From Raft to Raft

by Bengt Danielsson

  On July 1st we passed Eiao, the northernmost island in the Marquesas group, at a distance of only thirty-five miles. A crowd of white seabirds, which evidently nested on the uninhabited rocky island, cruised round the raft for several hours, but returned to their home with mocking farewell cries when the dusk fell. We would have given much to have been able to follow their example, but the raft was as usual a helpless victim of the winds and currents and drifted slowly westward.

  To disperse my gloomy thoughts I dipped a little that evening into the splendid book about Eric’s first long voyage in the Pacific with Tati which Francois de Pierre-feu produced in 1938. Suddenly my eyes fell upon the following passage:

  ‘Eric’s leading star shines over the Marquesas Islands. He has known intuitively from his earliest youth that his real Oceanic home is there, and that the thread of his destiny will some day lead him there as the fates have decreed. While waiting for this remote day to dawn he will spend the time with strings of adventures and mad pranks at innumerable other places on the earth’s surface, far from the place where the 10th degree of latitude cuts the 140th degree of longitude: it is there, however, that his final destiny will be decided.’

  How had anyone been able to make so correct a prophesy twenty years before, and what was the destiny that awaited Eric—and perhaps the rest of us on board the sinking raft? I read the prophetic words over and over again in silence, and every time I felt more and more uneasy. I shut the book and hurried out on deck to keep an eye on Juanito so that he should not let the raft turn round again unnecessarily.

  On July 2nd the wind moderated slowly, and as we slid slowly on over long gentle rollers the burning sun rose again into the sky, which was quite cloudless for the first time in several weeks. Our water ration of two-thirds of a pint represented no more than two cups a day, and although we mixed it with larger and larger quantities of sea water and drank it in gulps, it came nowhere near quenching our thirst. To lose as little bodily moisture as possible, at my suggestion, we put on wet shirts and trousers, and took a dip in the sea as soon as the clothes began to dry. Jean was working hard at his distilling apparatus all the time, but as he had not the right tools he made little progress.

  After two more burning days I called a ship’s council. Jean, Hans, Juanito and I were still in comparatively good fettle and could certainly hold out as long as the water lasted, that is, for at least two or three more weeks. But Eric’s condition was growing rapidly worse: indeed, he now had difficulty in swallowing without help of small quantities of honey and condensed milk which constituted his only food. It was very problematical how long the raft would remain afloat, and the distances between the few islands were very great. We therefore decided, mainly for Eric’s sake, to make a fresh attempt with our wireless apparatus and send out sos signals at once while we were still in waters where there were plenty of schooners and other vessels which could quickly come to our help.

  According to the wireless handbook all stations all over the world listened in for sos signals at every complete hour for ten minutes, so I set up both wireless transmitters on the roof and in good time for 7 p.m. started the motor which was fortunately still well primed. But, as had happened before, the dials of the large transmitter did not move. Convinced that it would be a waste of time and effort to continue transmitting with a completely dead apparatus, I exchanged it for Roland d’Assignies’s specially-constructed little Morse transmitter which had saved our lives once before at the Juan Fernandez Islands. When I turned it on, I found the batteries still in good order. Full of expectancy I began to tap out our position —70° 20’ south latitude by 1410 15’ west longitude—followed by three dots, three dashes and three dots.

  Although I had not heard as much as a click in my earphones to indicate that anyone had intercepted our distress signal, I was just as expectant when I repeated my sos at 8 p.m. Jean and Hans, who sat near enough to the little paraffin lamp for their expressions to be visible, looked cheerful and hopeful. (Eric was asleep in his tent at the opposite comer of the roof and Juanito was at the helm.) But suddenly they looked terrified and clutched at each other. Next moment I myself had a horrible feeling in the pit of the stomach and fell over backwards. I had slipped halfway down the roof when I recovered and managed to cling to a cross-rib. The raft had now so heavy a list that I had the greatest difficulty in clambering up the sloping roof again and making fast the wireless apparatus and other loose objects. When I had done this I began to look round angrily for the helmsman, Juanito, since there was scarcely any doubt that it was his fault that we had almost capsized. I told him off with feeling and conviction and with the wholehearted support of the rest, but as on previous occasions when he had endangered our lives by his carelessness he said nothing, but merely shrugged his shoulders.

