"Let me out!" came at that moment from what appeared to be the bowels of the earth, causing every one to stand aghast gazing in wonder around and on each other.

"Zounds! vy don't you let me out?" shouted the voice again.

There was an indication of a tendency to flight on the part of the natives, but Nigel's asking "Where are you?" had the effect of inducing them to delay for the answer.

"Here—oonder zee tigre! Kveek, I am suffocat!"

Instantly Van der Kemp seized the animal by the 'tail, and, Avith a force worthy of Hercules, heaved it aside as if it had been a dead cat, revealing the man of science underneath—alive and well, but dishevelled, scratched, and soiled—also, as deaf as a door-post!



CHAPTER XXII.

A PYTHON DISCOVERED AND A GEYSER INTERVIEWED.

"It never rains but it pours" is a well-known proverb which finds, frequent illustration in the experience of almost every one. At all events Verkimier had reason to believe in the truth of it at that time, for adventures came down on him, as it were, in a sort of deluge, more or less astounding, insomuch that his enthusiastic spirit, bathing, if we may say so, in an ocean of scientific delight, pronounced Sumatra to be the very paradise of the student of nature.

We have not room in this volume to follow him in the details of his wonderful experiences, but we must mention one adventure which he had on the very day after the tiger-incident, because it very nearly had the effect of separating him from his travelling companions.

Being deaf, as we have said—owing to the explosion of his revolver in the hole—but not necessarily dumb, the professor, after one or two futile attempts to hear and converse, deemed it wise to go to bed and spend the few conscious minutes that might precede sleep in watching Van der Kemp, who kindly undertook to skin his tiger for him. Soon the self-satisfied man fell into a sweet infantine slumber, and dreamed of tigers, in which state he gave vent to sundry grunts, gasps, and half-suppressed cries, to the immense delight of Moses, who sat watching him, indulging in a running commentary suggestive of the recent event, and giving utterance now and then to a few imitative growls by way of enhancing the effect of the dreams!

"Look! look! Massa Nadgel, he's twitchin' all ober. De tiger's comin' to him now."

"Looks like it, Moses."

"Yes—an', see, he grip de 'volver—no, too soon, or de tiger's goed away, for he's stopped twichin'—dare; de tiger comes agin!"

A gasp and clenching of the right hand seemed to warrant this assumption. Then a yell rang through the hut; Moses displayed all, and more than all his teeth, and the professor, springing up on one elbow, glared fearfully.

"I'n't it awrful?" inquired Moses in a low tone.

The professor awoke mentally, recognised the situation, smiled an imbecile smile, and sank back again on his pillow with a sigh of relief.

After that, when the skinning of the tiger was completed, the dreams appeared to leave him, and all his comrades joined him in the land of Nod. He was first to awake when daylight entered their hut the following morning, and, feeling in a fresh, quiescent state of mind after the excitement of the preceding night, he lay on his back, his eyes fixed contentedly on the grand tiger-skin which hung on the opposite wall.

By degrees his eyes grew wearied of that object, and he allowed them to travel languidly upwards and along the roof until they rested on the spot directly over his head, where they became fixed, and, at the same time, opened out to a glare, compared to which all his previous glaring was as nothing—for there, in the thatch, looking down upon him, was the angular head of a huge python. The snake was rolled up in a tight coil, and had evidently spent the night within a yard of the professor's head! Being unable to make out what sort of snake it was, and fearing that it might be a poisonous one, he crept quietly from his couch, keeping his eyes fixed on the reptile as he did so. One result of this mode of action was that he did not see where he was going, and inadvertently thrust one finger into Moses' right eye, and another into his open mouth. The negro naturally shut his mouth with a snap, while the professor opened his with a roar, and in another moment every man was on his feet blinking inquiringly.

"Look! zee snake!" cried the professor, when Moses released him.

"We must get him out of that," remarked Van der Kemp, as he quietly made a noose with a piece of rattan, and fastened it to the end of a long pole. With the latter he poked the creature up, and, when it had uncoiled sufficiently, he slipped the noose deftly over its head.

"Clear out, friends," he said, looking round.

All obeyed with uncommon promptitude except the professor, who valiantly stood his ground. Van der Kemp pulled the python violently down to the floor, where it commenced a tremendous scuffle among the chairs and posts. The hermit kept its head off with the pole, and sought to catch its tail, but failed twice. Seeing this the professor caught the tail as it whipped against his legs, and springing down the steps so violently that he snapped the cord by which the hermit held it, and drew the creature straight out—a thick monster full twelve feet long, and capable of swallowing a dog or a child.

"Out of zee way!" shouted the professor, making a wild effort to swing the python against a tree, but the tail slipped from his grasp, the professor fell, and the snake went crashing against a log, under which it took refuge.

Nigel, who was nearest to it, sprang forward, fortunately caught its tail, and, swinging it and himself round with such force that it could not coil up at all, dashed it against a tree. Before it could recover from the shock, Moses had caught up a hatchet and cut its head off with one blow. The tail wriggled for a few seconds, and the head gaped once or twice, as if in mild surprise at so sudden a finale.

"Zat is strainch—very strainch," slowly remarked the professor, as, still seated on the ground, he solemnly noted these facts.

"Not so very strange, after all," said Van der Kemp; "I've seen the head of many a bigger snake cut off at one blow."

"Mine frond, you mistake me. It is zee vorking of physical law in zee spiritual vorld zat perplexes me. Moses has cut zee brute in two—physical fact, substance can be divided. Zee two parts are still alife, zerfore, zee life—zee spirit—has also been divided!"

"It is indeed very strange," said Nigel, with a laugh. "Stranger still that you may cut a worm into several parts, and the life remains in each, but, strangest of all, that you should sit on the ground, professor, instead of rising up, while you philosophise. You are not hurt, I hope—are you?"

"I razer zink I am," returned the philosopher with a faint smile; "mine onkle, I zink, is spraint."

This was indeed true, and it seemed as if the poor man's wanderings were to be, for a time at least, brought to an abrupt close. Fortunately it was found that a pony could be procured at that village, and, as they had entered the borders of the mountainous regions, and the roads were more open and passable than heretofore, it was resolved that the professor should ride until his ankle recovered.

We must now pass over a considerable portion of time and space, and convey the reader, by a forced march, to the crater of an active volcano. By that time Verkimier's ankle had recovered and the pony had been dismissed. The heavy luggage, with the porters, had been left in the low grounds, for the mountain they had scaled was over 10,000 feet above the sea-level. Only one native from the plain below accompanied them as guide, and three of their porters whose inquiring minds tempted them to make the ascent.

