From Raft to Raft

by Bengt Danielsson

  built for the voyage from Tahiti to Chile

  The contrary wind lasted for a whole fortnight. Every day our position was moved back twenty, thirty or forty miles on the chart on the cabin bulkhead, and I often felt the same dull anger boiling up inside me as I had felt in my childhood when I was playing ludo and had to take back my piece and start again from the beginning. But now, unfortunately, I could not get out of it by upsetting the board or proposing another game. Every day one or two bamboos disappeared despite all our efforts to bind them securely. It did not matter so much in itself, as we we had now certainly consumed so much of our stores that the raft’s reduced capacity to float was set off by her reduced weight, but it was extremely painful each time to see ourselves slowly drifting away from them as we moved back towards Tahiti.

  On March 8th the wind shifted from east-south-west to north-north-east, and we hoisted sail again to try at least to get down to a more southerly latitude. On March nth we completed our circle and passed exactly the same point where we had been seventeen days earlier, on February 23rd. So we were still only half-way across. Next day there was a dead calm, and we all wondered anxiously what kind of surprise there was in store for us this time. It was not till long after darkness had fallen that the first gust of wind came. We crowded expectantly round the binnacle and someone struck a match. There was no doubt about it. We actually had a fair wind, and while we were still standing round the binnacle, talking and chaffing one another, it rapidly increased in strength. A week later the wind was still blowing as evenly and steadily from the same quarter. We felt more and more convinced that our troubles were over at last.

  But on March 21st, without any preliminary calm or other warning, the wind swung round quite unexpectedly from west to southland then, a little later, to southeast. We tried to beat up against it as well as we could, but could not prevent the raft from taking a northerly course, up towards Easter Island. Eric, oblivious of everything else, plunged into profound speculation, and evolved the theory, particularly convincing in our situation, that this mysterious island had originally been discovered and peopled by Polynesian navigators who, like ourselves, had been driven off their course on a voyage to South America. I could not help wondering if it would not be a good idea to follow their example and make for harbour at Easter Island so that we might repair the raft. The nearest islands beyond Easter Island were Pitcairn in the west and Juan Fernandez in the east, and it was more than a thousand miles to either of them. Our only boat was a worn rubber dinghy, so small that it would not hold us all. The fact that we had a wireless was not much use to us either, for the chances of a vessel being in the neighbourhood, if we got into serious trouble in those lonely waters, were extremely small, and possibly nil. So Easter Island was certainly our only salvation if the raft began to sink.

  But we never came within 300 miles of Easter Island, for on April 3rd there was once more a strong favourable wind. So we had no choice but to go on towards Valparaiso. Before we sailed, it had been Eric’s intention to go down at once to 400 south, where westerly winds prevail practically all the year round. Instead he had decided to swing eastward at 33° south, because we came upon favourable winds there. Everything had gone well for three and a half months, and all protests against Eric’s decision had therefore died down. But now that we had lost more than five weeks in unnecessary wandering about we all felt a strong desire to go down to more southerly latitudes: at the same time we all saw, alas, that to do so would be sheer suicide on account of the wretched state of our raft. So we went on due east and tried to console ourselves with the thought that, according to all the laws of probability, we ought now, after our earlier setbacks, to have a fair wind for a long time to come.

  It looked as if our faith in the laws of probability was justified, for during the next few weeks the fresh following wind not only continued but gradually increased in strength. Although now and then we saw a bamboo whirl away in our wake the raft did not seem to be sinking noticeably deeper, and at last we quite ceased to worry about these losses. Instead, our greatest anxiety all through April was for our water and food supply. For all our reckoning and rationing we could not see what we could do to make this last as far as Valparaiso, where in the most favourable event we could not arrive before the middle of June. The worst thing was that we had so little drinking water left. In the first months of our voyage it had rained so often that we had taken it for granted that we should always be able to replenish our supplies when necessary. But strangely, not a single drop of rain fell all through April. At the same time, for some curious reason, all the fish which had been accompanying the raft disappeared, so we could no longer count on keeping ourselves alive with fishes’ blood when we had drunk the last drop of water.

