Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata

TELLS OF VOLCANIC FIRES AND A STRANGE RETURN “HOME.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Part!  Why?” asked the hermit in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?” asked Nigel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?” asked the hermit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?  Surely you don’t mean that his love of the mere place is so strong that—­”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ay! ay!—­ease ’er!—­stop ’er! where are ’ee bound for?” demanded an unmistakably English voice.

“Krakatoa!” replied the hermit.  “Where are you?”

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

“No, we want to get home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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