Read Ebook: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art Fifth Series No. 45 Vol. I November 8 1884 by Various

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THE STORY OF A VAST EXPLOSION.

The greatest physical convulsion of recent times occurred on the morning of the 27th of August last year, the scene of the catastrophe being a small island in the Sunda Straits, which separate Sumatra and Java. It is a region which there is much reason to regard as one of the intensest foci of volcanic activity on the earth's surface. The main facts connected with this event, although slow in coming to hand, are now fairly within the records of science. Krakatoa, the volcanic island which a year or two ago was seven miles long by five broad, is about thirty miles from the Java coast. When surveyed in 1868-69, the island was found to be clothed from base to summit with a luxuriant growth of forest and tropical vegetation, but uninhabited. A few weeks prior to the eruption, the volcano, which had been dormant for two centuries, gave signs of an awakening. On the 20th of May several shocks, accompanied by loud explosions and hollow reverberations, startled the inhabitants of the towns of Batavia and Buitenzorg, about ninety miles distant. These disturbances continued for the next three months with more or less activity. On the 11th and 18th of August the energy of the volcano increased, and there were symptoms of a crisis. On the 26th and the night following, several eruptions took place, until the climax was reached on the following morning. The submarine base of the mountain then seems, according to all available evidence, to have literally 'caved in.' This was apparently accompanied by an influx of the sea into the molten interior, the instantaneous development of superheated steam, and then an explosion which, for its colossal energy, is unparalleled in the annals of volcanic outbreaks.

The shock of the explosion was felt at a distance of four thousand miles, being equal to an area of one-sixth of the earth's surface--that is, at Burmah, Ceylon and the Andaman Islands to the north-west, in some parts of India, at Saigon and Manila to the north, at Dorey in the Geelvink Bay to the east, and throughout Northern Australia to the south-west. Lloyd's agents at Batavia, in Java, stated that on the eve of this vast explosion, the detonations 'grew louder, till in the early morning the reports and concussions were simply deafening, not to say alarming.' So violent were the air-waves, due to this cause, that walls were rent by them at a distance of five hundred miles, and so great the volume of smoke and ashes, that Batavia, eighty miles off, was shrouded in complete darkness for two hours. Nearly four months after the eruption, masses of floating pumice, each several acres in extent, were seen in the Straits of Sunda.

Paradoxical as it appears, the sound was sometimes better heard in distant places than in those nearer the seat of disturbance. This singular effect has been thus explained--assuming, for example, the presence of a thick cloud of ashes between Krakatoa and Anjer, this would act on the sound-waves like a thick soft cushion; along and above such an ash-cloud the sound would be very easily propelled to more remote places, for instance, Batavia; whereas at Anjer, close behind the ash-cloud, no sounds, or only faint ones, would be heard. Other explanations seem to be less probable, though not impossible.

As may well be imagined, the final outburst by its awful energy gave rise to a succession of air-waves. These we now know went round the earth more than once, and recorded themselves on the registering barometers or barograms at the Mauritius, Berlin, Rome, St Petersburg, Valencia, Coimbra , and other far-distant places. At some points, as many as seven such disturbances were noted; other instruments not so sensitive gave evidence of five, by which time the wave had pretty well spent itself.

Having collected the observations made at all the chief meteorological stations, General Strachey recently read a paper before the Royal Society which, in his opinion, conclusively shows that an immense air-wave started from Krakatoa at about thirty minutes past nine A.M. on August 27th. Spreading from this common centre, the wave went three and a-quarter times round the globe, and those parts of it which had travelled in opposite directions passed through one another 'somewhere in the antipodes of Java.' The velocity of the a?rial undulations which travelled from east to west was calculated at six hundred and seventy-four miles per hour, those moving in the reverse direction at seven hundred and six miles per hour, or nearly the velocity of sound.

But another effect of the eruption was a series of 'tidal waves,' so called--although the term is objected to because not strictly scientific--which, like the air-wave, passed round the world. Whether this was synchronous with the final explosion, it is not possible to say. The highest of these seismic sea-waves, which was over one hundred feet high, swept the shores on either side of the Straits, and wrought terrible destruction to life and property. More than thirty-five thousand persons perished through it; the greater part of the district of North Bantam was destroyed, the towns of Anjer, Merak, Tjeringin, and others being overwhelmed.

In this as in most other cases of volcanic disturbance, electrical phenomena were observed. One vessel in particular, while passing through the Sunda Straits, exhibited 'balls of fire' at her masthead and at the extremities of her yardarms. Further, it was noticed at the Oriental Telephone Station, Singapore, a place five hundred miles from Krakatoa, that on raising the receiving instrument to the ears, a perfect roar as of a waterfall was heard; and by shouting at the top of one's voice, the clerk at the other end of the wire was able just to hear something like articulation, but not a single sentence could be understood. On the line to Ishore, which includes a submarine cable about a mile long, reports like pistol-shots were heard. These noises were considered due to a disturbance of the earth's magnetic field, caused by the explosion, and reacting on the wires of the telephone.

