CHAPTER XXII.

OTHER GREAT ERUPTIONS.

“Hast thou observed the ancient tract, That was trodden by wicked mortals, Who were arrested on a sudden, Whose foundation is a molten flood? Who said to God, Depart from us, What can Shaddai do to us? Though he had filled their houses with wealth. (Far from me be the counsel of the wicked!) The righteous beheld and rejoiced, The innocent laughed them to scorn, Surely their substance was carried away, And their riches devoured by fire.”

Such is Dr. Henderson’s translation of Job XXII, 15-20. By many the passage has been supposed to refer to the destruction of the cities of the plain, and used to support the theory that a volcanic eruption was the means of their overthrow. If the theory were true, the catastrophe is the earliest historic eruption. A brief statement of the reasons for the belief may interest the reader.

The entire Dead Sea valley is depressed far below the level of the sea. From the Dead Sea to the head of the Red Sea is a well-marked trough, supposed to indicate that the Jordan once emptied into the Red Sea. The adjacent Sinaitic peninsula is a volcanic region, which may have been in eruption when the Israelites passed it. Dr. Robinson reports water marks left high on the cliffs, far to the south of the Dead Sea. Fragments of lava have been picked up among the salt-crusts and bituminous deposits on the shores.

In short, the region is one in which, at some time, volcanic action occurred. It lies between two great volcanic

centers: Sinai, and the volcanic region of Arabia and Syria. The question really is, whether any disturbance occurred there at so late a period as the destruction of Sodom.

The idea advanced by several thoughtful men is, that in the bituminous plain occupied by the cities, fissures opened and flames and cinders issuing, rained upon the inflammable surface, speedily destroying the cities, which sunk with the earth till the sea covered them. Such cases, minus the bitumen, have several times occurred. And, again, the sea might have existed before, and merely have been extended by the convulsion. Such is the substance of the theory.

Cases in support of it are not wanting. The city of Euphemia, in Calabria, was so swallowed up in 1638. Kircher, who was near at the time, tells how he and his companions, unable to keep their feet, during the violent earthquake, lay upon the ground till the paroxysms were somewhat abated. Rising and looking for Euphemia, only a frightful black cloud was seen. It slowly cleared away revealing a loathsome and putrid lake. No trace of the city or its inhabitants was ever found.

In the island of Trinidad is a vast lake of pitch, of which the Indian legend tells the origin. The words are Kingsley’s:

“Once that dark and loathly pitch-lake Was a garden, bright and fair, And the Chaymas, from the mainland, Built their palm ajoupas there.

There they throve, and there they fattened. Hale and happy, safe and strong, Passed the livelong days in feasting, Passed the nights in dance and song.

Till they cruel grew, and wanton, Till they killed the colibris, Then outspoke the Great good Spirit, Who can see through all the trees.”

The spirit proceeded to remind the Chaymas of all the good things he had provided for them; how he had allowed them unlimited use of all things which could be of any possible good to them; how he had even been patient with their thanklessness. Only the colibris or humming-birds, useless to the Chaymas, he had reserved for himself, that he might have pleasure in their beauty and happiness. The story continues:

“But the Chaymas’ ears were deafened; Blind their eyes, and could not see, How a blissful Indian’s spirit Lived in every colibri.

Lived, forgetting pain and sorrow, Ever fair and ever new, Whirring round the dear old woodland, Feeding on the honeydew.

Then one evening roared the earthquake, Monkeys howled, and parrots screamed, And the Guaraons, at morning Gathered here, as men who dreamed.

Sunk were gardens, sunk ajoupas, Hut and hammock, man and hound, And above the Chayma village, Boiled with pitch the cursed ground.”

The salient points of the evidence being presented, the reader may draw his own conclusions. Perhaps the cities were fired in the manner suggested--perhaps lightning ignited the bitumen. But it is generally supposed that their site lies beneath the sea.

After the account given of Vesuvius, the reader will no doubt be surprised to learn that this noted mountain can not rank as more than a respectable fourth-rate volcano. It will require but a brief comparison with others to show that such is the case.

By far the largest volcano in Europe, and next to Vesuvius, the most noted, is Mt. Etna, in the island of Sicily. It was well known to the ancients, and appears to have been in eruption from the most remote historic times. Diodorus Siculus records that a violent eruption caused an adjacent district to be deserted by its inhabitants before the Trojan war. Thucydides tells of three eruptions between the colonization of Sicily by the Greeks and the Peloponnesian war--431 B. C.

Notwithstanding the great antiquity of the records of this mountain, but little detail is known of its earlier eruptions. The first of which any extended account exists is the great outbreak of 1669. The convulsion began with a tremendous earthquake. Many villages and towns in the adjacent districts were leveled to the earth. In the plain of St. Lio, a fissure six feet wide and twelve miles long and of unknown depth opened from north to south with a terrific, crashing noise, and extended nearly to the top of the mountain. Flashes of intense light poured from it. Five other parallel fissures afterwards opened, one after the other, emitting smoke, and the most horrid bellowings, which were heard to the distance of forty miles.

This explains the manner in which dykes or banks of lava are thrown up amid other rocks. The light emitted by these fissures would indicate that they were, to a certain height, filled with glowing lava.

The lava, during this eruption, having overwhelmed and destroyed fourteen towns, some of them containing three or four thousand inhabitants, at length arrived at the walls of Catania, a populous city, situated ten miles from the volcano. These walls had been raised sixty feet high, towards the mountain, in order to protect the city, in case of an eruption. But the burning flood accumulated against the wall, so as to fill all the space around and below that part, and finally poured over it in a fiery cataract, destroying every thing in that vicinity.

From Catania the lava continued its course until it reached the sea, a distance of fifteen miles from its source, in a current about eighteen hundred feet broad, and forty feet deep. While moving on, its surface was, in general, a mass of solid rock, or cooled lava, and it advanced by the protrusion of the melted matter, through this hardened crust.

