Krakatoa Lighthouse
Puffin Books
krakatoa
lighthouse
Suddenly there was a trench across the beach, about ten metres away from the fishermen, where before there had been nothing but flat sand. The fishermen moved quickly away as the trench heaved grey ash across the sand. They sprinted when it hurled black rocks at them.
Kerta didn’t want to go to Krakatoa.
He knows that a dark spirit, Orang Aljeh, is there and he is terrified that he might wake it. But Kerta is there on the volcano, and the Ghost of Krakatoa has woken up.
Also by Allan Baillie
Adrift
Little Brother
Riverman
Eagle Island
Megan’s Star
Mates
Hero
The China Coin
Little Monster
The Bad Guys
Magician
The Dream Catcher
Songman
Secrets of Walden Rising
The Last Shot
Wreck!
Saving Abbie
Treasure Hunters
The Excuse
Foggy
Imp
A Taste of Cockroach
Cat’s Mountain
Picture Books
Drac and the Gremlin
The Boss
Rebel!
Old Magic
DragonQuest
Star Navigator
Archie the Good Bad Wolf
Castles
Non-fiction
Legends
Heroes
krakatoa
lighthouse
Allan Baillie
Puffin Books
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (Australia)
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(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2009
Text copyright © Allan Baillie 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Maps illustrated by Andrew Joyner
puffin.com.au
ISBN: 978-1-74-228512-2
contents
goliath
the deal
the fourth point
kampong
anjer
sunda strait
the crab
the peak
the fishermen
the telegrapher
ghosts
the runner
old battle
berouw
the story
loudon
perboewatan
hasan
dewi
the offer
messenger
the party
the bang
perfect sunday
darkness
end of the world
cable
night
explosions
sea wave
survivors
the lighthouse
the light
epilogue
goliath
Saturday, May 19, 1883
PA heard the sound first.
He had been ladling a wad of steaming rice onto his plate when he stopped and turned from the patterned mat. Kerta saw his father looking at the Dutch flag on the pole outside Jacob’s bungalow.
Ma said when Pa was a fisherman the other fishermen believed that he could hear fish fins moving in the sea a kilometre away. Now he had heard something, and he was looking at the tricolour flag to measure air movement. The faded red top section of the flag was lifting, but the white middle was hardly stirring and the blue bottom was just clinging to the pole. The air was almost dead.
From the veranda of their hut Pa glanced at the open door of the white lighthouse and at the large corrugated water tank next to it, which Kerta’s little sister, Dewi, called ‘the baby lighthouse’. After a brief nod Pa looked towards the huts clustered around the lighthouse, but there was nothing happening. This was expected.
Apart from Pa, Ma, Dewi and Kerta the kampong, the tiny village, was deserted. Jacob had gone to the town – Anjer – with his twin boys, Dirck and Adam.
Jacob Schuit was Master Lighthouse Keeper of Fourth Point, but at the kampong everyone just called him Jacob. That was how he wanted it.
The other three keepers were not around: the Brothers were fishing and Carver was with Jacob’s amah, Rara, in their kampong, so Jacob had left the lighthouse to Pa.
Pa liked that.
‘Did you hear something?’ Ma tilted her head.
Pa lifted two fingers, as if he was trying to pluck something from the air.
Kerta listened to the low waves outside the veranda, over the tinkling of Dewi’s bamboo wind-chimes. ‘There are some men over there …’ he said quietly.
Dewi, shorter than a goat, sniffed and wrinkled her nose. ‘There’s a bad smell.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ Kerta waved down his little sister.
‘I do too!’
Pa nodded. ‘There’s soot in the air.’
‘See!’ Dewi pouted at Kerta.
‘Where are the men, Kerta?’ Pa said.
Kerta stabbed a finger at the beach. ‘They seemed to be laughing.’
Pa looked at the men and a boy dancing on the sand, throwing up their arms and clapping at something in the water. The boy was capering around the men and shouting, but his words were lost in the waves. Pa tried to see what they were seeing but the water tank blocked his view. He put his fork and spoon on his clay plate and stepped down from the veranda and walked towards the tank. Then he trotted, ran and jerked to a stop.
Kerta began to hear faint, panicked calls from the sea.
Pa swung around. ‘Kerta, get a knife!’ Then he sprinted to the open door of the lighthouse.
Kerta barged into the hut and Ma’s kitchen. Unlike the lighthouse or Jacob’s bungalow, there were no windows in their hut, but there was enough sunlight filtering through the palm-mat walls to make it light inside. There were also walls in the hut where Pa and Ma slept, but Kerta and Dewi didn’t have an outer wall where they slept.
In the kitchen, a large urn full of water and a large bowl sat on a broad piece of wood. Near this were tins, plates and several knives. Kerta hesitated. Which knife? The fish-gutting knife, oyster-opener, long knife, chopping …?
