Our actions, as everyone knows, are often determined by pure wishful thinking, and this had certainly been the case with us when we had not brought ourselves to to get rid of the wireless transmitter as part of our first clearing up. Simply because we so earnestly wished for it to function, we had believed that one fine day it really would. Indeed, we were so dominated by our faith that we refused to throw the transmitter into the sea without making a last attempt to call for help. So that same evening we brought out three-quarters of a gallon of petrol which was all we had left, and started the engine. For the first time since our trial transmission in Callao harbour the pointers on all the dials worked. I seized the microphone trembling with excitement, and began to call expectantly:
‘sos, sos, here Tahiti Nui II. We are sinking, sos, sos . . .’
We thought there was a better chance of our despairing sos being picked up if we spread out the transmissions, so we stopped the engine after two periods of ten minutes and repeated them two evenings later. When our petrol ran out on the third evening there was still no reply. But of course that did not mean that no one had heard us, and we tried hard to delude one another as we slowly pushed the transmitter and engine to the edge of the deck and saw them disappear into the sea. The only superfluous things which now remained on board were the suitcases and ourselves.
Chapter 7
NEW RAFT, NEW HOPE
Our compulsory sacrifices did not avail us for long, for only two days later the raft began to sink again. To attempt to steer her was of course now out of the question, nor would she carry the least scrap of sail. Although she was thus a complete wreck we did as much as twenty-five miles a day with the kindly aid (we supposed) of a westerly ocean current. The strong favouring wind too was unusually helpful, and was driving us straight towards Starbuck. As the pencil line which marked our route on the chart gradually approached the island, we slowly recovered hope and courage.
On August 6th we had still only 250 miles to cover, and our course was still the same. But we saw clearly that the wind had only to change a few degrees and we should miss our insignificant goal, which was no bigger on the chart than a pin’s head. It was, moreover, far from certain that the raft would remain afloat for another ten days, and this, according to our careful estimates, was roughly the time we should take to reach Starbuck. As I understood the situation, the moment had come to try to build a craft in which to make our escape. Eric, whom of course I consulted, as always before I took any important decision, was unreservedly of the same opinion.
When, however, I expressed my views to my other comrades they stared at me in speechless astonishment for a long time, and then told me in sharp language that I had impudently pinched their idea, and that it was chiefly my fault that they had not been able to carry it out before. But their attitude gradually altered: they began to praise me rather patronizingly for having at last changed my mind for the better, and several times they were even good-natured enough to give me a lot of idiotic pieces of advice.
Of course, I should have been fully justified in telling them that to set off quite at random, without a plan, as they had wanted to do, and undertaking a short sail under particularly favorable conditions, as I proposed, were not at all the same thing. But their behaviour showed that it would be hopeless to try to make them see this important difference, and of course the main thing was that on the whole we were agreed and would help one another to carry out our daring plan. I therefore turned the conversation on to our first and most important problem— what kind of craft we were to build. It was not long before we were all talking at once in our eagerness to convince one another of the excellence of our different types of boat and raft.
When Eric at last got a word in edgeways, he only asked us briefly to look at a sketch he had made. At the first glance we were unwillingly compelled to admit that all our own ideas were clumsy monstrosities beside Eric’s well-conceived design of a craft which should properly have been called an outrigger raft.
As on several previous occasions during his long life as a seaman and boat-builder, Eric had on this occasion obtained his inspiration from a primitive model, for his remarkable creation had two outriggers like a Melanesian canoe. But if his source of inspiration was primitive, the material which Eric meant to use for the building was correspondingly modem. It consisted of empty water containers (which were presumably still in their places below decks), arranged in three rows with the larger ones in the middle and the smaller ones on both sides as stabilizing floats. Each row of tanks was held together by a wooden frame, and stout cross-beams were stretched across the three rows of tanks to keep them in place. On top of the cross-beams there was a rectangular deck of masonite plates. It really seemed that Eric had succeeded in combining in the same vessel the lightness and stability of an outrigger canoe and the spaciousness of a raft.
