Most of us know the story of the destruction of Pompeii in
79 A.D, when Mount Vesuvius produced the most dangerous of its many eruptions. The
result of this particular explosion was the burying of the towns of Pompeii and
Herculaneum to the point of the two cities being lost for centuries. Some
16,000 died in the catastrophe. The volcano has erupted forty two times since
79 A.D, the last one occurring during World War II on March 18-23, 1944. On
that occasion, 70-80 American aircraft were destroyed at a nearby Air Force
base.
On the day of the eruption August 24th, 79 A.D, all was normal in the morning. There had been a series of small
earthquakes in the days preceding the event, but they were ignored as normal
behavior for the volcano. At one o’clock in the afternoon, the volcano violently
exploded throwing a column of ash into the air. It is estimated that this
column reached 98,000 feet and ejected ash at a rate of 1.5 million tons per
second! The release of ash was followed some twelve hours later by a surge of
fast moving lava down the west, south, and east sides of the mountain. These
flows may have reached speeds of 450 miles per hour at an average temperature of
1000 degrees, so all living creatures that remained would have been overtaken
and killed before they could escape.
Remarkably, by luck, we have accounts of the incident from
reliable historical sources. Both Pliny the Elder and his nephew Pliny the
Younger were twenty-two miles away across the Bay of Naples when the eruption
began. Once he realized what was happening based on a message requesting a rescue, the Elder organized a rescue party and set out for the town of Stabiae,
where he and his group stayed overnight. In the morning they were forced to try
an escape, but Pliny died during the attempt possibly due to a heart attack. Pliny the Younger declined to join the
rescue party, but observed the eruption and wrote about it in a letter to
Tacitus.
“Thank you for asking me to
send you a description of my uncle's death so that you can leave an accurate
account of it for posterity; I know that immortal fame awaits him if his death
is recorded by you. It is true that he perished in a catastrophe which
destroyed the loveliest regions of the earth, a fate shared by whole cities and
their people, and one so memorable that is likely to make his name live forever:
and he himself wrote a number of books of lasting value: but you write for all
time and can still do much to perpetuate his memory. The fortunate man,
in my opinion, is he to whom the gods have granted the power either to do
something which is worth recording or to write what is worth reading, and most
fortunate of all is the man who can do both. Such a man was my uncle, as
his own books and yours will prove. So you set me a task I would choose
for myself, and I am more than willing to start on it.
My uncle was stationed at Misenum, in active command of the fleet.
On 24 August, in the early afternoon, my mother drew his attention to a cloud
of unusual size and appearance. He had been out in the sun, had taken a
cold bath, and lunched while lying down, and was then working at his
books. He called for his shoes and climbed up to a place which would give
him the best view of the phenomenon. It was not clear at that distance
from which mountain the cloud was rising (it was afterwards known to be
Vesuvius); its general appearance can be best expressed as being like an
umbrella pine, for it rose to a great height on a sort of trunk and then split
off into branches, I imagine because it was thrust upwards by the first blast
and then left unsupported as the pressure subsided, or else it was borne down
by its own weight so that it spread out and gradually dispersed.
Sometimes it looked white, sometimes blotched and dirty, according to the
amount of soil and ashes it carried with it. My uncle's scholarly acumen
saw at once that it was important enough for a closer inspection, and he
ordered a boat to be made ready, telling me I could come with him if I wished. I
replied that I preferred to go on with my studies, and as it happened he had
himself given me some writing to do.
