupled with the glowing accounts of life in Queensland which the `crows' gave these poor heathen, did all the rest, and we soon had a cargo." "And this species of trade was, or is, called black-birding, I think," said Tandy. "It was, and _is_ now, _sub rosa_. "But I was going to tell you of a volcanic eruption. Before I do so, however, I propose that we order the main-brace to be spliced. For this is an auspicious night, you know, and I have not heard a jovial song on board the _Sea Flower_ for many and many a day. "Janeira!" "Yes, sah. I'se not fah away, sah." And Janeira entered, smiling as usual, and as daintily dressed as a stage waiting-maid. "Pass the word for Fitz, Janeira, like a good girl." "Oh, he's neah too, sah. At you' service, sah!" Fitz had been in the pantry eating plum-duff, or whatever else came handy. The pantry was a favourite resort with Lord Fitzmantle, and Janeira never failed to put after-dinner tit-bits away in a corner for his especial delectation. "Now, Jane, you shall draw some rum, and, Fitz, you must take it for'ard. Here is the key, Jane; and, Fitz, just tell them for'ard to drink the healths of those aft, and sing as much as they choose to-night." "Far away then, Tandy and Nelda," said Halcott, resuming his narrative, "to the west of this island, farther away almost than the imagination can grasp, so solitary and wide is this great ocean, there used to be a small island called Saint Queeba. Who first found it out, or named it, I cannot tell you, Tandy, but I believe our own brig was the first that ever visited it in a black-birding expedition. "The population seemed to be about three thousand, and of these we took away at least one hundred and fifty. The poor creatures appeared to have no fear of white men, and so we concealed our revolvers and entered into friendly intercourse with them. "The island was a long way from any other, and this probably accounted for its never having been black-birded before. "We returned from Australia almost immediately again after landing our recruits, and I for one felt sure the natives would welcome us. "So we brought extra-showy cloth and the brightest beads we could procure. "They did welcome us, and we soon had about half a cargo of real volunteers. "We were only waiting for others to come from the interior; for the wind was fair just then, and we were all anxious to proceed to sea. "The very evening before the arrival of the blacks, however, the wind went suddenly down, although, strangely enough, at a great altitude we could see scores of small black clouds scurrying across the sky. Finally, some of these circled round and round, and combined to form a dark blue canopy that gradually lowered itself towards the island. "Soon the sun went down, a blood-red ball in the west, and darkness quickly followed. It was just then that we observed a fitful gleam arise from the one and only mountain the island possessed. Over this a ball of cloud had hung all day long, but we had taken little notice of it. "`I've never seen the like of that before, mate,' said the skipper to me, pointing at the slowly descending pall of cumulus. "`Nor I either, captain,' I replied. "I couldn't keep my eyes off it, do what I would, for dark though the night was that strange cloud was darker. It seemed now to be sending downwards from its centre a whirling tail, or pillar, which the gleams that began to rise higher and higher from the developing volcano lit up, and tongues of fire appeared to touch. "`It's going to be a storm of some kind, Halcott,' said my skipper. `Oh, for a puff of wind, for, Heaven help us, lad! we are far too near the shore.' "`I have it,' he cried next minute. `Lower the boats and heave up the anchor.' "I never saw men work more willingly in my life before. Even the blacks we had on board lent a hand, and no sooner was the anchor apeak than away went the boats, and the ship moved slowly out to sea. "We had got about three knots off-shore, when, happening to look back, I saw a sight which I shall remember to my dying day. "The black and awful whirling cloud had burst. If one ton of water came down like an avalanche, a million must have fallen, with a deafening roar like a thousand thunders. "It seemed as if heaven and earth had gone to war and the first terrific shot had been fired. "For a time the mountain was entirely enveloped in darkness; then up through this blackness rose high, high into the air a huge pillar of steam. This continued to rise for over an hour, with incessant thunder and lightning around the base of the hill. Rain, almost boiling hot, fell on our decks, and hissed and spluttered on the still water around the ship, compelling us to fly below or seek the shelter of tarpaulins. "This ceased at last, and now we could see that the volcanic fire had gained the mastery; for the flames, with huge pieces of stones and rocks, were hurled five hundred feet at least into the starry sky. "For many hours the thunderings and the lightnings over that devoted island and around the hill were such, Tandy, as I pray God I may never see or hear again. There were earthquakes, too; that was evident enough from the strange commotion in the water around us, and this was communicated to the ship. The best sailors on our brig could scarcely stand, far less walk. Towards morning it had partially cleared, although the lightning still continued to play, fork and sheet, above the base of the volcanic hill. We could now see streams of molten lava pouring down the mountain's side, green, crimson, and violet. "Very lovely indeed they were. But ah! then I knew the fate of those unhappy inhabitants was to be a terrible one. It would be a choice of deaths, for in less than half an hour the isle was one vast conflagration. We saw but little more of it even next day, for the lava was now pouring into the sea and a cloud of steam enveloped the scene of tragedy. "Our decks were covered with dust and scoriae, and this fell steadily all that day. "We had managed by means of the boats to work off and away fully fifteen miles. This was undoubtedly our salvation; for presently we were struck by a terrible tornado, and it required all our skill to keep out of the vortex. "While it was still raging around us, an explosion away on our port quarter, where the island would be just then, seemed to rend the whole earth in pieces. Many of our crew were struck deaf, and remained so for days. Our ship shook, Tandy, fore and aft, quivering like a dying rat. She seemed to have no more stability in her then than an old orange box. "An immense wave, such as I had never seen before, rose in the sea and swept on towards us. The marvel is that it did not swamp us. "As it was we were carried sky-high, and our masts cracked as if they were about to go by the board. Smaller waves followed, and the gale that brought up the rear drove us far away from the scene of the terrible tragedy before the sun rose, redder than ever I had seen it before, for it was shining through the dust and debris of that broken up island. "I left the trade soon after this, Tandy. I was tired and sick of black-birding. "But in my own ship, two years after this, I visited the spot. The island was gone; but for more than a mile in circumference the sea was strangely rippled, and gases were constantly escaping that we were glad enough to work to windward of. "But listen! our good little crew is singing. Well, there is something like hope in that--and in the sweet notes of Tom Wilson's violin. He's a good man that, Tandy, but he has a history, else I'm a Hottentot. "Well, just one look at the sky, and then I'll turn in, my friend. We don't know what may be in store for us to-morrow." And away up the companion-way went Captain Halcott. Book 3--CHAPTER TWO. "I SEE A BEACH OF CORAL SAND, DARK FIGURES MOVING TO AND FRO." Next morning broke bright and fair. Not a cloud in all the heaven's blue; not a ripple on the water, just a gentle swell that broke in long lines of snow-white foam on the crescent shore--a gentle swell with sea-birds afloat on it. Ah! what would the ocean be to a sailor were there no birds. The sea-gulls are the last to leave him, long after all other friends are gone, and the land, like a pale blue cloud far away on the horizon, is fading from his view. "Adieu! adieu! away! away?" they shriek or sing, and as the shades of evening are merging into darkness they disappear. But these same birds are the first to welcome the mariner back, and even should there be no land in sight, or should clouds envelop it, the sight of a single gull flying tack and half-tack around the ship sends a thrill of hope and joy to the sailor's heart. On the deep, lone sea, too, Jack has ay a friend, should it be but in the stormy petrel, the frigate-bird, or that marvellous eagle of the ocean, the albatross itself. Those birds floating here around the _Sea Flower_ so quietly on the swell of the sea looked as happy as they were pure and lovely. No whiteness, hardly even snow itself, could rival the whiteness of their chests, while under them their pink legs and feet looked like little twigs of coral. The morning was warm, the sun was bright; they were moving gently with the tide, careless, happy. As he stood there gazing seawards and astern--for the ship had swung to the outgoing tide--Halcott could not help envying them. "Ah!" he said half aloud, "you are at home, sweet birds; never a care to look forward to, contentment in your breasts, beauty all around you." Then his thoughts went somehow wandering homewards to his beautiful house, his house with a tower to it, and his lovely gardens. They would not be neglected though. It was autumn here. It would be spring time in England, with its buds, its tender green leaves, its early flowers, and its music of birds. Then he thought of his dog. Fain would he have brought him to sea. The honest collie had placed his muzzle in his master's hand on that last sad evening of parting, and glanced with loving, pleading eyes up into his face. "Take me," he seemed to say, "and take _her_." _Her_ was Doris. His--Halcott's--own Doris; the lovely girl for whom he had risked so much, for whom he would lay down his life; the girl that would be his own fair bride, he told himself, if ever he returned. Ah! those weary "ifs!" But he had looked into the dog's bonnie brown eyes. "Friend," he had said, "you will stay with Doris. You will never leave her side till I come back. You will watch her for me." And he remembered now how Doris had at that moment thrown herself into his arms, and strained him to her breast in a fit of convulsive weeping. And this had been the parting. "What, Halcott," cried Tandy's cheerful voice, "up already! and--and-- why, Halcott, old man, there is moisture in your eyes!" "I--I was thinking of home, and--well, I was thinking of my dog." "And your Doris. Heigho! I have no Doris, no beautiful face to welcome me home. But look yonder," he added, taking Halcott's arm. Little Nelda stood at the top of the companion-way, the sunlight playing on her yellow hair, one hand held up to screen her face, delicate, pink, yet so shyly sweet, and her blue eyes brimful of happiness. Just one look she gave, then, with arms outstretched, rushed gleefully towards her father. Next moment she was poised upon his shoulder, and Tandy had forgotten that there was any such thing as danger or sorrow in the world. The two men walked and talked together now for quite an hour. Indeed, there was very much to talk about, for although they had made the island at last, they had no idea as yet how they should set about looking for the gold which they were certain existed there. They had not made up their minds as to what they should do, when Janeira rang the bell for breakfast, and with Fitz was seen staggering aft with the covered dish. "Jane, you look happier than ever this morning. What is the matter? Has some beautiful bird brought you a letter from home?" "De bootiful bird, sah, is Lawd Fitzmantle, and see, sah, dat is de letter from home." She lifted the dish cover as she spoke. Beautiful broiled fish caught only that morning over the stern, but oh, the delicious odour would have revived the heart of a dying epicure! "Babs is going to be very good to-day," said Tandy to his little daughter after breakfast. "Better than ever, daddy?" "Yes, much, because I'm going on shore with Captain Halcott here and two men." "And _me_?" "No, not to-day, dear. We're going to climb that high hill and look all round us, and perhaps put up a flag; and Ransey will let you look through a spyglass to see us, and we'll wave our hands to you. Now will you be better than usual?" "Ye-es, I think I'll try. And oh, I'll make the Admiral look through the spyglass too, and when you see him looking through, you must wave your hand and fire your gun. Then we'll all--all be happy and nicer than anything in the whole world." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was not without a feeling of misgiving that Halcott and Tandy left the boat that had taken them on shore, and took their way cautiously towards the bush. There was hard work before them and the two sturdy fellows, Chips and Tom Wilson, whom they had brought with them--hard work to penetrate through the jungle and to effect an ascent of the hill they had already named the Observatory--hard work and danger combined. The crew of the boat stood gun in hand until they saw the party safe into the bush, then, more easy in their minds now, rowed slowly back to the ship. For if savages had been hiding under cover, the attack would have been made just as the party was stepping on shore. The exploring party kept to the extreme edge of the bush after penetrating and searching hither and thither for a time, but neither track nor trail of savages could they find. But they came across several little pathways that led here and there through the jungle, and at first they could not make out what these were. They learned before long, however; for Bob, who had gone on ahead a little way, came suddenly and excitedly rushing out from a thicket. In his mouth he held something that Tandy imagined was a rat, but the shrieking and yelling behind the dog soon undeceived him, and, lo! there now rushed into the open a beautiful little boar and a sow. The former flashed his tusks in the sunlight. He wanted the baby back. It was his, _his_, he said, and his wife's. He felt full of fight, and big enough to wage war against the whole world for that baby. Tandy made Bob drop it, which he did, and it ran squealing back to its mother. The boar, or king pig, said he accepted the apology, and would now withdraw his forces. And he accordingly did so by scuttling off again into the bush. These wild dwarf-pigs and a species of rock-rabbit were, they found afterwards, about the only animals of any size the island contained. After this trifling adventure they fought their way through a terrible entanglement of bush, till they reached the foot of the hill. The men had brought saws and axes with them, and were thus enabled by cutting here and whacking there to make a tolerably good road. When they reached the hill they found themselves in a woodland of beautiful trees. Walking was now easy enough, and in about an hour's time they reached the summit of the hill and sat down to luncheon. Eager eyes were watching their progress from the ship, for the upper part of this mount was covered only with stunted grass and beautiful heaths, among which they noticed many a charmingly-coloured lizard-- green with crimson markings, or pale blue and orange--but they saw no snakes. Tandy turned his glass now upon the barque, and there sure enough was Nelda with the Admiral by her side. He waved his coat, and twice he fired his gun. From the hill on which they stood the view was lovely beyond compare. They could see well into the highland part of the island, with its rolling woods, on which the fingers of autumn had already traced beauty tints; its bosky glens; its rugged rocks and hills; its streaks of silvery streams; the lake lying down yonder in the hollow, with something like a floating garden in its centre; and afar off the vast expanse of ocean. Look which way they would, that sea was all before them, only dotted here and there far to the northward with islands much smaller than the one on which they stood. High up on the top of the volcanic hill a white cloud was resting, and its dark sides were seamed with many a waving line, the channels down which lava must have run during some recent eruption. "Ha!" said Halcott presently, "now I can understand the mystery of the burned forest. At first, when we landed here, we believed that the black-birders had been ahead of us; but no, Tandy, no, it was nothing but the lava that fired the forest." But strangely enough, however, not a sign of human life was anywhere visible. Was there any way of accounting for this? "What is your theory, Halcott?" said Tandy. Halcott was lying on the green turf, fanning himself with his broad hat. But he now lit his pipe. Like most sailors, he was capable of calmer and more concentrated thought when smoking. "Tandy," he said slowly, after a few whiffs of the too seductive weed--"Tandy, we have luck on our side. Those blackamoors have fled helter-skelter at the first signs of the eruption. Nothing in the world strikes greater terror to the mind of the ordinary savage--and precious ordinary most of them are--than a sudden convulsion of nature." Another whiff or two. "What think you, men," he said, looking round him, "came up with the fire and the smoke from the throat of that volcanic hill?" "Stones and ashes," ventured Chips. "Stones and ashes? Yes, no doubt, but demons as well--so the dusky rascals who inhabited this island would believe--demons with fire-fierce eyes, tusks for teeth, and blood-red lolling tongues; only the kind of demons that at home nurses try to frighten children with, but more dreadful to those natives than either falling stones or boiling rain. "That is it, Tandy; they have fled. Heaven grant they may not come back. But if they do, we must try to give them a warm reception, unless they are extra civil. Meanwhile, I think that old Vulcan, at his forge in yonder hill, has not let out his fires. They are merely banked, and he is ready to get up steam at a moment's notice. "Why, Tandy, what see you?" The mate of the _Sea Flower_ was lying flat on the green hill-top, with his telescope resting on Bob's back. "I see--I--see," he said, without taking his eye from the glass, "a little island far away, a level island it is." "Yes. Go on." "I see a beach of coral sand, dark canoes like tree-trunks are lying here and there, and I see dark figures moving to and fro, and many more around a fire. The beach is banked behind by waving plantain or banana-trees, and cocoa palms are nodding in the air." "Then," said Halcott, "I was right, and those savages you see, Tandy, are the natives of this Island of Gold--for we shall call it the Isle of Misfortune never again--the very natives, Tandy, who fled from this place when Vulcan's thunders began to shake the earth." Slowly homewards now they took their way, and just as the sun was westering stood once more upon the coral beach. The boat was speedily sent for them, and they were not sorry to find themselves once more on board. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fine weather continued, with scarcely ever a breath of wind, for a whole week. But this could not always be so. The ocean that stretches from the shores of South America far across to New Zealand and Australia is Pacific by name, but not always pacific by nature, and terrible indeed are the gales and circular storms that sometimes sweep over its surface. So, knowing this, Halcott and Tandy determined to seek, if possible, a safer anchorage or harbour. It was with this view that they extended their explorations, and made little boat excursions round the rocky coast. These last Nelda, much to her joy, was permitted to join. Looking over the boat's gunwale, far down into the depths of the clear, transparent water, she could see marine gardens more lovely than any she had ever dreamt of. "Oh," she cried, "look, daddy, look! That is fairyland. Oh, I _should_ like to go down and see a mermaids' ball." After rounding the promontory, with its bold, bluff cliffs frowning darkly over the deep, they came to the entrance to the river. This river was fed by springs that rose far inland, and so wide was it at its mouth that the mariners hoped it would make a most excellent shelter and harbour for the _Sea Flower_. Alas, greatly to their disappointment, they found it barred across. And no other spot could be found around the island coast. By paying out the anchors; however, which, getting a firm hold of the coralline bottom, were almost bound to hold, Halcott believed the _Sea Flower_ could weather almost any storm. In this he was sadly mistaken, as the sequel will show. It was determined now to penetrate into the highland part of the isle itself, and make their first grand plunge for gold. If this could be found in sufficient quantities, their stay on the island need be but very brief. Book 3--CHAPTER THREE. "WE SHALL ALWAYS BE BROTHERS NOW--ALWAYS, ALWAYS." "Just there, Tandy," said Halcott, as the two stood together a day or two after on the brink of a rocky chasm, at the bottom of which the river swept slowly along, dark and deep, because confined by the wet and perpendicular rocks--"just there it was where my friend, my almost brother, plunged over. He had torn up the bridge, as I told you, to save us from the black men's axes, and so doing sacrificed his life. Ah, James! poor James! "See," he added, "the bridge has never yet been repaired." Then they went slowly and sadly away, for Tandy felt sorry indeed to witness the grief of his companion. "How he must have loved him!" he thought. But he remained silent. Grief is sometimes far too deep for sympathy. They saw many little pigs to-day and rabbits also, as well as a species of pole-cat. But having still plenty of provisions on board they did not hamper themselves by making a bag. Higher up the stream now they went, and after a time found a place that could be easily forded, the river meandering through a green and pleasant valley, studded here and there with fragrant shrubs and carpeted with wild flowers. Monster butterflies darted from bloom to bloom--as big as painted fans they were, and radiantly beautiful; but still more beautiful were the many birds seen here and there, especially the kingfishers. So tame were these that they scarce moved even when the travellers came within a yard of them. Asleep you might have believed them to be till one after another, with a half-suppressed scream of excitement, they left their perches to dive into a pool, so quickly too that they looked like tiny strips of rainbow. Dinner was partaken of by the side of the stream, and after a time they crossed the ford. The country was rough and rolling and well-wooded, though few of the birds that flitted from bough to bough had any song; they made love in silence. The beauty of the colours is doubtless granted them for sake of the preservation of species, for there are lizards large enough here to prey upon them, did the birds not resemble the flowers. Their want of song, too, is a provision of nature for the same purpose. They found the country through which they passed on their way to the lake so covered with jungle, here and there, that they had to climb hills to save themselves from being lost, having brought no compass with them. "Ha! yonder is the lake," cried Halcott; "and now we shall see the place where my dear girl and her mother were imprisoned; and, Tandy," he added, "we may find gold." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Close here, by the green banks of the little lake, and in a grove, much to their astonishment, they found a canoe. To all appearance it had been recently used, for there were the marks of feet on the grass, and in the canoe--a black dug-out--were a native tomahawk, a kind of spear or trident, and fishing-hooks of bone, most curiously formed, and evidently only recently used. "Look to your guns now, lads," said Halcott, "and keep out of sight; that island is inhabited." Just at that moment, as if in proof of what he said, a slight wreath of smoke came curling up through the foliage of a large-leaved banana grove on the tiny island. A council of war was immediately held. The question to be debated was: should two of their number enter the canoe and row boldly off to the grass hut, the top of which could be seen peeping grey over the green of the trees? This had been Tom Wilson's proposition. He and Chips, he said, would run the risk. There could not be many savages on the island. With revolvers in their hands they need not fear to advance under cover of the rifles of Captain Halcott and Mr Tandy. "Poisoned arrows," said Halcott, shaking his head, "speed swiftly from a bush. Spears, too, fly fast, and the touch of either means death! "No, my good fellows, we must think of some other plan. I cannot afford to have you slain. If one or two savages would but appear, we could make signs of peace, or hold them up with our rifles." From his position at this moment Halcott alone commanded a view of the islet, which was barely seventy yards away. The three others were sitting on the edge of the canoe. "Oh!" This was a sudden exclamation of half-frightened surprise, and when Tandy looked up, behold! there stood Halcott in a position which seemed to indicate a sudden attack of catalepsy. Halcott's shoulders were shrugged, his clenched fists held somewhat in advance, his head bent forward, eyes staring, brows lowered, and lips parted. Halcott was a brave man, and Tandy right well knew it. The sight of a score of spear-armed savages could not have affected him thus; he might be face to face with a tiger or a python, yet feel no fear. Thinking his friend was about to fall, Tandy sprang up and seized his arm. Halcott recovered almost at once, and a smile stole over his bold, handsome, sailor face. But he spoke not. He could not just then. He only pointed over the bush towards the island, and Tandy looked in the same direction. Slowly from out the plantain thicket tottered, rather than walked, the tall figure of a white man. His long hair flowed unkempt over his shoulders; he was clothed in rags, and leaned upon a long, strong spear. He stood there for a moment on a patch of greensward, and, shading his eyes from the sunlight, gazed across the lake, and as if listening. Then he knelt just there, with his right hand still clutching the spear, as if engaged in prayer. And Tandy knew then without being told that the man kneeling yonder on the patch of greensward was the long-lost James Malone himself. But no one moved, no one spoke, until at last the Crusoe staggered to his feet. This he did with difficulty, moving as one does who has aged before his time with illness or sorrow, or with both combined. James had turned to go, when, with a happy cry, Halcott sprang out from his hiding-place, dragging with him the small canoe and her paddles. "Ship ahoy! James! James!" he shouted, "your prayers are heard. I'm here--your old shipmate, Halcott. You are saved!" The captain sprang into the canoe as he spoke, and soon shoved her off. They could see now, in a bright glint of sunshine, that James's hair was long and had a silvery sheen. He gazed once more across, but shook his head. It was evident he would not credit his senses. Then he turned round and moved slowly and painfully back into the bush. Tandy had not attempted to go with Halcott, though the canoe could easily have held two. "That meeting," he said to himself, "will be a sacred one. I shall not dare to intrude." It was quite a long time after he reached the island and disappeared in the grove before anything more was seen of Halcott. Tandy had thrown himself on the beach in a careless attitude, just as he used to lounge on summer days on the poop of the _Merry Maiden_ while slowly moving along the canal, and smoking now as he used to smoke then--smoking and thinking. But see, Halcott is coming at last. He is leading James by the hand and helping him towards the boat, and in a few minutes' time both are over and standing on the bank of the lake. "Tandy, this is James. But you know the strange story, and this is the strangest part of all." Tandy took the hand that was offered to him. How cold and thin it felt! "God sent you here," said James slowly, and speaking apparently with some difficulty. "_His_ name be praised. It was for this happy meeting I was kept living on and on, though I did not know it. It has been a weary, terrible time. It is ended now, I trust." Here a happy smile spread over his sadly-worn face, and once more he extended his hand to Halcott. "Heaven bless you, friend--nay, _brother_!" "Yes, James, and we shall always be brothers now--always, always." Book 3--CHAPTER FOUR. PRISONER AMONG SAVAGES--SHIPWRECK. Not a word about gold was spoken that night. To Halcott had been restored that which is better far than much fine gold--the friendship of a true and honest heart. For many days James Malone was far too weak to talk much, and he told them his story only by slow degrees as he reclined on the couch in the _Sea Flower's_ cabin, as often as not with little Nelda seated on a camp-stool beside him, her little hand in his. She had quite taken to James, and the child's gentle voice and winning manners appeared to soothe him. His story was one of suffering, it is true, but of suffering nobly borne. Hope had flown away at last, however. He found himself too ill to find his own living. At the very time Halcott spied him, he had come forth expecting to look his last at sun and sky, just to pray, and then creep back into the cooler gloom of his hut to die. How he had been saved from the savages, in the first instance, is soon told. He had leaped, after he had seen every one safely over the bridge, into the deep pool with the intention of swimming down stream, hoping thus to avoid the natives, and, gaining the beach, make his way along the coast or across the promontory to join his friends on the other side. He had got almost a mile on, and was feeling somewhat exhausted, when the river suddenly narrowed again, and before he could do anything to help himself, he was caught in the rapids and hurried along at a fearful rate. Sick and giddy, at last, and stunned by repeated blows received by contact with stones or boulders, he suddenly lost consciousness. "Darkness, dearie," he said, as if addressing Nelda only, "darkness came over me all at once, and many and many a day after that I lived to wonder why it had not been the darkness of death. "When I recovered consciousness--when I got a little better, I mean, dearie--and opened my eyes, I found myself lying in a clearing of the forest, pained, and bruised, and bleeding. "Pained I well might be, for feet and hands were tightly bound with a species of willow. But I was alone. I thanked God for that. I had no idea how long I had lain there, but it was night, and the stars that brightly shone above me were, for a time, my only companions. They gave me hope--oh, not for this world, but for the next. I felt my time would soon come, and that, baulked in their designs on the ladies, the savages would torture and sacrifice me. In spite of my sores and sufferings, some influence seemed to steal down from those holy stars to calm me, and I fell fast asleep once more. It could not have been for long, though. I had a rude awakening. All around me, but some distance off, was a circle of dusky warriors, spear-armed. I could see their eyes and teeth gleaming white in the starlight, as they danced exultingly round and round me, brandishing their weapons and uttering their wild yells, their savage battle-cries. "But every now and then the circle would be suddenly narrowed, as a dozen or more of the fiercest and most demon-like rushed upon me with levelled spears, and it was then I thought my time had come. But the bitterness of death was past, and now, as if mad myself, I defied them, laughed at them, spat at them. My voice sounded far-off. I could hardly believe it was my own. "But, as if by magic, suddenly every warrior disappeared, and into the clearing stalked a savage taller than any I had yet seen. His spear was like a weaver's beam, as says the Bible. With hair adorned with feathers, with face, chest, and arms disfigured by tattooing--the scars in many places hardly yet healed--with awful mouth, and gleaming, vindictive eyes, he looked indeed a fearsome figure. "At each side of him marched three men carrying torches, and close behind two savages bearing a litter, or rude hammock, of branches. On to this I was roughly lifted, and borne away through the dark woods. "But whither? I hardly dared guess at the answer to that question. To death, I felt certain--death by torture and the stake. The chief would yet, he doubtless believed, have `white blood' to drink, and that blood should be mine. "It was to the small lake island, however, on which you found me, that I was carried, more dead than alive, and here I was to be kept a prisoner until the full of another moon. "I need not tell you how I gradually ingratiated myself into favour, first with the medicine-man, and afterwards with the king himself, whom I taught much that was of use to him in the arts of peace, till he came to consider me far more useful alive than dead. Nor am I willing to speak before this dear child of the awful rites, the mummeries, and fearful human sacrifices that my eyes have witnessed. The wonder is, that instead of living on as I did--though life has been in reality but a living death--I did not become insane, and wander raving through the woods and forests. "But the savages have been driven from the island at last, terrorised by the demons of the burning mountain, and I do not think that they are likely to return during the few weeks we shall be here. "They fled in their canoes precipitately on the first signs of eruption. The boats were terribly overcrowded, and although they lightened them by throwing women and children overboard to the sharks, at least three great war-canoes were sunk before my eyes. "It was a fearful sight! May no one here ever live to have such experiences as I have passed through." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ As soon as he could bear to listen to it, Halcott told James all his own story and that of the _Sea Flower_ since she left the shores of England. "Like myself," said James, "you have been mercifully preserved. "As to gold," he continued, "I am fully aware that the medicine-man had many utensils of the purest beaten gold. They were used for sacrificial purposes; and, at one time, when the king and his warriors returned from utterly wiping out the inhabitants of an island to the nor'ard of this, and brought with them a crowd of prisoners, these golden utensils were filled over and over again with the blood of the victims, and drunk by the excited warriors. After this I never troubled myself about gold in any shape or form; but just before the exodus, I believe these vessels were hurriedly buried on the little island. If not, they have been thrown into the lake." "Is it in your power to tell us, James, where these vessels of gold were made, or where the gold was obtained?" "They were fashioned, dear brother, by the spear-makers, with chisels and hammers of hard wood and stone. "Even the medicine-man himself knew nothing of the value of the metal. It was easy to work, that was all, else iron itself would have been preferred. You ask me whence the gold was obtained. I can only inform you that the secret lay and lies with the magician himself, and that the mine is a cave at the foot of the burning mountain, probably now entirely filled up with lava. Once, and once only, was I permitted to accompany this awful wretch to the grove near which this cave is situated. I was not allowed to go further. Here I waited for a whole hour, during which time I now and then heard muffled shrieks and yells of pain and agony that made me shudder." "What could these have been, think you, James?" "Can you not guess? At least, you may, when I tell you that a poor boy was forced to enter the cave with the medicine-man, but never again saw the light of day. "I had learned by this time to talk the language of these savages, and all the information I received, when I questioned the monster, was that the demons of the fiery hill had to be propitiated. "But he brought back with him two huge nuggets that I could see were gold. "This was the price, he told me, that he had been paid for the _kee-waaee_. [youth]. "I never saw those nuggets again, but believe they were fashioned into spear-heads for the king." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ While Halcott and James were talking quietly down below, Tandy was walking the deck with considerable uneasiness. There was a strange appearance far away in the north that he did not like. No banks of clouds were rising, only just a curious black, or rather purple, haze. It had been so very clear all round up till an hour ago, that danger would have been the last thing Tandy would have thought about. He looked towards the distant island through his glass at three o'clock, and it was then visible; but now, though the dog-watch had only just begun, it was wiped out, swallowed up in the mysterious haze. But when a bigger wave than usual rolled in, and others and others followed, and when the surface became wrinkled here and there with cat's-paws, he hesitated no longer. "All hands on deck!" he shouted, stamping loudly on the planks to arouse those below. "Hands loosen sail! Man the winch, lads! It must be up anchors, and off!" There was wind enough shortly to work to windward till they were quite clear of the bay, then they kept the barque away on the starboard tack, until well clear of the island. They now worked northwards as far as possible, till the wind got too strong, when they were obliged to lie to, almost under bare poles. Neither Tandy, Halcott, nor James could remember having encountered so terrible a storm before. No one thought of turning in that night, for, being so short-handed, every man was needed on deck. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ About midnight this fearful gale was evidently at its worst. The sea was then making a clean breach over the ship from fore to aft. The darkness was intense; hardly any light was there at all from the sky, save now and then a bright gleam of lightning that lit up mast, rigging, and shrouds, and the pale faces of the men as they clung in desperation to bulwark or stay. Each lightning flash was followed by a peal of thunder that sounded high above even the incessant roaring of the wind. Surely it was every one for himself now, and God for all who put their trust in Him. It was probably about five bells in the middle-watch, the hatches being firmly battened down, when Ransey Tansey crept under the tarpaulin that covered the after companion, and lowered himself down as well as the terrible motion of the ship permitted him. He staggered into the saloon. A light was burning in his father's state-room, the light of a candle hung in gimbals. Towards the door he groped his way, hoping against hope that he would find his little sister asleep and well. "O Jane, are you here?" he said; "so glad." Janeira rose as he entered, clinging to the edge of the upper bunk in the endeavour to steady herself. "Iss, I'se heah, sah. Been praying heah all de night to de good Lawd to deliber us. Been one big night ob feah, sah. But de sweet child, she go to sleep at last." "Did she cry much?" "No; she much too flighten'd to weep." Ransey bent low over his sister, and felt relieved when certain that she was breathing and alive, for she slept almost like one in a trance. Ransey had long since become "sea-fast," as sailors call it. No waves, however rough, could affect him, no ship's motion however erratic. But just at that moment his head suddenly swam; he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, that he was being lifted into the clouds; next moment a crash came that extinguished the light and hurled him to the deck. For a moment he felt stunned and unable to move; and now, high above the shrieking of the storm-wind, came the sound of falling and breaking timber, and Ransey knew the ship was doomed. Book 3--CHAPTER FIVE. FORTIFYING THE ENCAMPMENT. The sound was that of falling masts. A sailor of less experience than Ransey could have told that. The barque had been dashed stern-foremost upon the rocks. She had been lifted by one of those mighty waves, or "bores," that during a storm like this sometimes rise to the height of fifty feet or more, and hurrying onwards sweep over islands, and pass, leaving in their wake only death and destruction. After the masts had gone clean by the board, there were loud grating noises for a short time, then the motion of the ship ceased--and ceased for ever and ay. Nelda's voice, calling for her father, brought the boy to himself. "I'm here, dear," he sang out. "It is all right; I'll go and get a light; lie still." "Oh, don't leave me. Tell me, tell me," wept the wee lass, "is the ship at the bottom? And are we all drowned?" Luckily, Janeira now managed to strike a light, and poor Nelda's mind was calm once more. Bob had slept on the sofa cushions all throughout this dreadful night; but Ransey was now very much astonished, indeed, to see the stately 'Ral walk solemnly in at the door, and gently lower his head and long neck over Nelda, that she might scratch his chin. "Oh, you dear, droll 'Rallie," cried the child, smiling through her tears, "and so you're not drowned?" But no one could tell where the 'Ral had spent the night. Under the influence of great terror, the Admiral was in the habit of "trussing" himself, as the sailors called it--that is, he close-reefed his long neck till his head was on a level with his wings, and his long bill lying downwards along his crop. Then he drew up his thighs, and lowered himself down over his legs. He was a comical sight thus trussed, and seemed sitting on his tail, and no taller than a barn-door fowl. It was convenient for him, however, for he could thus stow himself away into any corner, and be in nobody's way. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Daylight came at last, and it was now found that the _Sea Flower_ had been lifted by the mighty wave, and after being dashed into a gully in the barrier of rocks that stretched along the eastern side of Treachery Bay, had been left there high and dry. The marvel is that, although several of the hands had been more or less shaken and bruised, no one was killed. The position of the wrecked barque was indeed a strange one. Luckily for her the sea had risen when the tide was highest, so that she now lay on an even keel upon the shelf of rocks, twenty feet above the bay at low water. The monster wave seemed to have made a clean breach of the lowland part of the island, and gone surging in through the dead forest, smashing thousands of the blackened trees to the ground, and quite denuding all that were left of their beautiful drapery of foliage, climbing flowers, and floral parasites. At each side of the gully the black rocks towered like walls above the hulk, but landwards, a green bank, of easy ascent, sloped up to the well-wooded table-land above. As speedily as possible the main part of the wreckage was cleared away. This consisted of a terrible entanglement of ropes and rigging. But the spars were sawn up into lengths that could be easily moved, and so, in a few hours' time, the unfortunate _Sea Flower_ was simply a dismantled hulk. When the work was finally accomplished, the men were permitted to go below, to cook breakfast, and sleep if they had a mind to. But not till prayers were said, and thanks, fervent and heartfelt, offered up to the God who, although He had seen fit to wreck the ship, had so mercifully spared the lives of all. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Strange, indeed, was now the position of these shipwrecked mariners, and it was difficult for Halcott, Tandy, and James Malone to review it with even forced calmness. The three men walked up together to the table-land to hold a council, taking no one with them. The storm had gone down almost as quickly as it had arisen, and sea and sky were blue and beautiful once again. Said James, as they all sat smoking there,-- "Brother Halcott, my first words are these--and I'm an older man than either of you--We must not despair!" "We must not despair!" repeated both his shipmates. But they did not smile, and their voices sounded almost hollow, or as if they came up out of a phonograph. James laid his hand on his friend's knee. "Our prospects are bad, I allow," he said, "the future looks dark and drear. We are far, far beyond the ordinary track of ships; ships seldom, if ever, come this way, unless driven out of their course by stress of weather. I think, then, brother, that we may dismiss from our minds, as useless, all hope from that direction. But dangers loom ahead that we must not, dare not, try to minimise. We are here with but limited supplies of food and ammunition, and these can hardly last for ever. The nearest land is hundreds and hundreds of miles away, the wild, inhospitable shores of Northern Patagonia. We are but eleven all told, excluding the boys Ransey and Fitz, the dear child, and Janeira-- eleven working hands. Could we expect or dare, as a last resource, to reach the far-off land in two open boats? Did we attempt this, we should have to reckon, at the outset, upon opposition from the wild natives of that north island; then on the dangers of the elements during this long, forlorn cruise. Worst of all, if not an-hungered, we might perish from thirst. Tandy, you would go mad were you to see the anxious, fevered face and dry, parched lips of your child upturned to the sky, weak and weary, and praying for the drop of water you could not find to give her." "Hush, James, hush!" cried Tandy; "sooner far we should all die where we are." "I do not mention these matters to worry you, men, but that, knowing our dangers, we may be prepared to face them. "Then," he continued, "there is the king of this island and his warriors to be thought about. Fools, indeed, were we did we not reckon on these, for they constitute the danger that presses most, now that we are wrecked--the danger, probably, first to be faced." "You think, then, they will return?" James Malone pointed to the far-off volcanic hill, which was once more belching forth smoke. "They will return," he said, "when yonder cloud rests no longer on the mountain top. "Yes, brother, it might be possible to make friends of them. But I doubt it. Treachery is written on every lineament of their black and fearsome faces. I should never, never trust them. "And now, men," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "I have painted our situation in its darkest colours. Let us see, then, where the light comes in. The light and the hope." As he spoke he took from his bosom a little Bible and those big horn "specs" that Halcott mentioned in his story. These last he mounted on his nose, and turning over the leaves read solemnly as follows:-- "`God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. "`Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. "`The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved; He uttered his voice, the earth melted. "`The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Amen!' "In these words," said James closing the book, "and in many such promises, do I place my hope and confidence. God heard _my_ prayers before, gentlemen. He will hear _ours_ now. I think our deliverance will come about in some strange way. Just let us trust." But James Malone's religion was of a very practical kind. "Trust in God, and keep your powder dry," are words that have been attributed to Cromwell. They are to the point. "_Fortuna favet fortibus_," (fortune favours the brave), you know, reader; and it is wrong to expect God to help us to do that which He has given us the power to do for ourselves. "And now, gentlemen," said James, rising to his feet, "let us work." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The first thing to be considered, then," said Halcott, "is, I think you will agree with me, James, our defence." "That is so," said James quietly. "The savages will come sooner or later, I fear, and it is but little likely they will come prepared to shake us by the hand and make friends with us. Even if they did, I should be prepared to fight them, for you never know what might happen." "Right, James, right. We may be thankful anyhow that as yet we are all spared and well. Now, you just have the hands lay aft, and tell them, brother, in your convincing way, how matters stand. Speak to them as you spoke to us." James answered never a word, but went straight down the green declivity and boarded the vessel. He did not ask the men to come to the quarterdeck--James was non-demonstrative in all his methods. He would have no "laying aft" business. This was too much man-of-war fashion for him, so he simply went forward to the forecastle and beckoned the few hands around him. A minute or two after this Halcott and Tandy, still lying at ease on the brow of the embankment, heard a lusty cheer. From their position they could command a view of the deck, and now, on looking down, behold! the brave little crew were taking off their jackets and tightening their waist-belts, and a mere tyro could have told that that meant business. Halcott got up now; he plucked a pinch of moss, and after plugging his pipe therewith he placed it carefully away in his jacket pocket. That meant business also. "Come, Tandy," he said, and both descended. The position, it must be admitted, was one which it would be rather difficult for so small a garrison to defend successfully. The vessel, as I have already said, had been dashed stern on to the rocks and into the gully, and the jibboom hung over a black, slippery precipice that descended sheer down into the sea. This cliff, however, was not so slippery but that it might afford foothold for naked savages. It must be included, therefore, in the plan of defence. But from the cliffs that rose on each side of the ship an enemy could attack her, and the deck below would then be quite at the mercy of their poisoned spears and their clouds of arrows, while the bank astern which sloped upwards to the table-land could easily be rushed by a determined foe. An outer line of defence was therefore imperative; in fact this would be of as much service to these Crusoes as the Channel Fleet is to the British Islands. This part of the work was therefore the first to be commenced, and merrily indeed the men set to work. They began by clearing away the bush all round the gully where the _Sea Flower_ lay, to the extent of forty yards, being determined to leave not a single shrub behind which a savage might conceal himself. Everything cut down was hauled to the top of the cliff and trundled into the sea. To have lit a fire and burned it would have invited the