The wind being contrary, it was several days before the brig reached the immediate neighbourhood of Krakatoa, and by that time the volcano had begun to enter upon the stage which is styled by vulcanologists "paroxysmal," the explosions being extremely violent as well as frequent.
"It is very awful," said Kathleen in a low voice, as she clasped the captain's arm and leaned her slight figure on it. "I have often heard the thunder of distant volcanoes, but never been so near as to hear such terrible sounds."
"Don't be frightened, my ducky," said the captain in a soothing tone, for he felt from the appearance of things that there was indeed some ground for alarm. "Volcanoes always look worse when you're near them."
"I not frightened," she replied. "Only I got strange, solemn feelings. Besides, no danger can come till God allows."
"That's right, lass. Mrs. Holbein has been a true mother if she taught you that."
"No, she did not taught me that. My father taught me that."
"What! Old Holbein?"
"No—my father, who is dead," she said in a low voice.
"Oh! I see. My poor child, I should have understood you. Forgive me."
As the captain spoke, a tremendous outburst on Krakatoa turned their minds to other subjects. They were by that time drawing near to the island, and the thunders of the eruption seemed to shake not only the heavens but even the great ocean itself. Though the hour was not much past noon the darkness soon became so dense that it was difficult to perceive objects a few yards distant, and, as pieces of stone the size of walnuts, or even larger, began to fall on the deck, the captain sent Kathleen below.