The Source of Trouble

Photographs are one type of primary source found at the scenes of major disasters, particularly those disasters which happened following the invention of cameras. The Source of Trouble One of the great endeavors of intellectual life is to compose a "unified theory of everything," a grand theoretical framework that will identify the hidden connections between seemingly disparate events and phenomena. While this has proved elusive in subjects like physics and professional eating, it is nonetheless excitingly within our grasp in the field of history. Professor Steven Mertner has, rather famously, demonstrated the link between America's five presidential assassins: each man stood well under five feet in height. This remarkable insight has changed the way we think about assassinatology, and led to revisions in Secret Service protocol (former NBA star Mugsy Bogues, for example, is no longer legally allowed to come within one mile of a sitting president). Along similar lines, Dr. Valerie Frame has done exciting research showing that each modern event tagged with the label "revolution" has somehow involved conflict over hair length (see her recent monograph, "Cuttest Thine Hair, Ye Wastrels: Toward a New Hermeneutics of Locksatology in Surviving Oral Accounts of the Battle of Hastings"). It is my proposition that such a thread can be drawn connecting a far more disparate set of historical circumstances: disasters. Recently, an unfortunate accident involving a frozen hank of venison and my right foot gave me some time to convalesce, a time I used profitably. Looking at some of history's most famous disasters - including those commonly described as "natural," implying no intelligent agency - I was able to make some connections that may surprise the lay reader (Bruce). Here are just a few cursory examples drawn from a rich body of research that I anticipate will be published next spring by the Vince College Press, presuming they are able to find it by then. 79 A.D. - The Eruption of Mount Vesuvius It's common knowledge that the famous Roman author Pliny the Elder died in the eruption that buried the towns of Pompeii and Bethesda. Less common is the account provided by his nephew, Pliny the Younger (who, confusingly, was both older and not actually named Pliny): "His goal had been to rescue his friends precariously camped near Stabiae, and so he launched his galleys as soon as the great cloud of smoke spread across the sky. You, Tacitus, know the sad results. But what is less known is that shortly before he disembarked, my uncle wrote of a sight that surprised even him who had seen so much in his life: a group of female bulls rapidly leaving the area in a small trireme, their hooven hands surprisingly well-suited for the labor of rowing. Taking down his thoughts quickly, my uncle thought they seemed to be looking back nervously, as if they bore some responsibility for the calamity they fled." 1347 - The Destruction of Dunwich Once the capital of East Anglia, the English coastal city of Dunwich was largely destroyed by a furious storm which swept fully a quarter of the city's inhabitants out to sea. Aethelwulf, a monk living in the Abbey of St. Aethelwulf (No Relation), left an account of that terrible night, a portion of which is reproduced below: "And in those days before the Tempest raged upon us, it was that divers Cattle and Kine made their habitation in the city and the town, and in the small villages without. Yes, cows which walked upright were even seen, and they did hold property besides, and go about in the street dressed as men. But their intercourse was furtive, and they lowered their Cowly Voices when they were surprised by men. It was therefore with great sadness and dismay that the city bore witness to the disappearance of the Horned Folk one morning, as if all had departed at once, in the night, while all around them slept. And that day came the Tempest." 1883 - The Eruption of Krakatoa On August 26, the modern world witnessed the most devastating volcanic eruption to date: the island volcano Krakatoa (Javanese for "Krokotao") exploded with a force 13,000 times greater than the bomb which destroyed the city of Hiroshima. The explosion could be heard as far away as the moon. Sir Lambleth Foxe-Thrunston, a British explorer who was then in the midst of an expedition trying to find fresh water in salt water off the coast of Australia, recorded his observations in the ship's log: "8.26.83: Frightful thing, an omen which has stirred up not only the natives, but the proper White members of the crew as well. A volcanic eruption of some tremendous violence, with ash blackening the sky so that day (as I write) seems as dark as night (when I sleep). The temperature has dropped and the sea has been choppy and treacherous. I fear for the continued vitality of our undertaking; shall man ever find the source of unsalted water? But all that pales in comparison to the site greeting us just hours ago, and an apparition the likes of which I hope to never again see. A clipper ship, similar in seaworthiness to ours, but manned entirely by (and here I hesitate before writing further) bipedal cows. Black and white heifers, which regarded us with dreadful silence as our ships passed. And then (to even write the memory causes my hand to tremble with a fear I cannot name!), what must have been the Captain Cow stared at us and drew its hoof slowly across its throat, in an unmistakable imitation of a throat being slit. Oh, what a world is this one!" 1989 - The Loma Prieta Earthquake October 17, 1989 saw the third game of the World Series between the Oakland Athletics and the San Francisco Men - and it also saw a devastating earthquake in the San Francisco Bay area that killed dozens and left more than 12,000 homeless. From a contemporary news account: ". . . Authorities are reluctant to credit strange reports of herds of cattle in the area, but the volume of such sightings - coupled with photographic evidence - has forced them to concede that the matter is being investigated. Most alarming, federal emergency management sources say, are videotaped images that seem to show pairs of cows watching scenes of disaster from the hills overlooking the city and engaging in unmistakable 'high five' gestures." My forthcoming work will naturally include far more examples, but even this cursory list is enough to show an unmistakable and frankly disturbing pattern: For each and every one of these disasters, there is primary source material available. A nephew's letter. A monk's diary. A ship's log. A journalist's sober report. All seemingly unconnected to each other across the centuries and the geographic distance, and yet the truth is undeniable: primary sources exist which describe these devastating catastrophes. The implications are enormous, not only for the field of history, but for all humanity. If primary sources can somehow be linked, however tentatively, to massive "natural" disasters like earthquakes and volanic eruptions, what does that say about the value of such sources? Does their cost outweigh their benefit? Can we continue heedlessly writing in our diaries when the very act may be bringing the invisible sword of Damocles ever closer to our unwitting heads?