We must request the reader to turn back now for a brief period to a very
different scene.
A considerable time before the tremendous catastrophe described in the
last chapter--which we claim to have recorded without the slightest
exaggeration, inasmuch as exaggeration were impossible--Captain David
Roy, of the good brig _Sunshine_, received the letter which his son
wrote to him while in the jungles of Sumatra.
The captain was seated in the back office of a Batavian merchant at the
time, smoking a long clay pipe--on the principle, no doubt, that
moderate poisoning is conducive to moderate health!
As he perused the letter, the captain's eyes slowly opened; so did his
mouth, and the clay pipe, falling to the floor, was reduced to little
pieces. But the captain evidently cared nothing for that. He gave
forth a prolonged whistle, got up, smote upon his thigh, and exclaimed
with deep-toned emphasis--
"The rascal!"
Then he sat down again and re-perused the letter, with a variety of
expression on his face that might have recalled the typical April day,
minus the tears.
"The rascal!" he repeated, as he finished the second reading of the
letter and thrust it into his pocket. "I knew there was somethin' i'
the wind wi' that little girl! The memory o' my own young days when I
boarded and captured the poetess is strong upon me yet. I saw it in the
rascal's eye the very first time they met--an' he thinks I'm as blind as
a bat, I'll be bound, with his poetical reef-point-pattering sharpness.
But it's a strange discovery he has made and must be looked into. The
young dog! He gives me orders as if he were the owner."
Jumping up, Captain Roy hurried out into the street. In passing the
outer office he left a message with one of the clerks for his friend the
merchant.
"Tell him," he said, "that I'll attend to that little business about the
bill when I come back. I'm going to sail for the Keeling Islands this
afternoon."
"The Keeling Islands?" exclaimed the clerk in surprise.
"Yes--I've got business to do there. I'll be back, all bein' well, in a
week--more or less."
The clerk's eyebrows remained in a raised position for a few moments,
until he remembered that Captain Roy, being owner of his ship and cargo,
was entitled to do what he pleased with his own and himself. Then they
descended, and he went on with his work, amusing himself with the
thought that the most curious beings in the world were seafaring men.
"Mr Moor," said the captain somewhat excitedly, as he reached the deck
of his vessel, "are all the men aboard?"
"All except Jim Sloper, sir."
"Then send and hunt up Jim Sloper at once, for we sail this afternoon
for the Keeling Islands."
"Very well, sir."
Mr Moor was a phlegmatic man; a self-contained and a reticent man. If
Captain Roy had told him to get ready to sail to the moon that
afternoon, he would probably have said "Very well, sir," in the same
tone and with the same expression.
"May I ask, sir, what sort of cargo you expect there?" said Mr Moor;
for to his practical mind some re-arrangement of the cargo already on
board might be necessary for the reception of that to be picked up at
Keeling.
"The cargo we'll take on board will be a girl," said the captain.
"A what, sir?"
"A girl."
"Very well, sir."
This ended the business part of the conversation. Thereafter they went
into details so highly nautical that we shrink from recording them. An
amateur detective, in the form of a shipmate, having captured Jim
Sloper, the _Sunshine_ finally cleared out of the port of Batavia that
evening, shortly before its namesake took his departure from that part
of the southern hemisphere.
Favouring gales carried the brig swiftly through Sunda Straits and out
into the Indian Ocean. Two days and a half brought her to the desired
haven. On the way, Captain Roy took note of the condition of Krakatoa,
which at that time was quietly working up its subterranean forces with a
view to the final catastrophe; opening a safety-valve now and then to
prevent, as it were, premature explosion.
"My son's friend, the hermit of Rakata," said the captain to his second
mate, "will find his cave too hot to hold him, I think, when he
returns."
"Looks like it, sir," said Mr Moor, glancing up at the vast clouds
which were at that time spreading like a black pall over the re-awakened
volcano. "Do you expect 'em back soon, sir?"
"Yes--time's about up now. I shouldn't wonder if they reach Batavia
before us."
Arrived at the Keeling Islands, Captain Roy was received, as usual, with
acclamations of joy, but he found that he was by no means as well fitted
to act the part of a diplomatist as he was to sail a ship. It was, in
truth, a somewhat delicate mission on which his son had sent him, for he
could not assert definitely that the hermit actually was Kathleen
Holbein's father, and her self-constituted parents did not relish the
idea of letting slip, on a mere chance, one whom they loved as a
daughter.
"Why not bring this man who claims to be her father _here_?" asked the
perplexed Holbein.
"Because--because, p'raps he won't come," answered the puzzled mariner,
who did not like to say that he was simply and strictly obeying his
son's orders. "Besides," he continued, "the man does not claim to be
anything at all. So far as I understand it, my boy has not spoken to
him on the subject, for fear, I suppose, of raisin' hopes that ain't to
be realised."
