Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata

WEATHERING A STORM IN THE OPEN SEA.

In profound silence they continued to paddle until there was no chance of their being seen by the party on the islet.  Then Van der Kemp rested his paddle in front of him and looked slowly round the horizon and up at the sky as if studying the weather.

Nigel longed to ask him more about the men they had seen, and of this “enemy” whom he had mentioned, but there was that in the hermit’s grave look which forbade questioning, and indeed Nigel now knew from experience that it would be useless to press him to speak on any subject in regard to which he chose to be reticent.

“I don’t like the look of the sky,” he said at last.  “We are going to have a squall, I fear.”

“Had we not better run for the nearest land?” said Nigel, who, although not yet experienced in the signs of the weather in those equatorial regions, had quite enough of knowledge to perceive that bad weather of some sort was probably approaching.

“The nearest island is a good way off,” returned the hermit, “and we might miss it in the dark, for daylight won’t help us yet awhile.  No, we will continue our course and accept what God sends.”

This remark seemed to our hero to savour of unreasoning contempt of danger, for the facing of a tropical squall in such an eggshell appeared to him the height of folly.  He ventured to reply, therefore, in a tone of remonstrance—­

“God sends us the capacity to appreciate danger, Van der Kemp, and the power to take precautions.”

“He does, Nigel—­therefore I intend to use both the capacity and the power.”

There was a tone of finality in this speech which effectually sealed Nigel’s lips, and, in truth, his ever-increasing trust in the wisdom, power, and resource of his friend indisposed him to further remark.

The night had by this time become intensely dark, for a bank of black cloud had crept slowly over the sky and blotted out the moon.  This cloud extended itself slowly, obliterating, ere long, most of the stars also, so that it was scarcely possible to distinguish any object more than a yard or two in advance of them.  The dead calm, however, continued unbroken, and the few of heaven’s lights which still glimmered through the obscurity above were clearly reflected in the great black mirror below.  Only the faint gleam of Krakatoa’s threatening fires was visible on the horizon, while the occasional boom of its artillery sounded in their ears.

It was impossible for any inexperienced man, however courageous, to avoid feelings of awe, almost amounting to dread, in the circumstances, and Nigel—­as he tried to penetrate the darkness around him and glanced at the narrow craft in which he sat and over the sides of which he could dip both hands at once into the sea—­might be excused for wishing, with all his heart, that he were safely on shore, or on the deck of his father’s brig.  His feelings were by no means relieved when Van der Kemp said, in a low soliloquising tone—­

“The steamers will constitute our chief danger to-night.  They come on with such a rush that it is not easy to make out how they are steering, so as to get out of their way in time.”

“But should we not hear them coming a long way off?” asked Nigel.

“Ay.  It is not during a calm like this that we run risk, but when the gale begins to blow we cannot hear, and shall not, perhaps, see very well.”

As he spoke the hermit lifted the covering of the forehatch and took out a small sail which he asked Nigel to pass aft to the negro.

“Close-reef it, Moses; we shall make use of the wind as long as possible.  After that we will lay-to.”

“All right, massa,” said the negro, in the same cheerful free-and-easy tone in which he was wont to express his willingness to obey orders whether trifling or important.  “Don’ forgit Spinkie, massa.”

“You may be sure I won’t do that,” replied the hermit.  “Come along, monkey!”

Evidently Van der Kemp had trained his dumb companion as thoroughly to prompt obedience as his black follower, for the little creature instantly bounded from its place by the mast on to the shoulder of its master, who bade it go into the place from which he had just extracted the sail.  Nigel could not see this—­not only because of the darkness, but because of the intervention of the hermit’s bulky person, but he understood what had taken place by the remark—­“That’s a good little fellow.  Keep your head down, now, while I shut you in!”

From the same place Van der Kemp had drawn a small triangular foresail, which he proceeded to attach to the bow of the canoe—­running its point out by means of tackle laid along the deck—­while Moses was busy reefing the mainsail.

From the same repository were extracted three waterproof coats, which, when put on by the canoe-men, the tails thrust below-deck, and the aprons drawn over them and belted round their waists, protected their persons almost completely from water.

