Although Tahiti Nui 11, once so pretty, had long been only a pitiable wreck, and we ought simply to be thankful that we had escaped from her alive, we followed her with melancholy looks till she disappeared below the horizon. Perhaps it was really not so strange that we had a certain feeling of sorrow, for we had spent 180 eventful days aboard her since we had left Constitucion.
Our outrigger raft sailed better than we had expected, but of course she could tack against the wind no more than her predecessor. The question which overshadowed everything else was, therefore, how many degrees we could diverge from the direction of the wind. By towing a short slat of wood in our wake we could get a good idea of our drift, and it proved, as I had expected, that this was much too great for us to be able to reach Starbuck with the north-easterly wind that still prevailed. Juanito had enough sea experience to realize this, but both Jean and Hans stubbornly refused to believe the evidence of their own eyes, and to judge from their talk they really seemed to think it was my fault that we could not steer straight for the island.
As early as noon on August 15th, when my observations showed that we were 70 miles south-east of Starbuck, I wanted to alter course and run down towards Penrhyn at once with the aid of the prevailing northeasterly wind. Jean and Hans, however, put forward the ridiculous argument that the wind might suddenly change, and insisted in such threatening language that we should do our utmost to reach Starbuck that I finally refrained from carrying out my intention. An inevitable result of this insane navigation was that just twenty-four hours later we sailed past Starbuck as much as 29 miles to the south.
When Jean and Hans, after staring mistrustfully at my calculations for a long time, at last realized that we had missed the island badly they were absolutely desperate. Although we others had not shared our comrades’ vain hopes, we could not help feeling pretty depressed ourselves, for beyond Starbuck there were only a few equally insignificant coral islands and beyond these only empty sea as far as Samoa, which from a navigator’s point of view was far from an ideal objective.
The only thing we knew for certain about Starbuck at that time was that in the position indicated on the chart there was a piece of solid ground which would not suddenly vanish under our feet, but that was more than enough for us. When, after our rescue, I returned to Tahiti I became rather more curious and several times asked some of the most experienced schooner captains for more details. But none of them had visited the island, or heard of anyone who had been there. This naturally made me still more curious and I began to hunt eagerly in all the available books. From the scanty information I found here and there I was able to construct the following picture of the island on which for several weeks we had set all our hopes.
Starbuck, so named after a British whaler captain who discovered the island in 1823, is about five miles long and almost two and a half miles wide at the widest point, A fringing coral reef, about 1000 yards wide, against which the sea breaks violently, surrounds the island completely, and there is no sheltered anchorage or landing-place.
Like most atolls, Starbuck is very low, and no part of the island stands more than fifteen feet above sea level. When a cyclone, or a volcanic eruption on the sea bottom, causes a particularly heavy swell the waves often wash right over the island.
On the other hand, Starbuck differs from most of the South Sea atolls in that the only vegetation consists of clumps of grass and a few scattered bushes, none of which are more than three feet high or have any eatable fruit.
Apart from a narrow belt of sand along the shore, the greater part of the island is covered either with sea-birds’ guano or a thick layer of salt from evaporated sea water, which has the unusual effect of making Starbuck, at a distance, resemble a great ice-floe. Of course there is no drinking water at all.
The first and only time that any human being attempted to settle on Starbuck was at the beginning of the 1870’s, when some hyper-optimistic Americans, after several dangerous capsizings, landed with a couple of dozen native workers to collect guano. They were immediately surrounded by such dense clouds of screaming sea-birds that all conversation was impossible, but nevertheless took a walk round the island, in the course of which they found many bleached human bones and wreckage from at least seven different vessels. But even more unbearable than the ceaseless screaming of the birds were the heat and the blinding reflection of the sun’s rays, and the Americans quickly gave up their hopeless attempt. Since then no one seems to have set foot on Starbuck, and few ships have passed near the inhospitable island.
Another discovery, almost equally unpleasant, which I made after our rescue was that Starbuck, at that moment, was included in the wide sea area round Christmas Island that was closed to all shipping on account of atomic bomb experiments.
But, as I have said, we were completely ignorant of all this at midday on August 16, 1958, and it was with great and genuine sorrow that I altered course and steered away.