attention of the natives on that far-off island, and a visit of curiosity on their part would have ended disastrously for the shipwrecked party. It took days to clear the bush away, and not only the men but the officers as well bore a hand and slaved away right cheerfully. No one was left on board except Ransey Tansey himself, the nigger boy, and Janeira. Nelda insisted on going on shore with the working party, the marvellous crane flew down from the hulk, and Bob was always lowered gently over the side. These three were the superintendents, as Halcott called them; they had nothing to do but play about, it is true, but their very happiness inspired the men and made the work more easy. The other three--those left on board--had work to do, for on them devolved the duty of preparing the meals for all hands; and in this duty they never failed. Well, the jungle was cleared at last, and this clearance, it was determined, should be extended and made double the width at least. And now began the hard labour and toil of erecting the stockade, and in this strength was of very great importance. But it was not everything. The wooden wall must be built on scientific principles, so that a volley could be fired on an enemy attacking from any direction. The building of this fortification, with its strong-barred gate, took our Crusoes quite a month. No one can marvel at this, if they bear in mind that the trees had to be cut down in the woods, and dragged all the way to the cliff before they could be fashioned and put into place; that the rain sometimes put a stop to work entirely, so heavy and incessant was it; and, moreover, that the men suffered a good deal from the bites of poisonous and loathsome insects, such as centipedes and scorpions. The wounds made by either of these had to be cauterised at once, else serious results would have followed. At last the palisade and gate were finished, loopholed, and plentifully studded with sharp nails and spikes outside. After this the little garrison breathed more freely. There was much to be done yet, however, before they could sleep in security. Book 3--CHAPTER SIX. AN AWFUL SECRET OF THE SEA. Having finished the first line of defence, attention was turned to the inner works. How best could the Crusoes repel boarders if the palisade were carried, and a rush made down the embankment with the view of attacking the ship? It was some time before this question could be answered with any degree of satisfaction. I think that the plan finally adopted was the best under the circumstances. During such an attack, not only would the defenders have to do all they could to stop a rush down the sloping bank, but protect themselves also from the spears that would be hurled at them from the cliffs above. An inner palisade was therefore erected, not so strong as the other; and right over the after part of the quarterdeck, and round a portion of its bulwarks, a shed was erected, under which the men could work their rifles and the great gun with comparative safety. If the outer line should be broken through, the savages would no doubt attack in their fullest force, and a gun loaded with grape-shot would play awful havoc in their ranks; and boiling water from the donkey engine would in all probability suggest to the enemy the advisability of a quick retreat. Nevertheless, the outlook, even should they be thus repelled, would be a black one, and a state of siege could only have one sad ending. But let me not be "too previous," as humourists say. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ So quickly does time slip away when a person is busy that when, one morning at breakfast, James Malone said quietly, "Men, we have been here for just two months to-day," Halcott could scarcely credit it. But a reference to the log, which was still most carefully kept, revealed the truth of what James had said. Two months! Yes; and as yet the weather and the work had prevented them from penetrating inland in search of nature's hidden treasures. But the rain ceased at last; and though clouds still hung around, and mists often obscured the sea for days at a time, the glorious spring time had come again, and the island was soon a veritable land of flowers. The first visit inland was made to the Lake of the Lonely Isle, as it was called. But a bridge had to be built over the chasm, to replace that torn up by the hands of brave James Malone. This was easily formed of trees, with a rail at each side, and this bridge shortened the distance to the little lake by several miles. The working party carried picks and spades and axes, for it was determined to thoroughly overhaul the island in search of the utensils used by the priests during their awful human sacrifices. The isle was a very small one, but, nevertheless, it took three whole days to thoroughly search it. And every evening they returned to the ship unsuccessful, but certainly not disheartened. Halcott told his brave fellows that if more gold were found than simply enough to pay the expenses of the voyage, not including the loss of the ship, for that was insured, they would have a good percentage thereof, and something handsome to take home to wives and sweethearts. So, although they knew in their hearts that they might never live to get home, they worked as willingly and as merrily as British sailors ever did "for England, home, and beauty," as the dear old song has it. I may as well mention here, and be done with it, that Lord Fitzmantle, the nigger boy, very much to his delight, was appointed signalman-in-chief to the forces. Observatory Hill was not a difficult climb for Fitz, and here a flag-staff had been erected. An ensign hoisted on this point could be seen not only over all the island but over a considerable portion of the sea as well. But Fitz received strict orders not to hoist it unless he saw a passing ship. Bob was allowed to accompany the boy every day. Dinner was therefore carried for two, and Fitz, who could read well, never went without a book. One day, while James and Halcott were wandering, somewhat aimlessly it must be confessed, in a wood not far from the lake, they came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a solitary, strange, weird-looking dead tree. It was a tree of considerable dimensions, and one side of it was much charred by fire. "It was just here," said James quietly, pointing to the spot, "where I should have been burned, had not Providence mercifully intervened to save my somewhat worthless life." Both walked slowly toward that tree, and acting like a man in deep thought, Halcott carelessly kicked it. It may sound like a sentence read out of a fairy book when I say that a little door in that part of the tree suddenly flew open inwards; but it is nevertheless true. "The treasure must be hidden here!" said Halcott. He was just about to plunge his hand into the hole when James restrained him. "Stay, for Heaven's sake, stay!" he cried excitedly. "The treasure, brother, may be there. I never thought of this before; but," he added, "if the treasure is there, something else is there also, and we have that to deal with first." As he spoke, he took from his pocket a small piece of flint and some touch-paper. Then he gathered a handful of withered grass, struck fire with the back of his knife against the flint--James was very old-fashioned--placed the smoking paper in the grass, shook it, and soon had it in fire. Then he thrust this into the hole, and ran quickly back a few yards. "Keep well away," he cried to his companion. Next minute the head and neck of a huge crimson snake was protruded-- hissing. James fired at once. It was an ugly sight to see that headless serpent wriggling and leaping on the clearing. "That," said James, as he seized it by the tail and flung it far into the bush, "was the chief medicine-man's familiar. There are no snakes on the island, so where he procured it was always a mystery to me. But its possession gave the man great power over even the king himself, all believing it to be an evil spirit. And no wonder, for this `red devil,' as the natives called it, although the medicine-man could handle it safely enough, was often permitted to bite a boy or a girl in the king's presence, and the child invariably died in convulsions." "Horrible!" said Halcott. "Was there only one?" "There was only one, and--it will never bite again." They walked back now towards the lake, and soon returned in company with Chips and Wilson armed with axes. It was hard work, and an hour of it, too, cutting through that tree; but it fell with a crash at last--"carried away close by the board," as Halcott phrased it. "Now, men," said James, "search among the debris in the hollow stump and see what you can find." James and Halcott stood quietly by leaning on their rifles. But they laughed with very joy as the men pulled out bowl after bowl of beaten gold, to the number of seven in all. These were far from artistic, but they were large and heavy. Inside they were black with blood. Chips stood up and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "My eye and Betty Martin! Captain Halcott, here's a go. Why, we'll be all as rich as water-cresses." And he joyfully tossed his hat in the air, and kicked it up again as it descended. Chips was a queer chap. But having now relieved his feelings, the search was proceeded with. And when it was all over, and nothing further to be found, the inventory of the treasure now exposed to view, every article of purest gold, was as follows:-- A. Seven bowls, weighing about twelve pounds each. B. Thirty-five spear-heads, solid and very heavy. C. Fifteen gold daggers, similar to that brought away from the island by Doris herself. D. Fifteen larger and curiously shaped knives. E. One hundred or more fish-hooks. F. Nineteen nuggets of gold of various sizes--one immense nugget weighed 149 pounds! [The largest nugget ever found weighed over 180 pounds. It was dug up, I believe, at Ballarat.--G.S.] No wonder these two men were excited. "I say, sir," said Chips, "I guess you'll splice the main-brace to-night." "That we will with pleasure," replied Halcott. "And," cried Tom Wilson, "I'll fiddle as I've never fiddled before. I'll make all hands laugh one minute, and I'll have them all crying the next." Poor Wilson! It was noted that this man never touched rum himself, but invariably gave his share to another. The main-brace _was_ spliced that night, and that, too, twice over. It happened to be Saturday night. It could not be called Saturday-night-at-sea, but it was Saturday night on board a ship; and despite the fact that the vessel was but a wreck and a hulk, it was spent in the good old fashion. An awning was always kept spread over the fore part of the ship, and it was under this that the crew smoked and yarned in the evenings. To-night the officers had gone forward to hear Tom Wilson play. He did make them laugh. I do not know that his pathetic pieces caused many tears to flow, beautifully executed though they were, but late in the evening--and ten o'clock was considered late on board the hulk--when Halcott asked for a favourite air of his, Tom hesitated for a moment, then took up the violin. There was a beauty of expression and sadness about Tom's interpretation of this beautiful melody that held everybody spell-bound; but when at last the poor fellow laid his instrument on the table, and with bent head burst into tears, the astonishment of every one there was great indeed. Jack, however, is ever in sympathy with sorrow, and Chips, rough old Chips, got up and went round behind Tom Wilson. "Come, matie," he said, patting him gently on the shoulder. "What is it, old heart? Music been too much for you? Eh? Come, come, don't give way." Tom Wilson threw back his head and lifted his face now. "Thank you, Chips; thank you, lad, and bless you. Nay, nay, I will not tell you to-night the reason of my stupid tears. I'm not the man to sadden a Saturday night. Come, lads, clear the decks. I'll play you the grandest hornpipe you ever listened to." And play he did. Every note, every tone was thrilling. A dance was soon got up, and never before, not even in a man-of-war, did men foot the deck more merrily than those shipwrecked Crusoes did now. But the queerest group there was just amidships, where Janeira herself and Fitz--all white eyes and flashing teeth--were madly tripping it on the light fantastic toe; while little Nelda and that droll old crane danced a fandango, that caused all hands, including even Tom himself, to shout with laughter when they beheld it. The very solemnity of the crane as he curved his neck, hopped, and pirouetted, was the funniest part of the performance. But next day all hands knew Tom's pathetic story. "That air I played," he told them, "was my little daughter Fanny's favourite. Fanny is dead. Georgie too. He was my boy. I was rich once, but drink ruined me, and--oh, may God forgive me!--led indirectly to the graveyard gate, where wife and children all lie buried!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Two long months more had gone by, during which the exploring party had been busy enough almost every day at the distant hill, prospecting, excavating here and there, and searching in every likely nook for the cave of gold. But all in vain. During all the time they had now been on the island--more than six months--never a ship had been seen, nor had any boat or canoe ventured near the place. "Surely, surely," they thought, "some day some ship will find us out and rescue us." One day as they were returning earlier in the afternoon than usual, for it was very hot, and they were all somewhat weary and disheartened, they went suddenly almost delirious with joy to see, on looking towards the hill-top, that the ensign was hoisted upside down on the pole, and little Fitz dancing wildly round it, and pointing seaward. Tired though they all were, there was no talk now of returning to the wreck. But straight to the hill they went instead. To their infinite joy, when they reached the top at last, they could see a brig, with all available sail set, standing in for the island. I say all available sail, for her fore-topmast was gone, she was cruelly punished about the bulwarks, and had evidently been blown out of her course during the gale that had raged with considerable violence a few days before. Every heart beat high now with hope and joy, and as the vessel drew nearer and nearer, they shook hands with each other, and with tears in their eyes some even talked of their far-off cottage homes in England. Nearer and nearer! A flag was flying at her stern, but to what country she belonged could not yet be made out. But they could now, by aid of the glass, see the hands moving about the deck, and some leaning over the bows pointing towards the island. But, "Oh, cruel! cruel!" cried the poor men, and grief took the place of joy, when the vessel altered its course and went slowly away on the other tack. So great was the revulsion of feeling now that some of the Crusoes threw themselves on the ground in an agony of grief and disappointment. They watched the ship sail away and away, hoping against hope that she might even yet return. They watched until the stars shone out and darkness brooded over the deep, and then a strange thing happened: a great gleam of light was seen on the distant horizon, and above it clouds of rolling smoke through which tongues and jets of flame were flashing. The brig was on fire and burning fiercely! Her very masts and rigging were seen for a time, darkling through the blaze. No one thought of leaving the hill now; they would see the last of that mysterious ship. Yes, and the last came within an hour. An immense fountain of fire rose high into the air, lighting the sea up in one broad crimson bar from horizon to shore--then darkness. Nothing more. Nor were any signs of that unfortunate brig seen next day. No boat floated towards the island, nor was a single spar ever picked up along the beach. It would be impossible to describe the feelings of the Crusoes as they went slowly homeward through the jungle, guided by Fitz and Bob. "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away." That was all the remark that James Malone made. And the mystery of that unhappy brig none can ever unravel. To the end of time it must remain one of the awful secrets of the sea. Book 3--CHAPTER SEVEN. STRANGE ADVENTURES IN A CRYSTALLINE CAVE. Ten months more, and not another ship was seen. It was now two years and over since the beautiful barque _Sea Flower_ had sailed away from Southampton. Not a very long time, it may be said. No; and yet it seemed a century to look back upon, so many strange events and adventures had been crowded into those four-and-twenty months, and so much sorrow and suffering too. "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick." Ah! the hearts of all were sad and sick enough by this time. "Some day, some day a ship will come!" Every one fore and aft was weary with repeating these words. They went not now so often to the foot of Fire Hill, as the volcano had come to be called, in search of the buried