There can now be little doubt but that the green and blue suns and exceptional sunsets observed in Europe, India, Africa, North and South America, Japan, and Australia, were due to the Krakatoa eruption. The enormous volume of volcanic dust and steam shot up into the higher atmospheric zones by this convulsion are adequate to furnish the chromatic effects above mentioned.

FOOTNOTES:

The eruption of May was noticed in a previous article .

BY MEAD AND STREAM.

Soon after reading Mr Shield's letter, Madge walked to Ringsford with Pansy. There had been a thaw during the night, and the meadows and the ploughed lands were transformed into sheets of dirty gray, dirty blue, and reddish slush, according to the character of the soil, dotted with patches of snow like the ghosts of islets in a lake of puddle. But the red sun had a frosty veil on his face; by-and-by this puddle would be glazed with ice, and the heavy drops of melting snow which were falling slowly from the trees would become glittering crystal pendants to their branches.

The two girls, their cheeks tingling with the bite of the east wind, tramped bravely through the slush, with no greater sense of inconvenience than was caused by the fact that they would be obliged to perform the journey by the road instead of taking the short-cut through the Forest.

They spoke little, for each was occupied with her own troublous thoughts; Pansy did not know much of the sources of her friend's anxieties, and Madge had already exhausted the consolation she could offer to her companion. On arriving at Ringsford they found Sam Culver attending to his plants and greenhouses as methodically as if the mansion stood as sound as ever it had done and the daily supply of fruit and flowers would be required as usual.

Madge left Pansy with her father, and went on to the cottage. In the kitchen she found Miss Hadleigh fast asleep in the gardener's big armchair. She would have left the room without disturbing her, but at that moment Miss Hadleigh yawned and awakened.

'Don't go away; I am not sleeping.--Oh, it's you, Madge. Isn't this a dreadful state of things? I haven't had a wink of sleep for two nights, and feel as if I should drop on the floor in hysterics or go off into a fever.'

Miss Hadleigh had been relieved by a good many 'winks' during the period specified, although, like many other nurses, she was convinced that she had not closed her eyes all the time. Madge accepted the assertion literally, and was instantly all eagerness to relieve her.

'You must get away to Willowmere at once, and take a proper rest. You are not to refuse, for I will take your place here and do whatever may be required. You are looking so ill, Beatrice, that I am sure Philip and--somebody else would consider me an unfeeling creature if I allowed you to stay any longer.'

'But it is my duty to stay, dear,' said Miss Hadleigh a little faintly, for she did not like to hear that she was looking ill.

'And it is my duty to relieve you. Besides, Dr Joy has given us some hope that it may be safe to remove your father to our house to-day; and then you will be there, refreshed and ready to receive him.'

'I suppose you are right--I am not fit for much at present,' said Miss Hadleigh languidly; 'and you can do everything for him a great deal better than I can. But I must wait till Philip comes--he promised to be here early.'

'You have heard from him, then?'

'Heard from him!--he was here last night as soon as he could get away from that nasty business he has been swindled into by our nice Uncle Shield. He ought to have taken poor papa's advice at the beginning, and have had nothing to do with him.'

This was uttered so spitefully, that it seemed as if there were an undercurrent of satisfaction in the young lady's mind at finding that the rich uncle who would only acknowledge one member of the family, had turned out a deceiver.

Madge was astonished and chagrined by the information that Philip had been out on the previous evening and had made no sign to her; but in the prospect of seeing him soon, she put the chagrin aside, remembering how harassed he was at this juncture in his affairs. There should be no silly lovers' quarrel between them, if she could help it. She would take the plain, commonplace view of the position, and make every allowance for any eccentricity he might display. She would help him in spite of himself, by showing that no alteration of circumstances could alter her love, and that she was ready to wait for him all her life if she could not serve him in any other way. To be sure, he had said the engagement was at an end; and Uncle Dick had not yet said that it was to stand good. But she loved Philip: her life was his, and misfortune ought to draw them nearer to one another than all the glories of success--than all the riches in the world.

When he came, there was no sign of astonishment at her presence in the temporary refuge of his father: he seemed to accept it as a matter of course that she should be there. Neither was there any sign that he remembered the manner in which they had last parted. To her anxious eyes he seemed to have grown suddenly very old. The frank joyous voice was hushed into a low grave whisper; the cheeks and eyes were sunken; and there was in his manner a cold self-possession that chilled her. Yet something in the touch of his hand reassured her: love was still in his heart, although the careless youth, full of bright dreams and fancies, was changed into the man, who, through loss and suffering, had come to realise the stern realities of life.

