Kitabı oku: «Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago», sayfa 17
Chapter Twenty Six
A Climax
Three of those who had tumbled thus unceremoniously on the deck of the Sunshine were soon sufficiently recovered to sit up and look around in dazed astonishment—namely Nigel, Moses, and the monkey—but the hermit still lay prone where he had been cast, with a pretty severe wound on his head, from which blood was flowing freely.
“Nigel, my boy!”
“Father!” exclaimed the youth. “Where am I? What has happened?”
“Don’t excite yourself, lad,” said the mariner, stooping and whispering into his son’s ear. “We’ve got her aboard!”
No treatment could have been more effectual in bringing Nigel to his senses than this whisper.
“Is—is—Van der Kemp safe?” he asked anxiously.
“All right—only stunned, I think. That’s him they’re just goin’ to carry below. Put ’im in my bunk, Mr Moor.”
“Ay ay, sir.”
Nigel sprang up. “Stay, father,” he said in a low voice. “She must not see him for the first time like this.”
“All right, boy. I understand. You leave that to me. My bunk has bin shifted for’id—more amidships—an’ Kathy’s well aft. They shan’t be let run foul of each other. You go an’ rest on the main hatch till we get him down. Why, here’s a nigger! Where did you pick him? oh! I remember. You’re the man we met, I suppose, wi’ the hermit on Krakatoa that day o’ the excursion from Batavia.”
“Yes, das me. But we’ll meet on Krakatoa no more, for dat place am blown to bits.”
“I’m pretty well convinced o’ that by this time, my man. Not hurt much, I hope?”
“No, sar—not more ’n I can stan’. But I’s ’fraid dat poor Spinkie’s a’most used up—hallo! what you gwine to do with massa?” demanded the negro, whose wandering faculties had only in part returned.
“He’s gone below. All right. Now, you go and lie down beside my son on the hatch. I’ll—see to Van der Kemp.”
But Captain David Roy’s intentions, like those of many men of greater note, were frustrated by the hermit himself, who recovered consciousness just as the four men who carried him reached the foot of the companion-ladder close to the cabin door. Owing to the deeper than midnight darkness that prevailed a lamp was burning in the cabin—dimly, as if, infected by the universal chaos, it were unwilling to enlighten the surrounding gloom.
On recovering consciousness Van der Kemp was, not unnaturally, under the impression that he had fallen into the hands of foes. With one effectual convulsion of his powerful limbs he scattered his bearers right and left, and turning—like all honest men—to the light, he sprang into the cabin, wrenched a chair from its fastenings, and, facing round, stood at bay.
Kathleen, seeing this blood-stained giant in such violent action, naturally fled to her cabin and shut the door.
As no worse enemy than Captain Roy presented himself at the cabin door, unarmed, and with an anxious look on his rugged face, the hermit set down the chair, and feeling giddy sank down on it with a groan.
“I fear you are badly hurt, sir. Let me tie a handkerchief round your wounded head,” said the captain soothingly.
“Thanks, thanks. Your voice is not unfamiliar to me,” returned the hermit with a sigh, as he submitted to the operation. “I thought I had fallen somehow into the hands of pirates. Surely an accident must have happened. How did I get here? Where are my comrades—Nigel and the negro?”
“My son Nigel is all right, sir, and so is your man Moses. Make your mind easy—an’ pray don’t speak while I’m working at you. I’ll explain it all in good time. Stay, I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The captain—fearing that Kathleen might come out from curiosity to see what was going on, and remembering his son’s injunction—went to the girl’s berth with the intention of ordering her to keep close until he should give her leave to come out. Opening the door softly and looking in, he was startled, almost horrified, to see Kathleen standing motionless like a statue, with both hands pressed tightly over her heart. The colour had fled from her beautiful face; her long hair was flung back; her large lustrous eyes were wide open and her lips slightly parted, as if her whole being had been concentrated in eager expectancy.
“What’s wrong, my girl?” asked the captain anxiously. “You’ve no cause for fear. I just looked in to—.”
“That voice!” exclaimed Kathleen, with something of awe in her tones—“Oh! I’ve heard it so often in my dreams.”
“Hush! shush! my girl,” said the captain in a low tone, looking anxiously round at the wounded man. But his precautions were unavailing,—Van der Kemp had also heard a voice which he thought had long been silent in death. The girl’s expression was almost repeated in his face. Before the well-meaning mariner could decide what to do, Kathleen brushed lightly past him, and stood in the cabin gazing as if spell-bound at the hermit.
“Winnie!” he whispered, as if scarcely daring to utter the name.
“Father!”
She extended both hands towards him as she spoke. Then, with a piercing shriek, she staggered backward, and would have fallen had not the captain caught her and let her gently down.
Van der Kemp vaulted the table, fell on his knees beside her, and, raising her light form, clasped her to his heart, just as Nigel and Moses, alarmed by the scream, sprang into the cabin.
“Come, come; away wi’ you—you stoopid grampusses!” cried the captain, pushing the intruders out of the cabin, following them, and closing the door behind him. “This is no place for bunglers like you an’ me. We might have known that natur’ would have her way, an’ didn’t need no help from the like o’ us. Let’s on deck. There’s enough work there to look after that’s better suited to us.”
Truly there was enough—and more than enough—to claim the most anxious attention of all who were on board of the Sunshine that morning, for hot mud was still falling in showers on the deck, and the thunders of the great volcano were still shaking heaven, earth, and sea.
To clear the decks and sails of mud occupied every one for some time so earnestly that they failed to notice at first that the hermit had come on deck, found a shovel, and was working away like the rest of them. The frequent and prolonged blazes of intense light that ever and anon banished the darkness showed that on his face there sat an expression of calm, settled, triumphant joy, which was strangely mingled with a look of quiet humility.
“I thank God for this,” said Nigel, going forward when he observed him and grasping his hand.
“You knew it?” exclaimed the hermit in surprise.
“Yes. I knew it—indeed, helped to bring you together, but did not dare to tell you till I was quite sure. I had hoped to have you meet in very different circumstances.”
“‘It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps,’” returned the hermit reverently. “God bless you, Nigel. If you have even aimed at bringing this about, I owe you more than my life.”
“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 Twenty Seven
“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 quarterdeck, 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 soon 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 Saint 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 one and one-eighth 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 Twenty Eight
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 backstays 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!
