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' Rakata, 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 i