‘Man overboard!’
I splashed across the deck as quickly as I could and almost knocked Jean over; he was vainly searching for a rope to use as a life-line. It was of course that unpractical, clumsy Hans who had been struck by the mainsail and had tumbled in. It was blowing half a gale, and the sea was roaring and hissing. Han’s situation seemed hopeless, especially as the sky was covered with black clouds and visibility was bad. I searched the storm-lashed sea despairingly with my eyes, while Jean, swearing fiercely, disentangled the long rope which he had found at last.
A whimpering sound near my feet made me lower my eyes. It was Hans clinging with all his might to one of the trunks in the raft’s side. Evidently he had had sufficient presence of mind to grasp the first object his hands had touched after his fall. Next moment a big wave came rolling along and bumped violently against the raft. More by luck than by skill Jean and I managed to haul Hans on board at the moment when, half conscious and exhausted, he was losing his grip. When he came to himself in the cabin he complained of a severe pain in one leg, but fortunately it did not seem to be broken. We gave him a good drink from our last bottle of whisky and had a long swig ourselves to help us forget this unpleasant incident.
Richly endowed now with all the wisdom and caution which only experience, it seems, can give, we stowed away the mainsail and set the much smaller spanker in its place. Immediately afterwards we set the foresail, too, so that the raft might keep her course more easily. We were glad to see that our speed was only slightly reduced, for we continued to make daily runs of from fifty to sixty miles.
A few days later—to be exact, on June 7th—immediately after darkness had fallen, we again had to take in all sail in a hurry, but this time for a quite different reason. Juanito had just taken over the helm, and the rest of us had turned in. Just as I was shutting my eyes and falling asleep I heard him shout:
‘A light, a light quite near, to port!’
We could tell at once from his trembling, excited voice that it could not be a joke, so we dashed outside just as we were, dressed, half-dressed, or quite undressed. The light was white and strong and, as Juanito had said, quite close, not more than 300 yards ahead of us at an angle on the windward side. To reduce the deviation we struck the few sails we had up, after which I took out my electric torch and began to signal our raft’s name and destination. Although I received no answer, I continued to flash signals with my torch as we slowly approached the mysterious light. We now saw that it was quite near the surface of the sea, so it could hardly be a ship’s light: besides, a ship would certainly have been better lighted. Perhaps it was a sailing boat? We shouted and yelled as loud as we could, but received no answer. As I have already explained, we could not tack against the wind, and therefore, to our annoyance, we finally passed on the lee side of the still brightly shining light at a distance of only thirty yards, without being able to solve the mystery. We reluctantly set sail again and proceeded westward.
During the eager discussion which naturally followed Hans maintained that the light had come from a drifting ship’s boat with some poor shipwrecked devils on board, so exhausted that they could not answer our signals, if they had not already died of hunger and thirst. I for my part inclined more to Eric’s considerably less romantic theory that it was a Japanese fishing buoy, and this theory received further confirmation when, soon afterwards, we sighted first two similar lights and then, at a great distance, an illuminated boat of the kind which the Japanese use for tunny-fishing. I knew very well that the Japanese fish intensively in international waters in the western part of the Pacific. But that they now came all the way from Japan to lay their nets in the eastern part of the Pacific, 2000 miles from the nearest land, was definitely news to me, and testified to infinitely greater daring and enterprise than I thought them capable of. When would the United States, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and France, all of whom had many ports in that part of the Pacific, at last dare to follow the Japanese example? I felt a new urge to realize an old dream and smiled with pleasure at the picture of myself as the well-to-do skipper of a fishing boat with a Tahitian crew and Tahiti as home port.
Before we had really got over the events of the night we had a new and considerably more disagreeable surprise: the rudder-post broke in two during the morning watch. It was simpler to make a new rudder than to mend the old one (which was, moreover, too small) so we pulled up three of the six centreboards in the bows and nailed them together. It took us a day and a half to make and fix the giant new rudder, which when complete weighed about 125 lb. and was at least twice as large as the old one, but when the laborious job was finished we found to our satisfaction that the raft answered the helm a good deal better than before. Despite this, much more muscle power than before was of course required to handle it. To economize our strength as much as possible we installed an ingenious steering system of tackles and ropes, which worked very well. To perfect this we also turned a few more centreboards into a platform for the unfortunate helmsman to stand on, so that he should no longer be in danger of being washed away when the waves broke over the stem, which had happened rather often of late.
We were still in a beggarly 40 south, and if we were to reach Tahiti, which lay in 170 south, we must without delay swing down in a wide curve to the south-west. The raft should really have followed this course almost of her own accord, for according to all charts and navigational handbooks the South Equatorial Current ought to turn off to the south immediately after 120° west longitude, and at the same time the trade winds should follow from this degree of longitude a similar circular course. But for some mysterious reason we still met with only northerly currents long after we had passed 120° west, and the wind too behaved abnormally by ceaselessly changing its direction. Laying the helm over to starboard did not help much, but by quickly taking in sail every time the wind was south-easterly and setting sail again just as quickly as soon as the wind went round into the north-east, we actually succeeded in gradually making a few degrees to southward. But this was a fearfully tiring method, and as all hands had to turn out frequently all round the clock, we got no proper sleep. All the time the raft continued to sink, slowly, but inexorably.