As an illustration of the intense heat of volcanic matter, the Canon Recupero relates that in 1766 he ascended a small hill composed of ancient volcanic matter, in order to observe the slow and gradual manner in which a current of liquid fire advanced from Ætna. This current was two and a half miles broad; and, while he stood observing it, two small threads of lava, issuing from a crevice, detached themselves from the main stream, and approached rapidly towards the eminence where he and his guide were standing. They had only just time to escape, when they saw the hill on which they stood a few minutes before, and which was fifty feet high, entirely surrounded, and, in about fifteen minutes, entirely melted down into the burning mass, so as to be incorporated with, and move on along with it.

According to Hitchcock, 77,000 persons perished during the eruption of 1769, and eighty-four square miles were covered with lava.

The slowness with which lava cools may be inferred that ten years later, workmen endeavoring to sink a shaft through the bed were forced to abandon the work when near the bottom, by reason of the heat.

While this was Ætna’s greatest outbreak, several of terrible destructiveness have occurred since. In 1693 an eruption was accompanied by earthquake shocks, which in three days did more damage than the lava. Catania was almost destroyed; great sea-waves rolled in upon the

wreck; the vessels in the harbor were dashed against each other or upon the beach: the ringing of the bells and the roar of the mountain and sea was mingled with the cries of thousands of unfortunates struggling in the ruins. Not less than 16,000 people perished in Catania alone.

In 1755 occurred an eruption which is memorable for the great flood which attended it. Immense quantities of snow and ice, accumulated about the summit, were melted by the intense heat, and the waters rushed down in a column thirty feet deep and one and three-quarters miles wide, into the plain below. The lower portion of the valley was filled with the debris. Those who were not buried in the rubbish were swept out to sea. The total loss of life is not exactly known, but amounted to many thousands.

Second in volume to the eruption of 1669, but very slightly destructive, is the eruption of 1852-53. It began August 20, 1852, and continued nine months. “The united width of the lava streams was two miles, with a depth of from eight to sixteen feet, piled up in some places to one hundred feet. It reached to near Zarafana,--almost six miles, descending thirty-five hundred feet in sixteen days. The Val del Bove, from the upper part of which it proceeded, looked like a sea of fire. Explosions as of artillery were frequently heard, and the scoriæ were sent up to great heights.” The intense heat set fire to the trees in the vicinity.

In January, 1865, a considerable eruption took place from an immense fissure on the northeastern slope of the mountain. Seven active craters developed along the fissure, sending out a lava stream one and one-half miles wide.

Three other eruptions have taken place from Ætna since 1853; but, save some damage to property, these have been comparatively unimportant, save from a geological standpoint. One began in 1874 from a fissure on the north side, but suddenly ceased. Prof. Silvestri, after examining the locality, asserted that the next eruption would take place from this same fissure. Five years later his assertion was verified, large streams of lava being sent out, with heavy showers of ashes and sand. Large areas of forest were destroyed, and the stream drew alarmingly near some populous villages, but stopped not far from a small river. The area of the lava bed was about seven hundred and fifty acres, the volume being about twenty-three and a half million tons.

Ætna’s last eruption was in May, 1886; a few houses were destroyed, but no lives were lost. Ætna and the adjacent Lipari Islands exhibited unusual activity during the entire seventeenth century, having a total of fourteen eruptions; as many as are recorded in all their previous history. The next century witnessed fifteen outbursts from Ætna, and during the present one there have been eleven.

It will be noticed that both Vesuvius and Ætna seem to have reached their maximum activity at the close of the last century. The same is true of the volcanoes of Iceland. This island, which is as large as Ireland, is built up entirely of volcanic matter. It doubtless began with a single, great submarine volcano; but to-day it has at least thirteen active vents. It presents us with the most tremendous outpour of matter in the history of the world. For seven hundred years there has not been an interval of forty, and seldom of more than twenty, without eruptions and earthquakes in some portion of the island. Single eruptions of Mt. Hecla have lasted six years. Often during violent earthquakes, old mountains have disappeared; new ones have been raised up; rivers turned from their courses, or dried up altogether. The old Norseman who discovered the island might much more appropriately have named it Fireland. Doubtless had his ancestors known the island they would have chosen it as the home of the terrible fire giants.

But Iceland is the realm of both frost and fire; and there is no more romantic or painful chapter in history than the story of this hardy and spirited race to maintain their foothold in the face of such terrible odds. Those who hold that a nation’s progress and stamina are in proportion to its material advantages, would have to make an exception in favor of blood. The plucky Norsemen have held their own in this region for nine centuries; nor is there any deterioration. No nation can to-day show a better intellectual or moral condition than these poor but hardy islanders. Yet there is not a region of the world that has been more frequently or terribly scourged than this semibarren island.

The best known volcano in Iceland is Mt. Hecla, which ranks with Ætna and Vesuvius in fame. It is not the highest nor most remarkable of Icelandic volcanoes; but the frequency of its eruptions, together with the fact that it may be easily reached, have brought it to the front. It is five thousand feet high, and lies but thirty-five miles from the sea. The larger portion of the material thrown out by it consists of slag, cinders, pumice, and ashes, the slope of its cone being about 35 degrees. It has nothing answering to the customary crater; the eruptions break from fissures in its sides; and, in consequence, it may emit several streams or showers at once.

Hecla has been in eruption about thirty times since its character was first known, and has at times made fearful havoc. Its last great outbreak was in 1878.

Hecla has adjutants in this volcanic field that are more savage and relentless than the generalissimo. One of the most destructive outbursts of recent times occurred in the Vatna district in 1875. In this region, about sixty

miles by one hundred and fifteen, is a very nest of volcanoes. The convulsion lasted several months, the entire region being active; and great numbers of people perished. So great was the destruction of property, crops, and flocks that the people, reduced to starvation, were compelled to appeal to Britain and Denmark for assistance. This has happened more than once in Iceland’s history.

But far up in the impenetrable deserts of the interior is a mountain which has seldom shown any activity; but when in full blast, its power is unsurpassed by any volcano on the globe. This is the fearful Skaptar Jokul, or Skaptar mountain. A single instance of its power will suffice.