But how were we actually placed? We looked at Eric’s sketch rather more closely and made a rapid inventory of our supply of materials and tools. If we omitted the rusty galvanized iron tanks from Constitucion, which it would certainly be wisest to do, we should have only the five 40-gallon and the ten i o-gallon tanks, all of aluminium, which we had shipped at Callao. For a long time we doubted whether these would be enough, but after long calculation we came to the reassuring conclusion that the vessel would in fact be strong enough to carry us.
Plan of emergency raft TAHITI NUI III built on the final stage of the voyage to Polynesia
The supply of timber also seemed very scanty. To begin with we required six long slats and a still uncertain number of short ones to make frames round the rows of tanks. We also wanted three or four strong beams to hold the three rows together. And finally we had to find suitable spars for a mast and a steering oar. But we ought to be able to manage if we saved, patched and spliced as hard as we could. Further, as a last expedient, we could always try to get a little extra timber by carefully dismantling Tahiti Nui II.
The next problem was how to join together the various sticks and scraps of wood. There were not more than fifty nails in our tool-box, and most of them were rusty and bent. But we hoped optimistically that we might be able to pull out some of the nails which we saw here and there in the cabin roof without any disastrous consequences, and to use ropes when this limited supply came to an end. For that matter it would certainly be better in all circumstances to lash together all the larger spars. Fortunately we had an unusually large coil of rope, given us by a kindly Chilean sea captain.
When our plans had reached this stage we remembered, not without some anxiety, that our only tools were a sheath-knife, a blunt axe, a file and a hammer. But we consoled ourselves with the thought that if, as the proverb says, necessity is really the mother of invention, we should be the most inventive and original-minded people in the southern hemisphere. We were well aware that every minute was valuable, so we cheerfully decided to start building the boat at once. An impatient gesture from Eric, who seemed to have been listening attentively to our discussion, although he had had his eyes shut all the time, checked us abruptly.
Wait a minute,’ he said in a complaining voice. ‘Strictly speaking, you ought to complete our new boat before you take away the tanks. But of course she can’t be completed without these same tanks.
‘So if we’re not to fall into the sea between two useless rafts you must do your building by stages. First complete the wooden frame of the outrigger raft. Then take up the ten small 10-gallon tanks, fasten them in their places under the outriggers, and launch the half-finished raft. If we move over to her at once and take with us as much of our gear as we can, there’s a good prospect of No. 2 remaining afloat long enough for you to be able to salvage the big tanks and complete No. 3.1 hope you understand that the quicker you work the better chance of success you have. One more point. Whatever you do, don’t take the outrigger away till the very last moment, for without it Tahiti Nui II will capsize at once.’
We began to clear up the after-deck, where we meant to do o
ur building, in a considerably more serious frame of mind. The clearing up was an easy job, for the only things left on the after-deck were the net and the cases which held our personal belongings. The cases were an unnecessary dead weight which we should be obliged to get rid of sooner or later, so we firmly decided not to postpone the inevitable sacrifice for sentimental reasons. Our real feelings may be judged from the fact that we did not fling the cases overboard at once, but opened them and reluctantly threw away our treasured possessions one by one. A long trail of books, shirts and smart shore-going clothes were soon bobbing about in our wake to the great delight of our faithful shark. Juanito, however, true to his habit of always doing the opposite of what the rest of us did, shut his case again in a few minutes and declared emphatically that he meant to keep all his clothes. His reason, which we found a little far-fetched, was that he did not want to return to Chile stark naked. That Juanito should keep his clothes was not in itself of any consequence, but I feared that this episode would soon be followed by others more serious. I therefore took him aside and warned him that I would not take him on board our escape craft if he did not behave properly. With touching eagerness he at once promised both to help build the craft and take watches like the rest of us and to do whatever I wished—if only he might keep his clothes. I was anxious to give him yet another chance, so I agreed.
