Littell's Living Age/Volume 167/Issue 2156/The Krakatoa Eruption - Part V

after mile, amid the most melancholy surroundings of death and destruction, had to be traversed before we reached our first halting-place at Merak. And very weary miles they were. It is most unusual in any part of Java for a European to be seen walking beneath the rays of the fierce tropical sun, but on this occasion there was no help for it. We must either walk or remain behind. Driving was, of course, quite out of the question; riding was equally impracticable, on account of the fallen débris; and even walking was a most difficult and fatiguing task.

Java — within six degrees of the equator — is no place for pedestrian exercise after the sun has risen, and, though thinly clad, we had soon had enough of it. However, we still scrambled on as best we could. At one time we were clambering over the trunks of several fallen palm-trees, torn up by the roots and jammed together in one inextricable mass by the rushing torrent. At another, we found our progress barred by the huge blocks of coral rock, which had to be scaled in spite of their rough surface and meagre foothold. Then, again, we reached some heavy, swampy ground many inches in depth, caused by the dense fall of grey ash having been turned into mud by the wave. Throughout our route lay the overthrown cottages and their scattered contents. Here a broken doorway, there a smashed bedstead; clothing, crockery, and furniture lying on all sides in hopeless confusion. Most of the least injured domestic articles had been already carried away by the natives, and this only served to make the scene of destruction seem more complete.

Such was the spectacle which met our eyes the whole of the distance towards Merak. Now and again a few feet of the old roadway could be traced, but for the most part it had completely disappeared, and the natives walking to and fro in their work of recovering the dead must have formed an entirely new track. At intervals we passed a few solitary Malays working amidst the ruin, but considering the large district we traversed there were comparatively very few about. Without a single exception, the whole of the cocoanut palm-trees had been thrown down. Not one was left standing on the low ground near the coast, and it was not until the higher country was reached, several miles inland, that we found any trees which had escaped. The palm-trees have no depth of root, and consequently they offered but little resistance to the rushing waters. Stronger trees, however, on the rising ground, such as the Java waringin, were not so easily destroyed, and many of these had their trunks snapped off about twenty feet from the ground. The value of the timber and fruit destroyed was immense.

At length the first stage of our weary walk was coming to an end. We were now in sight of all that was left of the flourishing town and district of Merak. A few weeks before it had been the centre of teeming life and activity, and now not a single habitation remained. A solitary tent — pitched on an adjacent hill, with the Dutch tricolored flag floating above — was the only sign of life, and this was the temporary home of one of the few surviving Soenda Straits pilots. This man had fortunately been engaged in piloting a vessel to Batavia at the time of the eruption, and had thus escaped the effects of the volcanic wave on shore. It was in the Merak district that the greatest loss of life had occurred. Thousands upon thousands had here perished, and as many as three thousand bodies had actually been recovered in the neighborhood, in spite of the receding waters which carried all before them. To account for this immense loss of life it must be remembered that the island of Java is one of the most densely populated countries in the world. In calculating the average number of inhabitants to a square mile, there is only one country, I believe, which exceeds it. The following figures, published officially by the Dutch government, will give some idea of the immense population and of its mixed character. Leaving out the Europeans and Chinese, there is in Java, at the present time, a native population of over twenty millions. Next come the Chinese with two hundred and twenty thousand, the Dutch with thirty-seven thousand, the Arabs with ten thousand, and last, as well as least, the English community of not more than one hundred and twenty persons, all told.

There was an additional reason, too, why the Merak district had such a large resident population. In its neighbourhood were some very extensive stone quarries, employing a large number of hands, and these all perished in the midst of their work on that fatal Monday. They were engaged in preparing stone for the Batavia Haven-werken Company, who are constructing new docks at Tandjong Priok, close to the capital, and were swept away without any warning. As we approached the quarries a terrible scene of destruction again awaited us. The strong railway line, used for conveying the stone to the neighboring jetty, was torn up for many hundreds of yards, twisted and bent just like wire. The fish-plates connecting the lengths of rail had held securely, and when the metals had been torn from the sleepers by the rushing water, the latter had been curved and bent in serpentine fashion, and carried a great distance from their original position. One of these lengths of torn-up rail must have measured a quarter of a mile. The railway trucks had fared very badly, having been dashed in all directions, and greatly damaged. Two of the locomotives employed on the quarry line, in spite of their great weight, did not escape so well as one would have imagined. One of them, a six-wheeled tank engine, was washed off the rails and thrown completely over on its side. The other, of similar size and construction, was more damaged, and had actually been carried right out to sea. There it lay, a battered wreck, some fifty yards from the beach, with the waves surrounding and breaking over it. This will give some idea again of the force of the torrent, but it is certainly not more remarkable than the huge blocks of coral rock which we found washed so far inland.

