04 Volcano Adventure Page 3

  ‘Pumice,’ Dr Dan said. ‘The rock that floats. Yes, it will actually float on the water. The lightest rock in the world.’

  ‘Does it come from the volcano?’

  ‘Yes. It’s really just lava - lava turned into foam. You know how light water is when it is turned into foam. That is because it is full of bubbles each containing air. Well, this is rock foam. It also is made up of bubbles,

  each containing air or other gases, some of them lighter than air. Some of the bubbles have burst and that’s what makes all those holes.’

  ‘But does it really float on the water, like a raft?’ Roger wanted to know.

  ‘It does. When the volcano Krakatoa erupted, so much pumice was thrown out on the sea that it made a great floating island three miles across. Some people thought it was a solid island and built their houses on it. One morning they woke to find that a storm during the night had carried their island away over the sea far out of sight of any land. After eighteen days they were rescued by a passing ship.’

  ‘I’d like to take a ride on a pumice raft.’

  ‘You may have a chance when we get to studying the Submarine volcanoes. Just now I think we’d better walk rather than talk. I don’t like the sounds coming from that volcano.’

  They scrambled on down the mountainside. But the boys were too much interested in the stories the volcano man could tell them to allow him to walk in silence.

  ‘What makes a volcano, anyhow?’ Roger asked.

  Dr Dan smiled. ‘Well, that’s a pretty big question. Have you ever gone down in a mine?’

  ‘Yes, we went down in a coal mine in Pennsylvania.’

  ‘Was it warm or cold?’

  ‘It was hot. The deeper we went the hotter it got. We nearly melted.’

  ‘Exactly. Now if you had been able to go on down, say twenty miles, you certainly would have melted, and you would find everything around you melted too. The rocks would all be turned into hot soup with a temperature of several thousand degrees. The same thing happens in a steel mill where iron ore is heated until it melts and flows like water. Now then, if you step on an orange what will happen?’ ‘It will crack and the juice will squirt out.’ ‘Just so. Think of the millions of tons of earth pressing down upon that rock soup. Naturally, if it can find a crack it will squirt out. And that’s just what a crater is. A crater is a crack in the earth’s surface. The rock soup sees its chance to escape and up it comes. That rock soup is what we call molten lava. Lava is just rock in a liquid state. It may be any kind of rock, or many kinds together - no matter, it is still called lava.

  ‘Of course, when the lava spurts up through the crack it tears away dirt and rocks and stones and sends them flying up into the air along with the lava. If rain water seeps down through the crack it is turned into steam by the terrific heat. And you know how strong steam is - in a locomotive, for instance. The steam in the volcano may cause terrific explosions that kill thousands of people. The explosions may split the crater so that the molten lava flows out in a great river and covers dozens of towns and villages. And that’s just what happened here. You are walking right now on the surface of a river of lava a hundred feet deep. Under it are thousands of Japanese houses. And in them are men, women and children, ten thousand people buried for ever.’

  ‘Why for ever?’ asked Hal. ‘Vesuvius buried Pompeii, but now they have excavated the city.’

  ‘That’s true. But Pompeii was buried under ashes, not lava. It was easy to shovel away the ashes. But these forty-eight Japanese villages lie under a hundred feet of solid rock.’

  ‘Is it likely to happen again?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. Japanese volcanologists believe that Asama is preparing for another great eruption. After my observations today I am inclined to agree with them. The lava lake in the crater is rising at the rate of fifteen feet a year. No one can say with certainty, but it is quite probable that within the next ten years Asama will put on another big show. But before that it will put on plenty of little shows and a little show would be enough to kiD the lot of us, so let’s hurry along.’

  Asama was now roaring like a wild bull and sending up a tongue of yellow flame thousands of feet into the blue sky. Clots of half-solid lava spattered down on the rocks. Each man kept watch above, and dodged when he saw something coming for him.