"He is right in that," said Mrs Holbein, "and we must be just as
careful not to raise false hopes in dear little Kathy. As your son
says, it may be a mistake after all. We must not open our lips to her
about it."
"Right you are, madam," returned the captain. "Mum's the word; and
we've only got to say she's goin' to visit one of your old friends in
Anjer--which'll be quite true, you know, for the landlady o' the chief
hotel there is a great friend o' yours, and we'll take Kathy to her
straight. Besides, the trip will do her health a power o' good, though
I'm free to confess it don't need no good to be done to it, bein' A1 at
the present time. Now, just you agree to give the girl a holiday, an'
I'll pledge myself to bring her back safe and sound--with her father, if
he's _him_; without him if he isn't."
With such persuasive words Captain Roy at length overcame the Holbein
objections. With the girl herself he had less difficulty, his chief
anxiety being, as he himself said, "to give her reasons for wishin' her
to go without tellin' lies."
"Wouldn't you like a trip in my brig to Anjer, my dear girl?" He had
almost said daughter, but thought it best not to be too precipitate.
"Oh! I should like it _so_ much," said Kathleen, clasping her little
hands and raising her large eyes to the captain's face.
"_Dear_ child!" said the captain to himself. Then aloud, "Well, I'll
take you."
"But I--I fear that father and mother would not like me to go--perhaps."
"No fear o' them, my girl," returned the captain, putting his huge rough
hand on her pretty little head as if in an act of solemn appropriation,
for, unlike too many fathers, this exemplary man considered only the
sweetness, goodness, and personal worth of the girl, caring not a straw
for other matters, and being strongly of opinion that a man should marry
young if he possess the spirit of a man or the means to support a wife.
As he was particularly fond of Kathleen, and felt quite sure that his
son had deeper reasons than he chose to express for his course of
action, he entertained a strong hope, not to say conviction, that she
would also become fond of Nigel, and that all things would thus work
together for a smooth course to this case of true love.
It will be seen from all this that Captain David Roy was a sanguine man.
Whether his hopes were well grounded or not remains to be seen.
Meanwhile, having, as Mr Moor said, shipped the cargo, the _Sunshine_
set sail once more for Sunda Straits in a measure of outward gloom that
formed a powerful contrast to the sunny hopes within her commander's
bosom, for Krakatoa was at that time progressing rapidly towards the
consummation of its designs, as partly described in the last chapter.
Short though that voyage was, it embraced a period of action so
thrilling that ever afterwards it seemed a large slice of life's little
day to those who went through it.
We have said that the culminating incidents of the drama began on the
night of the 26th. Before that time, however, the cloud-pall was fast
spreading over land and sea, and the rain of pumice and ashes had begun
to descend.
The wind being contrary, it was several days before the brig reached the
immediate neighbourhood of Krakatoa, and by that time the volcano had
begun to enter upon the stage which is styled by vulcanologists
"paroxysmal," the explosions being extremely violent as well as
frequent.
"It is very awful," said Kathleen in a low voice, as she clasped the
captain's arm and leaned her slight figure on it. "I have often heard
the thunder of distant volcanoes, but never been so near as to hear such
terrible sounds."
"Don't be frightened, my ducky," said the captain in a soothing tone,
for he felt from the appearance of things that there was indeed some
ground for alarm. "Volcanoes always look worse when you're near them."
"I not frightened," she replied. "Only I got strange, solemn feelings.
Besides, no danger can come till God allows."
"That's right, lass. Mrs Holbein has been a true mother if she taught
you that."
"No, she did not taught me that. My father taught me that."
"What! Old Holbein?"
"No--my father, who is dead," she said in a low voice.
"Oh! I see. My poor child, I should have understood you. Forgive me."
As the captain spoke, a tremendous outburst on Krakatoa turned their
minds to other subjects. They were by that time drawing near to the
island, and the thunders of the eruption seemed to shake not only the
heavens but even the great ocean itself. Though the hour was not much
past noon the darkness soon became so dense that it was difficult to
perceive objects a few yards distant, and, as pieces of stone the size
of walnuts, or even larger, began to fall on the deck, the captain sent
Kathleen below.
"There's no saying where or when a big stone may fall, my girl," he
said, "and it's not the habit of Englishmen to let women come under
fire, so you'll be safer below. Besides, you'll be able to see
something of what's goin' on out o' the cabin windows."
With the obedience that was natural to her, Kathleen went down at once,
and the captain made everything as snug as possible, battening down the
hatches and shortening sail so as to be ready for whatever might befall.
"I don't like the look o' things, Mr Moor," said the captain when the
second mate came on deck to take his watch.
