Epistle XX. To Tacitus.
by
Mr. Henley.
[_]
Accidents relating to Pliny at the Time of his Uncle's Decease.
YOU tell me your Curiosity is rais'd by the Letter I sent to you, on your Desire,
about the Fate of my Uncle, to know the Apprehensions and the Circumstances I was in while I was left at
Misenum; for I had enter'd upon that Part of the Story, but broke off from it.
Tho' the Remembrance fills my Soul with Horror,
Yet I'll begin.
After my Uncle had taken his leave, I employ'd the Remainder of my Time in Study;
for I stay'd behind for that Purpose: Then I bath'd, supp'd, and repos'd,
but unquietly and
shortly. We had been for many Days before sensible of an Earthquake, but it was less terrible,
since not only the Castles, but the Towns of
Campania, were frequently subject to it.
However, it redoubled that Night with so much violence, that every Thing was not only shock'd,
but seem'd to be overturn'd by it. My Mother came hastily into my Chamber;
I rose up, with a design to awaken her, had she slumber'd. We took a Seat in the Court,
that separates the Buildings from the Sea, by a very narrow interval:
I am in some Doubt, whether I ought to stile it Courage, or Imprudence,
for I was then no more than Eighteen. I call'd for
Livy, and read at my Ease,
and took Notes out of it, as I had begun. A Friend of my Uncle's, who had lately arriv'd from
Spain, on a Visit to him, came to us: When he perceiv'd us both sitting,
and me reading, he reproach'd her Indolence, and my Confidence; yet I still kept my Eyes fix'd on my Book.
It was now Seven in the Morning, and the Day as yet was breaking,
and hardly more than Twilight: The Houses around us were shaken,
so that the Dread of a Fall of them was great and certain; the Place being small,
tho' open. Then we thought to quit the Village. The People follow'd in a Panic;
the general Fear had something in it like Prudence; for every Man preferr'd another's Contrivance to his own,
and press'd forward the Crowd that was retiring. When we
had got clear of the Town, we made a Stop, and here met with new Prodigies,
new Terrors. For the Carriages which we order'd out, were toss'd to and fro,
even upon the level Ground, and would not stay in a Place, tho' supported with large Stones.
Besides, the Sea appear'd in a kind of Eddy, and was driven back upon it self by the Earthquake.
The Shore was enlarg'd, and a Number of Fishes were left upon the Beach.
On the other Side, a gloomy and dreadful Cloud, rent by the unequal vibrating.
Motions of a fiery Meteor, open'd in Flames of a various Length; they did not much differ from Lightening,
but were larger. Then our
Spanish Friend spoke to us with greater Force and Eagerness;
“Had
your Brother, and
your Uncle been alive, he would have been sollicitous for your Safety;
tho' Dead, he must have been desirous, that you should survive him: Therefore,
why do not you try to escape?” We answer'd, That we would not give him Occasion to think,
we would entirely consult our own Safety,
while we were uncertain of my Uncles Welfare. He paus'd no longer upon it,
but fled from the Danger with all the Precipitancy imaginable. Soon after,
that Cloud descended to the Earth, cover'd the Sea, surrounded and hid
Capreæ from our Eyes, and intercepted the Promontory of
Misenum
from us. Then my Mother conjur'd, press'd and commanded me, by any means whatever,
to save my self:
That it was easy at my Years; but encumber'd as she was, with Age, and heavy with Infirmities,
she would be content to die, if she should not be the Cause of my Death.
I reply'd, that I would not accept of Security but with her. Then I seiz'd her Hand,
and forc'd her to go along with me; she complies unwillingly, and often blames herself for retarding me.
The Ashes began to fall upon us, but in a small Quantity: I look'd back,
a gross Mist follow'd us, and spread it self on the Earth like a Deluge.
On the Sight of it, I said to my Mother, Let us turn out of the Way while we are in View of it,
least we fall in the Road, and be trodden to death by the Crowd in the Dark.
We had scarcely quitted the Way, when a perfect Night hung over us, not like one that is overcast,
without a Moon, but a Room, where all the Lights are extinguish'd. You might hear the Shrieks of Women,
the Cries of Children, the Noise of Men: Some call'd aloud for their Parents,
some for their Husbands, and knew them only by their Voices;
some bewail'd their own Share in the Calamity; and others that of their Neighbours;
some wish'd for Death from the Fear of Dying; many lifted up their Hands to Heaven;
a Multitude disbeliev'd all the Gods, and look'd upon the Time to be the last eternal Night,
that has been prophecy'd. Some improv'd the real Dangers by feign'd and imaginary Fears;
others gave it
out, that
this House at
Misenum was fallen,
that was burnt;
both falsly, but they met with Believers. A Glimpse of Light appear'd,
that did not show us the Return of Day, but the Approach of the Fire that threatned us:
The Fire indeed, stood at a Distance; then the Darkness reviv'd, and after that,
a plentiful Shower of Ashes and Cinders: We rose up now and then and shook them off,
otherwise we shou'd have been cover'd and oppress'd with the Weight of them.
I could boast, that neither a Sigh, nor a complaining Expression drop'd from me in the midst of these Alarms;
but I was supported by this Consolation, not very Reasonable indeed, but natural enough,
to think that all the World perish'd with me. At last, this pitchy Vapour was dissipated by Degrees,
and was lost like Smoke, or a Cloud; presently the Day appear'd in Reality,
and the Sun shone out, but with a lowering and a dull Complexion, as if it was Eclips'd.
Our trembling Eyes meet with every thing chang'd, and hid beneath a Depth
of Ashes like a Snow. On our Return to
Misenum, after having taken a moderate Care of our selves,
we pass'd the Night, divided between Hope and Fear; but the latter had the Advantage;
for the Earthquake continu'd, and most of the People distracted with Terror,
entertain'd their own Apprehensions, and those of others, with frightful Presages.
Yet I could not even then resolve to depart, tho' I had experienc'd the Danger,
and expected more, 'till I receiv'd some News of my Uncle. You may amuse your self with reading this short Narrative,
tho' as unworthy of a Place in History, you will not commit to writing;
and you must lay the Imputation on your self for asking it, if you do not think it deserves a Letter.
Farewell.
