The Last Volcano Read online

  He also had measurements to make.

  Thomas Jaggar hustled off, leaving Helen alone. He had brought a Bristol pyrometer, a device that could measure the hot temperature of gases in furnaces. He used it to measure the temperature of red-hot cracks around the edge of Halema’uma’u, finding that the hottest ones registered nearly 300°C (570°F)—the same as the hottest temperature he had measured in piles of volcanic ash at Mount Pelée.

  After they returned to the hotel, he recorded his temperature measurements in the Volcano House Register, a book kept at the hotel for guests to record their descriptions and their impressions of the volcano. In the entry for April 7, 1909, he acknowledged that, in making the temperature measurements, he “was assisted by Mrs. Jaggar.”

  The Jaggars left the summit of Kilauea and the Volcano House the next day and retraced their route back to Hilo, then to Honolulu. In a few days they would board a ship and sail for Japan. In the interim, Thomas Jaggar was asked to give a lecture about his work on volcanoes.

  The lecture was given on Wednesday, April 14, at the University Club of Honolulu. Club members were men who had attended at least one year of college and who now held a position of prominence in the islands. Some were politicians; most were businessmen. Included in the audience the afternoon of his lecture was the Territorial Governor, Walter Frear, and the Chief Justice of the Territorial Supreme Court, Alfred Harwell. Sidney Ballous, an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of Hawaii, introduced Jaggar. He and Jaggar had been classmates at Harvard.

  Jaggar had given the lecture many times, adding information about other geologic calamities when they occurred. He began this particular lecture by showing lantern slides of himself at Martinique and of eruptive clouds rising from Mount Pelée. He told of the work being done by Perret at Vesuvius and of his own adventures in Alaska. He showed slides recently sent to him by Perret of the destruction of the city of Messina in southern Italy. An earthquake had shaken the city on December 28, 1908, killing more than a hundred thousand people—more than half the city’s population. At the end of the lecture, he turned to the audience and told them: “I come here tonight to make a missionary appeal.”

  “What was the cause of the Messina earthquake or of the recent one in San Francisco?” he asked. He said that he did not know. Nor did anyone. The ignorance came from the fact that scientists, such as himself, rushed to a scene only after a geologic disaster has occurred. What was needed were geonomical observatories that could record what was happening inside the earth. “That doesn’t mean observatories on the tops of volcanoes with heroes to sit on the edge of craters all day,” he said. Instead, it required people who would devote their lives to the careful and continuous recording of activity, using the best scientific equipment then available. Each observatory would keep a specific region of the world under surveillance. And the people who worked there would issue a warning if a geologic disaster—an earthquake, an eruption or, perhaps, the approach of a giant sea wave—seemed imminent. Such work would be historic and represent a new type of profession, one that Jaggar described as being “a missionary of science.”

  The first such geonomical observatory had already been established at Vesuvius. The second one, Jaggar announced, would be near Boston, operated by MIT and funded by a recent gift from the Whitney family of Boston.

  After the lecture, a man with a balding head and cherub face introduced himself to Jaggar. He was Lorrin Thurston, the owner and publisher of the Pacific Commercial Advertiser, the largest newspaper in the islands. He asked whether Kilauea might be a better place to establish the next observatory. Jaggar said that it would. “Is it a matter of money?” Thurston asked. Jaggar answered that it was, largely, but it also required persuading the Whitney family and MIT administrators to shift their attention to the Hawaiian Islands.

  Thurston suggested that Jaggar stop in Honolulu on his return from Japan so that they could talk more about what might be done at Kilauea.

  The Jaggars stayed in Japan two months. Helen spent her time in Tokyo and Yokoyama. Her husband went off, having time to travel to and climb only two of the countries more than a hundred volcanoes.