At about 10,000 feet the party reached what the natives called the dempo or edge of the volcano, whence they looked down into the sawah or ancient crater, which was a level space composed of brown soil surrounded by cliffs, and lying like the bottom of a cup 200 feet below them. It had a sulphurous odour, and was dotted here and there with clumps of heath and rhododendrons. In the centre of this was a cone which formed the true—or modern—crater. On scrambling up to the lip of the cone and looking down some 300 feet of precipitous rock they beheld what seemed to be a pure white lake set in a central basin of 200 feet in diameter. The surface of this lakelet smoked, and although it reflected every passing cloud as if it were a mirror, it was in reality a basin of hot mud, the surface of which was about thirty feet below its rim.

"You will soon see a change come over it," said the hermit, as the party gazed in silent admiration at the weird scene.

He had scarcely spoken, when the middle of the lake became intensely black and scored with dark streaks. This, though not quite obvious at first from the point where they stood, was caused by the slow formation of a great chasm in the centre of the seething lake of mud. The lake was sinking into its own throat. The blackness increased. Then a dull sullen roar was heard, and next moment the entire lake upheaved, not violently, but in a slow, majestic manner some hundreds of feet into the air, whence it fell back into its basin with an awful roar which reverberated and echoed from the rocky walls of the caldron like the singing of an angry sea. An immense volume of steam—the motive power which had blown up the lake—was at the same time liberated and dissipated in the air.

The wave-circles died away on the margin of the lake, and the placid, cloud-reflecting surface was restored until the geyser had gathered fresh force for another upheaval.

"Amazing!" exclaimed Nigel, who had gazed with feelings of awe at this curious exhibition of the tremendous internal forces with which the Creator has endowed the earth.

"Vonderful!" exclaimed the professor, whose astonishment was such, that his eyebrows rose high above the rim of his huge blue binoculars.

Moses, to whom such an exhibition of the powers of nature was familiar, was, we are sorry to say, not much impressed, if impressed at all! Indeed he scarcely noticed it, but watched, with intense teeth-and-gum disclosing satisfaction, the faces of two of the native porters who had never seen anything of the kind before, and whose terrified expressions suggested the probability of a precipitate flight when their trembling limbs became fit to resume duty.

"Will it come again soon?" asked Nigel, turning to Van der Kemp.

"Every fifteen or twenty minutes it goes through that process all day and every day," replied the hermit.

"But, if I may joodge from zee stones ant scoriae around," said the professor, "zee volcano is not alvays so peaceful as it is joost now."

"You are right. About once in every three years, and sometimes oftener, the crops of coffee, bananas, rice, etc., in this region are quite destroyed by sulphur-rain, which covers everything for miles around the crater."

"Hah! it vould be too hote a place zis for us, if zat vas to happin joost now," remarked Verkimier with a smile.

"It cannot be far off the time now, I should think," said Yan der Kemp.

All this talk Moses translated, and embellished, to the native porters with the solemn sincerity of a true and thorough-paced hypocrite. He had scarcely finished, and was watching with immense delight the changeful aspect of their whitey-green faces, when another volcanic fit came on, and the deep-toned roar of the coming explosion was heard. It was so awesome that the countenance even of Van der Kemp became graver than usual. As for the two native porters, they gazed and trembled. Nigel and the professor also gazed with lively expectation. Moses—we grieve to record it—hugged himself internally, and gloated over the two porters.

Another moment and there came a mighty roar. Up went the mud-lake hundreds of feet into the air; out came the steam with the sound of a thousand trombones, and away went the two porters, head ever heels, down the outer slope of the cone and across the sawah as if the spirit of evil were after them.

There was no cause, however, for alarm. The mud-lake, falling back into its native cup, resumed its placid aspect and awaited its next upheaval with as much tranquillity as if it had never known disturbance in the past, and were indifferent about the future.

That evening our travellers encamped in close proximity to the crater, supped on fowls roasted in an open crevice whence issued steam and sulphurous smells, and slept with the geyser's intermittent roar sounding in their ears and re-echoing in their dreams.



CHAPTER XXIII.

TELLS OF VOLCANIC FIRES AND A STRANGE RETURN "HOME."

This tremendous introduction to volcanic fires was but the prelude to a period of eruptive action which has not been paralleled in the world's history.

For a short time after this, indeed, the genial nature of the weather tended to banish from the minds of our travellers all thoughts of violence either in terrestrial or human affairs, and as the professor devoted himself chiefly to the comparatively mild occupation of catching and transfixing butterflies and beetles during the march southward, there seemed to be nothing in the wide universe above or below save peace and tranquillity—except, perhaps, in the minds of beetles and butterflies!

Throughout all this period, nevertheless, there were ominous growlings, grumblings, and tremors—faint but frequent—which indicated a condition of mother earth that could not have been called easy.

"Some of the volcanoes of Java must be at work, I think," said Nigel one night, as the party sat in a small isolated wood-cutter's hut discussing a supper of rice and fowls with his friends, which they were washing down with home-grown coffee.

"It may be so," said Van der Kemp in a dubious tone; "but the sounds, though faint, seem to me a good deal nearer. I can't help thinking that the craters which have so recently opened up in Krakatoa are still active, and that it may be necessary for me to shift my quarters, for my cave is little more, I suspect, than the throat of an ancient volcano."

"Hah! say you so, mine frond? Zen I vould advise you to make no delay," said the professor, critically examining a well-picked drumstick. "You see, it is not pleasant to be blown up eizer by the terrestrial eruptions of zee vorld or zee celestial explosions of your vife.—A leetle more rice, Moses if you please. Zanks."

"Now, mine fronds," he continued, after having disposed of a supper which it might have taxed a volcano's throat to swallow, "it is viz great sorrow zat I must part from you here."

"Part! Why?" asked the hermit in surprise.

"Vy, because I find zis contrie is heaven upon eart'. Zat is, of course, only in a scientific point of view. Zee voods are svarming, zee air is teeming, ant zee vaters are vallo'ing vit life. I cannot tear myself avay. But ve shall meet again—at Telok Betong, or Krakatoa, or Anjer, or Batavia."

It was found that the man of science was also a man of decision. Nothing would persuade him to go a step further. The wood-cutter's hut suited him, so did the wood-cutter himself, and so, as he said, did the region around him. With much regret, therefore, and an earnest invitation from the hermit to visit his cave, and range the almost unexplored woods of his island, the travellers parted from him; and our three adventurers, dismissing all attendants and hiring three ponies, continued their journey to the southern shores of Sumatra.

As they advanced it soon became evident that the scene of volcanic activity was not so far distant as the island of Java, for the air was frequently darkened by the falling of volcanic dust which covered the land with a greyish powder. As, however, at least sixteen volcanoes have been registered in the island of Sumatra, and there are probably many others, it was impossible to decide where the scene of eruption was that caused those signs.

