CHAPTER 14
Early Summer –1799
No sooner did they land in Naples, than Dr Hawley’s carefully laid plans suffered a check – then stuttered and virtually fell apart. The blame for that lay firmly with Bonaparte, for causing conflict between the aristocracy and lower classes. As a result, the King of Naples had moved his Court from Caserta, to the safety of Palermo, in Sicily.
Dr Hawley heard of this when he visited the British Embassy to present Squire Norbery’s letter of introduction to the Ambassador, and learned that Sir William Hamilton was visiting the Bourbon Court. The junior diplomat to whom he spoke advised them to travel further afield, but it was too much to accept.
Before he left Linmore, Dr Hawley had set his heart on three things. To explore the city where Virgil, the Latin poet studied and made his home; meet an acknowledged expert in the study of volcanoes; and visit Pompeii and Herculaneum, the cities overwhelmed by the cataclysmic eruption of Vesuvius, which he heard were now under excavation.
Deprived of two of his three options, Dr Hawley was determined to visit Vesuvius. Mindful of his responsibilities, he considered it a good a way of keeping his pupils occupied, and ensured they would not be seduced in areas of the city where sins of the flesh were notorious – or so he had heard.
Whilst he was not averse to drinking a glass of wine with a meal, or playing a hand of whist with his sister; he did not condone licentious behaviour, and would do his utmost to protect his pupils from temptation. Cerebral occupation was the answer – keep the mind active and the spirit would follow.
Although Dr Hawley did not admit his disappointment, Joshua and Charlie recognised the way his mouth drooped at the edges when he heard the news. Then he sulked, like a child. Virgil was his hero, and he so looked forward to exploring Naples.
Without the ambassador to tell them about volcanoes, they would have to see Vesuvius for themselves. When the tutor pretended he was doing it for them, they accepted his word, knowing he would not admit his plans had gone awry.
They did not mind where they went next. Everywhere was new, and from what they could see of Vesuvius, across the Bay of Naples, the only sign of life in a near-cloudless sky were a few wisps of white around the top, which they hoped was steam – anything to show activity.
At Linmore, they had seen artists’ impressions of volcanic eruptions in books. Vivid images of fire and brimstone. Savage acts of nature, which did untold damage. Now, they would visit the volcano, and two of the towns overwhelmed by lava.
The trouble was, when it came to arranging transport for the journey, Dr Hawley belittled every option Sergeant Percival offered. The man did his best, but there was little choice available, and what he found did not suit the tutor. Undeterred, the guide managed to find a conveyance – of sorts.
Within three days, they were on the move, passing through the city gates soon after sunrise, intent on travelling before the heat became too intense. They showed their identification papers when they left the city, and paid taxes for the surrounding district; a requirement for each border crossed.
Although the journey between Naples and Vesuvius was only five or six miles, it was tediously slow and woefully lacking in comfort. The hired coach belonged to a bygone age, its once plush seats tired and faded. Door hinges creaked and coach wheels suffered from a chronic lack of axle grease, and every jolt in the road jarred their bones. It was a miserable way to travel, and the heat made it worse, especially as the coach was overloaded.
There were five people travelling together, all breathing the same dry air, without permission to open a window, because of Dr Hawley’s morbid fear of draughts. Apart from Joshua, Charlie and their tutor, two menservants occupied the coach – another grievance, for which Dr Hawley blamed Sergeant Percival, who rode alongside the vehicle.
Fortunately, it was only a relatively short distance, and there were compensations. All around, they could see orange and lemon groves covering the hillsides and valley floor, filling the air with the heady scent of citrus.
The sight teased Joshua’s senses, making his mouth water and his memory recall the refreshing taste of Miss Belinda Hawley’s lemonade and delicious citrus biscuits. In the dry, stuffy heat, the thought was bitter sweet – pure nostalgia and torment in equal portions.
