The Seed of McCoy
The Pyrenees, her iron sides pressed low in the water by her cargo of wheat,rolled sluggishly, and made it easy for the man who was climbing aboard fromout a tiny outrigger canoe. As his eyes came level with the rail, so that hecould see inboard, it seemed to him that he saw a dim, almost indiscerniblehaze. It was more like an illusion, like a blurring film that had spreadabruptly over his eyes. He felt an inclination to brush it away, and the sameinstant he thought that he was growing old and that it was time to send to SanFrancisco for a pair of spectacles.As he came over the rail he cast a glance aloft at the tall masts, and, next,at the pumps. They were not working. There seemed nothing the matter with thebig ship, and he wondered why she had hoisted the signal of distress. Hethought of his happy islanders, and hoped it was not disease. Perhaps the shipwas short of water or provisions. He shook hands with the captain whose gauntface and care-worn eyes made no secret of the trouble, whatever it was. At thesame moment the newcomer was aware of a faint, indefinable smell. It seemedlike that of burnt bread, but different.He glanced curiously about him. Twenty feet away a weary-faced sailor wascalking the deck. As his eyes lingered on the man, he saw suddenly arise fromunder his hands a faint spiral of haze that curled and twisted and was gone.By now he had reached the deck. His bare feet were pervaded by a dull warmththat quickly penetrated the thick calluses. He knew now the nature of theship's distress. His eyes roved swiftly forward, where the full crew ofweary-faced sailors regarded him eagerly. The glance from his liquid browneyes swept over them like a benediction, soothing them, rapping them about asin the mantle of a great peace. "How long has she been afire, Captain?" heasked in a voice so gentle and unperturbed that it was as the cooing of adove.At first the captain felt the peace and content of it stealing in upon him;then the consciousness of all that he had gone through and was going throughsmote him, and he was resentful. By what right did this ragged beachcomber, indungaree trousers and a cotton shirt, suggest such a thing as peace andcontent to him and his overwrought, exhausted soul? The captain did not reasonthis; it was the unconscious process of emotion that caused his resentment."Fifteen days," he answered shortly. "Who are you?""My name is McCoy," came the answer in tones that breathed tenderness andcompassion."I mean, are you the pilot?"McCoy passed the benediction of his gaze over the tall, heavy-shouldered manwith the haggard, unshaven face who had joined the captain."I am as much a pilot as anybody," was McCoy's answer. "We are all pilotshere, Captain, and I know every inch of these waters."But the captain was impatient."What I want is some of the authorities. I want to talk with them, and blamequick.""Then I'll do just as well."Again that insidious suggestion of peace, and his ship a raging furnacebeneath his feet! The captain's eyebrows lifted impatiently and nervously, andhis fist clenched as if he were about to strike a blow with it."Who in hell are you?" he demanded."I am the chief magistrate," was the reply in a voice that was still thesoftest and gentlest imaginable.The tall, heavy-shouldered man broke out in a harsh laugh that was partlyamusement, but mostly hysterical. Both he and the captain regarded McCoy withincredulity and amazement. That this barefooted beachcomber should possesssuch high-sounding dignity was inconceivable. His cotton shirt, unbuttoned,exposed a grizzled chest and the fact that there was no undershirt beneath.A worn straw hat failed to hide the ragged gray hair. Halfway down his chestdescended an untrimmed patriarchal beard. In any slop shop, two shillingswould have outfitted him complete as he stood before them."Any relation to the McCoy of the Bounty?" the captain asked."He was my great-grandfather.""Oh," the captain said, then bethought himself. 'my name is Davenport, andthis is my first mate, Mr. Konig."They shook hands."And now to business." The captain spoke quickly, the urgency of a great hastepressing his speech. "We've been on fire for over two weeks. She's ready tobreak all hell loose any moment. That's why I held for Pitcairn. I want tobeach her, or scuttle her, and save the hull.""Then you made a mistake, Captain, said McCoy. "You should have slacked awayfor Mangareva. There's a beautiful beach there, in a lagoon where the water islike a mill pond.""But we're here, ain't we?" the first mate demanded. "That's the point. We'rehere, and we've got to do something."McCoy shook his head kindly."You can do nothing here. There is no beach. There isn't even anchorage.""Gammon!" said the mate. "Gammon!" he repeated loudly, as the captain signaledhim to be more soft spoken. "You can't tell me that sort of stuff. Where d'yekeep your own boats, hey--your schooner, or cutter, or whatever you have? Hey?Answer me that."McCoy smiled as gently as he spoke. His smile was a caress, an embrace thatsurrounded the tired mate and sought to draw him into the quietude and rest ofMcCoy's tranquil soul."We have no schooner or cutter," he replied. "And we carry our canoes to thetop of the cliff.""You've got to show me," snorted the mate. "How d'ye get around to the otherislands, heh? Tell me that.""We don't get around. As governor of Pitcairn, I sometimes go. When I wasyounger, I was away a great deal--sometimes on the trading schooners, butmostly on the missionary brig. But she's gone now, and we depend on passingvessels. Sometimes we have had as high as six calls in one year. At othertimes, a year, and even longer, has gone by without one passing ship. Yours isthe first in seven months.""And you mean to tell me--" the mate began.But Captain Davenport interfered."Enough of this. We're losing time. What is to be done, Mr. McCoy?"The old man turned his brown eyes, sweet as a woman's, shoreward, and bothcaptain and mate followed his gaze around from the lonely rock of Pitcairn tothe crew clustering forward and waiting anxiously for the announcement of adecision. 'mcCoy did not hurry. He thought smoothly and slowly, step by step,with the certitude of a mind that was never vexed or outraged by life."The wind is light now," he said finally. "There is a heavy current setting tothe westward.""That's what made us fetch to leeward," the captain interrupted, desiring tovindicate his seamanship."Yes, that is what fetched you to leeward," McCoy went on. "Well, you can'twork up against this current today. And if you did, there is no beach. Yourship will be a total loss."He paused, and captain and mate looked despair at each other."But I will tell you what you can do. The breeze will freshen tonight aroundmidnight--see those tails of clouds and that thickness to windward, beyond thepoint there? That's where she'll come from, out of the southeast, hard. It isthree hundred miles to Mangareva. Square away for it. There is a beautiful bedfor your ship there."The mate shook his head."Come in to the cabin, and we'll look at the chart," said the captain.McCoy found a stifling, poisonous atmosphere in the pent cabin. Straywaftures of invisible gases bit his eyes and made them sting. The deck washotter, almost unbearably hot to his bare feet. The sweat poured out of hisbody. He looked almost with apprehension about him. This malignant, internalheat was astounding. It was a