One afternoon the travellers witnessed a catastrophe which induced them to forego all idea of spending more time in examining the country. They had arrived at a village where they found a traveller who appeared to be going about without any special object in view. He spoke English, but with a foreign accent. Nigel naturally felt a desire to become sociable with him, but he was very taciturn and evidently wished to avoid intercourse with chance acquaintances. Hearing that there were curious hot-water and mud springs not far off, the stranger expressed a desire to visit them. Nigel also felt anxious to see them, and as one guide was sufficient for the party the stranger joined the party and they went together.

The spot they were led to was evidently a mere crust of earth covering fierce subterranean fires. In the centre of it a small pond of mud was boiling and bubbling furiously, and round this, on the indurated clay, were smaller wells and craters full of boiling mud. The ground near them was obviously unsafe, for it bent under pressure like thin ice, and at some of the cracks and fissures the sulphurous vapour was so hot that the hand could not be held to it without being scalded.

Nigel and the stranger walked close behind the native guide, both, apparently, being anxious to get as near as possible to the central pond. But the guide stopped suddenly, and, looking back, said to Van der Kemp that it was not safe to approach nearer.

Nigel at once stopped, and, looking at the stranger, was struck by the wild, incomprehensible expression of his face as he continued to advance.

"Stop! stop, sir!" cried the hermit on observing this, but the man paid no attention to the warning.

Another instant and the crust on which he stood gave way and he sank into a horrible gulf from which issued a gust of sulphurous vapour and steam. The horror which almost overwhelmed Nigel did not prevent him bounding forward to the rescue. Well was it for him at that time that a cooler head than his own was near. The strong hand of the hermit seized his collar on the instant, and he was dragged backward out of danger, while an appalling shriek from the stranger as he disappeared told that the attempt to succour him would have been too late.

A terrible event of this kind has usually the effect of totally changing, at least for a time, the feelings of those who witness it, so as to almost incapacitate them from appreciating ordinary events or things. For some days after witnessing the sudden and awful fate of this unknown man, Nigel travelled as if in a dream, taking little notice of, or interest in, anything, and replying to questions in mere monosyllables. His companions seemed to be similarly affected, for they spoke very little. Even the volatile spirit of Moses appeared to be subdued, and it was not till they had reached nearly the end of their journey that their usual flow of spirits returned.

Arriving one night at a village not very far from the southern shores of Sumatra they learned that the hermit's presentiments were justified, and that the volcano which was causing so much disturbance in the islands of the archipelago was, indeed, the long extinct one of Krakatoa.

"I've heard a good deal about it from one of the chief men here," said the hermit as he returned to his friends that night about supper-time. "He tells me that it has been more or less in moderate eruption ever since we left the island, but adds that nobody takes much notice of it, as they don't expect it to increase much in violence. I don't agree with them in that," he added gravely.

"Why not?" asked Nigel.

"Partly because of the length of time that has elapsed since its last eruption in 1680; partly from the fact that that eruption—judging from appearances—must have been a very tremendous one, and partly because my knowledge of volcanic action leads me to expect it; but I could not easily explain the reason for my conclusions on the latter point. I have just been to the brow of a ridge not far off whence I have seen the glow in the sky of the Krakatoa fires. They do not, however, appear to be very fierce at the present moment."

As he spoke there was felt by the travellers a blow, as if of an explosion under the house in which they sat. It was a strong vertical bump which nearly tossed them all off their chairs. Van der Kemp and his man, after an exclamation or two, continued supper like men who were used to such interruptions, merely remarking that it was an earthquake. But Nigel, to whom it was not quite so familiar, stood up for a few seconds with a look of anxious uncertainty, as if undecided as to the path of duty and prudence in the circumstances. Moses relieved him.

"Sot down, Massa Nadgel," said that sable worthy, as he stuffed his mouth full of rice; "it's easier to sot dan to stand w'en its eart'quakin'."

Nigel sat down with a tendency to laugh, for at that moment he chanced to glance at the rafters above, where he saw a small anxious-faced monkey gazing down at him.

He was commenting on this creature when another prolonged shock of earthquake came. It was not a bump like the previous one, but a severe vibration which only served to shake the men in their chairs, but it shook the small monkey off the rafter, and the miserable little thing fell with a shriek and a flop into the rice-dish!

"Git out o' dat—you scoundril!" exclaimed Moses, but the order was needless, for the monkey bounced out of it like indiarubber and sought to hide its confusion in the thatch, while Moses helped himself to some more of the rice, which, he said; was none the worse for being monkeyfied!

At last our travellers found themselves in the town of Telok Betong, where, being within forty-five miles of Krakatoa, the hermit could both see and hear that his island-home was in violent agitation; tremendous explosions occurring frequently, while dense masses of smoke were ascending from its craters.

"I'm happy to find," said the hermit, soon after their arrival in the town, "that the peak of Rakata, on the southern part of the island where my cave lies, is still quiet and has shown no sign of breaking out. And now I shall go and see after my canoe."

"Do you think it safe to venture to visit your cave?" asked Nigel.

"Well, not absolutely safe," returned the hermit with a peculiar smile, "but, of course, if you think it unwise to run the risk of—"

"I asked a simple question, Van der Kemp, without any thought of myself," interrupted the youth, as he flushed deeply.

"Forgive me, Nigel," returned the hermit quickly and gravely, "it is but my duty to point out that we cannot go there without running some risk."

"And it is my duty to point out," retorted his hurt friend, "that when any man, worthy of the name, agrees to follow another, he agrees to accept all risks."

To this the hermit vouchsafed no further reply than a slight smile and nod of intelligence. Thereafter he went off alone to inquire about his canoe, which, it will be remembered, his friend, the captain of the steamer, had promised to leave for him at this place.

Telok Betong, which was one of the severest sufferers by the eruption of 1883, is a small town at the head of Lampong Bay, opposite to the island of Krakatoa, from which it is between forty and fifty miles distant. It is built on a narrow strip of land at the base of a steep mountain, but little above the sea, and is the chief town of the Lampong Residency, which forms the most southerly province of Sumatra. At the time we write of, the only European residents of the place were connected with Government. The rest of the population was composed of a heterogeneous mass of natives mingled with a number of Chinese, a few Arabs, and a large fluctuating population of traders from Borneo, Celebes, New Guinea, Siam, and the other innumerable isles of the archipelago. These were more or less connected with praus laden with the rich and varied merchandise of the eastern seas. As each man in the town had been permitted to build his house according to his own fancy, picturesque irregularity was the agreeable result. It may be added that, as each man spoke his own language in his own tones, Babel and noise were the consequence.

In a small hut by the waterside the hermit found the friend—a Malay—to whom his canoe had been consigned, and, in a long low shed close by, he found the canoe itself with the faithful Spinkie in charge.