  The first one he visited was Asama, sixty miles northeast of Tokyo, one of the most active volcanoes in Japan. He climbed the steep slope, led by Japanese hosts. When they reached the summit, the crater was completely clear of smoke and steam, something, his hosts said, that had not happened in years. Jaggar took several photographs, one showing a large swirl of solidified lava at the crater bottom. The most recent explosion of Asama was a minor one the previous September. The next one would occur the next December.

  The second volcano was Tarumai far north of Tokyo on the island of Hokkaido. Tarumai had been quiet since 1896. On March 30, 1909, six weeks before Jaggar’s visit, a tremendous explosion took place, throwing out ash and lava bombs. Two weeks later, another explosion occurred, this one described by Japanese observers as “in full violence.” Those who climbed the low cone four days later saw that new lava, in the shape of a giant dome, a quarter of a mile wide and more than six hundred feet in height, had risen from the crater floor.

  Jaggar was at Tarumai three weeks after the second explosion. The dome reminded him of the craggy rocks he had seen on Bogoslof. On the day he visited, the volcano was quiet, only steam rising passively from the base of the dome. Occasionally, rocks could be heard falling off the dome. Jaggar decided to descend into the crater.

  He approached the dome, carrying his Bristol pyrometer. He found a crack in the side of the dome and thrust the end of the pyrometer into it. The temperature was 855°F (457°C), the hottest he had measured at any volcano. As he would write, there was enough heat a foot from his face to ignite wood.

  The visits to Asama and Tarumai added to his experiences at volcanoes. But the lasting benefit of the trip to Japan came after he returned to Tokyo and met Fusakichi Omori.

  Omori was a shy, diminutive man of extraordinary intellect. Unlike most Japanese of his generation, he had traveled widely. He had been to Europe and the United States. He spoke English, French and German fluently. And he was remarkably prolific. In 1908 he published a catalogue of earthquakes that had occurred in Japan since the 5th century, listing 9,628 events, noting that 621 had caused some damage, indicating that Japan was struck, on average, by a destructive earthquake every two or three years. He had formulated what is known today as Omori’s law, which states how the rate of aftershocks decrease after a major earthquake. He had also invented what would soon become the first widely used instrument to record earthquakes.

  To understand how the Bosch-Omori seismograph worked—Bosch referred to the firm of J. & A. Bosch of Strasbourg, Germany, where the instrument was commercially produced—think of a door that is free to swing on its hinges. When the ground vibrates, even slightly, the floor and walls of a building also shake, including the hinges of a door, but the door itself, because of its inertia and because it is hinged, tries to stay in the same position. If a stylus is attached to the bottom of the door at its unhinged end and a sheet of paper is placed under the stylus, then, when the ground shakes, an autograph of the shaking is recorded on the paper. The Bosch-Omori seismograph works in the same way.

  One end of a rigid horizontal bar—the bar represents the door—is attached to a sturdy upright pole—the hinges—in such a way that the bar is free to pivot. A stylus is placed at the other end. A sheet of paper is wrapped around a cylinder that rotates slowly and the cylinder is placed under the stylus. What happens when the ground vibrates during an earthquake? Just before the earthquake, everything is stationary and the stylus traces a straight line of the rotating cylinder. Then, as the ground starts to vibrate, so does the upright pole and the cylinder, but the horizontal bar and the stylus tend to remain stationary because of the inertia of the bar, which is augmented by a heavy weight, and because one end of the bar is free to pivot again the pole. And so, as the cylinder vibrates under the stationary stylus, the line traced out on the paper
is no longer straight but wiggles back and forth giving a permanent record of ground shaking during an earthquake.

  It was an ingenious device, purely mechanical, and so no electrical power was required, which meant it could be used in remote locations. By 1909, Bosch-Omori seismographs were in use at more than a dozen places around the world, including six in the United States. And, as Omori was fond of pointing out, his seismograph could do more than just record earthquakes. It could also record a slight tilting of the ground.

