Littell's Living Age/Volume 166/Issue 2151/The Krakatoa Eruption - Part II
My former paper described some of the effects of the eruption in the city of Batavia; I shall now try to give some idea of the immense destruction caused on the western shores of the island. Java is divided into twenty-three Dutch residences — similar to our English counties — and it was in one of these, called Bantam, that the chief havoc occurred. It was some little time after the catastrophe before the full extent of the calamity was realized, but each day brought with it more gloomy tidings than the last. At length we began to realize the worst. Some fifteen miles or more of the coast had been inundated by the gigantic wave, which had swept over an extent of country several miles in width. Houses, trees, and people had been literally washed away, and the towns of Karang, Merak, Anjer, and Tji-ringin, with many other smaller native villages, had been completely destroyed. Of these places Anjer was the most important. It was a busy, thriving seaport, where sailing vessels frequently called for instructions, and also for supplies of food and water. On the voyage from England to China it was the first place sighted after rounding the Cape, and it was no uncommon thing for captains to call there to learn what the ultimate destination of their vessels was to be.
The Straits of Soenda, lying between Java and Sumatra, form the great highway to the east, and are generally full of shipping. A large number of vessels passed through on the two days of the eruption. Some of them had very startling experiences and narrow escapes, but fortunately no serious damage either to life or property occurred at sea. This is the more a matter for thankfulness when we consider the peculiar dangers to which the shipping in the neighborhood was exposed. First there was the intense darkness caused by the shower of ashes, then the destruction of the lights on the coast, and, above all, the entire change in the main channel through which the ships had to pass. Several small islands, including a portion of Krakatoa itself, disappeared during the outburst, while others were uplifted from the deep and appeared for the first time above ocean level. The whole coast line of western Java was so changed in appearance that experienced captains could scarce recognize it again. A little island in the centre of the Straits, called by the Dutch Dwars in den weg (Athwart the way), was split into five pieces, with the sea rolling between.
On Monday morning, when the great wave burst upon the shore, the strong stone lighthouse at Anjer was, washed away, and at the time of my visit to the place there was no trace even of the foundations to be seen. The man in charge had kept bravely to his post until the last. In the early morning, when he found the sun obscured and the darkness coming on, he had relighted his warning beacon. One of his duties was to telegraph to Batavia the passing of each vessel. This he did regularly until the end, and his last message on that fatal morning was to tell how an English schooner was then sailing through the Straits on her way to Batavia. Long before that vessel reached her destination the faithful lighthouse keeper had been swept away. All honor to men such as these, who at duty’s call keep true to their trust and die bravely at their posts.
Batavia is a great shipping centre, vessels coming there from all quarters to bear away the Eastern produce. From the captains of some of the British ships I gleaned much interesting information relating to their passage through the Soenda Straits at the time of the eruption.
The captain of an American vessel told me some of his experiences. He had a cargo of kerosene oil on board, which caused him no little anxiety when he found himself in the neighborhood of an active volcano. He found the Straits in total darkness, with strong glare and flames near the summit of Krakatoa, with very heavy reports like the discharge of cannon. He encountered the storm of ashes at its worst, and his decks, masts, and rigging were completely covered. At one time he considered himself in such danger from the failing stones and lava that he sent his men below, battened down his hatches, and alone remained on deck to steer his vessel past her dangerous surroundings.
Another captain whom I met was in an amusing state of concern at not being able to reach his destination. He told me that after thirty-three years at sea he had never been in such a fix before. He had sailed from London with instructions to call at Anjer for further orders, and had reached Java only to find the place in question had been destroyed. He had reluctantly sailed on to Batavia without orders, and hoped he had not done wrong. The idea of telegraphing to his owners had never occurred to him, and he seemed really grateful for the suggestion, and at once acted upon it.
The master of another vessel which came to anchor in the Batavia roadstead early on the Monday morning gave me the following account of how he landed for the first time in Java. “I had never been here before, and everything was quite strange to me. I had been told earthquakes and volcanic eruptions frequently occurred, so that I was not much surprised at hearing the loud shocks and reports during the previous night. We dropped anchor in the roadstead in the morning, and when the Dutch guardship sent a boat off to us, we learnt from the coastguardsmen that they thought there was an eruption somewhere. Soon afterwards I decided to go on shore, and had my boat out for the purpose. We were lying some distance out, so that we had nearly three miles to come up to the wharf. We had not gone very far before the shower of ashes commenced. Then the darkness came on — gradually at first, and then as black as night. I thought I had come to a strange place at last, but one of my men said he had heard it was often like this near Batavia. It soon grew so black that we could not make out how to steer. Then, after a time, we discovered that the lamps in the lighthouse had been lighted, just as if it were night, and all the vessels at anchor put out lights at the masthead. The fall of ashes continued so thickly that I made for the nearest vessel, and went on board to wait till it was over. The captain, who was also a stranger to the place, supposed that there was an outbreak of a volcano in the neighborhood, and when, after a time, it grew lighter, he accompanied me on shore. We had only just landed in Batavia, about noon, and had scarcely gone a hundred yards from the wharf when we heard shouts and cries behind us. Looking around we found the water in the canal leading from the sea breaking over its banks and flooding the streets. We had just time enough to get out of the way, but both of us had a narrow escape. Our boat was washed right up into the street, and the wave, when it broke over the quays, must have been quite three feet in height.”
The Dutch government took every possible precaution to prevent accidents to shipping as soon as jt was known that the Soenda Straits had altered in conformation. Two men-of-war were at once despatched, and took up their stand at either end of the main channel, warning every vessel that passed.
