THE WORK OF A VOLCANOLOGIST.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2453, 18 March 1909, Page 2

THE WORK OF A VOLCANOLOGIST.

PERSONAL EXPERIENCES OF VESUVIUS AND STROMBOLI.

The recent appalling disaster in Italy and Sicily, which affected 184 towns and villages, with a population of 1,000,000 souls, and the remarkable seismic activity which are reported from various parts of the world, lend particular interest at this time to one of thofstrangest professions in the world—that of a volcanologist. The ranks are nbtvppmerous, but the men who fill them, are of an undoubted courage, and are devoted to their calling with a devotion which sometimes ends in death.' Mr Frank Ferret, honorary assistant at the Royal Observatory on Mt. Vesuvius writes most interestingly of his experiences on Vesuvius and also on Stromboli, and the photographs he secured are unique. '- The extracts we. give will enable the reader to have some idea of the utter fearlessness of the observers of the phenomena of active volcanoes. There is, perhaps, lie says, no calling which brings a more varied experience into the day’s work than that- of a volcanologist-. For us the forces of Nature take their most diversified and active forms—fire, water, earth, and v air combine in strange and unexpected ways to- change the times and seasons and make the universe itself seem “out of joint.” I have had nights of vigil transformed by a pillar of fire into noonday brightness, and have had daylight hours turned to black niglit by showers of ashes and sand. In close proximity to a fiery crater column, I have shivered in an icy wind, drawn in from every side to feed that awful draught; anu far above the line of snow, where the cold should be intense, I have sweltered in dizzying waves of heat and skipped hot-footed on the burning soil. The science is complex, including a little of astronomy, of chemistry, of physics, of photography, of geology, and even of languages. The work varies from patient waiting to the mostviolent exertion, and from making simple notes to- the saving of human life. Between these extremes come the various occupations of scientific research—collecting gases for analysis, taking the giant’s temperature, sounding his heart with that stethoscope of the volcanologist, the microphone, recording his respiration and the tremors of his frame. Often the observer’s life depends on his judgment and experience. Take ,so simple a thing as crossing a moving lava stream. The partial cooling of the surface forms a sort of crust, made up of rocky bombs like cobblestones. This crust is not rigid, but is shifting constantly as it- is carried along by the liquid interior, which can be seen through all the crevices shining with a fierce red glow. An error of judgment as to the place of crossing, or the least misstep, would be fatal; yet there is always a strange exhilaration in the novelty of the experience. It reminds one of crossing a glacier for the very reason that it is so different. THE PERIL FROM FALLING ROCKS.

Then there is the soldier’s hardest task of standing still under fire; but here there is no enemy to fight, and the bullets are falling from the clouds. I well recall one night during an eruption of Vesuvius; the Observatory was uninhabitable, for it was rocking as a boat upon the waves, and we stood outside with rolled-up overcoats upon our heads in a rain of stones. A carbineer, stooping to pick up a stone, dropped it because it was hot, and was promptly struck upon the head by another, fortunately not large; after that- he stood erect- as a soldier should. This overcoat protection was all very well against the rattling fire of small st-ones, but when the calibre was increased we were forced to retreat. With six-pound rocks falling from the skies, wo made our way where the smaller stones alone would reach us, and there sat it out. On Stromboli I wished very much to reach a certain ledge, of rock nc-ar to the crater’s edge in order to obtain some, records of the eruption which could he had only from that point. I asked my guide’s advice, and he said:' “Well, if you go I will go with you —we’ll die together.” I said I would wait an hour, and if nothing touched the ledge in that time we would make the venture. In less than ten minutes there came an explosion which sent a million red-hot-stones of every size up to half a ton’s weight to at least 500 f- above the cra-ter—and-these fell squarely on that ledge of rock, bombarding evepy foot of it incessantly for several minutes. We smiled grimly at one another, and postponed the project of visiting the ledge indefinitely.

