"You must have lost a good deal of blood, Van der Kemp. Are you much hurt?" asked Nigel, as he observed the bandage round his friend's head.

"Somewhat. Not much, I hope—but joy, as well as blood, gives strength, Nigel."

A report from a man who had just been ordered to take soundings induced the captain at this time to lay-to.

"It seems to me," he said to Nigel and the hermit who stood close beside him, "that we are getting too near shore. But in cases o' this kind the bottom o' the sea itself can't be depended on."

"What part of the shore are we near, d' you think, father?"

"Stand by to let go the anchor!" roared the captain, instead of answering the question.

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the second mate, whose cool, sing-song, business-like tone at such a moment actually tended to inspire a measure of confidence in those around him.

Another moment, and the rattling chain caused a tremor through the vessel, which ceased when the anchor touched bottom, and they rode head to wind. Coruscations of bluish light seemed to play about the masts, and balls of electric fire tipped the yards, throwing for a short time a ghastly sheen over the ship and crew, for the profound darkness had again settled down, owing, no doubt, to another choking of the Krakatoa vent.

Before the light referred to went out, Moses was struck violently on the chest by something soft, which caused him to stagger.

It was Spinkie! In the midst of the unusual horrors that surrounded him, while clinging to the unfamiliar mizzen shrouds on which in desperation the poor monkey had found a temporary refuge, the electric fire showed him the dark figure of his old familiar friend standing not far off. With a shriek of not quite hopeless despair, and an inconceivable bound, Spinkie launched himself into space. His early training in the forest stood him in good stead at that crisis! As already said he hit the mark fairly, and clung to Moses with a tenacity that was born of mingled love and desperation. Finding that nothing short of cruelty would unfix his little friend, Moses stuffed him inside the breast of his cotton shirt. In this haven of rest the monkey heaved a sigh of profound contentment, folded his hands on his bosom, and meekly went to sleep.

Two of the excessively violent paroxysms of the volcano, above referred to, had by that time taken place, but the third, and worst—that which occurred about 10 A.M.—was yet in store for them, though they knew it not, and a lull in the roar, accompanied by thicker darkness than ever, was its precursor. There was not, however, any lull in the violence of the wind.

"I don't like these lulls," said Captain Roy to the hermit, as they stood close to the binnacle, in the feeble light of its lamp. "What is that striking against our sides, Mr. Moor?"

"Looks like floating pumice, sir," answered the second mate, "and I think I see palm-trees amongst it."

"Ay, I thought so, we must be close to land," said the captain. "We can't be far from Anjer, and I fear the big waves that have already passed us have done some damage. Lower a lantern over the side,—no, fetch an empty tar-barrel and let's have a flare. That will enable us to see things better."

While the barrel was being fastened to a spar so as to be thrust well out beyond the side of the brig, Van der Kemp descended the companion and opened the cabin door.

"Come up now, Winnie, darling."

"Yes, father," was the reply, as the poor girl, who had been anxiously awaiting the summons, glided out and clasped her father's arm with both hands. "Are things quieting down?"

"They are, a little. It may be temporary, but—Our Father directs it all."

"True, father. I'm so glad of that!"

"Mind the step, we shall have more light on deck. There is a friend there who has just told me he met you on the Cocos-Keeling Island, Nigel Roy;—you start, Winnie?"

"Y—yes, father. I am so surprised, for it is his father who sails this ship! And I cannot imagine how he or you came on board."

"Well, I was going to say that I believe it is partly through Nigel that you and I have been brought together, but there is mystery about it that I don't yet understand; much has to be explained, and this assuredly is not the time or place. Here, Nigel, is your old Keeling friend."

"Ay—friend! humph!" said old Roy softly to himself.

"My dear—child!" said young Roy, paternally, to the girl as he grasped her hand. "I cannot tell you how thankful I am that this has been brought about, and—and that I have had some little hand in it."

"There's more than pumice floating about in the sea, sir," said Mr. Moor, coming aft at the moment and speaking to the captain in a low tone. "You'd better send the young lady below—or get some one to take up her attention just now."

"Here, Nigel. Sit down under the lee of the companion, an' tell Kathy how this all came about," said the captain, promptly, as if issuing nautical orders. "I want you here, Van der Kemp."

So saying, the captain, followed by the hermit, went with the second mate to the place where the flaming tar-barrel was casting a lurid glare upon the troubled sea.



CHAPTER XXVII.

"BLOWN TO BITS."

The sight that met their eyes was well calculated to shock and sadden men of much less tender feeling than Van der Kemp and Captain Roy.

The water had assumed an appearance of inky blackness, and large masses of pumice were floating past, among which were numerous dead bodies of men, women, and children, intermingled with riven trees, fences, and other wreckage from the land, showing that the two great waves which had already passed under the vessel had caused terrible devastation on some parts of the shore. To add to the horror of the scene large sea-snakes were seen swimming wildly about, as if seeking to escape from the novel dangers that surrounded them.

The sailors looked on in awe-stricken silence for some time.

"P'raps some of 'em may be alive yet!" whispered one. "Couldn't we lower a boat?"

"Impossible in such a sea," said the captain, who overheard the remark. "Besides, no life could exist there."

"Captain Roy," said Van der Kemp earnestly, "let me advise you to get your foresail ready to hoist at a moment's notice, and let them stand by to cut the cable."

"Why so? There seems no need at present for such strong measures."

"You don't understand volcanoes as I do," returned the hermit. "This lull will only last until the imprisoned fires overcome the block in the crater, and the longer it lasts the worse will be the explosion. From my knowledge of the coast I feel sure that we are close to the town of Anjer. If another wave like the last comes while we are here, it will not slip under your brig like the last one. It will tear her from her anchor and hurl us all to destruction. You have but one chance; that is, to cut the cable and run in on the top of it—a poor chance at the best, but if God wills, we shall escape."

"If we are indeed as near shore as you think," said the captain, "I know what you say must be true, for in shoal water such a wave will surely carry all before it. But are you certain there will be another explosion?"

"No man can be sure of that. If the last explosion emptied the crater there will be no more. If it did not, another explosion is certain. All I advise is that you should be ready for whatever is coming, and ready to take your only chance."

"Right you are, sir. Send men to be ready to cut the cable, Mr. Moor. And stand by the topsail halyards."

"Ay, ay, sir."

During the anxious minutes that followed, the hermit rejoined Winnie and Nigel on the quarter-deck, and conversed with the latter in a low voice, while he drew the former to his side with his strong arm. Captain Roy himself grasped the wheel and the men stood at their various stations ready for action.

"Let no man act without orders, whatever happens," said the captain in a deep powerful voice which was heard over the whole ship, for the lull that we have mentioned extended in some degree to the gale as well as to the volcano. Every one felt that some catastrophe was pending.

"Winnie, darling," said the hermit tenderly, as he bent down to see the sweet face that had been restored to him. "I greatly fear that there is sure to be another explosion, and it may be His will that we shall perish, but comfort yourself with the certainty that no hair of your dear head can fall without His permission—and in any event He will not fail us."

"I know it, father. I have no fear—at least, only a little!"

"Nigel," said the hermit, "stick close to us if you can. It may be that, if anything should befall me, your strong arm may succour Winnie; mine has lost somewhat of its vigour," he whispered.

"Trust me—nothing but death shall sunder us," said the anxious youth in a burst of enthusiasm.

It seemed as if death were indeed to be the immediate portion of all on board the Sunshine, for a few minutes later there came a crash, followed by a spout of smoke, fire, steam, and molten lava, compared to which all that had gone before seemed insignificant!

The crash was indescribable! As we have said elsewhere, the sound of it was heard many hundreds of miles from the seat of the volcano, and its effects were seen and felt right round the world.

The numerous vents which had previously been noticed on Krakatoa must at that moment have been blown into one, and the original crater of the old volcano—said to have been about six miles in diameter—must have resumed its destructive work. All the eye-witnesses who were near the spot at the time, and sufficiently calm to take note of the terrific events of that morning, are agreed as to the splendour of the electrical phenomena displayed during this paroxysmal outburst. One who, at the time, was forty miles distant speaks of the great vapour-cloud looking "like an immense wall or blood-red curtain with edges of all shades of yellow, and bursts of forked lightning at times rushing like large serpents through the air." Another says that "Krakatoa appeared to be alight with flickering flames rising behind a dense black cloud." A third recorded that "the lightning struck the mainmast conductor five or six times," and that "the mud-rain which covered the decks was phosphorescent, while the rigging presented the appearance of St. Elmo's fire."

It may be remarked here, in passing, that giant steam-jets rushing through the orifices of the earth's crust constitute an enormous hydro-electric engine; and the friction of ejected materials striking against each other in ascending and descending also generates electricity, which accounts to some extent for the electrical condition of the atmosphere.

In these final and stupendous outbursts the volcano was expending its remaining force in breaking up and ejecting the solid lava which constituted its framework, and not in merely vomiting forth the lava-froth, or pumice, which had characterised the earlier stages of the eruption. In point of fact—as was afterwards clearly ascertained by careful soundings and estimates, taking the average height of the missing portion at 700 feet above water, and the depth at 300 feet below it—two-thirds of the island were blown entirely off the face of the earth. The mass had covered an area of nearly six miles, and is estimated as being equal to 1-1/8 cubic miles of solid matter which, as Moses expressed it, was blown to bits!

If this had been all, it would have been enough to claim the attention and excite the wonder of the intelligent world—but this was not nearly all, as we shall see, for saddest of all the incidents connected with the eruption is the fact that upwards of thirty-six thousand human beings lost their lives. The manner in which that terrible loss occurred shall be shown by the future adventures of the Sunshine.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE FATE OF THE "SUNSHINE."

Stunned at first, for a few minutes, by the extreme violence of the explosion, no one on board the Sunshine spoke, though each man stood at his post ready to act.

"Strange," said the captain at last. "There seems to be no big wave this time."

"That only shows that we are not as near the island as we thought. But it won't be long of——See! There it comes," said the hermit. "Now, Winnie, cling to my arm and put your trust in God."

Nigel, who had secured a life-buoy, moved close to the girl's side, and looking anxiously out ahead saw a faint line of foam in the thick darkness which had succeeded the explosion. Already the distant roar of the billow was heard, proving that it had begun to break.

"The wind comes with it," said Van der Kemp.

"Stand by!" cried the captain, gazing intently over the side. Next moment came the sharp order to hoist the foretopsail and jib, soon followed by "Cut the cable!"

There was breeze enough to swing the vessel quickly round. In a few seconds her stern was presented to the coming wave, and her bow cleft the water as she rushed upon what every one now knew was her doom.

To escape the great wave was no part of the captain's plan. To have reached the shore before the wave would have been fatal to all. Their only hope lay in the possibility of riding in on the top of it, and the great danger was that they should be unable to rise to it stern first when it came up, or that they should turn broadside on and be rolled over.

They had not long to wait. The size of the wave, before it came near enough to be seen, was indicated by its solemn, deep-toned, ever-increasing roar. The captain stood at the wheel himself, guiding the brig and glancing back from time to time uneasily.

Suddenly the volcano gave vent to its fourth and final explosion. It was not so violent as its predecessors had been, though more so than any that had occurred on the day before, and the light of it showed them the full terrors of their situation, for it revealed the mountains of Java—apparently quite close in front, though in reality at a considerable distance—with a line of breakers beating white on the shore. But astern of them was the most appalling sight, for there, rushing on with awful speed and a sort of hissing roar, came the monstrous wave, emerging, as it were, out of thick darkness, like a mighty wall of water with a foaming white crest, not much less—according to an average of the most reliable estimates—than 100 feet high.

Well might the seamen blanch, for never before in all their varied experience had they seen the like of that.

On it came with the unwavering force of Fate. To the eye of Captain Roy it appeared that up its huge towering side no vessel made by mortal man could climb. But the captain had too often stared death in the face to be unmanned by the prospect now. Steadily he steered the vessel straight on, and in a quiet voice said—

"Lay hold of something firm—every man!"

The warning was well timed. In the amazement, if not fear, caused by the unwonted sight, some had neglected the needful precaution.

As the billow came on, the bubbling, leaping, and seething of its crest was apparent both to eye and ear. Then the roar became tremendous.

"Darling Winnie," said Nigel at that moment. "I will die for you or with you!"

The poor girl heard, but no sign of appreciation moved her pale face as she gazed up at the approaching chaos of waters.

Next moment the brig seemed to stand on its bows. Van der Kemp had placed his daughter against the mast, and, throwing his long arms round both, held on. Nigel, close to them, had grasped a handful of ropes, and every one else was holding on for life. Another moment and the brig rose as if it were being tossed up to the heavens. Immediately thereafter it resumed its natural position in a perfect wilderness of foam. They were on the summit of the great wave, which was so large that its crest seemed like a broad, rounded mass of tumbling snow with blackness before and behind, while the roar of the tumult was deafening. The brig rushed onward at a speed which she had never before equalled even in the fiercest gale—tossed hither and thither by the leaping foam, yet always kept going straight onward by the expert steering of her captain.

"Come aft—all of you!" he shouted, when it was evident that the vessel was being borne surely forward on the wave's crest. "The masts will go for certain when we strike."

The danger of being entangled in the falling spars and cordage was so obvious that every one except the hermit and Nigel obeyed.

"Here, Nigel," gasped the former. "I—I've—lost blood—faint!——"

Our hero at once saw that Van der Kemp, fainting from previous loss of blood, coupled with exertion, was unable to do anything but hold on. Indeed, he failed even in that, and would have fallen to the deck had Nigel not caught him by the arm.

"Can you run aft, Winnie?" said Nigel anxiously.

"Yes!" said the girl, at once understanding the situation and darting to the wheel, of which and of Captain Roy she laid firm hold, while Nigel lifted the hermit in his arms and staggered to the same spot. Winnie knelt beside him immediately, and, forgetting for the moment all the horrors around her, busied herself in replacing the bandage which had been loosened from his head.

"Oh! Mr. Roy, save him!—save him!" cried the poor child, appealing in an agony to Nigel, for she felt instinctively that when the crash came her father would be utterly helpless even to save himself.

Nigel had barely time to answer when a wild shout from the crew caused him to start up and look round. A flare from the volcano had cast a red light over the bewildering scene, and revealed the fact that the brig was no longer above the ocean's bed, but was passing in its wild career right through, or rather over, the demolished town of Anjer. A few of the houses that had been left standing by the previous waves were being swept—hurled—away by this one, but the mass of rolling, rushing, spouting water was so deep, that the vessel had as yet struck nothing save the tops of some palm-trees which bent their heads like straws before the flood.

Even in the midst of the amazement, alarm, and anxiety caused by the situation, Nigel could not help wondering that in this final and complete destruction of the town no sign of struggling human beings should be visible. He forgot at the moment, what was terribly proved afterwards, that the first waves had swallowed up men, women, and children by hundreds, and that the few who survived had fled to the hills, leaving nothing for the larger wave to do but complete the work of devastation on inanimate objects. Ere the situation had been well realised the volcanic fires went down again, and left the world, for over a hundred surrounding miles, in opaque darkness. Only the humble flicker of the binnacle light, like a trusty sentinel on duty, continued to shed its feeble rays on a few feet of the deck, and showed that the compass at least was still faithful to the pole!

Then another volcanic outburst revealed the fact that the wave which carried them was thundering on in the direction of a considerable cliff or precipice—not indeed quite straight towards it, but sufficiently so to render escape doubtful.

At the same time a swarm of terror-stricken people were seen flying towards this cliff and clambering up its steep sides. They were probably some of the more courageous of the inhabitants who had summoned courage to return to their homes after the passage of the second wave. Their shrieks and cries could be heard above even the roaring of the water and the detonations of the volcano.

"God spare us!" exclaimed poor Winnie, whose trembling form was now partially supported by Nigel.

As she spoke darkness again obscured everything, and they could do naught but listen to the terrible sounds—and pray.

On—on went the Sunshine, in the midst of wreck and ruin, on this strange voyage over land and water, until a check was felt. It was not a crash as had been anticipated, and as might have naturally been expected, neither was it an abrupt stoppage. There was first a hissing, scraping sound against the vessel's sides, then a steady checking—we might almost say a hindrance to progress—not violent, yet so very decided that the rigging could not bear the strain. One and another of the back-stays parted, the foretopsail burst with a cannon-like report, after which a terrible rending sound, followed by an indescribable crash, told that both masts had gone by the board.

Then all was comparatively still—comparatively we say, for water still hissed and leaped beneath them like a rushing river, though it no longer roared, and the wind blew in unfamiliar strains and laden with unwonted odours.

At that moment another outburst of Krakatoa revealed the fact that the great wave had borne the brig inland for upwards of a mile, and left her imbedded in a thick grove of cocoa-nut palms!



CHAPTER XXIX.

TELLS CHIEFLY OF THE WONDERFUL EFFECTS OF THIS ERUPTION ON THE WOULD AT LARGE.

The great explosions of that morning had done more damage and had achieved results more astounding than lies in the power of language adequately to describe, or of history to parallel.

Let us take a glance at this subject in passing.

An inhabitant of Anjer—owner of a hotel, a ship-chandler's store, two houses, and a dozen boats—went down to the beach about six on the morning of that fateful 27th of August. He had naturally been impressed by the night of the 26th, though, accustomed as he was to volcanic eruptions, he felt no apprehensions as to the safety of the town. He went to look to the moorings of his boats, leaving his family of seven behind him. While engaged in this work he observed a wave of immense size approaching. He leaped into one of his boats, which was caught up by the wave and swept inland, carrying its owner there in safety. But this was the wave that sealed the doom of the town and most of its inhabitants, including the hotel-keeper's family and all that he possessed.

This is one only out of thousands of cases of bereavement and destruction.

A lighthouse-keeper was seated in his solitary watch-tower, speculating, doubtless, on the probable continuance of such a violent outbreak, while his family and mates—accustomed to sleep in the midst of elemental war—were resting peacefully in the rooms below, when one of the mighty waves suddenly appeared, thundered past, and swept the lighthouse with all its inhabitants away.

This shows but one of the many disasters to lighthouses in Sunda Straits.

A Dutch man-of-war—the Berouw—was lying at anchor in Lampong Bay, fifty miles from Krakatoa. The great wave came, tore it from its anchorage, and carried it—like the vessel of our friend David Roy—nearly two miles inland!

Masses of coral of immense size and weight were carried four miles inland by the same wave. The river at Anjer was choked up; the conduit which used to carry water into the place was destroyed, and the town itself was laid in ruins.

But these are only a few of the incidents of the great catastrophe. Who can conceive, much less tell of, those terrible details of sudden death and disaster to thousands of human beings, resulting from an eruption which destroyed towns like Telok Betong, Anjer, Tyringin, etc., besides numerous villages and hamlets on the shores of Java and Sumatra, and caused the destruction of more than 36,000 souls?

But it is to results of a very different kind, and on a much more extended scale, that we must turn if we would properly estimate the magnitude, the wide-spreading and far-reaching influences, and the extraordinary character, of the Krakatoa outburst of 1883.

In the first place, it is a fact, testified to by some of the best-known men of science, that the shock of the explosion extended appreciably right round the world, and seventeen miles (some say even higher!) up into the heavens.

Mr. Verbeek, in his treatise on this subject, estimates that a cubic mile of Krakatoa was propelled in the form of the finest dust into the higher regions of the atmosphere—probably about thirty miles! The dust thus sent into the sky was of "ultra-microscopic fineness," and it travelled round and round the world in a westerly direction, producing those extraordinary sunsets and gorgeous effects and afterglows which became visible in the British Isles in the month of November following the eruption; and the mighty waves which caused such destruction in the vicinity of Sunda Straits travelled—not once, but at least—six times round the globe, as was proved by trustworthy and independent observations of tide-gauges and barometers made and recorded at the same time in nearly all lands—including our own.

Other volcanoes, it is said by those who have a right to speak in regard to such matters, have ejected more "stuff," but not one has equalled Krakatoa in the intensity of its explosions, the appalling results of the sea-waves, the wonderful effects in the sky, and the almost miraculous nature of the sounds.

Seated on a log under a palm-tree in Batavia, on that momentous morning of the 27th, was a sailor who had been left behind sick by Captain Roy when he went on his rather Quixotic trip to the Keeling Islands. He was a somewhat delicate son of the sea. Want of self-restraint was his complaint—leading to a surfeit of fruit and other things, which terminated in a severe fit of indigestion and indisposition to life in general. He was smoking—that being a sovereign and infallible cure for indigestion and all other ills that flesh is heir to, as every one knows!

