Martinique Island

By Rex Bestle

Rex was born on February 4, 1955 in Clearwater, Florida. He
moved with his family to Burbank, California in 1962, where he
grew up attending schools in Burbank and graduated from John
Burroughs High School, class of 1973. He later worked for the
Ralph M. Parsons Corp. in Pasadena, CA as a mechanical draftsman
and worked on such projects as the Alaskan Pipe Line and the
Honolulu International Airport. Rex enjoyed many hobbies,
including hiking, fishing, rock collecting and snow skiing. He had
taken creative writing classes in high school, which led to his love
of writing short stories. Rex was tragically killed in a snow skiing
accident on February 16, 1979. His writings were found after his
death, just 2 weeks after what would have been his 24th birthday.
This book is dedicated in his memory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465389152

Rex Bestle

Rex was born on February 4, 1955 in Clearwater, Florida. He moved with his family to Burbank, California in 1962, where he grew up attending schools in Burbank and graduated from John Burroughs High School, class of 1973. He later worked for the Ralph M. Parsons Corp. in Pasadena, CA as a mechanical draftsman and worked on such projects as the Alaskan Pipe Line and the Honolulu International Airport. Rex enjoyed many hobbies, including hiking, fishing, rock collecting and snow skiing. He had taken creative writing classes in high school, which led to his love of writing short stories. Rex was tragically killed in a snow skiing accident on February 16, 1979. His writings were found after his death, just 2 weeks after what would have been his 24th birthday. This book is dedicated in his memory.

Book preview

Martinique Island

The sea was quiet and blue. Not even the fish seemed to be stirring. The gentle breeze from Panama tried vaguely to waken the sleeping Antilles, but it was useless. The Caribbean had had many lazy April afternoons before, and it knew exactly what to do, nothing.

The depths were also still. An occasional ray would dart from the sand after a school of small grouper, already disappearing in the forest of seaweed and coral. A lone tiger shark glided effortlessly fifty feet below the surface, smiling contently at the thought of the large grouper he was now digesting.

For the most part though, the sea was inactive. Even as the water approached the islands its swells did not amount to more than a few inches, the waves themselves barley a foot.

No one could remember when the islands were formed it was so long ago. The coral might remember, and so might some of the fish. The great sea quakes and the splitting of the ocean floor along faults no fish knew had existed. The tremendous pressure of molten rock being pushed up through miles of harder colder rock, the sudden explosion of the lava hitting the water and cooling. The successive layers of material building upon each other until finally it broke the surface of the water, and the first wave broke on its minute shoreline. But the island continued to build, higher and higher, continually shifting the outlet of its lava until the surface of the island covered miles instead of yards.

The people came in 1631. To them it was just an island, a rock protruding from the sea on which fertile ground could be found for farming. A city could be built as a stop over from France to the other colonies of the Americas.

But the mountain did not notice the people. It was still growing. In 1792 and 1851 the mountain shuddered and threw up ashes in anticipation of growing again.

It was April 1, the day of fools, 1902. In just over four weeks of warning after warning, the mountain would kill 35,000 men, women and children, in less than two minutes time.

April 1, 1902

Paris, France

Professor Montange! The almost shrill voice echoed down the empty hall.

Professor Montange slowed his pace, taking his time to turn as around. He was in his late sixties but looked eighty. He did everything deliberately, slow. He had often stated, in and out of the classroom, that life went by fast enough without mankind helping it along by hurrying here and there.

He was just less than six feet and slightly overweight, but the latter was only noticeable in his face. His large pointed nose gave him the appearance of an Egyptian, but not his mass of white hair and white beard, they were definitely French. He was removing his glasses from his hair (some of his pupils wondered if he ever used them, as they were always on top of his head and never over his nose) and stuffing them in his vest pocket as he spoke, Delux? He never called any of his pupils by their first name, You seem excited enough."

Professor, gasped François Delux holding his heart with his right hand, "have you heard the news?

And what news is that? asked the professor returning to his original direction and slowly starting out once more.

Why, of the volcano of course! Vesuvius! Blurted François, panting along side of the professor. It’s erupted, it’s all over the newspapers!

I see, the professor said quietly stopping to talk out a cigarette. How long have the tremors been going on?

François stopped abruptly and starred at the Professor, his face showing obvious confusion. Tremors? I… I don’t know. It didn’t say.

The professor inhaled the first long drag on his cigarette. Of course it did not say, how could it say, there’s been none

But, professor… the news…

The professor quieted him with a stern glance, a trait he was not normally known for. The newspapers, Delux, do not often consult people in authority on matter of which they have no insight. If it is the Gazette to which you are referring, then I know for a fact that they have had no correspondence with a volcanologist before printing this piece. Nor have they consulted or even asked for the opinion of any geologist. Nor have they, for that matter, asked the city dogcatcher for his ideas.

What I am trying to point out, Delux, is that I have not spent years and years of my life teaching geology to students like you, stressing all the facts that science has learned up until now, as well as the theories we are still trying to prove, just to have one of you throw it all out the window for a… a newspaper story!