Passing on we came at length to the little hill close to the ocean, on which, as before mentioned, the Dutch pilot had erected his temporary canvas home. Ascending it, we had a good view of the surrounding country. As far as the eye could reach there was the same sad scene of desolation and ruin. There too rolled the peaceful ocean, with its placid waves glittering in the dazzling sunshine. It was very hard to realize, as the waters broke so gently upon the shore beneath, that such a dreadful element of destruction could have risen so recently from their quiet depths. It was on this hill overlooking the sea at Merak that we were able to form a correct idea of the height of the volcanic wave when it first broke upon the Java coast, and this is how we came to our conclusion that the wave must have been at least one hundred and twenty feet high. The ground on which we were standing was more than one hundred feet above the sea level, and on the highest part of it had been erected a large brick house, occupied by the resident engineer connected with the quarries. It was very- strongly built, as European houses in the tropics always are, with good solid foundations, and yet, although more than a hundred feet above the sea, this massive dwelling had been completely razed to the ground by the passing wave. The walls had been washed away as neatly as if they had been sliced off with a knife, and nothing remained standing but the brick and marble floors, which rested on the strong foundation. There were marks on each side of the hill showing how the resistless torrent of water had escaped down the slope, bearing the ruined house and its contents far away.

At the time of our visit a vigorous search was being made by the natives for a large safe containing books and money connected with the quarry works, which, having been carried away with the house, had up to that time remained undiscovered. The search for it was a hopeless task, and possibly it had been carried out to sea by the receding waters.

From the complete destruction of this house on the top of the little hill at Merak, we may safely conclude that when the destroying wave first broke upon the western shores of Java it must have been more than a hundred feet in height. Nothing short of this would account for the immense destruction everywhere visible in the neighborhood. As it proceeded onward bearing away trees and houses en masse in its resistless fury, hurling huge blocks of coral (torn from its ocean bed) right and left, it naturally decreased in height the farther it went, until at length its force was spent, and meeting the rising ground the tide began to turn, and the volcanic wave receded once more to the ocean depths from which it had started.

A brief rest at Merak, and then we had to think of making a start for Anjer. We had hoped to have sailed down, the distance being only ten miles, but the wind was unfortunately against us, and we had to retrace our steps to the place where our ka-kars were waiting. Before leaving Merak we had a splendid view of the Soenda Strait. Turning our backs upon the land in the vain hope of shutting out the scene of horrors we had so lately been witnessing, we looked out to sea and found a beautiful scene before us. Opposite to us lay the coast of Sumatra, with a hot, misty haze rising from its sunny coast. Towering far above the dense green mass of vegetation were the wooded heights of Mount Radjah Bassa, four thousand feet above the sea. Half-way across the strait lay a small island, clad in tropical verdure, rejoicing in the appropriate name of “Athwart the way.” Krakatoa had found this island very much in its way during its outburst, and in a destroying mood had actually split up its little neighbor into four or five still more diminutive pieces. Not content with this, it had carried its work of destruction still farther, Poeloe Temposa and several other smaller islands having totally vanished from the Soenda Strait.

Part of our walk back was saved by obtaining a boat and some natives to row us a mile or two along the coast. This was all very well as long as we kept out to sea, but when we wished to land we found it very risky work to approach again the shore. The coast was lined with coral rock — thrown up by the waves — and many a sharp-pointed block lay just below the surface. We had several narrow escapes of striking upon the latter, and, owing to the great depth of the water, an accident to the boat would have been very serious. The native boatmen, however, landed us in safety at last, and after a long walk we were glad to find ourselves back again at the spot where our conveyances awaited us.

With hands and face scorched and sunburnt, we again proceeded on our way, beneath the fierce rays of the midday sun. We were very tired and thirsty, and there was no water to be had. My companion, one of the Anjer survivors, who still rode with me, soon found a means of quenching our thirst. Stopping the ka-har, for a few cents he induced some of the coolies who were passing to climb a palm-tree at the roadside and throw down the fruit. Only the green cocoanuts were chosen, and when an opening had been cut in the thick outside rind, they were presented to us that we might drink the contents. This proved to be a pleasant beverage of clear water, and although there was a strong flavor of cocoanut about it, it made a cool, refreshing draught. Whilst this novel plan of obtaining a drink was being carried out, one of the Javanese laborers who had been at Merak on the day of its destruction gave me an interesting account of what had happened to him and his companions.

