"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.
"Enough of this. We're losing time. What is to be done, Mr. McCoy?"
The old man turned his brown eyes, sweet as a woman's, shoreward, and both