When the coach stopped unexpectedly in the next village along the road, the door opened and Sergeant Percival appeared carrying a basket of oranges and lemons, together with a platter of large orange slices cut ready for eating. Sweet and succulent, it was nectar from the gods. Their grumbling discontent melted away in seconds.
The remaining miles passed unnoticed, except when Joshua and Charlie unfolded their long limbs from the cramped interior. Even so, they managed a laugh whilst vowing to walk back to Naples rather than enter the dilapidated vehicle again. After they dined and rested, they viewed the prospect with equanimity.
If nothing else, the view from the ridge of Vesuvius was worth enduring a four-hour ride on a mule and a half-mile trudge to the top. It was spectacular.
Up there, the world was untouched by military conflict. Below them, the Bay of Naples and the city, spread out like a painted picture. A blue haze of sky, far out to the horizon, and ships of the line visible on the sea, but they could not tell if the flags fluttering from the stern of the brigantines were the Red Ensign. In a just world they would be.
It was everything they expected it to be, and the mule ride was bearable in the early morning when they set off, an hour after sunrise. The heat increased, the higher up the slope they rode, and air became drier, which they presumed was due to the effects of volcanic ash and sulphurous fumes. An assumption, Dr Hawley did nothing to discourage.
Confronted with the beasts of burden, Joshua and Charlie decided future soldiers could ride anything, but they were concerned about their tutor’s ability to cope. They need not have worried. The ponderously slow pace the animal moved suited Dr Hawley exactly, and he spent the time reading his copy of Virgil, just as he did at Linmore. At least he was happy, doing what he wanted.
God bless Sergeant Percival for anticipating their need for a bite to eat, when they dismounted and left the mules, half a mile from the top – and the most welcome of drinks – lemonade. Made from freshly picked fruit of the lemon grove – it was delicious. Even Dr Hawley seemed unusually grateful when the former soldier produced two stone flagons, one for their arrival, and a promise of the second before they began the descent.
Suitably refreshed, Joshua and Charlie waited while Dr Hawley fussed around and interrupted Sergeant Percival’s negotiations with the Italian guides. Patience was a virtue at the best of times, but in the dry heat a few hundred yards away from the volcanic ridge, it was in short supply. The end of the path looked so close they could almost touch it.
Half the day was gone already, spent on the back of a mule. Their legs ached with inactivity, and their backsides from sitting on old, worn saddles. Joshua felt it most for his legs were too long for the stirrups.
Oh to be on the move. No sooner the thought than the deed. Claiming a call of nature, they slipped a few feet away beyond the trees that would shelter the horses, each knowing the other’s mind and intention. Both knew it would take an age for their tutor to decide if he was ready, and by then they would be waiting at the ridge. They set off up the path, matching their steps to the other, but before they had gone a dozen yards, Joshua sensed the change and lengthened his stride, knowing that Charlie would try to outpace him. It was madness and yet he felt freer than he had for weeks.
“Gentlemen, stop at once…” Dr Hawley’s voice hung behind them in the haze.
It was easy to pretend not to hear, but Sergeant Percival’s authoritative tone could not be ignored. “Mr Norbery…” he bellowed.
Out of habit, the sound of his name brought Joshua to an abrupt halt and Charlie followed suit. They exchanged a quick shrug of their shoulders and a grin as they waited for the other members of the group to join them.
&nb
sp; “Gentlemen…gentlemen,” Dr Hawley chided, as if speaking to recalcitrant children. “You must curb your impatience, and prepare your minds for a truly awesome sight of nature.”
“Yes, sir,” they muttered in unison, and looked balefully at the former soldier. Sergeant Perceval ignored them and walked two steps behind at the rear of the line.
The final stretch they covered on foot was steep and slow. As young legs moved at the pace of old, Joshua felt hot and sweaty and he envied the Italian guides their clothes in lighter-weight material, but knew any attempt to remove his coat would be met with disapproval. He hoped that English country dress would be appropriate for other parts of the journey; otherwise they were in for an uncomfortable time.
