Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago

Nigel was sharply awakened from his dream by a sudden splash. Looking up he observed that the small boy was gone. With a bound he stood erect, one foot on the gunwale and hands clasped ready to dive, when a glance revealed the fact that Kathy was smiling broadly!

“Don’t jump!” she said. “He is only after a fish.”

Even while she spoke Nigel saw the brown little fellow shooting about like a galvanised tadpole, with a small harpoon in his hand.

Next moment he appeared on the surface shouting and spluttering, with a splendid fish on the end of his harpoon! Both were hauled into the boat, and very soon after they drew near to land.

In the shallow water Nigel observed some remarkable creatures which resembled hedgehogs, having jaws armed with formidable teeth to enable them to feed, Kathy said, on coral insects. File-fishes also drew his attention particularly. These were magnificently striped and coloured, and apparently very fearless.

“What convenient tails they have to lay hold of,” remarked our hero, as they slowly glided past one; “I believe I could catch it with my hand!”

Stooping swiftly as he spoke, he dipped his arm into the water, and actually did grasp the fish by its tail, but dropped it again instantly—to the shrieking delight of the urchin and Kathy,—for the tail was armed with a series of sharp spines which ran into his hand like lancets.

This was an appropriate conclusion to a day that would have been otherwise too enjoyable. Poor Nigel’s felicity was further diluted when he met his father.

“We’ll have to sleep aboard to-night,” said the captain, “for there’s a fair breeze outside which seems likely to hold, and the mast has been temporarily rigged up, so we’ll have to up anchor, and away by break of day to-morrow.”

Nigel’s heart sank.

“To-morrow! father?”

“Ay, to-morrow. Business first, pleasure afterwards.”

“Well, I suppose you are right, but it seems almost a shame to leave such a heaven upon earth as this in such a hurry. Besides, is it not unkind to such hospitable people to bolt off after you’ve got all that you want out of them?”

“Can’t help that, lad—

 
“Dooty first, an’ fun to follow,
That’s what beats creation hollow.”
 

“Come father, don’t say that you quote that from mother!”

“No more I do, my boy. It’s my own—homemade. I put it together last night when I couldn’t sleep for your snorin’.”

“Don’t tell fibs, father. You know I never snore. But—really—are we to start at daylight?”

“We are, if the wind holds. But you may stay as late as you choose on shore to-night.”

Nigel availed himself of the opportunity to see as much of the place and people as was possible in the limited time. Next morning the good though damaged brig was running in the direction of Sunda Straits before a stiff and steady breeze.

Chapter Five
Captain Roy surprises and gratifies his Son, who surprises a Negro, and suddenly forms an Astonishing Resolve

Arrived in Batavia—the low-lying seaport and capital of the Dutch island of Java—Captain Roy had his brig examined, and found that the damage she had sustained was so serious that several months would probably elapse before she would be again ready for sea.

“Now, Nigel, my lad,” said the old gentleman, on the morning after the examination had been made, “come down below with me; I want to have a confabulation with ’ee.”

“Why, father,” said the youth, when seated at the small cabin table opposite his rugged parent, “you seem to be in an unusually solemn frame of mind this morning. Has anything happened?”

“Nothin’, boy—nothin’. Leastwise nothin’ in particular. You know all about the brig, an’ what a deal o’ repair she’s got to undergo?”

“Of course I do. You know I was present when you talked the matter over with that fellow—what’s-’is-name—that gave you his report.”

“Just so. Well now, Nigel, you don’t suppose, do you, that I’m goin’ to keep you here for some months knockin’ about with nothin’ to do—eatin’ your grub in idleness?”

