The other, who was probably his slave, was stretched on the ground, with his hands clutching some silver cups and vases.

These men had evidently been suffocated whilst trying to carry off the money and treasure.
But one man in that buried city deserves to be remembered to the end of time.

Who was he?
One Roman soldier, the brave sentinel at the gate.
There he had been posted in the morning, and there he had been bidden to remain.
And how was he found?
Standing at his post, with his hand still grasping his sword, faithful unto death.

There, by the city gate; whilst the earth shook and rocked, whilst the sky was black with ashes, whilst showers of stones were falling around him, and whilst hundreds of men, women and children brushed past him as they fled in terror from the city, there he stood, firm and unmoved.

Should such a man as I flee?
thought the sentinel.