W. stuffed the rest of my possessions
into a clothes bag, and the Chinaman ran away frantically to catch a
horse on which to ride down with them.
I galloped off after Mr. W., though people called to me that I could
not catch the boat, and that my horse would fall on the steep broken
descent. My saddle slipped over his neck, but he still sped down
the hill with the rapid "racking" movement of a Narraganset pacer.
First a new veil blew away, next my plaid was missing, then I passed
my trunk on the ox-cart which should have been at the landing; but
still though the heat was fierce, and the glare from the black lava
blinding, I dashed heedlessly down, and in twenty minutes had ridden
three miles down a descent of 2,000 feet, to find the Kilauea
puffing and smoking with her anchor up; but I was in time, for her
friendly clerk, knowing that I was coming, detained the scow. You
will not wonder at my desperation when I tell you that half-way
down, a person called to me, "Mauna Loa is in action!"
While I was slipping off the saddle and bridle, Mr. W. arrived with
the carpet-bag, yet more over-heated and shaking with exertion than
I was, then the Chinaman with a bag of oddments, next a native who
had picked up my plaid and ferns on the road, and another with my
trunk, which he had rescued from the ox-cart; so I only lost my veil
and two brushes, which are irreplaceable here.
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