marvel that the cabin did not burst into flames.He had a feeling as if of being in a huge bake oven where the heat might atany moment increase tremendously and shrivel him up like a blade of grass.As he lifted one foot and rubbed the hot sole against the leg of his trousers,the mate laughed in a savage, snarling fashion."The anteroom of hell," he said. "Hell herself is right down there under yourfeet.""It's hot!" McCoy cried involuntarily, mopping his face with a bandanahandkerchief."Here's Mangareva," the captain said, bending over the table and pointing to ablack speck in the midst of the white blankness of the chart. "And here, inbetween, is another island. Why not run for that?"McCoy did not look at the chart."That's Crescent Island," he answered. "It is uninhabited, and it is only twoor three feet above water. Lagoon, but no entrance. No, Mangareva is thenearest place for your purpose.""Mangareva it is, then," said Captain Davenport, interrupting the mate'sgrowling objection. "Call the crew aft, Mr. Konig."The sailors obeyed, shuffling wearily along the deck and painfully endeavoringto make haste. Exhaustion was evident in every movement. The cook came out ofhis galley to hear, and the cabin boy hung about near him.When Captain Davenport had explained the situation and announced his intentionof running for Mangareva, an uproar broke out. Against a background ofthroaty rumbling arose inarticulate cries of rage, with here and there adistinct curse, or word, or phrase. A shrill Cockney voice soared anddominated for a moment, crying: "Gawd! After bein' in ell for fifteendays--an' now e wants us to sail this floatin' ell to sea again?"The captain could not control them, but McCoy's gentle presence seemed torebuke and calm them, and the muttering and cursing died away, until the fullcrew, save here and there an anxious face directed at the captain, yearneddumbly toward the green clad peaks and beetling coast of Pitcairn.Soft as a spring zephyr was the voice of McCoy:"Captain, I thought I heard some of them say they were starving.""Ay," was the answer, "and so we are. I've had a sea biscuit and a spoonful ofsalmon in the last two days. We're on whack. You see, when we discovered thefire, we battened down immediately to suffocate the fire. And then we foundhow little food there was in the pantry. But it was too late. We didn't darebreak out the lazarette. Hungry? I'm just as hungry as they are."He spoke to the men again, and again the throat rumbling and cursing arose,their faces convulsed and animal-like with rage. The second and third mateshad joined the captain, standing behind him at the break of the poop. Theirfaces were set and expressionless; they seemed bored, more than anything else,by this mutiny of the crew. Captain Davenport glanced questioningly at hisfirst mate, and that person merely shrugged his shoulders in token of hishelplessness."You see," the captain said to McCoy, "you can't compel sailors to leave thesafe land and go to sea on a burning vessel. She has been their floatingcoffin for over two weeks now. They are worked out, and starved out, andthey've got enough of her. We'll beat up for Pitcairn."But the wind was light, the Pyrenees' bottom was foul, and she could not beatup against the strong westerly current. At the end of two hours she had lostthree miles. The sailors worked eagerly, as if by main strength they couldcompel the Pyrenees against the adverse elements. But steadily, port tack andstarboard tack, she sagged off to the westward. The captain paced restlesslyup and down, pausing occasionally to survey the vagrant smoke wisps and totrace them back to the portions of the deck from which they sprang. Thecarpenter was engaged constantly in attempting to locate such places, and,when he succeeded, in calking them tighter and tighter."Well, what do you think?" the captain finally asked McCoy, who was watchingthe carpenter with all a child's interest and curiosity in his eyes.McCoy looked shoreward, where the land was disappearing in the thickeninghaze."I think it would be better to square away for Mangareva. With that breezethat is coming, you'll be there tomorrow evening.""But what if the fire breaks out? It is liable to do it any moment.""Have your boats ready in the falls. The same breeze will carry your boats toMangareva if the ship burns out from under."Captain Davenport debated for a moment, and then McCoy heard the question hehad not wanted to hear, but which he knew was surely coming."I have no chart of Mangareva. On the general chart it is only a fly speck. Iwould not know where to look for the entrance into the lagoon. Will you comealong and pilot her in for me?"McCoy's serenity was unbroken."Yes, Captain," he said, with the same quiet unconcern with which he wouldhave accepted an invitation to dinner; "I'll go with you to Mangareva."Again the crew was called aft, and the captain spoke to them from the break ofthe poop."We've tried to work her up, but you see how we've lost ground. She's settingoff in a two-knot current. This gentleman is the Honorable McCoy, ChiefMagistrate and Governor of Pitcairn Island. He will come along with us toMangareva. So you see the situation is not so dangerous. He would not makesuch an offer if he thought he was going to lose his life. Besides, whateverrisk there is, if he of his own free will come on board and take it, we can dono less. What do you say for Mangareva?"This time there was no uproar. 'mcCoy's presence, the surety and calm thatseemed to radiate from him, had had its effect. They conferred with oneanother in low voices. There was little urging. They were virtually unanimous,and they shoved the Cockney out as their spokesman. That worthy wasoverwhelmed with consciousness of the heroism of himself and his mates, andwith flashing eyes he cried:"By Gawd! If 'e will, we will!"The crew mumbled its assent and started forward."One moment, Captain," McCoy said, as the other was turning to give orders tothe mate. "I must go ashore first."Mr. Konig was thunderstruck, staring at McCoy as if he were a madman."Go ashore!" the captain cried. "What for? It will take you three hours to getthere in your canoe."McCoy measured the distance of the land away, and nodded."Yes, it is six now. I won't get ashore till nine. The people cannot beassembled earlier than ten. As the breeze freshens up tonight, you can beginto work up against it, and pick me up at daylight tomorrow morning.""In the name of reason and common sense," the captain burst forth, "what doyou want to assemble the people for? Don't you realize that my ship is burningbeneath me?"McCoy was as placid as a summer sea, and the other's anger produced not theslightest ripple upon it."Yes, Captain," he cooed in his dove-like voice. "I do realize that your shipis burning. That is why I am going with you to Mangareva. But I must getpermission to go with you. It is our custom. It is an important matter whenthe governor leaves the island. The people's interests are at stake, and sothey have the right to vote their permission or refusal. But they will giveit, I know that.""Are you sure?""Quite sure.""Then if you know they will give it, why bother with getting it? Think of thedelay--a whole night.""It is our custom," was the imperturbable reply. "Also, I am the governor, andI must make arrangements for the conduct of the island during my absence.""But it is only a twenty-four hour run to Mangareva," the captain objected."Suppose it took you six times that long to return to windward; that wouldbring you back by the end of a week."McCoy smiled his large, benevolent smile."Very few vessels come to Pitcairn, and when they do, they are usually fromSan Francisco or from around the Horn. I shall be fortunate if I get back insix months. I may be away a year, and I may have to go to San Francisco inorder to find a vessel that will bring me back. 'my father once left Pitcairnto be gone three months, and two years passed before he could get back. Then,too, you are short of food. If you have to take to the boats, and the weathercomes up bad, you may be days in reaching land. I can bring off two canoeloads of food in the morning. Dried bananas will be best. As the breezefreshens, you beat up against it. The nearer you are, the bigger loads I canbring off. Goodby."He held out his hand. The captain shook it, and was reluctant to let go. Heseemed to cling to it as a drowning sailor clings to a life buoy."How do I know you will come back in the morning?" he asked."Yes, that's it!" cried the mate. "How do we know but what he's skinning outto save his own hide?"McCoy did not speak. He looked at them sweetly and benignantly, and it seemedto them that they received a message from his tremendous certitude of soul.The captain released his hand, and, with a last sweeping glance that embracedthe crew in its benediction, McCoy went over the rail and descended into hiscanoe.The wind freshened, and the Pyrenees, despite the foulness of her bottom, wonhalf a dozen miles away from the westerly current. At daylight, with Pitcairnthree miles to windward, Captain Davenport made out two canoes coming off tohim. Again McCoy clambered up the side and dropped over the rail to the hotdeck. He was followed by many packages of dried bananas, each package wrappedin dry leaves."Now, Captain," he said, "swing the yards and drive for dear life. You see, Iam no navigator," he explained a few minutes later, as he stood by the captainaft, the latter with gaze wandering from aloft to overside as he estimated thePyrenees' speed. "You must fetch her to Mangareva. When you have picked up theland, then I will pilot her in. What do you think she is making?""Eleven," Captain Davenport answered, with a final glance at the water rushingpast."Eleven. Let me see, if she keeps up that gait, we'll sight Mangareva betweeneight and nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll have her on the beach by ten orby eleven at latest. And then your troubles will be all over."It almost seemed to the captain that the blissful moment had already arrived,such was the persuasive convincingness of McCoy.Captain Davenport had been under the fearful strain of navigating his burningship for over two weeks, and he was beginning to feel that he had had enough.A heavier flaw of wind struck the back of his neck and whistled by his ears.He measured the weight of it, and looked quickly overside."The wind is making all the time," he announced. "The old girl's doing nearertwelve than eleven right now. If this keeps up, we'll be shortening downtonight."All day the Pyrenees, carrying her load of living fire, tore across thefoaming sea. By nightfall, royals and topgallantsails were in, and she flew oninto the darkness, with great, crested seas roaring after her. The auspiciouswind had had its effect, and fore and aft a visible brightening was apparent.In the second dog-watch some careless soul started a song, and by eight bellsthe whole crew was singing.Captain Davenport had his blankets brought up and spread on top the house."I've forgotten what sleep is," he explained to McCoy. "I'm all in. But giveme a call at any time you think necessary."At three in the morning he was aroused by a gentle tugging at his arm. He satup quickly, bracing himself against the skylight, stupid yet from his heavysleep. The wind was thrumming its war song in the rigging, and a wild sea wasbuffeting the Pyrenees. Amidships she was wallowing first one rail under andthen the other, flooding the waist more often than not. 'mcCoy was shoutingsomething he could not hear. He reached out, clutched the other by theshoulder, and drew him close so that his own ear was close to the other'slips."It's three o'clock," came McCoy's voice, still retaining its dovelikequality, but curiously muffled, as if from a long way off. "We've run twohundred and fifty. Crescent Island is only thirty miles away, somewhere theredead ahead. There's no lights on it. If we keep running, we'll pile up, andlose ourselves as well as the ship.""What d' ye think--heave to?""Yes; heave to till daylight. It will only put us back four hours."So the Pyrenees, with her cargo of fire, was hove to, bitting the teeth of thegale and fighting and smashing the pounding seas. She was a shell, filledwith a conflagration, and on the outside of the shell, clinging precariously,the little motes of men, by pull and haul, helped her in the battle."It is most unusual, this gale," McCoy told the captain, in the lee of thecabin. "By rights there should be no gale at this time of the year. Buteverything about the weather has been unusual. There has been a stoppage ofthe trades, and now it's howling right out of the trade quarter." He waved hishand into the darkness, as if his vision could dimly penetrate for hundreds ofmiles. "It is off to the westward. There is something big making off theresomewhere--a hurricane or something. We're lucky to be so far to the eastward.But this is only a little blow," he added. "It can't last. I can tell you thatmuch."By daylight the gale had eased down to normal. But daylight revealed a newdanger. It had come on thick. The sea was covered by a fog, or, rather, by apearly mist that was fog-like in density, in so far as it obstructed vision,but that was no more than a film on the sea, for the sun shot it through andfilled it with a glowing radiance.The deck of the Pyrenees was making more smoke than on the preceding day, andthe cheerfulness of officers and crew had vanished. In the lee of the galleythe cabin boy could be heard whimpering. It was his first voyage, and the fearof death was at his heart. The captain wandered about like a lost soul,nervously chewing his mustache, scowling, unable to make up his mind what todo."What do you think?" he asked, pausing by the side of McCoy, who was making abreakfast off fried bananas and a mug of water.McCoy finished the last banana, drained the mug, and looked slowly around. Inhis eyes was a smile of tenderness as he said:"Well, Captain, we might as well drive as burn. Your decks are not going tohold out forever. They are hotter this morning. You haven't a pair of shoes Ican wear? It is getting uncomfortable for my bare feet."The Pyrenees shipped two heavy seas as she was swung off and put once morebefore it, and the first mate expressed a desire to have all that water downin the hold, if only it could be introduced without taking off the hatches.'mcCoy ducked his head into the binnacle and watched the course set."I'd hold her up some more, Captain," he said. "She's been making drift whenhove to.""I've set it to a point higher already," was the answer. "Isn't that enough?""I'd make it two points, Captain. This bit of a blow kicked that westerlycurrent ahead faster than you imagine."Captain Davenport compromised on a point and a half, and then went aloft,accompanied by McCoy and the first mate, to