The first visible result of Juanito’s sudden conversion was that soon afterwards he proposed of his own accord that we should take to pieces the three-cornered ‘lifeboat’ which had been hanging on the starboard side since his temporary mental aberration a fortnight before. But this was only a beginning, for he again made great efforts to be useful when, immediately afterwards, we began to make the wooden frames for the tanks. This proved more difficult than we had expected on account of the violent waves which threatened again and again to wash us away, as well as our precious wood and our irreplaceable tools. When, to our great annoyance, the sun sank swiftly in the west we had completed two frames, which was quite a good performance in the circumstances. Well satisfied with our day we carefully secured the frames and stretched ourselves out on the cabin roof dead-tired.
We were on our legs again immediately after sunrise on August 7th, fresh and well-rested after ten hours of undisturbed sleep. We had the previous day disposed of all former bowsprits, stanchions and other superfluous wood, which had been lashed fast at different places on the raft. Our first problem, therefore, was how we could produce yet a few more slender spars for the last frame and a few beams strong enough to serve as connecting links between the three floats. After great exertions and many cold drinks we at last succeeded in loosening a sufficient number of the slats on which the long vanished willow deck had rested. These were to complete the last frame.
While we were putting the frame together I was thinking hard about the next stage in our building. The only beams on board of any size were four masts, two of which were serving as outrigger booms on the port side and two were still forming a double mast on the fore-deck. We needed them all, but to take away the stabilizing outrigger booms at this early stage was certainly dangerous. On the other hand, the double mast on the fore-deck no longer fulfilled any function since the raft had become quite unsteerable, and we should therefore be able to cut it down without loss. With the two stumps of masts obtained in this way we could provisionally join together our escape raft till we were ready to leave Tahiti Nui 11 and it was at last possible to take away the outrigger booms without risk and reinforce No. 3s framework with them. It was certainly not the ideal way of doing things, but we had no other choice. My shipmates fortunately took the same view as I did and helped me to cut down the double mast. The result was doubly satisfactory, for not only did we get a couple of first-class cross-beams, but Tahiti Nui II became steadier at once.
According to Eric’s carefully organized working programme we ought to fix the cross-beams before we made fast the io-gallon tanks under the side frames. But we soon became convinced that it would be easier to do the opposite, and Eric rapidly conceded that we were right. Juanito at once offered, with touching eagerness, to dive down and bring up the 10-gallon tanks, which were firmly wedged into the raft’s bottom about five feet under water. We thought he still owed us a really good turn for his earlier behaviour and therefore accepted his offer without protest. With a broad grin Juanito put on one of Jean’s diving masks and disappeared into the waves.
While Jean, Hans and I were hurriedly arranging a number of lashings we cast curious eyes towards the spot at which he reappeared from time to time, blowing hard, to take breath for a new attack on the obviously recalcitrant tanks. At last we could control ourselves no longer, but splashed our way over to him to see what was wrong.
‘I’ve got the first tank loose, but it’s still just where it was,’ said Juanito, looking unhappy.
This could mean only one thing—that the tank was full of water. We helped him to lift it up, expecting the worst; and we were right, for the water poured away from a hole in its side. Of course it was not rusty, for it was made of aluminium, but nevertheless, for some reason we could not guess, there was a hole in it as big as a man’s little finger. A sudden idea flashed into my mind. Were we, perhaps, sinking simply because all the tanks were full of water? If so it would be enough to throw the unwanted ballast overboard and, hey presto! the raft would recover her buoyancy. I eagerly helped Juanito to loosen the next tank. It rose to the surface at once and floated like a cork. I began once more to incline to my previous view, that we were sinking not because of but in spite of the tanks. Trembling all over with excitement, I dived down and cut the rope which held the next tank. This one too floated up at once: likewise the next, and the next, and the next. I felt a good deal easier, but not quite easy, in my mind. Some of the remaining tanks might be damaged, and if we were compelled to make do with a smaller number than we had counted on, our escape craft would presumably not be strong enough to bear us.
It grew dark before we could bring up any more, and so we were obliged to break off our work at the, so far, most critical stage in the creation of Tahiti Nui III. To counteract the rolling, which had now become heavier, we lashed a centreboard on to the outrigger, which at once had the intended effect Still feeling rather uneasy, we quickly fished up the remaining io-gallon tanks during the early morning hours of August 8th. They were all undamaged, and even with unlimited resources at our disposal we could certainly have found no better floats. We could even use the one damaged tank, which immediately solved all problems of equilibrium. Lashing the tanks to their frames with sliding knots was a comparatively quick job, and we were soon ready for the next task, which consisted in making fast the cross-beams, i.e., the former masts, between the two floats which had just been completed. This work, simple enough in itself, was made extremely difficult because the beams were many feet longer than the after-deck. We were therefore obliged to jump into the sea, which was still very rough, to prevent the rows of tanks from being swept away, and lash it firmly to the cross-beams, holding on all the time.
In such conditions the work was bound to be exasperatingly slow, and when at last we had hauled taut the last knot it was unfortunately too late to launch our queer creation. Nevertheless Juanito suddenly appeared with a bottle of brandy, but we were glad to find that it was by no means intended for the christening of No. 3, as we had thought at first, but for reviving our somewhat numbed vitality. Where Juanito had hidden this last bottle was a riddle to us all, but we had long ago lost all desire to try to solve Juanito’s riddles (the greatest of which was undoubtedly his own personality), so we just grinned cheerfully and held out our cups to receive what seemed to us a most well-deserved reward for our good day’s work. In our high spirits and cheerful mood—to which the brandy had really contributed very tittle—we all believed firmly that it was our last evening, or at the most our last evening but one, on board Tahiti Nui II.
As so often before, our apparently so well-grounded optimism was comp
letely shattered, and that very night the wind shifted from south-east to north-east and gradually increased in strength. So instead of being able to launch and complete No. 3 on August 9th, as we hoped, we had to cling to the roof all day in complete inactivity. Although the waves played ball with the frames and tanks aft in an alarming manner, all our lashings and nailings held surprisingly well. On the other hand, both the rope with which she was made fast to the after-deck and the lashings of the outrigger booms seemed to be giving way, and although we had not the least desire to leave our comparatively safe places we climbed cautiously down from the roof and at last succeeded in strengthening the lashings after a most unpleasant balancing act. Encouraged by this success, we tried with astonishingly good results to persuade ourselves and each other that the wind would drop towards evening.
But the only thing that happened when dusk fell was that a large white sea-bird came fluttering wearily over the sea and settled on No. 3. We regarded this as an evil omen, and our judgment was proved right with terrifying speed. Compared with the roaring storm which soon afterwards flung itself upon us with unbridled fury, the strong north-easter of the previous day was but a gentle breath of trade wind. The impenetrable darkness and the howling wind quite blinded and deafened us, while the uninterrupted vibration of the roof-platform on which we lay reminded us only too clearly of the strain to which the outrigger booms and our half-finished escape craft were subjected.
It was particularly nasty when the waves lifted No. 3 right up and bumped her against the cabin stanchions so that the roof-platform shook for minutes on end like a house of cards on the point of collapse, and each time this happened we froze to the marrow. We knew only too well that we should soon be finished if the outrigger booms went or our escape craft was washed away by the raging waves. But we saw just as clearly that we should be washed away at once if we tried to leave the roof to inspect the lashings. Although our fate was about to be decided, the only thing we could do was to hope that the Polynesian sea-god Taaroa, upon whom Eric declared that he had called with success on several earlier occasions, would help us again this time.
From Raft to Raft Page 16