"Don't go near the canoe till you've made friends with the monkey," said the Malay in his own tongue, as he was about to put the key in the door.

"Why not?" asked the hermit.

"Because it is the savagest brute I ever came across," said the man. "It won't let a soul come near the canoe. I would have killed it long ago if the captain of the steamer had not told me you wished it to be taken great care of. There, look out! The vixen is not tied up."

He flung open the shed-door and revealed Spinkie seated in his old place, much deteriorated in appearance and scowling malevolently.

The instant the poor creature heard its master's voice and saw his form—for his features must have been invisible against the strong light—the scowl vanished from its little visage. With a shriek of joy it sprang like an acrobat from a spring-board and plunged into the hermit's bosom—to the alarm of the Malay, who thought this was a furious attack. We need not say that Van der Kemp received his faithful little servant kindly, and it was quite touching to observe the monkey's intense affection for him. It could not indeed wag its tail like a dog, but it put its arms round its master's neck with a wondrously human air, and rubbed its little head in his beard and whiskers, drawing itself back now and then, putting its black paws on his cheeks, turning his face round to the light and opening its round eyes wide—as well as its round little mouth—as if to make sure of his identity—then plunging into the whiskers again, and sometimes, when unable to contain its joy, finding a safety-valve in a little shriek.

When the meeting and greeting were over, Van der Kemp explained that he would require his canoe by daybreak the following morning, ordered a few provisions to be got ready, and turned to leave.

"You must get down, Spinkie, and watch the canoe for one night more," said the hermit, quietly.

But Spinkie did not seem to perceive the necessity, for he clung closer to his master with a remonstrative croak.

"Get down, Spinkie," said the hermit firmly, "and watch the canoe."

The poor beast had apparently learned that Medo-Persic law was not more unchangeable than Van der Kemp's commands! At all events it crept down his arm and leg, waddled slowly over the floor of the shed with bent back and wrinkled brow, like a man of ninety, and took up its old position on the deck, the very personification of superannuated woe.

The hermit patted its head gently, however, thus relieving its feelings, and probably introducing hope into its little heart before leaving. Then he returned to his friends and bade them prepare for immediate departure.

It was the night of the 24th of August, and as the eruptions of the volcano appeared to be getting more and more violent, Van der Kemp's anxiety to reach his cave became visibly greater.

"I have been told," said the hermit to Nigel, as they went down with Moses to the place where the canoe had been left, "the history of Krakatoa since we left. A friend informs me that a short time after our departure the eruptions subsided a little, and the people here had ceased to pay much attention to them, but about the middle of June the volcanic activity became more violent, and on the 19th, in particular, it was observed that the vapour column and the force of the explosions were decidedly on the increase."

"At Katimbang, from which place the island can be seen, it was noticed that a second column of vapour was ascending from the centre of the island, and that the appearance of Perboewatan had entirely changed, its conspicuous summit having apparently been blown away. In July there were some explosions of exceptional violence, and I have now no doubt that it was these we heard in the interior of this island when we were travelling hither, quite lately. On the 11th of this month, I believe, the island was visited in a boat by a government officer, but he did not land, owing to the heavy masses of vapour and dust driven about by the wind, which also prevented him from making a careful examination, but he could see that the forests of nearly the whole island have been destroyed—only a few trunks of blighted trees being left standing above the thick covering of pumice and dust. He reported that the dust near the shore was found to be twenty inches thick."

"If so," said Nigel, "I fear that the island will be no longer fit to inhabit."

"I know not," returned the hermit sadly, in a musing tone. "The officer reported that there is no sign of eruption at Rakata, so that my house is yet safe, for no showers of pumice, however deep, can injure the cave."

Nigel was on the point of asking his friend why he was so anxious to revisit the island at such a time, but, recollecting his recent tiff on that subject, refrained. Afterwards, however, when Van der Kemp was settling accounts with the Malay, he put the question to Moses.

"I can't help wondering," he said, "that Van der Kemp should be so anxious to get back to his cave just now. If he were going in a big boat to save some of his goods and chattels I could understand it, but the canoe, you know, could carry little more than her ordinary lading."

"Well, Massa Nadgel," said Moses, "it's my opinion dat he wants to go back 'cause he's got an uncommon affekshnit heart."

"How? Surely you don't mean that his love of the mere place is so strong that—"

"No, no, Massa Nadgel—'s not dat. But he was awrful fond ob his wife an' darter, an' I know he's got a photogruff ob 'em bof togidder, an' I t'ink he'd sooner lose his head dan lose dat, for I've seed him look at 'em for hours, an' kiss 'em sometimes w'en he t'ought I was asleep."

The return of the hermit here abruptly stopped the conversation. The canoe was carried down and put into the water, watched with profound interest by hundreds of natives and traders, who were all more or less acquainted with the hermit of Rakata.

It was still daylight when they paddled out into Lampong Bay, but the volumes of dust which rose from Krakatoa—although nearly fifty miles off—did much to produce an unusually early twilight.

"Goin' to be bery dark, massa," remarked Moses as they glided past the shipping. "Shall I light de lamp?"

"Do, Moses, but we shan't need it, for as we get nearer home the volcanic fires will light us on our way."

"De volcanic dust is a-goin' to powder us on our way too, massa. Keep your hands out o' the way, Spinkie," said the negro as he fixed a small oil-lamp to the mast, and resumed his paddle.

"After we get out a bit the wind will help us," said the hermit.

"Yes, massa, if he don't blow too strong," returned Moses, as a squall came rushing down the mountains and swept over the bay, ruffling its now dark waters into foaming wavelets.

Altogether, what with the increasing darkness and the hissing squall, and the night-voyage before them, and the fires of Krakatoa which were now clearly visible on the horizon, Nigel Boy felt a more eerie sensation in his breast than he ever remembered to have experienced in all his previous life, but he scorned to admit the fact—even to himself, and said, mentally, that it was rather romantic than otherwise!

Just then there burst upon their ears the yell of a steam-whistle, and a few moments later a steamer bore straight down on them, astern.

"Steamer ahoy!" shouted Van der Kemp. "Will ye throw us a rope?"

"Ay! ay!—ease 'er!—stop 'er! where are 'ee bound for?" demanded an unmistakably English voice.

"Krakatoa!" replied the hermit. "Where are you?"

"Anjer, on the Java coast. Do 'ee want to be smothered, roasted, and blown up?" asked the captain, looking down on the canoe as it ranged alongside the dark hull.

"No, we want to get home."

"Home! Well, you're queer fellows in a queer eggshell for such waters. Every man to his taste. Look out for the rope!"

"All right, cappen," cried Moses as he caught the coil.