keep a lookout for land. Sail hadbeen made, so that the Pyrenees was doing ten knots. The following sea wasdying down rapidly. There was no break in the pearly fog, and by ten o'clockCaptain Davenport was growing nervous. Al l hands were at their stations,ready, at the first warning of land ahead, to spring like fiends to the taskof bringing the Pyrenees up on the wind. That land ahead, a surf-washed outerreef, would be perilously close when it revealed itself in such a fog.Another hour passed. The three watchers aloft stared intently into the pearlyradiance."What if we miss Mangareva?" Captain Davenport asked abruptly.McCoy, without shifting his gaze, answered softly:"Why, let her drive, captain. That is all we can do. All the Paumotus arebefore us. We can drive for a thousand miles through reefs and atolls. We arebound to fetch up somewhere.""Then drive it is." Captain Davenport evidenced his intention of descending tothe deck. "We've missed Mangareva. God knows where the next land is. I wishI'd held her up that other half-point," he confessed a moment later. "Thiscursed current plays the devil with a navigator.""The old navigators called the Paumotus the Dangerous Archipelago," McCoysaid, when they had regained the poop. "This very current was partlyresponsible for that name.""I was talking with a sailor chap in Sydney, once," said Mr. Konig. "He'd beentrading in the Paumotus. He told me insurance was eighteen per cent. Is thatright?"McCoy smiled and nodded."Except that they don't insure," he explained. "The owners write off twentyper cent of the cost of their schooners each year.""My God!" Captain Davenport groaned. "That makes the life of a schooner onlyfive years!" He shook his head sadly, murmuring, "Bad waters! Bad waters!"Again they went into the cabin to consult the big general chart; but thepoisonous vapors drove them coughing and gasping on deck."Here is Moerenhout Island," Captain Davenport pointed it out on the chart,which he had spread on the house. "It can't be more than a hundred miles toleeward.""A hundred and ten." 'mcCoy shook his head doubtfully. "It might be done, butit is very difficult. I might beach her, and then again I might put her on thereef. A bad place, a very bad place.""We'll take the chance," was Captain Davenport's decision, as he set aboutworking out the course.Sail was shortened early in the afternoon, to avoid running past in the night;and in the second dog-watch the crew manifested its regained cheerfulness.Land was so very near, and their troubles would be over in the morning.But morning broke clear, with a blazing tropic sun. The southeast trade hadswung around to the eastward, and was driving the Pyrenees through the waterat an eight-knot clip. Captain Davenport worked up his dead reckoning,allowing generously for drift, and announced Moerenhout Island to be not morethan ten miles off. The Pyrenees sailed the ten miles; she sailed ten milesmore; and the lookouts at the three mastheads saw naught but the naked,sun-washed sea."But the land is there, I tell you," Captain Davenport shouted to them fromthe poop.McCoy smiled soothingly, but the captain glared about him like a madman,fetched his sextant, and took a chronometer sight."I knew I was right, he almost shouted, when he had worked up the observation."Twenty-one, fifty-five, south; one-thirty-six, two, west. There you are.We're eight miles to windward yet. What did you make it out, Mr. Konig?"The first mate glanced at his own figures, and said in a low voice:"Twenty-one, fifty-five all right; but my longitude's one-thirty-six,forty-eight. That puts us considerably to leeward--"But Captain Davenport ignored his figures with so contemptuous a silence as tomake Mr. Konig grit his teeth and curse savagely under his breath."Keep her off," the captain ordered the man at the wheel. "Threepoints--steady there, as she goes!"Then he returned to his figures and worked them over. The sweat poured fromhis face. He chewed his mustache, his lips, and his pencil, staring at thefigures as a man might at a ghost. Suddenly, with a fierce, muscular outburst,he crumpled the scribbled paper in his fist and crushed it under foot. 'mr.Konig grinned vindictively and turned away, while Captain Davenport leanedagainst the cabin and for half an hour spoke no word, contenting himself withgazing to leeward with an expression of musing hopelessness on his face."Mr. McCoy," he broke silence abruptly. "The chart indicates a group ofislands, but not how many, off there to the north'ard, or nor'-nor'westward,about forty miles--the Acteon Islands. What about them?""There are four, all low," McCoy answered. "First to the southeast isMatuerui--no people, no entrance to the lagoon. Then comes Tenarunga. Thereused to be about a dozen people there, but they may be all gone now. Anyway,there is no entrance for a ship--only a boat entrance, with a fathom of water.Vehauga and Teua-raro are the other two. No entrances, no people, very low.There is no bed for the Pyrenees in that group. She would be a total wreck.""Listen to that!" Captain Davenport was frantic. "No people! No entrances!What in the devil are islands good for?"Well, then, he barked suddenly, like an excited terrier, "the chart gives awhole mess of islands off to the nor'west. What about them? What one has anentrance where I can lay my ship?"McCoy calmly considered. He did not refer to the chart. All these islands,reefs, shoals, lagoons, entrances, and distances were marked on the chart ofhis memory. He knew them as the city dweller knows his buildings, streets, andalleys."Papakena and Vanavana are off there to the westward, or west-nor'westward ahundred miles and a bit more," he said. "One is uninhabited, and I heard thatthe people on the other had gone off to Cadmus Island. Anyway, neither lagoonhas an entrance. Ahunui is another hundred miles on to the nor'west. Noentrance, no people.""Well, forty miles beyond them are two islands?" Captain Davenport queried,raising his head from the chart.McCoy shook his head."Paros and Manuhungi--no entrances, no people. Nengo-Nengo is forty milesbeyond them, in turn, and it has no people and no entrance. But there is HaoIsland. It is just the place. The lagoon is thirty miles long and five mileswide. There are plenty of people. You can usually find water. And any ship inthe world can go through the entrance."He ceased and gazed solicitously at Captain Davenport, who, bending over thechart with a pair of dividers in hand, had just emitted a low groan."Is there any lagoon with an entrance anywhere nearer than Hao Island?" heasked."No, Captain; that is the nearest.""Well, it's three hundred and forty miles." Captain Davenport was speakingvery slowly, with decision. "I won't risk the responsibility of all theselives. I'll wreck her on the Acteons. And she's a good ship, too," he addedregretfully, after altering the course, this time making more allowance thanever for the westerly current.An hour later the sky was overcast. The southeast trade still held, but theocean was a checker board of squalls."We'll be there by one o'clock," Captain Davenport announced confidently. "Bytwo o'clock at the outside. 'mcCoy, you put her ashore on the one where thepeople are."The sun did not appear again, nor, at one o'clock, was any land to be seen.Captain Davenport looked astern at the Pyrenees' canting wake."Good Lord!" he cried. "An easterly current? Look at that!"Mr. Konig was incredulous. 