One of the most stupendous outbreaks recorded in history is that of Skaptar Jokul in 1783. In the quantity of lava ejected, it is hardly surpassed by any single eruption; and few disturbances of the sort have surpassed it in fatality. Immense volumes of ashes were hurled into the air, spreading over the whole island in dense clouds. Streams were poisoned by the minerals and alkalies thrown out. Immense numbers of sheep and cattle perished. Thousands of acres of pasture lands were ruined. Where the grass was not killed, it often was rendered poisonous, like the water, by the mineral dust falling upon it. The hills were dotted with the decaying carcasses. The air was filled with horrible stench. The ashes fell in such volumes into the ocean that the fish deserted the coast. The flying clouds of dust spread to Europe. The appalling horror of the scene can hardly be imagined. Death stalked abroad in his most repulsive form.

“The river Skapta, a considerable stream, was for a time completely dried by a torrent of liquid fire. This river was about two hundred feet broad, and its banks from four to six hundred above the level of the water. This defile was entirely filled for a considerable distance by the lava, which crossed the river by the dam thus formed, and overflowed the country beyond, where it filled a lake of considerable extent, and great depth.

“This eruption commenced on the 11th of June. On the 18th of the same month, a still greater quantity of lava rushed from the mouth of the volcano, and flowed with amazing rapidity, sometimes over the first stream, but generally in a new course. The melted matter having crossed some of the tributary streams of the Skapta, completely dammed up their waters and caused great destruction of property and lives by their overflow. The lava, after flowing for several days, was precipitated down a tremendous cataract, called Stapafoss, where it filled a profound abyss, which that great water-fall had been excavating for ages, and thence the fiery flood continued its course.

“On the 3rd of August, a new eruption poured forth fresh floods of lava, which, taking a different direction from the others, filled the bed of another river, by which a large lake was formed, and much property and many lives destroyed.

“The effect of this dreadful calamity may in some measure be imagined when it is known that, although Iceland did not at that time contain more than fifty thousand inhabitants, there perished nine thousand human beings by this single eruption, making nearly one in five of the whole population. Part of them were destroyed by the burning lava itself; some by drowning, other by noxious vapors which the lava emitted, and others in consequence of the famine, caused by the showers of ashes, which covered a great proportion of the island and destroyed most of the vegetation. The fish, also, on which the inhabitants depended, in a great measure, for food, entirely deserted the coast.”

The quantity of lava which Skaptar Jokul emitted during this eruption was almost beyond belief. The two principal branches were respectively forty and fifty miles long. The branch which crossed the Skapta was from twelve to fifteen miles wide; the width of the other was seven miles. The usual depth was one hundred feet; but two and three hundred were frequent; and where the streams dashed across gorges or narrow valleys the depth was six or seven hundred. It would be quite safe to estimate the average depth at one hundred and fifty feet. These two principal streams were, then, sufficient to cover one thousand square miles to a depth of one hundred and fifty feet. Contrast with this the twenty million cubic meters estimated to have been poured forth in one of the great Vesuvian eruptions. This last would cover one square mile to a depth of twenty-five feet. Vesuvius sinks to an insignificance that is pitiable; its great outbreak produced but one-six thousandths as much as the single eruption of Skaptar Jokul! Such calculations may give us a comparative estimate of the two; but no figures can give us any conception of the force required to elevate such a stream of melted rock through the crust of the earth. And if we compare the resultant fatality, it is clear that this great convulsion, in a very sparsely settled island, destroyed more lives than all the outbursts of Vesuvius in its densely populated neighborhood.

This eruption of Skaptar was preceded by several outbreaks in the sea; some of them close to the shore; some many miles from land. Such phenomena have become tolerably familiar. Livy informs us that a disturbance of this kind near Sicily, occurring with similar phenomena at the time of Hannibal’s death, so terrified the Romans as to induce them to proclaim a day of supplication to the gods to avert their displeasure. Santorin in the Grecian Archipelago is a similar production. And in 1831 an island was thrown up to the southwest of Sicily, where previous soundings had shown a depth of six hundred feet. It was preceded by a violent spouting of steam and water. The sea around was filled with floating pumice and dead fish. The crater reached a height of two hundred feet, being three miles in circumference. Its circular basin was full of boiling, dingy, red water. It continued active three weeks, and then slowly sank, leaving a dangerous reef eleven feet below the surface; while a single black volcanic rock projected from the sea near the center of the reef. It is known as Graham’s Island. Thus we see that volcanic action is not confined to the land, and that the areas affected are continually shifting.

Jorullo, in Mexico, affords an example of the way in which new volcanoes are constantly being formed. In the parallel of the City of Mexico exist five volcanoes, extending in a line across the country as if thrown up along some immense fissure or subterranean fault, extending from sea to sea. Of these Popocatepetl is perhaps the largest, and Jorullo the most recent.

There formerly existed in Mexico an extensive plain of remarkable fertility, covered with fields of cane, cotton and indigo, and watered by irrigation from the reservoirs in the basaltic mountains that bounded it. This region, the _Malpays_, had no volcano within eighty miles, and lay twenty-six hundred feet above the sea. In June, 1759, alarming rumblings were heard in the earth, which were succeeded by severe earthquakes. These phenomena lasted several weeks, to the great consternation of the inhabitants. In September it seemed that quiet was restored, when suddenly, on the night of the 28th, a fearful subterranean noise was again heard; fissures opened, and hot stones were thrown out. Part of the plain rose up like

an immense bubble to the height of sixteen hundred feet. Imagine the astonishment of the natives when morning showed them a mountain where the night before was a level plain! It almost seemed as though some magic had transported them to another land. Smoke and ashes spouted forth; five smaller cones were thrown up, the least of which was three hundred feet in height. The plain was dotted with thousands of small conical mounds, called by the natives _hornitos_, or ovens. Each emitted vapor for a time; but at length all the upheavals, save Jorullo, ceased action, though the plain remained so hot as to be uninhabitable for many years. Jorullo continued to throw out lava several months, and has been in more moderate action ever since.

In some respects the terrible outbreak of Skaptar Jokul has been several times exceeded. While almost alone in the immense quantity of lava thrown out, we have seen that great streams of lava are not accompanied by the most violent explosions. In the number of lives destroyed, Skaptar has also been exceeded; but if Iceland had been as densely populated as Ireland, which it equals in area, the convulsion might have destroyed half a million or more.