The only real distraction during this trying time was a short visit from a whale shark as big as the raft. (Whale sharks are the world’s largest fish and have been aptly so called because they are often as big as whales.) The brown monster swam level with the raft without the slightest exertion, and nosed at it long and inquisitively with its horrid snout before hurrying on westward at top speed with a contemptuous flick of its tail. I could not restrain a slightly ironical smile. Evidently we were copying the Kon-Tiki expedition in everything—except the raft’s ability to float.
In the middle of June we had nearly eight inches of water in the cabin. We therefore raised the lower bunks by this amount, but the water splashed about so violently and made everything so damp that we all, whether we had upper or lower bunks, preferred to establish ourselves on the only dry place that remained—the cabin roof. For once in a way my shipmates had a few words of praise for the creator of the raft, and I was equally pleased that, by a lucky inspiration, I had had a flat roof made instead of a pointed one as on Tahiti Nui I. The roof was not more than 10 feet by 13 feet, but we actually suffered much less from crowding than from the wind, which, strange as it may seem, was often unpleasantly chilly at night. This change was particularly unwelcome to Eric, whose strength had begun to fail even before we moved up on to the roof. As during the outward voyage from Tahiti to Chile, he seemed to be simply tired and exhausted, for he had no pain anywhere, and although we examined him and questioned him thoroughly we could not find a single clear symptom of any definite sickness. We knew from experience that his condition could easily be made worse if he got cold and wet, so we made a little tent for him out of a piece of canvas and tried for his sake to be glad that the keenly desired, thirst- quenching rain seemed not to be coming at all.
As early as June
20th we saw clearly that we no longer had any prospect of reaching Tahiti unless we got a strong northerly wind for two or three weeks on end, and of course it was useless to hope for such a fantastic piece of luck. But we were only 400 miles from the Marquesas Islands, were well placed for reaching them, and were still doing about fifty miles a day with only spanker and foresail set. So we were still in good heart. But only a few days later there came a disastrous change for the worse, when the wind, hitherto so variable, began to blow steadily from the wrong quarter, the south-east, and gradually increased in strength. We took in all sail, hoisted a little storm foresail in the bows and laid the heavy rudder over. Despite this it was not long before the rough pencil line which marked our route began to point due west—past the Marquesas Islands.
One day after another dragged on without appreciable change in the course of our long drift. But it was not till the night of June 26th-27th, when I was standing on watch alone on the slippery platform aft, that I began to be really downhearted. Again and again I looked anxiously at the compass to see if it was really true that the wind was still south-easterly. Every time I was obliged sadly to admit that it was. Should we miss the Marquesas too? I dared not think what the consequences might be.
Suddenly I gave a start. I had clearly felt the raft sinking under my feet, swiftly and cruelly. Next moment a wave washed over the platform on which I stood. I clung fast to the cabin and waited for the water to drain away. But strange to say it did not do so. Then the truth dawned on me. The raft had not been simply forced down under water by a violent squall, but had suddenly for some reason lost a large part of her buoyancy. As the water now covered the platform, the raft must have sunk nearly three feet. This dismal sight brought back to mind the advice which one of the owners of the yard at Constitucion had given me while the raft was being built, when he had seen me covering the deck with plaited work of Chilean willow.
‘Don’t forget to water the deck regularly,’ he had said. ‘Plaited work like that splits if it is too dry.’
My first thought was to call out all hands at once. But a second later it occurred to me that it was kinder to let them sleep on. They would probably take the disaster better in daylight than if I woke them in the middle of the night. And indeed, they all showed extraordinary self-control when they let themselves down from the roof one after another in the pallid dawn. We discussed at length what could be the reason for the rapid fall in the raft s buoyancy, and we finally decided on a close examination of the cypress trunks. After great exertions I succeeded, with Jean’s help, in cutting one of the trunks in the bows. We saw at first glance that the stump we had cut off was bored through and through by ship-worms. When we threw it into the sea it sank like a stone. All the trunks we examined were quite as worm-eaten. When we waded into the cabin, which was now more like a swimming pool than anything else, we found to our disgust that a great deal of our provisions and gear had been washed away. We therefore hastened to lift up all the remaining cases, parcels and apparatus into the upper berths or make them fast to the roof.
It was serious enough that the raft had sunk almost three feet, but what was much worse for the moment was that she was again becoming extremely difficult to steer. One or two of my shipmates therefore began to wonder if there was really any object in continuing the tiring watches at the helm. To my great surprise Eric agreed with them, and his argument was typical of his whole philosophy.
‘My experience is that it is a pure waste of one’s strength to try to fight against the forces of Nature,’ he said, smiling gently, ‘for they are always stronger than we are. What did the old Polynesian seadogs do when they ran into a storm? They simply lay down to sleep, full of confidence that their sea god Taaroa would help them. So let us, in Polynesian fashion, spare our strength for the days to come when we may need it more, and let the raft drift where she likes. Perhaps Taaroa will help us too. . . .’