“Now, Nigel,” said the hermit, “unship the mast, reeve the halyard of this foresail through the top and then re-ship it.  Moses will give you the mainsail when ready, and you can hook the halyards on to it.  The thing is too simple to require explanation to a sailor.  I attend to the foresail and Moses manages the mainsheet, but you have to mind the halyards of both, which, as you would see if it were light enough, run down alongside the mast.  All I ask you to remember is to be smart in obeying orders, for squalls are sometimes very sudden here—­but I doubt not that such a caution is needless.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Nigel.

By this time a slight puff of air had ruffled the sea, thereby intensifying, if possible, the blackness which already prevailed.  The tiny sails caught the puff, causing the canoe to lean slightly over, and glide with a rippling sound through the water, while Moses steered by means of his paddle.

“You have put Spinkie down below, I think,” said Nigel, who had been struck more than once with the hermit’s extreme tenderness and care of the little creature.

“Yes, to prevent it from being washed overboard.  I nearly lost the poor little thing once or twice, and now when we are likely to be caught in bad weather I put him below.”

“Is he not apt to be suffocated?” asked Nigel.  “With everything made so tight to prevent water getting into the canoe, you necessarily prevent air entering also.”

“I see you have a mechanical turn of mind,” returned the hermit.  “You are right.  Yet in so large a canoe the air would last a considerable time to satisfy a monkey.  Nevertheless, I have made provision for that.  There is a short tube alongside the mast, and fixed to it, which runs a little below the deck and rises a foot above it so as to be well above the wash of most waves, and in the deck near the stern there is a small hole with a cap fitted so as to turn the water but admit the air.  Thus free circulation of air is established below deck.”

Suddenly a hissing sound was heard to windward.

“Look out, Moses,” said Van der Kemp.  “There it comes.  Let go the sheet.  Keep good hold of your paddle, Nigel.”

The warning was by no means unnecessary, for as the canoe’s head was turned to meet the blast, a hissing sheet of white water swept right over the tiny craft, completely submerging it, insomuch that the three men appeared to be sitting more than waist-deep in the water.

“Lower the mainsail!” shouted the hermit, for the noise of wind and sea had become deafening.

Nigel obeyed and held on to the flapping sheet.  The hermit had at the same moment let go the foresail, the flapping of which he controlled by a rope-tackle arranged for the purpose.  He then grasped his single-blade paddle and aided Moses in keeping her head to wind and sea.  For a few minutes this was all that could be done.  Then the first violence of the squall passed off, allowing the deck of the little craft to appear above the tormented water.  Soon the waves began to rise.

The mere keeping of the canoe’s head to wind required all the attention of both master and man, while Nigel sat waiting for orders and looking on with mingled feelings of surprise and curiosity.  Of course they were all three wet to the skin, for the water had got up their sleeves and down their necks; but, being warm, that mattered little, and the oiled aprons before mentioned, being securely fastened round their waists, effectually prevented any of it from getting below save the little that passed through the thickness of their own garments.

No word was spoken for at least a quarter of an hour, during which time, although they rose buoyantly on the water, the waves washed continually over the low-lying deck.  As this deck was flush with the gunwale, or rather, had no gunwale at all, the water ran off it as it does off a whale’s back.

Then there came a momentary lull.

“Now, Moses—­’bout ship!” shouted Van der Kemp.  “Stand by, Nigel!”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

Although the canoe was long—­and therefore unfitted to turn quickly—­the powerful strokes of the two paddles in what may be called counteracting-harmony brought the little craft right round with her stern to the waves.

“Hoist away, Nigel!  We must run right before it now.”

Up went the mainsail, the tiny foresail bulged out at the same moment, and away they went like the driving foam, appearing almost to leap from wave to wave.  All sense of danger was now overwhelmed in Nigel’s mind by that feeling of excitement and wild delight which accompanies some kinds of rapid motion.  This was, if possible, intensified by the crashing thunder which now burst forth and the vivid lightning which began to play, revealing from time to time the tumultuous turmoil as if in clearest moonlight, only to plunge it again in still blacker night.

By degrees the gale increased in fury, and it soon became evident that neither sails nor cordage could long withstand the strain to which they were subjected.

“A’most too much, massa,” said the negro in a suggestive shout.

“Right, Moses,” returned his master.  “I was just thinking we must risk it.”

“Risk what?  I wonder,” thought Nigel.

He had not long to wait for an answer to his thought.