One of the steamers thus warned was the Roma, belonging to the British India Company, having some six hundred emigrants for Queensland on board. The captain told me that he had found the Straits full of lava, pumice, and floating débris, and, saddest of all, many dead bodies. So thick was the floating ash through which he had to steam that the Roma’s pumps soon became choked, and a stoppage had to be made whilst they were cleaned. Fortunately the steamer and her living freight of emigrants came to no harm.
Some idea may be gained of the immense power of the volcanic wave which caused such terrible destruction when we consider its effects on some of the neighboring countries. On the north-west shore of Australia — nearly a thousand miles away — it had not quite spent its fury, and some parts of the flat, sandy coast in the Roebourne district were slightly inundated. In several parts of the island of Ceylon a mysterious receding of the sea took place. From information supplied me from Galle it would seem that early on the Monday afternoon the sea receded as far as the landing-stage on the jetty. Boats and canoes moored along the shore were left high and dry for three minutes, and a great number of prawns and other fish were taken up by the coolies before the water returned.
At Kalutara, at about the same hour, the sea rose fully three feet higher than its usual level, and then receded suddenly at least sixty fathoms from the shore. A sunken vessel there, named the Erin, was laid bare, and the whole wreck was distinctly seen embedded in the sand. The sea continued strangely rising and receding until late in the evening.
The violent concussions and shocks which were heard so distinctly in Batavia were also audible at very great distances. Explosive reports resembling the rattle of distant musketry and then the firing of an occasional heavy gun are stated to have been heard in Selangor and Perak, between six and seven hundred miles away from the scene of the eruption.
As regards the volcanic wave itself I was able to gather some interesting particulars from one of the few survivors, whom I met in Batavia, a few days after the calamity. He was a Dutch pilot, stationed at Anjer, and had had a wonderful escape from a watery grave when the wave burst upon the coast near his home. As his is the narrative of an eyewitness, I think I cannot do better than tell the story in his own words:—
“I have lived in Anjer all my life, and little thought the old town would have been destroyed in the way it has. I am getting on in years, and quite expected to have laid my bones in the little cemetery near the shore, but not even that has escaped, and some of the bodies have actually been washed out of their graves and carried out to sea. The whole town has been swept away, and I have lost everything except my life. The wonder is that I escaped at all. I can never be too thankful for such a miraculous escape as I had.
“The eruption began on the Sunday afternoon. We did not take much notice at first, until the reports grew very loud. Then we noticed that Krakatoa was completely enveloped in smoke. Afterwards came on the thick darkness, so black and intense that I could not see my hand before my eyes. It was about this time that a message came from Batavia inquiring as to the explosive shocks, and the last telegram sent off from us was telling you about the darkness and smoke. Towards night everything became worse. The reports became deafening, the natives cowered down panic-stricken, and a red, fiery glare was visible in the sky above the burning mountain. Although Krakatoa was twenty-five miles away, the concussion and vibration from the constantly repeated shocks was most terrifying. Many of the houses shook so much that we feared every minute would bring them down. There was little sleep for any of us that dreadful night. Before daybreak on Monday, on going out of doors, I found the shower of ashes had commenced, and this gradually increased in force until at length large pieces of pumice-stone kept falling around. About six A.M. I was walking along the beach. There was no sign of the sun, as usual, and the sky had a dull, depressing look. Some of the darkness of the previous day had cleared off, but it was not very light even then. Looking out to sea I noticed a dark, black object through the gloom, travelling towards the shore.
“At first sight it seemed like a low range of hills rising out of the water, but I knew there was nothing of the kind in that part of the Soenda Strait. A second glance — and a very hurried one it was — convinced me that it was a lofty ridge of water many feet high, and worse still, that it would soon break upon the coast near the town. There was no time to give any warning, and so I turned and ran for my life. My running days have long gone by, but you may be sure that I did my best. In a few minutes I heard the water with a loud roar break upon the shore. Everything was engulfed. Another glance around showed the houses being swept away and the trees thrown down on every side. Breathless and exhausted I still pressed on. As I heard the rushing waters behind me, I knew that it was a race for life. Struggling on, a few yards more brought me to some rising ground, and here the torrent of water overtook me. I gave up all for lost, as I saw with dismay how high the wave still was. I was soon taken off my feet and borne inland by the force of the resistless mass. I remember nothing more until a violent blow aroused me. Some hard, firm substance seemed within my reach, and clutching it I found I had gained a place of safety. The waters swept past, and I found myself clinging to a cocoanut palm-tree. Most of the trees near the town were uprooted and thrown down for miles, but this one fortunately had escaped and myself with it.
“The huge wave rolled on, gradually decreasing in height and strength until the mountain slopes at the back of Anjer were reached, and then, its fury spent, the waters gradually receded and flowed back into the sea. The sight of those receding waters haunts me still. As I clung to the palm-tree, wet and exhausted, there floated past the dead bodies of many a friend and neighbor. Only a mere handful of the population escaped. Houses and streets were completely destroyed, and scarcely a trace remains of where the once busy, thriving town originally stood. Unless you go yourself to see the ruin you will never believe how completely the place has been swept away. Dead bodies, fallen trees, wrecked houses, an immense muddy morass and great pools of water, are all that is left of the town where my life has been spent. My home and all my belongings of course perished — even the clothes I am wearing are borrowed — but I am thankful enough to have escaped with my life, and to be none the worse for all that I have passed through.”
Such was the narrative of this old, weatherbeaten pilot, and as I listened to it I determined to go and see the ruined places for myself. A few weeks later an opportunity occurred of doing so, and the incidents of my journey to the devastated Bantam district must be reserved for my next paper.