“Certainly not,” said the youth, regarding the stern countenance of his parent with an amused look. “I have no intention of acting such an ignoble part, and I’m surprised at you askin’ the question, for you know I am not lazy—at least not more so than average active men—and there must be plenty of work for me to do in looking after the cargo, superintending repairs, taking care of the ship and men. I wonder at you, father. You must either have had a shock of dotage, or fallen into a poetical vein. What is a first mate fit for if—”

“Nigel,” said Captain Roy, interrupting, “I’m the owner an’ commander of the Sunshine, besides bein’ the paternal parent of an impertinent son, and I claim to have the right to do as I please—therefore, hold your tongue and listen to me.”

“All right, father,” replied the young man, with a benignant grin; “proceed, but don’t be hard upon me; spare my feelings.”

“Well now, this is how the land lies,” said the old seaman, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands before him. “As Mr Moor and I, with the stooard and men, are quite sufficient to manage the affairs o’ the brig, and as we shall certainly be here for a considerable time to come, I’ve made up my mind to give you a holiday. You’re young, you see, an’ foolish, and your mind needs improvin’. In short, you want a good deal o’ the poetry knocked out o’ you, for it’s not like your mother’s poetry by any means, so you needn’t flatter yourself—not built on the same lines by a long way. Well—where was I?”

“Only got the length of the holiday yet, father.”

“Only, indeed. You ungrateful dog! It’s a considerable length to get, that, isn’t it? Well, I also intend to give you some money, to enable you to move about in this curious archipelago—not much, but enough to keep you from starvation if used with economy, so I recommend you to go into the town, make general inquiries about everything and everywhere, an’ settle in your mind what you’ll do, for I give you a rovin’ commission an’ don’t want to be bothered with you for some time to come.”

“Are you in earnest, father?” asked Nigel, who had become more interested while the captain unfolded his plan.

“Never more in earnest in my life—except, p’raps, when I inquired over twenty years ago whether you was a boy or a girl.”

“Well, now, that is good of you, father. Of course I need not say that I am charmed at the prospect you open up to me. And—and when may I start?”

“At once. Up anchor and away to-night if you choose.”

“But—where?”

“Anywhere—everywhere, Java, Sumatra, Borneo—all Malaysia before you where to choose. Now be off, and think over it, for I’ve got too much to do to waste time on you at present,” said the captain, rising, “and, stay—Nigel.”

“Well?” said the youth, looking back as he was about to leave the cabin.

“Whatever you do, don’t grow poetical about it. You know it is said somewhere, that mischief is found for idle hands to do.”

“All right, father. I’ll keep clear of poetry—leave all that sort o’ nonsense to you. I’ll—

 
“I’ll flee Temptation’s siren voice,
Throw poesy to the crows
And let my soul’s ethereal fire
Gush out in sober prose.”
 

It need scarcely be said that our hero was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus thrown in his way. He went off immediately through the town, armed with the introduction of his father’s well-known name, and made inquiries of all sorts of people as to the nature, the conditions, the facilities, and the prospects of travel in the Malay Archipelago. In this quest he found himself sorely perplexed for the very good reason that “all sorts” of people, having all sorts of ideas and tastes, gave amazingly conflicting accounts of the region and its attractions.

Wearied at last with his researches, he sauntered towards afternoon in the direction of the port, and began in a listless sort of way to watch the movements of a man who was busily engaged with a boat, as if he were making preparations to put to sea.

Now, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary, we hold strongly to the opinion that likings and dislikings among men and women and children are the result of some profound occult cause which has nothing whatever to do with experience. No doubt experience may afterwards come in to modify or intensify the feelings, but it is not the originating cause. If you say it is, how are we to account for love at first sight? Beauty has nothing necessarily to do with it, for men fall in love at first sight with what the world calls plain women—happily! Character is not the cause, for love assails the human breast, oft-times, before the loved object has uttered a word, or perpetrated a smile, or even fulminated a glance to indicate character. So, in like manner, affection may arise between man and man.

It was so on this occasion with Nigel Roy. As he stood abstractedly gazing at the boatman he fell in love with him—at least he took a powerful fancy to him, and this was all the more surprising that the man was a negro,—a woolly-headed, flat-nosed, thick-lipped nigger!

We would not for a moment have it supposed that it is unnatural to love such a man. Quite the reverse. But when such a man is a perfect stranger, has never uttered a word in one’s presence, or vouchsafed so much as a glance, and is gravely, stolidly engaged in the unsavoury work of greasing some of the tackling of a boat, it does seem unaccountable that he should be unwittingly capable of stirring up in another man’s bosom feelings of ardent goodwill, to put it mildly.

After watching him for some time, Nigel, under an almost involuntary impulse, shouted “Hullo!”

“Hullo!” replied the negro, looking up with a somewhat stern frown and a pout of his thick lips, as much as to say—“Who are you?”

Nigel smiled, and made that suggestive motion with his forefinger which signifies “Come here.”

The frown fled and the pout became a smile as the negro approached, wiping his hands on a piece of cotton-waste.

“What you want wi’ me, sar?” he asked.

“Well, upon my word,” said Nigel, somewhat perplexed, “I can’t very well say. I suppose something must have been in my mind, but—anyhow, I felt a desire to have a talk with you; that is, if you can spare the time.”

The first part of this reply induced a slight recurrence of the frown and pout, but at its conclusion the black brow cleared and the mouth expanded to such a gum-and-teeth-exposing extent that Nigel fairly burst into a laugh.

“You’s bery good, sar,” said the man, “an’ I’s hab much pleasure to make your acquaintance.—Der an’t no grease on ’em now.”

The last remark had reference to the enormous black paw which he held out.

Nigel at once grasped it and shook it heartily.

“I’s bery fond ob a talk, sar,” continued the negro, “so as you wants one, heabe ahead.”

Thus encouraged, our hero began by remarking that he seemed to be preparing for a trip.

“Dat’s zackly what I’s a-doin’, sar.”

“A long one?”

“Well, dat depends on what you call short. Goin’ to Sunda Straits, which p’raps you know, sar, is nigh a hundred miles fro’ here.”

“And what may you be going to do there?” asked Nigel.

“Goin’ home to Krakatoa.”

“Why, I thought that was an uninhabited island. I passed close to it on my way here, and saw no sign of inhabitants.”

“Dat’s cause I was absint fro’ home. An’ massa he keeps indoors a good deal.”

“And pray who is massa?” asked Nigel.

“Sar,” said the negro, drawing up his square sturdy frame with a look of dignity; “fair-play is eberyt’ing wid me. You’ve ax me a heap o’ questions. Now’s my turn. Whar you comes fro’?”

“From England,” replied Nigel.

“An’ whar you go to?”

“Well, you’ve posed me now, for I really don’t know where I’m going to. In fact that is the very thing I have been trying to find out all day, so if you’ll help me I’ll be much obliged.”

Here Nigel explained his position and difficulties, and it was quite obvious, judging from the glittering eyes and mobile mouth, that he poured his tale into peculiarly sympathetic ears. When he had finished, the negro stood for a considerable time gazing in meditative silence at the sky.

“Yes,” he said at last, as if communing with himself, “I t’ink—I ain’t quite sure, but I t’ink—I may ventur’.”

“Whatever it is you are thinking about,” remarked Nigel, “you may venture to say anything you like to me.”

The negro, who, although comparatively short of stature, was Herculean in build, looked at the youth with an amused expression.

“You’re bery good, sar, but dat’s not what I’s t’inkin’ ob. I’s t’inkin’ whedder I dar’ ventur’ to introdoce you to my massa. He’s not fond o’ company, an’ it might make ’im angry, but he came by a heaby loss lately an’ p’raps he may cond’send to receibe you. Anyhow you’d be quite safe, for he’s sure to be civil to any friend ob mine.”

“Is he then so fierce?” asked Nigel, becoming interested as well as amused.

“Fierce! no, he’s gentle as a lamb, but he’s awrful when he’s roused—tigers, crokindiles, ’noceroses is nuffin’ to him!”

