Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata, R. M. Ballantyne [good short books .txt] 📗

coincided as to date with the great eruptions of the 26th and 27th of August. The influence of the sea-waves was observed and noted in the Java sea—which is shallow and where there are innumerable obstructions—as far as 450 miles, but to the west they swept over the deep waters of the Indian Ocean on to Cape Horn, and even, it is said, to the English Channel.

The unusual disturbance of ocean in various places was sufficiently striking. At Galle, in Ceylon, where the usual rise and fall of the tide is 2 feet, the master-attendant reports that on the afternoon of the 27th four remarkable waves were noticed in the port. The last of these was preceded by an unusual recession of the sea to such an extent that small boats at their anchorage were left aground—a thing that had never been seen before. The period of recession was only one-and-a-half minutes; then the water paused, as it were, for a brief space, and, beginning to rise, reached the level of the highest high-water mark in less than two minutes, thus marking a difference of 8 feet 10 inches instead of the ordinary 2 feet.

At one place there was an ebb and flood tide, of unusual extent, within half-an-hour. At another, a belt of land, including a burying-ground, was washed away, so that according to the observer "it appeared as if the dead had sought shelter with the living in a neighbouring cocoa-nut garden!" Elsewhere the tides were seen to advance and recede ten or twelve times—in one case even twenty times—on the 27th.

At Trincomalee the sea receded three times and returned with singular force, at one period leaving part of the shore suddenly bare, with fish struggling in the mud. The utilitarian tendency of mankind was at once made manifest by some fishermen who, seizing the opportunity, dashed into the struggling mass and began to reap the accidental harvest, when—alas for the poor fishermen!—the sea rushed in again and drove them all away.

In the Mauritius, however, the fishers were more fortunate, for when their beach was exposed in a similar manner, they succeeded in capturing a good many fish before the water returned.

Even sharks were disturbed in their sinister and slimy habits of life by this outburst of Krakatoa—and no wonder, when it is recorded that in some places "the sea looked like water boiling heavily in a pot," and that "the boats which were afloat were swinging in all directions." At one place several of these monsters were flung out of their native home into pools, where they were left struggling till their enemy man terminated their career.

Everywhere those great waves produced phenomena which were so striking as to attract the attention of all classes of people, to ensure record in most parts of the world, and to call for the earnest investigation of the scientific men of many lands—and the conclusion to which such men have almost universally come is, that the strange vagaries of the sea all over the earth, the mysterious sounds heard in so many widely distant places, and the wonderful effects in the skies of every quarter of the globe, were all due to the eruption of the Krakatoa volcano in 1883.

With reference to these last—the sky-effects-a few words may not be out of place here.

The superfine "ultra-microscopic" dust, which was blown by the volcano in quantities so enormous to such unusual heights, was, after dropping its heavier particles back to earth, caught by the breezes which always blow in the higher regions from east to west, and carried by them for many months round and round the world. The dust was thickly and not widely spread at first, but as time went on it gradually extended itself on either side, becoming visible to more and more of earth's inhabitants, and at the same time becoming necessarily less dense.

Through this medium the sun's rays had to penetrate. In so far as the dust-particles were opaque they would obscure these rays; where they were transparent or polished they would refract and reflect them. That the material of which those dust-particles was composed was very various has been ascertained, proved, and recorded by the Krakatoa Committee. The attempt to expound this matter would probably overtax the endurance of the average reader, yet it may interest all to know that this dust-cloud travelled westward within the tropics at the rate of about double the speed of an express train—say 120 miles an hour; crossed the Indian Ocean and Africa in three days, the Atlantic in two, America in two, and, in short, put a girdle round the world in thirteen days. Moreover, the cloud of dust was so big that it took two or three days to pass any given point. During its second circumnavigation it was considerably spread and thinned, and the third time still more so, having expanded enough to include Europe and the greater part of North America. It had thinned away altogether and disappeared in the spring of 1884.

Who has not seen—at least read or heard of—the gorgeous skies of the autumn of 1883? Not only in Britain, but in all parts of the world, these same skies were seen, admired, and commented on as marvellous. And so they were. One of the chief peculiarities about them, besides their splendour, was the fact that they consisted chiefly of "afterglows"—that is, an increase of light and splendour after the setting of the sun, when, in an ordinary state of things, the grey shadows of evening would have descended on the world. Greenish-blue suns; pink clouds; bright yellow, orange, and crimson afterglows; gorgeous, magnificent, blood-red skies—the commentators seemed unable to find language adequately to describe them. Listen to a German observer's remarks on the subject:—

"The display of November 29th was the grandest and most manifold. I give a description as exactly; as possible, for its overwhelming magnificence still presents itself to me as if it had been yesterday. When the sun had set about a quarter of an hour, there was not much afterglow, but I had observed a remarkably yellow bow in the south, about 10° above the horizon. In about ten minutes more this arc rose pretty quickly, extended itself all over the east and up to and beyond the zenith. The sailors declared, 'Sir, that is the Northern Lights.' I thought I had never seen Northern Lights in greater splendour. After five minutes more the-light had faded, though not vanished, in the east and south, and the finest purple-red rose up in the south-west; one could imagine one's-self in Fairyland."

All this, and a great deal more, was caused by the dust of Krakatoa!