Well, François said thoughtfully, struggling to recall everything he had learned about volcanoes in the last two years, if this is not a true eruption, then… it must be… a sudden release of super heated magmata gases under tremendous pressure being forced through the vent of volcano! The last sentence came out almost as one word and Francois stopped to catch his breath, his face beaming.

The professor stood motionless for a few seconds as though still absorbing the last few words. Then he smiled gently and began talking in his naturally slow voice, Very good Delux. I am afraid though, that what you have described is still an eruption.

François was at a complete loss for words. He knew the professor was right, he knew that before he made his statement. If he could only acquire the professor’s natural poise when it came to matters of such excitement as volcanic eruption.

True, the professor continued, a great volume of gas is being emitted at this time, but we believe at this time it is meteoric and not magmatic.

Rain water?

Ground water, actually. Something has taken place… to allow large amounts of water to enter the volcanic tube and form steam. There may be, however, small amounts of primary magmata gases in steam, sulfur dioxide, ammonium chloride and so on. So your prognosis is not entirely wrong.

François’s spirits picked up and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Well of course, that’s obvious. I guess the University will be sending another team out.

I believe that the one there now will be able to do a sufficient study on this… Phenomenon.

Francois shifted his gaze to the floor. Oh.

The professor studied him carefully. Over the many years of his teaching he had met many students who were willing to dedicate their lives to the field of geology. But it was not often he came across a pupil so acutely interested, indeed obsessed by one particular aspect of the science. Usually his students strived to absorb as much as they could of everything he taught. He must not let this spirit for knowledge die. He must somehow get François into the field.

Delux

Francois looked up, and turned down the cigarette being offered to him. There was nothing to celebrate.

Delux, I do not know if you are aware of this or not, but I have been asked to visit the French University St. Pierre Lucre on Martinique. A Dr. Brodoux and I are to confer with a professor Landes of that University. Dr. Brodoux is with the Paris school of mining, so this will leave most of my work to myself. So, if you think you can free yourself for one quarter…

François’s eyes widened, he had never been outside of France in his life. And now he was getting the chance to see the Caribbean!

. . . Of course you’ll be getting credit for my class. As for your other classes, I…

I’ll go!

"Well, all right, As long as this is what you really want to do.

Good, the professor shook his hand. He judged Francois could not have been much happier if he was at an active volcano that minute. We probably will know by Sunday when we are leaving. You had better be making any arrangements that need to be made, as far as your other classes and…

Yes sir!

The professor laughed. François turned to leave, but stopped Sir

Yes

What is the, well… what will be our main purpose in going?

To study the volcano… Pelée.

François felt like skipping down the hall, but thought he had better start making an image for himself with the school staff instead. Pelée, not one of the more active or well-known volcanoes in the world, but it would be fascinating more or less.

April 2, 1902

Martinique Island

Let’s start moving. said Professor Jon Landes scratching the red side burns on the right side of his face. It was an old habit of his. One he knew of, but could not remember when or how it had started, only that he had been doing it for as long as he had been on the island, and that was about six years.

He continued scratching around his ears and the side of his bushy brown and red hair. He was a potpourri of color, for his short, stubby beard was blonde and almost white. It didn’t seem to bother him that his colleagues thought he looked like a mad scientist. All that mattered to him were volcanoes, and right now he was climbing one of the largest in the area, Mt. Pelée.

Jon, one of his companions said, It’s almost one o’clock. Perhaps we had better start back, it is your birthday you know. Mary said she would be…

I know, I Know. Professor Landes turned to his companion and put his hand on his shoulder.

William, never marry an American, there’re too precise.

But sir, I am an American!

Landes turned to the other man with them, a tall extremely well built Jamaican that they called Jim. Jim had come to Martinique two years earlier to study botany at the university.

He was what might be considered a kind of prince of his tribe, although his older brother had the only legal claim to that title. He hoped to come back to his village with enough knowledge to greatly improve the farming that was done to support the tribe.

Despite the trouble at first of communication, Jim progressed rapidly and was well liked by everyone, particularly the female members of the facility. He spoke a little English, but few people spoke anything but French.

Jim, let’s go. With this Landes made his way up the dry bed of the River Blanche with Jim close behind him carrying several various instruments, and William behind Jim. He carried only a notebook. The professor, of course had his rock hammer with him as always, another point that made his colleges think he was slightly crazy.

After twenty minutes of walking, Landes stopped and sniffed the air in an exaggerated motion, like a dog or coyote. William beginning to weary of the long hike, bumped into Jim, who had stopped behind Landes.

Sulfur, Landes announced.

Jim wrinkled his nose in disgust as the order reached him. He glanced around for the origin of the penetrating smell. When he looked back, the Professor was gone. Professor! he shouted.

There was no sound for a few seconds, and then Landes stood up from behind some ferns. Here, up here. Come quickly!

Jim raced up the gully, with William a few steps behind.

Look, up there. Said Landes as they reached him, pointed to the left side of the ravine.

Smoke, said Jim

Steam, said William, his mouth hanging open after each word, steam… and sulfur I imagine. He turned to Landes, who was making his way up the ravine. Does this mean an eruption? he asked, cautiously following the professor and Jim.

The hissing of the escaping steam was louder now as they approached the opening.