The dry heat and frustration of the moment brought out Charlie’s strange sense of humour. Separated from Dr Hawley by little more than a few feet, he muttered to Joshua, “I bet I could have reached the ridge before you.”
“How much…?” Joshua said, striving to maintain a degree of the freedom he had been offered and lost.
“Half a guinea,” Charlie retorted. “You would have lost for sure, because I’m more agile. Your feet are too big and clumsy.”
Instead of arguing the point, Joshua said, “Which part of the ridge?”
“The rim of the crater, of course, you idiot Norbery,”
“Having observed every clinker and charred blade of grass along the way, I suppose,” Joshua intoned.
“Yes…something like that.”
“I’ll prove you wrong on that, Cobarne,” said Joshua, determined to have the last word. “The bet is not off – only deferred until we return to Linmore.”
Charlie nodded agreement and they continued the plodding pace in silence.
At the top of the path, a sense of unreality assailed them as they looked towards the rim of the hollowed-out mountain; and a sudden awareness of the need to watch where they put their feet amongst the black clinkered lava that littered the ground.
Remarkably, Dr Hawley seemed to come to life. “The guide tells me we have less than one hour, gentlemen. Then we must return, to allow other visitors to ascend,” Dr Hawley, said over his shoulder as he hurried away to investigate the crater, adding as an afterthought, “Don’t go too close to the edge.”
Joshua heard the warning as he moved forward, and then hesitated before taking a step closer to peer into the crater. The sheer size and depth of the opening took his breath away, and yet he felt an irrational sense of disappointment at its quiescent state. Nothing below moved, or smelled unusual. He felt somehow cheated of the fire and brimstone he had been led to expect from pictures in books.
“Is that all there is?” he said.
Charlie looked for himself, and came to the same conclusion.
“Looks like it.”
After all that time and spent effort, there was hardly a puff of steam to show a difference in temperature. The white wispy clouds they saw from across the bay really were clouds, not signs of volcanic activity.
Of course, there might be more going on, deep inside, but the crater was so vast and the clinkered black lava rocks near the edge blocked their view. It was five years since the last eruption, but lichen was already growing on some of the boulders.
They did not know what to do, so they picked up pieces of black rock, to take home – one to show Aunt Jane and the twins, and another for Sophie. Such thoughts inevitably took Joshua home to Linmore, which seemed far away from this barren place.
Dr Hawley seemed to have forgotten them. He was in discussion with the local farmer, who guided them to the top. One was speaking Italian in precise terms, the other fluent in a local dialect, too fast for anyone to follow.
Joshua turned back to look at the view. No one could fault that, but he had no idea how he would complete the report of the day’s activities, which Dr Hawley insisted on.
“What do you think of the volcano, Master Joshua?”
Sergeant Percival’s voice startled them. They had forgotten his shadowy presence, standing guard a step or two behind them.
Joshua would not dare to say what he thought to his tutor, but the former soldier was different. With him, you were not afraid of feeling silly, whereas academics could make you feel stupid, and frequently did.
“To be honest, Sergeant,” he said, in a quiet voice. “We expected there to be more life in it than this.”
A strange expression crossed the man’s face, half-way between a smile and a grimace.
“That’s understandable,” he said. “But believe me; you wouldn’t be standing here if it decided to erupt. I was in Naples, back in ’ninety-four, with a party of young gentlemen, similar to you, when it last put on a show – and when it does, Naples is close enough for anyone.”
They looked at him, incredulous.
“What was it like?” said Charlie. “We’ve only seen pictures in books.”
Sergeant Percival looked into the distance as he spoke.
“If I recall it right, it happened in the middle of July. There were several earth tremors within a few days, and some bursts of smoke and steam from the crater. Nothing much, but it gradually built up through the day, and the locals knew there was more to come. It was not dark at ten o’clock when the column of ash erupted, but it blotted out the light. Then a great crack appeared in one side of the rock, and molten lava started surging through the vents, one after another.