One of the best examples of the force of steam on a smaller scale is seen in the eruptions of volcanoes, is to be found in the geysers of Iceland. These lie in a strip of ground one hundred yards wide and about a quarter of a mile in length. The ground is dotted with numerous dark apertures and conical mounds, from which clouds of steam ascend continually. Of these the Little Geyser is no longer active, being merely a pool of still, hot water. The Great Geyser is periodically active, and the Strokr, or Churn, may be excited at any time by throwing a quantity of earth into it. As a matter of course, these boiling springs never do any damage, the quantity of water thrown out being of no consequence. The water holds in solution a vast quantity of silicious matter, which is deposited around the mouth of the geyser, forming sometimes a saucer-shaped basin, sometimes a nippleshaped mound. From the rate at which the deposits are made, it is estimated that the Great Geyser is about ten hundred and sixty years old.

One of the most tremendous outbursts of which we have any authentic account occurred in the island of Sumbawa. It is one of the Molucca islands; and the mountain from which the outbreak occurred is called Tomboro.

“This eruption commenced on the 5th of April, 1815, but was most terrific on the 11th and 12th of that month; nor did it cease entirely until some time in the following July. The explosion so much resembled the firing of heavy cannon at a distance that the people of many vessels at sea supposed there was a great naval engagement within hearing, but could not imagine what nations were engaged.

“The commanders of some ships, and several English forts, gave orders to prepare for battle, though they were several hundred miles distant from the mountain. At Sumatra these tremendous explosions were distinctly heard, though not nearer than nine hundred and seventy miles from Tomboro. They were also heard at Ternate, in the opposite direction from Sumatra, at the distance of seven hundred and twenty miles from the mountain.

“So immense in quantity was the fall of ashes, that at Bima, forty miles from the mountain, the roof of the English resident’s house was crushed by the weight, and many other houses in the same town were rendered uninhabitable from the same cause. At Java, three hundred miles distant, the air was so full of ashes that from this cause, at mid-day, it is said, the darkness was so profound that nothing like it had ever before been experienced during the most stormy night.

“Along the coast of Sumbawa the sea was covered with floating lava, intermixed with trees and timber, so that it was difficult for vessels to sail through the mass. Some captains, though at a long distance at sea, mistook this mass for land, and sent out their boats in order to ascertain the safety of their situations. The sea, on this and the neighboring coast, rose suddenly to the height of twelve feet, in the form of immense waves, and, as they retired, swept away trees, timber, and houses with their inhabitants. All the vessels lying near the shore were torn from their anchoring and cast upon the land. Violent whirlwinds carried into the air, men, horses, cattle, trees, and whatever else was in the vicinity of the mountain. Large trees were torn up by the roots and carried into the sea. But the most calamitous part of the account still remains; for such were the tremendous effects of the burning lava--the overflowing of the sea, the fall of houses, and the violence of the whirlwind, that, out of twelve thousand inhabitants on this island, only twenty-six individuals escaped with their lives, all the rest being destroyed in one way or another.

“The whole island was completely covered with ashes, or other volcanic matter. In some places the bottom of the sea was so elevated as to make shoals where there was deep water before; and in others, the land sunk down and was overflown by the sea. Adding those who were killed on other islands, the total death roll was over twenty thousand.”

This entire region is one of wonderful activity. Mount Api, in the island of Banda, in the same group, has had twelve violent eruptions in two hundred and thirty-four years; and, indeed, it is hardly ever really quiet. The volcano of Abo, in the island of Sanguir, broke out in 1711, burying a large number of villages in cinders, covering extensive areas of forest and plain, and destroying many thousands of people. This same volcano burst forth suddenly in March, 1856, vomiting torrents of mud, streams of lava, and clouds of ashes and scoria, doing almost as much mischief as on the former occasion. In the island of Timor, a gigantic volcano, long known as the Peak, began a violent eruption in 1638. When the convulsion was over the mountain had disappeared; partly blown away, partly sunken, and the site is to this day covered by a great lake.

But the center of this great volcanic region lies in the island of Java, which possesses about fifty craters, half of them still active. The heat and vapors poured out, combined with the power of the sun, combine to make this one of the most noted tempest regions in the world. Nowhere else are such terrific thunder-storms so common; and more than twenty water spouts are sometimes seen at one time.

One of the most remarkable eruptions of modern times is that of Papandayang, in this island, which occurred in 1772. The mountain burst forth suddenly, with a tremendous roaring. Cinders and ashes were almost insignificant. Immense boulders were hurled about the neighboring regions. The mountain was veiled in a cloud of glowing vapor. A tract of land seventeen miles long and seven miles wide, with over forty villages, was swallowed up. Several thousand people perished. When the cloud finally vanished it was found that four thousand feet of the upper portion of the mountain had been blown away. The broad, ragged mass remaining was of little more than one-half the original height. Two other mountains in the island were in action at the same time; while several intervening active cones remained quiet. Mt. Guntur, in the same island, has had a number of violent eruptions. The last, occurring in 1800, sent forth in addition to lava streams, a torrent of white, acid, sulphurous mud, which swept a populous and fertile valley, engulfing hundreds of men and animals in its course. We shall notice by and by a still more remarkable Javanese convulsion.

Time would fail were details to be given of the numerous volcanoes of Sumatra and Celebes and the adjacent islands, or of the eruptions and boiling springs of New Zealand, or the towering cones of New Guinea, or of the peaks of the Canary, Cape Verde and Azores. Let us notice briefly a few of the more noted volcanoes of America.

Our own land is free, for the most part, from such disturbances; the only recorded outbreaks being those of Rainier and St. Helens, in 1842. But in prehistoric times it had numerous volcanic areas. The Raton peaks in New Mexico once sent out lava streams that spread over the country between the Upper Arkansas and Canadian rivers; and St. Helens, Hood, Edgecombe, Baker, Rainier, Fair Weather and Shasta, are cones well known to the western tourist. These, except Hood and Shasta, are still active.

