The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-05-14
yesuvius and POmpeii.

A glorious morning in Naples, all aboard
for Herculaneum, Pompeii and Mt. Vesu-
vius 1t is perfect day for the excur-
sion round the Bay of Naples. Almond
and peach blooms whiten the landscape.
The fields are living green; the sea and
sky are a rejoicing blue. Everything
brightens with the spring. Only the fig.
tree sleeps. When it putteth forth its
leaves we know summer is nigh that is,
spring is almost gone. The Campagna is
alive with husbandmen. Here the fields
and manners which Virgil sings, and here
the tomb containing the urn where his
ashes lie. 1t stirs most tender memories,
although it is simple memorial:
In Mantua born, but in Calabria bred,
Fair Naples owns me now
Cicero's villa is also in sight, and the
home of Tasso, and the baths of Nero,
and the remains of luxurious Roman gen.
erals and emperors who came to the warm
springs of Baie, eighteen hundred years
ago. The train takes you along the base
of Mt. Vesuvius, white village among
the green trees and vines appearing every
half mile, to Resina which is built over
the ancient buried city of Herculaneum,
to Pompeii, fourteen miles away. You
spend three hours among the homes of
the silent city of the dead, and after din
ner, which is provided near the gate of
entrance, return by rail to Tore del Greco,
where you find carriage and two horses
sent out from Naples to take g0u up the
slope of Mount Vesuvius. You pass the
Government Observatory, on the foot of
the mountain railway. 1t is a grand ride
of three hours, rising by slow degrees up
that magnificent cone, the city and Bay
of Naples and islands and ocean coming
out more and more clearly as you ascend,
till you find yourself at the center of
wonderful amphitheater of Southern Italy.
You feel that the world has but one view
of such grandeur and symmetry and fine
ness of finish, and that is the one before
you, and no other. Leaving your carriage
at the mountain railway, you enter the
car. The ascent is very steep, and at one
] place almost perpendicular. The road
makes no curve. The car moves rapidly,
and in ten minutes you are within less
than half-hour's walk of the crater. You
mount chair and four stslwart noun
taineers bear you through smoke and
steam, midst the rumbling of the volcano
and the melted lava, to the very edge of the
bowl, in which, as in mighty cauldron,
the fiery mass seethes and rocks and
thunders and foams. 1t is terrifcally
grand. The mountain seems filed with
surging fire that rises up every half minute
in awful explosion, throwing up columns
of smoke dark as midnight, and streaked
with lurid fire. This melted matter falls
back with crashing, fearful sound, lodging
in part on the edge of the crater. Before
you are recovered from one stunning sensa-
ton, another explosion breaks on you, more
overpowering than before, the steam COM
ing up through every crevice at your feet,
and the whole summit enveloped in cloud.
The red lava, as it is thrown high in air
in massive form, seems heated in the fur
mace of Vulcan, and as it falls back down
into the boiling sea of fire, the sight is no
more terrible than the noise is astound-
ing. The crater seems like mighty pit
of liquid fire thrown up in burning waves
from side to side, scorching, blisteripg
and tearing all before it. How can the
mountain endure such a strain How
can the eye bear such binding brilliance
of vast masses of fire The crater is two
miles in circumference and you must
make the circuit. The terror of the up
heaving fire and shower of ashes and
smoke and stones does not abste. The
trembling of the mountain strikes terror
into strong nerves. You remember the
tragical death of the elder Pliny nearly
two thousand years ago, and the thou.
sands that have been destroyed since
The explosions continue to deafen you.
You remember the lone city of Pompeii,
where you have spent the morning, and
you decide not to spend the summer there.
1t is the most sublime scene | ever wit
messed. Nothing before ever made SO
deep and tremendous an impression. 1t
is the most active volcano in the world.
Smoke never ceases to float off from it as
long pennant from the head, and the
crater never fails to show fire to those who
visit it and it may be seen almost every
night from Naples. But on this bright
day in March it spoke with tongue of
fire and blackness of darkness never to
be forgotten. Its words were red-hot
boulders and its periods were ribbons of
crimson. The government has house
far up the mountain, and telegraph wires
to the summit, where watchers are sta
toned day and night to report to the in
habitants who seem to delight to dwell ON
the slopes below. These sentinels give sig
mails of any unusual disturbance, and
indicate whether an earthquake is threat
ened, or an overflow of lava, or merely
ashes and scoris. The beautiful island
of Ischia is in mourning for the four
thousand killed by an earthquake there
last summer, and Mt. Vesuvius showed a
very deep and intimate sympathy with
that event. The dead cities of Hercula-
neum and Pompeii at the foot of this liv-
ing mountain, are testimony through
the centuries to its power to kill Hercu.
laneum has not been exhumed from the
solid lava poured into it but Pompeii
stands perfect town, as if it were de-
serted but yesterday, and as you walk
through its streets and houses, you feel
the inhabitants must return in a few
days, yet the long night of ages rests
down upon them and you will never see