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

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 fore-hatch 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 canoemen, 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