"But how—how—why?" exclaims an impatient and puzzled reader.

"Ay—there's the rub." Rubbing, by the way, may have had something to do with it. At all events we are safe to say that whatever there was of electricity in the matter resulted from friction.

Here is what the men of science say—as far as we can gather and condense.

The fine dust blown out of Krakatoa was found, under the microscope, to consist of excessively thin, transparent plates or irregular specks of pumice—which inconceivably minute fragments were caused by enormous steam pressure in the interior and the sudden expansion of the masses blown out into the atmosphere. Of this glassy dust, that which was blown into the regions beyond the clouds must have been much finer even than that which was examined. These glass fragments were said by Dr. Flügel to contain either innumerable air-bubbles or minute needle-like crystals, or both. Small though these vesicles were when ejected from the volcano, they would become still smaller by bursting when they suddenly reached a much lower pressure of atmosphere at a great height. Some of them, however, owing to tenacity of material and other causes, might have failed to burst and would remain floating in the upper air as perfect microscopic glass balloons. Thus the dust was a mass of particles of every conceivable shape, and so fine that no watches, boxes, or instruments were tight enough to exclude from their interior even that portion of the dust which was heavy enough to remain on earth!

Now, to the unscientific reader it is useless to say more than that the innumerable and varied positions of these glassy particles, some transparent, others semi-transparent or opaque, reflecting the sun's rays in different directions, with a complex modification of colour and effect resulting from the blueness of the sky, the condition of the atmosphere, and many other causes—all combined to produce the remarkable appearances of light and colour which aroused the admiration and wonder of the world in 1883.

The more one thinks of these things, and the deeper one dives into the mysteries of nature, the more profoundly is one impressed at once with a humbling sense of the limited amount of one's knowledge, and an awe-inspiring appreciation of the illimitable fields suggested by that comprehensive expression: "THE WONDERFUL WORKS OF GOD."

CHAPTER XXX. COMING EVENTS, ETC.—WONDERFUL CHANGES AMONG THE ISLANDS.

Some days after the wreck of the Sunshine, as described in a previous chapter, Captain Roy and his son stood on the coast of Java not far from the ruins of Anjer. A vessel was anchored in the offing, and a little boat lay on the shore.

All sign of elemental strife had passed, though a cloud of smoke hanging over the remains of Krakatoa told that the terrible giant below was not dead but only sleeping—to awake, perchance, after a nap of another 200 years.

"Well, father," said our hero with a modest look, "it may be, as you suggest, that Winnie Van der Kemp does not care for me more than for a fathom of salt water——"

"I did not say salt water, lad, I said bilge—a fathom o' bilge water," interrupted the captain, who, although secretly rejoiced at the fact of his son having fallen over head and ears in love with the pretty little Cocos-Keeling islander, deemed it his duty, nevertheless, as a sternly upright parent, to, make quite sure that the love was mutual as well as deep before giving his consent to anything like courtship.

"It matters not; salt or bilge water makes little difference," returned the son with a smile. "But all I can say is that I care for Winnie so much that her love is to me of as much importance as sunshine to the world—and we have had some experience lately of what the want of that means."

"Nonsense, Nigel," returned the captain severely. "You're workin' yourself into them up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-patterin' regions again—which, by the way, should be pretty well choked wi' Krakatoa dust by this time. Come down out o' that if ye want to hold or'nary intercourse wi' your old father. She's far too young yet, my boy. You must just do as many a young fellow has done before you, attend to your dooties and forget her."

"Forget her!" returned the youth, with that amused, quiet expression which wise men sometimes assume when listening to foolish suggestions. "I could almost as easily forget my mother!"

"A very proper sentiment, Nigel, very—especially the 'almost' part of it."

"Besides," continued the son, "she is not so very young—and that difficulty remedies itself every hour. Moreover, I too am young. I can wait."

"The selfishness of youth is only equalled by its presumption," said the captain. "How d'ee know she will wait?"

"I don't know, father, but I hope she will—I—I—think she will."

"Nigel," said the captain, in a tone and with a look that were meant to imply intense solemnity, "have you ever spoken to her about love?"

"No, father."

"Has she ever spoken to you?"

"No—at least—not with her lips."

"Come, boy, you're humbuggin' your old father. Her tongue couldn't well do it without the lips lendin' a hand."

"Well then—with neither," returned the son. "She spoke with her eyes—not intentionally, of course, for the eyes, unlike the lips, refuse to be under control."

"Hm! I see—reef-point-patterin' poetics again! An' what did she say with her eyes?"

"Really, father, you press me too hard; it is difficult to translate eye-language, but if you'll only let memory have free play and revert to that time, nigh quarter of a century ago, when you first met with a certain real poetess, perhaps—"

"Ah! you dog! you have me there. But how dare you, sir, venture to think of marryin' on nothin'?"

"I don't think of doing so. Am I not a first mate with a handsome salary?"

"No, lad, you're not. You're nothin' better than a seaman out o' work, with your late ship wrecked in a cocoa-nut grove!"

"That's true," returned Nigel with a laugh. "But is not the cargo of the said ship safe in Batavia? Has not its owner a good bank account in England? Won't another ship be wanted, and another first mate, and would the owner dare to pass over his own son, who is such a competent seaman—according to your own showing? Come, father, I turn the tables on you and ask you to aid