Welsh Rarebit Tales

by Harle Oren Cummins

Three days before he had been first mate of that ship, engaged in various profitable but decidedly questionable undertakings. Now he was alone, marooned on a deserted coral island, over a hundred miles from any regular steamer line. The mutiny which he had incited had almost succeeded. But for that cursed cabin boy who had listened at the key-hole and then run to the Captain on the very eve of his success, he would now be in command of the NORSKA, and the sale of the five hundred blacks down in the hold would have made him a rich man. Well, the cabin boy would never tell any more tales, he had at least had the satisfaction of assuring himself of that before he was put in irons.

Yesterday, when he first heard the fate in store for him, he had begged the Captain to have him shot rather than leave him on that deserted isle. But now, such is the perversity of man, though death was easily within his reach, he did not attempt to kill himself.

Indeed, after the first paroxysm of rage and anger was over he gathered the few possessions which had been left him and carried them back out of reach of any high tide. The next day he began building himself a rough house, and within a week he was planning escape from his prison.

Then followed weary days and weeks in which he spent the time hewing timber and fashioning it into a rude boat. He had much time during this enforced solitude to think over his past, and the thoughts of it brought him little satisfaction. For ten years he had lived the life of the sea in its worst phases. He had been pirate, ship-scuttler and slave-trader. He had murdered and tortured the innocent. His life had been only one long succession of crimes, and still—he clung to it.

At the end of six weeks he had constructed a boat in which he would attempt to reach the nearest land—some three hundred miles away. Then, one day, just before his departure, the dream of his life was realized. While roaming over the shore he stumbled into a lagoon which was literally studded with pearls. For another week he worked loading his boat with the precious stones, and after some difficulty succeeded in getting his cumbersome craft out to sea.

But the oars which he had hewn out being too weak to have any appreciable effect on his boat, he was completely at the mercy of the sea. For days he drifted about, now driven north, now south. The scanty supply of water which he had brought with him soon gave out, and then he suffered the tortures of the damned; and, as if to mock his misery, the pearls, loosened from the rough bags by the rocking of the boat, rolled to and fro under his feet. About the sides of the craft the water swarmed with sharks, and several times in his delirium The Man was on the point of ending his misery by jumping overboard.

“What was the use of all this struggle, anyway?” he asked himself. Again the thoughts of his lawless and wasted life came back to him. He had never in all his life done one noble or honorable deed; and should he ever land with that cargo of wealth, he knew that the old dissipations would be resumed wilder and more dissolute with this new fortune.

Impelled by some curious fancy, and true to his gambler-like nature, he suddenly drew a coin from his pocket.

“I leave it to God to decide,” he muttered. “If I spin heads three times out of five I will try and make for land; if not,—” He did not finish the sentence, but he looked over the side of the boat into the blue waters, and shivered slightly as the white belly of a shark flashed in the sunlight within three feet of him.

He knelt down on the bottom of the boat. It was a most momentous question for him. He held the little coin for a second, then spun it nervously. As he lifted his trembling hand he saw that the silver piece had fallen head up.