As he was leaving the house, he was handed a message from Rectina,
wife of Tascius whose house was at the foot of the mountain, so that escape was
impossible except by boat. She was terrified by the danger threatening
her and implored him to rescue her from her fate. He changed his plans, and what
he had begun in a spirit of inquiry he completed as a hero. He gave
orders for the warships to be launched and went on board himself with the
intention of bringing help to many more people besides Rectina, for this lovely
stretch of coast was thickly populated. He hurried to the place which
everyone else was hastily leaving, steering his course straight for the danger
zone. He was entirely fearless, describing each new movement and phase of
the portent to be noted down exactly as he observed them. Ashes were
already falling, hotter and thicker as the ships drew near, followed by bits of
pumice and blackened stones, charred and cracked by the flames: then suddenly
they were in shallow water, and the shore was blocked by the debris from the
mountain. For a moment my uncle wondered whether to turn back, but when
the helmsman advised this he refused, telling him that Fortune stood by the
courageous and they must make for Pomponianus at Stabiae. He was cut off there
by the breadth of the bay (for the shore gradually curves round a basin filled
by the sea) so that he was not as yet in danger, though it was clear that this
would come nearer as it spread.
Pomponianus had therefore already put his
belongings on board ship, intending to escape if the contrary wind fell.
This wind was of course full in my uncle's favor, and he was able to bring his
ship in. He embraced his terrified friend, cheered and encouraged him, and
thinking he could calm his fears by showing his own composure, gave orders that
he was to be carried to the bathroom. After his bath he lay down and
dined; he was quite cheerful, or at any rate he pretended he was, which was no
less courageous.
Meanwhile on Mount Vesuvius broad sheets of fire and leaping
flames blazed at several points, their bright glare emphasized by the darkness
of night. My uncle tried to allay the fears of his companions by
repeatedly declaring that these were nothing but bonfires left by the peasants
in their terror, or else empty houses on fire in the districts they had
abandoned. Then he went to rest and certainly slept, for as he was a
stout man his breathing was rather loud and heavy and could be heard by people
coming and going outside his door. By this time the courtyard giving access
to his room was full of ashes mixed with pumice-stones, so that its level had
risen, and if he had stayed in the room any longer he would never have got
out. He was wakened, came out and joined Pomponianus and the rest of the
household who had sat up all night. They debated whether to stay indoors
or take their chance in the open, for the buildings were now shaking with
violent shocks, and seemed to be swaying to and fro, as if they were torn from
their foundations. Outside on the other hand, there was the danger of
falling pumice-stones, even though these were light and porous; however, after
comparing the risks they chose the latter. In my uncle's case one reason
outweighed the other, but for the others it was a choice of fears. As a
protection against falling objects they put pillows on their heads tied down
with cloths.
Elsewhere there was daylight by this time, but they were still in
darkness, blacker and denser than any ordinary night, which they relieved by
lighting torches and various kinds of lamp. My uncle decided to go down
to the shore and investigate on the spot the possibility of any escape by sea,
but he found the waves still wild and dangerous. A sheet was spread on
the ground for him to lie down, and he repeatedly asked for cold water to
drink. Then the flames and smell of sulphur which gave warning of the
approaching fire drove the others to take flight and roused him to stand
up. He stood leaning on two slaves and then suddenly collapsed, I imagine
because the dense fumes choked his breathing by blocking his windpipe which was
constitutionally weak and narrow and often inflamed. When daylight
returned on the 26th—two days after the last day he had seen—his body was found
intact and uninjured, still fully clothed and looking more like sleep than
death.
Meanwhile my mother and I were at Misenum, but this is not of any
historic interest, and you only wanted to hear about my uncle’s death. I
will say no more, except to add that I have described in detail every incident
which I either witnessed myself or heard about immediately after the event,
when reports were most likely to be accurate. It is for you to select
what best suits your purpose, for there is a great difference between a letter
to a friend and history written for all to read.”
By the evening of the second day the eruption
had ended and only a haze remained over the mountain and surrounding territory.
The following drawing shows the extent of the debris field caused by the
eruption.
I have a friend who visited Pompeii a month
ago. He sent me some photos which I have included here as a slideshow.
The eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A.D. was only
one of the catastrophes that occurred during the ill-fated two year reign of
the Emperor Titus. A year after the Vesuvius eruption there was a large fire in
Rome and then the plague visited the region and killed thousands. After the
conclusion of the first games at the newly completed Coliseum in Rome, Titus
travelled to the Sabine territories to visit a military camp, fell ill with
fever and died at age forty-two.
