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 discov ered 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 it was known that the Soenda Straits had altered in conforma

tion. 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 im mense 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 palmtree. 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

From The Spectator.

AN OLD LONDON GARDENER.

I.

THE frequenters of the Holborn restaurant are not, perhaps, aware that they are recruiting their jaded energies near the site of some of the famous old London gardens. Yet so it is. Ely Place commemorates the palace of the Bishops of Ely; and we know that it was from the garden of his Grace that the much desired strawberries were brought in hot haste to the Tower on that summer morning of 1483, when, about "nine of the clock," the Duke of Gloucester sat talking with Morton and Hastings, the latter all unconscious of his impending doom. The incident, as related by Sir Thomas More, in his "History of the pitiful Life and unfortunate Death of King Edward V.," became immortal through its introduction into the well-known scene in Shakespeare's "Richard III."

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Some ninety years later, John Gerard, taking a fancy to the quiet neighborhood beyond the city walls, had laid out his physic-garden" near the banks of the little brook, which, wandering down its hollow way to join the larger stream of the Fleet, had in Elizabeth's time given the name of Holborn to that locality. The Cheshire doctor had already become a man of note. In 1597 he tells us that he had for twenty years superintended the stately gardens of his patron, Sir William Cecil. The lord high treasurer, like so many other noblemen, had his town house in the Strand, its memory being preserved (as we learn from Isaac Taylor) by Burleigh Street, Exeter Hall, and Exeter Street. The supervision of Lord Burghley's spa cious pleasaunce, and the management of his own professional garden, must have furnished abundant occupation to the worthy doctor, and we are therefore filled with astonishment in contemplating the great work of his life. That ponderous quarto, with its thirteen hundred and ninety-two pages and more than two thousand illustrations, entitled, "The Historie of Plants: in Three Books," was published in 1597, and dedicated to Gerard's "singular good lord and master, Sir William Cecil, Knight." The work was only just completed in time, for Burghley died

we marvel at the patient labor involved. The book, though styled a "Herbal," is a comprehensive history of plants, and, beyond its professional value, possesses great interest of another kind. Scattered throughout its pages are allusions to people and places curiously illustrative of the times. We propose to call attention, first, to the notices of localities in and around London where wild flowers were found in that day, such notices throwing light upon the size of the city and the rural aspect of the suburban places; and, secondly, to the accounts of flowers introduced into English gardens three hundred years ago.

We will begin with the wall penny. wort, not now a common plant. Gerard, however, had not far to seek it. "It groweth," he says, "upon Westminster Abbay, over the doore that leadeth from Chaucer his tombe to the olde palace." The Whitlow grass "groweth plentifully vpon the bricke wall in Chauncerie lane, belonging to the Earle of Southampton." Think also of what these few words convey. Writing of the wild clary, Gerard says: "It groweth wild in diuers barren places, especially in the fields of Holburne, neere vnto Graies Inne." Here is another pleasant glimpse. Herb twopence, the yellow moneywort, was to be found "vpon the bancke of the riuer of Thames, right against the Queenes palace of Whitehall." Of a certain crowfoot, the doctor says: "It chanced that walking in the fielde next vnto the Theater by London, in company of a worshipful marchant, named master Nicholas Lete, I founde one of this kinde there." Could this theatre be other than the Globe built in 1594? What suggestions reach us through the following allusions to Gerard's suburban rambles! He is discoursing of hedge hyssop: "I founde it growing vpon the bog or marrish ground at the further end of Hampsteede heath, and vpon the same heath towards London, neere vnto the head of the springs that were digged for water to be conveied to London, 1590, attempted by that carefull citizen, Sir John Hart Knight, Lord Maior of Lon don: at which time myselfe was in his Lordship's company, and viewing for my pleasure the same goodly springs, I found the said plant." Those plants which, according to our author, joy "in watrie ditches," must have been easily studied without a long journey. The frogbit he found "in all the ditches about Saint

George his fieldes, and in the ditches by the Thames side neere to Lambeth marsh." The gloomy haunt of the white saxifrage might be passed over were it not for the interest it possesses for students of Chaucer. In Gerard's time it grew "in a fielde on the left hand of the highway as you go from the place of execution, called St. Thomas Waterings vnto Dedford by London." Did not Sir Thomas Waterings commemorate one of the stations used by the Canterbury Pilgrims?