"No more do I, sir," answered Mr Moor calmly.
The aspect of things was indeed very changeable. Sometimes, as we have
said, all nature seemed to be steeped in thick darkness, at other times
the fires of the volcano blazed upward, spreading a red glare on the
rolling clouds and over the heaving sea. Lightning also played its part
as well as thunder, but the latter was scarcely distinguishable from the
volcano's roar. Three days before Sunday the 26th of August, Captain
Roy--as well as the crews of several other vessels that were in Sunda
Straits at the time--had observed a marked though gradual increase in
the violence of the eruption. On that day, as we read in the _Report of
the Krakatoa Committee of the Royal Society_, about 1 p.m. the
detonations caused by the explosive action attained such violence as to
be heard at Batavia, about 100 English miles away. At 2 p.m. of the
same day, Captain Thompson of the _Medea_, when about 76 miles
east-north-east of the island, saw a black mass rising like clouds of
smoke to a height which has been estimated at no less than 17 miles!
And the detonations were at that time taking place at intervals of ten
minutes. But, terrible though these explosions must have been, they
were but as the whisperings of the volcano. An hour later they had
increased so much as to be heard at Bandong and other places 150 miles
away, and at 5 p.m. they had become so tremendous as to be heard over
the whole island of Java, the eastern portion of which is about 650
miles from Krakatoa.
And the sounds thus heard were not merely like distant thunder. In
Batavia--although, as we have said, 100 miles off--they were so violent
during the whole of that terrible Sunday night as to prevent the people
from sleeping. They were compared to the "discharge of artillery close
at hand," and caused a rattling of doors, windows, pictures, and
chandeliers.
Captain Watson of the _Charles Bal_, who chanced to be only 10 miles
south of the volcano, also compared the sounds to discharges of
artillery, but this only shows the feebleness of ordinary language in
attempting to describe such extraordinary sounds, for if they were
comparable to close artillery at Batavia, the same comparison is
inappropriate at only ten miles' distance. He also mentions the
crackling noise, probably due to the impact of fragments in the
atmosphere, which were noticed by the hermit and Nigel while standing
stunned and almost stupefied on the giddy ledge of Rakata that same
Sunday.
About five in the evening of that day, the brig _Sunshine_ drew still
nearer to the island, but the commotion at the time became so intense,
and the intermittent darkness so profound, that Captain Roy was afraid
to continue the voyage and shortened sail. Not only was there a heavy
rolling sea, but the water was seething, as if about to boil.
"Heave the lead, Mr Moor," said the captain, who stood beside the
wheel.
"Yes, sir," answered the imperturbable second mate, who thereupon gave
the necessary order, and when the depth was ascertained, the report was
"Ten fathoms, sand, with a hot bottom."
"A hot bottom! what do you mean?"
"The lead's 'ot, sir," replied the sailor.
This was true, as the captain found when he applied his hand to it.
"I do believe the world's going on fire," he muttered; "but it's a
comfort to know that it can't very well blaze up as long as the sea
lasts!"
Just then a rain of pumice in large pieces, and quite warm, began to
fall upon the deck. As most people know, pumice is extremely light, so
that no absolute injury was done to any one, though such rain was
excessively trying. Soon, however, a change took place. The dense
vapours and dust-clouds which had rendered it so excessively dark were
entirely lighted up from time to time by fierce flashes of lightning
which rent as well as painted them in all directions. At one time this
great mass of clouds presented the appearance of an immense pine-tree
with the stem and branches formed of volcanic lightning.
Captain Roy, fearing that these tremendous sights and sounds would
terrify the poor girl in the cabin, was about to look in and reassure
her, when the words "Oh! how splendid!" came through the slightly opened
door. He peeped in and saw Kathleen on her knees on the stern locker,
with her hands clasped, gazing out of one of the stern windows.
"Hm! she's all right," he muttered, softly re-closing the door and
returning on deck. "If she thinks it's splendid, she don't need no
comfortin'! It's quite clear that she don't know what danger means--and
why should she? Humph! there go some more splendid sights for her," he
added, as what appeared to be chains of fire ascended from the volcano
to the sky.
Just then a soft rain began to fall. It was warm, and, on examination
at the binnacle-lamp, turned out to be mud. Slight at first, it soon
poured down in such quantities that in ten minutes it lay six inches
thick on the deck, and the crew had to set to work with shovels to heave
it overboard. At this time there was seen a continual roll of balls of
white fire down the sides of the peak of Rakata, caused, doubtless, by
the ejection of white-hot fragments of lava. Then showers of masses
like iron cinders fell on the brig, and from that time onward till four
o'clock of the morning of the 27th, explosions of indescribable grandeur
continually took place, as if the mountains were in a continuous roar of
terrestrial agony--the sky being at one moment of inky blackness, the
next in a blaze of light, while hot, choking, and sulphurous smells
almost stifled the voyagers.