"I say, old man," he inquired, with that cheerful tone and air which usually accompanies incapacity for food. "Do it always rain ashes here?"

The old man whom he addressed was a veteran Malay seaman.

"No," replied the Malay, "sometimes it rain mud—hot mud."

"Do it? Oh! well—anything for variety, I s'pose," returned the sailor, with a growl which had reference to internal disarrangements.

"Is it often as dark as this in the daytime, an' is the sun usually green?" he asked carelessly, more for the sake of distracting the mind from other matters than for the desire of knowledge.

"Sometime it's more darker," replied the old man. "I've seed it so dark that you couldn't see how awful dark it was."

As he spoke, a sound that has been described by ear-witnesses as "deafening" smote upon their tympanums, the log on which they sat quivered, the earth seemed to tremble, and several dishes in a neighbouring hut were thrown down and broken.

"I say, old man, suthin' busted there," remarked the sailor, taking the pipe from his mouth and quietly ramming its contents down with the end of his blunt forefinger.

The Malay looked grave.

"The gasometer?" suggested the sailor.

"No, that never busts."

"A noo mountain come into action, p'raps, an' blow'd its top off?"

"Shouldn't wonder if that's it—close at hand too. We's used to that here. But them's bigger cracks than or'nar'."

The old Malay was right as to the cause, but wrong as to distance. Instead of being a volcano "close at hand," it was Krakatoa eviscerating itself a hundred miles off, and the sound of its last grand effort "extended over 50 degrees = about 3000 miles."

On that day all the gas lights were extinguished in Batavia, and the pictures rattled on the walls as though from the action of an earthquake. But there was no earthquake. It was the air-wave from Krakatoa, and the noise produced by the air-waves that followed was described as "deafening."

The effect of the sounds of the explosions on the Straits Settlements generally was not only striking, but to some extent amusing. At Carimon, in Java—355 miles distant from Krakatoa—it was supposed that a vessel in distress was firing guns, and several native boats were sent off to render assistance, but no distressed vessel was to be found! At Acheen, in Sumatra—1073 miles distant—they supposed that a fort was being attacked and the troops were turned out under arms. At Singapore—522 miles off—they fancied that the detonations came from a vessel in distress and two steamers were despatched to search for it. And here the effect on the telephone, extending to Ishore, was remarkable. On raising the tubes a perfect roar as of a waterfall was heard. By shouting at the top of his voice, the clerk at one end could make the clerk at the other end hear, but he could not render a word intelligible. At Perak—770 miles off—the sounds were thought to be distant salvos of artillery, and Commander Hon. F. Vereker, R.N., of H.M.S. Magpie, when 1227 miles distant (in lat. 5 deg. 52' N. long. 118 deg. 22' E.), states that the detonations of Krakatoa were distinctly heard by those on board his ship, and by the inhabitants of the coast as far as Banguey Island, on August 27th. He adds that they resembled distant heavy cannonading. In a letter from St. Lucia Bay—1116 miles distant—it was stated that the eruption was plainly heard all over Borneo. A government steamer was sent out from the Island of Timor—1351 miles off—to ascertain the cause of the disturbance! In South Australia also, at places 2250 miles away, explosions were heard on the 26th and 27th which "awakened" people, and were thought worthy of being recorded and reported. From Tavoy, in Burmah—1478 miles away—the report came—"All day on August 27th unusual sounds were heard, resembling the boom of guns. Thinking there might be a wreck or a ship in distress, the Tavoy Superintendent sent out the police launch, but they 'could see nothing.'" And so on, far and near, similar records were made, the most distant spot where the sounds were reported to have been heard being Rodriguez, in the Pacific, nearly 3000 miles distant!

One peculiar feature of the records is that some ships in the immediate neighbourhood of Krakatoa did not experience the shock in proportionate severity. Probably this was owing to their being so near that a great part of the concussion and sound flew over them—somewhat in the same way that the pieces of a bomb-shell fly over men who, being too near to escape by running, escape by flinging themselves flat on the ground.

Each air-wave which conveyed these sounds, commencing at Krakatoa as a centre, spread out in an ever-increasing circle till it reached a distance of 180 deg. from its origin and encircled the earth at its widest part, after which it continued to advance in a contracting form until it reached the antipodes of the volcano; whence it was reflected or reproduced and travelled back again to Krakatoa. Here it was turned right-about-face and again despatched on its long journey. In this way it oscillated backward and forward not fewer than six times before traces of it were lost. We say "traces," because these remarkable facts were ascertained, tracked, and corroborated by independent barometric observation in all parts of the earth.

For instance, the passage of the great air-wave from Krakatoa to its antipodes, and from its antipodes back to Krakatoa, was registered six times by the automatic barometer at Greenwich. The instrument at Kew Observatory confirmed the records of Greenwich, and so did the barometers of other places in the kingdom. Everywhere in Europe also this fact was corroborated, and in some places even a seventh oscillation was recorded. The Greenwich record shows that the air-waves took about thirty-six hours to travel from pole to pole, thus proving that they travelled at about the rate of ordinary sound-waves, which, roughly speaking, travel at the rate of between six and seven hundred miles an hour.

The height of the sea-waves that devastated the neighbouring shores, being variously estimated at from 50 to 135 feet, is sufficiently accounted for by the intervention of islands and headlands, etc., which, of course, tended to diminish the force, height, and volume of waves in varying degrees.

These, like the air-waves, were also registered—by self-acting tide-gauges and by personal observation—all over the world, and the observations coincided as to date with the great eruptions of the 26th and 27th of August. The influence of the sea-waves was observed and noted in the Java sea—which is shallow and where there are innumerable obstructions—as far as 450 miles, but to the west they swept over the deep waters of the Indian Ocean on to Cape Horn, and even, it is said, to the English Channel.

The unusual disturbance of ocean in various places was sufficiently striking. At Galle, in Ceylon, where the usual rise and fall of the tide is 2 feet, the master-attendant reports that on the afternoon of the 27th four remarkable waves were noticed in the port. The last of these was preceded by an unusual recession of the sea to such an extent that small boats at their anchorage were left aground—a thing that had never been seen before. The period of recession was only one-and-a-half minutes; then the water paused, as it were, for a brief space, and, beginning to rise, reached the level of the highest high-water mark in less than two minutes, thus marking a difference of 8 feet 10 inches instead of the ordinary 2 feet.

At one place there was an ebb and flood tide, of unusual extent, within half-an-hour. At another, a belt of land, including a burying-ground, was washed away, so that according to the observer "it appeared as if the dead had sought shelter with the living in a neighbouring cocoa-nut garden!" Elsewhere the tides were seen to advance and recede ten or twelve times—in one case even twenty times—on the 27th.

At Trincomalee the sea receded three times and returned with singular force, at one period leaving part of the shore suddenly bare, with fish struggling in the mud. The utilitarian tendency of mankind was at once made manifest by some fishermen who, seizing the opportunity, dashed into the struggling mass and began to reap the accidental harvest, when—alas for the poor fishermen!—the sea rushed in again and drove them all away.

In the Mauritius, however, the fishers were more fortunate, for when their beach was exposed in a similar manner, they succeeded in capturing a good many fish before the water returned.

Even sharks were disturbed in their sinister and slimy habits of life by this outburst of Krakatoa—and no wonder, when it is recorded that in some places "the sea looked like water boiling heavily in a pot," and that "the boats which were afloat were swinging in all directions." At one place several of these monsters were flung out of their native home into pools, where they were left struggling till their enemy man terminated their career.

Everywhere those great waves produced phenomena which were so striking as to attract the attention of all classes of people, to ensure record in most parts of the world, and to call for the earnest investigation of the scientific men of many lands—and the conclusion to which such men have almost universally come is, that the strange vagaries of the sea all over the earth, the mysterious sounds heard in so many widely distant places, and the wonderful effects in the skies of every quarter of the globe, were all due to the eruption of the Krakatoa volcano in 1883.

With reference to these last—the sky-effects-a few words may not be out of place here.

The superfine "ultra-microscopic" dust, which was blown by the volcano in quantities so enormous to such unusual heights, was, after dropping its heavier particles back to earth, caught by the breezes which always blow in the higher regions from east to west, and carried by them for many months round and round the world. The dust was thickly and not widely spread at first, but as time went on it gradually extended itself on either side, becoming visible to more and more of earth's inhabitants, and at the same time becoming necessarily less dense.

Through this medium the sun's rays had to penetrate. In so far as the dust-particles were opaque they would obscure these rays; where they were transparent or polished they would refract and reflect them. That the material of which those dust-particles was composed was very various has been ascertained, proved, and recorded by the Krakatoa Committee. The attempt to expound this matter would probably overtax the endurance of the average reader, yet it may interest all to know that this dust-cloud travelled westward within the tropics at the rate of about double the speed of an express train—say 120 miles an hour; crossed the Indian Ocean and Africa in three days, the Atlantic in two, America in two, and, in short, put a girdle round the world in thirteen days. Moreover, the cloud of dust was so big that it took two or three days to pass any given point. During its second circumnavigation it was considerably spread and thinned, and the third time still more so, having expanded enough to include Europe and the greater part of North America. It had thinned away altogether and disappeared in the spring of 1884.

Who has not seen—at least read or heard of—the gorgeous skies of the autumn of 1883? Not only in Britain, but in all parts of the world, these same skies were seen, admired, and commented on as marvellous. And so they were. One of the chief peculiarities about them, besides their splendour, was the fact that they consisted chiefly of "afterglows"—that is, an increase of light and splendour after the setting of the sun, when, in an ordinary state of things, the grey shadows of evening would have descended on the world. Greenish-blue suns; pink clouds; bright yellow, orange, and crimson afterglows; gorgeous, magnificent, blood-red skies—the commentators seemed unable to find language adequately to describe them. Listen to a German observer's remarks on the subject:—

"The display of November 29th was the grandest and most manifold. I give a description as exactly; as possible, for its overwhelming magnificence still presents itself to me as if it had been yesterday. When the sun had set about a quarter of an hour, there was not much afterglow, but I had observed a remarkably yellow bow in the south, about 10 deg. above the horizon. In about ten minutes more this arc rose pretty quickly, extended itself all over the east and up to and beyond the zenith. The sailors declared, 'Sir, that is the Northern Lights.' I thought I had never seen Northern Lights in greater splendour. After five minutes more the-light had faded, though not vanished, in the east and south, and the finest purple-red rose up in the south-west; one could imagine one's-self in Fairyland."