Chapter 8
TOWARDS SAMOA
The mere fact that we had missed Starbuck was in itself very distressing. But as Eric and I saw it, even worse was that we were now so high up towards the Equator and so far west that our prospects of reaching Penrhyn had been gravely endangered. This upset us all the more because we knew well that Penrhyn—or Tongereva as it is called by Polynesians—was inhabited and was often visited by yachts on their way to or from Tahiti. Of course there was still a possibility that the north-easterly wind might gradually become a little more northerly and help us to reach the island. But unfortunately it was most probable that we should be obliged to go on to Samoa, in which case we must expect to spend at least another month on board Tahiti Nui III.
When I pointed out to my comrades, as tactfully as possible, that we had best prepare for a long voyage and proposed that we should ration our food and water still more strictly, Jean and Hans awoke from their apathy with surprising speed and began to protest vigorously. The gist of their vehement arguments was naturally that all further rationing was unnecessary, as we should soon be at Penrhyn. Had I not already said that we should be able to get ashore there? I replied angrily that we had missed our chance by not setting a course for Penrhyn at once and that they knew very well whose fault that was—an answer which scarcely contributed to the restoration of harmony on board.
As our lives depended on how we managed our small supplies, I resolved to have my way at all costs. So without wasting any more time in futile bickering, I opened our provisions box and made a list of the contents. This did not take long, for all we had left was approximately:
13 lb. fermented rice
11 lb. lentils
4½ lb. flour
2 packets of macaroni
2 tins of sausages
1 tin of cooked salmon
1 tin of corned beef
8 tins of mixed fruit
12 tins of condensed milk
4 pots of honey
7 small packets of raisins
2¼ lb. chocolate powder.
The few tins of preserves would last for only one or two meals, so the most sensible thing was certainly to treat them as a kind of iron ration, only to be touched in extremity. In my opinion we had only just as much honey, raisins and condensed milk as Eric needed. This meant that 13 lb. of rice, 11 lb. of lentils, 4Yi lb. of flour and two packets of macaroni were all that remained for the rest of us. But none of these articles of food could be cooked without fire, and the only fire we could produce was with the help of the gas cooker. But we had only one bottle of gas left, and that was not nearly full, so it was completely out of the question to try to cook the hard lentils or make pancakes of flour. Having reluctantly eliminated this part of our supplies, I came to the depressing conclusion that we should have to live almost entirely on fermented rice and any fish we were able to catch.
As for drinking water, we had one brim-full ten-gallon tank. We should therefore be able to allow ourselves each three coffee cups of water a day and let Eric have a double ration.
Next day I raised the question of how we were to divide the steering watches, which was at least as important a question. I wanted to be free from steering watches during the day at all costs in order to be able to make observations, look after the lashings and repair any damage that might have been done, so I asked to be allowed to do all my watches consecutively during the first half of the night. No one protested this time, and thenceforward our watch roster was as follows:
18-00: Alain
00-02: Juanito
02-04: Hans
04-06: Jean
06-10: Juanito
10-14: Hans
14-18: Jean
Twenty-four long hours of watch-keeping passed. To my great joy and relief, Tahiti Nui III proved to be a notably fast sailer, for when I took the altitude of the sun on August 17th we were as much as fifty miles nearer Penrhyn. But, unfortunately, the wind had at the same time been getting more and more into the east and had driven us more than ten miles off our course, which meant that our prospects of reaching the island were already practically nil. Another rather bad omen was that the only fish we saw in the neighbourhood of the raft was our faithful brown shark, which evidently had not been deceived by our change of vessel. But instead of admitting that the strict rationing was really justified, Jean and Hans began to sulk and to be unpleasant to me. Juanito, who had behaved impeccably since we had abandoned Tahiti Nui II, seemed, on the contrary, to be resigned to his fate and gave me willing help with various minor jobs.
Next day, when I was in the middle of my calculations, it occurred to me that I could do them out better if I had something hard to put the paper on, and I therefore turned round in order to ask Juanito to saw off a suitable piece of masonite which projected from Eric’s box. Juanito was at the helm, and I therefore asked Jean if he would do me this small service. Jean got up at once and took out the saw: but he had hardly taken hold of the piece of masonite when Juanito quite unexpectedly exclaimed in a menacing tone:
‘Don’t you dare to touch it!’