'mcCoy was noncommittal, though he said that in thePaumotus there was no reason why it should not be an easterly current. A fewminutes later a squall robbed the Pyrenees temporarily of all her wind, andshe was left rolling heavily in the trough."Where's that deep lead? Over with it, you there!" Captain Davenport held thelead line and watched it sag off to the northeast. "There, look at that! Takehold of it for yourself."McCoy and the mate tried it, and felt the line thrumming and vibratingsavagely to the grip of the tidal stream."A four-knot current," said Mr. Konig."An easterly current instead of a westerly," said Captain "Davenport, glaringaccusingly at McCoy, as if to cast the blame for it upon him."That is one of the reasons, Captain, for insurance being eighteen per cent inthese waters," McCoy answered cheerfully. "You can never tell. The currentsare always changing. There was a man who wrote books, I forget his name, inthe yacht Casco.He missed Takaroa by thirty miles and fetched Tikei, all because of theshifting currents. You are up to windward now, and you'd better keep off a fewpoints.""But how much has this current set me?" the captain demanded irately. "How amI to know how much to keep off?""I don't know, Captain," McCoy said with great gentleness.The wind returned, and the Pyrenees, her deck smoking and shimmering in thebright gray light, ran off dead to leeward. Then she worked back, port tackand starboard tack, crisscrossing her track, combing the sea for the ActeonIslands, which the masthead lookouts failed to sight.Captain Davenport was beside himself. His rage took the form of sullensilence, and he spent the afternoon in pacing the poop or leaning against theweather shrouds. At nightfall, without even consulting McCoy, he squared awayand headed into the northwest. Mr. Konig, surreptitiously consulting chartand binnacle, and McCoy, openly and innocently consulting the binnacle, knewthat they were running for Hao Island. By midnight the squalls ceased, and thestars came out. Captain Davenport was cheered by the promise of a clear day."I'll get an observation in the morning," he told McCoy, "though what mylatitude is, is a puzzler. But I'll use the Sumner method, and settle that. Doyou know the Sumner line?"And thereupon he explained it in detail to McCoy.The day proved clear, the trade blew steadily out of the east, and thePyrenees just as steadily logged her nine knots. Both the captain and mateworked out the position on a Sumner line, and agreed, and at noon agreedagain, and verified the morning sights by the noon sights."Another twenty-four hours and we'll be there," Captain Davenport assuredMcCoy. :"It's a miracle the way the old girl's decks hold out. But they can'tlast. They can't last. Look at them smoke, more and more every day. Yet it wasa tight deck to begin with, fresh-calked in Frisco. I was surprised when thefire first broke out and we battened down. Look at that!"He broke off to gaze with dropped jaw at a spiral of smoke that coiled andtwisted in the lee of the mizzenmast twenty feet above the deck."Now, how did that get there?" he demanded indignantly.Beneath it there was no smoke. Crawling up from the deck, sheltered from thewind by the mast, by some freak it took form and visibility at that height. Itwrithed away from the mast, and for a moment overhung the captain like somethreatening portent. The next moment the wind whisked it away, and thecaptain's jaw returned to place."As I was saying, when we first battened down, I was surprised. It was atight deck, yet it leaked smoke like a sieve. And we've calked and calked eversince. There must be tremendous pressure underneath to drive so much smokethrough."That afternoon the sky became overcast again, and squally, drizzly weather setin. The wind shifted back and forth between southeast and northeast, and atmidnight the Pyrenees was caught aback by a sharp squall from the southwest,from which point the wind continued to blow intermittently."We won't make Hao until ten or eleven," Captain Davenport complained at sevenin the morning, when the fleeting promise of the sun had been erased by hazycloud masses in the eastern sky. And the next moment he was plaintivelydemanding, "And what are the currents doing?"Lookouts at the mastheads could report no land, and the day passed indrizzling calms and violent squalls. By nightfall a heavy sea began to makefrom the west. The barometer had fallen to 29.50. There was no wind, and stillthe ominous sea continued to increase. Soon the Pyrenees was rolling madly inthe huge waves that marched in an unending procession from out of the darknessof the west. Sail was shortened as fast as both watches could work, and, whenthe tired crew had finished, its grumbling and complaining voices, peculiarlyanimal-like and menacing, could be heard in the darkness. Once the starboardwatch was called aft to lash down and make secure, and the men openlyadvertised their sullenness and unwillingness. Every slow movement was aprotest and a threat. The atmosphere was moist and sticky like mucilage, andin the absence of wind all hands seemed to pant and gasp for air. The sweatstood out on faces and bare arms, and Captain Davenport for one, his face moregaunt and care-worn than ever, and his eyes troubled and staring, wasoppressed by a feeling of impending calamity."It's off to the westward," McCoy said encouragingly. "At worst, we'll be onlyon the edge of it."But Captain Davenport refused to be comforted, and by the light of a lanternread up the chapter in his Epitome that related to the strategy of shipmastersin cyclonic storms. From somewhere amidships the silence was broken by a lowwhimpering from the cabin boy."Oh, shut up!" Captain Davenport yelled suddenly and with such force as tostartle every man on board and to frighten the offender into a wild wail ofterror."Mr. Konig," the captain said in a voice that trembled with rage and nerves,"will you kindly step for'ard and stop that brat's mouth with a deck mop?"But it was McCoy who went forward, and in a few minutes had the boy comfortedand asleep.Shortly before daybreak the first breath of air began to move from out thesoutheast, increasing swiftly to a stiff and stiffer breeze. All hands were ondeck waiting for what might be behind it. "We're all right now, Captain," saidMcCoy, standing close to his shoulder. "The hurricane is to the west'ard, andwe are south of it. This breeze is the in-suck. It won't blow any harder. Youcan begin to put sail on her.""But what's the good? Where shall I sail? This is the second day withoutobservations, and we should have sighted Hao Island yesterday morning. Whichway does it bear, north, south, east, or what? Tell me that, and I'll makesail in a jiffy.""I am no navigator, Captain," McCoy said in his mild way."I used to think I was one," was the retort, "before I got into thesePaumotus."At midday the cry of "Breakers ahead!" was heard from the lookout. ThePyrenees was kept off, and sail after sail was loosed and sheeted home. ThePyrenees was sliding through the water and fighting a current that threatenedto set her down upon the breakers. Officers and men were working like mad,cook and cabin boy, Captain Davenport himself, and McCoy all lending a hand.It was a close shave. It was a low shoal, a bleak and perilous place overwhich the seas broke unceasingly, where no man could live, and on which noteven sea birds could rest. The