"We won't make Hao until ten or eleven," Captain Davenport complained at seven in the morning, when the fleeting promise of the sun had been erased by hazy cloud masses in the eastern sky.And the next moment he was plaintively demanding, "And what are the currents doing?"Lookouts at the mastheads could report no land, and the day passed in drizzling calms and violent squalls.By nightfall a heavy sea began to make from the west.The barometer had fallen to 29.50.There was no wind, and still the ominous sea continued to increase.Soon the Pyrenees was rolling madly in the huge waves that marched in an unending procession from out of the darkness of the west.Sail was shortened as fastas both watches could work, and, when the tired crew had finished, its grumbling and complaining voices, peculiarly animal-like and menacing, could be heard in the darkness.Once the starboard watch was called aft to lash down and make secure, and the men openly advertised their sullenness and unwillingness.Every slow movement was a protest and a threat.The atmosphere was moist and sticky like mucilage, and in the absence of wind all hands seemed to pant and gasp for air.The sweat stood out on faces and bare arms, and Captain Davenport for one, his face more gaunt and care-worn than ever, and his eyes troubled and staring, was oppressed by a feeling of impending calamity.
"It's off to the westward," McCoy said encouragingly."At worst, we'll be only on the edge of it."But Captain Davenport refused to be comforted, and by the light of a lantern read up the chapter in his Epitome that related to the strategy of shipmasters in cyclonic storms.From somewhere amidships the silence was broken by a low whimpering from the cabin boy.
"Oh, shut up!" Captain Davenport yelled suddenly and with such force as to startle every man on board and to frighten the offender into a wild wail of terror.
"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 comforted and asleep.
Shortly before daybreak the first breath of air began to move from out the southeast, increasing swiftly to a stiff and stiffer breeze.All hands were on deck waiting for what might be behind it."We're all right now, Captain," said McCoy, standing close to his shoulder."The hurricane is to the west'ard, and we are south of it.This breeze is the in-suck.It won't blow any harder.You can begin to put sail on her.""But what's the good? Where shall I sail? This is the second day without observations, and we should have sighted Hao Island yesterday morning.Which way does it bear, north, south, east, or what? Tell me that, and I'll make sail 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 these Paumotus."At midday the cry of "Breakers ahead!" was heard from the lookout.The Pyrenees was kept off, and sail after sail was loosed and sheeted home.The Pyrenees was sliding through the water and fighting a current that threatened to 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 over which the seas broke unceasingly, where no man could live, and on which not even sea birds could rest.The PYRENEES was swept within a hundred yards of it before the wind carried her clear, and at this moment the panting crew, its work done, burst out in a torrent of curses upon the head of McCoy --of McCoy who had come on board, and proposed the run to Mangareva, and lured them all away from the safety of Pitcairn Island to certain destruction in this baffling and terrible stretch of sea.But McCoy's tranquil soul was undisturbed.He smiled at them with simple and gracious benevolence, and, somehow, the exalted goodness of him seemed to penetrate to their dark and somber souls, shaming them, and from very shame stilling the curses vibrating in their throats.
"Bad waters! Bad waters!" Captain Davenport was murmuring as his ship forged clear; but he broke off abruptly to gaze at the shoal which should have been dead astern, but which was already on the PYRENEES' weather-quarter and working up rapidly to windward.
He sat down and buried his face in his hands.And the first mate saw, and McCoy saw, and the crew saw, what he had seen.South of the shoal an easterly current had set them down upon it; north of the shoal an equally swift westerly current had clutched the ship and was sweeping her away.
"I've heard of these Paumotus before," the captain groaned, lifting his blanched face from his hands."Captain Moyendale told me about them after losing 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 askMcCoy.
"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 do know that it is not charted.These waters have never been thoroughly surveyed.""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 out of the water.A little later the low land of an atoll was raised above the sea.
"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 wind is 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 run for Barclay de Tolley.It is only one hundred and twenty miles from here, due nor'-nor'west.With this breeze we can be there by nine o'clock tomorrow morning."Captain Davenport consulted the chart and debated with himself.
