“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! ‘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 blow, an’ massa he shook ’is head two or free 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 sprang 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.”