  Think again about a hinged door that is free to swing. If a building settles unevenly, so that the floors and walls tilt, that will cause the hinged door to swing and hang at a new position. In the same way, if the ground tilts slightly, then the upright pole of the Bosch-Omori seismograph is no longer at vertical and that will cause the rigid horizontal bar to swing to a new position, shifting the position of the stylus on the paper.

  It was, he would write of his trip to the Pacific, as if “everything within me converged.” There were businessmen in the Hawaiian Islands who seemed ready to fund his scientific work. There was a volcano on the island of Hawaii that was erupting continuously and could be approached closely. And here, in Japan, there was a new scientific instrument—the best yet devised to record earthquakes and to measure the slight, more permanent movement of the earth’s crust—that might reveal unseen activity happening deep inside a volcano—and thereby forewarn of eruptions. Jaggar was now ready to hustle back—not to Boston—but to Kilauea and start the work.

  Helen and her husband returned to Honolulu on June 7. Helen left the next day for San Francisco, where she continued on back to Boston. Her husband remained in Honolulu and called on Lorrin Thurston.

  Jaggar was received with much enthusiasm when the two men met again. Thurston took him immediately to a private meeting with Governor Walter Frear, Thurston’s former law partner, who said he “wholly supported” a science station at Kilauea. Then Jaggar, Thurston and Frear went to see John Gilmore, the president of Hawaii College, who also thought a science station at Kilauea was a good idea and promised his support. He also offered Jaggar a professorship if he decided to move to the islands and run the station. Then Jaggar and Thurston went to Bishop Museum and called on the director, William Brigham, who also gave them a promise of support, Brigham suggesting that any lava samples or earthquake records that Jaggar might collect at Kilauea be sent to the museum for permanent storage.

  A few days later, Jaggar spoke at an afternoon meeting of the Honolulu Chamber of Commerce, telling its members of the plans for Kilauea. At the end of the lecture, Thurston rose and addressed the audience. He said that, in addition to the scientific benefit, there was also “the purely commercial advantages of securing for Kilauea a volcano observatory.” Moreover, the inclusion of an institution such as MIT would advertise the islands in a way that “was impossible by any other means.”

  A prepared statement was then handed out to members of the Honolulu Chamber of Commerce. In it, Jaggar, as MIT’s representative, “tentatively offers” to carry out all work necessary to establish a volcano observatory and to pay for it with a financial gift recently given to MIT by the Whitney estate of Boston. For his part, Thurston pledged to collect $5,000 in annual subscriptions from those present to operate the observatory. By the end of the meeting, Thurston had collected nearly half the amount.

  Jaggar spent another month in the islands, shuttling twice between Honolulu and Kilauea and the lava lake. His ducks were now in a row: He had firm local support. By August he was back in Boston ready to put the final piece in place.

  He met with MIT President Richard Maclaurin and laid out the advantages of working at Kilauea. An active volcano would be a better place than Boston to use the $10,000 gift from the Whitney estate to establish a seismological station. Maclaurin promised to take up the matter with MIT’s Executive Committee.

  The committee met in October, Maclaurin presiding. After careful deliberation, so a later report said, Maclaurin and the members of the committee came to a decision. They saw no provision in the Whitney gift to spend the money anywhere except near Boston. Furthermore, as to the specific question of anyone at MIT doing work in the Hawaiian Islands, Maclaurin wrote directly to Jaggar, saying “the Committee did not think it opportune at this time to embark on such a project.”

  And so the question seemed settled. There would be no volcano observatory at Kilauea, at least, not one that involved MIT. It was a decision that probably pleased Helen Jaggar—who would have been even happier if she was not so furious with her husband.

  On their trip to Japan, Helen had left Boston two months before her husband did, Helen spending the time in San Francisco with her family. Meanwhile, as he had promised, her husband had searched for a house to buy. But, before he started the search, he did something else. He bought a new car.