But better known examples of great internal heat are found in the hot springs of different portions of the country; though these merely show the existence of subterranean heat, and afford no conception of its power or violence. Quite as famous is the famous geyser basin of the Yellowstone. Here is a region surpassing greatly the geyser district of Iceland, both in area, and in the number and power of the geysers. The whole region is pierced with fumaroles, around which sulphur and other minerals crystalize in beautiful forms; and steam jets break through the soil in countless places. Certain of the geysers are exceedingly periodic; and others, like the Strokr of Iceland, may be incited to action at almost any time by casting in earth or stones. The more powerful of these “toy volcanoes” send water to a height of four hundred feet.

In the southern portion of the continent and in South America we find a region of remarkable activity. Central America has had several violent convulsions at a comparatively recent period. The volcano of Las Virgines, in Lower California, had a great eruption in 1746; but the country being sparsely peopled, little harm was done, and the fact of the eruption was made known by the light and clouds seen from vessels at sea, and the ashes and cinders that fell in the adjacent regions of Mexico.

If eruptions be measured by the violence of explosions,

then the famous outburst of Cosequina must rank among the greatest, if not itself the greatest, that is known to history. The narrative of its eruption, as related by an eye-witness, seems almost beyond belief; but the facts are too well authenticated. The extent of the destruction of life, though certainly reaching many hundreds, was never definitely known. The personal narration serves to show the fearful impressions made upon those who experience such awful convulsions:

“The wonder to me is how any man could live through such a burst as Cosequina’s in San Salvador. ’Twas the 21st of January, 1835--as fine a morning as ever was seen on earth. The Bay of Fonseca was smooth as silk; never a cloud in the sky. The lazy folks of Playa Grande and Nagascolo were lying in the hammocks beside the doors, smoking and dozing, and not a soul had a notion of ill from any side on that sunny morning, which was to be the last for half of them. They lay in hammocks and smoked and dozed like worthless cusses, as they are; and most of ’em, no doubt, had full in sight the big mountain on t’other side the gulf. They’d nigh forgot to call it a volcano. Not for a thousand years, as the Indians told, had smoke or mischief come from that hill; they’d ha’ laughed silly any one as had talked danger from Cosequina.

“At ten o’clock that morning that mountain burst out again, and in a fury such as never yet was known in the upper world--no, nor ever will be again, as _I_ believe, till the last day. Suddenly it burst out--not muttering beforehand, nor smoking--but crash! all on the moment, as if to remind men what evil power was yet left in nature to destroy them. At ten o’clock that day the voice of the mountain was heard after one thousand years’ silence--in such a thunderous roar was it heard that beast and bird fell dead with the sound alone, and great cliffs pitched headlong into the sea! There’s thousands still alive to witness. For a while the streets of Playa Grande and Nagascolo must have seemed like streets of the dead; for every soul was stunned. Folks were lying in their hammocks or on the floor, motionless and senseless as corpses. The sky was still bright and blue, but on the mountain side was a cloud like ink, which rolled down like a cap to the foot. Naught afterwards seemed so horrible as the sudden heaping of that jet black mound in the place of the sunny, green hill.

“But it didn’t long offend any man’s sight--over heaven and sea the cloud opened and spread. Lightning and thunders burst from the heart of the ocean, and sheets of flame glared luridly the sides of Cosequina. The darkness spread so quick, that at Leon, two hundred miles away, they were lighting the church candles within an hour after the outbreak. But candles, nor torches, nor houses aflame couldn’t disperse that darkness. For three days no soul in Leon saw another’s face, nor ventured out but to the howling churches, to grovel there. Night dragged after night, but no day shone over the land. A lighted torch could not be seen at arm’s length! The ashes fell softly and silently, till buildings crushed down headlong with the weight. Tigers were in the churches, and panthers entered house doors in search of companionship and protection. Hundreds committed suicide in their madness, and hundreds more became simple for life. Men’s faces were blistered by the hot winds; the paint fell from the statues; the crash of falling, and the faint light of burning houses doubled the horror of darkness. Such a time as that was never seen on earth since the plague of Egypt, I guess!

“But of course the most awful work was around the Gulf of Fonseca. The water rose in waves twenty feet high, dashed over the Estero, and swept off the towns of Playa Grande and Nagascolo, slick as a prairie fire. Scarce a soul escaped for twenty miles about. The cattle crushed over the barrancas in search of water, and were destroyed in herds of thousands at a time; for none could see, nor hear, nor breathe. Rivers were dried by the heat, and choked with ashes; forests burned up; the very grass withered throughout the whole length and breadth of Nicaragua, and hasn’t sprung since. _Sacate_ (‘a broad flag-like blade’) alone escaped, and the country which was once the grazing land of Central America was ruined till eternity, for that business.

“During this time of death, as they still call it, at Balize, one thousand miles away, the commandant called out the garrison, and kept them under arms twenty-four hours, thinking all the navies in the universe were at action in the offing. There ’twas too dark to see fifty yards oceanwards. The roar of Cosequina was heard miles around, spreading fear and perplexity. Four thousand miles in radius the ashes fell; they lay on the roofs at San Francisco, California.

“Well, the mountain’s behaved like a decent sort of powder-cask ever since. The fuse has always been burning and spitting; but you see there’s a big consumption of power in such a burst, and I guess the old machine wants to recuperate awhile.”

Those familiar with the terrific effects produced on the gunners by the discharge of heavy artillery, can understand that the atmospheric concussion produced by tremendous volcanic explosions might kill large numbers of birds and small animals in the vicinity.

As to the distance to which ashes may be carried, a late eruption in Iceland was announced by a Professor in Germany long before any vessel brought the news. The atmosphere was unusually full of dust which, on examining with a microscope, he pronounced to be pulverized Iceland lava. The detonations of Cosequina were heard over the peninsula of Yucatan, along the shores of Jamaica, eight hundred miles distant, and as far as Bogota in South America--nearly ten thousand feet above the sea. Ashes fell on vessels twelve hundred miles westward at sea. Fortunately the eruption was soon over.

