po on the left, along the palaces
of the Chiaja, up to S. Elmo on the hill, past Santa Lucia, down on
the Marinella, beyond Portici, beyond Torre del Greco, where
Vesuvius towered up aloof, an angry mount of amethystine gloom, the
conflagration spread and reached Pompeii, and dwelt on Torre dell'
Annunziata. Stationary, lurid, it smouldered while the day died
slowly. The long, densely populated sea-line from Pozzuoli to
Castellammare burned and smoked with intensest incandescence,
sending a glare of fiery mist against the threatening blue behind,
and fringing with pomegranate-coloured blots the water where no
light now lingered. It is difficult to bend words to the use
required. The scene, in spite of natural suavity and grace, had
become like Dante's first glimpse of the City of Dis--like Sodom and
Gomorrah when fire from heaven descended on their towers before they
crumbled into dust.

From Capri to Ischia

After this, for several days, Libeccio blew harder. No boats could
leave or come to Capri. From the piazza parapet we saw the wind
scooping the surface of the waves, and flinging spray-fleeces in
sheets upon the churning water. As they broke on Cape Campanella,
the rollers climbed in foam--how many feet?--and blotted out the
olive-trees above the headland. The sky was always dark with hanging
clouds and masses of low-lying vapour, very moist, but scarcely
raining--lightning without thunder in the night.

Such weather is unexpected in the middle month of May, especially
when the olives are blackened by December storms, and the
orange-trees despoiled of foliage, and the tendrils of the vines
yellow with cold. The walnut-trees have shown no sign of making
leaves. Only the figs seem to have suffered little.

It had been settled that we should start upon the first seafaring
dawn for Ischia or Sorrento, according as the wind might set; and I
was glad when, early one morning, the captain of the _Serena_
announced a moderate sirocco. When we reached the little quay we
found the surf of the Libeccio still rolling heavily into the gulf.
A gusty south-easter crossed it, tearing spray-crests from the swell
as it went plunging onward. The sea was rough enough; but we made
fast sailing, our captain steering with a skill which it was
beautiful to watch, his five oarsmen picturesquely grouped beneath
the straining sail. The sea slapped and broke from time to time on
our windward quarter, drenching the boat with brine; and