cave. A buried cave it doubtless was, covered entirely by the flow of lava from the crater, and lost, it would seem, for ever. But whole days would be spent in rambling about in search of the only kind of game the lonely island afforded, those small black pigs and the rock-rabbits, or in fishing by stream or at sea. When I say "at sea," it must not be imagined that they fished in Treachery Bay. No; for to have done so would doubtless have invited the attention of the savages, and they might have paid the island a visit that would have been very little relished. Natives of those South Pacific islands have keen eyesight. But the dinghy boat had been hauled right across the island and launched in a little bay there. A cave was found, and this formed a capital boat-house, for it rose so high behind that the tide could not reach it. The time had come when fishing was very necessary indeed, for well "found" though the _Sea Flower_ had been, especially with all kinds of tinned provisions and biscuits, these had been nearly all consumed, and for some months back the Crusoes had depended for their support almost entirely on rod and gun. I say _almost_ advisedly; for many kinds of vegetables and roots grew wild in this lonely island, not to mention fruits, the most wholesome and delicious that any one could desire. Ah, reader, do not imagine that because you have eaten bananas, or even guavas, which you have purchased in this country, that you can form a perfect idea of the flavour and lusciousness of those fruits when gathered from the trees in their native wilds. Moreover, there are fruits in the woods of the Pacific islands so tender that they could not be carried by sea, nor kept for even a day in the tropics; and these are the best of all. So that on Misfortune Island there was no danger of starvation, unless indeed the Crusoes should have the misfortune to be surrounded by the savages and placed in a state of siege. It was against such an eventuality that the last of the tinned meats was so carefully reserved: and the last of the coals too, because these latter would be needed for the donkey engine, to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water. Three times a week, at least in good weather, did a little band set out for the fishing cove, and this consisted of Ransey Tansey himself, Nelda, and little Fitz, to say nothing of Bob. Now the cove was quite six miles away. Six miles going and six coming back would have been too long a journey for Nelda; but as the child liked to accompany the boys, and they were delighted to have her company, the two lads consulted together and concluded they must carry her at least half the way. This was a capital plan for Nelda, and quite romantic, for the _modus portandi_ was a grass hammock suspended from a long bamboo pole, one end resting on Ransey's shoulder, the other on Fitz's. Nelda would be talking or singing all the way. But on the return journey she got down more often, because she never went back without a basket well filled with fruit and flowers. Bob used to trot on in front always. This he deemed it his duty to do. Was he not a guard? On rare occasions the Admiral also formed part of the expedition, but he preferred not going to sea in that wobbly boat. When invited to embark, he would simply look at Babs or Ransey with one wise red eye, and say, "No, thank you, dear. A sea life doesn't quite suit my constitution; and if it is all the same to you, I'll just hop about the beach here until you all return." It did not take a very long time for the children, as I may still call them, to find all the fish they could conveniently carry. Then they returned to the beach, entered the cave, and cooked their dinner. They invariably started to go back two or three hours before sunset. About this cave there was a kind of mystery to the imaginative mind of little Nelda, and she peopled the gloom and darkness far beyond with all sorts of strange beings. But when one day Ransey Tansey proposed exploring it, she evinced very much reluctance to going herself. "I'm afraid," she said; "the giants might catch me and kill me." Fitz laughed, and Ransey assured her that the cave was not inhabited by even a single giant. It was all imagination. "There might be snakes," she persisted, "or awful alligators." Fitz laughed again, and Nelda felt more assured. "You see me go, sah!" he said; "Is'e not afraid. Ha, ha! it take one much big giant and plenty big 'gator to flighten dis chile." He ran out of the cave now, but soon came back carrying a heap of withered grass and foliage. Then he snatched up a burning brand. "Now!" he cried, "dis chile done go to 'vestigate." Fitz was fond of exploiting a big word, although he never succeeded in pronouncing much more than three-quarters of it. Presently the brave little lad disappeared, for the darkness had swallowed him up. The cave at its other end turned to the right and then to the left, so that although Fitz lit his fire it could not be seen by those left behind. Ransey and Nelda were becoming quite uneasy about him, when suddenly his voice was heard in the dark distance, coming nearer and nearer every moment, till he once more stood in the broad glare of day at the main entrance to the cave. "So glad you've come back, Fitz," cried Ransey, "for we had almost given you up; we thought the 'gators had swallowed you." Nelda, too, was glad, and so was honest Bob. He ran round and round him, barking. The echo of the far interior took up the sound and gave back "wowff" for "wowff," much to the dog's astonishment. He made quite sure that another dog was hiding away in the darkness somewhere, and promised himself the infinite pleasure of shaking him out of his skin some day. But the story of exploration that Fitz had to tell was indeed a wonderful one. He had found an interior cave, and when he lit his fire, the sight of it, he declared to Ransey, was far more beautiful than Paradise. All around him, he said, was a mass of icicles, but all of crystal, and on the floor were hundreds and hundreds of great crystal candles. "I not can splain [explain] propah," he said. "Too much foh one leetle niggah boy to splain, but all about me dat cave sparkle and shine wid diamonds, rubies, and rainbows." So before they got home that night they made up their minds to explore the marvellous cave in company. Nothing was said to any one else about their intention; only when they set out some days after this to go to the cave as usual, Ransey Tansey took with him several blue, red, and white lights. He determined in his own mind that this stalactite cave should be turned into a kind of fairy palace for once in a way. He also carried a small bull's-eye lantern, so that when lights went out they should not be plunged into darkness altogether. They had been rather longer than usual in starting on this particular morning, and as the day was very beautiful, and the trees and flowers, butterflies and birds, all looking bright and gay, they must have lingered long on the road. At all events, it was quite one o'clock before they arrived at the cove, reached the cave, and launched their boat. The fish, moreover, seemed to-day anxious to be caught, and excellent sport was enjoyed. It only wanted two hours to sunset when they regained the mouth of the cave. There would be moonlight to guide them home, however, even if they should be half an hour late. Yes, and it was a full moon too. Mark this, reader, for with each full moon comes a spring tide! I have no words to convey to any one the glorious sight they beheld when they at last entered the stalactite cave and lit their fire of wood and grass. Fitz had described it well--crystal icicles all around hanging from the vaulted roof, and raised high above the snow-white floor; walls of crystal, and strange, weird statues of a kind of marble. They sat there in silent admiration until the fire began to burn low; then Ransey Tansey lit up the cave, first with a dazzling white light, then with blue, and finally with crimson. And this ended the show, but it was one that Nelda would dream about for weeks to come. How long they had stayed in this wondrous cave they could not tell, but, lo! to their dismay, when they reached the place where they had drawn up the boat, it was gone, and the waves were lapping up far inside. The dinghy had been floated away, and they were thus imprisoned for the night. The moon, too, had gone down, for in these seas it neither rises nor sets at the same time it does in Britain. Little Nelda was afraid to spend the night near to the dark water. Some awful beast, she said, might come out and drag her in, so back they went to the crystal cave. Alas! it had lost its charm now. What a lonesome, weary time it was, and they dared not leave before daylight! The fearless boy Fitz, after many, many hours had passed, went away, like a bird from the ark, to see if the waters were yet assuaged. He brought back word that the sun was rising, but that the water was still high. The truth is, they had all slept without knowing it, and during this time the tide had gone back and once more risen, or, in other words, it had ebbed and flowed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The anxiety of Tandy and the others on board the hulk may be better imagined than described when night fell and the wanderers did not return. For a time they expected them every minute, for the moon was still shining bright and clear in the west and tipping the waves with silver. Tandy set out by himself at last, hoping to meet the little party. He walked for fully two miles along the track by which they most often came. Again and again he shouted and listened, but no answering shout came back to his, though he could hear now and then the dreary cry of a night-bird as it flew low over the woods in the gauzy glamour that the moon was shedding over everything. But the moon itself would shortly sink, and so, uncertain what to do next, he returned, hoping against hope that the children might have reached the hulk before him. What a long, dreary night it was! No one slept much. Of this I am sure, for the lost ones were friends both fore and aft. But the greatest sorrow was to come, for, lo! when next morning at daybreak they reached the cave, the first thing that caught their eyes was the dinghy--beached, but bottom uppermost. Fishing gear and the oars were also picked up; but, of course, there was no sign of the children. With grief, poor Tandy almost took leave of his senses, and it was indeed a pitiable sight to see him wandering aimlessly to and fro upon the coral beach, casting many a hopeless glance seawards. Good, indeed, would it have been for him had tears come to his relief. But these were denied him. Even the consolations that honest James Malone poured into his ears were unheeded; perhaps they were hardly even heard. "Death comes to all sooner or later. We do wrong to repine. Ah, my dear Tandy, God Himself knows what is best for us, and our sorrows here will all be joys in the land where you and I must be ere long." Well-meant platitudes, doubtless, but they brought no comfort to the anguished heart of the poor father. It was noticed by one of the men that the strange bird Admiral, who had accompanied the search party, seemed plunged in grief himself. He walked about the beach, but ate nothing. He perched upon the keel of the upset boat, and over and over again he turned his long neck downwards, and wonderingly gazed upon the fishing gear and oars. Then he disappeared. We must now return to the cave where we left our smaller heroes. Ransey Tansey's greatest grief was in thinking about his father. It would be quite a long time yet before the tide ebbed sufficiently to permit them to leave the cave and scramble along the beach to the top of the cove. Well, there was nothing for it but to wait. But this waiting had a curious ending. They had returned to the stalactite cave, and Ransey had once more lit his lamp, when suddenly, far at the other end, they heard something that made poor Nelda quake with fear and cling to her brother's arm. "Oh, it is a ghost!" she cried--"an old woman's ghost!" I cannot otherwise describe the sound than as a weary kind of half sigh, half moan, on a loud falsetto key. No wonder Nelda thought it emanated from some old lady's ghost; though what an old lady's ghost could possibly be doing down here, it would have been difficult indeed to guess. Bob took another view of the matter. He barked loudly and lustily, and rushed forward. It was no angry bark, however. Next minute he came running back, and when Ransey Tansey turned the light on him he could see by the commotion among the long, rough hair which covered his rump that the fag-end of a tail he possessed was being violently but joyfully agitated. "Come on," he seemed to say; "follow me. You will be surprised!" Without fear now, the children followed the dog, and, lo! not far off, standing solemnly in a kind of crystalline pulpit, was the Admiral himself. No wonder they were all astonished, or that the bird himself seemed pleased. But off the crane hopped now, the dog and the children too following, and there, not thirty yards from the place where they had been all night, was a landward opening into the cave. It was surrounded with bush, and how the Admiral had found it must ever remain a mystery. Ten minutes after this poor Tandy was clasping his children to his breast. Innocent wee Babs was patting his cheek, and saying, "Never mind, daddy--never mind, dear daddy." Childish consolation certainly, but, oh, so sweet! No wonder his pent-up feelings were relieved by tears at last. The crane allayed _his_ feelings by dancing a _pas de joie_ on the coral sand. Bob gave vent to his by rushing about and barking at everything and everybody, but especially at the boat, which he seemed to regard as the innocent cause of all the trouble. "Wowff--wowff--wow! Why did it run away anyhow?" That is what Bob wanted to know. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ But the tide had ebbed sufficiently to permit of a visit to the cave of delight, as Ransey called it. James and Tandy, with Ransey and Fitz, embarked, the others remaining on shore. Both men were as much delighted and astonished at what they saw as the children themselves had been. A large quantity of withered branches and foliage had been taken in the boat, to make a fire in the crystalline cave. "But oh, father," said Ransey, "you should have seen it last night when we lit it up with crimson light!" "We'll come again, lad," replied his father. They then made their way to the outer opening, and back once more to the inner, where they had left the boat. It was noticed that James Malone was somewhat silent all the way back to the wreck. And so he continued during breakfast. After this he slowly arose. "Brother," he said, laying his hand on Halcott's shoulder, "I have something strange to tell you. Come to the cliff-top, and you too, Tandy, and bring your pipes." Book 3--CHAPTER EIGHT. ENTOMBED ALIVE. It was a very lovely day now. The sea all round towards the eastern side of the island was deep and blue; but the waters to the west were here and there more shallow, so that the ocean here was patched with splendid colouring--tints of opal, tender green, and crimson were set off by the deep dark-brown of a rocky bottom, whereon masses of sea-weed waved with the ebb or the flow of the tide. There was not a breath of wind to-day, not a whisper in the woodlands; scarce a sound was to be heard, save the drowsy hum of the waves as they broke far below on the beach of snow-white sand, or the occasional screaming of the sea-birds sailing round and round the beetling crags where their nests were. In very joy they seemed to scream to-day. Happy birds! There was no one to molest them on this far-off beautiful isle of the ocean. No gun was ever levelled at them, not a pebble ever thrown even by Fitz; and so tame were they that they often ran about the cliff-top, or even alighted on the ship itself. But slowly indeed to-day does James Malone walk towards the cliff. Out through the inner, out through the great outer gate; for he will not feel comfortable until he is clear of the encampment, and seated near to the very brink of that great wall of rocks. "Gentlemen," he said, when at last he had filled and lit his pipe with all the coolness of a North American Indian--"gentlemen, hitherto all our efforts to find the gold mine have been in vain, but mere chance has revealed to us the secret that has been hidden from us so long--" "James," said Tandy, excitedly, "you don't mean to say--" "But," interrupted James, "I do mean to say it, Tandy. Halcott there knows that I seldom make an assertion till I have well-considered the matter on all sides." "You never do, brother." "That cave, gentlemen, which in so strange a way the children have found, is a gold mine--_the_ gold mine! "The land entrance I can now remember, although it is somewhat changed. Show me the map of the island, brother." Halcott spread it out before him. He pointed out Fire Hill, then drew his finger along until it rested on the spot where the cave was. "The fault has been all mine, gentlemen; I alone led you astray, for appearances deceived me. But it is not yet too late. "And so you see, Tandy, that, after all, Providence has changed our mourning into joy. I do not now despair of anything. God moves in a mysterious way, brothers, and you may rest assured we shall yet return in peace to enjoy the fruits of our labours in the land of our birth." Halcott was silent; so too was Tandy for a time. Need I tell you what they were thinking about? If they could but return with enough gold to give them an independence, how pleasant would be their prospects for the future! Well, this world is not all sorrow, and it is only right we should enjoy it. I think I can honestly go further, reader, and say it is a sin not to make the best of the beautiful world we live in, a sin to look always at the darkest side when clouds surround us. Let us not believe in the pessimism of Burns when he wrote his dirge "Man was made to mourn," a verse or two of which run as follows:-- "Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right: But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn; Then age and want--oh! ill-matched pair!