Life and death on the volcano's edge: in the Galapagos archipelago, Fernandina Island offered this photographer an unusual ringside seat to a fiery spectacle.

• Author: De Roy, Tui

14 FEBRUARY 1825: At two o'clock a.m. while the sable mantle of night was yet spread over the mighty Pacific, shrouding the neighbouring islands from our view, and while the stillness of death reigned everywhere about us, our ears were suddenly assailed by a sound that could only be equalled by ten thousand thunders bursting upon the air at once," while, at the same instant, the whole hemisphere was lighted up with a horrid glare that might have appalled the stoutest heart! ...

The sublimity, the majesty, the terrific grandeur of this scene baffle description and set the powers of language at defiance.... The heavens appeared to be one blaze of fire, intermingled with millions of falling stars and meteors, while the flames shot upward from the peak of Narborough [Fernandina Island] to the height of at least two thousand feet in the air....

But the most splendid and interesting scene of this spectacle was yet to be exhibited. At about half past four o'clock a.m. the boiling contents of the tremendous cauldron had swelled to the brim, and poured over the edge of the crater in a cataract of liquid fire A river of melted lava was now seen rushing down the side of the mountain, pursuing a serpentine course to the sea, a distance of about three miles from the blazing orifice of the volcano. This dazzling stream descended in a gully, one fourth of a mile in width, presenting the appearance of a tremendous torrent of melted iron running from the furnace.... The demon of fire seemed rushing to the embrace of Neptune; and dreadful indeed was the uproar occasioned by their meeting....

[ILLUSTRATIONS OMITTED]

This extraordinary scene, described by Captain Benjamin Morrell of the New York-based sealing vessel Tartar, was replayed before my eyes nearly 170 years later. As the first light of dawn paled the eastern sky over the rounded shoulder of Fernandina Island, Captain Morrell's vivid words rang in my ears in every bewildering detail--the sparkling lava fountains shooting from the crater, the billowing incandescent cloud rising high into the atmosphere, the snaking rivers of molten rock, and the angry turmoil where the lava poured into the sea.

The Tartar was a sailing ship whose crew spent an anguished day held captive by windless conditions as the temperature of both sea and air rose threateningly. They watched awestruck as the pitch melted from the ship's seams and tar dripped from the rigging, until an evening breeze finally carried them to a new...