Pyrenees was swept within a hundred yards of itbefore the wind carried her clear, and at this moment the panting crew, itswork done, burst out in a torrent of curses upon the head of McCoy --of McCoywho had come on board, and proposed the run to Mangareva, and lured them allaway from the safety of Pitcairn Island to certain destruction in thisbaffling and terrible stretch of sea. But McCoy's tranquil soul wasundisturbed. He smiled at them with simple and gracious benevolence, and,somehow, the exalted goodness of him seemed to penetrate to their dark andsomber souls, shaming them, and from very shame stilling the curses vibratingin their throats."Bad waters! Bad waters!" Captain Davenport was murmuring as his ship forgedclear; but he broke off abruptly to gaze at the shoal which should have beendead astern, but which was already on the Pyrenees' weather-quarter andworking up rapidly to windward.He sat down and buried his face in his hands. And the first mate saw, andMcCoy saw, and the crew saw, what he had seen. South of the shoal an easterlycurrent had set them down upon it; north of the shoal an equally swiftwesterly current had clutched the ship and was sweeping her away."I've heard of these Paumotus before," the captain groaned, lifting hisblanched face from his hands. "Captain Moyendale told me about them afterlosing his ship on them. And I laughed at him behind his back. God forgive me,I laughed at him. What shoal is that?" he broke off, to ask McCoy."I don't know, Captain.""Why don't you know?""Because I never saw it before, and because I have never heard of it. I doknow that it is not charted. These waters have never been thoroughlysurveyed.""Then you don't know where we are?""No more than you do," McCoy said gently.At four in the afternoon cocoanut trees were sighted, apparently growing outof the water. A little later the low land of an atoll was raised above thesea."I know where we are now, Captain." McCoy lowered the glasses from his eyes."That's Resolution Island. We are forty miles beyond Hao Island, and the windis in our teeth.""Get ready to beach her then. Where's the entrance?""There's only a canoe passage. But now that we know where we are, we can runfor Barclay de Tolley. It is only one hundred and twenty miles from here, duenor'-nor'west. With this breeze we can be there by nine o'clock tomorrowmorning."Captain Davenport consulted the chart and debated with himself."If we wreck her here," McCoy added, "we'd have to make the run to Barclay deTolley in the boats just the same."The captain gave his orders, and once more the Pyrenees swung off for anotherrun across the inhospitable sea.And the middle of the next afternoon saw despair and mutiny on her smokingdeck. The current had accelerated, the wind had slackened, and the Pyreneeshad sagged off to the west. The lookout sighted Barclay de Tolley to theeastward, barely visible from the masthead, and vainly and for hours thePyrenees tried to beat up to it. Ever, like a mirage, the cocoanut treeshovered on the horizon, visible only from the masthead. From the deck theywere hidden by the bulge of the world.Again Captain Davenport consulted McCoy and the chart. 'makemo layseventy-five miles to the southwest. Its lagoon was thirty miles long, and itsentrance was excellent. When Captain Davenport gave his orders, the crewrefused duty. They announced that they had had enough of hell fire under theirfeet. There was the land. What if the ship could not make it? They could makeit in the boats. Let her burn, then. Their lives amounted to something tothem. They had served faithfully the ship, now they were going to servethemselves.They sprang to the boats, brushing the second and third mates out of the way,and proceeded to swing the boats out and to prepare to lower away. CaptainDavenport and the first mate, revolvers in hand, were advancing to the breakof the poop, when McCoy, who had climbed on top of the cabin, began to speak.He spoke to the sailors, and at the first sound of his dovelike, cooing voicethey paused to hear. He extended to them his own ineffable serenity and peace.His soft voice and simple thoughts flowed out to them in a magic stream,soothing them against their wills. Long forgotten things came back to them,and some remembered lullaby songs of childhood and the content and rest of themother's arm at the end of the day. There was no more trouble, no more danger,no more irk, in all the world. Everything was as it should be, and it wasonly a matter of course that they should turn their backs upon the land andput to sea once more with hell fire hot beneath their feet.McCoy spoke simply; but it was not what he spoke. It was his personality thatspoke more eloquently than any word he could utter. It was an alchemy of souloccultly subtile and profoundly deep--a mysterious emanation of the spirit,seductive, sweetly humble, and terribly imperious. It was illumination in thedark crypts of their souls, a compulsion of purity and gentleness vastlygreater than that which resided in the shining, death-spitting revolvers ofthe officers.The men wavered reluctantly where they stood, and those who had loosed theturns made them fast again. Then one, and then another, and then all of them,began to sidle awkwardly away.McCoy's face was beaming with childlike pleasure as he descended from the topof the cabin. Thee was no trouble. For that matter there had been no troubleaverted. There never had been any trouble, for there was no place for such inthe blissful world in which he lived."You hypnotized em," Mr. Konig grinned at him, speaking in a low voice."Those boys are good," was the answer. "Their hearts are good. They have hada hard time, and they have worked hard, and they will work hard to the end."Mr. Konig had not time to reply. His voice was ringing out orders, the sailorswere springing to obey, and the Pyrenees was paying slowly off from the winduntil her bow should point in the direction of Makemo.The wind was very light, and after sundown almost ceased. It was insufferablywarm, and fore and aft men sought vainly to sleep. The deck was too hot tolie upon, and poisonous vapors, oozing through the seams, crept like evilspirits over the ship, stealing into the nostrils and windpipes of the unwaryand causing fits of sneezing and coughing. The stars blinked lazily in the dimvault overhead; and the full moon, rising in the east, touched with its lightthe myriads of wisps and threads and spidery films of smoke that intertwinedand writhed and twisted along the deck, over the rails, and up the masts andshrouds."Tell me," Captain Davenport said, rubbing his smarting eyes, "what happenedwith that Bounty crowd after they reached Pitcairn? The account I read saidthey burnt the Bounty, and that they were not discovered until many yearslater. But what happened in the meantime? I've always been curious to know.They were men with their necks in the rope. There were some native men, too.And then there were women. That made it look like trouble right from thejump.""There was trouble," McCoy answered. "They were bad men. They quarreled aboutthe women right away. One of the mutineers, Williams, lost his wife. All thewomen were Tahitian women. His wife fell from the cliffs when hunting seabirds. Then he took the wife of one of the native men away from him. All thenative men were made very angry by this, and they killed off nearly all themutineers. Then the mutineers that