Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata

by R. M. Ballantyne

"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 back-stays 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!