All this, and a great deal more, was caused by the dust of Krakatoa!

"But how—how—why?" exclaims an impatient and puzzled reader.

"Ay—there's the rub." Rubbing, by the way, may have had something to do with it. At all events we are safe to say that whatever there was of electricity in the matter resulted from friction.

Here is what the men of science say—as far as we can gather and condense.

The fine dust blown out of Krakatoa was found, under the microscope, to consist of excessively thin, transparent plates or irregular specks of pumice—which inconceivably minute fragments were caused by enormous steam pressure in the interior and the sudden expansion of the masses blown out into the atmosphere. Of this glassy dust, that which was blown into the regions beyond the clouds must have been much finer even than that which was examined. These glass fragments were said by Dr. Fluegel to contain either innumerable air-bubbles or minute needle-like crystals, or both. Small though these vesicles were when ejected from the volcano, they would become still smaller by bursting when they suddenly reached a much lower pressure of atmosphere at a great height. Some of them, however, owing to tenacity of material and other causes, might have failed to burst and would remain floating in the upper air as perfect microscopic glass balloons. Thus the dust was a mass of particles of every conceivable shape, and so fine that no watches, boxes, or instruments were tight enough to exclude from their interior even that portion of the dust which was heavy enough to remain on earth!

Now, to the unscientific reader it is useless to say more than that the innumerable and varied positions of these glassy particles, some transparent, others semi-transparent or opaque, reflecting the sun's rays in different directions, with a complex modification of colour and effect resulting from the blueness of the sky, the condition of the atmosphere, and many other causes—all combined to produce the remarkable appearances of light and colour which aroused the admiration and wonder of the world in 1883.

The more one thinks of these things, and the deeper one dives into the mysteries of nature, the more profoundly is one impressed at once with a humbling sense of the limited amount of one's knowledge, and an awe-inspiring appreciation of the illimitable fields suggested by that comprehensive expression: "THE WONDERFUL WORKS OF GOD."



CHAPTER XXX.

COMING EVENTS, ETC.—WONDERFUL CHANGES AMONG THE ISLANDS.

Some days after the wreck of the Sunshine, as described in a previous chapter, Captain Roy and his son stood on the coast of Java not far from the ruins of Anjer. A vessel was anchored in the offing, and a little boat lay on the shore.

All sign of elemental strife had passed, though a cloud of smoke hanging over the remains of Krakatoa told that the terrible giant below was not dead but only sleeping—to awake, perchance, after a nap of another 200 years.

"Well, father," said our hero with a modest look, "it may be, as you suggest, that Winnie Van der Kemp does not care for me more than for a fathom of salt water——"

"I did not say salt water, lad, I said bilge—a fathom o' bilge water," interrupted the captain, who, although secretly rejoiced at the fact of his son having fallen over head and ears in love with the pretty little Cocos-Keeling islander, deemed it his duty, nevertheless, as a sternly upright parent, to, make quite sure that the love was mutual as well as deep before giving his consent to anything like courtship.

"It matters not; salt or bilge water makes little difference," returned the son with a smile. "But all I can say is that I care for Winnie so much that her love is to me of as much importance as sunshine to the world—and we have had some experience lately of what the want of that means."

"Nonsense, Nigel," returned the captain severely. "You're workin' yourself into them up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-patterin' regions again—which, by the way, should be pretty well choked wi' Krakatoa dust by this time. Come down out o' that if ye want to hold or'nary intercourse wi' your old father. She's far too young yet, my boy. You must just do as many a young fellow has done before you, attend to your dooties and forget her."

"Forget her!" returned the youth, with that amused, quiet expression which wise men sometimes assume when listening to foolish suggestions. "I could almost as easily forget my mother!"

"A very proper sentiment, Nigel, very—especially the 'almost' part of it."

"Besides," continued the son, "she is not so very young—and that difficulty remedies itself every hour. Moreover, I too am young. I can wait."

"The selfishness of youth is only equalled by its presumption," said the captain. "How d'ee know she will wait?"

"I don't know, father, but I hope she will—I—I—think she will."

"Nigel," said the captain, in a tone and with a look that were meant to imply intense solemnity, "have you ever spoken to her about love?"

"No, father."

"Has she ever spoken to you?"

"No—at least—not with her lips."

"Come, boy, you're humbuggin' your old father. Her tongue couldn't well do it without the lips lendin' a hand."

"Well then—with neither," returned the son. "She spoke with her eyes—not intentionally, of course, for the eyes, unlike the lips, refuse to be under control."

"Hm! I see—reef-point-patterin' poetics again! An' what did she say with her eyes?"

"Really, father, you press me too hard; it is difficult to translate eye-language, but if you'll only let memory have free play and revert to that time, nigh quarter of a century ago, when you first met with a certain real poetess, perhaps—"

"Ah! you dog! you have me there. But how dare you, sir, venture to think of marryin' on nothin'?"

"I don't think of doing so. Am I not a first mate with a handsome salary?"

"No, lad, you're not. You're nothin' better than a seaman out o' work, with your late ship wrecked in a cocoa-nut grove!"

"That's true," returned Nigel with a laugh. "But is not the cargo of the said ship safe in Batavia? Has not its owner a good bank account in England? Won't another ship be wanted, and another first mate, and would the owner dare to pass over his own son, who is such a competent seaman—according to your own showing? Come, father, I turn the tables on you and ask you to aid rather than resist me in this matter."

"Well, I will, my boy, I will," said the captain heartily, as he laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "But, seriously, you must haul off this little craft and clap a stopper on your tongue—ay, and on your eyes too—till three points are considered an' made quite clear. First, you must find out whether the hermit would be agreeable. Second, you must look the matter straight in the face and make quite sure that you mean it. For better or for worse. No undoin' that knot, Nigel, once it's fairly tied! And, third, you must make quite sure that Winnie is sure of her own mind, an' that—that—"

"We're all sure all round, father. Quite right. I agree with you. 'All fair an' aboveboard' should be the sailing orders of every man in such matters, especially of every seaman. But, will you explain how I am to make sure of Winnie's state of mind without asking her about it?"

"Well, I don't exactly see my way," replied the captain slowly. "What d'ee say to my soundin' her on the subject?"

"Couldn't think of it! You may be first-rate at deep-sea soundings, father, but you couldn't sound the depths of a young girl's heart. I must reserve that for myself, however long it may be delayed."

"So be it, lad. The only embargo that I lay upon you is—haul off, and mind you don't let your figurehead go by the board. Meanwhile, here comes the boat. Now, Nigel, none o' your courtin' till everything is settled and the wind fair—dead aft my lad, and blowin' stiff. You and the hermit are goin' off to Krakatoa to-day, I suppose?"

"Yes. I am just now waiting for him and Moses," returned Nigel.

"Is Winnie going?"

"Don't know. I hope so."

"Humph! Well, if we have a fair wind I shall soon be in Batavia," said the captain, descending to business matters, "and I expect without trouble to dispose of the cargo that we landed there, as well as that part o' the return cargo which I had bought before I left for Keeling—at a loss, no doubt, but that don't matter much. Then I'll come back here by the first craft that offers—arter which——. Ay!—Ay! shove her in here. Plenty o' water."

The last remark was made to the seaman who steered the boat sent from the vessel in the offing.

A short time thereafter Captain Roy was sailing away for Batavia, while his son, with Van der Kemp, Moses, Winnie, and Spinkie, was making for Krakatoa in a native boat.

The hermit, in spite of his injuries, had recovered his wonted appearance, if not his wonted vigour. Winnie seemed to have suddenly developed into a mature woman under her recent experiences, though she had lost none of her girlish grace and attractiveness. As for Moses—time and tide seemed to have no effect whatever on his ebony frame, and still less, if possible, on his indomitable spirit.

"Now you keep still," he said in solemn tones and with warning looks to Spinkie. "If you keep fidgitin' about you'll capsize de boat. You hear?"

Spinkie veiled his real affection for the negro under a look of supreme indifference, while Winnie went off into a sudden giggle at the idea of such a small creature capsizing the boat.

Mindful of his father's warning, Nigel did his best to "haul off" and to prevent his "figurehead" from going "by the board." But he found it uncommonly hard work, for Winnie looked so innocent, so pretty, so unconscious, so sympathetic with everybody and everything, so very young, yet so wondrously wise and womanly, that he felt an irresistible desire to prostrate himself at her feet in abject slavery.

"Dear little thing," said Winnie, putting her hand on Spinkie's little head and smoothing him down from eyes to tail.

Spinkie looked as if half inclined to withdraw his allegiance from Moses and bestow it on Winnie, but evidently changed his mind after a moment's reflection.

"O that I were a monkey!" thought Nigel, paraphrasing Shakespeare, "that I might——" but it is not fair to our hero to reveal him in his weaker moments!

There was something exasperating, too, in being obliged, owing to the size of the boat, to sit so close to Winnie without having a right to touch her hand! Who has not experienced this, and felt himself to be a very hero of self-denial in the circumstances?

"Mos' awrful hot!" remarked Moses, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"You hot!" said Nigel in surprise. "I thought nothing on earth could be too hot for you."

"Dat's your ignerance," returned Moses calmly. "Us niggers, you see, ought to suffer more fro' heat dan you whites."

"How so?"

"Why, don't your flossiphers say dat black am better dan white for 'tractin' heat, an' ain't our skins black? I wish we'd bin' born white as chalk. I say, Massa Nadgel, seems to me dat dere's not much left ob Krakatoa."

They had approached near enough to the island by that time to perceive that wonderful changes had indeed taken place, and Van der Kemp, who had been for some time silently absorbed in contemplation, at last turned to his daughter and said—

"I had feared at first, Winnie, that my old home had been blown entirely away, but I see now that the Peak of Rakata still stands, so perhaps I may yet show you the cave in which I have spent so many years."

