Kitabı oku: «Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago», sayfa 4
Curiously-formed and large-leaved trees of the tropics, with their pendent parasites, as well as rank grasses, sprouting from below and hanging from above, partially concealed this cavern from Nigel when he first turned towards it, but a few steps further on he could see it in all its rugged grandeur.
“My home,” said the hermit, with a very slight smile and the air of a prince, as he turned towards his visitor and waved his hand towards it.
“A magnificent entrance at all events,” said Nigel, returning the smile with something of dubiety, for he was not quite sure that his host was in earnest.
“Follow me,” said the hermit, leading the way down a narrow well-worn path which seemed to lose itself in profound darkness. After being a few minutes within the cavern, however, Nigel’s eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he perceived that the roof rapidly lowered, while its walls narrowed until they reached a spot which was not much wider than an ordinary corridor. Here, however, it was so dark that it was barely possible to see a small door in the right-hand wall before which they halted. Lifting a latch the hermit threw the door wide open, and a glare of dazzling light almost blinded the visitor.
Passing through the entrance, Nigel followed his guide, and the negro let the heavy door shut behind him with a clang that was depressingly suggestive of a prison.
“Again I bid you welcome to my home,” said the hermit, turning round and extending his hand, which Nigel mechanically took and pressed, but without very well knowing what he did, for he was almost dumfounded by what he saw, and for some minutes gazed in silence around him.
And, truly, there was ground for surprise. The visitor found himself in a small but immensely high and brilliantly lighted cavern or natural chamber, the walls of which were adorned with drawings of scenery and trees and specimens of plants, while on various shelves stood innumerable stuffed birds, and shells, and other specimens of natural history.
A table and two chairs stood at one end of the cave, and, strangest of all, a small but well-filled book-case ornamented the other end.
“Arabian Nights!” thought Nigel. “I must be dreaming.”
His wandering eyes travelled slowly round the cavern until they rested at last on the door by which they had entered, beside which stood the negro with a broad grin on his sable visage.
Chapter Seven
Wonders of the Hermit’s Cave and Island
The thing that perhaps surprised Nigel most in this strange cavern was the blaze of light with which it was filled, for it came down direct through a funnel-shaped hole in the high roof and bore a marvellous resemblance to natural sunshine. He was well aware that unless the sun were shining absolutely in the zenith, the laws of light forbade the entrance of a direct ray into such a place, yet there were the positive rays, although the sun was not yet high in the heavens, blinding him while he looked at them, and casting the shadows of himself and his new friends on the floor.
There was the faintest semblance of a smile on the hermit’s face as he quietly observed his visitor, and waited till he should recover self-possession. As for Moses—words are wanting to describe the fields of teeth and gum which he displayed, but no sound was suffered to escape his magnificent lips, which closed like the slide of a dark lantern when the temptation to give way to feeling became too strong.
“My cave interests you,” said the hermit at last.
“It amazes me,” returned our hero, recovering himself and looking earnestly at his host, “for you seem not only to have all the necessaries of life around you in your strange abode, but many of the luxuries; among them the cheering presence of sunshine—though how you manage to get it is beyond my powers of conception.”
“It is simple enough, as you shall see,” returned the hermit. “You have heard of the saying, no doubt, that ‘all things are possible to well-directed labour?’”
“Yes, and that ‘nothing can be achieved without labour.’”
“Well, I have proved that to some extent,” continued the hermit. “You see, by the various and miscellaneous implements on my shelves, that I am given to dabbling a little in science, and thus have made my lonely home as pleasant as such a home can be—but let us not talk of these matters just now. You must be hungry. Have you had breakfast?”
“No, we have not—unless, at least, you count a sea biscuit dipped in salt water a breakfast. After all, that may well be the case, for hermits are noted for the frugality of their fare.”
“I am not a genuine hermit,” remarked his host gravely. “Men do indeed call me the Hermit of Rakata, because I dwell alone here under the shadow of this particular cone of Krakatoa, but I do not ape the austere life of the conventional hermit, as you see, either in my domestic arrangements or food. Come, your breakfast is ready. From my outlook I saw your boat approaching some hours ago, and knew that it was mine, so I made ready for your arrival, though I did not guess that Moses was bringing me a guest instead of a servant!”
So saying, he led the way through a short natural passage to an inner cave, the entrance to which, like the outer one, was boarded. On opening a small door, Nigel was again greeted as before with brilliant rays of sunshine, and, in addition, with a gush of odours that were exceedingly grateful to a hungry man. A low “Ho! ho!” behind him told that his black companion was equally gratified.
The inner cave or mess-room, as the host styled it, combined dining-room and kitchen, for while in one corner stood a deal table with plates, cups, etcetera, but no tablecloth, in another stood a small stove, heated by an oil-lamp, from which issued puffing and sputtering sounds, and the savoury odours above referred to.