&nbs
p; He didn’t know what Pa wanted the knife for.
Ma slid into the hut. From a cracked leather sheath hanging on the inner wall she took a long, wavy blade and thrust it into his hands. ‘That will do.’
Kerta stared at the knife, its steel blade rippling. It was longer than a machete, with a slight hook on its dark hilt. He had not touched it before, except for the rare furtive nudge. ‘Um …’
‘Come on, hurry.’
Kerta ducked his head, gripped the old wooden hilt and ran from the hut, flashing the blade as he moved.
It’s not my fault, he thought. I know this is a special thing, Pa. I know you took this kris from a Sulu pirate in a fight, but Ma took over. What could I do?
Maybe Pa was fighting pirates now. Kerta had never seen a pirate …
Kerta reached the water tank and saw Pa leaping from rock to rock with coils of rope on his shoulder. There was a small boat in the breaking waves, very close to the rocks.
No boat should be there – especially not that one!
Kerta hefted the kris higher and skipped down the sand to the rocks.
The waves were gentle today, but there was always a current there. Fishermen never sailed close to the lighthouse’s rocks and this boat didn’t even have a sail. Kerta recognised it as one of the two steam-launches in Anjer. The other one was kept on its private wharf at the Assistant Resident’s huge house, but this one was owned by Lloyd’s Agent Schuit, the richest man in Anjer. He called it Goliath and had it polished every Monday by his boy, Bas. Before Bas got the job, he and Kerta had hung around together like green coconuts.
Schuit wasn’t on the boat this time. Instead it was a new arrival in Anjer, Tuan Joost, a Dutch merchant who owned the town’s depot. Wearing a white cap, he was shouting from the bow at Pa. Another man, a fair-haired boy and Bas were poking at the stern with boathooks. The boy was Joost’s son, but Kerta didn’t know who the man was.
Pa reached the edge of the rocks, spread his feet and pitched one end of his rope at Joost, who fumbled but finally caught it, pulled it down and tied it to the wooden bollard at his feet. Pa scuttled across the rocks towards the soft sand of the beach, holding his end of the rope up high.
The men on the beach were growling at Pa in what seemed to be disappointment. The skinny boy with them threw a couple of pebbles in Pa’s direction, but he was too far away and the pebbles fell short. The boy didn’t come any closer but he looked angry. Kerta had never seen him before.
Still holding the rope, Pa splashed into the water and waded away from the rocks, towards the yellow water where the river met the sea.
Kerta stood on a sea-lapped rock, looked at Goliath ten metres away and felt the weight of Pa’s kris. He thought, Pa can’t use this out where he is. He wants me to use it.
Scratching his cheek with the blade, Kerta studied the rocking steamboat and noticed the stern dragging. The fair-headed Joost boy was staring at him, as if waiting for him to act.
Kerta pulled his shirt off, tossed it on a dry rock and jumped into the water.
Pa now had the rope across his back and was heaving against the dead weight of the boat’s bow. The bow was beginning to turn from the rocks, but the boat was side-on to the waves. Pa was almost motionless in the water and the stern was slowly drifting.
Despite the name, Goliath was only 23-feet long, not even the size of an ocean-fishing boat. But it gleamed, from the bow’s bollard to stern’s flag. The seats, the small wheel and the boiler were protected by a high white canopy through which the boiler’s shiny brass funnel thrust, and whispered black smoke into the breeze. All the woodwork glistened. Polished brass covered the rim of the hull and the name Goliath stood out in shiny bronze letters from the bow. Lloyd’s Agent Schuit’s boat was prouder than the Assistant Resident’s launch. He would be shattered if he lost it today.
Joost was at the bow, clambering quickly under the canopy and grabbing the useless wheel as the two men and the boy battled on at the stern.
Kerta thought, There is something jamming the propeller. Pa knew that from the moment he saw Goliath. That was why he wanted the knife.
Kerta took the kris in his teeth and swam towards the boat. Pa turned his head to the crowd on the beach and began calling at them, but Kerta couldn’t hear his words through the shouting on the boat. On the beach nobody was moving towards the launch, but Ma hitched her sarong and started to wade towards Pa.
Then on the stern of Goliath a man with glinting glasses pointed at Kerta.
Kerta thought, they’re Dutch, they probably think I’m a pirate and going to eat them.
But the man with the glasses clapped his hands. ‘Good, good! That’s what we need!’ He was speaking in English instead of Dutch but there was a funny burr in his accent. He pulled his boathook from the water and waved his arm around the stern.
Kerta thought, Where else would I go?
He swam alongside the boat through the chopping and splashing water. He saw the Joost boy leaning over the stern and slashing at the water with a machete while Bas jabbed with his boathook. Kerta took the kris from his mouth and slapped it on the water.
Hey, I can’t go down there with you doing that.