I admitted that Eric’s proposal was much more sensible than it sounded; yet, having thoroughly weighed the pros and cons, I decided to vote against it. I feared that waiting passively for an uncertain outcome would make us so listless and dull-witted that we should end by becoming quite indifferent to our fate. The Polynesian way was no doubt excellent for Polynesians, but we Westerners had not the same fatalistic outlook, and as in the navy discipline and routine were certainly the best way of keeping up our morale. I did my best to carry conviction and strenuously urged that we should continue to steer as southerly a course as possible, as all hope of reaching the Marquesas Islands had not yet disappeared. I concluded as follows:
‘Even if we miss the Marquesas, we have still a good chance of reaching one of the northernmost atolls in the Tuamotu group or one of the most westerly of the Society Islands. On the other hand, if we let the raft drift before the winds and currents, it is absolutely certain already that we shall just go on through empty sea.’
‘I understand you very well, and it shall be as you wish,’ Eric said in a spiritless voice when I had finished. ‘I am old, tired and ill, and it is not right of me to try to force my will. I therefore hand over the command to you, Alain, so from now on you will take all important decisions. It is a great and heavy responsibility, and that is why I have waited so long before turning it over to you. But I think it would be still more irresponsible conduct to try to go on playing a part for which I have no longer the strength.’
Frankly speaking, I would rather have been appointed captain under rather more favourable conditions and preferably on a more seaworthy craft. But as I was the only one who could navigate a vessel, I had as little choice as Eric. I therefore bowed to his will and concluded the discussion by urging yet again that we should continue the steering watches.
No further objection was offered, but Juanito soon showed his dissatisfaction in a particularly unpleasant manner. Again and again when he was on watch he let the raft swing broadside on to the sea. Each time she did this she took such a list that we nearly fell into the water, and to crown everything we were generally obliged to fiddle with the rudder and fight with the flapping sails for hours on end to force the raft back on to her proper course. When we abused Juanito he only answered carelessly that it was not his fault and that he did his best. Of course this only made us angrier, with the unexpected result that Juanito suddenly refused to be cook any longer. When he persisted in his decision despite all our efforts to make him see reason, Jean good-naturedly offered to take over the thankless post of cook. (So as not to make the raft more unsteady, we had not moved our heavy gas cooker on to the roof but left it in the cabin, where it was now wetter than ever.) But becoming cook did not prevent Jean from fishing, and he jumped into the sea with an energy that made us marvel as soon as he had a little time to spare. But unfortunately the result of all his exertions was nil. For some reason or another all the dolphins and other eatable fish had disappeared. On the other hand, a large brown shark was following us faithfully, day after day.
To my boundless joy it looked for a short time as if I was going to be right, for during the first three or four days after the vital council we again approached the Marquesas Islands, kindly helped, I suppose, by a south-going ocean current. But as early as June 29th it was clear to us all that we should miss them in spite of this welcome aid. Nor in all probability should we reach any islands in the Tuamotu or Society groups, if the wind did not soon become more favourable. The next group of islands in the direction in which we were drifting consisted of the three widely separated atolls Caroline, Vostok and Flint, and they were about 600 miles away. If we missed them too we should have to go on for at least another 1200 miles to Samoa, or . . . No, farther than that we dared not think. In any case it was safest to prepare for a long voyage. But how?
Increase the raft’s buoyancy, make her steadier, and ration food and water,’ came in a faint voice from Eric’s berth.
The solution which Eric advocated was roughly the same as what the rest of us already had in mind, so for once we were all in
agreement. After a short discussion we agreed that the best way to make the raft lighter and steadier was to cut away one of the mizzen-masts (I use the plural because we had a double mast which looked like an inverted V), the sails of which we had long before transferred to the mainmasts. When we had carried this out with good results, we set about making an inventory of food stores. We still had plenty of rice, flour and macaroni. As far as we could estimate, it looked as if our stock of these would last for at least another two months. We had also thirty tins of condensed milk, thirty packets of raisins, seven pots of honey, twelve tins of preserved meat and as many of fruit, a good many pounds of lentils and sugar, a little chocolate powder and a very little tea. As for coffee, a kind manufacturer of the powdered variety had presented us with as many as 500 tins, and we still had so many left that we simply had not the energy to count them.
But although we could make our foodstuffs last a considerable time by rationing ourselves at once, our supply of drinking water gave us serious worry. Of the 100 gallons of drinking water which we had taken on board before we left Callao only fifteen gallons remained; for, contrary to our expectations, no proper rain had fallen during the two and a half months which had passed since then. If we went on consuming a gallon a day, as we had done hitherto, our water would not last for more than a week. The situation was especially critical because Eric now had a temperature in addition to his other troubles and was always thirsty. We reluctantly reduced the daily water ration to just over a pint for Eric and two-thirds of a pint for the rest of us, and began to mix our rations with salt water. At the same time Jean hunted in his numerous cases to see if he had enough tubes and scraps of metal to make a distilling apparatus. He quickly found heaps of test tubes and queer gadgets, and tackled his difficult task with determination.
From Raft to Raft Page 12