Nigel now perceived that although his strange host necessarily spoke a good deal while welcoming him and offering him the hospitalities of his abode, he was by no means communicative. On the contrary, it was evident that he was naturally reserved and reticent, and that although polite and gentle in the extreme, there was a quiet grave dignity about him which discouraged familiarity. It must not be supposed, however, that he was in any degree morosely silent. He was simply quiet and undemonstrative, said little except when asked questions, and spoke, alike to Nigel and Moses, in the soft, low, kindly tones with which one might address very young people.
Going to the stove he took a coffee-pot therefrom and set it on the table. At the same time, Moses, without requiring to be told, opened the oven and brought forth fried fish, meat of some kind, and cakes of he knew not what, but cared little, for their excellence was unquestionable.
During the meal that followed, Nigel ventured as far as politeness permitted—indeed a little further, if truth must be told—to inquire into the circumstances and motives of his entertainer in taking up his abode in such a strange place, but he soon found that his eccentric friend was not one who could be “pumped.” Without a touch of rudeness, and in the sweetest of voices, he simply assumed an absent manner and changed the subject of discourse, when he did not choose to reply, by drawing attention to some irrelevant matter, or by putting a counter question which led away from the subject. Nigel also found that his host never laughed and rarely smiled, though, when he did so, the smile was so slight as merely to indicate a general feeling of urbanity and goodwill, and it was followed instantly by a look of gravity, if not sadness. Altogether the guest was much perplexed about the host at first, and somewhat constrained in consequence, but gradually he began to feel at ease. Another discovery that he soon made was, that the hermit treated Moses not as a servant, but as if he were in all respects an equal and a comrade.
After eating for some time in silence, and having tried to draw out his host without success, Nigel changed his tactics and said—
“You were so kind as to speak of me as your guest, Mr—Mr—I beg pardon, may I—”
“My name is Van der Kemp,” said the hermit quietly.
“Well, Mr Van der Kemp, I must tell you that I am quite willing to accept the position for which Moses hired me—”
“No, I didn’t,” contradicted the negro, flatly yet very gently, both in tone and manner, for long residence with the hermit had apparently imbued him with something of his spirit.
“Well, then,” said Nigel, “the position for which Moses should have hired some one else.” (“K’rect now,” whispered Moses.) “Of course I do not intend to ask for or accept wages, and also, of course, I accept the position on the understanding that you think me fit for the service. May I ask what that service is to be, and where you think of going to?”
“The service,” returned the hermit slowly and with his eyes fixed on the floor as if pondering his reply, “is to accompany me as my attendant and companion, to take notes as occasion may serve, and to paddle a canoe.”
At this reply our hero almost laughed, but was prevented from doing so by his host asking abruptly if he understood canoeing.
“Well, yes. At least I can manage what in England is known as the Rob Roy canoe, having possessed one in my boyhood.”
“That will do,” returned the hermit gravely. “Can you write shorthand?”
“I can. A friend of mine, a reporter on one of the London dailies, once gave me a few lessons, and, becoming fond of the subject, I followed it up.”
“That is well; you did well. It is of immense advantage to a man, whatever his position in life, that he should be able to write shorthand with facility. Especially useful is it in commerce. I know that, having had some experience of commercial life.”
At this point in the conversation Nigel was startled by what was to him an absolutely new sensation, namely a shaking or trembling of the whole cavern, accompanied by faint rumbling sounds as if in deeper caverns below him.
He glanced quickly at his host and at the negro, but to his surprise these remarkable men seemed not to be aware of the shaking, although it was severe enough to cause some of the furniture to rattle. Observing his look of surprise, Moses remarked, with a benignant though capacious smile, “Mountain’s got de mulligrumps pritty bad jist now.”
“We are pretty well accustomed to that,” said the host, observing that Nigel turned to him for an explanation. “No doubt you are aware that this region is celebrated for earthquakes and volcanoes, so much so that the inhabitants pay little attention to them unless they become unusually violent. This island of Krakatoa is itself the fragment of an extinct volcano; but the term ‘extinct’ is scarcely applicable to volcanoes, for it is well-known that many which were for centuries supposed to be extinct have awakened to sudden and violent activity—‘quiescent’ might be a more appropriate term.”
“Yes,” said Moses, ceasing to masticate for purposes of speech; “dem ’stinkt volcanoes hab got an okard habit ob unstinkin’ dereselves hereabouts when you don’ ’spect it of ’em. Go on, massa. I ax yer pard’n for ’truptin’.”
The hermit’s peculiar good-natured little smile played for a moment on his massive features, and then faded away as he continued—
“Perhaps you may have heard that this is the very heart of the district that has long been recognised as the greatest focus of volcanic activity on the globe?”