"But why did you go to live in such a strange place, dear father?" asked the girl, laying her hand lovingly on the hermit's arm.

Van der Kemp did not reply at once. He gazed in his child's face with an increase of that absent air and far-away look which Nigel, ever since he met him, had observed as one of his characteristics. At this time an anxious thought crossed him,—that perhaps the blows which his friend had received on his head when he was thrown on the deck of the Sunshine might have injured his brain.

"It is not easy to answer your question, dear one," he said after a time, laying his strong hand on the girl's head, and smoothing her luxuriant hair which hung in the untrammelled freedom of nature over her shoulders. "I have felt sometimes, during the last few days, as if I were awaking out of a long long dream, or recovering from a severe illness in which delirium had played a prominent part. Even now, though I see and touch you, I sometimes tremble lest I should really awake and find that it is all a dream. I have so often—so very often—dreamed something like it in years gone by, but never so vividly as now! I cannot doubt—it is sin to doubt—that my prayers have been at last answered. God is good and wise. He knows what is best and does not fail in bringing the best to pass. Yet I have doubted Him—again and again."

Van der Kemp paused here and drew his hand across his brow as if to clear away sad memories of the past, while Winnie drew closer to him and looked up tenderly in his face.

"When your mother died, dear one," he resumed, "it seemed to me as if the sun had left the heavens, and when you were snatched from me, it was as though my soul had fled and nought but animal life remained. I lived as if in a terrible dream. I cannot recall exactly what I did or where I went for a long long time. I know I wandered through the archipelago looking for you, because I did not believe at first that you were dead. It was at this time I took up my abode in the cave of Rakata, and fell in with my good faithful friend Moses—"

"Your sarvint, massa," interrupted the negro humbly. "I's proud to be call your frind, but I's only your sarvint, massa."

"Truly you have been my faithful servant, Moses," said Van der Kemp, "but not the less have you been my trusted friend. He nursed me through a long and severe illness, Winnie. How long, I am not quite sure. After a time I nearly lost hope. Then there came a very dark period, when I was forced to believe that you must be dead. Yet, strange to say, even during this dark time I did not cease to pray and to wander about in search of you. I suppose it was the force of habit, for hope seemed to have died. Then, at last, Nigel found you. God used him as His instrument. And now, praise to His name, we are reunited—for ever!"

"Darling father!" were the only words that Winnie could utter as she laid her head on the hermit's shoulder and wept for joy.

Two ideas, which had not occurred to him before, struck Nigel with great force at that moment. The one was that whatever or wherever his future household should be established, if Winnie was to be its chief ornament, her father must of necessity become a member of it. The other idea was that he was destined to possess a negro servant with a consequent and unavoidable monkey attendant! How strange the links of which the chain of human destiny is formed, and how wonderful the powers of thought by which that chain is occasionally forecast! How to convey all these possessions to England and get them comfortably settled there was a problem which he did not care to tackle just then.

"See, Winnie," said Van der Kemp, pointing with interest to a mark on the side of Rakata, "yonder is the mouth of my cave. I never saw it so clearly before because of the trees and bushes, but everything seems now to have been burnt up."

"Das so, massa, an' what hasn't bin bu'nt up has bin blow'd up!" remarked the negro.

"Looks very like it, Moses, unless that is a haze which enshrouds the rest of the island," rejoined the other, shading his eyes with his hands.

It was no haze, however; for they found, on drawing nearer, that the greater part of Krakatoa had, as we have already said, actually disappeared from the face of the earth.

When the boat finally rounded the point which hid the northern part of the island from view, a sight was presented which it is not often given to human eyes to look upon. The whole mountain named the Peak of Rakata (2623 feet high) had been split from top to bottom, and about one-half of it, with all that part of the island lying to the northward, had been blown away, leaving a wall or almost sheer precipice which presented a grand section of the volcano.

Pushing their boat into a creek at the base of this precipice, the party landed and tried to reach a position from which a commanding view might be obtained. This was not an easy matter, for there was not a spot for a foot to rest on which was not covered deeply with pumice-dust and ashes. By dint of perseverance, however, they gained a ledge whence the surrounding district could be observed, and then it was clearly seen how wide-spread and stupendous the effects of the explosion had been.

Where the greater part of the richly wooded island had formerly flourished, the ocean now rippled in the sunshine, and of the smaller islands around it Lang Island had been considerably increased in bulk as well as in height. Verlaten Island had been enlarged to more than three times its former size and also much increased in height. The island named Polish Hat had disappeared altogether, and two entirely new islets—afterwards named Steers and Calmeyer Islands—had arisen to the northward.

"Now, friends," said Van der Kemp, after they had noted and commented on the vast and wonderful changes that had taken place, "we will pull round to our cave and see what has happened there."

Descending to the boat they rowed round the southern shores of Rakata until they reached the little harbour where the boat and canoe had formerly been kept.



CHAPTER XXXI.

ENDS WITH A STRUGGLE BETWEEN INCLINATION AND DUTY.

"De cave's blowed away too!" was the first remark of Moses as they rowed into the little port.

A shock of disappointment was experienced by Winnie, for she fancied that the negro had referred to her father's old home, but he only meant the lower cave in which the canoe had formerly been kept. She was soon relieved as to this point, however, but, when a landing was effected, difficulties that seemed to her almost insurmountable presented themselves, for the ground was covered knee-deep with pumice-dust, and the road to the upper cave was blocked by rugged masses of lava and ashes, all heaped up in indescribable confusion.

On careful investigation, however, it was found that after passing a certain point the footpath was almost unencumbered by volcanic debris. This was owing to the protection afforded to it by the cone of Rakata, and the almost overhanging nature of some of the cliffs on that side of the mountain; still the track was bad enough, and in places so rugged, that Winnie, vigorous and agile though she was, found it both difficult and fatiguing to advance. Seeing this, her father proposed to carry her, but she laughingly declined the proposal.

Whereupon Nigel offered to lend her a hand over the rougher places, but this she also declined.

Then Moses, stepping forward, asserted his rights.

"It's my business," he said, "to carry t'ings w'en dey's got to be carried. M'r'over, as I's bin obleeged to leabe Spinkie in charge ob de boat, I feels okard widout somet'ing to carry, an' you ain't much heavier dan Spinkie, Miss Winnie—so, come along."

He stooped with the intention of grasping Winnie as if she were a little child, but with a light laugh the girl sprang away and left Moses behind.

"'S'my opinion," said Moses, looking after her with a grin, "dat if de purfesser was here he 'd net her in mistook for a bufferfly. Dar!—she's down!" he shouted, springing forward, but Nigel was before him.

Winnie had tripped and fallen.

"Are you hurt, dear—child?" asked Nigel, raising her gently.

"Oh no! only a little shaken," answered Winnie, with a little laugh that was half hysterical. "I am strong enough to go on presently."

"Nay, my child, you must suffer yourself to be carried at this part," said Van der Kemp. "Take her up, Nigel, you are stronger than I am now. I would not have asked you to do it before my accident!"

Our hero did not need a second bidding. Grasping Winnie in his strong arms he raised her as if she had been a feather, and strode away at a pace so rapid that he soon left Van der Kemp and Moses far behind.

"Put me down, now," said Winnie, after a little while, in a low voice. "I'm quite recovered now and can walk."

"Nay, Winnie, you are mistaken. The path is very rough yet, and the dust gets deeper as we ascend. Do give me the pleasure of helping you a little longer."

Whatever Winnie may have felt or thought she said nothing, and Nigel, taking silence for consent, bore her swiftly onward and upward,—with an "Excelsior" spirit that would have thrown the Alpine youth with the banner and the strange device considerably into the shade,—until he placed her at the yawning black mouth of the hermit's cave.

But what a change was there! The trees and flowering shrubs and ferns were all gone, lava, pumice, and ashes lay thick on everything around, and only a few blackened and twisted stumps of the larger trees remained to tell that an umbrageous forest had once flourished there. The whole scene might be fittingly described in the two words—grey desolation.

"That is the entrance to your father's old home," said Nigel, as he set his fair burden down and pointed to the entrance.

"What a dreadful place!" said Winnie, peering into the black depths of the cavern.

"It was not dreadful when I first saw it, Winnie, with rich verdure everywhere; and inside you will find it surprisingly comfortable. But we must not enter until your father arrives to do the honours of the place himself."

They had not to wait long. First Moses arrived, and, shrewdly suspecting from the appearance of the young couple that they were engaged in conversation that would not brook interruption, or, perhaps, judging from what might be his own wishes in similar circumstances, he turned his back suddenly on them, and, stooping down, addressed himself to an imaginary creature of the animal kingdom.

"What a bootiful bufferfly you is, to be sure! up on sitch a place too, wid nuffin' to eat 'cept Krakatoa dust. I wonder what your moder would say if she know'd you was here. You should be ashamed ob yourself!"

"Hallo! Moses, what are you talking to over there?"

"Nuffin', Massa Nadgel. I was on'y habin' a brief conv'sation wid a member ob de insect wurld in commemoration ob de purfesser. Leastwise, if it warn't a insect it must hab bin suffm' else. Won't you go in, Miss Winnie?"

"No, I'd rather wait for father," returned the girl, looking a little flushed, for some strange and totally unfamiliar ideas had recently floated into her brain and caused some incomprehensible flutterings of the heart to which hitherto she had been a stranger.

Mindful of his father's injunctions, however, Nigel had been particularly careful to avoid increasing these flutterings.

In a few minutes the hermit came up. "Ah! Winnie," he said, "there has been dire devastation here. Perhaps inside things may look better. Come, take my hand and don't be afraid. The floor is level and your eyes will soon get accustomed to the dim light."

"I's afeared, massa," remarked Moses, as they entered the cavern, "dat your sun-lights won't be wu'th much now."

"You are right, lad. Go on before us and light the lamps if they are not broken."

It was found, as they had expected, that, the only light which penetrated the cavern was that which entered by the cave's mouth, which of course was very feeble.

Presently, to Winnie's surprise, Moses was seen issuing from the kitchen with a petroleum lamp in one hand, the brilliant light of which not only glittered on his expressive black visage but sent a ruddy glare all over the cavern.

Van der Kemp seemed to watch his daughter intently as she gazed in a bewildered way around. There was a puzzled look as well as mere surprise in her pretty face.