Next moment the steamer went ahead, and the canoe ploughed over the Sunda Straits at the rate of thirteen miles an hour, with her sharp prow high out of the water, and the stern correspondingly low. The voyage, which would have otherwise cost our three travellers a long laborious night and part of next day, was by this means so greatly shortened that when daybreak arrived they were not more than thirteen miles to the east of Krakatoa. Nearer than this the steamboat could not take them without going out of her course, but as Van der Kemp and Nigel gratefully acknowledged, it was quite near enough.

"Well, I should just think it was rather too near!" said the captain with a grin.

And, truly, he was justified in making the remark, for the explosions from the volcano had by that time become not only very frequent, but tremendously loud, while the dense cloud which hung above it and spread far and wide over the sky covered the sea with a kind of twilight that struggled successfully against the full advent of day. Lightning too was playing among the rolling black masses of smoke, and the roaring explosions every now and then seemed to shake the very heavens.

Casting off the tow-rope, they turned the bow of their canoe to the island. As a stiffish breeze was blowing, they set the sails, close-reefed, and steered for the southern shore at that part which lay under the shadow of Rakata.



CHAPTER XXIV.

AN AWFUL NIGHT AND TERRIBLE MORNING.

It was a matter of some satisfaction to find on drawing near to the shore that the peak of Rakata was still intact, and that, although most other parts of the island which could be seen were blighted by fire and covered deeply with pumice dust, much of the forest in the immediate neighbourhood of the cave was still undestroyed though considerably damaged.

"D'you think our old harbour will be available, Moses?" asked Van der Kemp as they came close to the first headland.

"Pr'aps. Bes' go an' see," was the negro's practical reply.

"Evidently Rakata is not yet active," said Nigel, looking up at the grey dust-covered crags as the canoe glided swiftly through the dark water.

"That is more than can be said for the other craters," returned the hermit. "It seems to me that not only all the old ones are at work, but a number of new ones must have been opened."

The constant roaring and explosions that filled their ears and the rain of fine ashes bore testimony to the truth of this, though the solid and towering mass of Rakata rose between them and the part of Krakatoa which was in eruption, preventing their seeing anything that was passing except the dense masses of smoke, steam, and dust which rose many miles into the heavens, obstructing the light of day, but forming cloud-masses from which the lurid flames of the volcano were reflected downward.

On reaching the little bay or harbour it was found much as they had left it, save that the rocks and bushes around were thickly covered with dust, and their boat was gone.

"Strange! at such a time one would scarcely have expected thieves to come here," said the hermit, looking slowly round.

"No t'ief bin here, massa," said Moses, looking over the side of the canoe. "I see de boat!"

He pointed downwards as he spoke, and on looking over the side they saw the wreck of the boat at the bottom, in about ten feet of water, and crushed beneath a ponderous mass of lava, which must have been ejected from the volcano and afterwards descended upon the boat.

The destruction of the boat rendered it impossible to remove any of the property of the hermit, and Nigel now saw, from his indifference, that this could not have been the cause of his friend's anxiety and determination to reach his island home in spite of the danger that such a course entailed. That there was considerable danger soon became very obvious, for, having passed to some extent at this point beyond the shelter of the cliffs of Rakata, and come partly into view of the other parts of the island, the real extent of the volcanic violence burst upon Nigel and Moses as a new revelation. The awful sublimity of the scene at first almost paralysed them, and they failed to note that not only did a constant rain of pumice dust fall upon them, but that there was also a pretty regular dropping of small stones into the water around them. Their attention was sharply aroused to this fact by the fall of a lump of semi-molten rock, about the size of a cannon shot, a short distance off, which was immediately followed by not less than a cubic yard of lava which fell close to the canoe and deluged them with spray.

"We must go," said the hermit quietly. "No need to expose ourselves here, though the watching of the tremendous forces that our Creator has at command does possess a wonderful kind of fascination. It seems to me the more we see of His power as exerted on our little earth, the more do we realise the paltriness of our conception of the stupendous Might that upholds the Universe."

While he was speaking, Van der Kemp guided the canoe into its little haven, and in a few minutes he and Moses had carried it into the shelter of the cave out of which Nigel had first seen it emerge. Then the lading was carried up, after which they turned into the track which led to the hermit's home.

The whole operation may be said to have been performed under fire, for small masses of rock kept pattering continually on the dust-covered ground around them, causing cloudlets, like smoke, to spring up wherever they struck. Nigel and Moses could not resist glancing upward now and then as they moved quickly to and fro, and they experienced a shrinking sensation when a stone fell very near them, but each scorned to exhibit the smallest trace of anxiety, or to suggest that the sooner they got from under fire the better! As for Van der Kemp, he moved about deliberately as if there was nothing unusual going on, and with an absent look on his grave face as though the outbursts of smoke, and fire, and lava, which turned the face of day into lurid night, and caused the cliffs to reverberate with unwonted thunders, had no effect whatever on his mind.

A short walk, however, along the track, which was more than ankle-deep in dust, brought them under the sheltering sides of Rakata, up which they soon scrambled to the mouth of their cave. Here all was found as they had left it, save that the entrance was knee-deep in pumice dust.

And now a new and very strange sensation was felt by each of them, for the loud reports and crackling sounds which had assailed their ears outside were reduced by the thick walls of the cave to a continuous dull groan, as it were, like the soft but thunderous bass notes of a stupendous organ. To these sounds were added others which seemed to be peculiar to the cave itself. They appeared to rise from crevices in the floor, and were no doubt due to the action of those pent-up subterranean fires which were imprisoned directly, though it may be very far down, under their feet. Every now and then there came a sudden increase of the united sounds as if the "swell" of the great organ had been opened, and such out-gushing was always accompanied with more or less of indescribable shocks followed by prolonged tremors of the entire mountain.

If the three friends had been outside to observe what was taking place, they would have seen that these symptoms were simultaneous with occasional and extremely violent outbursts from the crater of Perboewatan and his compeers. Indeed they guessed as much, and two of them at least were not a little thankful that, awesome as their position was, they had the thick mountain between them and the fiery showers outside.

Of all this the hermit took no notice, but, hastening into the inner cavern, opened a small box, and took therefrom a bundle of papers and a little object which, at a first glance, Nigel supposed to be a book, but which turned out to be a photograph case. These the hermit put carefully into the breastpocket of his coat and then turned to his companions with a sigh as if of relief.

"I think there is no danger of anything occurring at this part of the island," he remarked, looking round the cave, "for there is no sign of smoke and no sulphurous smell issuing from any of the crevices in walls or floor. This, I think, shows that there is no direct communication with Rakata and the active volcano—at least not at present."

"Do you then think there is a possibility of an outbreak at some future period?" asked Nigel.

"Who can tell? People here, who don't study the nature of volcanoes much, though surrounded by them, will expect things ere long to resume their normal condition. I can never forget the fact that the greater part of Krakatoa stands, as you know, exactly above the spot where the two great lines of volcanic action cross, and right over the mouth of the immense crater to which Perboewatan and all the other craters serve as mere chimneys or safety-valves. We cannot tell whether a great eruption similar to that of 1680 may not be in store for us. The only reason that I can see for the quiescence of this peak of Rakata is, as I said to you once before, that it stands not so much above the old crater as above and on the safe side of its lip."

"I t'ink, massa, if I may ventur' to speak," said Moses, "dat de sooner we git off his lip de better lest we tumble into his mout'."

"You may be right, Moses, and I have no objection to quit," returned the hermit, "now that I have secured the photograph and papers. At the same time I fear the rain of stones and lava is growing worse. It might be safer to stay till there is a lull in the violence of the eruption, and then make a dash for it. What say you, Nigel?"

"I say that you know best, Van der Kemp. I'm ready to abide by your decision, whatever it be."

"Well, then, we will go out and have a look at the state of matters."

The view from the entrance was not calculated to tempt them to forsake the shelter of the cave, however uncertain that might be. The latest explosions had enshrouded the island in such a cloud of smoke and dust, that nothing whatever was visible beyond a few yards in front, and even that space was only seen by the faint rays of the lamp issuing from the outer cave. This lamp-light was sufficient, however, to show that within the semicircle of a few yards there was a continuous rain of grey ashes and dust mingled with occasional stones of various sizes—some larger than a man's fist.

"To go out in that would be simply to court death," said Nigel, whose voice was almost drowned by the noise of the explosions and fall of material.

As it was manifest that nothing could be done at the moment except to wait patiently, they returned to the cave, where they lighted the oil-stove, and Moses—who had taken the precaution to carry up some provisions in a bag from the canoe—proceeded to prepare a meal.

"Stummicks must be attended to," he murmured to himself as he moved about the cave-kitchen and shook his head gravely. "Collapses in dat region is wuss, a long way, dan 'splosion of the eart'!"

Meanwhile, Nigel and the hermit went to examine the passage leading to the observatory. The eruption had evidently done nothing to it, for, having passed upwards without difficulty, they finally emerged upon the narrow ledge.

The scene that burst upon their astonished gaze here was awful in the extreme. It will be remembered that while the hermit's cave was on the southern side of Krakatoa, facing Java, the stair and passage leading to the observatory completely penetrated the peak of Rakata, so that when standing on the ledge they faced northward and were thus in full view of all the craters between them and Perboewatan. These were in full blast at the time, and, being so near, the heat, as well as the dust, molten lava, and other missiles, instantly drove them back under the protection of the passage from which they had emerged.

Here they found a small aperture which appeared to have been recently formed—probably by a blow from a mass of falling rock—through which they were able to obtain a glimpse of the pandemonium that lay seething below them. They could not see much, however, owing to the smoke which filled the air. The noise of the almost continuous explosions was so loud, that it was impossible to converse save by placing the mouth to the ear and shouting. Fortunately soon after their ascent the wind shifted and blew smoke, fire, and dust away to the northward, enabling them to get out on the ledge, where for a time they remained in comparative safety.

"Look! look at your mirrors!" exclaimed Nigel suddenly, as his wandering gaze happened to turn to the hermit's sun-guides.

And he might well exclaim, for not only was the glass of these ingenious machines shivered and melted, but their iron frameworks were twisted up into fantastic shapes.

"Lightning has been at work here," said Van der Kemp.

It did not at the moment occur to either of them that the position on which they stood was peculiarly liable to attack by the subtle and dangerous fluid which was darting and zig-zagging everywhere among the rolling clouds of smoke and steam.

A louder report than usual here drew their attention again to the tremendous scene that was going on in front of them. The extreme summit of Perboewatan had been blown into a thousand fragments, which were hurtling upwards and crackling loudly as the smaller masses were impelled against each other in their skyward progress. This crackling has been described by those who heard it from neighbouring shores as a "strange rustling sound." To our hermit and his friend, who were, so to speak, in the very midst of it, the sound rather resembled the continuous musketry of a battle-field, while the louder explosions might be compared to the booming of artillery, though they necessarily lose by the comparison, for no invention of man ever produced sounds equal to those which thundered at that time from the womb of Krakatoa.

Immediately after this, a fountain of molten lava at white heat welled up in the great throat that had been so violently widened, and, overflowing the edges of the crater, rolled down its sides in fiery rivers. All the other craters in the island became active at the same moment and a number of new ones burst forth. Indeed it seemed to those who watched them that if these had not opened up to give vent to the suppressed forces the whole island must have been blown away. As it was, the sudden generation of so much excessive heat set fire to what remained of trees and everything combustible, so that the island appeared to be one vast seething conflagration, and darkness was for a time banished by a red glare that seemed to Nigel far more intense than that of noonday.

It is indeed the partiality (if we may say so) of conflagration-light which gives to it the character of impressive power with which we are all so familiar—the intense lights being here cut sharply off by equally intense shadows, and then grading into dull reds and duller greys. The sun, on the other hand, bathes everything in its genial glow so completely that all nature is permeated with it, and there are no intense contrasts, no absolutely black and striking shadows, except in caverns and holes, to form startling contrasts.

"These safety-valves," said the hermit, referring to the new craters, "have, under God, been the means of saving us from destruction."

"It would seem so," said Nigel, who was too overwhelmed by the sight to say much.

Even as he spoke the scene changed as if by magic, for from the cone of Perboewatan there issued a spout of liquid fire, followed by a roar so tremendous that the awe-struck men shrank within themselves, feeling as though that time had really come when the earth is to melt with fervent heat! The entire lake of glowing lava was shot into the air, and lost in the clouds above, while mingled smoke and steam went bellowing after it, and dust fell so thickly that it seemed as if sufficient to extinguish the raging fires. Whether it did so or not is uncertain. It may have been that the new pall of black vapour only obscured them. At all events, after the outburst the darkness of night fell suddenly on all around.

Just then the wind again changed, and the whole mass of vapour, smoke, and ashes came sweeping like the very besom of destruction towards the giddy ledge on which the observers stood. Nigel was so entranced that it is probable he might have been caught in the horrible tempest and lost had not his cooler companion grasped his arm and dragged him violently into the passage—where they were safe, though half suffocated by the heat and sulphurous vapours that followed them.

At the same time the thunderous roaring became so loud that conversation was impossible. Van der Kemp therefore took his friend's hand and led him down to the cave, where the sounds were so greatly subdued as to seem almost a calm by contrast.