We now come to the second point, the notices of flowers introduced into English gardens in Gerard's time, and as we read those words which so continually conclude the paragraph headed "The Place," "this plant grows also in my garden," we wonder what must the dimensions of his her. barium have been! Here is the history of our queenly white lily. It is "called Lilium album Bizantinum, in English the white lillie of Constantinople; of the Turkes themselves, Sultan Zambach, with this addition, that it might be the better knowen which kinde of lillie they ment, when they sent rootes of them vnto these countries." The variety of lilies then known surprises us; many came to Gerard through his "louing friend, master James Garret, apothecarie in London." To the Turks, also, we owe the crown imperial, and that gorgeous denizen of our gardens, the red lily. "This plant groweth wilde in the fieldes and mountaines many daies iournies beyonde Constantinople. From thence it was sent, among many other bulbs of rare and daintie flowers, by Master Habran, ambassador there, vnto my honorable good lord and master, the Lord Treasurer of England, who bestowed it vpon me for my garden." The day lily, the red gladiolus, or corn-flag, the fritillary (called also by Gerard "the ginnie-hen flower"), were all known to him, while the varieties of daffodils, squills, hyacinths, and anemones are wonderful to read of. "The double white daffodill" was sent to Lord Burghley from Constantinople; other bulbous plants came from the "lowe Countries, as also from France." The "rush-daffodill" (rush. leaved jonquil?) grew "wilde in the waterie places of Spaine." From three kinds of tulips we learn that "all other kinds do proceed," tulips being then the peculiar study of Master James Garret, who had, by careful sowing of seed, procured an infinite variety.

Nor had the tables of our Elizabethan ancestors any lack of fruits and vegetables.

Several kinds of peaches are enumerated in "The Historie of Plants," as well as apricots, green figs, mulberries, quinces, many varieties of apples (amongst them the "pearemaine "), cherries, pears, medlars, etc. Among vegetables we naturally search eagerly for the mention of the potato. Gerard describes two species. The first, he says, grows in India, Barbary, and Spain, of which "I planted diuers rootes (that I bought at the exchange in London) in my garden, where they flourished vntill winter, at which time they perished and rotted." "The nutriment," he tells us, "is, as it were, a meane betweene flesh and fruit." The other kind (Battata Virginiana) has a still greater interest for us, though we look in vain for its association with Sir Walter Raleigh. Girard received his roots from "Virginia, otherwise called Norembega," and they grew and prospered in his garden. Both kinds of potato are either "rosted in the embers, or boiled and eaten with oile, vinegar, and pepper," and they may serue as a ground or foundation, whereon the cunning confectioner or sugar-baker may work and frame many comfortable delicate conserues." Though ignoring the connection between the great colonist and the potato, Gerard does not fail to give him due honor. Witness this quaint and suggestive passage in another place in which he describes the Indian swallowwort: "It groweth, as before rehearsed, in the countries of Norembega, and now called Virginia by the H. Sir Walter Raleigh, who hath bestowed great summes of monie in the discouerie thereof, where are dwelling at this present Englishmen, if neither vntimely death by murdering, or pestilence, corrupt aire, or some other mortall sicknes hath not destroied them.”

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con.

We close the ancient quarto, and the vision that has been with us fades away. The gallant courtiers in ruff and doublet, the stately dames in brocade and farthingale, grow dim. We listen no longer to the talk in those pleached alleys of the books which this year of grace, 1597, has given to the world-illustrious temporaries of "The Historie of Plants" - that volume of essays from the hand of Francis Bacon, that mournful tragedy of "Romeo and Juliet," the work of the Warwickshire play-actor. The subtle fragrance of Provence roses, of eglantine, clove gilliflowers, sweet basil, and marjoram, forsakes us, and on the summer air from across the river dies away the evening chime from the bells of St. Mary of the Ferry.