Chapter XVIII: Part 18

In 1697, a horrid black cloud, attended with frequent lightnings and thunder, coming with a south-west wind out of Caernarvonshire, in Wales, and passing near Snowdon, was the precursor of a most tremendous hailstorm. In the part of Denbighshire bordering on the sea, all the windows on the weather side were broken by the hailstones discharged from this cloud, and the poultry and lambs, together with a large mastiff, killed. In the north part of Flintshire, several persons had their heads broken, and were grievously bruised in their limbs. The main body of this hail-storm fell on Lancashire, in a right line from Ormskirk to Blackburn, on the borders of Yorkshire. The breadth of the cloud was about two miles, within which compass it did incredible damage, killing all descriptions of fowl and small creatures, and scarcely leaving a whole pane of glass in any of the windows where it passed. What was still worse, it plowed up the earth, and cut off the blade of the green corn, so as utterly to destroy it, the hailstones burying themselves in the ground. These hailstones, some of which weighed five ounces, were of different forms, some round, others semi-spherical; some smooth, others embossed and crenulated, like the foot of a drinking-glass, the ice being very transparent and hard; but a snowy kernel was in the midst of most of them, if not of all. The force of their fall showed that they descended from a great hight. What was thought to be most extraordinary in this phenomenon was, that the vapor which disposed the aqueous parts thus to congeal, should have continued undispersed for so long a tract as upward of sixty miles, and should, during this extensive passage, have occasioned so extraordinary a coagulation and congelation of the watery clouds, as to increase the hailstones to so vast a bulk in so short a space as that of their fall.

On the fourth of May, 1767, at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, after a violent thunder-storm, a black cloud suddenly arose in the south-west, about two o’clock in the afternoon, the wind then blowing strongly in the east, and was almost instantly followed by a shower of hail, several of the hailstones measuring from seven or eight to thirteen or fourteen inches in diameter. The extremity of the storm fell near Offley, where a young man was killed, and one of his eyes was beaten out of his head, his body being in every part covered with bruises. Another person, nearer to Offley, escaped with his life, but was much bruised. At a nobleman’s seat in the vicinity, seven thousand squares of glass were broken, and great damage was done to all the neighboring houses. The large hailstones fell in such immense quantities, that they tore up the ground, and split many large oaks and other trees, cutting down extensive fields of rye, and destroying several hundred acres of wheat, barley, &c. Their figures were various, some being oval, others round, others pointed, and others again flat.

HURRICANES.

The ruin and desolation accompanying a hurricane can scarcely be described. Like fire, its resistless force rapidly consumes everything in its track. It is generally preceded by an awful stillness of the elements, and a closeness and mistiness in the atmosphere, which make the sun appear red, and the stars of more than an ordinary magnitude. But a dreadful reverse succeeding, the sky is suddenly overcast and wild; the sea rises at once from a profound calm into mountains; the wind rages and roars like the noise of cannon; the rain descends in a deluge; a dismal obscurity envelops the earth with darkness; and the superior regions appear rent with lightning and thunder. The earth, on these occasions, often does, and always seems to tremble, while terror and consternation distract all nature: birds are carried from the woods into the ocean; and those whose element is the sea, fly for refuge to the land. The affrighted animals in the fields assemble together, and are almost suffocated by the impetuosity of the wind, in searching for shelter, which, when found, serves them only for destruction. The roofs of houses are carried to vast distances from their walls, which are beaten to the ground, burying their inmates beneath them. Large trees are torn up by the roots, and huge branches shivered off, and driven through the air in every direction, with immense velocity. Every tree and shrub that withstands the shock, is stripped of its boughs and foliage. Plants and grass are laid flat to the earth. Luxuriant spring is in a moment changed to dreary winter. This direful tragedy ended, when it happens in a town, the devastation is surveyed with accumulated horror: the harbor is covered with wrecks of boats and vessels; and the shore has not a vestige of its former state remaining. Mounds of rubbish and rafters in one place; heaps of earth and trunks of trees in another; deep gullies from torrents of water; and the dead and dying bodies of men, women and children, half-buried, and scattered about, where streets but a few hours before were, present to the miserable survivors a shocking conclusion of a spectacle, often followed by famine, and, when accompanied by an earthquake, by mortal diseases. Such is the true and terrific picture of a hurricane in the West Indies, as drawn by an actual observer.

On the Indian coast, hurricanes are both frequent and disastrous. On the second of October, 1746, the French squadron, commanded by Le Bourdonnai, being at anchor in Madras roads, a hurricane came on which in a few hours destroyed nearly the whole of the fleet, together with twenty other ships belonging to different nations. One of the French ships foundered in an instant, and only six of the crew were saved. On the thirtieth of December, 1760, during the siege of Pondicherry, a tremendous hurricane drove ashore and wrecked three British ships belonging to the besieging squadron: the crews were saved. On the twentieth of October of the following year, 1761, the British fleet, then lying in Madras roads, had to encounter a violent hurricane. The men-of-war put to sea, and were thus providentially saved; but all the vessels which still lay at anchor were lost, and scarcely a soul on board saved. On the twenty-ninth of October, 1768, another hurricane was, on the coast of Coromandel, fatal to the Chatham Indiaman, which neglected to put to sea.