At this point the captain again became anxious about Kathleen and went
below. He found her in the same place and attitude--still fascinated!
"My child," he said, taking her hand, "you must lie down and rest."
"Oh! no. Do let me stay up," she begged, entreatingly.
"But you must be tired--sleepy."
"Sleepy! who could sleep with such wonders going on around? Pray
_don't_ tell me to go to bed!"
It was evident that poor Kathy had the duty of obedience to authority
still strong upon her. Perhaps the memory of the Holbein nursery had
not yet been wiped out.
"Well, well," said the captain with a pathetic smile, "you are as safe--
comfortable, I mean--here as in your berth or anywhere else."
As there was a lull in the violence of the eruption just then, the
captain left Kathleen in the cabin and went on deck. It was not known
at that time what caused this lull, but as it preceded the first of the
four grand explosions which effectually eviscerated--emptied--the
ancient crater of Krakatoa, we will give, briefly, the explanation of it
as conjectured by the men of science.
Lying as it did so close to the sea-level, the Krakatoa volcano, having
blown away all its cones, and vents, and safety-valves--from Perboewatan
southward, except the peak of Rakata--let the sea rush in upon its
infernal fires. This result, ordinary people think, produced a gush of
steam which caused the grand terminal explosions. Vulcanologists think
otherwise, and with reason--which is more than can be said of ordinary
people, who little know the power of the forces at work below the crust
of our earth! The steam thus produced, although on so stupendous a
scale, was free to expand and therefore went upwards, no doubt in a
sufficiently effective gust and cloud. But nothing worthy of being
named a blow-up was there.
The effect of the in-rushing water was to cool the upper surface of the
boiling lava and convert it into a thick hard solid crust at the mouth
of the great vent. In this condition the volcano resembled a boiler
with all points of egress closed and the safety-valve shut down! Oceans
of molten lava creating expansive gases below; no outlet possible
underneath, and the neck of the bottle corked with tons of solid rock!
One of two things must happen in such circumstances: the cork must go or
the bottle must burst! Both events happened on that terrible night.
All night long the corks were going, and at last--Krakatoa burst!
In the hurly-burly of confusion, smoke, and noise, no eye could note the
precise moment when the island was shattered, but there were on the
morning of the 27th four supreme explosions, which rang loud and high
above the horrible average din. These occurred--according to the
careful investigations made, at the instance of the Dutch Indian
Government, by the eminent geologist, Mr R.D.M. Verbeek--at the hours
of 5:30, 6:44, 10:02, and 10:52 in the morning. Of these the third,
about 10, was by far the worst for violence and for the widespread
devastation which it produced.
At each of these explosions a tremendous sea-wave was created by the
volcano, which swept like a watery ring from Krakatoa as a centre to the
surrounding shores. It was at the second of these explosions--that of
6:44--that the fall of the mighty cliff took place which was seen by the
hermit and his friends as they fled from the island, and, on the crest
of the resulting wave, were carried along they scarce knew whither.
As the previous wave--that of 5:30--had given the brig a tremendous
heave upwards, the captain, on hearing the second, ran down below for a
moment to tell Kathleen there would soon be another wave, but that she
need fear no danger.
"The brig is deep and has a good hold o' the water," he said, "so the
wave is sure to slip under her without damage. I wish I could hope it
would do as little damage when it reaches the shore."
As he spoke a strange and violent crash was heard overhead, quite
different from volcanic explosions, like the falling of some heavy body
on the deck.
"One o' the yards down!" muttered the captain as he ran to the cabin
door. "Hallo, what's that, Mr Moor?"
"Canoe just come aboard, sir."
"A canoe?"
"Yes, sir. Crew, three men and a monkey. All insensible--hallo!"
The "hallo!" with which the second mate finished his remark was so
unlike his wonted tone, and so full of genuine surprise, that the
captain ran forward with unusual haste, and found a canoe smashed to
pieces against the foremast, and the mate held a lantern close to the
face of one of the men while the crew were examining the others.
A single glance told the captain that the mud-bespattered figure that
lay before him as if dead was none other than his own son! The great
wave had caught the frail craft on its crest, and, sweeping it along
with lightning speed for a short distance, had hurled it on the deck of
the _Sunshine_ with such violence as to completely stun the whole crew.
Even Spinkie lay in a melancholy little heap in the lee scuppers.
You think this a far-fetched coincidence, good reader! Well, all we can
say is that we could tell you of another--a double-coincidence, which
was far more extraordinary than this one, but as it has nothing to do
with our tale we refrain from inflicting it on you.