"Father," she said earnestly, "you have spoken more than once of living as if in a dream. Perhaps you will wonder when I tell you that I experience something of that sort now. Strange though this place seems, I have an unaccountable feeling that it is not absolutely new to me—that I have seen it before."

"I do not wonder, dear one," he replied, "for the drawings that surround this chamber were the handiwork of your dear mother, and they decorated the walls of your own nursery when you were a little child at your mother's knee. For over ten long years they have surrounded me and kept your faces fresh in my memory—though, truth to tell, it needed no such reminders to do that. Come, let us examine them."

It was pleasant to see the earnest face of Winnie as she half-recognised and strove to recall the memories of early childhood in that singular cavern. It was also a sight worth seeing—the countenance of Nigel, as well as that of the hermit, while they watched and admired her eager, puzzled play of feature, and it was the most amazing sight of all to see the all but superhuman joy of Moses as he held the lamp and listened to facts regarding the past of his beloved master which were quite new to him—for the hermit spoke as openly about his past domestic affairs as if he and Winnie had been quite alone.

"He either forgets that we are present, or counts us as part of his family," thought Nigel with a feeling of satisfaction.

"What a dear comoonicative man!" thought Moses, with unconcealed pleasure.

"Come now, let us ascend to the observatory," said the hermit, when all the things in the library had been examined. "There has been damage done there, I know; besides, there is a locket there which belonged to your mother. I left it by mistake one day when I went up to arrange the mirrors, and in the hurry of leaving forgot to return for it. Indeed, one of my main objects in re-visiting my old home was to fetch that locket away. It contains a lock of hair and one of those miniatures which men used to paint before photography drove such work off the field."

Winnie was nothing loth to follow, for she had reached a romantic period of life, and it seemed to her that to be led through mysterious caves and dark galleries in the very heart of a still active volcano by her own father—the hermit of Rakata—was the very embodiment of romance itself.

But a disappointment awaited them, for they had not proceeded halfway through the dark passage when it was found that a large mass of rock had fallen from the roof and almost blocked it up.

"There is a space big enough for us to creep through at the right-hand corner above, I think," said Nigel, taking the lantern from Moses and examining the spot.

"Jump up, Moses, and try it," said the hermit. "If your bulky shoulders get through, we can all manage it."

The negro was about to obey the order when Nigel let the lantern fall and the shock extinguished it.

"Oh! Massa Nadgel; das a pritty business!"

"Never mind," said Van der Kemp. "I've got matches, I think, in my—no, I haven't. Have you, Moses?"

"No, massa, I forgit to remember him."

"No matter, run back—you know the road well enough to follow it in the dark. We will wait here till you return. Be smart, now!"

Moses started off at once and for some moments the sound of clattering along the passage was heard.

"I will try to clamber through in the dark. Look after Winnie, Nigel—and don't leave the spot where you stand, dear one, for there are cracks and holes about that might sprain your little ankles."

"Very well, father."

"All right. I've got through, Nigel; I'll feel my way on for a little bit. Remain where you are."

"Winnie," said Nigel when they were alone, "doesn't it feel awesome and strange to be standing here in such intense darkness?"

"It does—I don't quite like it."

"Whereabouts are you?" said Nigel.

He carefully stretched out his hand to feel, as he spoke, and laid a finger on her brow.

"Oh! take care of my eyes!" exclaimed Winnie with a little laugh.

"I wish you would turn your eyes towards me for I'm convinced they would give some light—? to me at least. Here, do let me hold your hand It will make you feel more confident."

To one who is at all familiar with the human frame, the way from the brow to the hand is comparatively simple. Nigel soon possessed himself of the coveted article. Like other things of great value the possession turned the poor youth's head! He forgot his father's warnings for the moment, forgot the hermit and Moses and Spinkie, and the thick darkness—forgot almost everything in the light of that touch!

"Winnie!" he exclaimed in a tone that quite alarmed her; "I—I—" He hesitated. The solemn embargo of his father recurred to him.

"What is it! Is there danger?" exclaimed the poor girl, clasping his hand tighter and drawing nearer to him.

This was too much! Nigel felt himself to be contemptible. He was taking unfair advantage of her.

"Winnie," he began again, in a voice of forced calmness, "there is no danger whatever. I'm an ass—a dolt—that's all! The fact is, I made my father a sort of half promise that I would not ask your opinion on a certain subject until—until I found out exactly what you thought about it. Now the thing is ridiculous—impossible—for how can I know your opinion on any subject until I have asked you?"

"Quite true," returned Winnie simply, "so you better ask me."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Nigel, in a sort of desperate amusement, "I—I—Yes, I will ask you, Winnie! But first I must explain——"

"Hallo! Nigel!" came at that moment from the other side of the obstruction, "are you there—all right?"

"Yes, yes—I'm here—not all right exactly, but I'll be all right some day, you may depend upon that!" shouted the youth, in a tone of indignant exasperation.

"What said you?" asked Van der Kemp, putting his head through the hole.

"Hi! I's a-comin', look out, dar!" hallooed Moses in the opposite direction.

"Just so," said Nigel, resuming his quiet tone and demeanour, "we'll be all right when the light comes. Here, give us your hand, Van der Kemp."

The hermit accepted the proffered aid and leaped down amongst his friends just as Moses arrived with the lantern.

"It's of no use going further," he said. "The passage is completely blocked up—so we must go round to where the mountain has been split off and try to clamber up. There will be daylight enough yet if we are quick. Come."



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE LAST.

Descending to the boat they rowed round to the face of the great cliff which had been so suddenly laid bare when the Peak of Rakata was cleft from its summit to its foundations in the sea. It was a wonderful sight—a magnificent section, affording a marvellous view of the internal mechanism of a volcano.

But there was no time to spend in contemplation of this extraordinary sight, for evening approached and the hermit's purpose had to be accomplished.

High up near the top of the mighty cliff could be seen a small hole in the rock, which was all that remained of the observatory.

"It will be impossible, I fear, to reach that spot," said Nigel; "there does not appear to be foothold for a goat."

"I will reach it," said the hermit in a low voice, as he scanned the precipice carefully.

"So will I," said the negro.

"No, Moses, I go alone. You will remain in the boat and watch. If I fall, you can pick me up."

"Pick you up!" echoed Moses. "If you tumbles a t'ousand feet into de water how much t'ink you will be lef to pick up?"

It was useless to attempt to dissuade Van der Kemp. Being well aware of this, they all held their peace while he landed on a spur of the riven cliff.

The first part of the ascent was easy enough, the ground having been irregularly broken, so that the climber disappeared behind masses of rock at times, while he kept as much as possible to the western edge of the mountain where the cleavage had occurred; but as he ascended he was forced to come out upon narrow ledges that had been left here and there on the face of the cliff, where he seemed, to those who were watching far below, like a mere black spot on the face of a gigantic wall. Still upward he went, slowly but steadily, till he reached a spot nearly level with the observatory. Here he had to go out on the sheer precipice, where his footholds were invisible from below.

Winnie sat in the boat with blanched face and tightly clasped hands, panting with anxiety as she gazed upwards.

"It looks much more dangerous from here than it is in reality," said Nigel to her in a reassuring tone.

"Das true, Massa Nadgel, das bery true," interposed Moses, endeavouring to comfort himself as well as the others by the intense earnestness of his manner. "De only danger, Miss Winnie, lies in your fadder losin' his head at sitch a t'riffic height, an' dar's no fear at all ob dat, for Massa neber loses his head—pooh! you might as well talk ob him losin' his heart. Look! look! he git close to de hole now—he put his foot—yes—next step—dar! he've done it!"

With the perspiration of anxiety streaming down his face the negro relieved his feelings by a wild prolonged cheer. Nigel obtained the same relief by means of a deep long-drawn sigh, but Winnie did not move; she seemed to realise her father's danger better than her companions, and remembered that the descent would be much more difficult than the ascent. They were not kept long in suspense. In a few minutes the hermit reappeared and began to retrace his steps—slowly but steadily—and the watchers breathed more freely.

Moses was right; there was in reality little danger in the climb, for the ledges which appeared to them like mere threads, and the footholds that were almost invisible, were in reality from a foot to three feet wide. The only danger lay in the hermit's head being unable to stand the trial, but, as Moses had remarked, there was no fear of that.

The watchers were therefore beginning to feel somewhat relieved from the tension of their anxiety, when a huge mass of rock was seen to slip from the face of the cliff and descend with the thunderous roar of an avalanche. The incident gave those in the boat a shock, for the landslip occurred not far from the spot which Van der Kemp had reached, but as he still stood there in apparent safety there seemed no cause for alarm till it was observed that the climber remained quite still for a long time and, seemed to have no intention of moving.

"God help him!" cried Nigel in sudden alarm, "the ledge has been carried away and he cannot advance! Stay by the boat, Moses, I will run to help him!"

"No, Massa Nadgel," returned the negro, "I go to die wid 'im. Boat kin look arter itself."

He sprang on shore as he spoke, and dashed up the mountain-side like a hunted hare.

Our hero looked at Winnie for an instant in hesitation.

"Go!" said the poor girl. "You know I can manage a boat—quick!"

Another moment and Nigel was following in the track of the negro. They gained the broken ledge together, and then found that the space between the point which they had reached and the spot on which the hermit stood was a smooth face of perpendicular rock—an absolutely impassable gulf!

Van der Kemp was standing with his back flat against the precipice and his feet resting on a little piece of projecting rock not more than three inches wide. This was all that lay between him and the hideous depth below, for Nigel found on carefully drawing nearer that the avalanche had been more extensive than was apparent from below, and that the ledge beyond the hermit had been also carried away—thus cutting off his retreat as well as his advance.

"I can make no effort to help myself," said Van der Kemp in a low but calm voice, when our hero's foot rested on the last projecting point that he could gain, and found that with the utmost reach of his arm he could not get within six inches of his friend's outstretched hand. Besides, Nigel himself stood on so narrow a ledge, and against so steep a cliff, that he could not have acted with his wonted power even if the hand could have been grasped. Moses stood immediately behind Nigel, where the ledge was broader and where a shallow recess in the rock enabled him to stand with comparative ease. The poor fellow seemed to realise the situation more fully than his companion, for despair was written on every feature of his expressive face.

"What is to be done?" said Nigel, looking back.