In the West Indies, a tremendous hurricane on the twenty-first of October, 1817, was particularly severe at the island of St. Lucie. All the vessels in the port were entirely lost. The government-house was blown down, and all within its walls, comprising the governor, his lady and child, his staff, secretaries, servants, &c., amounting to about thirty persons, were buried in its ruins: not one survived the dreadful accident; and still more horrid to relate, the barracks of the officers and soldiers were demolished, and all within them (about two hundred persons) lost. All the estates on the island were reduced to a heap of ashes. At Dominica, nearly the whole of the town was inundated, with an immense destruction of property.

In Great Britain, a dreadful hurricane, commonly called the great storm, set in at ten at night on the twenty-sixth of November, 1703, and raged violently until seven the next morning. It extended its ravages to every part of the kingdom. In the capital, upward of two thousand stacks of chimneys were blown down. The lead on the tops of several churches was rolled up like skins of parchment. Many houses were leveled with the ground, and by the fall of the ruins, twenty-one persons were killed, and more than two hundred wounded. The ships in the Thames broke from their moorings: four hundred wherries were lost, and many barges sunk, with a great loss of lives. At sea the destruction was still greater: twelve ships of war, with upward of eighteen hundred men on board, were totally lost, together with many merchantmen.

THE MONSOONS.

The setting in of the monsoon, or tropical sea-wind, in the East Indies, is thus described by Forbes in his “Oriental Memoirs.” The scene was at Baroche, where the British army was encamped. “The shades of evening approached as we reached the ground, and just as the encampment was completed, the atmosphere grew suddenly dark, the heat became oppressive, and an unusual stillness presaged the immediate setting in of the monsoon. The whole appearance of nature resembled those solemn preludes to earthquakes and hurricanes in the West Indies, from which the east in general is providentially free. We were allowed very little time for conjecture; in a few minutes the heavy clouds burst over us. I had witnessed seventeen monsoons in India, but this exceeded them all in its awful appearance and dreadful effects. Encamped in a low situation, on the borders of a lake formed to collect the surrounding water, we found ourselves in a few hours in a liquid plain. The tent-pins giving way, in a loose soil, the tents fell down, and left the whole army exposed to the contending elements. It requires a lively imagination to conceive the situation of a hundred thousand human beings of every description, with more than two hundred thousand elephants, camels, horses and oxen, suddenly overwhelmed by this dreadful storm, in a strange country, without any knowledge of high or low ground; the whole being covered by an immense lake, and surrounded by thick darkness, which prevented our distinguishing a single object, except such as the vivid glare of lightning displayed in horrible forms. No language can describe the wreck of a large encampment thus instantaneously destroyed, and covered with water, and this amid the cries of old men and helpless women, terrified by the piercing shrieks of their expiring children, unable to afford them relief. During this dreadful night, more than two hundred persons and three thousand cattle perished, and the morning dawn exhibited a shocking spectacle.”

The south-west monsoon generally sets in very early in certain parts of India. “At Anjengo,” observes the above author, “it commences with great severity, and presents an awful spectacle; the inclement weather continues, with more or less violence, from May to October: during that period, the tempestuous ocean rolls from a black horizon, literally of ‘darkness visible,’ a series of floating mountains heaving under hoary summits, until they approach the shore, when their stupendous accumulations flow in successive surges, and break upon the beach; every ninth wave is observed to be generally more tremendous than the rest, and threatens to overwhelm the settlement. The noise of these billows equals that of the loudest cannon, and, with the thunder and lightning, so frequent in the rainy season, is truly awful. During the tedious monsoon I passed at Anjengo, I often stood upon the trembling sand-bank, to contemplate the solemn scene, and derive comfort from that sublime and omnipotent decree, ‘Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed!’”

WHIRLWINDS AND WATERSPOUTS.

“The dreadful spout
Which shipmen do the hurricano call
Constring’d in mass by the almighty sun.”
SHAKSPEARE (_Troilus and Cressida_.)