He stared into the mists of memory, gathering his thoughts.
“It was an eerie sight, watching from across the bay as the lava flow moved down the hillside, all through the night, burning and scorching everything in its path. It reached the centre of Torro del Greco at six o’clock the next morning,” he said, pointing down the hillside in the direction of the town. “It’s something I wouldn’t want to see again.”
They were transfixed. No written account could ever relate the event as Percival did, and continued to do so.
“I doubt if anyone in Naples slept that night. There was too much apprehension. The air was dry and dusty, from the clouds of stinking sulphur. The dust gets in everything – the food and water. In your ears and eyes, catches in your throat as well. It’s hard to describe the taste. Acrid, I suppose is the best word for it. That’s due to the sulphur.” He grimaced, and changed the subject.
“There’s nothing like that here now, but if you want sulphur springs, then Solfatara, on the Phlegraean Fields is the place to go. I think even you would agree it stinks just as a volcano should. Conditions in Naples are difficult now, but things might settle before we return home, and whenever that is, we will be sailing from Naples. If you ask the professor in advance, maybe he’ll agree to take you there.”
“How do you know all this?” said Charlie.
“Because I discussed it with Sir William Hamilton, the last time I was in Naples, and he’s been studying the Italian volcanoes for thirty years.”
“You… talked to the ambassador…” Joshua said in amazement, and then realised it sounded insulting.
Sergeant Percival gave a wry smile. “Yes, I did,” he said. “He’s a real gent, with a passion for the subject, and will talk with anyone who is interested.”
“Dr Hawley wanted to meet him, but he’s attending the King of Naples, in Palermo.”
“I know,” said the sergeant. “From what I heard, Bonaparte came a bit too close for comfort, late last year, so they moved the entire Royal Court to Sicily. I expect they’ll come back again, when things settle down.”
The depth of Sergeant Percival’s knowledge was amazing. Dr Hawley gained his information by studying books, and the soldier, from observations of life, but the way he told it made it far more interesting. They were so enthralled that they failed to hear Dr Hawley’s approach, until he spoke.
“If I may I have your attention, Masters’ Norbery and Cobarne? It’s time to leave.”
As Joshua turned to find his tutor standing a few feet behind them, he sensed Sergeant Percival moving away. Neither man ac
knowledged the other, but it was obvious from his pettish tone that Dr Hawley felt aggrieved, having heard the soldier telling of his meeting with the ambassador.
It made Joshua feel sad that even in this remote place, Dr Hawley, who preached tolerance and courtesy to everyone else, should display such a bigoted attitude. It was a wonder Gilbert from Linmore had not been ordered to accompany them simply to convey messages.
He pondered it all the way down the dusty path on foot, and during the tediously long ride back to their lodgings. However much his tutor might sulk, Joshua could not regret talking with Sergeant Percival, for he brought Vesuvius to life.
Despite his avowed intention to explore Pompeii on the morrow, Dr Hawley felt the full effects of a day in the saddle and the extra altitude on the volcano. He was so fatigued that he spent the day in bed, with his manservant attending to his needs, and then tottered outside the following day, looking decidedly weary.
The effects of dry heat and riding the mules took its effect on all of them, and Joshua and Charlie were equally glad of the rest.
Mules, they discovered, were not like the horses at Linmore, any more than the ancient coach was comfortable. Sergeant Percival promised to find something better for the journey beyond Naples.
While their tutor languished in his room, they drank lemonade and talked with Sergeant Percival about what to expect from Pompeii and Herculaneum. Having visited these places before, he spoke of things that Dr Hawley had not mentioned – things of which to be aware. Or at least, Gilbert did. Sergeant Percival seemed to be asleep.
“Percy’s been telling me about the Stabian Baths in Pompeii,” Gilbert said.
Percy, being the name he used for Sergeant Percival.
“What about them?” Joshua said.
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