entire harbor in a great conflagration. The little ships stood out,
silhouetted against that great flaming oil tanker.

"It's a ship on fire!" Otto exclaimed.

"Let's go and see it!" I added.

Then we were off for the mouth of the Pasig which was not far away.

There we saw the most spectacular fire I have ever seen. A great oil
tanker full of Cocoanut-oil had burst into flame, trapping thirty men in
its awful furnace. Its gaunt masts stood out like toppling tree
skeletons from a forest fire against the now deepening might; made vivid
and livid by the bursting flames that leapt higher and higher with each
successive explosion from a tank of gasoline or oil.

I got out my Graflex and caught several pictures of this flash-light of
flame, but none that will be as vivid, as lurid, or as lasting as the
flash-light that was etched into the film of my memory.

The next flash-light of flame came bursting out of midnight darkness on
the island of Java.

We were bound for old Bromo, that giant volcano of Java. We had started
at midnight and it would take us until daylight to reach the
crater-brink of this majestic mountain of fire.

White flashes of light, leapt from Bromo at frequent intervals all night
long as we traveled on ponies through the tropical jungle trail, upward,
and onward to the brink of that pit of hell.

White flashes of light leapt from Bromo at the narrow rail. They called
them "Night-Blooming Lilies," and sure enough they blanketed the rugged
pathway that night like so many tiny white Fairies. Indeed there was
something beautifully weird in their white wonder against the night.
They looked like frail, earth-angels playing in the star-light, sending
out a sweet odor which mingled strangely with the odor of sulphur from
the volcano.

And back of all this was the background of that awful, thundering,
rumbling and grumbling volcano as somber as suicide. Strangely weird
flashes lighted the mountains for miles around.

"It looks like heat lightning back at home," said an American.

"Only the flashes are more vivid!" said another member of the party.

Those flashes of light from the inner fires of the earth, bursting from
the fissures of restless volcano Bromo shall ever remain, like some
strange glimpse of a new Inferno.

Volcanic Merapi, another belching furnace of Java, gave me a picture of
a flash-light of flame.

The night that we stayed up on the old temple of Boroboedoer, Merapi was
unusuall