In number three hundred and two of the Monthly Magazine, Sir Richard Phillips, in describing a waterspout observed by him, points out the connection between those phenomena and hurricanes, and offers a very philosophical explanation of the formation of the former. It happened to him, he observes, on the twenty-seventh of June, 1817, about seven in the evening, to witness the formation, operation and extinction of what is called a waterspout. His attention was drawn to a sudden hurricane which nearly tore up the shrubs and vegetables in the western gardens, and filled the air with leaves and small collections of the recently cut grass. Very dark clouds had collected over the adjacent country, and some stormy rain, accompanied by several strokes of lightning, followed this hurricane of wind. The violence lasted a few minutes, and it was evident that a whirlwind agitated a variety of substances which had been raised into the air. The storm proceeded from west to east, that is, from Hampstead over Kentish-Town, toward Holloway. In about five minutes, in the direction of the latter place, a magnificent projection was visible from the clouds, somewhat like a tunnel, with the smallest part downward. It descended two-thirds of the distance from the clouds toward the earth, and evidently consisted of parts of clouds descending in a vortex, violently agitated like smoke from the chimney of a furnace recently supplied with fuel. It then shortened, and appeared to be drawn up toward the stratum of clouds, and finally drew itself into the cloud; but a small cone, or projecting thread, of varying size and length, continued for ten minutes. At the time, and for half an hour after, a severe storm of rain was visibly falling from the ruins of clouds connected with it, the extent being exactly defined by the breadth of Holloway, Highgate and Hornsey. About two hours after, it was found that one of the heaviest torrents of rain remembered by the inhabitants, had fallen around the foot of Highgate hill; and some persons having seen the projected cloud, an absolute belief existed that a waterspout had burst at the crossing of the new and old roads. On proceeding toward London, various accounts agreeing with the superstition or preconceived notions of the bystanders were given; and at one place it appeared that some haymakers were stacking hay from a wagon which stood between two ricks, and that the same whirlwind which passed over Kentish-Town, had passed over the loaded wagon with an impetus sufficient to carry it about twenty yards from its station, and to put the men on it and on the rick, in fear of their lives. Passing the road, it carried with it a stream of hay, and, nearly unroofing a shed on the other side, filled the air to a great hight with fragments of hay, leaves and boughs of trees, which resembled a vast flight of birds. A family in the vicinity beheld the descending cloud, or waterspout, pass over, and saw its train, which, at the time, they took to be a flight of birds. They afterward beheld the descending cloud draw itself upward, and they and other witnesses described it as a vast mass of smoke working about in agitation; to them it was nearly vertical in a northern direction; and to persons a quarter of a mile north, it was nearly vertical in a southern direction; and all agree that it drew itself up without rain, and was followed near the earth by the train of light bodies. It appeared also, on various testimony, to let itself down in a gradual and hesitating manner, beginning with a sort of knob in the cloud, and then descending lower, and curling and twisting about till it shortened, and gradually drew itself into the cloud.

The inferences which Sir Richard draws from what he saw and heard, are as follows. That the phenomenon called a waterspout is a mere collection of clouds, of the same rarity as the mass whence they are drawn. That the descent is a mechanical effect of the whirlwind, which creating a vacuum, or high degree of rarefaction, extending between the clouds and the earth, the clouds descend in it by their gravity, or by the pressure of the surrounding clouds or air. That the convolutions of the descending mass, and the sensible whirlwind felt at the earth, as well as the appearance of the commencement, increase and decrease of the mass, all demonstrate the whirl of the air to be the mechanical cause. That the same vortex, whirl or eddy of the air, which occasions the clouds to descend, occasions the loose bodies on the earth to ascend. That, if in this case the lower surface had been water, the same mechanical power would have raised a body of foam, vapor and water, toward the clouds. That, as soon as the vortex or whirl exhausts or dissipates itself, the phenomena terminate by the fall to the lower surface of the light bodies or water, and by the ascent of the cloud. That when water constitutes the light body of the lower surface, it is probable that the aqueous vapor of the cloud, by coalescing with it, may occasion the clouds to condense, and fall at that point, as through a siphon. That if the descending cloud be highly electrified, and the vortex pass over a conducting body, as a church steeple, it is probable it may be condensed by an electrical concussion, and fall at that spot, discharging whatever has been taken up from the lower surface, and producing the strange phenomena of showers of frogs, fish, &c. And, lastly, it appears certain, that the action of the air on the mass of clouds, pressing toward the mouth of the vortex as to a funnel, (which, in this case, it exactly represented,) occasioned such a condensation as to augment the simultaneous fall of rain to a prodigy.

In the month of July, 1800, a waterspout was seen rapidly to approach a ship navigating between the Lipari islands. It had the appearance of a viscid fluid, tapering in its descent, and proceeding from the cloud to join the sea. It moved at the rate of about two miles an hour, with a loud sound of rain, passing the stern of the ship, and wetting the after part of the mainsail. It was thence concluded that waterspouts are not continuous columns of water, which has been confirmed by subsequent observations.

In November, 1801, about twenty miles from Trieste, in the Adriatic sea, a waterspout was seen eight miles to the southward: round its lower extremity was a mist, twelve feet high, nearly of the form of an Ionian capital, with very large volutes, the spout resting obliquely on its crown. At some distance from this spout, the sea began to be agitated, and a mist rose to the hight of about four feet: a projection then descended from the black cloud which was impending, and met the ascending mist about twenty feet above the sea, the last ten yards of the distance being described with great rapidity. A cloud of a light color appeared to ascend in this cloud like quicksilver in a glass tube. The first spout then snapped at about one-third of its hight, the inferior part subsiding gradually, and the superior curling upward. Several other projections from the cloud, appeared with corresponding agitations of the water below, but not always in spouts vertically under them: seven spouts in all were formed, and two other projections reabsorbed. Some of the spouts were not only oblique, but curved, the ascending cloud moving most rapidly in those which were vertical. They lasted from three to five minutes, and their dissipation was not attended with any fall of rain. For some days before the weather had been very rainy, with a south-east wind, but not any rain had fallen on the day of observation.