Another unusual outbreak occurred in Central America from the volcano of Leon in 1867, beginning November 27. First there were a number of violent explosions, which shook the earth for a great distance. Immense quantities of black sand were then thrown out, and a column of vapor and fire, filled with meteor-like specks, was hurled to a height of three thousand feet. Closer observation showed the “specks” to be rocks four or five feet in diameter, and weighing thousands of pounds. The showers of sand lasted three days, covering the earth for fifty miles around. The forest for leagues was scarred by the swift-falling showers of sand and stones; and for half a mile around the cone the trees were leveled to the ground.

Central America contains twenty-nine volcanoes, eighteen of which are active. Twenty cones are in sight from the town of Leon. One cone, Izalco, suddenly manifested signs of activity, but no eruption took place. But the sudden heating rapidly melted the snow on the mountain, and the torrents of water inundated the town of Guatemala, destroying thousands of dollars worth of property, besides many lives. The mountain has since been known as “Agua,” or water.

South America is noted for the frequency and extreme violence of its earthquakes; of which more hereafter. Though possessing a greater number of very lofty volcanic cones than any other region, the direct effect of its eruptions have not been so disastrous as the results of many eruptions elsewhere. There is but one very notable exception; the earthquake that destroyed Riobamba in 1794 was followed at once by an outpour of mud from Tunguragua, which overwhelmed forty thousand people, still dazed by the shock, or struggling in the ruins of their villages.

One notable incident is the continual subterranean roaring heard for a considerable period over twenty-three hundred square miles of Northern Venezuela, a number of years ago, during a violent outpour of lava from the volcano of St. Vincent, an island six hundred and twenty-three miles to the northeast. No motion of the earth was perceptible. It has been supposed that the noise was merely the roar of St. Vincent conveyed through the crust of the earth; but this would raise the question as to why the same noise was not audible at points nearer to St. Vincent? Another suggestion is that the source from which the lava of St. Vincent was derived lay beneath Northern Venezuela; and a fact brought in support of this is, that the great earthquake of Caracas was immediately followed by action at St. Vincent. Similarly, the great eruption of Cotopaxi, in 1744, was attended by subterranean rumbling at Honda, four hundred and thirty-six miles away, and eighteen thousand and one hundred feet lower. Between are the colossal mountains of Pasto, Pichincha and Popayan, with countless valleys and ravines.

The cone of Cotopaxi is the smoothest and most symmetrical in the world; perhaps because its eruptions are almost entirely of ashes or fragmentary lava. As no villages lie in its immediate neighborhood, the clouds of ashes have not done so much damage as might be expected.

The first sign of an eruption is the melting of the snow upon the cone. Torrents of water sweep down the mountain. Such an outbreak occurring in 1741, after two centuries repose, the amount of snow accumulated may be imagined. The rush of the water tore away blocks of lava, ice and scoria; the plain below was covered with dashing waves. Twelve miles from the mountain the waters still had a velocity of fifty-six feet per second, or about two-thirds of a mile a minute. Escape from such a current would be impossible. Six hundred houses were swept away and one thousand people destroyed. The sides of the cone glowed in the night with a reddish light. Cotopaxi also had a great eruption in 1533, which hurled lava blocks containing one hundred and thirty cubic yards to a distance of nine miles. Such masses would weigh more than two hundred and eighty tons. Such feats will serve to give clearer ideas of the immense power of volcanic action.

Perhaps a statement of the force required to raise a column of lava would interest the reader. Lava being about twenty-eight times as heavy as water, a column of it eleven and three-sevenths feet high, and one inch square, would weigh fifteen pounds. Then to raise lava to the tops of various volcanic cones would require pressure or initial velocity as follows:

Pressure per Initial velocity Height. square inch. per second.

Stromboli 2,168 feet. 2,640 pounds. 371 feet. Vesuvius 3,874 “ 4,710 “ 496 “ Hecla 5,106 “ 6,195 “ 570 “ Ætna 10,892 “ 13,230 “ 832 “ Teneriffe 12,464 “ 15,135 “ 890 “ Mauna Kea 14,700 “ 17,865 “ 966 “ Popocatepetl 17,712 “ 21,525 “ 1,062 “ St. Elias 18,079 “ 21,975 “ 1,072 “ Cotopaxi 18,869 “ 22,380 “ 1,104 “ Sahama 22,965 “ 27,756 “ 1,212 “

When we remember that our powerful steam engines are operated by pressures varying from one hundred and twenty to two hundred pounds per square inch, it is evident we can have no adequate conception of the magnitude of a force of twenty-seven thousand pounds to the square inch. And yet such a power must be but a tithe of the force exerted; for it represents only the force necessary to throw the lava from the surface to the tops of the mountains; whereas the lava reservoirs are far beneath the surface. Also, the above calculation considers only the mere weight of the lava; it allows nothing for the resistance of cohesion, friction, or a heavy crust to be often burst through. When we consider all these, each of which must far surpass the weight of the single column of lava, it is evident that the pressure that can hurl lava blocks of two hundred and eighty tons nine miles from a mountain must reach a million pounds per square inch. These are meaningless figures. Human thought cannot grasp so stupendous a power.

Perhaps the best known of the great volcanoes are those of the Sandwich Islands. We find there the largest extinct crater in the world. The great dead crater of Haleakala, in East Maui, is thirty miles in circumference. The crater of Kilauea, on the flank of Mauna Loa, is about seven miles in circumference. Several great eruptions have occurred in these islands during the past fifty years; and in one of these convulsions the volume of lava poured out was at least equal to the great outburst of Skaptar Jokul in Iceland. And when we consider the frequent recurrence of the Hawaiian eruptions, it at once appears that in this region lies the greatest lava producer on the globe.

But in regard to destruction of life or property, there has so far been no more harmless region in the world. There are two reasons: The lava poured out is very liquid, and cools slowly; hence a cone formed from it has a very gradual slope. The actual grade of Mauna Loa is but five or six degrees. So a lava stream descends it very slowly; and the light on the mountain warns the people of the outbreak. The shore region is the only one inhabited, the interior being covered with dense forests. So the lava may burn a path directly through to the sea, and yet do no great damage to the interests of the people. The greatest damage done to the island has not been from an outpour of lava, but from earthquakes and sea-waves. The great eruption of 1868 was accompanied by continual shocks--two thousand being felt in a fortnight, and numerous tidal waves being produced; yet the total fatality was but one hundred, and nearly all of these were old or weak persons who were unable to swim well enough to escape from waves that overtook them. A few were overwhelmed by a torrent of soft, red clay that broke from a fissure in the mountain. Cliffs and crags were thrown down by the earthquakes, and the top of one hill was thrown one thousand feet. The lava stream reached the sea at Nanawale, fifty miles from its source, and pushed three-fourths of a mile into the sea.

