JIMMY GOGGLES THE GOD

“It isn’t everyone who’s been a god,” said the sunburnt man quietly. “But I have.”

He leaned back and began his tale.

Twenty years earlier, he had been one of three survivors of the wrecked ship Ocean Pioneer. The vessel had gone down in a narrow volcanic channel while secretly carrying a fortune in gold—nearly forty thousand pounds’ worth. Only three men survived: Always, the mate; a sailor named Jacobs; and himself.

While official salvage crews searched in the wrong place—thanks to a false chart prepared by Always—the three survivors quietly planned to recover the treasure themselves. Always arranged a small brig, the Pride of Banya, owned by two brothers, the Sanderses. They bought a second-hand diving suit with a compressed-air supply. The mood on board was cheerful and greedy; they joked constantly and treated the diving suit like a mascot, even pouring rum inside its helmet for fun.

At last they reached the hidden channel where the Ocean Pioneer lay sunk between black volcanic rocks. The broken masts were still visible through the clear tropical water. They anchored at a safe distance, and it was decided that the sunburnt man would dive first.

He had never dived before.

Wearing the heavy suit, he stepped overboard. The descent was painful—pressure crushed his ears and head; darkness swallowed him as he sank. The wreck emerged like a ghost from black water and seaweed. He landed on the deck where fish scattered around him. The scene felt eerie: the ship where he had once laughed and smoked now lay silent and dead beneath the sea.

He searched below deck and found the treasure. He even lifted one end of a gold box—proof it was there. Greed and excitement filled him.

When he began ascending, disaster struck.

A knife suddenly plunged past him. Then he collided with something falling—young Sanders, speared through the neck, struggling with an attacker. Above him were canoes filled with native islanders. Spears rained down. Always jumped overboard and was killed instantly. The brig was captured.

The sunburnt man twisted his air valve and sank back down in terror, hiding once more inside the wreck.

Now he faced a terrible choice: suffocate below or face certain death above.

He chose neither.

Instead, he walked along the sea floor away from the wreck until he found a slope leading upward. He rose carefully near a beach and emerged, still fully dressed in the massive diving suit.

A group of native islanders stood staring at him.

He could barely move in the heavy boots and copper helmet. Running was impossible. In desperation, he tightened the suit valves and inflated himself until he appeared enormous and unnatural. The effect was astonishing. The islanders dropped to their knees in fear.

They believed he was a god risen from the sea.

Realizing this, he acted the part. He moved slowly and grandly, waving his arms. The villagers led him to their temple—a small hut containing a black stone idol. Thinking quickly, he overturned their idol and sat upon it. He howled and made strange noises. The terrified villagers immediately began worshipping him.

And so, by accident and desperation, he became their god.

For hours he sat stiff and silent, sweating terribly inside the suffocating suit while they danced, burned offerings, and presented him with food. He dared not behave too humanly. Only at night, when alone, did he unscrew the helmet slightly to breathe properly and eat secretly.

Days turned into weeks. He could not remain in the diving suit forever, so he had them build him a sacred inner chamber. There, out of sight, he removed the suit and rested. He communicated with them by drawing pictures in the sand and making solemn gestures. Though difficult, they obeyed him faithfully.

Under his “divine” rule, the tribe prospered. They won battles, had excellent fishing, and harvested abundant crops. They believed their sea-god had brought them luck. Secretly, however, he remained obsessed with the treasure still lying in the wreck.

Each night he walked to the shore, hoping to retrieve the gold, but darkness and dangerous rocks prevented him.

He ruled for nearly four months.

Then came the missionary.

One afternoon a European missionary arrived, determined to convert the “idol-worshippers.” Hearing the commotion, the sunburnt man quickly put on his helmet and prepared himself.

When the missionary entered the temple and declared that the natives worshipped “stocks and stones,” the false god thundered back in English, shocking him completely. The missionary was stunned, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The villagers, thinking this was divine power, fell in awe. The missionary left humiliated.

The sunburnt man later realized he had made a mistake. If he had cooperated with the missionary, they might have recovered the gold together.

Soon afterward, the official salvage ship appeared in the channel. The treasure hunt was discovered. His deception could not last.

Before matters collapsed completely, he escaped secretly along the coast, traveling at night, stealing food from villages, armed only with a spear. He eventually reached safety.

In the end, he secured only about eight thousand pounds—his fifth share of the treasure. The grand fortune had slipped mostly from his grasp.

He finished his story bitterly.

“Forty thousand pounds,” he muttered. “And I spent four months sweating inside a diving suit pretending to be a god.”

He shook his head.

“It isn’t all jam being a god,” he said. “Not when you’re just a man inside a copper helmet.”