“Who’s Van der Kemp?” asked the captain.

“The hermit of Rakata, father—­that’s his name.  His father was a Dutchman and his mother an English or Irish woman—­I forget which.  He’s a splendid fellow; quite different from what one would expect; no more like a hermit than a hermit-crab, except that he lives in a cave under the Peak of Rakata, at the other end of the island.  But you must come with us and pay him a visit.  He will be delighted to see you.”

“What! steer through a green sea of leaves like that?” said the captain, stretching his arm towards the vast forest that lay stretched out below them, “and on my legs, too, that have been used all their lives to a ship’s deck?  No, my son.  I will content myself with this lucky meetin’.  But, I say, Nigel, lad,” continued the old man, somewhat more seriously, “what if the Peak o’ Ra—­Ra, what’s-’is-name, should take to spoutin’ like this one, an’ you, as you say, livin’ under it?”

“Ha! das ’zackly what I say,” interposed Moses.  “Das what I oftin says to massa, but he nebber answers.  He only smile.  Massa’s not always so purlite as he might be!”

“There is no fear,” said Nigel, “not at present, anyhow, for Van der Kemp says that the force of this eruption is diminishing—­”

“It don’t look much like it,” muttered the captain, as the volcano at that moment gave vent to a burst which seemed like a sarcastic laugh at the hermit’s opinion, and sent the more timid of the excursionists sprawling down the cinder-slope in great alarm.

“There’s reason in what you say, father,” said Nigel, when the diminution of noise rendered speech more easy; “and after all, as we start off on our travels to-morrow, your visit could not have been a long one.”

“Where do you go first?” asked the captain.

“Not sure.  Do you know, Moses?”

“No; no more ’n de man ob de moon.  P’r’aps Borneo.  He go dar sometimes.”

At this point another roar from the volcano, and a shout from the leader of the excursionists to return on board, broke up the conference.

“Well, lad, I’m glad I’ve seen you.  Don’t forget to write your whereabouts.  They say there’s a lot o’ wild places as well as wild men and beasts among them islands, so keep your weather-eye open an’ your powder dry.  Good-bye, Nigel.  Take care of him, Moses, and keep him out o’ mischief if ye can—­which is more than ever I could.  Good-bye, my boy.”

“Good-bye, father.”

They shook hands vigorously.  In another minute the old seaman was sailing down the cinder-cone at the rate of fourteen knots an hour, while his son, setting off under the guidance of Moses towards a different point of the compass, was soon pushing his way through the tangled forest in the direction of the hermit’s cave.

CHAPTER X.

A CURIOUS SEA-GOING CRAFT—­THE UNKNOWN VOYAGE BEGUN.