for him to have made his way out. So he was awoke and got up,
and went to Pomponianus and the rest of his company, who were feeling
too anxious to think of going to bed. They consulted together whether it
would be most prudent to trust to the houses--which now rocked from side
to side with frequent and violent concussions as though shaken from
their very foundations--or fly to the open fields, where the calcined
stones and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell in large showers and
threatened destruction. In this choice of dangers they resolved for the
fields: a resolution which, while the rest of the company were hurried
into by their fears, my uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate
consideration. They went out then, having pillows tied upon their heads
with napkins; and this was their whole defence against the storm of
stones that fell round them.

It was now day everywhere else, but _there_ a deeper darkness prevailed
than in the thickest night; which, however, was in some degree
alleviated by torches and other lights of various kinds. They thought
proper to go farther down upon the shore to see if they might safely put
out to sea, but found the waves still running extremely high and
boisterous. There my uncle, laying himself down upon a sail-cloth, which
was spread for him, called twice for some cold water, which he drank,
when immediately the flames, preceded by a strong whiff of sulphur,
dispersed the rest of the party, and obliged him to rise. He raised
himself up with the assistance of two of his servants, and instantly
fell down dead; suffocated, as I conjecture, by some gross and noxious
vapor, having always had a weak throat, which was often inflamed.

As soon as it was light again, which was not till the third day after
this melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and without any
marks of violence upon it, in the dress in which he fell, and looking
more like a man asleep than dead. During all this time my mother and I,
who were at Misenum--but this has no connection with your history, and
you did not desire any particulars besides those of my uncle's death, so
I will end here, only adding that I have faithfully related to you what
I was either an eye-witness of myself or received immediately after the
accident happened, and before there was time to vary the truth. You will
pick out of this narrative whatever is most important: for a letter is
one thing, a history another; it is one thing writing to