  And even so, a sticky chunk of red-hot paste struck the sleeve of Machida’s coat and stuck there in spite of all his efforts to shake it off. The coat burst into flame. Machida whipped it off and beat it against the rocks to put out the fire. He finally succeeded, but there was nothing left of the coat but a black, charred mass. He threw it away.

  The six pressed on more anxiously than ever.

  ‘There’s an inn at the foot of the old lava flow,’ Dr Dan said. ‘If we get to it, we’ll be all right.’

  Great quantities of ashes were now rising from the volcano. They formed a black cloud in the sky. The sun was blotted out. It grew as dark as if it had been late evening instead of noon. Sudden flashes of light stabbed through the darkness. ‘Is that lightning?’ asked Hal.

  ‘Yes. Lightning and thunder are very common over volcanoes, because the rising heat disturbs the electrical balance of the atmosphere. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have rain too.’

  Presently it came: a deluge of rain, but not clean and pure as rain should be. It was a mud rain. The ashes in the sky mixed with water came down as mud.

  ‘That volcano god finds plenty of things to do!’ complained Roger. ‘But I never thought he’d begin throwing mud pies at us.’

  Within ten minutes they were plastered with mud from head to foot. They looked more like clay statues than men. They had trouble keeping the stuff out of eyes and mouths. It covered their ears so they could hardly hear each other. It piled up on their feet and made them heavy. It covered the ground like glue and made walking difficult.

  The six mud-men staggered on through the unnatural night. What if they should lose their way? Hal looked anxiously at Dr Dan. He hoped that the doctor wouldn’t begin to sing and that the strange attack that had turned him to stone at the edge of the crater would not be repeated. They depended upon the doctor to guide them to safety.

  But the doctor seemed calm enough as he clambered over the rocks as nimbly as the heavy caking of mud on his body would let him. Toguri also seemed to know the way.

  Gradually a light became visible ahead. It turned out to be a lamp in the entrance to a Japanese inn.

  What a relief to step under the projecting roof and be sheltered from that crazy shower of mud! They tried to clap their hands to call the maid. But no sound came from those mittens of mud.

  They shouted, ‘Ohaiyo!’ There was a pattering of sandals in the corridor and a maid appeared. She cried out when she saw six mud statues standing in the vestibule. More maids appeared and the proprietor, all with cries of concern and sympathetic laughter.

  Muddy shoes were removed, feet were tucked into sandals called zori, and the six mud-men were hurried straight to the bath. They were shivering with cold, for the heat of the day had vanished when the darkness and rain began.

  Off came the mud-plastered clothes and were taken away at once to be washed and ironed.

  Then six dirty men poured buckets of hot water over themselves, applied soap generously, and rinsed themselves clean under more bucketfuls of hot water.

  Then they stepped down into the bath. There is nothing in the world quite like a Japanese bath. It is a tub of very hot water three feet deep. This one was large, about fifteen feet square, more like a miniature swimming pool than a tub.

  You don’t go into a Japanese tub to get clean. You get clean first, then you enter the tub and squat in it so that only your head is above water. And there you soak for a half-hour or more, enjoying the warmth that seems to relax every muscle and nerve in your body, smoothes away your troubles, and leaves you perfectly content with the world and hungry for dinner.

  So they happily soaked and relaxed. Then they st
epped out to dry themselves and each slipped on a yukata provided by the inn, a sort of light-weight kimono, and they were led to the room that had been assigned to them.

  Here they sat down on the soft mat-covered floor before an ankle-high table and were soon manipulating chopsticks over a delicious dinner of hot rice, baked fish, fried prawns, wafers of seaweed, a steamed custard of eggs, mushrooms, and chicken, and a dessert made of beans in a syrup of sugar and honey.

  Dinner over, the maids carried away the tables and the six were left to themselves.

  The Japanese felt perfectly at home, but the others found the room a bit strange. It was nothing like the sort of hotel room they were used to. There was not one stick of furniture in it - no chairs, no bed, no table, no telephone stand, no writing desk, no chest of drawers, no dressing table, no carpet, no curtains.