In some cases, however, the waterspout at sea, is a continuous column of water, carried upward from the surface of the waves, and possibly meeting with water brought down from the clouds and condensed by the force of the revolving hurricane. Such waterspouts are now and then seen on the ocean, having an appearance like that represented in the cut on the next page. And as the wind blows first this way, and then that, they often writhe and bend, from one point to another, while the sea below, and all around, is agitated and covered with foam. Woe to that vessel that comes within the reach of one of these mighty phenomena. It would be crushed and sunk like a leaf on the waters. The usual defense at sea is to fire a cannon-shot into the whirling waterspout, which commonly breaks and dispels it, and causes the water to fall in a tremendous cataract or shower.

Waterspouts, however, are not confined to the ocean. They are occasionally witnessed on the great fresh-water lakes of our own country, as they have been on the inland seas of other parts of the globe. Several of these remarkable phenomena were seen in 1854, on Lake Ontario, two of which were visible at Sodus point. They were dense, cone-shaped columns, and formed a continuous line from the earth to the clouds. One of them, the largest, which was nearly thirty feet in diameter, was precipitated against the bluffs, and broke with a deafening noise upon the rocks below, causing so great a commotion of the waters that a large quantity of logs and lumber were torn from their moorings and washed far out into the lake. The smaller of the two pursued its terrific and onward course as far as the eye could reach, filling the beholders with wonder and astonishment, and awakening such a feeling of grandeur and sublimity that they stood almost mute and statue-like, until the sound of this gigantic column of water died far away in the distance. A portion of the pier of the light-house was swept away by the elements, and considerable damage was done to the light-house. There was a severe storm out on the lake, and several schooners, brigs, &c., came scudding in, under bare poles, seeking security from the tempestuous billows without, upon the placid bosom of the harbor. The velocity and power of the whirlwind which caused these waterspouts, were very great. As it passed on westward in its furious course, it is said that in a town in Ohio, a grove of oak-trees was almost entirely blown down by it. The trunk of one of these trees, on being measured, was found to be about three feet in diameter. Assuming, however, that its diameter was but two and a half feet, it would require to break it, a force of one hundred and forty-nine thousand pounds. The surface of the tree exposed to the action of the wind, was about one thousand square feet, which would give a pressure by the wind of one hundred and forty-seven pounds to the square foot, or a velocity of not less than one hundred and seventy-one miles per hour, which is nearly one-fourth the velocity of a cannon-ball just leaving the cannon. Allowing the hight of the hurricane or whirlwind to have been sixty feet, the whole force exerted, at one time, along its track, was equal to more than half the steam power of the globe!

These corresponding phenomena of whirlwinds have been occasionally productive of much mischief, as the following brief narratives will show. On the thirtieth of October, 1669, about six in the evening, the wind being then westwardly, a formidable whirlwind, scarcely of the breadth of sixty yards, and which spent itself in about seven minutes, arose at Ashly, in Northamptonshire, England. Its first assault was on a milkmaid, whose pail and hat were taken from off her head, and the former carried many scores of yards from her, where it lay undiscovered for some days. It next stormed a farmyard, where it blew a wagon body off the axletrees, breaking in pieces the latter, and the wheels, three of which, thus shattered, were blown over a wall. Another wagon, which did not, like the former, lie across the passage of the wind, was driven with great speed against the side of the farm-house. A branch of an ash-tree, so large that two stout men could scarcely lift it, was blown over a house without damaging it, although torn from a tree one hundred yards distant. A slate was carried nearly two hundred yards, and forced against a window, the iron bar of which it bent. Several houses were stripped; and in one instance, this powerful gust, or stream of air, forced open a door, breaking the latch; whence it passed through the entry, and, forcing open the dairy door, overturned the milk-pans, and blew out three panes of glass. It next ascended to the chambers, and blew out nine other panes. Lastly, it blew a gate-post, fixed two feet and a half in the ground, out of the earth, and carried it many yards into the fields.

On the thirtieth of October, 1731, at one in the morning, a very sudden and terrific whirlwind, having a breadth of two hundred yards, was experienced at Cerne-Abbas, in Dorsetshire. From the south-west side of the town, it passed to the north-east, crossing the center, and unroofing the houses in its progress. It rooted up trees, broke others in the middle, of at least a foot square, and carried the tops a considerable distance. A sign-post, five feet by four, was broken off six feet in the pole, and carried across a street forty feet in breadth, over a house opposite. The pinnacles and battlements of one side of the church-tower were thrown down, and the leads and timber of the north aisle broken in by their fall. A short time before, the air was remarkably calm. It was estimated that this sudden and terrible gust did not last more than two minutes.

About the middle of August, 1741, at ten in the morning, several peasants being on a heath near Holkham, in Norfolk, perceived, about a quarter of a mile from them, a wind like a whirlwind approach them gradually, in a straight line from east to west. It passed through the field where they were plowing, and tore up the stubble and grass in the plowed ground, for two miles in length, to the breadth of thirty yards. In reaching an inclosure at the top of a rising ground, it appeared like a great flash or ball of fire, emitting smoke, and accompanied by a noise similar to that of carts passing over a stony ground. Both before and after the wind passed, there was a strong smell of sulphur; and the noise was heard long after the smoke had been perceived. This fiery whirlwind moved so slowly forward, that it was nearly ten minutes in proceeding from the inclosure to a farm-house in the vicinity, where it did much mischief.