“I have heard something of the sort,” answered Nigel, “but I confess that my knowledge is limited and my mind hazy on the subject.”
“I doubt it not,” returned his friend, “for geographical and scientific training in primary schools anywhere is not what it might be. The island of Java, with an area about equal to that of England, contains no fewer than forty-nine great volcanic mountains, some of which rise to 12,000 feet above the sea-level. Many of these mountains are at the present time active.” (“Yes, much too active,” muttered the negro), “and more than half of them have been seen in eruption since Java was occupied by Europeans. Hot springs, mud-volcanoes, and vapour-vents abound all over the island, whilst earthquakes are by no means uncommon. There is a distinct line in the chain of these mountains which seems to point to a great fissure in the earth’s crust, caused by the subterranean fires. This tremendous crack or fissure crosses the Straits of Sunda, and in consequence we find a number of these vents—as volcanic mountains may be styled—in the Island of Sumatra, which you saw to the nor’ard as you came along. But there is supposed to be another great crack in the earth’s crust—indicated by several volcanic mountains—which crosses the other fissure almost at right angles, and at the exact point where these two lines intersect stands this island of Krakatoa.
“I emphasise the fact,” continued the hermit after a pause, “first, because, although this has been a quiescent volcano since the year 1680, and people have come to regard it as extinct, there are indications now which lead me to believe that its energy is reviving; and, second, because this focus where fissures cross each other—this Krakatoa Island—is in reality part of the crater of an older and much larger volcanic mountain, which must have been literally blown away in prehistoric times, and of which Krakatoa and the neighbouring islets of Varlaten, Polish Hat, Lang Island, and the rest, are but the remnants of the great crater ring. If these rumblings and minor earthquakes, which I have noticed of late—and the latest of which you have just experienced—are the precursors of another explosion, my home here may be rendered untenable.”
“Hi!” exclaimed Moses, who had been listening with open mouth and eyes to this discourse, which was obviously news to him, “I hope, massa, he ain’t a-gwine to ’splode to-day—anyhow, not till arter breakfast!”
“You must have studied the subject of volcanoes a good deal, I suppose, from what you say,” observed Nigel.
“Naturally, living as I do almost on the top of one. My library, which I will show you presently, contains many interesting works on the subject. But come, if you have finished we will ascend the Peak of Rakata and I will introduce you to my sunshine.”
He rose and led his guest back to the outer cavern, leaving Moses still busy with knife and fork, apparently meditating on the pleasure of breakfasting with the prospect of a possible and immediate explosion.
In passing through the first chamber, Nigel observed, in a natural recess, the library just referred to. He also noted that, besides stuffed birds and other specimens and sea-shells, there were chisels, saws, hammers, and other tools, besides something like a forge and carpenter’s bench in a side-chamber opening out of the large one, which he had not at first seen—from all which he concluded that the hermit was imbued with mechanical as well as scientific and literary tastes.
At the further and darker end of the outer cave there was a staircase, partly natural, and partly improved by art, which led upward into profound darkness.
“Let me take your hand here,” said the hermit, looking down upon his guest with his slight but winning smile; “it is a rough and dark staircase. You will be apt to stumble.”
Nigel placed his hand in that of his host with perfect confidence, and with a curious feeling—aroused, probably, by the action—of having returned to the days of childhood.
The stair was indeed rugged as well as winding, and so pitchy dark that the youth could not have advanced at all without stumbling, unless his host had held him all the way. At last a glimmer of light was seen in the distance. It seemed to increase suddenly, and in a few moments the two emerged from total darkness into dazzling sunshine.
When Nigel looked round him he saw that they had gained a plateau, high up on the very summit of the mountain, which appeared to be absolutely inaccessible by any means save that by which they had reached it.
“This is what I call my observatory,” said the hermit, turning to his guest. “We have passed right through the peak of Rakata, and reached its northern side, which commands, as you see, a view of all the northern part of the island. I come here often in the night to study the face of the heavens, the moon, and stars, and meditate on their mysterious Maker, whose ways are indeed wonderful and past finding out; but all which must, in the nature of things, be right.”
As this was the first mention that the hermit had made of the Creator, and the reference was one requiring more thought than Nigel had yet bestowed on it, he made no rejoinder.
“Have you studied astronomy, Mr Roy?”
“No—at least not more of it than was needful for navigation. But pray, sir, do not call me Mr Roy,” said the youth, with a somewhat embarrassed air. “If I am to be your assistant and familiar companion for two or three months, I hope that you will agree to call me Nigel. Your man has done so already without asking leave!”
“I will, on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That you also dispense with the ‘Mr’ and ‘sir,’ and call me Van der Kemp.”
“Agreed,” said Nigel, “though it does not seem so appropriate in me as in you, considering the difference of our years.”
