Short though that voyage was, it embraced a period of action so thrilling that ever afterwards it seemed a large slice of life’s little day to those who went through it.
We have said that the culminating incidents of the drama began on the night of the 26th. Before that time, however, the cloud-pall was fast spreading over land and sea, and the rain of pumice and ashes had begun to descend.
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.