ENVELOPED IN STIFLING GASES. We had an adventure, on Vesuvius, the mere remembrance of which makes me shudder. This time the gases were our foe —gases and ashes blown down from the crater by an easterly gale. Fifty persons—men, women, and children—were gathered in with great difficulty to the barracks, which gave inadequate protection, and the problem was to. reach the Observatory. This was only 60 yards away, but the gases

made the air almost iinbreathablo, and the ashes produced darkness that was absolute. We could not see our hands before, oiir faces. If the eyes wore opened they filled at oii::e with sand and ashes, which were driven by the blast with such force as to make the kps bleed. Only 60 yards to go, but the road was covered deep with ashes like a desert is with sand, and, of course, no compass could be used, for it could not bo seen. All of the 50 were placed upon a rope, and with one end anchored to the barracks door, the head of this human snake would circle about until some familiar spot was found; then the tail drew, and the manoeuvre was repeated until the Observatory gate was reached. Once inside, more dead than alive, every expedient to absorb the gases and to manufacture oxygen was considered, but no materials were on hand. Wo were forced to endure for eight hours those deadly gases and an atmosphere so thick that a lamp could not be seen across the -room. But at midnight the blast subsided, and the gases were dissipated. Of the 50 refugees, all. but one young man survived the terrible ordeal. RIVERS OF REAL FIRE.

During this same eruption it was necessary to examine the lava at its source. To reach the place we were obliged to pass under and through the crater-cloud of sand and gas, which came rushing down the mountain-side with terrific force. Our little band, consisting of Professor Matteucci, myself, and three carbineers, was often unable to proceed. tWe were frequently compelled to wait for intervals of comparative light amid the Thick darkness which enveloped us, and take advantage of these intervals to make progress towards our goal. When at last we emerged, the lava was in sight, winding down the mountain in huge smoking streams. The heads of these fier y isc r•pents, miles away, were crawling through vineyards, razing houses to the ground, and burning up everything in their path. But here, at the source, it self, was a spectacle so sublime that all else was forgotten. An enormous fissure bad been formed upon the mountain side, and from this opening the river of melted rock shot forth with incredible speed. The lava seemed to be as fluid as water; there were whirls and eddies and waves upon its surface, from which clouds of steam rose in curious shapes, illumined by an intolerable glare. The beat here was terrific —radiant heat from the incandescent mass of this beautiful river of death, heat that caused a pine tree to burst into flame before the lava touched it—and a nearer approach than fifteen feet from the brink was quite impossible.

And then on a sudden, with a bellowing roar, the great fissure extended itself a hundred yards. The soft rock of the mountain side was torn as one tears a piece, of cloth, and the whitehot- lava shot a hundred feet into the air in sheets of liquid fire before it fell and doubled the stream. With the exception of an experience of dodging some two-ton boulders on the cone a few days earlier, ibis was the only time I bare bad to run away—and how we did run! I went back, though, and photographed it all.As to the results which the volcanologist is working to achieve, there seems to exist a great deal of misconception. The average person will say: “Well, you cannot tell from wliat depth the lava comes, nor when Vesuvius began to be a volcano. You really don’t know anything about it. It is principally guess-work—now. isn’t it?” Nevertheless, the aim of volcanology is an eminently practical one. For example, when I visited the island of Stromboli, the people were panic-stricken over the unusual violence of the volcano; windows had been smashed by the explosions and ashes were destroying the crops, It seemed as if the island itself might be blown into- the air at any moment ,and the Government was hesitating about transporting the entire population to a place of safety. At such a time, I was not concerned _ about tiie exact- date, ages ago, in which Stromboli rose above the sea, nor with the composition of the earth’s interior. When I could assure the authoriies that there would be another crisis at such and such a time, but less severe than the preceding ones, that no lava streams would break out and no catastrophe was to be feared, a work of practical value was done. Space is lacking to explain in detail how tlieso facts wore learned, but they are the results of rational methods of scientific research.