"
AINEPO, HAWAII, June 5th.
We had a great fright last evening. We had been engaging mules, and
talking over our plans with our half-Indian host, when he opened the
door and exclaimed, "There's no light on Mauna Loa; the fire's gone
out." We rushed out, and though the night was clear and frosty, the
mountain curve rose against the sky without the accustomed wavering
glow upon it. "I'm afraid you'll have your trouble for nothing,"
Mr. Gilman unsympathisingly remarked; "anyhow, its awfully cold up
there," and rubbing his hands, reseated himself at the fire. Mr. G.
and I stayed out till we were half-frozen, and I persuaded myself
and him that there was a redder tinge than the moonlight above the
summit, but the mountain has given no sign all day, so that I fear
that I "evolved" the light out of my "inner consciousness."
Mr. Gilman was eloquent on the misfortunes of our predecessors, lent
me a pair of woollen socks to put on over my gloves, told me
privately that if anyone could succeed in getting a guide it would
be Mr. Green, and dispatched us at eight this morning with a lurking
smile at our "fool's errand," thinly veiled by warm wishes for our
success. Mr. Reid has two ranches on the mountain, seven miles
distant from each other, and was expected every hour at the crater-
house on his way to Hilo, but it was not known from which he was
coming, and as it appeared that our last hope of getting a guide lay
in securing his good will, Mr.
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