From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

As I stood on the edge of the crater and looked down into the awful depths below, it seemed as if I beheld a scene such as might have inspired the description of Dante in his Inferno, or of John in the Apocalypse; as if that dread abyss were no unfit symbol of the "lower deep" into which sink lost human souls. That "great gulf" was as the Valley of Hell; its rocky sides, yellow with sulphurous flames—how glistening and slippery they looked!—told of a "lake of fire and brimstone" seething and boiling below; those yawning caverns which were disclosed as the smoke drifted away, were the abodes of despair, and the winds that moaned and shrieked around were the wailings of the lost; while the pillar of cloud which is always rising from beneath, which "ceases not day nor night," was as "the smoke of torment," forever ascending.

He must be a dull preacher who could not find a lesson in that awful scene; or see reflected in it the dangers to which he himself is exposed. Fire is the element of destruction, even more than water. The "cruel, crawling foam" of the sea, that comes creeping towards us to seize and to destroy, is not so treacherous as the flames, darting out like serpents' tongues, that come creeping upward from the abyss, licking the very stones at our feet, and that seem eager to lick up our blood.

The point where we stood projected over the crater. The great eruption three years since had torn away half the cone of the mountain, and now there hung above it a ledge, which seemed ready at any moment to break and fall into the gulf below. As I stood on that "perilous edge," the crumbling verge of the volcano, I seemed to be in the position of a human being exposed to dangers vast and unseen, to powers which blind and smother and destroy. As if Nature would fix this lesson, by an image never to be forgotten, the sun that was declining in the west, suddenly burst out of the cloud, and cast my own shadow on the column of smoke that was rising from below. That shadowy form, standing in the air, now vanishing, and then reappearing with every flash of sunlight, seemed no inapt image of human life, a thing of shadow, floating in a cloud, and hovering over an abyss!

Thus musing, I lingered on the summit to the last, for such was the fascination of the scene that I could not tear myself away, and it was not till all were gone, and I found myself quite alone, that I turned and followed them down the mountain side. The descent is as rapid as the ascent is slow. A few minutes do the work of hours, as one plunges down the ashy cone, and soon our whole party were reassembled at its base. It was five o'clock when we took our carriages at the Observatory; and quite dark before we got down the mountain, so that men with lighted torches (long sticks of pine, like those with which travellers make their way through the darkness of American forests), had to go before us to show the road, and with such flaring flambeaux, and much shouting of men and boys, of guides and drivers, we came rolling down the sides of Vesuvius, and a little after seven o'clock were again rattling through the streets of Naples.

Yesterday was our last day in this city, as we leave this afternoon for Athens and Constantinople, and as it was the Sabbath, we went on board the Franklin for a religious service. Such a service is always very grateful to an American far from home. The deck of an American ship is like a part of his country, a floating island, anchored for the moment to a foreign shore: and as he stands there, and sees around him the faces of countrymen, and hears, instead of the language of strangers, his dear old mother tongue, and looks up and sees floating above him the flag he loves so well—that has been through so many battles and storms—he cannot keep down a trembling in his heart, or the tears from his eyes.

And how delightful it is, on such a spot, and with such a company, to join in religious worship. The Franklin has an excellent chaplain—one who commands the respect of all on board by his consistent life, though without any cant or affectation, while his uniform kindness and sympathy win their hearts. The service was held on the gun-deck, where officers and men were assembled, sitting as they could, between the cannon. The band played one or two sacred airs, and the chaplain read the service with his deep, rich voice, after which it was my privilege to preach to this novel congregation of my countrymen. Altogether the occasion was one of very peculiar interest to me, and I hope it was equally so to others.

And so we took leave of the Franklin, with most grateful memories of the kindness of all, from the Admiral down. It is pleasant to see such a body of officers on board of one of our national ships. None can realize, except those who travel abroad, how much of the good name of our country is entrusted to the keeping of such men. They go everywhere, they appear in every port of Europe and indeed of the world; they are instantly recognized by their uniform, and are regarded, much more than ordinary travellers, as the representatives of our country. How pleasant it is to find them uniformly gentlemen—courteous and dignified, preserving their self-respect, while showing proper respect to others. I am proud to see such a generation of young officers coming on the stage, and trust it may always be said of them, that (taking example from the gallant captains and admirals who are now the pride of our American Navy,) they are as modest as they are brave. Such be the men to carry the starry flag around the globe!

CHAPTER XXVII.

GREECE AND ITS YOUNG KING.