"If we wreck her here," McCoy added, "we'd have to make the run to Barclay de Tolley in the boats just the same."The captain gave his orders, and once more the Pyrenees swung off for another run across the inhospitable sea.
And the middle of the next afternoon saw despair and mutiny on her smoking deck.The current had accelerated, the wind had slackened, and the Pyrenees had sagged off to the west.The lookout sighted Barclay de Tolley to the eastward, barely visible from the masthead, and vainly and for hours the PYRENEES tried to beat up to it.Ever, like a mirage, the cocoanut trees hovered on the horizon, visible only from the masthead.From the deck they were hidden by the bulge of the world.
Again Captain Davenport consulted McCoy and the chart.'makemo lay seventy-five miles to the southwest.Its lagoon was thirty miles long, and its entrance was excellent.When Captain Davenport gave his orders,the crew refused duty.They announced that they had had enough of hell fire under their feet.There was the land.What if the ship could not make it? They could make it in the boats.Let her burn, then.Their lives amounted to something to them.They had served faithfully the ship, now they were going to serve themselves.
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.Captain Davenport and the first mate, revolvers in hand, were advancing to the break of 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 voice they 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 the mother'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 was only a matter of course that they should turn their backs upon the land and put 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 that spoke more eloquently than any word he could utter.It was an alchemy of soul occultly subtile and profoundly deep--a mysterious emanation of the spirit, seductive, sweetly humble, and terribly imperious.It was illumination in the dark crypts of their souls, a compulsion of purity and gentleness vastly greater than that which resided in the shining, death-spitting revolvers of the officers.
The men wavered reluctantly where they stood, and those who had loosed the turns 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 top of the cabin.Thee was no trouble.For that matter there had been no trouble averted.There never had been any trouble, for there was no place for such in the 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 had a 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 sailors were springing to obey, and the PYRENEES was paying slowly off from the wind until her bow should point in the direction of Makemo.
The wind was very light, and after sundown almost ceased.It was insufferably warm, and fore and aft men sought vainly to sleep.The deck was too hot to lie upon, and poisonous vapors, oozing through the seams, crept like evil spirits over the ship, stealing into the nostrils and windpipes of the unwary and causing fits of sneezing and coughing.The stars blinked lazily in the dim vault overhead; and the full moon, rising in the east, touched with its light the myriads of wisps and threads and spidery films of smoke that intertwined and writhed and twisted along the deck, over the rails, and up the masts and shrouds.
"Tell me," Captain Davenport said, rubbing his smarting eyes, "what happened with that BOUNTY crowd after they reached Pitcairn? The account I read said they burnt the Bounty, and that they were not discovered until many years later.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 the jump.""There was trouble," McCoy answered."They were bad men.They quarreled about the women right away.One of the mutineers, Williams, lost his wife.All the women were Tahitian women.His wife fell from the cliffs when hunting sea birds.Then he took the wife of one of the native men away from him.All the native men were made very angry by this, and they killed off nearly all the mutineers.Then the mutineers that escaped killed off all the native men.The women 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 in friendship.The white men had sent them to do it.Then the whitemen killed them.The wife of Tullaloo killed him in a cave because she wanted a white man for husband.They were very wicked.God had hidden His face from them.At the end of two years all the native men were murdered, and all the white men except 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 not catch enough fish for him, he bit off her ear.""They were a bad lot!" Mr.Konig exclaimed.
