The Cruise of the Branwen

THE CRUISE OF THE BRANWEN approached the desolated area from the bay. There, it is true, on the south-east of Vesuvius, we had seen the houses of Bosco Trecase over– whelmed in lava and smoking still. The slow, irresistible streams of molten pumice-stone had appeared so unexpectedly that they seemed to have come from some separate rent low down upon the mountain side, and not from the main erater. The few deaths had been eaused among old or bed-ridden persons who would not leave their homes till it was too late, for it was not the lava stream that killed. The showers of bursting stones and red-hot rocks had indeed slain and wounded one or two, but there was shelter against them. It was on the other side of the mountain, between Naples and the erater, that the greatest loss of life occurred. In this district the hail of missiles had been far more terrible and far more fatal in its results. There were also occasional outbursts of white-hot sand and vapour, which rushed down from the crater at appalling speed and shrivelled up everything instantaneously in their path. The railway to Torre Annunziata had been blocked. So it was necessary to drive. As the carriage advanced the darkness grew more dense. It was only half an hour after noon when the black fog came down like a shroud, and both driver and guide refused to proceed. At last a faint light glimmered by the roadside. It was a tiny shrine, with about a score of tiny candles flickering beside it. The kneeling women rose to 32