Daily National Intelligencer

MOUNT VESUVIUS.

The following extracts of a letter is from Dr. Jeremian Van Rensselaer, of Greenbush, N. Y. a young gentleman now in Europe, and where he has been for several years, to complete his studies in the medical art.

April 20, 1819.

I begin my letter to you on the crater of Mount Vesuvius. The extreme heat of the river of lava, by the light of which I wrote the above, prevented my continuing. We have descended about 150 feet—our guides would go no farther. Our company have gone to Naples. H. and myself have determined to pass this night here, and are now writing by the light of a torch on warm lava, that flowed seven days ago. An eruption of some consequence took place last night, and the lava is running in a stream about seven feet wide, at the rate of about three miles an hour. Nothing can possibly be imagined more sublime—the smoke issuing from the glowing torrent, is like a cloud of fire, part of the mount seems on fire, while below it appears the very centre of desolation and gloom. At break of day we mount again, to descend further into the crater, and see the sun rise from its mouth. I may perhaps try more experiments. I have written your name in the burning lava, and it has cooled—the piece is beside me. I also put in a five franc piece—impression is good, and you shall one day see it.— Our torch is about going out, and I must stop to finish to-morrow at Naples. Two distinct eruptions have just taken place, and cast out heated stones to the height of 100 or 150 feet.

Naples, April 22.

I scarcely know what you will think when you open this letter. If it was not for the sake of the place where I began it, you should never see it.— We passed the night very well on the mountain. Our guide cleared away the larger stones, and left us none bigger than eggs—we spread our great coats in this little hollow, and were comfortable enough. We required no covering—at our feet issued a small column of heated air—beneath us too, warm air oozed up; but the great coats prevented our being steamed. H. found that he was too warm, and got up to walk about. I laid quiet, to enjoy the superb sight before me. Some provisions were sent to us by the party—it arrived about 11 o'clock. Fatigue was a good opiate, and our sleep was sweet. Our guides sleep on the bare stones beside us. At three we took some bread and wine, and began the ascent. Our route now lay in another direction It was not so difficult as what we had ascended the evening before. Before five we were at the top, and waited only a few minutes to see the purple tinge of the horizon gradually change its brightened gold. A sea of clouds floated far beneath us—it resembled an undulated plain of cotton, whose edges were tinged and burnished by the first rays of the morning. The scenery below was lost— nought appeared but the fiery summit on which we stood, and the tops of lofty mountains around, that rose above the clouds that settled on their sides.

We continued our labor and got near the mouth of the crater—the wind drove the smoke towards us, and we were obliged to descend and try the other side. We rose to the highest point, and thence a gradual descent took us to the mouth of the largest crater. Its shape constantly varied—at present there are four fountains, whence issue the smoke and stones. We could not observe the bottom very plainly—to descend was impossible.

The smaller crater has three of these nostrils or breathing holes, smaller than the first, but more active. The wind drove the smoke in such a manner, that we saw the bottom on the other side. Our guides were urging us to descend—a shower of hot stones and cinder had more influence than their entreaties. The lava is seen in neither crater, but flows through a subterraneous canal, almost horizontal; and does not appear till it forces through the crust about 150 yards from the crater. It forms at once a river about 7 feet wide, and flows at the rate of between 2 and 3 miles an hour; its depth cannot be told. The present stream issued in this spot seven days ago, and continues still running, it resembles flowing liquid iron running in a gutter, which it seems to have formed, having on either side a perpendicular wall of lava, about three inches thick, serving as a kind of raceway. About a mile from the orifice, it spreads into a large bed or lake, and there cools, gradually becoming black on the surface, and still glowing beneath. Occasionally the river changes its course—this gave an opportunity of breaking several times the crust that covers the stream, to see the hot lava below. In some places, where all was cold, we broke it and found it quite hollow beneath, by the extrication of the gas. Usually a heavy wind breaks the crusts, and then they fall in every direction, giving the whole mountain a terrific appearance. At a distance it looks like new ploughed land, and of the same color; as we approach, it is much more rough and hideous. Having taken some more impressions in the lava, we turned to survey the scene around us. The clouds hung on the foot of the mountains, and only permitted us to see the gloomy cone on which we stood.

The genius of desolation may be said to reign over this dreary realm: not a sign of vegetation relieves the eye, wearied and sad with the horrible and bleak expanse that environed us:—How melancholy are the feelings excited in such a situation! How much more so are the recollections it recalls! I felt as if we alone stood on the ruins of the universe—as if chaos was come again; nor can I think of it without emotion. A long and distressing walk on the broken lava brought us to the place where we had slept. Our last descent began here, and when once at the foot of the upper part of the mountain, we rapidly went in seven minutes the same distance that we were an hour in descending the day before. The fathers received us kindly at the hermitage, where we breakfasted on bread and wine.

The clouds had now dispersed, and we enjoyed a view of the superb bay of Naples. I must say (nor do I know how far prejudice influences my saying so) that it is inferior to the Bay of New York. The famed places that skirt its shores give to it a reputation and a classic interest that New-York cannot boast—and as long as Homer, Virgil, Horace, and Pliny, are read—so long will this bay be the most interesting in the world. Independent of these writers, the fertile soil that envelopes the foot of Vesuvius with its burning craters, the number of cities and villages destroyed by its dreadful workings, will ever attract the lover of landscape and the student of nature. The cities over which we walk—the palaces over
which we sail—the lakes, half swallowed—and mountains ejected in a single night all add to the interest of the place. Such were my thoughts as my mule came down the base of the mountain, as the little village of Resina, from whence we had ascended the day before into Herculaneum. The theatre alone is now shown; some persons having been lost in the excavations, they are closed to the public—and through the inadvertency of others, we have been deprived of pleasure and instruction. To Pompeii is 8 miles, and we took a kind of chaise for the day.

The Neapolitan chaise, or cabriolet, is a very small gig, into which two very small persons may squeeze; one of them drives, and the coachman stands behind to whip the horse, which is exclusively his prerogative, and the passenger cannot prevent him from making the horse run all the distance. Pompeii, as it is shown to visitors, is more interesting than Herculaneum; since it is part of a city exposed to light, and open to day.

We walk by day-light in the streets; enter the houses and temples, and visit the forum and tombs, the same as any ancient town—but cannot forget, that since the year 79, till within a short time, the ashes of Vesuvius have hid it from the day. The temple of Isis is the most complete; few houses have the second story: the first are perfect, and are easily known. Thus, several cook shops, a bake-house, a surgeon's or druggist's, a milkman's, &c. are at once recognized by the signs painted on the walls, and frequently the name is seen too. One of the streets must have been superb; it yet exhibits the marks of carriage wheels. The workmen and guides are very strict; I wanted a small piece of marble, which served as a floor to one of the courts—although it lay loose on the ashes, yet they replaced it; nor had a bribe far beyond its intrinsic value any effect. They gave me to understand that both their necks would answer for it.