crushed, as it were, back into
himself. Thus, without having disclosed his belief, he retired to rest
in a very anxious state of mind, while the hermit watched.

"Don't take off your clothes," he said. "If the sounds outside lead me
to think things are quieting down, I will rouse you and we shall start
at once."

It was very early on the morning of the 27th when Van der Kemp roused
our hero.

"Are things quieter?" asked Nigel as he rose.

"Yes, a little, but not much--nevertheless we must venture to leave."

"Is it daylight yet?"

"No. There will be no daylight to-day!" with which prophecy the hermit
left him and went to rouse Moses.

"Massa," said the faithful negro. "Isn't you a goin' to take nuffin' wid
you? None ob de books or t'ings?"

"No--nothing except the old Bible. All the rest I leave behind. The
canoe could not carry much. Besides, we may have little time. Get ready;
quick! and follow me."

Moses required no spur. The three men left the cave together. It was so
intensely dark that the road could not be distinguished, but the hermit
and his man were so familiar with it that they could have followed it
blindfold.

On reaching the cave at the harbour, some light was obtained from the
fitful outbursts of the volcano, which enabled them to launch the canoe
and push off in safety. Then, without saying a word to each other, they
coasted along the shore of the island, and, finally, leaving its dangers
behind, them, made for the island of Java--poor Spinkie sitting in his
accustomed place and looking uncommonly subdued!

Scarcely had they pushed off into Sunda Straits when the volcano burst
out afresh. They had happily seized on the only quiet hour that the day
offered, and had succeeded, by the aid of the sails, in getting several
miles from the island without receiving serious injury, although showers
of stones and masses of rock of all sizes were falling into the sea
around them.

Van der Kemp was so far right in his prophecy that there would be no
daylight that day. By that time there should have been light, as it was
nearly seven o'clock on the memorable morning of the 27th of August. But
now, although the travellers were some miles distant from Krakatoa, the
gloom was so impervious that Nigel, from his place in the centre of the
canoe, could not see the form of poor Spinkie--which sat clinging to the
mast only two feet in front of him--save when a blaze from Perboewatan
or one of the other crate