  He was relieved at the helm as a precaution, after which Jean and I went on sending out sos signals at hourly intervals until dawn, but without response.

  We hastened to look into the cabin to see if all was in order. The sight that met our eyes was deplorable. Not only the food supplies and all our personal belongings, which we had thought were secure in the upper berths, but also a cine camera, a sextant and some of Jean’s oceanographic apparatus, which we had tied firmly to the roof, had tumbled down and were chaotically rolling to and fro in three feet of water. Even more depressing was the discovery that one of our two small ten-gallon containers of drinking water was also floating about lidless and empty among the packets of biscuits and clothes. I gave Juanito another rocket, but the only result was that he suddenly refused to do any more watches at the helm.

  With one sick man and one striker on board, and water for ten days at most, it was more than ever necessary that we should be relieved, and Jean and I, with the courage of despair, went on calling for help for two more days and nights, now with one and now with the other transmitter. But finally we were forced to admit what from mistaken consideration for one another we had so long tried to conceal—that the wireless transmitters were not working.

  What were we to do now?

  Jean and Hans proposed that we should build a boat and sail, or even row, back to the Marquesas Islands. I immediately tried to counter this wild proposal with the, in my opinion, quite conclusive argument that we had neither tools nor material for boat-building and that, even if we succeeded in making something resembling a boat, we could not possibly sail or row back to the Marquesas, i.e., against the wind and the ocean currents. But these elementary truths did not gready impress them, landlubbers as they were, so our futile debate continued. It was Eric who finally brought it to an end by quite unexpectedly repeating in a feeble voice his previous advice: ‘Increase the raft’s buoyancy again, make her steadier, and ration water and food still more strictly!’

  We could hear clearly that he was impatient that we found it so hard to learn such a simple lesson. To avoid objections he added a few more instructions:

  ‘Throw all unnecessary gear overboard. Then cut away the mainmasts and rig up a smaller mast with a storm foresail.’

  I was deeply grateful to Eric for this diversion. I obeyed immediately and began to fling overboard a quantity of useless personal belongings. The others followed my example after a little hesitation. When a little later we cut away the mainmasts this, to our surprise and pleasure, lightened the raft so much that the fore-deck again became visible.

  ‘Good,’ said Eric. ‘Now let the raft drift where she likes and turn in. You’re quite worn out from being up all the last few nights.’

  I let him have his way on this point too—though I was firmly resolved that it was to be only a temporary concession—and for the first time since leaving Constitucion five months earlier we all took a watch off and had a full night’s sleep. It did us an immense amount of good, and when we awoke we were full of courage and confidence— and also fearfully hungry and thirsty.

  We kept a keen watch for fish, but as usual saw only the suspiciously sociable shark, which for that matter s
eemed as hungry as ourselves. But we quickly forgot the absence of filleted fish from our menu when in the course of that afternoon Jean at last completed the distilling apparatus on which he had been working for a week. The cooker’s gas cylinders were disturbingly light, but we had also a Swedish Primus cooker aboard and ample supplies of paraffin, so we thereupon decided to reserve this for Jean’s queer apparatus. Although the Primus had been neglected ever since we sailed from Constitucion, it began to work at once. Soon the heavy drops of water began to fall into a tin one after another with a cheerful splashing noise. Contrary to what might have been expected of a cooker so roughly used, it went on hissing as regularly and soothingly hour after hour, while the tin slowly filled to the brim. The water was cloudy and tasted strongly of tin, but all the same we agreed pathetically that it was the most delightful liquid we had ever drunk.

  So far so good. But even if we had only a vague idea of the Primus cooker’s fuel consumption, it was clear that our supply of paraffin, which was about six gallons, would not last for ever. This was all the more depressing because it now looked as if the voyage itself would last for ever. For several days our course had been west-northwest, so that we were on our way towards a particularly desolate part of the Pacific, where the small and mostly uninhabited atolls were so few in number and so widely scattered that we might go on for thousands of miles without seeing a single one.

  Our situation was indeed so uncertain that we were compelled to make a further cut in our food rations. I therefore made a complete inventory of our stores for the second time in a fortnight. I had made a detailed list at the previous stocktaking and had noted every day how much of the various articles we had used: consequently I knew exactly how much should remain, and saw at once that we were short of five tins of condensed milk. I was furious and it was only with the greatest effort that I succeeded in controlling myself. I did not let the others see from my face that there was anything wrong, but as soon as I contrived to be alone with Eric I told him of my unpleasant discovery.

  ‘It would only make matters worse to try to find the guilty person,’ Eric said, after thinking the problem over for a few minutes. ‘No one would confess, and the only consequence would be disturbing, quarrelling and general mistrust. So let us content ourselves with seeing that nothing of the kind happens again. Lock up all the food in one of the large cases which have padlocks. Serve the rations yourself. And I’ll give you another bit of good advice. Stop the distilling apparatus at night. A distilling apparatus which is working twenty-four hours a day ought to give more water than ours does. I’ve been keeping an eye on it for the last few days, and the result is always worse at night, when most of us are asleep, than in the daytime, which seems uncommonly suspicious.’

  I took his advice with a heavy heart, and it was not difficult to see that my shipmates were hurt by my unconcealed suspicions. But I agreed with Eric that we had practically no choice but to let the innocent and the guilty suffer alike.

  I then urged stubbornly that we should rig up a little emergency mast, set sail and do steering watches again, as I still thought it bad for us to have nothing at all to do. Moreover, by steering a definite course we could at least prevent the raft from turning round and laying herself broadside on to the sea. This in my opinion quite justified all the exertion involved, no matter where we ended up. Not only Jean and Hans, but also Juanito at last obeyed, though most reluctantly and without a spark of enthusiasm. Jean in particular, who till now had always been so smart, handy and helpful, seemed at a low ebb and just hung on to the tiller listlessly without making any real attempt to steer. But I myself was hardly brimming over with energy and joie de vivre.

  On July 13th our morale touched bottom, from an apparently far-fetched but quite understandable cause. In Tahiti every chance of amusement is always exploited to the uttermost and the Fourteenth of July festivities actually begin there the day before; we could not help thinking how differently we should have spent the day if our voyage had gone according to plan. After a long and obviously disapproving contemplation of our blank, gloomy faces, Eric beckoned to me late in the afternoon— he was too weak to be able to call out—and said curtly: ‘Hoist an ensign at the masthead.’

  I took it that he thought it would have a beneficial effect on our morale to see a Tricolor at the masthead, and although I was far from being optimistic, I dutifully carried out his wish.

  It was just light the next morning when Hans, the steersman, woke us with a piercing cry:

  ‘A ship, a ship!’

  We stared sleepily in the direction in which Hans pointed. The incredible had happened. A large cargo ship was crossing our path at right angles, due astern, three miles away at most. I looked at Eric in surprise, and he smiled back mysteriously. Of course it could be nothing but pure chance that we had sighted a ship just after we had hoisted the ensign. But how was it that such strange coincidences occurred time after time during the two years I had spent with Eric—not to mention all the help which fortune had brought him in his life? If I had believed in any higher powers, I should certainly have long ago come to the conclusion that he was in league with them.

  While these thoughts were flashing through my mind, my comrades and I had taken off our Tahitian loin-cloths and begun to wave them. Immediately afterwards Jean, recovering his old energy and initiative, clambered up the mast like a squirrel and began to wave the flag. But no one on board the cargo ship seemed to notice us, although we were now so near that we saw she was one of the well-known New Zealand steamers which call regularly at Papeete on their shuttle service to Canada.

  We quickly realized that waving loin-cloths was not enough if we wanted to be seen. Juanito and I suggested lighting a fire, and Jean and Hans were as ready as could be to help us carry out the plan. Luckily we had a large metal dish which Juanito had used for melting fat in the happy days when he was still our merry cheerful cook, and this we placed at once on the roof, after which we looked round for fuel. The only things we could find in a hurry were a few old ropes’ ends. But they had to do. So we laid them on the bottom of the dish, soaked them in oil and set light to them. But to our great distress the wind immediately drove down the thick smoke which was developed. Eric, who seemed to have awakened from his previous drowsiness, had the idea of heliographing with a pocket mirror, and soon we were all signalling like mad with mirrors and pieces of glass.

  All hands on board the cargo steamer had evidently, according to a good old nautical tradition, caroused so deeply during their stay at Tahiti that they were too tired and sleepy to notice a low-lying raft in the deeply indented sea landscape, and our saviours that might have been receded with tantalizing slowness till at last they disappeared beneath the horizon to the north-north-east.

  When I slipped gloomily down from the roof to take the first morning watch I landed in water that reached high up my calves. There was no doubt that the raft was sinking rapidly.

  When the raft really began to sink all hands moved up onto the roof, where Eric, who at that time was still in good form, hoisted his Royalist pennant half in fun and half in earnest.

  ‘Tell our friends in Papeete that we are all well on board, called Eric de Bisschop to the cargo ship Pioneer Star, which overtook Tahiti Nui II about halfway between South America and Polynesia on May 26, 1958.

  The raft sank gradually deeper and deeper, and it was impossible to prevent the waves from washing away the gear inside the cabin.

  The raft soon became so unsteady that she repeatedly threatened to capsize. To keep her upright Jean (in the picture) and Alain helped one another to cut down the masts and make an out-rigger in the Polynesian style.

  When at last Tahiti Nui II threatened to sink altogether, the unlucky crew built a smaller escape raft of wooden beams and empty tanks.

  When Alain and his comrades had successfully placed Eric de Bisschop on board the escape raft, they spent several days swimming to and fro between the two rafts with provisions and equipment.


  When free of her crew and most of the gear Ta-hiti Nui II became lighter for a short time, which made it easier to unship the outrigger and complete the emergency raft.

  The very next day, when the desperate men were ready to cast off and try to reach land with their emergency raft, Tahiti Nui II had sunk so deep that she must have disappeared under the surface only a few hours later.

  The last photograph of Eric de Bisschop. It can be clearly seen that he was worn out physically and tired to death.

  After a long search the crew found their emergency raft several miles from the scene of the disaster. Several of the tanks had broken loose and moreover the raft was bottom-up.

  Among the few belongings which they found were their wireless receiver and the Polynesian wooden image which had been an ornament of Tahiti Nui I on the outward journey.

  The friendly inhabitants served up one huge banquet after another for the starving men, and a bevy of girls regularly undertook to brush away the flies for them. Below: In the village hall (note the Royal portraits on the wall) the secretary of the expedition, Carlos Garcia-Palacios, heartily thanked the inhabitants of Rakahanga for all their help.

  In the village hall (note the Royal portraits on the wall) the secretary of the expedition, Carlos Garcia-Palacios, heartily thanked the inhabitants of Rakahanga for all their help.

  The natives, wearing their best Sunday clothes, carried Eric de Bisschop’s body down to the shore, where a French patrol boat was waiting to take the surviving members of the expedition back to Tahiti.

  Papeete at last! Alain, standing on the remains of the emergency raft in the French patrol boat’s stern, again saw Tahiti, which he had left in such an exalted mood two years earlier on board Tahiti Nui I.