  ‘Don’t you know that faith can work miracles? Spread out a piece of canvas and get out all our bottles and tanks,’ Eric said with a knowing smile, one day towards the end of the month, when we were discussing our water problem with more anxiety than usual.

  We looked up in astonishment at the blue sky, in which the sun was shining with a pleasant warmth, and burst into a roar of laughter. But, accustomed as we were to discipline at sea, we carried out our captain’s order without making any objections. The same night thunder and lightning began, and in less than half an hour all our bottles and tanks were filled to the brim. Of course it was pure chance, but I am quite sure that Eric so regarded it. He certainly did not believe in God. But time after time chance occurrences of this kind had saved his life, and it seemed that he had gradually become convinced that he had been specially favoured by Fortune from his birth and therefore did not need to take any danger really seriously. It was certainly just this conviction that caused Eric time after time to take quite unnecessary risks with complete nonchalance.

  At the beginning of May—our seventh month at sea— the westerly wind became still stronger. We were still about a thousand miles from Valparaiso, and in our eagerness to arrive there as quickly as possible we set a couple of extra sails. It was a little rash, for we did not know how much strain the raft would stand, and we were examining her closely every day with ill-concealed anxiety. Curiously enough she seemed to be standing up to it well, and with each day that passed we became more and more hopeful.

  But although we were still in happy ignorance of it, our worst trial was still ahead. The first warning of a gale came on the night between May 5th and May 6th, when I was suddenly awakened by a crash. At the same time the paraffin lamp, which we always left alight on the cabin table at night, went out. Still half asleep, I jumped down from my upper berth to see what was happening. I suddenly grew numb. I had water up to my knees. I snatched the electric torch which I kept under my pillow and let the cone of light sweep round the cabin. Furniture, clothes and books were floating in confusion in water eighteen inches deep, and astonished, sleepy faces peered from all the berths except that of Francis.

  ‘It looks as if we’re sinking,’ said Eric quietly.

  We all agreed more or less audibly, but for some reason we took this really most tragic discovery as calmly as Eric. Perhaps we had long ago become so accustomed to the idea that we had grown fatalistic. Or perhaps our lack of interest was simply due to the fact that we were too sleepy to react more vigorously. At any rate we were all still standing or sitting in the same positions, as if frozen, when a few seconds later Francis came wading into the cabin, bawling cheerfully.

  ‘What’s it like in the fish pond? There’s nothing to worry about. But you’d better shut the after door in future if you want to sleep in peace.’

  Francis told us in a few words what had happened. As we were now at last beginning to understand, a gigantic wave had come rolling over the sea from astern. We had seen hundreds of gigantic waves in the course of the voyage, and they had all lifted the raft high in the air and quietly rolled beneath her without even wetting the deck. This mysterious wave, on the contrary, besides moving much more quickly than any of the others, broke just befor
e it reached the raft, and it was really due more to good luck than skill on his part that Francis succeeded in scrambling up the mast at the last moment. For a little while it looked as if the raft would remain waterlogged, but at last she rose out of the seething foam, shaking and trembling violently from the tremendous strain.

  Of course we all regarded this episode as a sign that a storm was gathering, which after all was not surprising, as we were already some way into the southern winter. It is well known that one misfortune seldom comes alone, and Eric was unwell next day as a result of the drenching he had had in his lower berth on that disastrous night. Already several months before he had seemed so sensitive to cold and draughts that we had persuaded him—with some difficulty—not to take any more watches, and since we had passed the longitude of Easter Island at the beginning of April he had spent most of the time in his bunk. A diligent perusal of our medical books had not enabled us to diagnose his difficulty in breathing and high temperature, so we came to the conclusion that he was simply worn out and exhausted. But after the misadventure with the mysterious wave it was not difficult to see that he was now also suffering from a severe chill.