  This was actually his second car. The first had been a steam-powered Orient Roundabout, manufactured by the Waltham Company in nearby Waltham, Massachusetts. Jaggar purchased it in 1905, making him one of the first in Massachusetts to own an automobile. In essence, it was a motorized wooden buckboard with a single bench seat for two people. It had a one-cylinder, four-horsepower motor. A tiller was used to steer the machine. By 1909, it was a greatly underpowered vehicle at time when automobile technology was developing rapidly.

  The automobile purchased by Jaggar in 1909 was a Peerless Model 19 Touring Car, probably the most luxurious vehicle of the day. It had front and back seats. Steering was done by turning a wheel. The body was all steel except for a retractable leather top. It came with a windshield and fenders. Inside were two dials: a speedometer and a clock. And it had a powerful motor: a four-cylinder, 34-horsepower engine, water-cooled and fueled by gasoline.

  It was in this new automobile that Jaggar drove the countryside around Boston, searching for a house. When he found one to his liking, he stopped and inquired if the owner was interested in selling. He finally found an owner who was. The house was a stone mansion that sat atop a hill in south Brookline with magnificent views of Boston and Cambridge. Around it were pastures and apple orchards. Adding to the attractiveness, the stone near the front door had the year “1792” carved into it, suggesting that some of the building materials, if not the entire house, dated from the Revolutionary War.

  There were fifteen rooms, several with fireplaces. Jaggar had their furnishings moved, though only had enough furniture to fill three of the rooms. And so, he added a grand piano in one of the vacant rooms. Three people would be hired to run the household. There was 22-year-old Nellie Leonard of West Virginia who would serve as the maid and the much older Lucy Johnson of Virginia who would be the cook. To work as handyman and gardener and to serve as Mrs. Jaggar’s chauffeur and drive her in the Peerless wherever she might want to go was Joseph Bell of Georgia. This would be the Jaggar country estate—and Helen disliked it as soon as she saw it, regarding it, for the remainder of her life, “as just another of Mr. Jaggar’s crazy ideas.”

  Theirs was the only house on the crest of a steep hill. The nearest neighbors were an old man and his housekeeper who lived in a shabby building at the base of the hill. The next nearest neighbors were a family who, for a reason she never disclosed, Helen decided she did not care to know. She wanted to live in Boston. She wanted to be surrounded by society.

  Not only did her husband resume his travels soon after he returned from Japan, leaving her to live in the stone mansion, but he had bought a second, smaller house. It was a summertime beach house in West Yarmouth near Lewis Bay, seventy miles south of Boston. In her eyes, the community “was a queer little town not much more than a store and not very attractive but one of the ‘cheap’ places the Jaggars are used to.”

  As Helen would write: “We returned in the fall of 1909 and had a most difficult time of it.”

  It was soon to get worse.

  *To complicate the meaning of Halema’uma’u further, it was also the name of one of six priests who came in ancient times
to destroy Pele and extinguish her volcanic fire.

  †The reason for the higher viscosity of lava erupted at Vesuvius and Mount Pelée—and other stratovolcanoes—is the higher silicate content of the lava, an idea proposed in the 1880s, but not set on a firm foundation until the 1930s when the new technique of X-ray crystallography showed that silicon and oxygen atoms were arranged in long chains that can entangle, creating a lava of high viscosity. In comparison, lava erupted at Kilauea have relatively low amounts of silicon and atoms and do not form the long chains.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  INTO THE CAULDRON

  Lorrin Thurston was the grandson of Asa and Lucy Thurston, members of the first group of American missionaries to arrive in the Hawaiian Islands. As a child, young Thurston learned to speak Hawaiian fluently. As an adult, he signed letters and had close friends call him Kakina, the Hawaiian name given to his grandfather.

  In 1880, at age nineteen, he entered Columbia Law School in New York where one of his classmates was Theodore Roosevelt. Both men attended the school for one year. Neither man graduated. Both came away with a determination to fight government corruption.