That this barefooted
beachcomber should possess such high-sounding dignity was inconceivable.
His cotton shirt, unbuttoned, exposed a grizzled chest and the fact that
there was no undershirt beneath.

A worn straw hat failed to hide the ragged gray hair. Halfway down his
chest descended an untrimmed patriarchal beard. In any slop shop, two
shillings would have outfitted him complete as he stood before them.

"Any relation to the McCoy of the Bounty?" the captain asked.

"He was my great-grandfather."

"Oh," the captain said, then bethought himself. "My name is Davenport,
and this is my first mate, Mr. Konig."

They shook hands.

"And now to business." The captain spoke quickly, the urgency of a great
haste pressing his speech. "We've been on fire for over two weeks.
She's ready to break all hell loose any moment. That's why I held for
Pitcairn. I want to beach her, or scuttle her, and save the hull."

"Then you made a mistake, Captain," said McCoy. "You should have slacked
away for Mangareva. There's a beautiful beach there, in a lagoon where
the water is like a mill pond."

"But we're here, ain't we?" the first mate demanded. "That's the point.
We're here, and we've got to do something."

McCoy shook his head kindly.

"You can do nothing here. There is no beach. There isn't even
anchorage."

"Gammon!" said the mate. "Gammon!" he repeated loudly, as the captain
signaled him to be more soft spoken. "You can't tell me that sort of
stuff. Where d'ye keep your own boats, hey--your schooner, or cutter, or
whatever you have? Hey? Answer me that."

McCoy smiled as gently as he spoke. His smile was a caress, an embrace
that surrounded the tired mate and sought to draw him into the quietude
and rest of McCoy's tranquil soul.

"We have no schooner or cutter," he replied. "And we carry our canoes to
the top of the cliff."

"You've got to show me," snorted the mate. "How d'ye get around to the
other islands, heh? Tell me that."

"We don't get around. As governor of Pitcairn, I sometimes go. When
I was younger, I was away a great deal--sometimes on the trading
schooners, but mostly on the missionary brig. But she's gone now, and we
depend on passing vessels. Sometimes we have had as high as six calls in
one year. At other times, a year, and even longer, has gone by without
one passing ship. Yours is the first in seven months."

"And you mean to tell me--" the mate began.

But Captain Davenport interfered.

"