"De boat-rope," suggested the negro.

"Useless," said Van der Kemp, in a voice as calm and steady as if he were in perfect safety, though the unusual pallor of his grave countenance showed that he was fully alive to the terrible situation. "I am resting on little more than my heels, and the strain is almost too much for me even now. I could not hold on till you went to the boat and returned. No, it seems to be God's will—and," added he humbly, "His will be done."

"O God, send us help!" cried Nigel in an agony of feeling that he could not master.

"If I had better foothold I might spring towards you and catch hold of you," said the hermit, "but I cannot spring off my heels. Besides, I doubt if you could bear my weight."

"Try, try!" cried Nigel, eagerly extending his hand. "Don't fear for my strength—I've got plenty of it, thank God! and see, I have my right arm wedged into a crevice so firmly that nothing could haul it out."

But Van der Kemp shook his head. "I cannot even make the attempt," he said. "The slightest move would plunge me down. Dear boy! I know that you and your father and Moses will care for my Winnie, and—"

"Massa!" gasped Moses, who while the hermit was speaking had been working his body with mysterious and violent energy; "massa! couldn't you fall dis way, an' Nadgel could kitch your hand, an' I's got my leg shoved into a hole as nuffin' 'll haul it out ob. Dere's a holler place here. If Nadgel swings you into dat, an' I only once grab you by de hair—you're safe!"

"It might be done—tried at least," said the hermit, looking anxiously at his young friend.

"Try it!" cried Nigel, "I won't fail you."

It is not possible for any except those who have gone through a somewhat similar ordeal to understand fully the test of cool courage which Van der Kemp had to undergo on that occasion.

Shutting his eyes for a moment in silent prayer, he deliberately worked with his shoulders upon the cliff against which he leaned until he felt himself to be on the point of falling towards his friend, and the two outstretched hands almost touched.

"Now, are you ready?" he asked.

"Ready," replied Nigel, while Moses wound both his powerful arms round his comrade's waist and held on.

Another moment and the hands clasped, Nigel uttered an irrepressible shout as the hermit swung off, and, coming round with great violence to the spot where the negro had fixed himself, just succeeded in catching the edge of the cliff with his free hand.

"Let go, Nigel," he shouted;—"safe!"

The poor youth was only too glad to obey, for the tremendous pull had wrenched his arm out of the crevice in which he had fixed it, and for a moment he swayed helplessly over the awful abyss.

"Don't let me go, Moses!" he yelled, as he made a frantic but futile effort to regain his hold,—for he felt that the negro had loosened one of his arms though the other was still round him like a hoop of iron.

"No fear, Nadgel," said Moses, "I's got you tight—only don' wriggle. Now, massa, up you come."

Moses had grasped his master's hair with a grip: that well-nigh scalped him, and he held on until the hermit had got a secure hold of the ledge with both hands. Then he let the hair go, for he knew that to an athlete like his master the raising himself by his arms on to the ledge would be the Work of a few seconds. Van der Kemp was thus able to assist in rescuing Nigel from his position of danger.

But the expressions of heartfelt thankfulness for this deliverance which naturally broke from them were abruptly checked when it was found that Moses could by no means extract his leg out of the hole into which he had thrust it, and that he was suffering great pain.

After some time, and a good deal of violent wrenching, during which our sable hero mingled a few groans in strange fashion with his congratulations, he was got free, and then it was found that the strain had been too much for even his powerful bones and sinews, for the leg was broken.

"My poor fellow!" murmured Van der Kemp, as he went down on his knees to examine the limb.

"Don' care a buttin for dat, massa. You're safe, an' Nadgel's safe—an' it only cost a broken leg! Pooh! das nuffin'!" said Moses, unable to repress a few tears in the excess of his joy and pain!

With considerable difficulty they carried the poor negro down to the boat, where they found Winnie, as might be supposed, in a half-fainting condition from the strain of prolonged anxiety and terror to which she had been subjected; but the necessity of attending to the case of the injured Moses was an antidote which speedily restored her.

Do you think, good reader, that Nigel and Winnie had much difficulty in coming to an understanding after that, or that the hermit was disposed to throw any obstacles in the way of true love? If you do, let us assure you that you are mistaken. Surely this is information enough for any intelligent reader.

Still, it may be interesting to add, difficulties did not all at once disappear. The perplexities that had already assailed Nigel more than once assailed him again—perplexities about a negro man-servant, and a household monkey, and a hermit father-in-law, and a small income—to say nothing of a disconsolate mother-poetess in England and a father roving on the high seas! How to overcome these difficulties gave him much thought and trouble; but they were overcome at last. That which seemed impossible to man proved to be child's-play in the hands of woman. Winnie solved the difficulty by suggesting that they should all return to the Cocos-Keeling Islands and dwell together there for evermore!

* * * * *

Let us drop in on them, good reader, at a later period, have a look at them, and bid them all good-bye.

On a green knoll by the margin of the lagoon stands a beautiful cottage with a garden around it, and a pleasure-boat resting on the white coral sand in front. From the windows of that cottage there is a most magnificent view of the lagoon with its numerous islets and its picturesque palm-trees. Within that cottage dwell Nigel and Winnie, and a brown-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned baby girl who is "the most extraordinary angel that ever was born." It has a nurse of its own, but is chiefly waited on and attended to by an antique poetess, who dwells in another cottage, a stone's-cast off, on the same green knoll. There she inspires an ancient mariner with poetical sentiments—not your up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-pattering nonsense, observe; but the real genuine article, superior to "that other fellow's," you know—when not actively engaged with the baby.

The first cottage is named Rakata, in honour of our hermit, who is one of its inhabitants. The second is named Krakatoa by its eccentric owner, Captain Roy.

It must not be imagined, however, that our friends have settled down there to spend their lives in idleness. By no means. This probably would not be permitted by the "King of the Cocos Islands" even if they wished to do so. But they do not wish that. There is no such condition as idleness in the lives of good men and women.

Nigel has taken to general superintendence of the flourishing community in the midst of which he has cast his lot. He may be almost regarded as the prime minister of the islands, in addition to which he has started an extensive boat-building business and a considerable trade in cocoa-nuts, etc., with the numerous islands of the Java Sea; also a saw-mill, and a forge, and a Sunday-school—in which last the pretty, humble-minded Winnie lends most efficient aid. Indeed it is said that she is the chief manager as well as the life and soul of that business, though Nigel gets all the credit.

Captain Roy sometimes sails his son's vessels, and sometimes looks after the secular education of the Sunday-school children—the said education being conducted on the principle of unlimited story-telling with illimitable play of fancy. But his occupations are irregular—undertaken by fits and starts, and never to be counted on. His evenings he usually devotes to poetry and pipes—for the captain is obstinate, and sticks—like most of us—to his failings as well as his fancies.

There is a certain eccentric individual with an enthusiastic temperament and blue binoculars who pays frequent and prolonged visits to the Keeling Islands. It need scarcely be said that his name is Verkimier. There is no accounting for the tastes of human beings. Notwithstanding all his escapes and experiences, that indomitable man of science still ranges, like a mad philosopher, far and wide over the archipelago in pursuit of "booterflies ant ozer specimens of zee insect vorld." It is observed, however, even by the most obtuse among his friends, that whereas in former times the professor's nights were centrifugal they have now become centripetal—the Keeling Islands being the great centre towards which he flies. Verkimier is, and probably will always be, a subject of wonder and of profound speculation to the youthful inhabitants of the islands. They don't understand him and he does not understand them. If they were insects he would take deep and intelligent interest in them. As they are merely human beings, he regards them with that peculiar kind of interest with which men regard the unknown and unknowable. He is by no means indifferent to them. He is too kindly for that. He studies them deeply, though hopelessly, and when he enters the Sunday-school with his binoculars—which he often does, to listen—a degree of awe settles down on the little ones which it is impossible to evoke by the most solemn appeals to their spiritual natures.

Nigel and Winnie have a gardener, and that gardener is black—as black as the Ace of Spades or the King of Ashantee. He dwells in a corner of the Rakata Cottage, but is addicted to spending much of his spare time in the Krakatoa one. He is as strong and powerful as ever, but limps slightly on his right leg—his "game" leg, as he styles it. He is, of course, an immense favourite with the young people—not less than with the old. He has been known to say, with a solemnity that might tickle the humorous and horrify the timid, that he wouldn't "hab dat game leg made straight agin! no, not for a hundred t'ousand pounds. 'Cause why? —it was an eber-present visible reminder dat once upon a time he had de libes ob massa and Nadgel in his arms ahangin' on to his game leg, an' dat, t'rough Gracious Goodness, he sabe dem bof!"

Ha! You may smile at Moses if you will, but he can return the smile with kindly interest, for he is actuated by that grand principle which will sooner or later transform even the scoffers of earth, and which is embodied in the words—"Love is the fulfilling of the law."

Even the lower animals testify to this fact when the dog licks the hand that smites it and accords instant forgiveness on the slightest encouragement. Does not Spinkie prove it also, when, issuing at call, from its own pagoda in the sunniest corner of the Rakata garden, it forsakes cocoa-nuts, sugar-cane, fruits, and other delights, to lay its little head in joyful consecration on the black bosom of its benignant friend?

And what of Moses' opinion of the new home? It may be shortly expressed in his own words-"It's heaben upon eart', an' de most happiest time as eber occurred to me was dat time when Sunda Straits went into cumbusti'n an' Krakatoa was Blown to Bits."

THE END

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty, at the Edinburgh University Press.

* * * * *



ADVERTISEMENTS



BY MR. R.M. BALLANTYNE.

With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. each.

* * * * *

'The fathers, mothers, guardians, uncles, and aunts who wish to find an acceptable birthday present for a healthy-minded boy of normal tastes, cannot possibly go wrong if they buy a book with Mr. Ballantyne's name on the title-page.'—Academy.

* * * * *

The Hot Swamp: A Romance of Old Albion.

The Buffalo Runners: A Tale of the Red River Plains.

Charlie to the Rescue: A Tale of the Sea and the Rockies.

Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata: A Tale of the Malay Archipelago.

Blue Lights; or, Hot Work in the Soudan. A Tale of Soldier Life.

The Fugitives; or, The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar.

Red Rooney; or, The Last of the Crew.

The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure in South America.

