fresher air, though we were on the windward side of the lake. The
gases on the leeward side would suffocate one instantly. Oh, the
glory! This Hale-mau-mau, whose fire never goes out, is a huge
lake of liquid lava, heaving with groans and thunderings that
cannot be described. Around its edge, as you see in the picture,
the red lava was spouting furiously. Now and then the center of
the lake cooled over, forming a thin crust of black lava, which,
suddenly cracking in a hundred directions, let the blood-red fluid
ooze up through the seams, looking like fiery snakes.

"Look at the picture, and imagine these enormous slabs of cooled
lava slowly rising themselves on end, as if alive, and with
a stately motion plunging beneath the sea of fire, with an
indescribable roar.

"For three hours we gazed, spell-bound, though it seemed but a few
moments: we were chained to the spot, as is every one else who
visits Kilauea.

"The wind, as the jets rose in air, spun the molten drops of lava
into fine threads, which the natives call Pélé's hair, and very
like hair it is.

"All this time, under our feet were rumblings and explosions that
made us start and run now and then, for fear of being blown up;
coming back again after each fright, unwilling to leave the spot.

"Occasionally, the embankment of the lake cracked off and fell
in, being immediately devoured by the hungry flood. These ledges
around Hale-mau-mau are very dangerous to stand upon. A whole