-- Show man was made to mourn. "A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest; Yet think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, oh! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn! Through weary life this lesson learn-- that man was made to mourn." Tandy had risen to his feet, and was looking somewhat anxiously towards Observatory Hill. The seaman who took day and day about with Fitz in watching was at this moment signalling. "He wants us to come up," said Tandy. "Who knows," said James, with far more cheerfulness in his voice than usual--"who knows but that our deliverance is already at hand? The man may have seen a ship!" Halcott and Tandy, about an hour after this, stood beside the man on the brow of the hill, with their glasses turned towards the far-off island. They could see the beach with far greater clearness than usual to-day. It was crowded with savages running to and fro, into the bush and out of it, in a state apparently of great excitement. At this distance they resembled nothing more than a hive of bees about to swarm. Independent of innumerable dug-outs drawn up here and there were no less than five huge war-canoes. Tandy turned away with a slight sigh. "Just as the cup of joy," he said, "was being held to our lips, ill-fortune seems to have snatched it away." "Heigho!" sighed Halcott, "how I envy honest James for the hopefulness that he never appears to lose, even in the very darkest hours, the hours of what we should call despair. "But look," he continued, pointing towards Fire Hill. "Not a cloud to be seen!" "The volcano is dead!" said Tandy, with knitted brows; "and now, indeed, we shall have to fight." Halcott took Tandy's hand, while he looked calmly into his face. "My friend," he said, "we have come through many and many a danger side by side, and here we are alive and well to tell it. If fighting it must be with these savages, neither you nor I shall be afraid to face them. But we may succeed in making peace." "Ah, Halcott, I fear their friendship even more than their enmity. But for my dear boy and my little girl, I should care for neither." And now all haste back to the camp was made. All hands were summoned, and the case laid plainly before them. The story of the cave was told to them also, and it did Halcott's heart good to hear the ringing cheer with which their words were received. The next thing Halcott ordered was a survey of stores. Alas! this did not take long; and afterwards the defences were most carefully inspected. On the whole, the outlook was a hopeful one, even if the savages did come in force and place the strange little encampment in a state of siege. Their provisions and even their ammunition would last for three weeks at least. And--and then? Ah! no one thought of an answer to that question. They meant to do their best, and trust in Providence for everything else. But the expected arrival of these warlike natives was not going to prevent them from finding gold, if gold there were in the Medicine-man's Cave, as it was now named. So early next morning the discovery party had reached the landward opening. They were provided with lamps to light and hang, with tools, and with provisions for the day. At the mouth of the cave Fitz was stationed with glass in hand, to watch for a signal to be given from Observatory Hill, in case the boats should start from the distant island. The lamps were lit at the entrance to the cave, which was gloomy enough in all conscience. "Surely," cried Tom Wilson, when they reached the interior and saw the great stalactites, the candles and icicles of glass, and the walls all shining with "rubies and rainbows,"--"surely this is the cave of Aladdin. Ah, it is diamonds as well as gold we ought to be able to collect here, maties!" And now hours were spent in a fruitless search for the mine. Even the floor of the seaward cave was dug up and its walls tapped, but all in vain. It was not until they were preparing to leave, that, chancing to hear Bob whining and scraping not ten yards from the outer entrance, Halcott turned his attention in that direction. A ghastly sight met their gaze! For here lay a pile of human bones half covered with dust, and half buried in the debris that had fallen from the roof. And near this awful heap, but above it, was a hole about five feet high, and wide enough to admit two men at a time. The excitement now was intense, but for a time all stood spell-bound with horror. "Here," said James, slowly, "is the spot where that fiend, the medicine-man, murdered the boys as an offering to the great fire-fiend. Now we shall find the gold. Come, follow me, men!" He took a lamp from Tom Wilson's hand as he spoke, and boldly entered the cave. It was far from an inviting place where they now stood. What did that signify to those determined gold-seekers? For hardly had they dug two feet down ere they were rewarded by finding one large, rough nugget of pure gold and several small ones. They forgot all about the savages now, and nothing could exceed the eagerness with which the men laboured. But fatigue, at last, overcame them, and they were obliged to retire, carrying with them more of the precious ore than many an Australian digger has found during a whole lifetime. It was very dark as they made their way through the bush; but Fitz was an excellent guide, so they got back in time for supper. A very happy evening this was, fore and aft, and Tom Wilson seemed the gayest of the gay. The poor fellow had sinned and fallen, it is true, but surely God had already forgiven him. Tom believed so, and it was this belief, he told James more than once, that made him forget his sorrow. "I'll meet my wife and children on the other shore," he said once, with a sad smile, "and they'll forgive me too." In a week's time the gold fever was at its height. And no wonder, for in whatever direction they dug nuggets were found in this marvellous cave. The fortune of every man there was made. But would the gold be of any use to them? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ One day, about a fortnight after the wonderful discovery, something very startling occurred. Almost every hour while digging they had heard strange sounds, like the rumbling of heavy artillery along a rough road, with now and then a loud but muffled report, as of a great gun fired in the distance. No wonder James had remarked that the heathen minds of the savages believed that a great fire-fiend dwelt deep down here, and must be propitiated with human sacrifice. But on this particular day, after a terrible report, the earth shook and quivered, great masses of soil fell crashing down here and there, and the lamps were all extinguished. The noise died away like the muttering of a thunderstorm in the far distance. "Keep quiet and cool, men; we are all right. We can relight the lamps." It was Halcott who spoke. Yes, and so they quickly did; but judge of their horror when, on making their way to what had been the entrance to the cave, they found no exit there! Then the terrible truth revealed itself to them--they were entombed alive! At first the horror of the situation rendered them speechless. Was it the heat of internal fires, or was it terror--I know not which-- that made the perspiration stand in great beads on their now pale faces? "What is to be done?" cried one of the men. "Never despair, lad!"--and Halcott's manly voice was heard once more--"never despair!" His voice sounded hollow, however--hollow, and far away. Book 3--CHAPTER NINE. "ON SWEPT THE WAR-CANOES TOWARDS THE CORAL BEACH." "It was just here, was it not," said Halcott, "where the entrance was? Keep up your hearts, boys, we shall soon dig ourselves clear." Cheered by his voice, every one set himself bravely to the task before him. But a whole hour went by, and they were now nearly exhausted. One or more had thrown themselves on the ground panting. The heat increased every minute, and the atmosphere became stifling. The thirst, too, was almost unendurable. Even James himself was yielding at last to despair, and already the lights were burning more dimly. But hark! the sound of the dog barking. His voice seemed ever so far away, but every heart was cheered by it. Again, lads, again! Up with your spades; one more effort. The men sprang up from the floor of the cave and went to work now with a will. Nearer and nearer the dog's anxious barking sounded every minute. At last, with a joyous cry, Bob burst through, and with him came a welcome rush of pure air. They were saved! Is it any wonder that when they found themselves once more out in the jungle, with flowers and foliage all around them and the breath of heaven fanning their faces, James Malone proposed a prayer of thankfulness? They rose from their knees at last. "We have been taught a lesson," said this honest fellow; "our ambition was far too overweening. Our lust for gold all but found us a grave." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ They had arrived early at camp, so Tandy and Halcott determined to make another visit to Observatory Hill, for the man had once more signalled. Extra activity was apparent among the savages in the northern island. It was evident enough now that they would not long delay their coming. The sun set, and soon afterwards darkness fell, but still the man lingered on the hill-top. And now they could see a great fire spring up, just a little way from the water's edge, and soon the savages were observed dancing wildly around it in three or four great circles. It was evident that some horrible orgie was taking place, and they might easily presume that the medicine-man was busy enough, and that a human sacrifice was being offered up to appease the fiends of war, in which those benighted beings so firmly believed. Next day, and just after breakfast, on looking towards the hill-top, behold the red British ensign afloat on the flag-pole! Shortly after this the signalman himself ran in. "They are coming!" he cried; "they are coming!" "And their strength?" asked Halcott calmly. "Five great war-canoes, and each one of them contains at least thirty armed warriors." "And there may be more to follow. Humph! Well, we shall have to reckon with between two and three hundred at least. What about making overtures of peace to them, brother James?" Now brother James, as has already been said, was a very practical kind of a Christian. "Well," he said, slowly and thoughtfully, "I think, Charlie Halcott, that in this case our duty lies straight and clear before us, and we've got to go for it. We shall just be content to make war first, and leave the peace to follow." Every man heard him, and the hearty British cheer they gave was re-echoed even from the hill itself. It was agreed by all, however, that to fight these savages in the open would be but to court death and destruction to all hands. Other tactics must be adopted. The enemy would no doubt land on the beach, and so the big gun was dragged towards the cliff-top. Here they would make their first stand, and, if possible, sink some of the war-canoes before they had a chance to land. In savage warfare cover is considered of very great importance. It was determined, therefore, to deprive the invaders of this at any cost, so heaps of withered branches and foliage were collected and placed here and there all around the bay and close to the edge of the wood; and not only there, but on the table-land itself, between the encampment and Observatory Hill. One of the most active young men was told off to fire those heaps, beginning at the farther side of the bay. His signal to do so would be a rifle, not the gun, fired from the top of the cliff. In less than three hours' time the great war-canoes were quite in view, slowly approaching the land. They were still ten miles away, however, and it was evident to every one that they meant to time themselves so as to land on the beach at Treachery Bay about an hour after sunset. Another hour went slowly by. Through the glasses now a good view could be had of the cannibal warriors. One and all were painted in a manner that was as hideous as it was grotesque. In the first boat, standing erect in the bows, with a huge spear in his hand, the head of which was evidently of gold, for it glittered yellow in the sun's rays, was a stalwart savage, whom James Malone at once pronounced to be the king. Beside him squatted two deformed and horrible-looking savages, and they also were far too well-known to James. They were the king's chief medicine-men. At the bow of each war-canoe, stuck on a pole, was a ghastly human head, no doubt those of prisoners taken in battles fought with tribes living on other islands. There was no doubt, therefore, that their intentions in visiting the Crusoes were evil and not good, and that James Malone's advice to fight first and make peace afterwards was wise, and the only one to be pursued. At sunset they were within two miles of the land, and lying-to, ready to make a dash as soon as darkness fell. The gun belonging to the _Sea Flower_ was a small breechloader of good pattern, and could carry a shell quite as far as the boats. It was trained upon them, and great was the terror of the king when in the air, right above his head, the shell burst with a terrible roar. They put about and rowed further off at once. And now, after a short twilight, the night descended quickly over land and sea. It was very still and starry, and in a very short time the thumping and noise of the oars told those on watch that the boats were rapidly approaching. And now the rifle was fired. Sackbut, the young sailor, had been provided with a can of petroleum and matches, and hardly had the sound of the rifle ceased to reverberate from the rocks ere those on the cliff saw the first fire lighted. Running from heap to heap he quickly set fire to them one by one. Up on to the table-land he came next, and so in less than twenty minutes the whole of this part of the island presented a barrier of rolling fire towards the sea. The fire lit up the whole bay until it was as bright almost as if the sun were shining on it. But the savages were not to be deterred or denied, and so on swept the great war-canoes towards the coral beach. Yet, although they succeeded at last in effecting a landing, they had paid dear for their daring. Seven rifles played incessantly on them, and the howls and yells that rose every now and then on the night air told that the firing was not in vain. Only a few shots were fired from the gun, there being no time, but a shell crashed into the very midst of one of the war-canoes, and the destruction must have been terrible. She sank at once, and probably not more than ten out of the thirty succeeded in swimming ashore. The sharks had scented the battle from afar, and were soon on the field enjoying a horrid feast. With that bursting shell the war might be said to have commenced in earnest, and it was to be a war _a outrance_, knife to knife, and to the death. The yelling of the savages now, and their frantic gestures as they rushed in mass to the shelter of the rocks, mingling with the crackling and roaring of the flames and the frightened screams of myriads of sea-gulls, was fearful--a noise and din that it would be difficult indeed to describe. All haste was now made to get the gun inside the first line of defence, load it with canister, and place it where it would be most handy. And nothing more could be done now until the savages should once more put in an appearance. So Tandy hurried on board, a sadly anxious man indeed. His anxiety was, of course, centred in his little daughter. Janeira was the first to meet him. "Miss Nelda?" he said quickly; "where is she, and how is she, Jane?" "Oh," replied Jane, "she cry plenty at fuss, sah, cry and dance, but now she done go to bed, sah; come, sah, come." And down below she ran. Poor Nelda! There she lay in her