Again, in an eruption in 1880, two lava streams poured out toward the town of Hilo; and though the great crater continued in full blast, it was nine months before the people could be sure whether the streams would destroy the town or not. At length the lava was within five minutes walk of the town. Many collected their chattels and left. Then the action on the mountain suddenly subsided; and in a few days the “great red dragon” lay stiff and cold, almost at the people’s doors.

Since the natives build their houses almost invariably of one story and of the lightest materials, earthquakes can do comparatively little damage to most property. Hence, with all the activity of the great volcanoes, the inhabitants are far more secure than those of many other regions apparently not so dangerous. Persons may readily visit the great crater in eruption, though at full blast; and excursion parties are organized to visit this “Niagara of fire” on every occasion of unwonted activity. Nowhere else in the world can volcanic action on the grandest scale be so carefully observed.

The details given hitherto will serve to illustrate the terrible havoc wrought by subterranean forces. So far only outpouring of volcanic matter has been especially noticed. But ere examining the terribly destructive force of earthquakes alone, it is meet that the story of the tremendous eruptions of the century be closed with the story of the greatest of the age; and indeed, when all details are considered, it may rank as the most tremendous convulsion of all history. In certain details, Skaptar may have exceeded it: in destruction of life. Ætna surpassed it in 1669; but as a whole, it is simply without a parallel.

The reader will rightly judge that such a convulsion could hardly occur elsewhere than in the Malayan archipelago. Already the terrible outburst in Sumbawa has been noted; also several others in Java.

Java and Sumatra formerly formed a single island, but were separated by a terrific earthquake in 1115. Shocks are felt in one of the two islands nearly every month. The list of calamities occurring there during the past hundred years is appalling. Besides the convulsions before noted, an eruption of Galung-gung, in 1822, overwhelmed one hundred and fourteen villages and destroyed four thousand people. In 1843 Mt. Guntur cast forth 30,000,000 tons of ashes, doing immense injury to life and property. In 1867 there was a tremendous earthquake which killed many thousands in the interior of the island, and dried up or greatly obstructed the water courses. Immediately afterward the volcano of Gunung-Salak ejected such a quantity of cinders and lava that the work of obliterating or obstructing the streams was complete. The cess-pools and marshes bred pestilence and epidemics, which have carried off from Batavia alone nearly a million of inhabitants in the past twenty-two years. In 1872 the volcano of Mirapi burst out and destroyed several thousand people in the province of Kadu. Sixteen severe earthquakes were felt in 1878, and another one in 1879.

At length, in 1883, Krakatoa, a volcano on a small island in the Straits of Sunda, in the very center of the greatest subterranean furnace on the globe, began to manifest some uneasiness. As in the case of Cosequina, people had almost forgotten to call it a volcano. And when the mountain muttered and fired a little in February, they regarded it with some curiosity, and then, when it quieted down, thought no more about it.

On the 25th of August the people of Batavia heard peculiar subterranean mutterings, as they thought, but the roar increased till it might have been compared to a battery of fortress artillery. An avalanche of stones and ashes began to fall, and continued all night. Krakatoa had begun.

By morning it was impossible for Batavians to reach the Straits of Sunda. The bridges were down and the roads impassable. The waters of the straits were in fearful turmoil. Explosions beneath the sea followed each other in rapid succession. The waters were sixty degrees hotter than usually. The rebounding waves were dashing upon Madura, five hundred miles away, mountains high.

The dance of death had hardly begun. Louder and louder roared Krakatoa; ere noon, Maha-Meru, the greatest of Javanese volcanoes, had joined in. Then Gunung-guntur opened; others rapidly followed, till fifteen volcanoes of Java were in eruption; most of them in full blast. The awful scene was beyond description. Krakatoa could still be heard thundering above all the rest.

Before nightfall Gunung-guntur, the greatest active crater in the world, four miles in diameter, was spouting enormous streams of lava and sulphurous mud. Tremendous explosions followed with showers of cinders and stones, as though the old giant were endeavoring to out-do the leader of the dance. Terrible was the slaughter by the flying fragments.

The sea was more violently agitated. Dense clouds of hot, sulphurous vapors, charged with electricity, hung over the waters, and added whirlwinds and thunderstorms to the scene. Fifteen large waterspouts could be seen at one time.

On the shore, men, women and children ran wildly about. There was no safety upon sea or land. Houses were crumbling, the atmosphere darkening, the storm increasing. Hundreds of people were buried beneath ruined houses. Hundreds more were struck down in their flight. Immense crevices opened and swallowed; huge waves rushed inland and devoured. It seemed as though Java were to buried, with a rain of fire, in the unfathomable depths of the sea.

Towards midnight, it seemed as though the Prince of Darkness might be present in person to direct the work of destruction. “A luminous cloud far more colossal than that which had appeared above Gunung-guntur, gathered above the chain of the Kandangs, which run along the southeast coast of Java. This cloud increased in size each minute, until at last it came to form a sort of a gray and blood-red color, which hung over the earth for a considerable distance.

“In proportion as this cloud grew the eruption 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. 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. The population was not so dense in this part of the island as in others, but for all this the total number of victims fell little short of fifteen thousand.

“The chain of the Kandangs, which runs along the coast of Java in a semi-circle for sixty-five miles, had also disappeared.

“The waters of Welcome Bay, in the Strait of Sunda, those of Pepper Bay to the east, and those of the Indian Ocean to the south, had burst in upon the country, where they formed a raging torrent.”

All the furies of the deeps of earth and sea seemed freed to work their will and wreak their wrath. The great Papandayang now joined in the chaos. The cannon-like reports could be heard fifty miles away.