SOUNDS AND ECHOES.

Sound is propagated successively from the sounding body to the places which are nearest to it, then to those more distant, &c. Every observer knows that when a gun is fired at a considerable distance from him, he perceives the flash a certain time before he hears the report; and the same thing is true with respect to the stroke of a hammer, or of a hatchet, the fall of a stone, or, in short, any visible action which produces a sound or sounds. In general, sound travels through the air at the rate of eleven hundred and forty-two feet in a second, or about thirteen miles in a minute. This is the case with all kinds of sounds; the softest whisper flying as fast as the loudest thunder. Sound, like light, after it has been reflected from several places, may be collected into one point as a focus, where it will be more audible than in any other part; and on this principle whispering galleries are constructed. The particulars relative to the celebrated whispering gallery in the dome of St. Paul’s church, London, will be comprehended in the description of that noble edifice.

An echo is the reflection of sound striking against a surface adapted to the purpose, as the side of a house, a brick wall, hill, &c., and returning back again to the ear, at distinct intervals of time. If a person stand about sixty-five or seventy feet from such a surface, and perpendicularly to it, and speak, the sound will strike against the wall, and be reflected back, so that he will hear it as it goes to the wall, and again on its return. If a bell situated in the same way be struck, and an observer stand between the bell and the reflecting surface, he will hear the sound going to the wall, and also on its return. Lastly, if the sound strike the wall obliquely, it will go off obliquely, so that a person who stands in a direct line between the bell and the wall will not hear the echo. According to the greater or less distance from the speaker, a reflecting object will return the echo of several, or of fewer syllables; for all the syllables must be uttered before the echo of the first syllable reaches the ear, to prevent the confusion which would otherwise ensue. In a moderate way of speaking, about three and a half syllables are pronounced in one second, or seven syllables in two seconds: therefore, when an echo repeats seven syllables, the reflecting object is eleven hundred and forty-two feet distant; for sound travels at the rate of eleven hundred and forty-two feet per second, and the distance from the speaker to the reflecting object, and again from the latter to the former, is twice eleven hundred and forty-two feet. When the echo returns fourteen syllables, the reflecting object must be twenty-two hundred and eighty-four feet distant, and so on.

The most remarkable echo recorded, is at the palace of a nobleman, within two miles of Milan, in Italy. The building is of some length in front, and has two wings jutting forward; so that it wants only one side of an oblong figure. About one hundred paces before the mansion, a small brook glides gently; and over this brook is a bridge forming a communication between the mansion and the garden. A pistol having been fired at this spot, fifty-six reiterations of the report were heard. The first twenty were distinct; but in proportion as the sound died away, and was answered at a greater distance, the repetitions were so doubled that they could scarcely be counted, the principal sound appearing to be saluted in its passage by reports on either side at the same time. A pistol of a larger caliber having been afterward discharged, and consequently with a louder report, sixty distinct reiterations were counted. From this example it follows, that the further the reflecting surface is, the greater number of syllables the echo will repeat; but that the sound will be enfeebled nearly in the same proportion, until at length the syllables can not be distinctly heard. On the other hand, when the reflecting object is too near, the repetition of the sound reaches the ear, whilst the perception of the original sound still continues, in which case an indistinct resounding is heard, as may be observed in empty rooms, passages, &c. In such places, several reflections from the walls to the hearer, as also from one wall to the other, and then to the hearer, clash with each other, and increase the indistinctness of the sound.

BURIED CITIES.

THE YANAR, OR PERPETUAL FIRE.

Before passing on to the buried cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii, it may be as well to notice a singular phenomenon, supposed by some to be of volcanic origin, _viz._, the Yanar, or perpetual fire. Captain Beaufort, of the British navy, among the interesting details of his survey of Karamania, on the south coast of Asia Minor, describes this curious phenomenon; and from his account the following particulars are extracted, as supplementary to and connected with the details of volcanoes and their effects.

Having perceived during the night a small but steady light among the hills, he found that this was represented by the inhabitants as a _yanar_ or _volcanic light_; and on the following morning curiosity led him to visit the spot. In the inner corner of a ruined building he came to a wall, so undermined as to leave an aperture of about three feet in diameter, and shaped like the mouth of an oven. From this aperture the flame issued, giving out an intense heat, but without producing any smoke on the wall; and although several small lumps of caked soot were detached from the neck of the opening, the walls were scarcely discolored. Trees, brushwood and weeds, grew close around this little crater; a small stream trickled down the hill in its vicinity; and the ground did not appear to feel the effect of its heat at more than a few yards’ distance. No volcanic productions were perceived near to it; but at a short distance, lower down on the side of the hill, was another hole or aperture, which had apparently been at some remote period the vent of a similar flame. It was asserted, however, by the guide, that, in the memory of the present race of inhabitants, there had been but one such volcanic opening, and that its size and appearance had been constantly the same. He added, that it was never accompanied by earthquakes or noises; and that it did not eject either stones, smoke or noxious vapors; but that its brilliant and perpetual flame could not be quenched by any quantity of water. At this flame, he observed, the shepherds were in the habit of cooking their food. This phenomenon appeared to Captain Beaufort to have existed for many ages, and he was persuaded that it is the spot to which Pliny alludes in the following passage: “Mount Chimera, near Phaselis, emits an unceasing flame, which burns day and night.” Within a short distance is the great mountain of Takhtalu, the naked summit of which rises, in an insulated peak, seventy-eight hundred feet above the level of the sea. In the month of August a few streaks of snow were discernible on the peak; but many of the distant mountains of the interior were completely white for nearly a fourth the way down their sides. It may hence be inferred, that the elevation of this part of Mount Taurus is not less than ten thousand feet, which is equal to that of Mount Etna.

