Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

102 several feet below the surface. And, stand- ing on this with more than half of his body under water and clinging to the edge of the reef with both hands, he was partially pro- tected from the storm-driven water which broke and spent most of its force on the opposite side, Crawson remained clinging here for what seemed to him an unendurable length of time. His shoulders ached from the weight of the box, which had become to him not a thing of pounds but of tons. His fingers were cramped and bleeding from_holding to the ledge, and he felt that he had been hold- ing on there since the first ray of the first dawn. But in reality it was less than an hour, for the storm broke quickly, as they so often do in tropical waters. The clouds melted, and the sun shone forth, dazzling, searing. As soon as the commotion of the water began to subside, Crawson left his perch on the ledge and drew himself up to the surface of the reef. The seas were still running high, but the force was no longer behind them. Crawson was able to stand up and survey his surroundings. ALMOST the first thing he saw was a low, flat speck of land. It was a ? mere dot on the face of the ocean. He could see across it. There were no inhabitants, no growth—just a bare, bald sand-dune with a rocky formation at one end, completely surrounded by a coral reef. Yet to Crawson it was a paradise, an oasis in the desert. He judged the island to be about a mile from the reef, and even in his present condition he felt equal to a swim of that distance. The seas were fast getting down to nor- mal. Crawson scanned the horizon in search of the Moros. They were not to be seen. The white man was glad for this. He might be able to swim a mile, but he was in no shape for an encounter with a gang of Moros. Moreover, he had no weapon except his two hands with which to defend himself. When his boat had been wrecked, his belt was torn off in some way, and with it went his dagger, his revolvers and ammunition. Crawson sat down and took off his shoes and trousers, tied the shoes together and swung them over hisneck, stuffed the trousers in between his back and the jewel box, slipped into the water and struck out for of them merely to one side as he came near. “He i nies and terns, by the great quan of eggs strewn on the were there for the purpose of ing. This, then, solved the problem of However, Crawson’s thirst was greater than his hunger just then; so he determined to look again for water before trying the eggs. While pursuing his search for water, Crawson discovered the hull of an old wreck, a small sailing craft. It was piled on the beach and half buried in the sand, indicating that it had been wrecked years before. He ripped an oaken plank from the side of the old hull, broke it at a convenient length, went back about two hundred from the beach and began to dig. He had expected that he would have to try in many places, but to his surprize water began to bubble up through the sand when he had dug down less than five feet. Crawson cupped his hands and tasted it. It was cool and fresh—not the slightest tinge of salt. He thought it a miracle that he had struck water at the first place he tried. Later he was to learn that he could strike water anywhere on the island as soon as he dug down to the level of the ocean’s surface. It was the ocean water that seeped through the sand and was fil- tered in the process. When Crawson had slaked his thirst at the little well of his own making, his incen- tive for further exertion was removed. For the present, at least, his hunger was forgotten in the crying need of his body— his entire body from molecule to muscle— for relaxation, rest. The ancient schooner had come on to the ; z it offered a small space of shade. Crawson f stretched out in the coolness of this spot