when he turned to comfort his slave, he found to his horror that his trusty follower had given up the ghost. At this juncture Ngatoroirangi took the sacred fire, and casting it into the extinct crater of Tongariro, the subterranean fires burst forth. On this account Ngatoroirangi named the crater Ngauruhoe, in honour of his slave--a term by which it is generally known to the natives even unto this day. The great mountain itself, however, with its surrounding cones, is more usually called Tongariro--a term which means in the native language "towards the south"--and it is a remarkable fact, as showing the significant nomenclature of the Maoris, that the compass-bearing of the volcano is as nearly as possible due north and south.[47] There can be no doubt that Tongariro is one of the largest, grandest, and most perfect volcanic cones of its kind in the world, and little wonder, therefore, that the Maoris, when gazing upon its mysterious fires, should have linked its name with their songs and legends, and have rendered it a sacred object in their mythology, just as the Japanese have done their no less beautiful Fusiyama. The morning of the 18th of April broke dull and cloudy. We were now over 3000 feet above the level of the sea at our camp at Pangarara, waiting, nay, almost praying that the dreary, dismal clouds would break and give us a gleam of sunshine. We had up to this time been detained exactly ten days through stress of weather whilst waiting to ascend the tapued mountain, the dull monotony of our position being only relieved by the somewhat exciting expectation that the Maoris might be down upon us at any moment.