Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago by R. M. Ballantyne (novels for teenagers .TXT) 📕

The cave was enshrouded in almost total darkness when they entered it, but this was quickly dispelled, to Nigel’s no little surprise, by the rays of a magnificent oil-lamp, which Moses lighted and placed on the table in the larger cave. A smaller one of the same kind already illuminated the kitchen.

Not much conversation was indulged in during the progress of the supper that was soon spread upon the rude table. The three men, being uncommonly hungry and powerfully robust, found in food a sufficient occupation for their mouths for some time.

After supper they became a little, but not much, more sociable, for, although Nigel’s active mind would gladly have found vent in conversation, he experienced some difficulty in making headway against the discouragement of Van der Kemp’s very quiet disposition, and the cavernous yawns with which Moses displayed at once his desire for slumber and his magnificent dental arrangements.

“We always retire early to rest after a day of this sort,” said the hermit at last, turning to his guest. “Do you feel disposed for bed?”

“Indeed I do,” said Nigel, with a half-suppressed yawn, that was irresistibly dragged out of him by the sight of another earthquake on the negro’s face.

“Come, then, I will show you your berth; we have no bedrooms here,” said the hermit, with a sort of deprecatory smile, as he led the way to the darker end of the cavern, where he pointed to a little recess in which there was a pile of something that smelt fresh and looked like heather, spread on which there was a single blanket.

“Sailors are said to be indifferent to sheets. You won’t miss them, I daresay?”

“Not in the least,” returned Nigel, with a laugh. “Good-night,” he added, shaking hands with his host and suppressing another yawn, for Moses’ face, even in the extreme distance, was irresistibly infectious!

Our hero was indifferent not only to sheets, but also, in certain circumstances, to the usual habiliments of night. Indeed, while travelling in out-of-the-way regions he held it to be a duty to undress but partially before turning in, so that he might be ready for emergencies.

On lying down he found his mattress, whatever it was, to be a springy, luxurious bed, and was about to resign himself to slumber when he observed that, from the position in which he lay, he could see the cavern in all its extent. Opening his half-closed eyes, therefore, he watched the proceedings of his host, and in doing so, as well as in speculating on his strange character and surroundings, he became somewhat wakeful.

He saw that Van der Kemp, returning to the other end of the cave, sat down beside the lamp, the blaze of which fell full on his fine calm countenance. A motion of his head brought Moses to him, who sat down beside him and entered into earnest conversation, to judge from his gestures, for nothing could be heard where Nigel lay save the monotonous murmur of their voices. The hermit did not move. Except for an occasional inclination of the head he appeared to be a grand classic statue, but it was otherwise with the negro. His position in front of the lamp caused him to look if possible even blacker than ever, and the blackness was so uniform that his entire profile became strongly pronounced, thus rendering every motion distinct, and the varied pouting of his huge lips remarkably obvious. The extended left hand, too, with the frequent thrusting of the index finger of the other into the palm, was suggestive of argument, and of much reasoning effort—if not power.

After about half-an-hour of conversation, Moses arose, shook his master by the hand, appeared to say “Good-night” very obviously, yawned, and retired to the kitchen, whence, in five minutes or so, there issued sounds which betokened felicitous repose.

Meanwhile his master sat motionless for some time, gazing at the floor as if in meditation. Then he rose, went to his book-case and took down a large thick volume, which he proceeded to read.

Nigel had by that time dropped into a drowsy condition, yet his interest in the doings of his strange entertainer was so great that he struggled hard to keep awake, and partially succeeded.

“I wonder,” he muttered, in sleepy tones, “if that’s a f–fam–’ly Bible he’s reading—or—or—a vol’m o’ the En–Encyclopida Brit—”

He dropped off at this point, but, feeling that he had given way to some sort of weakness, he struggled back again in to wakefulness, and saw that the hermit was bending over the large book with his massive brow resting on the palms of both hands, and his fingers thrust into his iron-grey hair. It was evident, however, that he was not reading the book at that moment, for on its pages was lying what seemed to be a miniature or photograph case, at which he gazed intently. Nigel roused himself to consider this, and in doing so again dropped off—not yet soundly, however, for curiosity induced one more violent struggle, and he became aware of the fact that the hermit was on his knees with his face buried in his hands.

