The end of the town toward the volcano, all backed by cliffs, was deeply buried under gravel, but the southern end had a covering of only a foot or two of sand. The second explosion was greater than the first one, demolishing third storeys and the second belfry of the cathedral. The beautiful bells “whose soft liquid notes used to ring across the bay with touching cadence at the Angelus hour” lay tumbled in rubbish, splinters, and steaming vapors; their ancient embossed inscriptions half buried in dust.
The bodies were mostly shriveled to a crisp from the second eruption, for earlier the bodies had not been much altered. The odor was a haunting one that returned in dreams—of foundry, steam, sulfur matches, and burnt stuff, and every now and then a whiff of roast, decayed flesh that was horrible. It was impossible to realize that this Pompeii had been a thriving French town two weeks before. Not a roof was left, and scarcely a timber; steam came through little holes in the wet brown sand, and a sickening whiff showed whence it came.
It was hard to distinguish where streets had been. Everything was buried under fallen walls of cobblestone and pink plaster and tiles, including 20,000 bodies. A New England town would have blown away as white ashes before the giant blowpipe acting on the flame of burning rum.
I looked toward the gray old volcano, with shrouded summit. The landscape was dusty, like old statuary. Mountain slope and cliff were denuded of trees. An overturned factory boiler had holes punctured by flying stones. A circular marble fountain basin was chipped away on the volcano side by bombardment. Old cannon used as mooring posts at the quay had been uprooted violently. The green landscape ended abruptly at the city along a sharp line, with coconut palms half green, half brown. There was no motion except steam jets on Pelée’s slopes.
Suddenly I wondered what those steam vents were doing. At first there had been one or two along the sea front; but now there were eight, ten, twenty, spurting high and scattered all over the volcano. A physician, Dr. Church, was standing near me, and we agreed that we disliked the outlook. Now there were forty jets, like so many ghostly locomotives run out from the Pelée roundhouse. Meanwhile, white-coated officers and scientists were scattered about in groups under the cliffs, some out of sight of Mount Pelée.
We looked toward the USS Potomac; she had seen the steam, and her own white steam presaged quick, repeated toots of her fog horn. Pellmell the passengers came tumbling to the landing. The sailors had no sooner started the boats than two more white-coated figures appeared, and we had to put back for them. The mountain looked as though it were rifting in a hundred places preparatory to an outburst, and there were many stories of new craters forming. What we saw was actually the product of a smart rain shower, falling on red hot dry gravel; but we were to learn later about rain rill explosion. Wherever a stream rill runs down to such contact, a jet of steam forms at once.
The main water gorge of the Pelée crater was blown clear of clouds as we steamed past, and we saw a cup under the summit amphitheater where a lake had been, with a pile of scaly looking hot boulders in its midst steaming violently. This crater extended into a deep gulch to the ocean, whence had come a disastrous mud flood on May 5 which buried a sugar mill. This had happened three days before the destruction of St. Pierre. Water preceded steam. The cracks under the gulch undoubtedly dipped away from the city, and from an unknown chasm athwart the gulch line ejected water and superheated steam toward the city, like a jet from a hose. This happened on May 8. The ejected material had been in dry steam, and red hot, accounting for early reports of lava at night.
I saw molten rock five weeks after the Potomac trip, when the crater cone was above the rim of the gorge, apparently large fragments of brown angular material resting on finer gravel. Cauliflower clouds of reddish dust spurted up the bed of the gulch below every half hour, and migrated down the gulch. This was followed by a low growl, perhaps from avalanches. The basin widened during the month, and the dome gained in height and breadth. A bright incandescent crack at night was seen to cross the heap obliquely. A sudden increase of glow was followed by a rumbling, as though the dome were heaving. Breadcrust bombs of andesite, cracked on their surface in deep gashes, and picked up on the mountain at both Pelée and Soufrière were pieces of the internal lava.
A chance clearing of the whole dome came two months after the obliteration of St. Pierre. This we photographed, when brown dust was rising, and steam jets appeared southeast on the dome and in the gulch. On top was an extraordinary spine, shaped like a shark fin, with steep escarpment to the east, curved and smooth and scraped to the west, pushed up and out of a central rupture of the dome. It was like paste from a tube, a hard central pencil of lava that had been shoved up by the expansive force within. Jagged surfaces of breaking showed on the vertical east cliff and long, smooth, arched striations of scrape appeared on the rounded west profile of the protuberance. Other hornlike projections showed on the dome. The summit spine was 200 feet above the surface of the heap.
On July 6, 1902, came the first report of the famous Pelée spine. It crumbled in August, and a year later a new spine, facing in the opposite direction, reached a height of 1,000 feet. It was a central tongue of the semisolid lava of the dome, sufficiently plastic to be urged out by forces within. Otherwise the dome was a nearly solid extrusion covered with fallen bombs. This was the magma, or lava, of the Pelée-Soufrière eruptions. Dike ribs extended radially from the spine athwart the dome. I published an erroneous explanation that the dome of boulders consisted of old fragments melted by a superblast and was not true lava. I was so far right, however, as to anticipate the gas-heat theory and melting of all volcanism.