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"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."
Once and twice Raraka headed us again again, in the sea fashion, the quite innocent steersman was abused and again the Casco kept away.
After the moon went down, the heaven was a thing to wonder at for stars. And as I lay in the cockpit and looked upon the steersman I was haunted by Emerson's verses: 'And the lone seaman all the night Sails astonished among stars. By this glittering and imperfect brightness, about four bells in the first watch we made our third atoll, Raraka.
And the sound of the surf accompanied us, now in a drowsy monotone, now with a menacing swing. The isle lay nearly east and west, barring our advance on Fakarava. We must, therefore, hug the coast until we gained the western end, where, through a passage eight miles wide, we might sail southward between Raraka and the next isle, Kauehi.
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