272 The National Geographic Magazine 



sible, the gruesome sight still lingering. 

 On passing to the higher portion of the 

 ■city, however, where the French sol- 

 diers had not as yet performed their san- 

 itary work, the piles of dead could not 

 be avoided. 



The best general impression of the 

 present condition of St Pierre can per- 

 haps be obtained from the hill at the 

 south end of the city, termed Morne 

 d' Orange, where formerly stood a colos- 

 sal statue of the Blessed Virgin. Near 

 the vacant pedestal of the statue is the 

 wreck of a giant cotton tree, its broad 

 buttressing roots still anchored in the 

 rocks on the verge of the hill, and its 

 blasted branches lifted like appealing 

 arms, heavenward. From beneath the 

 deep shade of that wide-spreading tree 

 eyes no doubt glanced over the peaceful 

 city, with its red-tiled roofs and man}' 

 tossing palms, on the morning of the 

 8th of Ma}', followed the green slope 

 of Mont Pelee to beyond the fields of 

 arrowroot and cane, upward to the dense 

 tropical forest on the summit portion of 

 the awakening volcano, to where its hot 

 breath condensed and mingled with the 

 vapors brought by the steadily flowing 

 trade winds. The person who last saw 

 that fair picture — of blue sea, animated 

 city, verdure-covered slopes, and the 

 vast cloud-filled sky — on the morning 

 of my visit, lay with many others — 

 ■shriveled corpses — partially buried be- 

 neath the seemingly universal sheet of 

 gray volcanic dust. The beautiful pic- 

 ture had been blotted out, all except 

 the smiling sea and the rugged moun- 

 tain. At my feet lay the dead city, 

 silent and gray. Not a green thing was 

 in sight. Not a tree was standing, ex- 

 cept on the far-away mountain ridge 

 leading down to the partially destroyed 

 village of Precheur, and even those were 

 scorched and withered. It is difficult 

 to convey in words the appearance of 

 an absolutely plantless landscape, but 

 in that triangular space, some 20 square 

 miles in area, on the western slope of 



Mont Pelee, there was not a thing left 

 alive, and not a tree left standing after 

 the volcanic blast swept over it. Fire 

 followed the hurricane of hot vapor, 

 and the rain of rock dust buried what 

 the fire left unconsumed. Ne ser before 

 in the history of man has such complete 

 destruction been wrought on an area of 

 equal size. 



Gazing down into the silent streets 

 from the heights of Morne d' Orange, 

 I could trace their course and see the 

 irregular plain on which the city had 

 been built, but no conspicuous objects 

 were in sight. Even the cathedral 

 was indistinguishable in the universal 

 ruin. Farther northward, where St 

 Pierre extended beyond the bold heights 

 on the landward side, where formerly 

 rose the royal palms of the botanical 

 gardens, the depth of the deposit of 

 gray dust was such that streets were 

 obliterated and houses buried out of 

 sight. The reason for the deeper cov- 

 ering of the northern than the southern 

 part of the city is that the former was 

 at the margin of a sloping plateau-like 

 surface, leading toward Mont Pelee, 

 down which the dust was swept and 

 piled upon the houses ; while farther 

 south sheltering heights intervened and 

 the area from which dust could be swept 

 was much less extensive. 



I feel, however, that you are -already, 

 from your reading, almost as familiar 

 with the desolate picture which St 

 Pierre and its surroundings present, but 

 may wish to ask if it is true that all the 

 destruction was done in the space of a 

 few minutes, and how this exceptional 

 event in the history of volcanoes came 

 about. The evidence of eyewitnesses 

 who were near the border of the devas- 

 tated area or on the ships in the road- 

 stead facing St Pierre is conclusive that 

 the 30,000 people, as the estimate is, 

 who perished with the city died within 

 the space of perhaps three minutes. 

 Indeed, it seems safe to say th^t prob- 

 ably the most of them met their death 