“I was working,” he said, “a long way from the sea — four or five paalen from the coast. A lot of other natives were with me in the paddee field. We were cultivating rice. We had gone to work as usual, in spite of the volcano. We did not think it would hurt us. And all of a sudden there came a great noise. We looked round at once and saw a great black thing, a long way off, coming towards us. It was very high and strong, and we soon saw that it was water. Trees and houses were washed away as it came along. The people near began to cry out and run for their lives. Not far off was some steep, sloping ground. We all ran towards it and tried to climb up out of the way of the water. It was too quick for most of them, and many were drowned almost at my side. I managed to get a long way up, and then the water came very near to me. When I thought I was safe I looked back and saw the wave wash the people down one after the other as they tried to scramble out of its way. There was a general rush to climb up in one particular place. This caused a great block, and many of them got wedged together, and could not move. Then they struggled and fought, screaming and crying out all the time. Those below tried to make those above them move on again by biting their heels. A great struggle took place for a few moments, but all was soon over. One after another they were washed down and carried far away by the rushing waters. You can see the marks on the side of the hill where this fight for life took place” (we had seen it on our way towards Merak, the identical spot having been pointed out to us as we passed). “Some of those who were washed off dragged others down with them. They would not let go their hold, nor could those above them release themselves from this death-grip. Many were high enough up to have altogether escaped if they had not thus been dragged down by their unfortunate companions.”

Soon after noon we were back again at Tjilegon, and at once, with fresh ponies, began our journey to the ruined and deserted town of Anjer. When within five miles of the latter place we came to the post-station of Tji-gadieng. The buildings forming it had been clean swept away, the foundations of the brickwork alone remaining. The road soon after this became broken up, and we had some very rough travelling. Many of the bridges had been carried away, but most of them were repaired with a temporary bamboo covering, and, with many misgivings, we gently made our way across these frail and swaying structures. At length our damaged road got worse and worse, and our driver declined to proceed. A little coaxing and threatening combined induced him to make another start; but at last we were quite satisfied that the road was impassaable, and two miles from Anjer we again had reluctantly to commence our pedestrian exercise beneath a burning tropical sun.

The same scene of ruin and death, such as we had just left behind us at Merak, again presented itself. Fallen trees and fallen houses were all that remained of what was once a well-built and thriving Dutch town. I had seen photographs of what Anjer had been in its original state six weeks before, but only one feature in it was at all recognizable, and that was a strongly built fort, which now lay in a ruined state. It had been too strong to be carried away bodily by the wave, but had nevertheless suffered severely. Only in a few places could the chief streets of the town be traced. The river had been strangely diverted in its course, and now took an entirely different channel, necessitating numbers of temporary bamboo bridges to be thrown over it. My companion, who had lived in the place all his life, was now so much out of his reckoning that he positively could not point out the street where his home had been. When I pressed him to give me some idea of where he had lived, he told me that he thought the river must now be flowing over the site, as he could not understand his whereabouts at all. One solitary tree, a huge waringin, was the only surviving one out of the dense forest which had origin ally surrounded the town. Great masses of coral rock lay about in every direction, just as we had seen them, earlier in the day, near Merak. Being closer to the sea, they were if anything larger than the ones I have previously described. There was not a trace to be seen of the Anjer lighthouse, so complete had been its destruction.

Proceeding onward to the outskirts of the ruined town, we came to the European cemetery — a pretty spot, on slightly elevated ground, overlooking the sea. The destruction here had been very great. Not a single gravestone or monument remained to mark the last resting place of those who had lived and died in Anjer’s happier days. And in some cases, even, the more recent graves had been washed open, and the bodies interred had apparently been carried out to sea by the receding waters.

Very few of the thousands who perished in this neighborhood were recovered. One of the few natives whom we found in the ruined town told us that not more than three hundred had been buried in the whole town and district. It is the more easy to believe, therefore, the accounts of the captains, who reported on arrival at Batavia that their vessels in the Straits of Soenda had passed through hundreds of dead and floating bodies.

As we turned our faces homeward from this awful scene of devastation and death, we caught a glimpse in the distance of the famous Krakatoa. There it lay, quite out at sea, nearly thirty miles distant, a solitary island, with its cone-shaped mountain rising up to a height of twenty-six hundred feet, not only uninhabited itself, but the terrible destroyer of fully fifty thousand souls. After careful inquiry, I do not think the loss of life could have been less than this, and possibly it may have been even more. The extent of coast destroyed or damaged between Karang-Antu on the north and Tji ringin on the west must have been fully twenty-five miles.

Such were the fatal consequences of the Krakatoa outburst of August 27th, 1883. Frequent as earthquakes and eruptions are in Java, it is seldom that so much damage and loss of life occur as on the present occasion, and although the island, from its peculiar formation, can never be quite free from such startling visitations, it is fervently to be hoped that no such terrible consequences will ever again have to be chronicled as those connected with the Krakatoa eruption.