Our first sight of this beautiful island was the infamous volcanic mountain of Mt. Pelee jutting up some 4,582’ and dripping of lush green vegetation. We anchored on the northwest side in front of the city of St. Pierre. For our sundowners (the kids had milk), we read the story of St. Pierre and that fateful day of May 8th, 1902. For weeks leading up to that day, there had been rumblings, gasseous eruptions and smoke belching from the mountain top above the city. There was an election coming up and the incumbent didn’t want to upset the people of the capital and have them evacuate unnecessarily and possibly lose the election because of it. He also got pressure from the merchants who said it would be bad for business if everyone left. So he and his “experts” assured the people there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about and that it was perfectly safe to stay. The people must have been quite gullible because next to no one left. Unfortunately, “they” were wrong. In a very unique eruption, the whole side of the mountain blew out with such intensely hot gases (1800-3600˚F) that it vaporized the entire city. In an instant, all 29,933 people were dead except for one prisoner deep inside an underground jail cell.
Today, the town is only a fraction of what it used to be. Many of the structural foundations like that of the grand theatre and hillside buildings still stand in memory. We walked through these and the museum, Musee Vulcanlogique. Is it English? “Oi, boot of cours” Like 10%! But the visual collection of ruins needed no explanation. They had remains of vaporized food stores, blobs of glass bottles, melted church bells, and limp iron implements. The collection reminded us of just how powerful Mother Nature can be when she’s unhappy.
The kids seem to want to leave quickly and did not really like the hike to the base of the volcano, sensing that it could happen again.
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