From Narrative of a Journey by James Holman, 1822, p.225-6
CHAP. XXI. MOUNT VESUVIUS
At length we reached the only part of the mountain which was at this time in a burning state, and which was throwing out flames and sulphurous vapour; when the guide taking me by the arm, conducted me over a place where the fire and smoke issued from apertures between the stones we walked upon, and which we could hear crackling under our feet every instant, as if they were going to be separated, and to precipitate us into the bowels of the mountain.
[…]
The ground was too hot under our feet, and the sulphurous vapour too strong to allow of our remaining long in this situation; and when [the guide] thought he had given us a sufficient idea of the nature of this part of the mountain, we retired to a more solid and a cooler footing; previous to which, however, he directed my walking-cane towards the flames, which shrivelled the ferrule, and charred the lower part; — this I still retain as a memorial.
Image
I’m fascinated by the sensory detail of the final phrases - the heat of the volcano, the tongues of flame, how they shrivel the metal end-cap of the cane, charring its shaft.
Holman kept the cane as a memento, a souvenir. Where a sighted person would take away a visual image (the visible wavelengths of light as they hit the retina, the film emulsion, the digital sensor), here it is light’s thermal wavelengths which leave their mark.
On the medium of the stick they create a tactile, olfactory image, one which preserves the sense of proximity with the power of the volcano in a way a solely visual image never could: the end of the cane in the furnace, the flames licking the lower shaft, running up to the handle in Holman's hand.
I imagine him years later taking up this cane-image and running his fingers over the wrinkled metal, bringing the charred wood to his nose, the hints of sulphur.
Evidence
this I still retain as a memorial.
A souvenir is evidence of a journey. The damaged stick served this purpose for Holman, proof he had been where he said he had been - not something contemporaries always found easy to believe.
The end section of my own cane is also damaged: puckered and scarred from countless bollards, stair edges and sharp corners. Proof of use, proof of adventure too. Vague evidence of where I have been, a provocation for further exploration.
What stories do the images on our canes tell? What volcanic craters have they visited? What heat has warped their tips?
More on James Holman here