Such a striking feature as this stupendous mountain, in a country inhabited by illiterate and credulous people, can not fail to have been the subject of numerous tales and traditions. Accordingly, the captain was informed by the peasants, that there is a perpetual flow of the purest water from the very apex; and that notwithstanding the snow, which was still lingering in the chasms, roses blew there all the year round. He was assured by the agha of Deliktash, that every autumn a midnight groan is heard to issue from the summit of the mountain, louder than the report of any cannon, but unaccompanied by fire or smoke. The agha professed his ignorance of the cause, but on being pressed for his opinion, gravely replied, that he believed it was an annual summons to the elect, to make the best of their way to Paradise. However amusing this theory may have been, it may possibly be true that such explosions take place. The mountain artillery heard by Lewis and Clarke, among the Rocky mountains, and similar phenomena which are said to have occurred in South America, seem to lend some probability to the account. The natives have also a tradition, that when Moses fled from Egypt, he took up his abode near this mountain, which was therefore named Moossa-Daghy, or the mountain of Moses. Between this story, and the Yanar, as it has been described above, may there not have been some fanciful connection? The site of this volcanic opening is at an inconsiderable distance from the mountain; and the flame issuing from the thicket which surrounds it, may have led to some confused association with the burning bush on Mount Horeb, of which we have the account in the book of Exodus.

POMPEII.

To every traveler through the southern part of Europe, Pompeii and Herculaneum are, of course, the objects of earliest attention and deepest interest. The tragic story of these buried towns is now familiar to most intelligent persons; while the vivid romance of Bulwer makes one feel as if he had known the inhabitants, and almost as though he had been a witness of the catastrophe. The story is recorded not more faithfully by the younger Pliny, in his celebrated letter to Tacitus, than it is plainly read in the material evidence, whose unexpected discovery, almost in our own day, has supplied both to the antiquarian and the geologist, most valued and truthful evidences; contemporary records, expounding to the antiquary an interesting chapter of human history, filled with the minutest details of personal interest, and to the geologist, the close of one and the commencement of another of those great cycles of change, whose history, strangely connected in this instance with the vicissitudes of his own race, engrosses his delighted attention.

A great and rich town, which, after sleeping eighteen centuries in its deep and dark grave, is again shone on by the sun, and stands among other cities as much a stranger to them as any one of its former inhabitants would be among men of the present day, is surely one of the wonders of the world; and such is Pompeii. The distance from Naples to Pompeii, is little more than ten English miles. Near the Torre dell’Annunziata, to the left, and amid hills planted with vineyards, the town itself, which, throwing off its shroud of ashes, came forth from its grave, breaks on the view. The buildings are without roofs, which are supposed to have been destroyed by the lava, or torn off by the hurricane which preceded it. The tracks of the wheels which anciently rolled over the pavement are still visible. An elevated path runs by the side of the houses, for foot-passengers; and, to enable them in rainy weather to pass more commodiously to the opposite side, large flat stones, three of which take up the width of the road, were laid at a distance from each other. As the carriages, in order to avoid these stones, were obliged to use the intermediate spaces, the tracks of the wheels are there most visible. The whole of the pavement is in good condition: it consists merely of considerable pieces of lava, which, however, are not cut as at present into squares, and may have been on that account the more durable.

The part which was first cleared, is supposed to have been the main street of Pompeii; but this is much to be doubted, as the houses on both sides, with the exception of a few, were evidently the habitations of common citizens, and were small and provided with booths. The street itself likewise is narrow: two carriages only could go abreast; and it is very uncertain whether it ran through the whole of the town; for, from the spot where the moderns discontinued digging, to that where they recommenced, and where the same street is supposed to have been again found, a wide tract is covered with vineyards, which may perhaps occupy the places of the most splendid streets and markets, still concealed underneath.