They were for a time prevented from speaking together in private because the doctors had arrived only a few minutes before Philip, and he waited to hear their report. Dr Joy came out of the invalid's room with an expression which was serious but confident.

Philip went to the stables to tell Toomey to bring the carriage round for his sister. As he was crossing the little green on his way back to the cottage, Madge met him. Although he had not observed her approaching, his head being bowed and eyes fixed on the ground, he took the outstretched hands without any sign of surprise, without any indication that he understood the cruel significance of the 'good-bye' which had caused them both so much pain. Whatever hesitation she might have felt as to the course she was to pursue was removed by his first words.

'You want to speak to me, Madge,' he said in a tone of gentle gravity; and then with a faint smile: 'I am better than when you saw me last, for I am free from suspense. My position is clear to me now, and I feel that a man is more at ease when the final blow falls and strikes him down, than he can be whilst he is struggling vainly for the goal he has not strength enough to reach. It is a great relief to know that we are beaten and to be able to own it. Then there is a possibility of plodding on to the end without much pain.'

She was as much alarmed by this absolute surrender to adversity as she had been by the strange humour which had prompted him to say that she was free.

'Yes, Philip, I want to speak to you,' she said tenderly, and a spasmodic movement of the hand which grasped hers, signified that the electric current of affection was not yet broken. She went on the more earnestly: 'I am not going to think about the foolish things you have said to me: I am going to ask you to give me your confidence--to tell me everything that has happened during the last two days. Tell it to me, if you like, as to your friend.'

'Always my friend,' he muttered, bending forward as if to kiss her brow, and then drawing slowly back, like one who checks himself in the commission of some error.

'Always your friend,' she echoed with emphasis, 'and therefore you should be able to speak freely.'

'There is not much to tell you. The ruin is more complete than even I imagined it to be, and the fault is mine. Your friend--I ought to say our friend--Mr Beecham has made a generous offer for the business, and, with certain modifications, will allow it to be carried on under my management. This relieves us from immediate difficulties; and in a short time Mr Shield expects to have recovered sufficiently from his recent losses to be able to assist me in redeeming all that has been lost.'

'What gladder news could there be than this?' she exclaimed with cheeks aglow and brightening eyes; 'and yet you tell it as if it gave you no pleasure. Philip, Philip! this is not like you--it is not right to be so melancholy when the future is so bright.'

He was going to say, 'before I can ask you to risk your future in mine, and what changes may take place meanwhile!'

The earnest tender eyes were fixed upon him, and they were reading his thoughts, whilst she appeared to be waiting for him to complete the interrupted sentence. She saw the colour slowly rising on his brow, and knew that he was feeling ashamed of the doubt implied in his thought.

'What else could a ruined man say?'

He looked quickly at her, and the eager inquiry on his pale face rendered the words 'What is that?' superfluous.

'O Madge!'

He could say nothing more; the man's soul was in that whisper. Their hands were clasped: they were looking into each other's eyes: the world seemed to sink away from them; and the woman's devotion changed the winter into summer, changed the man's ruin into success.

He drew her arm within his; and they walked past the blackened walls of the Manor, and along the paths where they had spent so many pleasant hours during his recovery from the accident with the horse, to the place where he had thrown off the doctor's control and got out of the wheel-chair.

'I am not so sorry now for what has happened,' were his first words. 'It is worth losing everything to gain so much.'

'But you have not lost everything, Philip.'

'No; I should say that I have won everything. I am glad to have saved Wrentham from penal servitude, for his frauds have enabled me to realise the greatest of all blessings--the knowledge that come what may you can make me happy.'

'And I am happy too,' she said softly, their arms tightening as they walked on again in silence.

By-and-by he lifted his head, and seemed to shake the frost from his hair.

'No, Philip; when you bid me come to you, I am ready.'

CIGARS.

Of the endless varieties of cigars which are met with in various tropical localities, the majority are used for local consumption, and only find their way into England in very small quantities. The bulk of our cigars are either Havana or Manila, European or British, and of these it has been computed that considerably over two hundred million are consumed annually in the United Kingdom. It is evident, therefore, that the manufacture of this luxury is a business of great magnitude, irrespective of the other forms of tobacco used; and if we remember that the duty obtained from tobacco of all kinds puts nearly nine millions per annum into the national exchequer, it becomes possible to realise how much the comfort and happiness of a large number of Her Majesty's subjects depend on the products of the tobacco crop.

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