“Indeed! what’s his name, and what does he do? how does he live?”

The negro shook his head. “Da’s more’n I dar tell till I ax his leave, sar. I kin only say de peepil around calls ’im the hermit ob Rakata, ’cause he libs by his-self (wid me, ob course, but I counts for nuffin’), close under de ole volcano ob Krakatoa. Dey tink—some ob de foolish peepil—dat he hab sold his-self to de dibil, but I knows better. He’s a good man, and you’d hab great fun if you stop wid him. Now, what I’s a-gwine to advise you is, come wid me an’ see de hermit. If he lets you stop, good. If not, I fetch you ober to de main land—whar you please—an’ you kin come back here or go whar you choose. Its wort’ your while to take your chance, anyhow.”

The negro said this with such an earnest look that Nigel made up his mind on the spot to accept this curious invitation.

“I’ll go!” he exclaimed with sudden energy. “When do you start?”

“To-morrer at daybreak, sar.”

“Well, I shall have to talk it over first with my father, but I’m sure he won’t object, so you may look out for me here at daybreak. Shall I have to fetch any provisions with me for the voyage?”

“No, nuffin’. Boat’s crammed wi’ grub. But you’d better bring a gun o’ some sort an’ a ’volver, an’ a big knife, an’ a mortal big appetite, for a man’s no good widout dat.”

“I always carry that about with me,” said the youth, “whatever else I may leave behind; and I’ll see to the other things.—By the way, what’s your name?”

“Moses.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t dat enuff?” returned the negro with a look of dignity.

“Quite; but I have the advantage of you there, Moses, for I have two names—Nigel Roy.”

“Well, I don’t see much use ob two, but which does you like to be called by—Nadgel or Roy?”

“Whichever you please, Moses; I’ll answer to either. So now, good-bye for the present, and look out for me to-morrow at daylight.”

“Good-bye, Massa Nadgel, till to-morrer.”

The negro waved his hand and, sauntering slowly back to his boat, remarked in an undertone, “I lub dat young feller!” Saying which, he resumed his greasing operations.

Of course Captain Roy made no objection to his son’s proposal, though he freely gave his opinion that it was a wild-goose chase.

“However, lad, please yourself and you’ll please me,” he added; “and now, be particular to bear in mind that you’ve got to write to me every time you get within hail of a post-office or a passing ship or steamer that may chance to be comin’ this way, and in each letter be sure to tell me where you’re goin’ to next, so as I may send a letter there to you in case I want you to return sudden or otherwise. We mustn’t lose touch, you see. You needn’t write long screeds. I only want to know your whereabouts from time to time. For the rest—you can spin it out in yarns when you come back.”

Chapter Six
The Hermit of Rakata Introduced

Nothing worthy of particular note occurred during the boat-voyage along the northern shore of Java to Sunda Straits. A fair, steady breeze wafted them westward, and, on the morning of the third day, they came in sight of the comparatively small uninhabited island of Krakatoa.

The boat in which they voyaged, although a little one, had a small portion of the bow decked over, so that our hero and his sable friend could find shelter from the night air when disposed to sleep, and from the fierce rays of the sun at noon.

By the advice of his father, Nigel had changed his sailor costume for the “shore-goin’ toggery” in which he had landed on the Keeling Islands, as being more suitable to his new character as a traveller, namely, a white cloth cap with a peak in front and a curtain behind to protect his neck, a light-grey tunic belted at the waist, and a pair of strong canvas trousers. He had also purchased an old-fashioned double-barrelled fowling-piece, muzzle-loading and with percussion locks.

“For you see, Nigel,” the captain had said, “it’s all very well to use breech-loaders when you’ve got towns and railways and suchlike to supply you wi’ cartridges, but when you’ve got to cruise in out-o’-the-way waters, there’s nothin’ like the old style. It’s not difficult to carry a few thousand percussion-caps an’ a bullet-mould about wi’ you wherever you go. As to powder, why, you’ll come across that ’most everywhere, an’ lead too; and, for the matter o’ that, if your life depended on it you could shove a handful of gravel or a pen-knife or tooth-pick into your gun an’ blaze away, but with a breech-loader, if you run out o’ cartridges, where are you?”

So, as Nigel could not say where he was, the percussion-gun had been purchased.

The peak of Rakata—the highest in the island—a little over 2600 feet, came in sight first; gradually the rest of the island rose out of the horizon, and ere long the rich tropical verdure became distinguishable.

Krakatoa—destined so soon to play a thrilling part in the world’s history; to change the aspect of the heavens everywhere; to attract the wondering gaze of nearly all nations, and to devastate its immediate neighbourhood—is of volcanic origin, and, at the time we write of (1883) was beginning to awaken from a long, deep slumber of two hundred years. Its last explosion occurred in the year 1680. Since that date it had remained quiet. But now the tremendous subterranean forces which had originally called it into being were beginning to reassert their existence and their power. Vulcan was rousing himself again and beginning once more to blow his bellows. So said some of the sailors who were constantly going close past the island and through Sunda Straits, which may be styled the narrows of the world’s highway to the China seas.

Subterranean forces, however, are so constantly at work more or less violently in those regions that people took little notice of these indications in the comparatively small island of Krakatoa, which was between five and six miles long by four broad.

As we have said, it was uninhabited, and lying as it does between Sumatra and Java, about sixteen miles from the former and over twenty miles from the latter, it was occasionally visited by fishermen. The hermit whom Nigel was about to visit might, in some sort, be counted an inhabitant, for he had dwelt there many years, but he lived in a cave which was difficult of access, and held communication with no one. How he spent his time was a mystery, for although his negro servant went to the neighbouring town of Anjer in Java for supplies, and sometimes to Batavia, as we have seen, no piece of inanimate ebony from the forest could have been less communicative than he. Indeed, our hero was the first to unlock the door of his lips, with that key of mysterious sympathy to which reference has already been made. Some of the bolder of the young fishermen of the neighbouring coasts had several times made futile efforts to find out where and how the hermit lived, but the few who got a glimpse of him at a distance brought back such a report that a kind of superstitious fear of him was generated which kept them at a respectful distance.

He was ten feet high, some romancers said, with shoulders four feet broad, a chest like a sugar-hogs-head, and a countenance resembling a compound of orang-utan and tiger.

Of course our hero knew nothing of these rumours, and as Moses declined to give any information regarding his master beyond that already given, he was left to the full play of his imagination.

Moses was quite candid about it. He made no pretence to shroud things in mystery.

“You mus’ know, Massa Nadgel,” he said, as they slowly drew near to the island, “I’s ’fraid ob ’im dough I lub ’im.”

“But why do you love him, Moses?”

“’Cause he sabe my life an’ set me free.”

“Indeed? well, that is good reason. And why do you fear him?”

“Da’s what I don’ know, massa,” replied the negro with a puzzled look.

“Is he harsh, then?”

“No.”

“Passionate?”

“No. Gentle as a lamb.”

“Strong?”

“Yes—oh! mighty strong an’ big.”

“Surely you’re not afraid of his giving you a licking, Moses?”

“Oh no,” returned the negro, with a smile of expansive benignity; “I’s not ’fraid ob dat. I’s bin a slabe once, got used to lickin’s. Don’t care nuffin’ at all for a lickin’!”

“Then it must be that you’re afraid of hurting his feelings, Moses, for I know of no other kind of fear.”

“Pr’aps da’s it!” said the negro with a bright look, “now I wouldn’t wonder if you’s right, Massa Nadgel. It neber come into my head in dat light before. I used to be t’ink, t’inkin’ ob nights—when I’s tired ob countin’ my fingers an’ toes. But I couldn’t make nuffin’ ob it. Now I knows! It’s ’fraid I am ob hurtin’ his feelin’s.”

In the excess of his satisfaction at the solution of this long-standing puzzle, Moses threw back his head, shut his eyes, opened his enormous mouth and chuckled.

By the time he had reversed this process they were sufficiently near to Krakatoa to distinguish all its features clearly, and the negro began to point out to Nigel its various localities. There were three prominent peaks on it, he said, named respectively, Perboewatan, about 400 feet high, at the northern end of the island; Danan, near the centre, 1500 feet; and Rakata, at the southern end, over 2600 feet. It was high up on the sides of the last cone that the residence of the hermit was situated.

“And you won’t tell me your master’s name?” said Nigel.

Moses shook his woolly head. “No, sar, no. I’s ’fraid ob him—he! he! I ’fraid ob hurtin’ his feelin’s!”

“Well, never mind; I’ll find it out from himself soon. By the way, what were you telling me about explosions yesterday when that little white gull came to admire your pretty face, and took off our attention?”

“Well, I dun know. Not got much to tell, only dar’s bin rumblin’ an’ grumblin’s an’ heavin’s lately in de mountains as didn’t use to be, an’ cracks like somet’in’ bustin’ down b’low, an’ massa he shook ’is head two or t’ree times an’ look solemn. He don’t often do dat—shook ’is head, I mean—for he mostly always looks solemn.”

A few minutes later the boat, running through a narrow opening among the rocks into a small circular harbour not more than fifty yards in diameter, rested its keel gently on a little bed of pure yellow sand. The shore there was so densely covered with bushes that the harbour might easily have been passed without being observed.

Jumping ashore, Moses made the painter fast to a tree.

“What a quiet, cosy place!” said Nigel, as he sprung on the beach and looked admiringly round.

“Yes, an’ not easy to find if you don’t knows ’im. We will leabe de boat here,—no danger ob bein’ tooked away—an’ den go up to de cave.”

“Is it far?” asked Nigel.

“A good bit—near de top ob de mountain,” answered the negro, who looked at his companion somewhat uneasily.

“Why, what’s the matter, Moses?”

“Nuffin’—oh! nuffin’—but—but when massa axes you who you is, an’ what you bin up to, an’ whar you’re a-gwine to, an’ what wages you want, jist you answer ’im in a sorter permiscuous way, an’ don’t be too partikler.”

“Wages! man, what d’ye mean?”

“Well, you’ll ’scuse me, sar,” returned the negro with an air of profound humility, “but my massa lost a old sarvint—a nigger like myself—only last munt’, an’ he wants to go on one ob his usual expeditions jus’ now, so he sends me to Batavia to git anoder man—‘a good one, you know,’ says massa,—an’ as you, sar, was good ’nuff to ax me what you should do, an’ you looked a pritty smart man, I—”

“You scoundrel!” cried Nigel, interrupting him, “do you really mean to tell me that you’ve brought me here as a hired servant?”

“Well, not zackly,” returned Moses, with solemn simplicity, “you needn’t ax no wages unless you like.”

“But what if I don’t want to take service?” demanded our hero, with a savage frown.

“You kin go home agin,” answered Moses, humbly.

Nigel could contain himself no longer. As he observed the man’s deprecatory air, and thought of his own position, he burst into a fit of hearty laughter, whereupon the negro recovered himself and smiled the smile of the guiltless.

“Come,” said Nigel at last. “Lead on, you rascal! When I see your master I shall know what to say.”

“All right, Massa Nadgel, but mind what you say, else I won’t answer for de consikences. Foller me an’ look arter your feet, for de road is roughish.”

The negro’s last remark was unquestionably true, for the road—if a mere footpath merits the name—was rugged in the extreme—here winding round the base of steep cliffs, there traversing portions of luxuriant forest, elsewhere skirting the margin of the sea.

