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South Sea Tales-Part20_JACK LONDON(1876-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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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 and



sink back into the sea again.

A few minutes later, just as the captain had discovered that a new current



from the northeast had gripped the Pyrenees, the masthead lookouts raised

cocoanut palms in the northwest.



"It is Raraka," said McCoy. "We won't make it without wind. The current is

drawing us down to the southwest. But we must watch out. A few miles farther



on a current flows north and turns in a circle to the northwest. This will

sweep us away from Fakarava, and Fakarava is the place for the Pyrenees to



find her bed."

"They can sweep all they da--all they well please," Captain Davenport remarked



with 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 so



hot that it seemed an increase of a few degrees would cause it to burst into

flames. In many places even the heavy-soled shoes of the men were no



protection, and they were compelled to step lively to avoid scorching their

feet. The smoke had increased and grown more acrid. Every man on board was



suffering from inflamed eyes, and they coughed and strangled like a crew of

tuberculosis 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 the

instruments of the officers. Captain Davenport even put the chronometer into



the longboat, fearing the blowing up of the deck at any moment.

All night this apprehension weighed heavily on all, and in the first morning



light, with hollow eyes and ghastly faces, they stared at one another as if in

surprise that the Pyrenees still held together and that they still were alive.



Walking rapidly at times, and even occasionally breaking into an undignified

hop-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 return

to the poop.



The cry of land came down from the masthead. From the deck the land was

invisible, and McCoy went aloft, while the captain took advantage of the



opportunity to curse some of the bitterness out of his heart. But the cursing

was suddenly stopped by a dark line on the water which he sighted to the



northeast. It was not a squall, but a regular breeze--the disrupted trade

wind, 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 the

easterly point of Fakarava, and we'll go in through the passage full-tilt, the



wind abeam, and every sail drawing."

At the end of an hour, the cocoanut trees and the low-lying land were visible



from the deck. The feeling that the end of the PYRENEES' resistance was

imminent weighed heavily on everybody. Captain Davenport had the three boats



lowered and dropped short astern, a man in each to keep them apart. The

Pyrenees closely skirted the shore, the surf-whitened atoll a bare two cable



lengths away.

And a minute later the land parted, exposing a narrow passage and the lagoon



beyond, 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 the

wheel and headed into the passage. The turns had scarcely been made, and



nothing had been coiled down, when the men and mates swept back to the poop in

panic terror. Nothing had happened, yet they averred that something was going



to happen. They could not tell why. They merely knew that it was about to

happen. 'mcCoy started forward to take up his position on the bow in order to



con 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?" he



demanded the next instant. "We're standing still."

McCoy smiled.



"You are bucking a seven-knot current, Captain," he said. "That is the way the

full ebb runs out of this passage."



At the end of another hour the Pyrenees had scarcely gained her length, but

the 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 in



obedience, when the amidship deck of the Pyrenees, in a mass of flame and

smoke, was flung upward into the sails and rigging, part of it remaining there



and the rest falling into the sea. The wind being abeam, was what had saved

the men crowded aft. They made a blind rush to gain the boats, but McCoy's



voice, carrying its convincing message of vast calm and endless time, stopped

them.



"Take it easy," he was saying. Everything is all right. Pass that boy down

somebody, please."



The man at the wheel had forsaken it in a funk, and Captain Davenport had

leaped and caught the spokes in time to prevent the ship from yawing in the



current and going ashore.




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