  It was now more than ever necessary to reach Chile quickly. As if at our request, the wind gradually increased in strength. Our joy, however, soon gave place to fear, for the strain seemed to be altogether too great for our poor raft, and although we struck all the sails but one the masts quivered like bowstrings. On May 7th we were compelled to strike even our last sail, a miserable little foresail. But we could not take down the cabin, and the wind pressed against it so violently that the raft soon took a list of forty-five degrees. It was no longer possible to walk upright, and as it was in any event no longer feasible to steer the raft we crept into the cabin again and hoped that the gale would at last continue to chase us on towards South America. Next day it moderated a little, and we peeped cautiously out through the cabin door. The masts were still there, but the deck was tom up on the starboard side, one of the beams which held the bamboos together was crushed and damaged bamboos stuck out into the water all round the raft.

  We managed to repair the worst damage and set sail again. Helped by a fair wind of just the right strength we flew on towards Chile. A week passed. Our hopes rose. However, on May 16th the swiftly falling barometer warned us that a new storm was approaching, and to be on the safe side we immediately hauled down all the sails. This proved to have been a wise precaution, for only half an hour later we were in the middle of the worst storm I have encountered in all my life. The wind whistled ominously in the rigging, while the raft lurched and shook so violently that we tumbled over each other in the cabin. To crown all, this time we had met with an easterly gale, and so were on our way back to Tahiti. When, the following morning, the storm had moderated sufficiently for us to go out on deck again, we made a most alarming discovery: several of the big four-inch bamboos which formed the main body of the raft had broken loose and disappeared. Soon afterwards another bamboo came loose, and this time we managed to get hold of it before it fell off. We examined it curiously. It was full of large white ship-worms, and when we broke off a piece and as an experiment flung it into the sea it sank at once. It was evident that the raft would never hold out as far as Valparaiso, which was still 800 miles away, a distance which would take about sixteen days to cover. The nearest island of the Juan Fernandez group, Masafuera, on the other hand, was only 350 miles away. Perhaps we could get ashore there before the raft fell to pieces or sank altogether. But after a rather more thorough survey of our beloved Tahiti Nui we saw that we could not even reach this harbour of refuge without the assistance of a tug.

  We had not yet been able to establish regular contact with any wireless fan in Chile, but our friend Roland d’Assignies in Tahiti was still answering our signals as promptly as ever. After a long discussion of the situation, therefore, we called him up late on the evening of Saturday, May 18th, and asked him to forward a telegram to the expeditions secretary, Carlos Garcia-Palacios, who had just reached Chile to prepare for our arrival. In the telegram we earnestly begged Carlos immediately to charter a boat which could tow us to Masafuera, and explained that it was our intention to proceed to Valparaiso without further help as soon as we had repaired the raft at that island. Roland read the telegram back to us and promised to forward it at once. While the raft was being tossed about helplessly on the rough sea we all turned in and had a good sleep so as to be in good fettle for the impending tow, which would certainly be extremely difficult.

  Next day, Sunday, May 19th, when we turned on the wireless to hear if there was any answer from Carlos, we happened to pick up an American news bulletin, consisting mainly of politics and other matters of no interest to us whatever. Suddenly, to our astonishment, the announcer began to read a thrilling account of the tragic loss of the French raft Tahiti Nui. According to the communique, which the announcer gabbled in the cheerful tone reserved by all radio stations for particularly distressing incidents, the raft was completely smashed up and three of us seriously injured. But we heard a few seconds later that there was still hope, for on receiving our sos the Chilean cruiser Baquedano had immediately gone out to rescue us despite the stormy weather. The announcer, with a strong sense of the dramatic, finished up by declaring triumphantly that we had fortunately been able to give our exact position, which considerably improved the chances of Baquedano finding us.

  We stared at each other in amazement and burst into a roar of laughter, for such ludicrous nonsense we had not heard for a long time. But we soon became serious again. The false statements in the communique that we had sent out an sos and that there were several injured on board the raft did not matter much. But much worse was that the position given by the announcer—320 south by 88° west—was quite different from our real one, which was 350 05’ south by 89° 24’ west. It was easy to see what had happened. As unfortunately is often the case, some ‘helpful’ wireless fan had picked up our conversation with Roland and so utterly misunderstood it that he had been seized with panic and had immediately sent out a false alarm. It was indeed a pleasant situation.