Among the objects which attract particular attention, is a booth in which liquors were sold; the marble table within which, bears the marks of the cups left by the drinkers. Next to this is a house, the threshold of which is inlaid with a salutation in black stone, as a token of hospitality. On entering the habitations, the visitor is struck by the strangeness of their construction. The middle of the house forms a square, something like the cross passages of a cloister, often surrounded by pillars: it is cleanly, and paved with party-colored mosaic, which has an agreeable effect. In the middle is a cooling well, and on each side a little chamber, about ten or twelve feet square, but lofty, and painted with a fine red or yellow. The floor is of mosaic; and the door is made generally to serve as a window, there being but one apartment which receives light through a thick blue glass. Many of these rooms are supposed to have been bed-chambers, because there is an elevated, broad step, on which the bed may have stood, and because some of the pictures appear most appropriate to a sleeping-room. Others are supposed to have been dressing-rooms, from the fact that on the walls a Venus is described decorated by the Graces, added to which, little flasks and boxes of various descriptions have been found in them. The larger of these apartments served for dining-rooms, and in some are suitable accommodations for cold and hot baths.

The manner in which a whole room was heated, is particularly curious. Against the usual wall a second was erected, standing at a little distance from the first. For this purpose large square tiles were taken, having, like modern tiles, a sort of hook, thus keeping the first wall as it were off from them: a hollow space was thus left all around, from the top to the bottom, into which pipes were introduced, that carried the warmth into the chamber, and as it were rendered the whole of the place one stove. The ancients were also attentive to avoid the vapor or smell from their lamps. In some houses there is a niche made in the wall for the lamp, with a little chimney in the form of a funnel, through which the smoke escaped. Opposite to the house-door the largest room is placed: it is properly a sort of hall, for it has only three walls, being quite open in the fore part. The side rooms have no connection with each other, but are divided off in little cells, the door of each leading to a fountain.

Most of the houses consist of one such square, surrounded by rooms. In a few, some decayed steps seem to have led to an upper story, which is no longer in existence. Some habitations, however, probably belonging to the richer and more fashionable, are far more spacious. In these, a first court is often connected with a second, and even with a third, by passages: in other respects their arrangements are similar to those above described. Many garlands of flowers and vine-branches, and many handsome pictures, are still to be seen on the walls. The guides were formerly permitted to sprinkle these pictures with fresh water, in the presence of travelers, and thus revive their former splendor for a moment: but this is now strictly forbidden; and, indeed, not without reason, since the frequent watering might at length totally rot away the wall.

One of the houses belonged to a statuary, whose workshop is still full of the vestiges of his art. Another appears to have been inhabited by a surgeon, whose profession is equally evident from the instruments discovered in his chamber. A large country-house near the gate, undoubtedly belonged to a very wealthy man, and would, in fact, still invite inhabitants within its walls. It is very extensive, stands against a hill, and has many stories. Its finely decorated rooms are unusually spacious; and it has airy terraces, from which you look down into a pretty garden, that has been now again planted with flowers. In the middle of this garden is a large fishpond, and near that an ascent from which, on two sides, six pillars descend. The hinder pillars are the highest, the middle somewhat lower, and the front the lowest: they appear, therefore, rather to have propped a sloping roof, than to have been destined for an arbor. A covered passage, resting on pillars, incloses the garden on three sides; it was painted, and probably served in rainy weather as an agreeable walk. Beneath is a fine arched cellar, which receives air and light by several openings from without; consequently its atmosphere is so pure, that in the hottest part of summer it is always refreshing. A number of _amphoræ_, or large wine-vessels, are to be seen here, still leaning against the wall, as the butler left them when he carried up the last goblet of wine for his master. Had the inhabitants of Pompeii preserved these vessels with stoppers, wine might still have been found in them; but as it was, the stream of ashes running in, of course forced out the wine. More than twenty human skeletons of fugitives, who thought to save themselves here under ground, but who must have experienced a tenfold more cruel death than those suffered who were in the open air, were found in this cellar.

The destiny of the Pompeians must have been dreadful. It was not a stream of fire that encompassed their abodes: they could then have sought refuge in flight. Neither did an earthquake swallow them up; sudden suffocation would then have spared them the pangs of a lingering death. _But a rain of ashes buried them alive_ BY DEGREES! Hear the delineation of Pliny: “A darkness suddenly overspread the country; not like the darkness of a moonless night; but like that of a closed room, in which the light is of a sudden extinguished. Women screamed, children moaned, men cried. Here, children were anxiously calling their parents; and there, parents were seeking their children, or husbands their wives; all recognized each other only by their cries. The former lamented their own fate, and the latter that of those dearest to them. Many wished for death, from the fear of dying. Many called on the gods for assistance: others despaired of the existence of the gods, and thought this the last eternal night of the world. Actual dangers were magnified by unreal terrors. The earth continued to shake, and men, half-distracted, to reel about, exaggerating their own fears, and those of others, by terrifying predictions.”