The youth’s thoughts must have become inextricably confused at this point, yet their general drift was indicated by the muttered words:

“I—I’m glad o’ that—a good sign—an’—an’ it’s not th’ Encyclop.” Here Morpheus finally conquered, and he sank into dreamless repose.

How long this condition lasted he could not tell, but he was awakened violently by sensations and feelings of dread, which were entirely new to him. The bed on which he rested seemed to heave under him, and his ears were filled by sharp rattling sounds, something like—yet very different from—the continuous roll of musketry.

Starting up, he sprang into the large cavern where he found Van der Kemp quietly tightening his belt and Moses hastily pulling on his boots.

“Sometin’s bu’sted an’ no mistake!” exclaimed the latter.

“An eruption from one of the cones,” said the hermit. “I have been for a long time expecting it. Come with us.”

He went swiftly up the staircase and passages which led to the observatory as he spoke.

The scene that met their eyes on reaching the ledge or plateau was sublime in the extreme, as well as terrific.

“As I thought,” said Van der Kemp, in a low tone. “It is Perboewatan that has broken out.”

“The cone from which I observed smoke rising?” asked Nigel.

“The same. The one over the very centre of the old crater, showing that we were wrong in supposing it to be extinct: it was only slumbering. It is in what vulcanologists term moderate eruption now, and, perhaps, may prove a safety-valve which will prevent a more violent explosion.”

That the cone of Perboewatan was indeed in a state of considerable activity, worthy of a stronger term than “moderate,” was very obvious. Although at a distance, as we have said, of four miles, the glare of its fires on the three figures perched near the top of Rakata was very intense, while explosion after explosion sent molten lava and red-hot rocks, pumice, and dust, high into the thickening air—clouds of smoke and steam being vomited forth at the same time. The wind, of which there was very little, blew it all away from the position occupied by the three observers.

“What if the wind were to change and blow it all this way?” asked Nigel, with very pardonable feelings of discomfort.

“We could return to the cavern,” said the hermit.

“But what if Rakata itself should become active?”

It was evident from the very solemn expression on the negro’s face that he awaited the reply to Nigel’s question with some anxiety.

“Rakata,” answered the hermit thoughtfully, “although the highest cone, is the one most distant from the great centre of activity. It is therefore not likely that the volcanic energy will seek a vent here while there are other cones between us and Perboewatan. But we shall soon see whether the one vent is likely to suffice. There is undoubtedly no diminution in the explosions at present.”

There certainly was not, for the voice of the speaker was almost drowned by the horrible din caused, apparently, by the hurtling of innumerable fragments of rock and stones in the air, while a succession of fiery flashes, each followed by a loud explosion, lit up the dome-shaped mass of vapour that was mounting upwards and spreading over the sky. Vivid flashes of lightning were also seen playing around the vapour-column. At the same time, there began a fall of fine white dust, resembling snow, which soon covered the foliage and the ground of all the lower part of the island. The sea around was also ere long covered with masses of pumice, which, being very light, floated away into the Indian ocean, and these were afterwards encountered in large quantities by various vessels passing through Sunda Straits.

The Scientific Committee, which ultimately wrote on the details of this eruption in Krakatoa, mention this first outburst as being a phase of moderate activity, similar to that which is said to have been exhibited for some months during the years 1680 and 1681, and they added that “the outburst was one of considerable violence, especially at its commencement,” that falls of dust were noticed at the distance of three hundred miles, and that “the commander of the German war-vessel Elizabeth estimated the height of the dust-column issuing from the volcano at 11 kilometres (36,000 feet or about 7 miles).”

To our hero, however, and to Moses, the outburst seemed anything but “moderate,” and that night as they two sat together in the cave after supper, listening with awe-struck faces to the cannonading and wild musketry going on as it seemed under their very feet, the negro solemnly imparted to Nigel in a low whisper that he thought “de end ob de wurld hab come at last!”

Returning at that moment from his observatory, to which he had ascended for a few minutes to view the scene through one of his glasses, Van der Kemp relieved their anxieties somewhat by remarking, in his quiet manner, that