Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata

by R. M. Ballantyne

A louder report than usual here drew their attention again to the tremendous scene that was going on in front of them. The extreme summit of Perboewatan had been blown into a thousand fragments, which were hurtling upwards and crackling loudly as the smaller masses were impelled against each other in their skyward progress. This crackling has been described by those who heard it from neighbouring shores as a "strange rustling sound." To our hermit and his friend, who were, so to speak, in the very midst of it, the sound rather resembled the continuous musketry of a battle-field, while the louder explosions might be compared to the booming of artillery, though they necessarily lose by the comparison, for no invention of man ever produced sounds equal to those which thundered at that time from the womb of Krakatoa.

Immediately after this, a fountain of molten lava at white heat welled up in the great throat that had been so violently widened, and, overflowing the edges of the crater, rolled down its sides in fiery rivers. All the other craters in the island became active at the same moment and a number of new ones burst forth. Indeed it seemed to those who watched them that if these had not opened up to give vent to the suppressed forces the whole island must have been blown away. As it was, the sudden generation of so much excessive heat set fire to what remained of trees and everything combustible, so that the island appeared to be one vast seething conflagration, and darkness was for a time banished by a red glare that seemed to Nigel far more intense than that of noonday.

It is indeed the partiality (if we may say so) of conflagration-light which gives to it the character of impressive power with which we are all so familiar—the intense lights being here cut sharply off by equally intense shadows, and then grading into dull reds and duller greys. The sun, on the other hand, bathes everything in its genial glow so completely that all nature is permeated with it, and there are no intense contrasts, no absolutely black and striking shadows, except in caverns and holes, to form startling contrasts.

"These safety-valves," said the hermit, referring to the new craters, "have, under God, been the means of saving us from destruction."

"It would seem so," said Nigel, who was too overwhelmed by the sight to say much.

Even as he spoke the scene changed as if by magic, for from the cone of Perboewatan there issued a spout of liquid fire, followed by a roar so tremendous that the awe-struck men shrank within themselves, feeling as though that time had really come when the earth is to melt with fervent heat! The entire lake of glowing lava was shot into the air, and lost in the clouds above, while mingled smoke and steam went bellowing after it, and dust fell so thickly that it seemed as if sufficient to extinguish the raging fires. Whether it did so or not is uncertain. It may have been that the new pall of black vapour only obscured them. At all events, after the outburst the darkness of night fell suddenly on all around.

Just then the wind again changed, and the whole mass of vapour, smoke, and ashes came sweeping like the very besom of destruction towards the giddy ledge on which the observers stood. Nigel was so entranced that it is probable he might have been caught in the horrible tempest and lost had not his cooler companion grasped his arm and dragged him violently into the passage—where they were safe, though half suffocated by the heat and sulphurous vapours that followed them.

At the same time the thunderous roaring became so loud that conversation was impossible. Van der Kemp therefore took his friend's hand and led him down to the cave, where the sounds were so greatly subdued as to seem almost a calm by contrast.

"We are no doubt in great danger," said the hermit, gravely, as he sat down in the outer cave, "but there is no possibility of taking action to-night. Here we are, whether wisely or unwisely, and here we must remain—at least till there is a lull in the eruption. 'God is our refuge.' He ought to be so at all times, but there are occasions when this great, and, I would add, glorious fact is pressed upon our understandings with unusual power. Such a time is this. Come—we will see what His word says to us just now."

To Nigel's surprise, and, he afterwards confessed, to his comfort and satisfaction, the hermit called the negro from his work, and, taking down the large Bible from its shelf, read part of the 46th Psalm, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea."