ahead. There's no lights on it. If we keep running, we'll pile up, and lose 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 the gale and fighting and smashing the pounding seas. She was a shell, filled with 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 the cabin. 'By rights there should be no gale at this time of the year. But everything about the weather has been unusual. There has been a stoppage of the trades, and now it's howling right out of the trade quarter.' He waved his hand into the darkness, as if his vision could dimly penetrate for hundreds of miles. 'It is off to the westward. There is something big making off there somewhere—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 that much.'
By daylight the gale had eased down to normal. But daylight revealed a new danger. It had come on thick. The sea was covered by a fog, or, rather, by a pearly 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 and filled it with a glowing radiance.
The deck of the Pyrenees was making more smoke than on the preceding day, and the cheerfulness of officers and crew had vanished. In the lee of the galley the cabin boy could be heard whimpering. It was his first voyage, and the fear of 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 to do.
'What do you think?' he asked, pausing by the side of McCoy, who was making a breakfast off fried bananas and a mug of water.
McCoy finished the last banana, drained the mug, and looked slowly around. In his eyes was a smile of tenderness as he said:
'Well, Captain, we might as well drive as burn. Your decks are not going to hold out forever. They are hotter this morning. You haven't a pair of shoes I can wear? It is getting uncomfortable for my bare feet.'
The Pyrenees shipped two heavy seas as she was swung off and put once more before it, and the first mate expressed a desire to have all that water down in 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 when hove 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 westerly current 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 had been made, so that the Pyrenees was doing ten knots. The following sea was dying down rapidly. There was no break in the pearly fog, and by ten o'clock Captain Davenport was growing nervous. All hands were at their stations, ready, at the first warning of land ahead, to spring like fiends to the task of bringing the Pyrenees up on the wind. That land ahead, a surf-washed outer reef, would be perilously close when it revealed itself in such a fog.
Another hour passed. The three watchers aloft stared intently into the pearly radiance. '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 are before us. We can drive for a thousand miles through reefs and atolls. We are bound to fetch up somewhere.'
'Then drive it is.' Captain Davenport evidenced his intention of descending to the deck. 'We've missed Mangareva. God knows where the next land is. I wish I'd held her up that other half-point,' he confessed a moment later. 'This cursed current plays the devil with a navigator.'
'The old navigators called the Paumotus the Dangerous Archipelago,' McCoy said, when they had regained the poop. 'This very current was partly responsible for that name.'
'I was talking with a sailor chap in Sydney , once,' said Mr. Konig. 'He'd been trading in the Paumotus. He told me insurance was eighteen per cent. Is that right?'
McCoy smiled and nodded.
'Except that they don't insure,' he explained. 'The owners write off twenty per cent of the cost of their schooners each year.'
'My God!' Captain Davenport groaned. 'That makes the life of a schooner only five years!' He shook his head sadly, murmuring, 'Bad waters! Bad waters!'
Again they went into the cabin to consult the big general chart; but the poisonous 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 to leeward.'
'A hundred and ten.' McCoy shook his head doubtfully. 'It might be done, but it is very difficult. I might beach her, and then again I might put her on the reef. A bad place, a very bad place.'
'We'll take the chance,' was Captain Davenport's decision, as he set about working 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 had swung around to the eastward, and was driving the PYRENEES through the water at an eight-knot clip. Captain Davenport worked up his dead reckoning, allowing generously for drift, and announced Moerenhout Island to be not more than ten miles off. The Pyrenees sailed the ten miles; she sailed ten miles more; 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 from the 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 to make Mr. Konig grit his teeth and curse savagely under his breath.
'Keep her off,' the captain ordered the man at the wheel. 'Three points—steady there, as she goes!'
Then he returned to his figures and worked them over. The sweat poured from his face. He chewed his mustache, his lips, and his pencil, staring at the figures 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 leaned against the cabin and for half an hour spoke no word, contenting himself with gazing to leeward with an expression of musing hopelessness on his face.
'Mr. McCoy,' he broke silence abruptly. 'The chart indicates a group of islands, 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 is Matuerui—no people, no entrance to the lagoon. Then comes Tenarunga. There used 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 a whole mess of islands off to the nor'west. What about them? What one has an entrance where I can lay my ship?'