Then Sumatra was infected with the wild fury. From one of her volcanoes three columns of lava shot up from three different places, and three leaping red streams of lava dashed forth for the plains below. The mountain hurled after them showers of stones. Volumes of black dust flew after, making thick, stifling darkness which could be felt. Banks of ashes lay upon the roofs of houses, or muffled the city streets. A tornado hurried by, bearing stones, dust, roofs, trees, houses, and men.

In Java the fierce Papandayang burst open. From the seven great fissures the lava in its basin plunged out and reached for miles from the mountain’s base. On the site of the island of Merak, which was swallowed up by the sea, the next day fourteen volcanic mountains sprang up, forming a chain from St. Nicholas Point, Java, to Hoga Point, in Sumatra.

In Batavia and Anjer were three thousand five hundred European residents; eight hundred of these never saw the light again. An overwhelming avalanche of rock, mud, and lava, poured upon their quarter in Anjer; then the sea leaped upon those struggling in the ruins and swept away all. Not so much as a trace of them was left. Two thousand inhabitants perished, besides a large number of fugitives from other quarters. Bantam was submerged, and one thousand five hundred people drowned. Waves dashed completely over the island of Serang, and not a single inhabitant escaped. The storms of rock and lava numbered their victims at Cheribon, and at several noted pleasure resorts.

The great temple of Boro-Buddor was ruined, its dome being beaten in by the showers of rock. This is a most deplorable architectural loss. It was the largest Buddhist Temple in the east, and had no equal in the world. Erected eleven hundred years ago, it stood on an eminence in a circular valley. It had a great central dome one hundred and forty-five feet high, surrounded by seventy smaller domes. On the platforms beneath were four hundred and fifty chapels, cut in openwork out of granite, and each having a statue of Buddha. The walls of the temple contained a complete picture-history of Buddha, there being four thousand beautifully chased bas-reliefs. Not a stone was left uncarved. The great chapel under the central dome was reached by a series of four grand staircases of five hundred feet each. No other structure is comparable to it. A few may be even more splendid; but it was decidedly _sui generis_.

The list of calamities grew rapidly. The town of Tamarang was devoured by the lava. Red-hot stones fired many houses. Eighteen hundred people perished. The island of Onius was terribly shaken and then plunged into the sea. The island of Midah was swallowed up. No one escaped. The lighthouses on Sunda Strait were wrecked. The town of Tjeringen was destroyed with ten thousand people. Nine hundred people perished at Waronge. Three hundred corpses were dug from the ruins of Talatoa. The river Jacatana was blocked with lava and ashes, and leaving its bed poured through Batavia.

The island of Merak, a fortified place three miles from Krakatoa, was a valuable Government stone quarry, six or seven years in use. Thousands of native workmen were assembled there, with engineers and overseers. Their huts were on hills one hundred and fifty feet above the sea. The end of the season was at hand. The 1st of September would see them returning to their Java homes. The island trembled, paused--sank slowly--the sea plunged over it. Two natives and an European bookkeeper escaped.

A steamer put out from the port of Telok Betong. Two inches of lava lay upon her deck. Pumice stone lay ten feet deep on the sea around her. When but a short distance out “we saw a gigantic wave of prodigious height suddenly advancing upon us at great speed from the

direction of the open sea. Immediately the captain brought his vessel round so as to meet the wave stern foremost. After a moment of most piquant anxiety, we found ourselves lifted up with terrific speed; our vessel bounded upward, and then we felt ourselves plunged into the abyss. But the wave had passed us and we were out of all danger. Like a high mountain the gigantic wave sped furiously towards the shore, while immediately after three other great waves followed it. The waters rushed in and destroyed the town, sweeping away first the light house, which fell in like a pack of cards, then all the buildings beyond. In a few moments all was over, and where once Telok Betong stood there was nothing but water.”

Livid with terror, the captain steamed rapidly to warn the town of Anjer. There was no longer an Anjer, a Dutch fort, a garrison. A single sailor, who had caught a floating tree, stalked about among the corpses.

Krakatoa, which had opened this fearful carnival of death, sank slowly into the sea. Of the island, twenty-five miles long and seventeen wide, a small portion of the terribly shattered cone remained in sight. New islets were made; vast shoals created. Sailors discovered new islands and landed, only to find themselves on vast floating pumice rafts, miles from land. New charts had to be made. For a time the seas were hardly navigable.

Such is the story. The damage to property was millions of dollars. The loss of life will never be definitely known. First estimates placed it at 80,000. Conservative judges pronounced it in all probability between 50,000 and 60,000.

The explosions were heard as far away southward as Australia; to the westward as far as Southern India; to the eastward, they are said to have been heard in the Caribbean Sea. Even if we reject the latter, we may take the others, and obtain some idea by imagining volcanoes at St. Louis to be heard at New York and San Francisco, at Mexico and in Hudson’s Bay.

The great sea wave rushed from Krakatoa to the Mauritius in eight hours. It rolled around the coasts of the Australian continent, dashing into the southern harbors, sweeping through the narrow Bass Straits. It rose and fell upon Hawaiian coasts in a perplexing manner. It surged against South America; against East Africa; it rounded Cape Horn and made itself known on the coasts of France, upon our Atlantic shore. It encircled the world--the greatest sea wave ever known.

The volcanic, microscopic dust remained long in the air, and occasioned the singular redness of the sky at morn and eve that prevailed throughout the world for the next two years. Apart from this suspended dust, the volcano threw out as much matter as the Mississippi bears to the gulf in two hundred and fifty years.

The atmospheric wave of low barometer was even more marked than the oceanic wave. On the day when Krakatoa sank into the sea, the barometric oscillation was noticed all over the world. From the time at which it reached Berlin, it is found to have travelled eight hundred and seventy-five miles an hour. Thirty-six hours later the barometric oscillations were repeated, but less pronounced. Thirty-seven hours afterward there came a third, and still fainter series. It appears, then, that the atmospheric wave, set in motion by this stupendous outbreak, was powerful enough to thrice encircle the world.

It has been but a short time since geologists believed the magnitude of the subterranean forces to be greatly decreased; but in view of a century of great eruptions closed by such an appalling convulsion, it must be said that the fiery forces are at least as active and powerful as ever.