THE BIRTH OF A VOLCANO 125 



few openings over the summit of the ridge were 

 high and large enough to merit the name of crater. 

 Nowhere could molten lava actually be seen in the 

 daytime. 



I chose as our objective, a place of active erup- 

 tion about half-way up the slope of Mt. Whiton. 

 We found landing an easy matter in Eruption 

 Cove, after we had picked our way over the broken 

 reefs of coral and lava which guarded the entrance. 

 Lacing on high, hob-nailed, moose-skin boots and 

 carrying nothing but two empty snake bags and 

 a single canteen, John Tee- Van and I set out this 

 bright morning of Easter Sunday on the worst trip 

 we have ever taken together. I have lost more 

 blood from falls in a tramp over the high Hima- 

 layas, I have suffered much more from thirst in 

 wild desert places of India and China, and have 

 been more exhausted from lack of sleep during 

 treks where there was no safe place to rest, but 

 for sheer meanness and general uncomfortable 

 travel this was the worst. 



We started briskly with a last call to Bill in the 

 boat to take us off in three or four hours. Our goal 

 was unmistakable, for the underground povv^ers had 

 fired up and vast masses of billowing smoke were 

 pouring forth. 



The going at first was not bad. We had landed 

 near the shore of a river of smooth, black lava about 

 a mile wide, which had flowed seaward between 

 banks of a rough, sharp pointed, apparently older 

 flow. It was astonishingly like an actual stream or 

 sea of water which, in the twinkling of an eye, had 