  Michel screwed wildly at all his knobs with the courage of desperation, and the incredible actually happened. For the first time in several months he made direct contact with a Chilean wireless fan, whose voice, moreover, was heard quite unusually clearly. Before we could point out all the absurd mistakes that had been made, he began to describe eagerly a new rescue operation being planned by the Chilean Air Force. It was as simple as it was bold. Two aircraft were to come out from the coast and drop rubber dinghies to us: we were to inflate these, clamber on board and wait quietly in them till the cruiser should arrive and pick us up. We hastened to assure our new friend that we were not in such imminent danger as he and everyone else in Chile seemed to think, and that it would be more than enough if we got the tow we had asked for. Of course we also begged him to see that the captain of Baquedano got our right position.

  We turned off the wireless with a sigh of relief and sat down and tried to calculate how long it would take Baquedano to arrive. We came to the conclusion that it would be at least forty-eight hours. As we now had a moderate southerly wind again, we decided to set all sail and go to meet our rescuer. We were by no means sure that our raft, in her dilapidated condition, would stand towing for any length of time, and every extra mile we could put behind us considerably increased our chances of rescue. We hoped, with the help of the Chilean wireless fan, to be able to keep Baquedano informed of our position all the time. Next day, Monday, May 20th— incidentally our 193rd day at sea—we repaired our raft, which was still making a good speed, in a rough and ready fashion, and, according to an old seaman’s tradition, cleaned ourselves up thoroughly. Our hopeful preparations seemed to give Eric new strength: he got up immediately and followed our example.

  On Tuesday Michel at last made direct contact with Baquedano, and a careful calculation showed that we ought to meet between two and three o’clock next morning�
��if our last position was right, and our speed correctly estimated, which of course was far from certain. An error of only a few miles might lead to Baquedano missing us and our losing a precious day or two. It was therefore with a disagreeable premonition that I took the night watch and began to peer ahead for the rocking ship’s lights which ought to be somewhere right ahead. But our navigation and Baquedano’s had evidently been irreproachable, for at 2:45 a.m. I detected a faint light on the eastern horizon. I hurried into the cabin to tell the good news to my shipmates, and found Michel at the wireless table engaged in a lively conversation with Baquedano s wireless officer. Of course Michel did not fail to let him know that we were now in sight of each other. A few minutes later the Chileans turned on a powerful searchlight, and I replied with the rather more modest resources at our disposal—that is, by climbing up the mast and flashing an electric torch. Being uncertain where we should find time to have our next meal, we cooked ourselves a huge breakfast and attacked it with keen appetites.

  Baquedano reached Tahiti Nui just after 4 a.m., and the captain launched a boat without waiting for dawn. When the boat approached us we saw by the light of our electric torches and lanterns that she was manned by seven men. The first of them to clamber on board had a Red Cross brassard round his arm. Before we could make out the next man’s appearance and rank a powerful flashlight flared in our faces. He was obviously a photographer. The third was an officer, who seemed visibly disappointed at finding five well-dressed, freshly shaved men, who invited him to sit down at a well-furnished coffee table, instead of the same number of half-drowned, starving wrecks of humanity. Eric now felt so well that he decided to go back in the boat to discuss matters with Baquedano’s captain. He took Francis and Michel with him, while Juanito and I had the honour of taking over the command of Tahiti Nui for the time being.

  Two hours later our comrades came back loaded with cigarettes, wine and provisions and told us of their experiences. At first the Chilean captain had wanted to abandon the raft and return to Valparaiso with us without delay. Eric, however, had been obstinate as usual, and at last the captain had agreed to try to tow the raft to the Juan Fernandez Islands, although he was convinced that it was impossible. Eric sat down at the cabin table with a look of triumph and sketched the new course.