  There was also no dirt. The room was spotlessly clean. Even the floor was as clean as a dinner plate for no one ever came into the room with shoes on. The sandal-like zori were left outside in the corridor. The room was floored with straw mats called tatami, three inches thick, soft and springy, and as clean as a whistle.

  The three Japanese lazily stretched themselves out on the floor, and the others followed their example. They were surprised to find how good it felt.

  ‘Not bad at all!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘A lot better than sitting up in a chair when you’re tired.’

  They talked over the events of the day. Hal drew Kobo into the conversation and painstakingly corrected his faulty English.

  Chapter 6

  Stories of the volcanoes

  The mud rain thudded on the tile roof. Already there must be a heavy blanket of mud on the roof. Roger looked up.

  ‘I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be buried alive,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we’ll find out.’

  Dr Dan laughed. ‘I think the rain will finally conquer the mud and wash it away. But of course there’s always the chance that it won’t. This was the way Vesuvius buried Herculaneum - under a sea of mud.’

  ‘Have you climbed Vesuvius?’ Hal asked.

  ‘Yes. It’s easy compared with Asama. It’s only four thousand feet high. From the top you get a marvellous view of Naples and the bay and the Isle of Capri. And you can look down into a very angry crater. Vesuvius has blown her top many times, and will probably do it again. But the worst was when she buried Pompeii and Herculaneum.’

  ‘What year was that?’

  ‘Only seventy-nine years after the birth of Christ. What a day that must have been! When people came out of their houses that morning they saw a great black cloud over Vesuvius. Flashes of lightning shot through it

  and the sound of thunder rolled down the slope of the mountain.

  ‘Then there was a violent earthquake. The ground danced, people lost their footing and fell. Great cracks opened up in the streets, so wide that chariot horses could not jump over them.

  ‘The mountain began to shake with explosions. The black cloud rolled down over the city. It became so dark that no one could see more than a few feet away except when a flash of lightning lit up the scene.

  ‘Lava puddings like those we saw today began to fall and burned many people to death. Small bits of pumice showered down. Sulphurous vapours made people choke. Then the shower of ashes began. Tons and tons and tons of ashes. At first people didn’t mind them too much. They just waded through them and laughed. The children had great fun playing in them and throwing them about. The ashes were only ankle-deep.

  ‘But they kept on falling. Soon the people were up to their knees in ashes. They went inside their houses. But the earthquakes began to shake the houses down upon their heads. So they went out into the street again.

  ‘The ashes were up to their chests. Now they really became frightened. They began to leave the city. Some escaped, others were not able to battle their way through the ashes which were now over their heads. They were buried alive.

  ‘Still the ashes came. They covered the houses, and then the theatres, and then the great public buildings. At last there was nothing but a smooth plain of ashes with the city completely buried far beneath.

  That was what happened to Pompeii. What happened to Herculaneum was a bit different, and more terrible. Over this city rain began to come down in torrents. It turned the ashes into mud.

  ‘Here too the people were afraid to stay indoors because the earthquakes were tumbling the houses down around their ears. They went out into the streets and tried to wade their way out of the city. But they could not wade through the mud. It was up to their knees and it was a very sticky kind of mud, like glue or cement.

  Tt held them fast. They could not move. They cried out for help but no one could help them. The mud rose to their waists; to their necks. It crawled up over mouth and nose, over the eyes, over the top of the head. On, up over the tops of the highest buildings. Still the mud came until it was one hundred and thirty feet deep.

  Then the shower stopped. The mud began to dry into a hard, stony substance, very much like cement. So the people of Herculaneum stood in the streets in their great cement coffin for eighteen hundred years. People forgot that they had ever existed and new towns were built above their heads.

  ‘Now an attempt is being made to excavate these cities. Much of Pompeii has been uncovered, but the cement coffin defies the diggers. They cannot disturb the new towns so they bore tunnels beneath them. They have reached the theatre and several beautiful temples. It is a hard job, and perhaps most of the city will remain sealed for ever.’

