THE BIRTH OF A VOLCANO 129 



spouts of grey gas. Without knowing it I had 

 climbed into the heart of the small, nearest crater 

 which we had chosen. To escape the hot, terrible 

 breaths of gas I stumbled forward to the eastward 

 rim where four holes were evidently inactive. In 

 a moment I realized my mistake and that I had en- 

 tered the influence of some more awful invisible 

 gas, perhaps carbon monoxide. The glaring sun 

 became darkened for me and a frightful nausea 

 forced me back to where the visible but less noxious 

 fumes dominated. Added to this, the heat from 

 below made the sun's influence seem almost benign. 

 With my handkerchief over my nose and mouth I 

 picked out several small pieces of lava covered with 

 a whitish, crystallized exudate. Down one hole I 

 could see a deep, rosy glow, but I could not stand 

 the torture a moment longer, and half slid, half fell 

 down the cruel, scrap-steel slope, and calling John, 

 began our journey without a backward glance. 

 We were too exhausted to do more than choose 

 whatever way seemed least terrible. Now and then, 

 from the summit of one of the dreadful furrows 

 we could see the Arcturus — a tiny dot on the 

 distant blue water, describing a five mile circle 

 as she dragged a mile or more of deep-sea nets. 

 Our drinking water was gone long before we re- 

 turned and when we reached the shore we could 

 hardly talk and were crumpled up with sudden 

 cramps. I have had more than one strange Easter 

 Sunday walk but never one like this. 



Two yellow butterflies, one large fly and a few 

 spiders near the shore comprised the fauna of this 



