ablaze.

"Ships a hundred miles from land see the glow, and we here, on the
precipice above, can read ordinary print by its lurid light.

"No wonder the natives worshiped the volcano. They thought it the
home of a goddess, whom they named Pélé, and in times of unusual
activity believed her to be very angry with them. Then they came
in long processions, from the seashore villages, bringing pigs,
dogs, fowls, and sometimes human beings, for sacrifice. These they
threw into the crater, to appease her wrath.

"A small berry, called the ohélo, grows on the banks of the pit,
and of these the natives never dared to eat until Pélé had first
had her share. Very polite, were they not? And if ever they
forgot their manners, I dare say she gave them a shaking up by an
earthquake, as a reminder.

"Sandal-wood and strawberries grow all about here--and fleas, too!
wicked fleas, that bite voraciously, to keep themselves warm, I
think, for here, so far from Pélé's hearth, it is cold, and we sit
by a log fire of our own.

"The day after our arrival we went into the crater, starting
immediately after an early breakfast. There is but one entrance,
a narrow ledge, formed by the gradual crumbling and falling in of
the precipice. Along this ledge we slipped and scrambled, making
the descent on foot--for no ridden animal has ever been able to
descend the trail. Holding on to bushes and snags when the path
was dangerously steep, we finally landed below on the black satin