  ‘All the things a volcano can do!’ marvelled Roger. ‘It buries these forty-eight villages under lava, Pompeii under ashes, Herculaneum under mud.’

  ‘But that’s not all,’ said Dr Dan. Tt can destroy a city without using lava or ashes or mud. Remember how Mt Pelee killed forty thousand people in five minutes?’

  ‘Tell us about it,’ prompted Hal.

  Tt won’t take long to tell because it didn’t take long to happen. Mt Pelee - you know where it is, on the beautiful island of Martinique in the West Indies - had been growling for days. The people of the city of St Pierre at the foot of the mountain paid little attention to it. They weren’t as wise as the animals.

  ‘The wild creatures left the mountain. Even the snakes crawled away. The birds stopped singing and flew to other islands.

  ‘One morning at seven-thirty the volcano stopped growling. There was complete silence. ‘Ah,’ said one man to another, ‘you see we were sensible not to run away. Pelee has quieted down.’

  ‘The silence lasted for fifteen minutes. Suddenly there was a deafening explosion like the roar of thousands of cannon. The whole side of the mountain was blown to pieces. Out came a huge purple cloud that rolled down with the speed of a hurricane upon the city.

  ‘Lightning zigzagged through it and besides the lightning there were brilliant fireworks in the form of serpents and circles. The cloud was made up of burning gases, terrifically hot.

  ‘The people barely had time to speak before the burning cloud was upon them.

  ‘I said that forty thousand people died in five minutes. It really took less time than that. The effect of the blast was almost instantaneous.

  ‘The wall of fire swept out into the harbour and sank sixteen ships. The water of the harbour was heated almost to boiling point. Only two ships managed to limp away to safety after most of their crew had been killed. The fire hurricane burned the others and hot whirlpools sucked them down.

  ‘Some of the ships were set on fire by rum - can you imagine that? Thousands of casks of rum stored in the city were exploded by the terrific heat. The blazing rum ran in rivers down the streets and out to sea, setting fire to the ships.

  ‘Sailors on the two ships that got away looked back upon a frightful scene. The city was blazing. Houses lay in heaps, great trees had been torn up by the roots. Not a human being moved. Not a human voice was heard. The sailors believed that every last person had perished.

  ‘They were wro
ng. One man, just one, still lived. He was discovered four days later by rescue parties. He was a prisoner in the city jail. He was locked in a cell so far underground that the gases and flames did not reach him.

  ‘He saw nothing - his cell had no window. But he knew from the noise and heat that something terrible was going on. Then all became quiet.

  ‘For four days he was without food and water, almost without air. He shouted for help. He tried to break the lock of his cell, but it was no use. He counted himself the unluckiest man in St Pierre.’

  ‘Then he discovered that he was the luckiest. He was found and brought out into the light and saw the ruins of the city. It was one of the strangest twists of fate in all history - this man who had committed murder and had been condemned to die, was the only one in the whole

  city to live.’

  So the volcano stories continued through the afternoon and evening as they rested in the snug, dry little inn, mighty thankful to be there.

  After supper, the maids brought futons, thick, heavy quilts, and spread them on the floor. They made a great bed twenty feet wide. Six small, round pillows were placed on the bed and six men crawled in between the quilts.

  This all seemed quite natural to the Japanese. But the visitors, who were taller, found the quilts a bit short and their feet stuck out. However, they curled them up as best they could and were soon asleep.

  For some hours there was no sound but the muffled pat-pat of mud on the roof.

  It must have been about two o’clock in the morning when a sharp earthquake shook the house with a clattering, crashing sound and a scream split the air - the scream not of a woman but of a man. Hal felt a sudden commotion in the covers and then someone ran over him, still screaming.

  Hal groped for the light and switched it on.

  Dr Dan, looking very odd in his yukata which was too short for him so that his bare legs projected beneath it, was frantically beating upon the walls with his fists. Then he smashed the wood-and-paper door that led to the garden and was about to step out when he suddenly stopped screaming, turned slowly, and blinked at the light. Five astonished men sat up in their beds and watched him. .