“Down wi’ the mainsail,” was quickly followed by the lowering of the foresail until not more than a mere corner was shown, merely to keep the canoe end-on to the seas.  Soon even this was lowered, and Van der Kemp used his double-blade paddle to keep them in position, at the same time telling Nigel to unship the mast.

“And plug the hole with that,” he added, handing him a bit of wood which exactly fitted the hole in the deck.

Watching for another lull in the blast, the hermit at last gave the order, and round they came as before, head to wind, but not quite so easily, and Nigel felt that they had narrowly escaped overturning in the operation.

“Keep her so, Moses.  You can help with your paddle, Nigel, while I get ready our anchor.”

“Anchor!” exclaimed our hero in amazement—­obeying orders, however, at the same moment.

The hermit either did not hear the exclamation or did not care to notice it.  He quickly collected the mast and sails, with a couple of boat-hooks and all the paddles excepting two single ones.  These he bound together by means of the sheets and halyards, attached the whole to a hawser,—­one end of which passed through an iron ring at the bow—­and tossed it into the sea—­paying out the hawser rapidly at the same time so as to put a few yards between them and their floating anchor—­if it may be so called—­in the lee of which they prepared to ride out the gale.

It was well that they had taken the precaution to put on their waterproofs before the gale began, because, while turned head to wind every breaking wave swept right over their heads, and even now while under the lee of the floating anchor they were for some time almost continually overwhelmed by thick spray.  Being, however, set free from the necessity of keeping their tiny craft in position, they all bowed their heads on the deck, sheltered their faces in their hands and awaited the end!

Whilst in this attitude—­so like to that of prayer—­Nigel almost naturally thought of Him who holds the water in the hollow of His hand, and lifted his soul to God; for, amid the roaring of the gale, the flashes of lightning, the appalling thunder, the feeling that he was in reality all but under the waves and the knowledge that the proverbial plank between him and death was of the very thinnest description, a sensation of helplessness and of dependence on the Almighty, such as he had never before experienced, crept over him.  What the thoughts of the hermit were he could not tell, for that strange man seldom spoke about himself; but Moses was not so reticent, for he afterwards remarked that he had often been caught by gales while in the canoe, and had been attached for hours to their floating anchor, but that “dat was out ob sight de wust bust ob wedder dey’d had since dey come to lib at Krakatoa, an’ he had bery nigh giben up in despair!”

The use of the floating breakwater was to meet the full force of the seas and break them just before they reached the canoe.  In spite of this some of them were so tremendous that, broken though they were, the swirling foam completely buried the craft for a second or two, but the sharp bow cut its way through, and the water poured off the deck and off the stooping figures like rain from a duck’s back.  Of course a good deal got in at their necks, sleeves, and other small openings, and wet them considerably, but that, as Moses remarked, “was not’ing to speak ob.”

Thus they lay tossing in the midst of the raging foam for several hours.  Now and then each would raise his head a little to see that the rope held fast, but was glad to lower it again.  They hardly knew when day broke.  It was so slow in coming, and so gloomy and dark when it did come, that the glare of the lightning-flash seemed more cheerful.

It may be easily believed that there was no conversation during those hours of elemental strife, though the thoughts of each were busy enough.  At last the thunder ceased, or, rather, retired as if in growling defiance of the world which it had failed to destroy.  Then the sky began to lighten a little, and although the wind did not materially abate in force it became more steady and equal.  Before noon, however, it had subsided so much that Moses suggested the propriety of continuing the voyage.  To this Van der Kemp agreed, and the floating anchor was hauled in; the large paddle was resumed by the hermit, and the dangerous process of turning the canoe was successfully accomplished.

When the mast was again set up and the close-reefed main and foresails were hoisted, the light craft bounded away once more before the wind like a fleck of foam.  Then a gleam of sunshine forced its way through the driving clouds, and painted a spot of emerald green on the heaving sea.  Soon after that Van der Kemp opened the lid, or hatch, of the forehold, and Spinkie, jumping out with alacrity, took possession of his usual seat beside the mast, to which he clung with affectionate tenacity.  Gradually the wind went down.  Reef after reef of the two sails was shaken out, and for several hours thereafter our travellers sped merrily on, plunging into the troughs and cutting through the crests of the stormy sea.