“Look here,” said the hermit, turning abruptly to a small wooden shed which had hitherto escaped the youth’s observation, so covered was it with overhanging boughs and tropical creeping plants, “these are my astronomical instruments.”
He pointed to a table in the hut on which stood several telescopes—and microscopes as well—one of the former being a large instrument, certainly not less than six feet long, with a diameter of apparently six or eight inches.
“Here, you see, I have the means of investigating the wonders of Nature in her grandest as well as her minutest scales. And there,” he added, pointing to a couple of large reflecting mirrors in strong wooden frames, erected on joints in such a way that they could be turned in any direction,—“there you have the secret of my sunshine. One of these mirrors catches the sunshine direct and reflects it on the other, which, as you see, is so arranged that it transmits the rays down the natural funnel or chimney into the cave. By means of chains connected with the mechanism, and extending below, I can change the direction of the mirrors as the sun changes its place in the sky, without requiring to come up here.”
“Very ingenious!” said Nigel; “but how do you manage when the mountain comes between you and the sun, as I see it cannot fail to do during some part of the day?”
“Simply enough,” returned the hermit, pointing to a distant projecting cliff or peak. “On yon summit I have fixed four mirrors similar to these. When the sun can no longer be reflected from this pair, the first of the distant mirrors takes it up and shoots a beam of light over here. When the sun passes from that, the second mirror is arranged to catch and transmit it, and so on to the fourth. After that I bid good-bye to the sun, and light my lamp!”
Nigel felt an almost irresistible tendency to smile at this, but the grave simplicity of the man forbade such familiarity.
“Look yonder,” continued the hermit, sweeping one of his long arms towards Sumatra, “in that direction runs the line of volcanic disturbance—the fissure of which I have already spoken. Focus this telescope to suit your sight. Now, do you see the little island away there to the nor’-west?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that is Varlaten. I mentioned it when at breakfast. Sweep your glass round to the nor’ard, the little island there is Polish Hat, and you see Lang Island in the nor’-east. These, with Krakatoa, are merely the higher parts still remaining above water of the ring or lip of the ancient crater. This will give you some idea what an enormous mountain the original of this old volcano must have been. This island-mountain is estimated to have been twenty-five miles in circumference, and 10,000 to 12,000 feet high. It was blown into the air in 1680, and this island, with the few islets I have pointed out, is all that remains of it. Now, cast your eye down the centre of the island on which we stand; you see several cones of various sizes. These are ancient vents, supposed to be extinct—”
“But one of them, the one furthest away,” interrupted Nigel, steadying his telescope on the branch of a tree, “seems to be anything but extinct, for I see a thin column of white smoke or steam rising from it.”
“That is just what I was going to point out. They call that Perboewatan. It is the lowest peak on the island, about 400 feet high, and stands, I should say, in the very centre of the ancient crater, where are the two fissures I have mentioned. For two hundred years Perboewatan has not smoked like that, and, slight though it is at present, I cannot help thinking that it indicates an impending eruption, especially when I consider that earthquakes have become more numerous of late years, and there was one in 1880 which was so violent as to damage seriously the lighthouse on Java’s First Point.”
“Then you have resided here for some time?” said Nigel.
“Yes, for many years,” replied the hermit, in a low, sad tone.
“But is it wise in you to stay if you think an explosion so likely? Don’t you needlessly run considerable risk?”
“I do not fear to die.”
Nigel looked at his new friend in surprise, but there was not a shadow of boastfulness or affectation either in his look or tone.
“Besides,” he continued, “the explosion may be but slight, and Perboewatan is, as you see, about four miles off. People in the neighbourhood of the straits and passing ships are so accustomed to volcanic explosions on a more or less grand scale that they will never notice this little cloud hanging over Krakatoa. Those who, like myself, know the ancient history of the island, regard it in a more serious light, but we may be wrong. Come, now, we will descend again and have a ramble over part of the island. It will interest you. Not many men have penetrated its luxuriant forests or know their secrets. I have wandered through them in all directions, and can guide you. Indeed, Moses could do that as well as I, for he has lived with me many years. Come.”
Returning to the cavern they found that the active negro had not only finished his breakfast, but had washed the dishes and cleared up the kitchen, so that he was quite ready to shoulder a wallet and a gun when his master bade him prepare for a day in the forest.
It is not, however, our intention to follow the trio thither. Matters of greater interest, if not importance, claim our attention at present. Let it suffice to say, therefore, that after a most delightful day, spent in wandering amongst the luxuriant tropical vegetation with which the island was densely covered, visiting one of the extinct craters, bathing in one of the numerous hot springs, and collecting many objects of interest to the hermit, in the shape of botanical and geological specimens, they returned in the evening to their cavern-house not only ready but eager for sustenance and repose.
