In the manufacture of soap, it is mixed with the alkali, in order to deprive it of its carbonic acid, to render it caustic, and by this means fit it to combine with the oil or tallow, which is thereby converted into soap.
In the manufacture of glue, lime is used to prevent its becoming flexible by the absorption of moisture, and to add to its strength.
The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences
of Thomas Trotter.
CHAPTER XXII.
Journey to Florence.—Face of the country.—Narni.—A thunder-storm among the Appenines.—Strange method of stilling a tempest.—Crossing the mountains.—Spoleto.—The Clitumnus.—Foligno.—A town shaken by an earthquake.—Perugia.—The battle of Thrasymenus.—Tuscany.—The Italian Yankees.—Florence.—Beauty of the city.—Manners of the people.
On the morning of the 18th of May, I left Rome for Florence. The coachman pays all expenses of meals and lodging on the road, which secures the passengers from the impositions of the innkeepers, who will generally make the most exorbitant charges when they get a traveller in their power. My companions were a couple of jolly Italian priests; a young Frenchman, full of harum scarum liveliness; a grave old Polander, and a Roman country girl. The sun rose gloriously over the Appenines as we left the city behind us, and the soft, balmy breeze of the morning seemed to give life and freshness ‘to everything. The lofty peaks of the Appenines, however, were covered with snow. After leaving the desert level of the Campagna, we came to a delightful country of green meadows, interspersed with fields of wheat, and long ridges of blue mountains at a distance. People were mowing in the field: and the patches of wheat were curiously spotted over with red poppies. Beyond this the country became still more beautifully picturesque. Several old towers, with crumbling ruins and grass-grown walls, added to the variety and interest of the landscape. As we approached the Appenines, the country grew wilder, but everywhere exhibited a succession of enchanting views. There appeared little cultivation: the trees were chiefly olive and ilex. The mountains were covered with trees of a stunted growth.
On the afternoon of the second day we stopped at Narni, a village standing on a high rocky cliff, overlooking the vale of Terni. From the window of our inn, as I looked up the valley, I discerned a black thunder-cloud gathering on the mountains, and advised our driver not to go forward for the present. Presently the cloud began to roll down the valley toward us, spreading out its dark folds so as to fill the whole extent of the vale. I contemplated the approach of this mountain giant with feelings of sublimity and awe. The air, which at first had been in a dead calm and burning heat, now began to move, with cool breezes, which rapidly increased to a furious gale. In the midst of the tempest I was struck with a noise of what I supposed to be a clap of thunder, but which exactly resembled the report of a musket. Presently another, and another, and another, like a running fire of musketry, caused me to doubt whether it was really thunder. Casting my eyes up the steep sides of the crag on which the town is built, I saw muskets popping out and firing from the windows of every house. “What is the meaning of this?” asked I of a little boy who stood by. “To break the gale,” he replied. “See how it blows:—in a minute or two the wind will all go down.” Sure enough, in a few minutes the wind ceased, and a tremendous shower of rain, with thunder and lightning, followed; after which the clouds swept off, and all was clear and serene.
The villagers informed me that this was always done at the approach of a thunder-cloud; and that their guns never failed to break the storm and bring down rain. Strange as this may appear, it is easily explained. The explosion of firearms has the effect of thunder in giving a shock or electrical impulse to the air, and condensing the vapor into rain. There is no doubt that many of our dry storms might be converted into copious showers by the firing of cannon.
Our road now led us among the most savage and rugged portion of the Appenines. The ascent in many places was so steep that we took oxen at the country houses to assist our horses in dragging the carriage up the hills. Our conductor told us of a robbery that, a week before, had been committed here upon a company of English travellers. We also took notice of the crosses and piles of stones set up here and there, where murders had been committed. These would not be thought very comfortable things to amuse a traveller among the wild and lonely mountains. Towards night we met a company of malefactors, in chains, guarded by a file of soldiers. All these things gave a touch of romance to our travelling. But we passed the time very agreeably. The priests were saying their prayers and cracking jokes alternately, so that it was hard to tell whether they were most devout or waggish. That night we slept at a lonely house up in the mountains. We were not disturbed by robbers, and I was lulled to sleep by the song of the nightingales, who made the woods echo with their sweet melody all night long.
We set out early in the morning, and, descending the mountains, passed through Spoleto, a city whose romantic situation, with the blue mountain peaks towering above it, struck me with delight and admiration. During a short stay here for breakfast, my ghostly companions carried me off to the house of the bishop, who was greatly delighted to see a man from the new world. Americans hardly ever take this city in their route. Beyond Spoleto, we crossed the little stream of the Clitumnus, famous of old for the clearness of its waters. We stopped to dine at Foligno, a town which had been shaken by an earthquake a few months previous. The walls of the houses were twisted all out of shape, and in many of the streets great beams of wood extended across from wall to wall, to keep the houses from tumbling down.