The absent look that was so common to the solitary man here overspread his massive features, and Nigel felt 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 craters lighted up island and ocean with a vivid glare.

At this time the sea began to run very high and the wind increased to a gale, so that the sails of the canoe, small though they were, had to be reduced.

“Lower the foresail, Nigel,” shouted the hermit.  “I will close-reef it.  Do you the same to the mainsail.”