escaped killed off all the native men. Thewomen helped. And the natives killed each other. Everybody killed everybody.They were terrible men."Timiti was killed by two other natives while they were combing his hair infriendship. The white men had sent them to do it. Then the white men killedthem. The wife of Tullaloo killed him in a cave because she wanted a white manfor husband. They were very wicked. God had hidden His face from them. At theend of two years all the native men were murdered, and all the white menexcept four. They were Young, John Adams, McCoy, who was my great-grandfather,and Quintal. He was a very bad man, too. Once, just because his wife did notcatch enough fish for him, he bit off her ear.""They were a bad lot!" Mr. Konig exclaimed."Yes, they were very bad," McCoy agreed and went on serenely cooing of theblood and lust of his iniquitous ancestry. "My great-grandfather escapedmurder in order to die by his own hand. He made a still and manufacturedalcohol from the roots of the ti-plant. Quintal was his chum, and they gotdrunk together all the time. At last McCoy got delirium tremens, tied a rockto his neck, and jumped into the sea."Quintal's wife, the one whose ear he bit off, also got killed by falling fromthe cliffs. Then Quintal went to Young and demanded his wife, and went toAdams and demanded his wife. Adams and Young were afraid of Quintal. They knewhe would kill them. So they killed him, the two of them together, with ahatchet. Then Young died. And that was about all the trouble they had.""I should say so," Captain Davenport snorted. "There was nobody left to kill.""You see, God had hidden His face," McCoy said.By morning no more than a faint air was blowing from the eastward, and, unableto make appreciable southing by it, Captain Davenport hauled up full-and-by onthe port track. He was afraid of that terrible westerly current which hadcheated him out of so many ports of refuge. All day the calm continued, andall night, while the sailors, on a short ration of dried banana, weregrumbling. Also, they were growing weak and complaining of stomach painscaused by the straight banana diet. All day the current swept the Pyrenees tothe westward, while there was no wind to bear her south. In the middle of thefirst dogwatch, cocoanut trees were sighted due south, their tufted headsrising above the water and marking the low-lying atoll beneath."That is Taenga Island," McCoy said. "We need a breeze tonight, or else we'llmiss Makemo.""What's become of the southeast trade?" the captain demanded. "Why don't itblow? What's the matter?""It is the evaporation from the big lagoons--there are so many of them," McCoyexplained. The evaporation upsets the whole system of trades. It even causesthe wind to back up and blow gales from the southwest. This is the DangerousArchipelago, Captain."Captain Davenport faced the old man, opened his mouth, and was about to curse,but paused and refrained. 'mcCoy's presence was a rebuke to the blasphemiesthat stirred in his brain and trembled in his larynx. 'mcCoy's influence hadbeen growing during the many days they had been together. Captain Davenportwas an autocrat of the sea, fearing no man, never bridling his tongue, and nowhe found himself unable to curse in the presence of this old man with thefeminine brown eyes and the voice of a dove. When he realized this, CaptainDavenport experienced a distinct shock. This old man was merely the seed ofMcCoy, of McCoy of the Bounty, the mutineer fleeing from the hemp that waitedhim in England, the McCoy who was a power for evil in the early days of bloodand lust and violent death on Pitcairn Island.Captain Davenport was not religious, yet in that moment he felt a mad impulseto cast himself at the other's feet--and to say he knew not what. It was anemotion that so deeply stirred him, rather than a coherent thought, and he wasaware in some vague way of his own unworthiness and smallness in the presenceof this other man who possessed the simplicity of a child and the gentlenessof a woman.Of course he could not so humble himself before the eyes of his officers andmen. And yet the anger that had prompted the blasphemy still raged in him. Hesuddenly smote the cabin with his clenched hand and cried:"Look here, old man, I won't be beaten. These Paumotus have cheated andtricked me and made a fool of me. I refuse to be beaten. I am going to drivethis ship, and drive and drive and drive clear through the Paumotus to Chinabut what I find a bed for her. If every man deserts, I'll stay by her. I'llshow the Paumotus. They can't fool me. She's a good girl, and I'll stick byher as long as there's a plank to stand on. You hear me?""And I'll stay with you, Captain," McCoy said.During the night, light, baffling airs blew out of the south, and the franticcaptain, with his cargo of fire, watched and measured his westward drift andwent off by himself at times to curse softly so that McCoy should not hear.Daylight showed more palms growing out of the water to the south."That's the leeward point of Makemo," McCoy said. "Katiu is only a few milesto the west. We may make that."But the current, sucking between the two islands, swept them to the northwest,and at one in the afternoon they saw the palms of Katiu rise above the sea andsink back into the sea again.A few minutes later, just as the captain had discovered that a new currentfrom the northeast had gripped the Pyrenees, the masthead lookouts raisedcocoanut palms in the northwest."It is Raraka," said McCoy. "We won't make it without wind. The current isdrawing us down to the southwest. But we must watch out. A few miles fartheron a current flows north and turns in a circle to the northwest. This willsweep us away from Fakarava, and Fakarava is the place for the Pyrenees tofind her bed.""They can sweep all they da--all they well please," Captain Davenport remarkedwith heat. "We'll find a bed for her somewhere just the same."But the situation on the Pyrenees was reaching a culmination. The deck was sohot that it seemed an increase of a few degrees would cause it to burst intoflames. In many places even the heavy-soled shoes of the men were noprotection, and they were compelled to step lively to avoid scorching theirfeet. The smoke had increased and grown more acrid. Every man on board wassuffering from inflamed eyes, and they coughed and strangled like a crew oftuberculosis patients. In the afternoon the boats were swung out and equipped.The last several packages of dried bananas were stored in them, as well as theinstruments of the officers. Captain Davenport even put the chronometer intothe longboat, fearing the blowing up of the deck at any moment.All night this apprehension weighed heavily on all, and in the first morninglight, with hollow eyes and ghastly faces, they stared at one another as if insurprise that the Pyrenees still held together and that they still were alive.Walking rapidly at times, and even occasionally breaking into an undignifiedhop-skip-and-run, Captain Davenport inspected his ship's deck."It is a matter of hours now, if not of minutes," he announced on his returnto the poop.The cry of land came down from the masthead. From the deck the land wasinvisible, and McCoy went aloft, while the captain took advantage of theopportunity to curse some of the bitterness out of his heart. But the cursingwas suddenly stopped by a dark line on the water which he sighted to thenortheast. It was not