Such is the frightful but true picture which Pliny gives us of the horrors of those who were, however, far from the extremity of their misery. But what must have been the feelings of the Pompeians, when the roaring of the mountain and the quaking of the earth, awaked them from their first sleep? They also attempted to escape the wrath of the gods; and, seizing the most valuable things they could lay their hands upon in the darkness and confusion, endeavored to seek their safety in flight. In this street, and in front of the house marked with the friendly salutation on its threshold, seven skeletons were found: the first carried a lamp, and the rest had still between the bones of their fingers something that they wished to save. On a sudden they were overtaken by the storm which descended from heaven, and buried in the grave thus made for them. Before the above mentioned country-house, was still a male skeleton, standing with a dish in his hand; and, as he wore on his finger one of those rings which were allowed to be worn by Roman knights only, he is supposed to have been the master of the house, who had just opened the back garden gate with the intent of flying, when the shower overwhelmed him. Several skeletons were found in the very posture in which they had breathed their last, without having been forced by the agonies of death to drop the things they had in their hands. This leads to a conjecture, that the thick mass of ashes must have come down all at once, in such immense quantities as instantly to cover them. It can not otherwise be imagined how the fugitives could all have been fixed, as it were by a charm, in their position; in which manner their destiny was the less dreadful, seeing that Death suddenly converted them into motionless statues, and thus was stripped of all the horrors with which the fears of the sufferers had clothed him in imagination. But what then must have been the pitiable condition of those who had taken refuge in the buildings and cellars! Buried in the thickest darkness, they were secluded from everything but lingering torment; and who can paint to himself without shuddering, a slow dissolution approaching, amid all the agonies of body and of mind? The soul recoils from the contemplation of such images.

To proceed now to the public edifices. The temple of Isis is still standing, with its Doric pillars, and its walls painted with emblems of the service of the deity, such as the hippopotamus, cocoa-blossom, ibis, &c. A view of it is given in the cut. The sacred vessels, lamps and tables of Isis, are still to be seen. From a little chapel within, a poisonous vapor is said to have formerly arisen, which the heathen priests may have used for every species of deception. This vapor is said to have increased after the violent eruption of Vesuvius; but it has not latterly given out the slightest smell. A small Grecian temple, of which only two pillars remain, had been probably already destroyed by an earthquake, which, in the reign of Titus, preceded the dreadful irruption of the volcano. On the opposite side of this temple there is still an edifice, called the quarters of the soldiers, because all sorts of arms, pictures of soldiers, and a skeleton in chains, were found there. By others it has been considered as the forum of Pompeii.

Two theaters, the smaller one particularly, are in an excellent state of preservation. The structure of this one is such as was usually adopted by the ancients, and is better arranged than some of modern construction, as it affords the spectators commodious seats, a free view of the stage, and facility of hearing. Although sufficiently large to contain two thousand persons, the plebeians, standing in a broad gallery at the top, were quite as able to see all that was passing on the stage, as the magistrate in his marble balcony. In this gallery the arrangements for spreading the sail-cloth over the spectators are still visible. The stage itself is very broad, as it has no side walls; and appears less deep than it really is. A wall runs across it, and cuts off just as much room as is necessary for the accommodation of the performers. But this wall has three very broad doors; the middle one is distinguished by its hight, and the space behind it is still deeper than in front. If these doors, as may be conjectured, always stood open, the stage was in fact large, and afforded besides the advantage of being able to display a double scenery: if, for example, the scene in front was that of a street, there might have been behind a free prospect into the open field.

The cemetery lies before the gate of the high road. The tomb of the priestess Mammea is very remarkable: it was erected, according to the epitaph, by virtue of a decree of the decemvirs. In the midst of little boxes of stone, in square piles, and on a sort of altar, the family urns were placed in niches; and without these piles the broken masks are still to be seen. In front of the cemetery, by the road-side, is a beautiful seat, forming a semicircle, that will contain twenty or thirty persons. It was probably overshaded by trees eighteen hundred years ago; under which the women of Pompeii sat in the cool evenings, while their children played before them, and viewed the crowds which were passing through the gate.

To the above particulars from the pen of the elegant and lively Kotzebue, the following details, given by a later and accurate traveler, are subjoined. The entrance into Pompeii is by a quadrangular court; and this court is surrounded on every side by a colonnade which supports the roof of a gallery; and the latter leads to several small apartments, not unlike the cells of a prison. The columns are of brick, stuccoed over, and painted of a deep red: they are in hight from ten to twelve feet, are placed at about a like distance from each other, and are of the Doric order, fluted two-thirds from the top, and well proportioned. After a variety of conjectures relative to the purpose to which this building was applied, it has been ascertained that it was either a barrack for soldiers, (various pieces of armor having been found in some of the cells,) or the prætorium of the governor, where a body of military must have been stationed. Adjacent to it stood the theaters, the forum, and one or two temples, all connected by very neat and well-paved courts. The smaller of the theaters is to the right, and is called the covered theater, because it was so constructed, that by the means of canvas awnings, the spectators were defended from the sun and rain. A door through the wall leads to the different galleries, and to the open space in the center, resembling the pit of a modern theater. The interior is beautifully neat; and with the exception of the spoliation of the marble slabs, removed to the palace at Naples, with which the whole of the inside, not excepting the seats, had been covered, it is in excellent preservation. On each side are the seats for the magistrates; the orchestra, as in modern theaters, is in front of the stage; and the latter, with its brick wings, is very shallow. This theater was calculated to contain about two thousand spectators. From its level a staircase leads to an eminence on which several public buildings are situated. The most conspicuous of these is a small temple said to have been dedicated to Isis, and having a secret passage, perforated in two places, whence the priests are supposed to have delivered to the deluded multitude the oracles of that deity.