Bas looked at Kerta and his eyes shifted. ‘Kerta.’
‘Bas.’ Kerta nodded at him.
Bas glanced at the boathook in his hands. ‘I can’t get in the water …’
‘I know. Don’t worry, we’ll fix it.’ Kerta jack-knifed down.
The steamboat propeller was caught like a crab, hopelessly tangled and quivering inside a long black net. Kerta swung the kris at the net, but the force of the movement was lost in the water. When the blade hit the rope Kerta’s body drifted away from the propeller.
He clicked his teeth in annoyance, grabbed the net and sawed at a knot near the propeller. That worked. He could feel the serrated edges of the kris slicing into the fibre and then the rope separated. But there were many ropes tangled around the shaft and blades of the propeller. He quickly attacked a rope around one of the blades, but he was running out of air. He tried to finish the cut, but the ache in his lungs was too urgent and he kicked to the surface.
Kerta heaved in a long breath then realised that Tuan Joost was leaning from the stern and saying something to him. He shook his head to clear the water from his ears.
Joost pushed his bright red face closer to Kerta. ‘I said, what does it look like down there, boy?’
Kerta looked at him. He had seen Joost often in Anjer and knew who he was, but of course Joost wouldn’t know Kerta from a bunch of monkeys. ‘There’s a lot of fishing net tangled up.’
The Joost boy was looking at him in an odd way.
‘Those lazy Anjer fishermen ought to be hanged,’ Joost growled. ‘How long will you be?’
Kerta saw that the launch was jolting slightly because its bow was crunching into the sand. Pa and Ma had been joined in the water by some Javanese men and the bow was now clear of the rocks, but Goliath was running out of space.
‘I don’t know.’ Kerta shrugged. ‘It’s a lot of rope.’
Joost turned to Bas.
Bas shrivelled. ‘I can’t …’
‘I can do it!’ The fair boy ripped off his shirt, grabbed a machete and dived into the water.
‘Jan!’ Joost clutched at the air after him.
‘The propeller is trying to turn but the rope stops it,’ Kerta said, looking at the boy’s splash.
Joost blinked at Kerta as if he couldn’t understand him. But then his eyes shifted to his son’s ripples. ‘God.’ He bolted to the engine under the brass funnel. He jerked the gear lever and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Kerta dived and joined the fair-headed boy – Jan? – at the tangled net with some surprise. The boy was Dutch and Kerta didn’t know any of the Dutch could swim, but he was hacking at the ropes like a Javanese fisherman. As he tapped Jan’s shoulder, Kerta noted that the propeller was now motionless. When Jan stopped waving the machete around Kerta showed him how he had l
earned to cut the ropes. Jan nodded and went to the other side of the propeller to saw at another rope. Kerta was grinning as he attacked the rope he had left.
That was the first time any Dutch boy had followed him.
Soon Jan left for some air, but not before cutting through a rope. Kerta went through two and then yanked one from the propeller before going up.
When Kerta broke water Joost shouted, ‘How much longer?’
Kerta gulped air and saw the stern rocking steadily towards the rocks. The man with glasses and Bas were using boathooks to push Goliath away from the rocks, but the waves were winning.
‘Soon, soon,’ he gasped, and dived.
Now the short seaweed was stroking the bottom of the rudder. Kerta immediately attacked a rope, but he was certain that it was too late. Those rocks on Jan’s side were about to touch the hull and they would bang against the boat’s planks until the water poured through …
Then Jan cut through a knot and Kerta felt his rope give way. He frowned at it, and pulled with both hands. The net came away from the propeller shaft; the blades turned and began to unravel the ropes. Jan saw what was happening, dropped his machete and seized the rope behind Kerta. They put their feet on the hull, heaved and the net rippled away from Goliath. They kicked to the surface.
‘We got it, we got it!’ Jan yelled in Dutch, and held up a handful of the net.
Joost nodded and waved him away. ‘Move, Jan!’ He hurried to the engine and pulled a lever. The water around the stern boiled.
Jan clapped his hands. ‘Yes, yes!’
Kerta grabbed his shoulder. ‘We have to go.’ He pulled the net away from the boat.
The stern slowly swung away from the rocks. Joost shouted at Bas but he was already scuttling to the bow to throw Pa’s rope off the bollard. For a brief moment the propeller churned the water, the bow rocked and then Goliath slid from the sand. The man in glasses shouted thanks at Pa and the others in the water.
Joost pointed his finger at Jan as he turned the wheel, but he seemed uncertain. The man in glasses moved to the side of the launch to pull Jan out of the water. Jan smiled at Kerta and began the swim to them, but Joost was watching the net coiling with the waves.
‘No, no.’ Joost waved his son away. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
Jan stopped swimming.
‘You stay there, at Fourth Point.’ Joost pointed at the lighthouse. ‘I’ll pick you up from there soon.’