And above us Vesuvius belched forth that fearful column of smoke and fire which rose, scientists who were on the spot said, to the height of six miles. It was irresistibly fascinating to watch the convolutions of the writhing smoke spirals, thick and of an angry gray hue, with every now and then a puff of white steam like a bursting bomb. The detonations were not so loud as on the previous day, but the mountain-sides still trembled with suppressed fury, and the discharge of volcanic matter was much greater. By this time the ashen walls of the crater had entirely crumbled away, and the mouth yawned across the whole summit. Any personal emotion like fear was lost in a certain awful ecstasy inspired by the spectacle.
Human insignificance is a wholesome realization.
The drive back to the city was slow and distressing, through darkness, with alternating showers of ashes and mud making the road almost impassable for the poor, laboring horses. On the way the king and some of his officers passed us in an automobile. The whole party was so covered with mud and volcanic dust that it was hard to recognize them. That night and often through the following days we saw dreary little processions of people in the streets carrying candles and sacred images, and chanting prayers, as they walked from church to church through the softly falling ashes. Everywhere every one spoke to every one else in the common brotherhood created by a great catastrophe.