"Eleven.Let me see, if she keeps up that gait, we'll sight Mangareva between eight and nine o'clock tomorrow morning.I'll have her on the beach by ten or by 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 burning ship 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 nearer twelve than eleven right now.If this keeps up, we'll be shortening down tonight."All day the Pyrenees, carrying her load of living fire, tore across the foaming sea.By nightfall, royals and topgallantsails were in, and she flew on into the darkness, with great, crested seas roaring after her.The auspicious wind 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 bells the 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 give me a call at any time you think necessary."At three in the morning he was aroused by a gentle tugging at his arm.He sat up quickly, bracing himself against the skylight, stupid yet from his heavy sleep.The wind was thrumming its war song in the rigging, and a wild sea was buffeting the PYRENEES.Amidships she was wallowing first one rail under and then the other, flooding the waist more often than not.'mcCoy was shouting something he could not hear.He reached out, clutched the other by the shoulder, and drew him close so that his own ear was close to the other's lips.
"It's three o'clock," came McCoy's voice, still retaining its dovelike quality, but curiously muffled, as if from a long way off."We've run two hundred and fifty.Crescent Island is only thirty miles away, somewhere there dead 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." Hewaved 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.Al l 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:
