‘Do you realize that it is God who sent this rain? He sent it to prevent me from doing a very stupid thing which would have cost me my life. The rain is a sign that God wants me to live.’
He seemed quiet and normal again. Shortly afterwards he crept over to Eric and begged with touching sincerity for forgiveness for his shameful behaviour. Of course, we were all more than delighted at the unexpectedly happy end to the tragic situation and forgave him absolutely. Juanito, radiant with joy, disappeared into the lower regions and came back with a bottle of Chilean brandy which he must have hidden away during our early period at sea, when he was still our cook. We came near falling on his neck for joy at the welcome gift of reconciliation, begging his pardon in our turn. A large glass of warming brandy was just what we needed, for we were wet through, our teeth chattered and we shivered in the bitter wind.
When the cloudburst stopped some hours later, just before daybreak, all our tanks were full, and a hasty estimate showed that we had all at once increased our water supply from three to about forty gallons. But we soon realized that we had had to pay a very high price for our delicious drinking water. Like ourselves, all our clothes, bundles, parcels and other things which surrounded us on the roof had absorbed great quantities of water and quickly became heavier. There was also the weight of the drinking water, which was nearly 400 lb. The inevitable result was that the top-heavy raft began to sway to and fro in the heavy sea. Our position became still worse when soon afterwards the wind died down and the raft suddenly ceased to answer her helm. As a result she quickly laid herself broadside on to the sea with an ominous splashing and heeled over so violently that the trunks on the port side became visible above water. We crawled over to the port side in alarm as quickly as we could, and, by leaning far out over the edge of the roof, we finally managed to prevent the raft from capsizing. Next moment, however, she began to sway slowly back in the opposite direction, and the only way to prevent a catastrophe was to crawl back again across the roof and create an equilibrium.
‘Have you ever thought that there are yachtsmen who do balancing tricks like this every Sunday just for amusement1’ Hans asked in a voice of sincere astonishment, when we were crossing the roof for the third or fourth time in quick succession.
Although we did not feel at all like joking, we could not help smiling. But it was not long before our faces were as gloomy as ever. Our situation was highly unpleasant, and the only gleam of light was that a week or so before, by a lucky inspiration, we had cut a hole in one corner of the roof and let Eric’s bed down by eighteen inches or so, so that he came to rest in a narrow box in which he had just room to turn round. If he had still been on top of the roof like the rest of us he would inevitably have rolled into the sea and been drowned the first time the raft heeled over.
Quite understandably, however, I soon grew tired of thinking about what could have happened, and began instead to think all the harder about what we were to do to get ourselves out of the very real difficulty we were in. It was useless now to try to turn the raft round ninety degrees with the help of the oar, so that the stem was to the sea, as there was no wind to keep her in this position and give her stability. After a further half-hour of involuntary morning gymnastics I at last had an idea which I hastened to confide to Eric the next time I had to form a counterweight alongside him. My idea was founded upon an observation I thought I had made— namely, that the main reason why the raft took such a heavy list every time she rolled was that the water which was shut into the cabin by its weight accelerated the pendulum movement. The logical solution was obviously to cut away the walls of the cabin and give the waves free play.
Although I suspected that the wooden posts which supported the roof and ourselves might be weakened if we took away the walls, I thought that we ought to try this experiment. If it was really the case that we must choose between disappearing quickly and suddenly and doing so after prolonged torment, I decidedly preferred the first manner of death, and I supposed that all hands shared this view. Despite my eloquence my shipmates showed no great enthusiasm for my proposal, but on the other hand they showed no sign of wanting to hinder me, which was all I asked for. I therefore armed myself with the unfortunate ship’s axe, which I had carefully hidden since Juanito’s outbreak, and climbed down from the roof. Fortunately the walls consisted only of sheets of masonite, and I should not have had the least difficulty in smashing them under normal conditions.
But conditions on board Tahiti Nui 11 had for a long time been far from normal, and I had scarcely made a small hole on one side of the cabin when I had to scurry over to the opposite side in order not to be drawn down into the depths when the raft heeled over. To divert my thoughts into rather more pleasant channels I began to study the still quite legible messages of good wishes which well-meaning visitors had scribbled on the walls when the raft was being built at Constitucion. Most of them—even one which in martial style exhorted us to seek a hero’s death rather than give up—left me quite cold. But when just after this I caught sight of an inscription in red chalk which ran: LUCKY BOYS TO GET SUCH A HOLIDAY TRIP, I grew angry and disposed of the rest of the masonite in double quick time.
To my own and my comrades’ inexpressible relief, my guess proved right. The raft at once became so steady that we were able to stop our exhausting acrobatics. She became steadier still a few hours later, when our sails filled again. The wind was doubly welcome, for it was north-easterly and made it possible for us to steer down towards Vostok, where we knew that there was a gang of Tahitian labourers making copra for a Papeete firm. We knew because it was this firm which had bought the Chilean yacht on board which Juanito had been a mechanic when he made his first voyage to Tahiti, for the special purpose of carrying labourers, food supplies and copra between Tahiti and Vostok, Caroline and Flint.
If the wind was a blessing from the point of view of our equilibrium, it soon proved extremely damaging in another respect. The raft had no sooner become steerable again when several violent thuds told us that the white-crested waves which were now running unchecked right through our wall-less cabin were sweeping away what remained of our equipment. Even if we had been able to plunge down and save the most important things— which would certainly have been difficult in the dark— we had no room for them on the roof. So we did the next best thing: we slept, or pretended to sleep, when we were not keeping a watch.
Even when daylight came we could not ascertain the extent of the damage on account of the heavy sea. The raft now became livelier than ever, and the wind increased so rapidly in strength that we had to take in the sails in a hurry so that the fragile little platform on which we anxiously crowded together might not be forced down under water. Soon we were again compelled to move to and fro from one side of the roof to the other to counteract the rolling—certainly not as often as immediately after the cloudburst, but often enough to make these wearisome movements a torment. Also, it soon began to rain again, and this time we felt no desire whatever to shout aloud for joy.
Day after day, night after night, the stormy weather continued, and, with only a few interruptions, the pouring rain also. The raft, or rather the wreck which had once been a raft, rolled and lurched helplessly in the rough sea, without sails or steersman. Our strength and our will to live slowly disappeared, and for long periods we were completely numbed and indifferent to our fate. When I now look back on this terrible time I wonder if it was not really a good thing that the raft did roll, for if we had not maintained the warmth of our bodies by our enforced movements we should certainly all have got pneumonia. As for Eric, at least we prevented him from getting noticeably worse by rigging up a small tent and wringing out his clothes frequently.
On July 27th we were all convinced that the end was near. The sky was overcast as usual, and the howling wind whipped our naked shivering bodies pitilessly. As soon as our rags began to dry a little a squall of rain came and soaked them again. White foaming waves licked the edges of the roof and now and then,
for a change, drenched us in a cascade of salt water. Hans alone broke the oppressive silence once, and that was to tell us, to our surprise, that he was going to change his profession and become a farmer on his return to Chile. He added dreamily:
‘Think how jolly it will be to be able to sit down out in the middle of a field and let the earth run through one’s fingers.’
It was not the first time that Hans had lightened our spirits with priceless remarks of this kind. Curiously enough he always seemed to be in a good humour, simply because, being so unpractical by nature and a regular landsman, he had still not really grasped the seriousness of our situation. He had often made remarks indicating that he regarded our disastrous voyage almost as a kind of scouts’ exercise, with intentionally planned tests of endurance and handiness. Only a week or two before, for example, he had seriously reproached me with the monotony of life on board, just as if this had been our most serious problem and I had been able to do something about it. But this only made me like Hans the better and wish that all of us on board had had his humour.
At first we felt that the coming of night was an act of mercy, for at least we could then no longer see one another’s miserable shapes. But before long we were so horribly cold that despite our weariness we had a fierce crawling race every time the raft heeled over. From this I should except not only poor Eric but also Juanito, who, incredible as it may seem, slept well. We left him in peace, for he had been queer again for the last few days. For the first time since the raft had begun to sink two months earlier we were in real danger, but it is indicative of my state of exhaustion that I felt no agony of mind or fear, but rather a happy relief at the thought that I might soon slip down and disappear for ever into the warm, soft sea.
Nevertheless, I continued almost automatically to cling fast to the platform, 10 feet wide and 13 feet long, which formed my entire world, and to my boundless astonishment not only I but all my shipmates were still alive when the eastern horizon began slowly to grow light. The sea was a trifle calmer, and the raft was no longer lurching quite so violently, but still we dared not lie down and sleep, although sleep was what we most longed for. Suddenly, without saying a word, Jean slipped down from the roof and disappeared. I was still so bemused that I did not get to the point of wondering what had become of him and if he would ever come back, and therefore did not react in any way till he reappeared over the edge of the roof clasping the gas cooker. Then at last I lent a hand, feeling rather ashamed of myself. We put the cooker into a deep suitcase in which it was nearly if not quite protected from the wind, and I helped him to find a packet of damp macaroni. Contrary to our expectations the gas cooker was still working, and soon we were all sitting with large plates of macaroni on our knees, swaying to and fro in time with the raft.
We had luckily escaped what seemed certain death at the last moment. But how long would our period of grace last? For there could be scarcely any doubt that it would be all up if another storm arose. If we wanted to save our lives—and after this good meal, I again wished to live—we had better do something quickly before it was too late. I could think as far as this, but then my brain came to a dead stop. I therefore appealed to my comrades for a bright idea, but they only stared dully out into space without answering. Obviously they were no cleverer than I. So only Eric remained. Surprisingly enough he was fully conscious and alert, and signed to me to come closer.
‘We must increase our stability at all costs,’ he began in an unusually firm and clear voice.
I made a deprecatory, impatient gesture. This was in itself quite excellent advice. But hadn’t we already done everything in our power to make the raft steadier?
‘I’ve been lying here a long time trying to imagine what a Polynesian would have done in our situation,’ Eric continued unmoved. ‘I’ve just found the solution. A Polynesian would try to make an outrigger.’
Eric was certainly right. If large canoes holding half-a-dozen men, such as I had often seen, could maintain their balance by means of a single slender tree trunk, it should certainly be possible to make a raft stable in the same way. My shipmates felt rather foolish and wondered why we had not hit upon this simple and admirable solution earlier. Without delay we set about the task with new energy. We had had enough sense to make fast the cut-down masts alongside the raft for future use, and now, much pleased with our foresight, we brought them up. While Juanito and Hans formed a counterweight, the only thing they were any good for—Juanito because he had gone to sleep again and Hans because he was so desperately unpractical—Jean and I pushed out two of the stumps on the windward side at a right angle to the longitudinal axis of the raft and tied them firmly with a couple of ropes’ ends.
The next problem was to find a suitable float. The Polynesians make their outriggers of the light wood of the bread-fruit tree, but we had nothing of the kind on board. We thought for a time that one of the balsa trunks which we had pushed in under the cabin floor at Callao would serve our purpose, but unfortunately we could not get at them. For that matter, they were certainly too small and fragile. After racking our brain for a long time, we finally made a really fine float out of a eucalyptus trunk by making fast all our empty gas bottles under it.
The raft at once became noticeably steadier, and even when the wind freshened again towards evening she rolled so slightly that we only needed to change our positions very little at long intervals. Jean, Hans and I therefore divided the night into watches so that one of us could sleep while the other two by their own weight prevented the raft from capsizing. Although we did not get many hours’ sleep, we had enough rest to be almost normally alert when the day dawned and the sun peeped out again on July 29th. Our spirits rose with the sun, and while our clothes and bedclothes dried quickly we stretched ourselves out and fully enjoyed the life-giving warmth. Even Juanito thawed to such a degree that a few hours later he helped us to cut rope lashings when we were taking the precaution of strengthening the outrigger, on whose durability our lives now really depended.
I was also able to take an observation at noon for the first time after a long interval. A quick look at the chart showed us that since July 25th we had drifted west-northwest, i.e., away from the three copra islands, Vostok, Caroline and Flint. The nearest island in the direction in which we were drifting was another atoll, Starbuck. But it was about 400 miles away, and we knew from sad experience how capricious the wind could be, so we had no great hope of reaching it. For the moment we were a good deal more interested in a dolphin which Jean declared that he had seen in our wake keeping company in brotherly fashion with the untiring brown shark. Before we could jump down from the roof and assure ourselves with our own eyes that Jean was not pulling our legs, he had grasped his spear-gun, jumped in quickly and harpooned the dolphin at the first shot.
But no pleasure lasts for ever, and least of all when one is on board a drifting wreck. We were therefore not greatly astonished when, in the middle of our banquet, Eric pointed out that the raft had sunk at least four inches during the recent storms. We all had our different tests for deciding how deep the raft lay, and it did not take us long to establish that unfortunately Eric was right. Our delight at having stabilized the raft so well and at having water and food for at least another month was therefore considerably damped, for in the long run our fate depended, of course, entirely on how long the raft could keep afloat. It was clear that the only thing we could do to lighten the raft was to throw as much as possible overboard. But this was far from simple to carry out. We had thrown away a great deal of equipment a long time ago, and since then had uncritically assumed that all the things we had kept were absolutely indispensable. Obviously we must modify our claims.
We looked round us appraisingly. There was not much more on the roof than our bedclothes, the many water tanks, what remained of our provisions and the large wireless set. A net had been stretched between two posts on the after-deck, and suspended in it were five suitcases containing our clothes, books, and other personal belongi
ngs. Inside the cabin a quantity of oceanographic apparatus and cameras were still hanging from the roof, and on both sides of the cabin Jean’s heavy cases with many thousands of samples of sea water and plankton must still exist somewhere in more than three feet of water. Finally we had a heavy anchor with a chain.
There was no doubt that we could dispense with all these things except the food supplies and the water without lethal consequences. The suitcases with our personal belongings weighed very little, so we might as well keep them for the present, especially as it would certainly be bad for our morale to get rid of the last little things which reminded us of our homes and families. The heaviest objects were of course Jean’s eight cases of plankton and water samples, the most important result of the oceanographical studies he had been carrying on for more than half a year. Perhaps he would find it easier to part with them if we began with something else. No sooner said than done. Splash! there went the anchor. Splash! the long chain followed it. After a few minutes of melancholy hesitation Jean untied the rope which held the nearest case fast, and let the waves wash the case away. To prevent him from changing his mind we quickly helped him to free the raft of the remaining cases. Then we waded into the open cabin, where the sea was running high as usual, and cleared everything out. Then, secure in the knowledge that we had done all that was in our power to lighten the raft, we climbed up on to the roof again to see if our exertions had produced the desired result (which was by no means the case). As soon as Eric caught sight of us he pointed silently at the big wireless transmitter and the engine and nodded meaningly in the direction of the sea.
From Raft to Raft Page 15