bunk, pale and frightened-looking. No tears now though; only smiles and caresses for her father. She had one arm round Bob, who was stretched out beside the child, as if to guard her from threatened danger. But strange and earnest were the questions she had to ask. Were the savages all killed, and shot, and drowned? Would they come back again? Would Ransey, and Bob, and the 'Rallie, and poor daddie be killed and roasted if the awful men came with their spears and knives, and their bows and arrows? Tandy did all he could to assure her, and if in doing so he had to equivocate a little, surely he would be forgiven. As they were still talking, in at the door stalked the Admiral himself. He looked more solemn than any one had ever seen him before. Poor fellow! he too had received a terrible fright, and I suppose he felt that he would never, never care to dance again. The child called to him, and he came to the bunk-side at once, and lowering his long, beautiful neck, laid his beak across her neck. This was 'Rallie's way of showing affection. Then he went slowly and sadly away to the other end of the cabin, and "trussed" himself in a corner. Tandy stopped for two whole hours with Nelda. She promised to be very good, and not to cry, even if the bad men did come back again. Then she fell soundly asleep, holding her father's finger. He kissed her now and quietly left the cabin, and Janeira herself slipped in and took the camp-stool Tandy had just vacated. The fire was by this time a long distance away, only the trees that had not been destroyed stood at one moment like black spectres in the starlight, but like rugged pillars of crimson and gold when a puff of wind swept through the woods. Waiting and watching! Ah, what a weary thing it is! Hours and hours passed by, and if the men of this little garrison slept at all, it was on the bare ground, and with only their elbows for pillows. But not until far on in the morning watch did the enemy show signs of activity, or give a single token of their presence. The fire was now too far back for the crackling of the flames to be heard, though its red glare and the cloud of rolling smoke that obscured the sky told that it was still blazing fiercely. The sea-birds had gone to rest once more in the rocks, and everything around the encampment was as silent as the grave. A dread silence--a stillness like that which precedes the outbreaking of some fearful storm! And all too soon the storm burst. Book 3--CHAPTER TEN. "AN EYE FOR AN EYE, AND A TOOTH FOR A TOOTH." With a yell that once more scared the sea-birds, and sent them screaming in terror across the waves, a yell that seemed to awaken the echoes in every rock and hill from end to end of the island, the savages sprang to their feet, and rushing towards the palisade, made their first fearful onset. Not twenty yards away were they when they had given voice. So quickly, too, did they rush across the intervening ground, that scarce was there time to fire a rifle volley, far less to train the gun upon the spear-armed mass, before it was close alongside and had surrounded the stockade. In their hundreds, these fearsome savages attempted to scale it; but their bodies were frightfully torn with the spikes, and cries of pain now mingled with those of anger. The defenders ran from one part of the stockade to another, firing from the loopholes; and so densely massed together was the foe that every bullet must have found a billet. In spite of all this, several managed to get over, but were immediately shot down with revolvers, or cut down with sword or cutlass. Small though the loopholes were, spears were several times thrust through, and as each of them was poisoned, a single scratch would have resulted in the agonised death of the receiver. Dark enough it was, and with nothing now but the stars to direct their aim, yet the little band fought well and determinedly, and at last the foe retired, leaving scores of their dead behind--drew off, dragging the wounded away. At that black mass, just as it was nearing the woods, and while the rifles still played upon it, the breechloader, grape-loaded, was trained and fired. So close together were the natives that the carnage must have been terrible. But twice again ere morning they attacked the fort, receiving the same treatment, and being obliged at last to withdraw. When morning broke, the defenders were completely wearied out, and so the little garrison, after two sentries were set, lay down to snatch a few hours' much needed rest. There was no fear of the attack being renewed before sunset, for darkness seemed best to suit the tactics of these sable warriors. In the afternoon of this first day of siege a sally was made from the great gate, and seven men stood ready with their rifles, while four began to remove the dead. Each was dragged to the edge of the cliff and thrown over into the sea. When all were cleared away the gate was once more shut and barred. But though the burial must have been witnessed, no rush was made by the savages to attack them. The afternoon was spent in taking pot-shots at every figure that could be seen in the burned bush. The next attack was made at midnight, and in a manner quite as determined as the first. One of the _Sea Flower's_ men was killed by a spear. It had been thrust with tremendous force through a loophole, and pierced the poor fellow's brain. Tandy himself had a narrow escape. He was about to fire, but, stumbling, fell, and next moment a poisoned arrow whizzed past and over him. There was surely a Providence in this, for only fools believe in blind chance. With the exception of the death of poor Ross, who was an able seaman, there was no other casualty that night. The savages withdrew, but when, next day, the men of the _Sea Flower_ sallied forth to remove the enemy's dead, which they succeeded in doing, it was noticed that many of the spike-nails had, during the fight, been removed. These, however, were easily replaced by others, and many more were added. There was no attack this evening. The savages had determined to endeavour once more to propitiate their "fiend of war," and an immense fire could be seen burning at midnight in the centre of their camp, not more than half a mile from the stockade. The big gun was trained upon this, and a shell planted right in the centre of the dusky mob seemed to work great destruction, and quickly put an end to the orgie. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The terrible siege was kept up for three whole weeks, and, harassed beyond measure with the constant night attacks, affairs were becoming very desperate indeed, and the little garrison was already almost worn out. Day after day it was becoming more apparent to all that utter annihilation was merely a question of time. A council of war was held now, at which every man was present, and various proposals were made, but few indeed were feasible. The number of the defenders was so small, compared to the hundreds of armed savages opposed to them, that a "sally in force," as Tom Wilson who proposed this called it, was out of the question. To attempt to make peace would only be to give themselves away. The savage king would be ready enough to promise anything, but in a few weeks afterwards not one of the poor Crusoes would be left alive. Should they get the largest boat ready, provision her, and put to sea? Surely the ocean itself would be less cruel at its very wildest than those bloodthirsty savages. The question had been put by Tandy himself. He was hoping against hope; he was like a drowning man clutching at straws. For himself he had no thought. He was brave almost to a fault, and, like any other brave man, was willing to die, sword in hand, fighting the foe. "And where can man die better, Than in facing fearful odds?" But his children, especially innocent wee Nelda--ah! that was what softened that heart of his. "My dear Tandy," said Halcott, "the idea of being once more away out on yonder beautiful and peaceful ocean, even if only in an open boat, is one that commends itself to us all, but, alas, it would in this case be but a choice of death. Even if we should succeed in eluding the savages and escaping, which I believe would be almost impossible, we could never reach the mainland." So the council ended, and the little garrison remained precisely as before. It was evident to all, however, that the end could not be far distant, for not only provisions, but ammunition itself, would soon give out. All hands saving Nelda were therefore put on short allowance. Coals were carefully saved, no more being used than was necessary to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water; and not an unnecessary shot was to be fired. But now there came a lull which lasted for three whole days and nights. Two things were evident enough: first, that the enemy were making some change in their mode of warfare; secondly, that the final struggle would soon take place--and indeed, as regards that, many of the men within the little encampment would have preferred to rush forth, cutlass in hand, and finish the fighting at once. Most of the country was devastated by the fire that had been kindled, with the exception of a patch away south and east at the foot of Observatory Hill, on which the proud ensign was still floating, as if to give the besieged some hope and comfort. But one day this patch of jungle, like the famous Birnam Wood, seemed to be slowly advancing towards the camp. Tandy was gazing at it, and looking somewhat puzzled, when Halcott came up. "That is more of their fiendish tactics," he said; "and the scheme, I fear, will be only too successful. You see," he added, "they are piling up heaps of branches; these will defy our rifle bullets, and unfortunately we have no shells left to fire them. Gradually these heaps will be advanced, and under cover of them they will make their next and, I fear, final attack, and it will be made by day." Halcott was right, and in a few days' time the savages were within a hundred yards of the palisade. They no doubt meant to advance as near to it as possible during the hours of darkness, and with might and main attack at sunrise. It was midnight when the movement on the part of the besiegers began, and the cover was then slowly advanced. A gentle breeze had begun to blow away from the camp, and the night was moonless and dark. Presently a hand was laid on Halcott's shoulder. He had been lying near the outer stockade quietly talking with James; while Tandy was in the ship's state-room keeping his little girl company. The poor child was sadly uneasy to-night, and the father was trying his best to comfort her. "What! you here, Lord Fitzmantle?" said Halcott. "I'se heah, sah." It was probably well he said so, for excepting his flashing teeth and rolling eyes, there wasn't much else of him to be seen. "And you're pretty nearly naked, aren't you?" "I'se neahly altogedder naked, sah. I'se got noddings much on, sah, but my skin. I go on one 'spedition [expedition] all same's Dabid of old go out to meet de giant Goliah. Dabid hab sling and stone though; Fitz hab no sling, on'y one box ob matches. You open dat gate, sah, and I go crawl, crawl, all same's one snake, and soon makee one big fire to wahm de hides ob dose black niggahs." "Brave and generous little fellow!" cried Halcott, shaking the boy's hand. "But I fear to risk your life." "You no feah foh me, sah, all I do. I jes' done gone do foh de sake ob dat pooh deah chile Babs. "Good-night, ge'men. You soon see big fire, and you heah de niggahs fizz. Suppose dey killee me, dey no can kill de soul. Dis chile findee his way to Hebben all the same, plenty quick." They let the little lad out. Whether the acute ears of the savages had heard the bolts drawn or not will never be known. Certain it is, however, that Fitz was discovered and wounded. But wounded as he was, he had the determination to light the pile. The savages threw themselves at it, and tore at the burning branches, but this only helped to scatter the flames about. Fitz crawled back, just in time to die inside the stockade. "I go to Hebben now," he said faintly to James, who was kneeling beside him holding his hand. "I'se dun my duty I fink--heah below. I see my pooh old mudder to-night--she--she--" He said no more, and never spoke again. The noble little fellow had indeed done his duty, and doubtless would receive his reward. James Malone was like a wild man now. "Brother Halcott," he cried, "summon all hands to arras, and let us sally forth and give these fiends a lesson. They have done to death this noble little fellow. Come, Halcott, come. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!" He waved his sword aloft as he spoke. So sudden and determined was the sally now made by ten resolute men that, taken thus unexpectedly, the savages became at once unmanned and demoralised. The men of the _Sea Flower_ advanced in a semicircle, and well spread out. After the first volley, the blacks threw a few spears wildly into the darkness, for the terrible conflagration blinded their eyes; but, huddled together as they were, they made an excellent target for the riflemen. Volley after volley was poured into their midst with terrible effect, increasing their confusion every minute. "Lay aft here now, lads!" shouted James. "Down with your guns! Charge with cutlass and revolver. Hurrah!" High above the demoniacal shrieks of the savages and the roaring of the flames rose that wild British cheer. Next moment the revolvers poured upon the foe a rain of death. Again a cheer. Sword and cutlass flashed in the firelight. Right and left, left and right, the men struck out, and blood flowed like water. Towering above all was James himself, with flashing eyes and red-stained blade, his long hair streaming behind in the breeze that fanned the flames. Short but fearful was that onslaught. In the eyes of the terror-stricken savages every man must have seemed a multitude. And no wonder. It was death or victory for the poor Crusoes; and never before did soldier on battlefield, or sailor on slippery battle-deck, fight with greater fury than they did now. But, lo! James has seen the king himself, with his golden-headed spear, which he tries in vain to poise, so crushed and crowded is he in the midst of his mob of warriors. "It is I," shouts James, in the native tongue, "I, whose blood you would have drunk. Drink it now if you dare!" Nothing can withstand him, and soon he has fought his way towards the chief, and next moment the savage throws up his arms and falls dead where he stands. As if moved now but by a single thought, the enemy, with a howl of terror, go rushing away and disappear in the darkness. The victors are left alone with the dead! But, alas! the victory has cost them more than one precious life. Here, stark and stiff, lies the brave young fellow Sackbut, who had fired the bush on the first landing of the savages. And not far off poor Tom Wilson himself. At first they can hardly believe that Tom is dead. He is raised partly on his elbow, and his eyes are fixed on a portrait he has taken from his bosom. Tandy, who found him, had seen that picture before. It was that of his wife. Ah, well, he had sinned, he had suffered, but his sorrows were all past now. Another man is wounded--honest Chips himself. Is this all? Ah, no, for James himself, as he turns to leave the scene of carnage, leans suddenly on his sword, his face looks ghastly pale in the firelight, and Halcott springs forward only in time to prevent him from falling. Book 3--CHAPTER ELEVEN. DEATH OF JAMES. The morning of the victory was a sad enough one in the camp of the Crusoes. The enemy was routed, the king was slain. For a time, at least, there would be a cessation of strife. For how long no one troubled himself to consider; sorrow seemed everywhere, on board and in the camp around. Poor James lay on a mattress on deck. Perhaps he was the only man that smiled or seemed happy. _He_ knew, and Halcott knew too, that he could not last for many days, so grievously was he wounded. Halcott, I need not say, was constant in his attendance on him, and so too was little Nelda. The girl would sit for hours beside him, sometimes reading childish stories to him, which she felt certain, in her own mind, would help to make him better. Or she would gently pat his weather-beaten face, saying, as she did so, "Poor uncle James! poor dear uncle! Never mind! never mind!" The dead were tenderly wrapped in hammocks which were heavily loaded. Theirs would be a sailor's grave. Halcott himself read the beautiful words of the English Church service, the few that were now left of the brave crew of the _Sea Flower_ kneeling bareheaded beside the bodies of their late comrades; more than one was weeping. "We commit their bodies to the deep, And their souls to Him who gave them." Their shipmates just patted the hammocks, before they let them slide, in a way that was very pathetic; then down, one by one, over the cliff they dropped-- "To lie where pearls lie deep." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Halcott returned one day from the cliff-top, some time after this sad funeral, there was a shade of greater uneasiness than usual on his face. James was quick to note it. "They are coming again?" he said quietly. "You have guessed aright," said Halcott. "And they are using the same tactics--coming up under cover of brushwood. There is no Fitz now to fire the heap, and our strength is terribly reduced." "Be of good cheer, Halcott--be of good cheer; it is God Himself who giveth the victory. But death cometh sooner or later to all." "Amen!" said Halcott; "and oh, James, I for one am almost tired of life." "Say not so, brother, say not so, 'tis sinful." How terrible is war, reader! The accounts that we read of this scourge, in papers or in books, seldom show it up in its true colours. We are told only of its glory--its tinsel show of glory. But that glory is but the gilded shell that hides the hideous kernel, consisting of sorrow, misery, murder, and rapine. I am not poor Tandy's judge, and shall not pretend to say whether the resolve he now made was right or wrong. Just under the saloon was the magazine, and when the worst should come to the worst, and the savage foe burst through the outer barrier with yells and howls of victory, his child, he determined, should not be torn from his grasp, to suffer cruelty unspeakable at the hands of the foe. _He would fire the magazine_! "My friends," said Halcott, a morning or two after this, as he stood talking to his garrison of five, "the enemy is advancing in even greater force than on any previous occasion. I have but little more to say to you. Let us bid each other `good-bye' just before the fight begins, and die with our swords in our hands-- "`Like true-born British sailors.'" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The time came at last--and the enemy too. It was one of the brightest days the Crusoes had ever witnessed on this Isle of Misfortune. Even from the cliff-top, or over the barricade, the distant islands could be seen, like emeralds afloat between sea and sky. The volcanic mountain--so clear was the air--appeared almost within gunshot of the camp. For hours and hours there had not been a sound heard anywhere. The monster pile of brushwood, behind which those dusky, fiendish warriors hid, had been advanced to within seventy yards of the palisade, but all was silence there. Even the sea-birds had ceased their screaming. All nature was ominously hushed; the bare and blackened country around the camp lay sweltering in the noon-day heat; and the ensign on Observatory Hill had drooped, till it appeared only as a thin, red line against the upper end of the pole. No one spoke save in a whisper. But with a little more excitement than usual, Halcott advanced to the place where Tandy stood, rifle in hand, his pistols in his belt, waiting like the others for the inevitable. Halcott did not even speak. He simply took his friend by the arm and pointed westward. A cloud lay like a dark pall on the very summit of Fire Hill. Tandy knew the meaning of it. He only shook his head, however. "Too late, I fear!" That was all he said. But hardly had the last word been spoken, before a stranger thing than that cloud on the mountain attracted attention. A huge, smooth, house-high billow was seen gradually approaching the bay from seaward. It gathered strength, and speed too, as it came onwards, and finally it broke on the beach in one long line of curling foam, and with a sound as loud as distant thunder. Wave after wave succeeded it, though they were neither so high nor so swift; then silence once more prevailed, and the sea was as quiet and still as before. Not for long though. For a few minutes' time every man's senses seemed to reel, and a giddy, sickly feeling passed through the brain, such as only those who have visited countries like Japan or South America have ever experienced. It was the first shock of an earthquake! Peal after peal of strange subterranean thunder accompanied it, and a kind of hot wave spread suddenly over the island, like a breeze blowing over a burning prairie. The effect of these manifestations on the enemy was marvellous. For a few moments they were dumb and silent with terror; then yells of fear arose, and they fled indiscriminately away towards the sea beach, throwing away bows, arrows, and spears, and even their scanty articles of apparel, in their headlong, hurried flight. "The fire-fiend! He comes! he comes!" That was their cry now, and their only cry. In a marvellously short time they were seen swarming on the beach, and in all haste dragging down and launching their great war-canoes; and in less than twenty minutes' time they were, to the immense relief of the little garrison, afloat on the now heaving bosom of the deep. When Halcott ran on board the hulk, I do not think he knew quite what he was doing or saying. He seemed beside himself with joy. "Oh, live, brother James! live! Do not die and leave us now that our safety is assured. The savages have fled, they will never return. Live, brother, live?" "Oh, live, poor uncle! live!" cried Nelda; "live for _my_ sake, dear uncle!" Tandy was the next to rush on board, and his first act was to catch his little daughter up, cover her face with kisses, and press her to his breast. "And now, Halcott," he cried at last, "there is just one more shot in the big gun. Come, let us drag her to the cliff. If I can sink but a single boat, I shall be satisfied." But the dying man lifted his hand, and Halcott and Tandy both drew near. "No, brothers, no," he murmured. "Fire not the gun--the battle is the Lord's. He alone--hath given us the victory." And the men knelt there, with bent heads, as if ashamed of the deed they had been about to commit. Ah! but the tears were flowing fast from their eyes. Poor James was dead! Book 3--CHAPTER TWELVE. LEAVES FROM FIRST MATE TANDY'S LOG. Like all the other dead, poor James Malone received the honours of a sailor's burial on the very next day. But, unlike the rest, he was not slipped over the cliff. On the contrary, Halcott determined he should rest far out in the blue, lone sea, where nothing might disturb his rest until "the crack of doom." The last words were those of Halcott himself. So the lightest boat was dragged all the way to the beach, and there, with the body sewn up in a hammock and covered with a red flag, it was launched. There had been no return of the earthquake, but all the previous night flames and smoke had issued from Fire Hill, and no one doubted that an eruption on a vast scale was imminent. There was, however, no danger in leaving little Nelda and her brother alone in the hulk with Janeira and Chips--who was already able to walk--for the savages were far away, indeed, by this time. So Tandy accompanied Halcott, and with them went the others--only five in all. Not a word was spoken until the boat was beyond the bay and in very deep water. "Way enough!" cried Halcott. "In oars!" All sat there with bent, uncovered heads while the captain read the service; but his voice was choked with emotion, and when the shotted hammock took the water with a melancholy boom and disappeared, he closed the book. He could say no more for a time. As a rule seafarers are not orators, though what they do say is generally to the point. Halcott sat for fully a minute like one in a trance, gazing silently and reverently at the spot where the body had disappeared. The bubbles had soon ceased to rise, and there was nothing now to mark the sailor's cemetery. Though-- "He was the loved of all, Yet none on his low grave might weep." "My friends," said Halcott, "there in peace rests the body of my dearest friend, my adopted brother. I never had a brother save him. How much I loved him none can ever know. The world and the ship will be a deal more lonesome to me now that James has gone. For many and many a long year we sailed the seas together, and weathered many a gale and storm. Sound, sound may he sleep, while wind and waves shall sing his dirge. Unselfish was he to the end, and every inch a sailor. His last word was `Victory;' and well may we now add, `O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?' "Out oars, men! Give way with a will!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ They reached the shore in safety, and drew up the boat high and dry. But none too soon; for, before they got on board once more, a terrible thunderstorm had come on, with lightning more vivid than any one on the hulk ever remembered. I have Tandy's log before me as I write, and I do not think I can do better than make a few extracts therefrom. "_The lost Barque, Sea Flower_.--On the rocks, in Treachery Bay, Isle of Misfortune, latitude --, longitude --, August 5, 18--. Buried poor James Malone to-day. Halcott terribly cut up. Doesn't seem to be the same man. But we all miss James; he was so gentle, so kind, and true. We miss Fitz also. His merry ways and laughing face made him a favourite with us all. And honest Tom Wilson; we shall never again hear his sweet music. Thank Heaven that, though the thunder is now rolling, the lightning flashing, and a rain that looks like mud falling, I have my darlings both beside me! In the darkest hours I have ever spent in life, I've always had something to comfort me. Yes, God is good. "The sun is setting. I never saw a sun look so lurid and red before. The thunder continues, but the rain has ceased. There are frequent smart shocks of earthquake. "_August 8_.--Two awful days and nights have passed, and still we are all alive. The days have been days of darkness; the ashes and scoriae have been falling constantly, and now lie an inch at least in depth upon our deck. Nights lit up by the flames that spout cloud-high from the volcano, carrying with them rocks and stones and steam. There is a terribly mephitic vapour over everything. How long this may last Heaven alone can tell." "_August 12_.--Four more fearful days. The eruption continues with unabated horror--the thunderings, the lightnings, the showers of stones and ashes, and the rolling clouds of dust through which, even at midday, the sun glares like a ball of crimson fire. "Poor Chips is dead; we buried him yesterday. More of us are ill. Halcott himself is depressed, and my wee Nelda cares for nothing save lying languidly on the sofa all day long. The thought that she may die haunts me night and day." "_August 13_.--Almost at the last of our provisions. The biscuit is finished; the very dust has been scraped up and eaten. Not more than a score of tins of _soupe en bouille_ left in the ship, and about one gallon of rum. Served out to-day what remained of the salmon, and gave double allowance of rum to-night. "Not a green thing seems to be left on the island." "_August 15_.--Feel languid and weary. Went to prayers to-day. All our hopes must now centre in the life to come; we have none for this." "_August 18_.--The strange crane lies trussed in a corner of the saloon. We force him to eat a little, and Bob sits near him and licks his face. "To-day Bob went off by himself. He was away for hours, and we thought we should never see him again; but in the afternoon he returned, driving before him five little black pigs. Thin and miserable are they, but a godsend nevertheless. "Lava pouring down the hill-side all night long, shimmering green, red, and orange through the sulphurous haze." "_August 20_.--Men more cheerful to-day. The clouds have cleared away, and we can see the sea, and the sun is less red. "Halcott and I climbed Observatory Hill. What a scene! The once beautiful island is burnt as it were to a cinder. Trees are scorched; all, all is dead. We could not bear to look at it. But we cut down the flag-pole, and brought away the ensign. They are useless now. "Who will be the next to die? `O Father,' I cry in my agony, `spare my life while my little one lives, that I may minister to her till the last! Then take my boy and me!'" "_August 22_.--Four bells in the middle-watch. I awoke an hour ago with a start. Halcott, too, had rushed into the saloon. "`Did you hear it?' he cried wildly. "Yes, I had heard. "The unusual sound awoke us all--the sound of a ship blowing off steam in the bay yonder, far beneath us. The sound of anchor chains rattling out, the sound of voices--the voices of brave British sailors! "`Halcott! Halcott!' I cried; `we are saved!' "I'm sure I have been weeping. Nelda is on my knee at this moment while I write, her cheek pressed close to mine. Oh, how good God has been to me! We have fired off guns, and raised our voices in a feeble cheer, and the people have replied. "It is no dream then. "Surely I am not mad! "Oh, will the morning never come? and will the sun never shine again? I--" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The log breaks off abruptly just here, and all that I have further to say was gleaned from Halcott and Tandy themselves. The steamer, then, that had arrived so opportunely to save the few unhappy survivors of the lost _Sea Flower_ was the trader _Borneo_. The very first to welcome them when they went on board at early dawn was honest Weathereye himself. He had a hand for Halcott and a hand for Tandy--a heart for both. "God bless you!" he hastened to say. "Ah! do not tell me your sad story now--no, never a bit of it. The _Dun Avon_ brought your letters, and I could not rest till I came out. "But run below, Halcott; some one else wants to welcome you. You'll be surprised--" Halcott never knew rightly whether he had descended to the saloon on wings or on his feet, or whether he had jumped right down through the skylight. A minute afterwards, however, Doris was weeping in his arms--ah! such glad, glad tears--and Doris's mother arose from a couch with a happy smile. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ That same day, after taking all that was valuable out of the dear old _Sea Flower_--and that _all_ included a fortune in gold--the hull was set on fire. In the evening the steamer left the island, but not before Tandy and Halcott had taken the bearings of the hidden mine. In that cave lies an immense fortune for some one some day. Some hard work and digging will be required, however, before the fortune is finally brought to bank, and those who go to seek it must go fully prepared to fight as fiendish a tribe of man-eating savages as ever yet has been faced in the South Pacific Ocean. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ideal voyages by sea are still to be made, although not in torpedo-boats or in _Majesties_, and this was one of them. The Crusoes of the Island of Gold, once fairly afloat on the briny ocean, soon waxed healthy and strong again, and all hands on board the saucy _Borneo_ were just as happy as happy could be. I must admit, however, that "saucy _Borneo_" is simply a figure of speech. There wasn't, really, a trace of sauciness about the dear, old rumble-tumble of a ship. The skipper was about as rough as they make them; so was his mate--and so were all hands, for that matter. _But_ if they were rough, they were _right_, and just as Dibdin describes a seaman:-- "Though careless and headstrong if danger should press, And ranked 'mongst the free list of rovers, He'll melt into tears at a tale of distress, And prove the most constant of lovers. "To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer, He's gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave-- And this is a true British sailor." As before, Bob and Nelda were the pets of the ship; and 'Rallie, who now did the drollest antics any bird ever attempted, kept all hands laughing from binnacle to bowsprit. Happiness is catching. I gather this from the fact that, after watching Halcott and Doris walking arm-in-arm up and down the quarterdeck one lovely day, with pleasure and love beaming in the eyes of each, bold Captain Weathereye said to himself,-- "How jolly they look! He makes _her_ happy, and she makes _him_. Blame me if I don't make somebody happy myself as soon's I get to port. I'm not so old yet, and neither is Miss Scragley. Ahem!" Well, the reader can guess how it turned out. Many years have passed since the voyage home of the old _Borneo_. Doris is Mrs Halcott now. A pleasant home they have, and Tandy often visits there. Tandy built himself a beautiful house on the very spot where the humble cottage stood; but it isn't called Hangman's Hall. Bob is there, and Murrams is there--good Mrs Farrow kept him while our heroes were at sea; and little Nelda--not so little now--is there, too; while, high and dry, in the gibbet-tree still roosts the droll old Admiral. Ransey Tansey is a man now, and walks his own quarterdeck; but I did hear, only yesterday, that he will soon marry Eedie. There is no Miss Scragley any longer, however. But there is a Mrs Weathereye. Ahem! Yes; and Weathereye and Tandy are almost inseparables, and many a yarn they spin together over their pipes. As the canal yonder, with the sunlight glinting on its breast, goes calmly meandering through the woods and meadows green, so gently pass their lives along. Good-bye, lads! Please, may I come again? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The End.