Right now, I really couldn’t say. But if this does become an eruption, then I am living every volcanologist’s dream… to witness all the stages of a volcano from the very birth of the thing!

William glanced suspiciously from the professor to the vent, now only 100 yards away, and back. You really are crazy. He muttered, seeing the excited look in the professor eyes.

Jim… we must get closer. Said William. I have a perfect chance to analyze those escaping gases.

They continued their way up the ravine, the climbing becoming just slightly steeper now seventy-five yards from the vent, which was becoming increasingly louder with each foot they walked.

The professor, as always with his rock pick in his hand, led the way. His eyes gleamed with the fascination of the changing earth in progress. Last followed William who was becoming slightly more frightened with every step he took. This was not his field he kept telling himself, he should be somewhere teaching math right now.

Between them came Jim, neither frightened nor fascinated by this picturesque release of power from deep within the earth. Jim really only had two expressions that were ever found on his face. One was a broad, beaming smile, usually accompanied by a deep harmonious laugh.

This never failed to pick up the spirits of whoever was with him. The other expression was a half smile, which he always had when he wasn’t laughing. It was impossible to ever know when he was depressed or angry, but that’s the way he wanted it.

Landes stopped twenty yards from then vent. Through the steam and smoke he could see that the opening was roughly six feet in diameter, but all the gases were escaping from the upper end of the pit. He could not get close enough, because of the heat to see that the lower end of the pit was slowly filling with thick, pasty lava.

Professor! shouted Jim. Look, up by the bend!

Landes turned to Jim What? he shouted over the deafening roar the steam was now making.

Up there! William shouted, pointing to another column of steam about 200 yards away.

Yes, said Landes shaking his head in emphasis. Then cupping his hand around his mouth, another fumarole!

William decided to move closer to him. The pit was only a few feet from the left side of the ravine. Just above it was an outcrop of rocks, almost directly above the steam. A yellow powder seemed to be forming on the rocks right before his eyes. He bent down to Landes, who was crouched on one knee, and pointed to the yellow-powder.

Landes stared through the steam for a few seconds, and then nodded his head. Sulfur crystals. I didn’t know it formed that fast. Jim, unpack those instruments.

Silently Jim did as he was told all the time keeping an eye on the vent. I don’t… think… this is good.

Landes smiled, but it was an almost a sinister smile, and William took note of it. I wouldn’t worry, Landes remarked. Your gods don’t live on this island

Jim pretended not to notice, but William was taken back. Perhaps he didn’t know Landes as well as he thought he did.

The professor stood up, and turned his back to the vent. He was now facing Jim, and his eyes were almost the color of his sideburns. I think we’ve discovered something extremely… good Lord William cried.

The ground reeled violently beneath them, and the two men were thrown to the earth. William tried to raise himself on one arm, but the world seemed to be caving in around him. There was a loud tearing noise, like a ship plowing into a dock, and a muffled explosion.

In seconds ashes about the size of grains of sand were covering them. Then… everything was silent, even the vent itself was quiet. A thin almost invisible thread of steam slithered into the air, and disappeared.

Jim raised himself slowly onto a boulder. Professor he said looking at Landes lying face down in a drift of ashes Jim, are you all right?

Landes rolled over on his back and he found himself looking up at Jim. Yes, he said turning to William. Yes. I’m all right. I knew it was not good.

Landes studied him for a moment before speaking. Bring that equipment over here and follow me, He stood up, a little shaky at first, and started to stumble his way to the edge of the vent. Jim picked up one of the instruments and followed him.

Landes moved to within twenty feet of the pit. Then he turned to Jim With this instrument, said Landes, picking up a long metal tube about twenty feet long and an inch in diameter, we can estimate the temperature of the vent. Here, hold onto this

Landes handed Jim a long manila rope, the other end of which he attached to the tube. Then, lowering the tube into the pit with the rope, he held one arm in front of his face because of the intense heat rising from the pit. He quickly walked back to where Jim was holding the rope.

You see, inside of the tube are a dozen sheets of porcelain, each one thicker than the next. At about 200c the thinnest sheet of porcelain will melt, but not the next one. Not until a temperature of about 250c is reached. This way, we can find the temperature of the lava, by the thickest plate it will melt.

A low rumbling sound had been building up during Landes explanation, and was now getting quite loud, almost like an approaching train.

I think it is starting again

Quick, yelled Landes. Pull it up.

Both men had only pulled in a couple of feet when the line suddenly went slack.

Landes starred at the limp rope in his hands, I’m afraid we’ve lost the…

With a tremendous popping sound, a jet of steam shot out of the hole, a hundred feet into the air, carrying the pipe with it.

Run, Landes shouted, but he was completely drowned out by the super heated steam releasing its pressure on the atmosphere.

Landes was staring up at the column of steam, now over a hundred feet high.

The volcano will erupt, won’t it, asked William.

Landes turned to him. I think so, but how bad I couldn’t say. We must get back to the school, I’ll need more equipment, more tests.

William stood with the other two, and the three of them wearily made their way down the River Blanche. It had been a long afternoon for them, but the weeks that followed would be even longer.

April 2