"We are no doubt in great danger," said the hermit, gravely, as he sat down in the outer cave, "but there is no possibility of taking action to-night. Here we are, whether wisely or unwisely, and here we must remain—at least till there is a lull in the eruption. 'God is our refuge.' He ought to be so at all times, but there are occasions when this great, and, I would add, glorious fact is pressed upon our understandings with unusual power. Such a time is this. Come—we will see what His word says to us just now."

To Nigel's surprise, and, he afterwards confessed, to his comfort and satisfaction, the hermit called the negro from his work, and, taking down the large Bible from its shelf, read part of the 46th Psalm, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea."

He stopped reading at the verse where it is written, "Be still, and know that I am God."

Then, going down on his knees,—without even the familiar formula, "Let us pray"—he uttered a brief but earnest prayer for guidance and deliverance "in the name of Jesus."

Rising, he quietly put the Bible away, and, with the calmness of a thoroughly practical man, who looks upon religion and ordinary matters as parts of one grand whole, ordered Moses to serve the supper.

Thus they spent part of that memorable night of 26th August 1883 in earnest social intercourse, conversing chiefly and naturally about the character, causes, and philosophy of volcanoes, while Perboewatan and his brethren played a rumbling, illustrative accompaniment to their discourse. The situation was a peculiar one. Even the negro was alive to that fact.

"Ain't it koorious," he remarked solemnly in a moment of confidence after swallowing the last bite of his supper. "Ain't it koorious, Massa Nadgel, dat we're a sottin' here comf'rably enjoyin' our wittles ober de mout' ob a v'licano as is quite fit to blow us all to bits an' hois' us into de bery middle ob next week—if not farder?"

"It is strange indeed, Moses," said Nigel, who however added no commentary, feeling indisposed to pursue the subject.

Seeing this, Moses turned to his master.

"Massa," he said. "You don' want nuffin' more to-night, I s'pose?"

"No, Moses, nothing."

"An' is you quite easy in your mind?"

"Quite," replied the hermit with his peculiar little smile.

"Den it would be wuss dan stoopid for me to be oneasy, so I'll bid ye bof good-night, an' turn in."

In this truly trustful as well as philosophical state of mind, the negro retired to his familiar couch in the inner cave, and went to sleep.

Nigel and the hermit sat up for some time longer.

"Van der Kemp," said the former, after a pause, "I—I trust you won't think me actuated by impertinent curiosity if I venture to ask you about —the—photograph that I think you——"

"My young friend!" interrupted the hermit, taking the case in question from his breast pocket; "I should rather apologise to you for having appeared to make any mystery of it—and yet," he added, pausing as he was about to open the case, "I have not shown it to a living soul since the day that—Well, well,—why should I hesitate? It is all I have left of my dead wife and child."

He placed the case in the hands of Nigel, who almost sprang from his seat with excitement as he beheld the countenance of a little child of apparently three or four years of age, who so exactly resembled Kathy Holbein—allowing of course for the difference of age—that he had now no doubt whatever as to her being the hermit's lost daughter. He was on the point of uttering her name, when uncertainty as to the effect the sudden disclosure might have upon the father checked him.

"You seem surprised, my friend," said Van der Kemp gently.

"Most beautiful!" said Nigel, gazing intently at the portrait. "That dear child's face seems so familiar to me that I could almost fancy I had seen it."

He looked earnestly into his friend's face as he spoke, but the hermit was quite unmoved, and there was not a shadow of change in the sad low tone of his voice as he said—

"Yes, she was indeed beautiful, like her mother. As to your fancy about having seen it—mankind is formed in groups and types. We see many faces that resemble others."

The absent look that was so common to the solitary man here overspread his massive features, and Nigel felt crushed, as it were, back into himself. Thus, without having disclosed his belief, he retired to rest in a very anxious state of mind, while the hermit watched.

"Don't take off your clothes," he said. "If the sounds outside lead me to think things are quieting down, I will rouse you and we shall start at once."

It was very early on the morning of the 27th when Van der Kemp roused our hero.

"Are things quieter?" asked Nigel as he rose.

"Yes, a little, but not much—nevertheless we must venture to leave."

"Is it daylight yet?"

"No. There will be no daylight to-day!" with which prophecy the hermit left him and went to rouse Moses.

"Massa," said the faithful negro. "Isn't you a goin' to take nuffin' wid you? None ob de books or t'ings?"

"No—nothing except the old Bible. All the rest I leave behind. The canoe could not carry much. Besides, we may have little time. Get ready; quick! and follow me."

Moses required no spur. The three men left the cave together. It was so intensely dark that the road could not be distinguished, but the hermit and his man were so familiar with it that they could have followed it blindfold.

On reaching the cave at the harbour, some light was obtained from the fitful outbursts of the volcano, which enabled them to launch the canoe and push off in safety. Then, without saying a word to each other, they coasted along the shore of the island, and, finally, leaving its dangers behind, them, made for the island of Java—poor Spinkie sitting in his accustomed place and looking uncommonly subdued!

Scarcely had they pushed off into Sunda Straits when the volcano burst out afresh. They had happily seized on the only quiet hour that the day offered, and had succeeded, by the aid of the sails, in getting several miles from the island without receiving serious injury, although showers of stones and masses of rock of all sizes were falling into the sea around them.

Van der Kemp was so far right in his prophecy that there would be no daylight that day. By that time there should have been light, as it was nearly seven o'clock on the memorable morning of the 27th of August. But now, although the travellers were some miles distant from Krakatoa, the gloom was so impervious that Nigel, from his place in the centre of the canoe, could not see the form of poor Spinkie—which sat clinging to the mast only two feet in front of him—save when a blaze from Perboewatan or one of the other craters lighted up island and ocean with a vivid glare.

At this time the sea began to run very high and the wind increased to a gale, so that the sails of the canoe, small though they were, had to be reduced.

"Lower the foresail, Nigel," shouted the hermit. "I will close-reef it. Do you the same to the mainsail."

"Ay, ay, sir," was the prompt reply.

Moses and Nigel kept the little craft straight to the wind while the foresail was being reefed, Van der Kemp and the former performing the same duty while Nigel reefed the mainsail.

Suddenly there came a brief but total cessation of the gale, though not of the tumultuous heaving of the waters. During that short interval there burst upon the world a crash and a roar so tremendous that for a few moments the voyagers were almost stunned!

It is no figure of speech to say that the world heard the crash. Hundreds, ay, thousands of miles did the sound of that mighty upheaval pass over land and sea to startle, more or less, the nations of the earth.

The effect of a stupendous shock on the nervous system is curiously various in different individuals. The three men who were so near to the volcano at that moment involuntarily looked round and saw by the lurid blaze that an enormous mass of Krakatoa, rent from top to bottom, was falling headlong into the sea; while the entire heavens were alive with flame, lightning, steam, smoke, and the upward-shooting fragments of the hideous wreck!

The hermit calmly rested his paddle on the deck and gazed around in silent wonder. Nigel, not less smitten with awe, held his paddle with an iron grasp, every muscle quivering with tension in readiness for instant action when the need for action should appear. Moses, on the other hand, turning round from the sight with glaring eyes, resumed paddling with unreasoning ferocity, and gave vent at once to his feelings and his opinion in the sharp exclamation—"Blown to bits!"



CHAPTER XXV.

ADVENTURES OF THE "SUNSHINE" AND AN UNEXPECTED REUNION.

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' A.1 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 E.N.E. 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 'ot 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 reclosing 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, 10.2, and 10.52 in the morning. Of these the third, about 10, was by far the worst for violence and for the wide-spread 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.



CHAPTER XXVI.

A CLIMAX.

Three of those who had tumbled thus unceremoniously on the deck of the Sunshine were soon sufficiently recovered to sit up and look around in dazed astonishment—namely Nigel, Moses, and the monkey—but the hermit still lay prone where he had been cast, with a pretty severe wound on his head, from which blood was flowing freely.

"Nigel, my boy!"

"Father!" exclaimed the youth. "Where am I? What has happened?"

"Don't excite yourself, lad," said the mariner, stooping and whispering into his son's ear. "We've got her aboard!"

No treatment could have been more effectual in bringing Nigel to his senses than this whisper.

"Is—is—Van der Kemp safe?" he asked anxiously.

"All right—only stunned, I think. That's him they're just goin' to carry below. Put 'im in my bunk, Mr. Moor."

"Ay ay, sir."

Nigel sprang up. "Stay, father," he said in a low voice. "She must not see him for the first time like this."

"All right, boy. I understand. You leave that to me. My bunk has bin shifted for'id—more amidships—an' Kathy's well aft. They shan't be let run foul of each other. You go an' rest on the main hatch till we get him down. Why, here's a nigger! Where did you pick him—oh! I remember. You're the man we met, I suppose, wi' the hermit on Krakatoa that day o' the excursion from Batavia."

"Yes, das me. But we'll meet on Krakatoa no more, for dat place am blown to bits."

"I'm pretty well convinced o' that by this time, my man. Not hurt much, I hope?"

"No, sar—not more 'n I can stan'. But I's 'fraid dat poor Spinkie's a'most used up—hallo! what you gwine to do with massa?" demanded the negro, whose wandering faculties had only in part returned.

"He's gone below. All right. Now, you go and lie down beside my son on the hatch. I'll see to Van der Kemp."

But Captain David Roy's intentions, like those of many men of greater note, were frustrated by the hermit himself, who recovered consciousness just as the four men who carried him reached the foot of the companion-ladder close to the cabin door. Owing to the deeper than midnight darkness that prevailed a lamp was burning in the cabin—dimly, as if, infected by the universal chaos, it were unwilling to enlighten the surrounding gloom.

On recovering consciousness Van der Kemp was, not unnaturally, under the impression that he had fallen into the hands of foes. With one effectual convulsion of his powerful limbs he scattered his bearers right and left, and turning—like all honest men—to the light, he sprang into the cabin, wrenched a chair from its fastenings, and, facing round, stood at bay.

Kathleen, seeing this blood-stained giant in such violent action, naturally fled to her cabin and shut the door.

As no worse enemy than Captain Roy presented himself at the cabin door, unarmed, and with an anxious look on his rugged face, the hermit set down the chair, and feeling giddy sank down on it with a groan.

"I fear you are badly hurt, sir. Let me tie a handkerchief round your wounded head," said the captain soothingly.

"Thanks, thanks. Your voice is not unfamiliar to me," returned the hermit with a sigh, as he submitted to the operation. "I thought I had fallen somehow into the hands of pirates. Surely an accident must have happened. How did I get here? Where are my comrades—Nigel and the negro?"

"My son Nigel is all right, sir, and so is your man Moses. Make your mind easy—an' pray don't speak while I'm working at you. I'll explain it all in good time. Stay, I'll be with you in a moment."

The captain—fearing that Kathleen might come out from curiosity to see what was going on, and remembering his son's injunction—went to the girl's berth with the intention of ordering her to keep close until he should give her leave to come out. Opening the door softly and looking in, he was startled, almost horrified, to see Kathleen standing motionless like a statue, with both hands pressed tightly over her heart. The colour had fled from her beautiful face; her long hair was flung back; her large lustrous eyes were wide open and her lips slightly parted, as if her whole being had been concentrated in eager expectancy.

"What's wrong, my girl?" asked the captain anxiously. "You've no cause for fear. I just looked in to—."

"That voice!" exclaimed Kathleen, with something of awe in her tones—"Oh! I've heard it so often in my dreams."

"Hush! sh! my girl," said the captain in a low tone, looking anxiously round at the wounded man. But his precautions were unavailing,—Van der Kemp had also heard a voice which he thought had long been silent in death. The girl's expression was almost repeated in his face. Before the well-meaning mariner could decide what to do, Kathleen brushed lightly past him, and stood in the cabin gazing as if spell-bound at the hermit.

"Winnie!" he whispered, as if scarcely daring to utter the name.

"Father!"

She extended both hands towards him as she spoke. Then, with a piercing shriek, she staggered backward, and would have fallen had not the captain caught her and let her gently down.

Van der Kemp vaulted the table, fell on his knees beside her, and, raising her light form, clasped her to his heart, just as Nigel and Moses, alarmed by the scream, sprang into the cabin.

"Come, come; away wi' you—you stoopid grampusses!" cried the captain, pushing the intruders out of the cabin, following them, and closing the door behind him. "This is no place for bunglers like you an' me. We might have known that natur' would have her way, an' didn't need no help from the like o' us. Let's on deck. There's enough work there to look after that's better suited to us."

Truly there was enough—and more than enough—to claim the most anxious attention of all who were on board of the Sunshine that morning, for hot mud was still falling in showers on the deck, and the thunders of the great volcano were still shaking heaven, earth, and sea.

To clear the decks and sails of mud occupied every one for some time so earnestly that they failed to notice at first that the hermit had come on deck, found a shovel, and was working away like the rest of them. The frequent and prolonged blazes of intense light that ever and anon banished the darkness showed that on his face there sat an expression of calm, settled, triumphant joy, which was strangely mingled with a look of quiet humility.

"I thank God for this," said Nigel, going forward when he observed him and grasping his hand.

"You knew it?" exclaimed the hermit in surprise.

"Yes. I knew it—indeed, helped to bring you together, but did not dare to tell you till I was quite sure. I had hoped to have you meet in very different circumstances."

"'It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps,'" returned the hermit reverently. "God bless you, Nigel. If you have even aimed at bringing this about, I owe you more than my life."