a squall, but a regular breeze--the disrupted tradewind, eight points out of its direction but resuming business once more."Hold her up, Captain," McCoy said as soon as he reached the poop. "That's theeasterly point of Fakarava, and we'll go in through the passage full-tilt, thewind abeam, and every sail drawing."At the end of an hour, the cocoanut trees and the low-lying land were visiblefrom the deck. The feeling that the end of the Pyrenees' resistance wasimminent weighed heavily on everybody. Captain Davenport had the three boatslowered and dropped short astern, a man in each to keep them apart. ThePyrenees closely skirted the shore, the surf-whitened atoll a bare two cablelengths away.And a minute later the land parted, exposing a narrow passage and the lagoonbeyond, a great mirror, thirty miles in length and a third as broad."Now, Captain."For the last time the yards of the Pyrenees swung around as she obeyed thewheel and headed into the passage. The turns had scarcely been made, andnothing had been coiled down, when the men and mates swept back to the poop inpanic terror. Nothing had happened, yet they averred that something was goingto happen. They could not tell why. They merely knew that it was about tohappen. 'mcCoy started forward to take up his position on the bow in order tocon the vessel in; but the captain gripped his arm and whirled him around."Do it from here," he said. "That deck's not safe. What's the matter?" hedemanded the next instant. "We're standing still."McCoy smiled."You are bucking a seven-knot current, Captain," he said. "That is the way thefull ebb runs out of this passage."At the end of another hour the Pyrenees had scarcely gained her length, butthe wind freshened and she began to forge ahead."Better get into the boats, some of you," Captain Davenport commanded.His voice was still ringing, and the men were just beginning to move inobedience, when the amidship deck of the Pyrenees, in a mass of flame andsmoke, was flung upward into the sails and rigging, part of it remaining thereand the rest falling into the sea. The wind being abeam, was what had savedthe men crowded aft. They made a blind rush to gain the boats, but McCoy'svoice, carrying its convincing message of vast calm and endless time, stoppedthem."Take it easy," he was saying. Everything is all right. Pass that boy downsomebody, please."The man at the wheel had forsaken it in a funk, and Captain Davenport hadleaped and caught the spokes in time to prevent the ship from yawing in thecurrent and going ashore."Better take charge of the boats," he said to Mr. Konig. "Tow one of themshort, right under the quarter. . . . When I go over, it'll be on the jump."Mr. Konig hesitated, then went over the rail and lowered himself into theboat."Keep her off half a point, Captain."Captain Davenport gave a start. He had thought he had the ship to himself."Ay, ay; half a point it is," he answered.Amidships the Pyrenees was an open flaming furnace, out of which poured animmense volume of smoke which rose high above the masts and completely hid theforward part of the ship. 'mcCoy, in the shelter of the mizzen-shrouds,continued his difficult task of conning the ship through the intricatechannel. The fire was working aft along the deck from the seat of explosion,while the soaring tower of canvas on the mainmast went up and vanished in asheet of flame. Forward, though they could not see them, they knew that thehead-sails were still drawing."If only she don't burn all her canvas off before she makes inside,:" thecaptain groaned."She'll make it," McCoy assured him with supreme confidence. "There is plentyof time. She is bound to make it. And once inside, we'll put her before it;that will keep the smoke away from us and hold back the fire from workingaft."A tongue of flame sprang up the mizzen, reached hungrily for the lowest tierof canvas, missed it, and vanished. From aloft a burning shred of rope stufffell square on the back of Captain Davenport's neck. He acted with thecelerity of one stung by a bee as he reached up and brushed the offending firefrom his skin."How is she heading, Captain?""Nor'west by west.""Keep her west-nor-west."Captain Davenport put the wheel up and steadied her."West by north, Captain.""West by north she is.""And now west."Slowly, point by point, as she entered the lagoon, the Pyrenees described thecircle that put her before the wind; and point by point, with all the calmcertitude of a thousand years of time to spare, McCoy chanted the changingcourse."Another point, Captain.""A point it is."Captain Davenport whirled several spokes over, suddenly reversing and comingback one to check her."Steady.""Steady she is--right on it."Despite the fact that the wind was now astern, the heat was so intense thatCaptain Davenport was compelled to steal sidelong glances into the binnacle,letting go the wheel now with one hand, now with the other, to rub or shieldhis blistering cheeks.McCoy's beard was crinkling and shriveling and the smell of it, strong in theother's nostrils, compelled him to look toward McCoy with sudden solicitude.Captain Davenport was letting go the spokes alternately with his hands inorder to rub their blistering backs against his trousers. Every sail on themizzenmast vanished in a rush of flame, compelling the two men to crouch andshield their faces."Now," said McCoy, stealing a glance ahead at the low shore, "four points up,Captain, and let her drive."Shreds and patches of burning rope and canvas were falling about them and uponthem. The tarry smoke from a smouldering piece of rope at the captain's feetset him off into a violent coughing fit, during which he still clung to thespokes.The Pyrenees struck, her bow lifted and she ground ahead gently to a stop. Ashower of burning fragments, dislodged by the shock, fell about them. The shipmoved ahead again and struck a second time. She crushed the fragile coralunder her keel, drove on, and struck a third time."Hard over," said McCoy. "Hard over?" he questioned gently, a minute later."She won't answer," was the reply."All right. She is swinging around." 'mcCoy peered over the side. "Soft, whitesand. Couldn't ask better. A beautiful bed."As the Pyrenees swung around her stern away from the wind, a fearful blast ofsmoke and flame poured aft. Captain Davenport deserted the wheel in blisteringagony. He reached the painter of the boat that lay under the quarter, thenlooked for McCoy, who was standing aside to let him go down."You first," the captain cried, gripping him by the shoulder and almostthrowing him over the rail. But the flame and smoke were too terrible, and hefollowed hard after McCoy, both men wriggling on the rope and sliding downinto the boat together. A sailor in the bow, without waiting for orders,slashed the painter through with his sheath knife. The oars, poised inreadiness, bit into the water, and the boat shot away."a beautiful bed, Captain," McCoy murmured, looking back."Ay, a beautiful bed, and all thanks to you," was the answer.The three boats pulled away for the white beach of pounded coral, beyondwhich, on the edge of a cocoanut grove, could be seen a half dozen grasshouses and a score or more of excited natives, gazing wide-eyed at theconflagration that had come to land.The boats grounded and they stepped out on the white beach."And now," said McCoy, "I must see about getting back to Pitcairn."
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