The Young Trawler: A Story of Life, Death, and Rescue in the North Sea.

Dusty Diamonds, Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life.

The Battery and the Boiler; or, Adventures of a Telegraph-Cable Layer.

The Giant of the North; or, Pokings Round the Pole.

The Lonely Island; or, The Refuge of the Mutineers.

Post Haste: A Tale of Her Majesty's Mails.

In the Track of the Troops: A Tale of Modern War.

The Settler and the Savage: A Tale of Peace and War in South Africa.

Under the Waves; or, Diving in Deep Waters.

The Lifeboat: A Tale of our Coast Heroes.

The Golden Dream: A Tale of the Diggings.

The Red Eric; or, The Whaler's Last Cruise.

Freaks on the Fells, and Why I did not Become a Sailor.

The Wild Man of the West.

Gascoyne, the Sandalwood Trader: A Tale of the Pacific.

Rivers of Ice: A Tale Illustrative of Alpine Adventure and Glacier Action.

The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale.

Black Ivory: A Tale of Adventure among the Slavers of East Africa.

The Norsemen in the West; or, America before Columbus.

The Iron Horse; or, Life on the Line. A Railway Tale.

Erling the Bold: A Tale of the Norse Sea Kings.

Fighting the Flames: A Tale of the London Fire Brigade.

Deep Down: A Tale of the Cornish Mines.

The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands.

Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn.

The Lighthouse: Being the Story of a Great Fight between Man and the Sea.

The Big Otter: A Tale of the Far Nor'West.

Extra Crown 8vo, 5s.

The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice.



BY MR. R.M. BALLANTYNE.

With Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. each.

HUNTED AND HARRIED.

A COXSWAIN'S BRIDE; Or, THE RISING TIDE. AND OTHER TALES.

THE GARRET AND THE GARDEN; Or, Low LIFE HIGH UP. AND JEFF BENSON; or, THE YOUNG COASTGUARDSMAN.

THE CREW OF THE WATER-WAGTAIL. A STORY OF NEWFOUNDLAND.

THE MIDDY AND THE MOORS: AN ALGERINE TALE.

THE PRAIRIE CHIEF.

LIFE IN THE RED BRIGADE: A FIERY TALE. AND FORT DESOLATION; or, SOLITUDE IN THE WILDERNESS.

THE ISLAND QUEEN; Or, DETHRONED BY FIRE AND WATER. A TALE OF THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE.

TWICE BOUGHT: A TALE OF THE OREGON GOLD-FIELDS.

THE MADMAN AND THE PIRATE.

MY DOGGIE AND I.

PHILOSOPHER JACK: A TALE OF THE SOUTHERN SEAS.

THE RED MAN'S REVENGE.

SIX MONTHS AT THE CAPE.

LETTERS TO PERIWINKLE FROM SOUTH AFRICA. A RECORD OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AND ADVENTURE.

BATTLES WITH THE SEA; Or, HEROES OF THE LIFEBOAT AND THE ROCKET.

Price 3s. 6d. each.

TALES OF ADVENTURE BY FLOOD, FIELD, AND MOUNTAIN.

TALES OF ADVENTURE; Or, WILD WORK IN STRANGE PLACES.

TALES OF ADVENTURE ON THE COAST.

With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2s.

THE KITTEN PILGRIMS; Or, GREAT BATTLES AND GRAND VICTORIES.

LONDON: JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.



JAMES NISBET & CO.'S

SELECT LIST OF BOOKS

SUITABLE FOR

PRESENTS AND PRIZES,

BY

WELL-KNOWN AND POPULAR WRITERS.

Profusely Illustrated and handsomely Bound in Cloth.

A Complete List will be forwarded post free on application to the Publishers.



WORKS by Mrs. MARSHALL.

"Readers who value culture and refinement, but, above all, seek for truth and unction, will recommend her tales, especially for young ladies."-Churchman.

With numerous Illustrations.

Price Five Shillings each. Extra Crown 8vo.

THE CLOSE OF ST. CHRISTOPHER'S.

NEW RELATIONS. A Story for Girls.

THOSE THREE; OR, LITTLE WINGS.

EASTWARD HO! A Story for Girls.

LAUREL CROWNS; OR, GRISELDA'S AIM.

HOUSES ON WHEELS. A Story for Children.

Price Three Shillings and Sixpence each. Crown 8vo.

IN THE PURPLE.

DAPHNE'S DECISION; OR, WHICH SHALL IT BE?

THE ROSES OF RINGWOOD. A Story for Children.

CASSANDRA'S CASKET.

SILVER CHIMES; OR, OLIVE.

STORIES OF THE CATHEDRAL CITIES OF ENGLAND.

POPPIES AND PANSIES.

REX AND REGINA; OR, THE SONG OF THE RIVER.

DEWDROPS AND DIAMONDS.

HEATHER AND HAREBELL.

MISTRESS MATCHETT'S MISTAKE. A very old Story.

SIR VALENTINE'S VICTORY, AND OTHER STORIES.

OUR OWN PICTURE BOOK. 151 Illustrations. Small 4to.

Price Two Shillings and Sixpence each.

DULCIBEL'S DAY-DREAMS; OR, THE GRAND, SWEET SONG. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo.

PICTURES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE LORD'S PRAYER. With Appropriate Stories for Children. Medium 4to.

THE LIFE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST FOR VERY YOUNG CHILDREN. 12 Illustrations. Medium 4to.



Mrs. MARSHALL'S WORKS—continued.

Price Two Shillings each.

With Illustrations. Crown 8vo.

OLIVER'S OLD PICTURES; OR, THE MAGIC CIRCLE.

RUBY AND PEARL; OR, THE CHILDREN AT CASTLE AYLMER. A Story for Little Girls.

Price One Shilling and Sixpence each.

With Illustrations. Small Crown 8vo.

NATURE'S GENTLEMAN.

THE BRIDE'S HOME.

MY LADY BOUNTIFUL.

STELLAFONT ABBEY; OR, NOTHING NEW.

GOLDEN SILENCE.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG.

MATTHEW FROST, CARRIER; OR, LITTLE SNOWDROP'S MISSION.

MICHAEL'S TREASURES; OR, CHOICE SILVER.

MY GRANDMOTHER'S PICTURES.

MARJORY; OR, THE GIFT OF PEACE.

GRACE BUXTON; OR, THE LIGHT OF HOME.

THREE LITTLE BROTHERS.

THREE LITTLE SISTERS.

THE BIRTH OF A CENTURY; OR, EIGHTY YEARS AGO.

THE STORY OF JOHN MARBECK: A Windsor Organist of 300 Years Ago. His Work and His Reward.

Price One Shilling each.

HEATHERCLIFFE; OR, IT'S NO CONCERN OF MINE.

DAISY BRIGHT.

THE LITTLE PEAT-CUTTERS; OR, THE SONG OF LOVE.

PRIMROSE; OR, THE BELLS OF OLD EFFINGHAM.

TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY: A STORY OF SUMMER AND WINTER HOLIDAYS.

BETWEEN THE CLIFFS; OR, HAL FORESTER'S ANCHOR.

A VIOLET IN THE SHADE.

LIGHT ON THE LILY; OR, A FLOWER'S MESSAGE.

A ROSE WITHOUT A THORN.

A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK.



By R.M. BALLANTYNE. With Illustrations. Extra Crown 8vo. 5s.

"The fathers, mothers, guardians, uncles, and aunts who wish to find an acceptable present for a healthy-minded boy cannot possibly go wrong if they buy a book with Mr. Ballantyne's name on the title-page."—Academy.

THE WALRUS HUNTERS: A Tale of Esquimaux Land.

Crown 8vo. With Illustrations. 3s. 6d. each.

THE HOT SWAMP: A Romance of Old Albion.

THE BUFFALO RUNNERS: A Tale of the Red River Plains.

CHARLIE TO THE RESCUE! A Tale of the Sea and the Rockies.

BLOWN TO BITS; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata. A Tale of the Malay Archipelago.

BLUE LIGHTS; or, Hot Work in the Soudan.

THE FUGITIVES; or, The Tyrant Queen of Madagascar.

RED ROONEY; or, The Last of the Crew.

THE ROVER OF THE ANDES: A Tale of Adventure in South America.

THE YOUNG TRAWLER: A Story of Life and Death and Rescue in the North Sea.

DUSTY DIAMONDS, CUT AND POLISHED: A Tale of Arab City Life.

THE BATTERY AND THE BOILER; or, Adventures in the Laying of Submarine Electric Cables.

THE GIANT OF THE NORTH; or, Pokings Round the Pole.

THE LONELY ISLAND; or, The Refuge of the Mutineers.

POST HASTE: A Tale of Her Majesty's Mails.

IN THE TRACK OF THE TROOPS: A Tale of Modern War.

THE SETTLER AND THE SAVAGE: A Tale of Peace and War in South Africa.

UNDER THE WAVES; or, Diving in Deep Waters.

RIVERS OF ICE: A Tale Illustrative of Alpine Adventure and Glacier Action.

THE PIRATE CITY: An Algerine Tale.

BLACK IVORY: A Tale of Adventure among the Slavers of East Africa.

THE NORSEMEN IN THE WEST; or, America before Columbus.

THE IRON HORSE; or, Life on the Line.

THE FLOATING LIGHT OF THE GOODWIN SANDS.

ERLING THE BOLD: A Tale of the Norse Sea-Kings.



Mr. R.M. BALLANTYNE'S BOOKS—continued.

THE GOLDEN DREAM: A Tale of the Diggings.

DEEP DOWN: A Tale of the Cornish Mines.

FIGHTING THE FLAMES: A Tale of the London Fire-Brigade.

SHIFTING WINDS: A Tough Yarn.

THE LIGHTHOUSE; or, The Story of a Great Fight between Man and the Sea.

THE LIFEBOAT: A Tale of our Coast Heroes.

GASCOYNE, THE SANDALWOOD TRADER.

THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains.

THE RED ERIC; or, The Whaler's Last Cruise.

FREAKS ON THE FELLS: and Why I did not become a Sailor?

* * * * *

With Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. each.

HUNTED AND HARRIED.

A COXSWAIN'S BRIDE; or, The Rising Tide. And other Tales.

THE GARRET AND THE GARDEN; or, Low Life High Up: and