Moses walked at such a pace that Nigel, young and active though he was, found it no easy matter to keep up with him. Pride, however, forbade him to show the slightest sign of difficulty, and made him even converse now and then in tones of simulated placidity. At last the path turned abruptly towards the face of a precipice and seemed to terminate in a small shallow cave. Any one following the path out of mere curiosity would have naturally imagined that the cave was the termination of it; and a very poor termination too, seeing that it was a rather uninteresting cave, the whole of the interior of which could be seen at a single glance from its mouth.

But this cave served in reality as a blind. Climbing by one or two projecting points, the negro, closely followed by Nigel, reached a narrow ledge and walked along it a short distance. On coming to the end of the ledge he jumped down into a mass of undergrowth, where the track again became visible—winding among great masses of weatherworn lava. Here the ascent became very steep, and Moses put on what sporting men call a spurt, which took him far ahead of Nigel, despite the best efforts of the latter to keep up. Still our hero scorned to run or call out to his guide to wait, and thereby admit himself beaten. He pushed steadily on, and managed to keep the active Moses in view.

Presently the negro stepped upon a platform of rock high up on the cliffs, where his form could be distinctly seen against the bright sky. There Nigel observed that he was joined by a man whose tall commanding figure seemed in such a position to be of gigantic proportions.

The two stood engaged in earnest conversation while watching Nigel. The latter immediately slackened his pace, in order at once to recover breath and approach with a leisurely aspect.

“The wild man of the island, I suppose,” he thought as he drew near; but on coming still nearer he saw that he must be mistaken, for the stranger who advanced to meet him with gracious ease and self-possession was obviously a gentleman, and dressed, not unlike himself, in a sort of mixed travelling and shooting costume.

“I must apologise, Mr Roy, for the presumption of my man, in bringing you here under something like false pretences,” said the stranger, holding out his hand, which Nigel shook heartily. “Moses, I find, has failed to execute my commission, and has partially deceived you; but as you are now here, the least I can do is to bid you welcome, and offer you the hospitality of my roof.”

There was something so courteous and kindly in the tone and manner of the stranger, and something so winning in his soft gentle tones, which contrasted strangely with his grand towering figure and massive bearded countenance, that Nigel felt drawn to him instantly. Indeed there was a peculiar and mysterious something about him which quite fascinated our hero as he looked up at him, for, bordering on six feet though Nigel was, the stranger stood several inches above him.

“You are very kind,” said the visitor, “and I don’t think that Moses can fairly be charged with deceiving me, although he has been somewhat unwise in his way of going about this business, for I had told him I wanted to see something of these regions, and perhaps it may be to my advantage to travel in your service—that is, if I can be of any use to you; but the time at my disposal may be too limited.”

“How much time have you to spare?” asked the stranger.

“Well, say perhaps three months.”

“That will do,” returned his questioner, looking thoughtfully at the ground. “We will talk of this hereafter.”

“But—excuse me,” said Nigel, “your man spoke of you as a hermit—a sort of—of—forgive me—a wild-man-of-the-island, if I may—”

“No, I didn’t, Massa Nadgel,” said the negro, the edge of whose flat contradiction was taken off by the extreme humility of his look.

“Well,” returned Nigel, with a laugh; “you at least gave me to understand that other people said something of that sort.”

“Da’s right, Massa Nadgel—kite right. You’re k’rect now.”

“People have indeed got some strange ideas about me, I believe,” interposed the hermit, with a grave almost sad expression and tone. “But come, let me introduce you to my hermitage and you shall judge for yourself.”

So saying, this singular being turned and led the way further up the rugged side of the peak of Rakata.

After about five minutes’ walk in silence, the trio reached a spot where there was a clear view over the tree-tops, revealing the blue waters of the strait, with the Java shores and mountains in the distance.

Behind them there yawned, dark and mysterious, a mighty cavern, so black and high that it might well suggest a portal leading to the regions below, where Vulcan is supposed to stir those tremendous fires which have moulded much of the configuration of the world, and which are ever seething—an awful Inferno—under the thin crust of the globe on which we stand.