We all stared at him in astonishment. Was this the beginning of a new and serious crisis, or only a passing whim?
‘But, my dear Juanito, what objection can you have to our sawing off a little bit of masonite?’ asked Jean amiably, when he had recovered from his first surprise.
But the only answer was a still fiercer admonition: ‘Don’t you hear what I say? Don’t touch the masonite!’ This was more than I could stand and from the disciplinary point of view was more than could be tolerated. I controlled my anger with the greatest possible effort, rose slowly, took the saw from Jean and, without saying a word, began to saw the masonite. Juanito* foaming with rage, dropped the steering oar, took a step forward and bellowed in my ear, shaking his fist:
‘Don’t you understand that the masonite is protecting my things?’
I did not give the smallest sign of understanding and went on sawing as if Juanito did not exist. Juanito repeated his threats and his curious ‘explanation’ several times; then he suddenly let his hands fall feebly to his sides and quite unexpectedly said in a whining voice:
‘I want my share of the food, too.’
At last I understood the cause of Juanito’s new crisis. It was clear that he had taken the rationing as badly as Jean and Hans, but had not dared to give expression to his dissatisfaction, and all his suppressed annoyance had at last exploded. Conscious that I was beginning to get the upper hand, I sat down as soon as I had sawn off the piece of masonite and tried to give the impression of being very busy. Juanito, deprived of his chief adversary in this disappointing manner, no longer knew what line to take, and after looking round uncertainly for a few moments, as if seeking help from Jean and Hans, he finally began steering again, to my inexpressible relief.
Although I had managed to keep my end up this time, I was none the less dispirited, for I felt that my victory was not durable. I became still more depressed when Jean and Hans, by more or less covert allusions, made me aware that in fact they shared Juanito’s view that we ought to divide all the food and water equally between us. Later in the afternoon, when we had all calmed down, I tried once more to make them realize that it might be more than a month before we reached land, and that we were therefore compelled to ration our provisions very strictly. To give greater emphasis to my words I again gravely assured them that if everyone received his share at once the result could not fail to be disastrous, as those who finished their rations first would certainly not consent to die of starvation under the eyes of their more sensible and economical comrades.
But the best argument of all I kept for the last: that in any case it was impossible to share out most of our food supplies, for the simple reason that the contents of the preserve tins would not keep once they were opened and that we had not enough gas for each of us to cook his rations when and how he liked. This they were all obliged to admit. But they were quick to point out that several of our other articles of food could easily be divided up—for example, the twelve tins of condensed milk and the seven packets of raisins. The miserable discussion ended in their insisting that we should divide equally everything that could be divided. This showed clearly that the real cause of their shabby demand—as on the occasion a month earlier when we had first disputed rationing—was a desire to be avenged on Eric for all our misfortunes. For Eric was the only person on board who had any special rationing privileges, modest as these were.
Eric had a recipe, as simple as it was attractive, for maintaining discipline on board: he advised me quite audibly to give all rebellious members of the crew a good thrashing, and if that did no good, simply to chuck them overboard. My only objection to these disciplinary measures was that an attempt to apply them could just as well end in Eric and myself being chucked overboard instead. I therefore tried, when I was at last able to think the problem over in peace and quiet during my solitary evening watch, to find another and a better solution. I soon realized that I was quite helpless if my three comrades joined forces. The captain of a cargo ship had at least one excellent weapon at his disposal in the event of a threatened mutiny—he could read out the ship’s articles and threaten the mutineers with severe punishment when the ship arrived at her destination. This would have no effect in our case, for no one on board was bound by any ship’s articles, and our destination now seemed without much doubt to be the bottom of the sea.
So, after having turned and twisted the problem till my head ached, I was compelled to admit to myself that the only way of avoiding open mutiny was to share out the condensed milk and raisins as quickly as possible. To be quite honest, I regretted this new concession more on grounds of discipline than for Eric’s sake, for anyway he ate so little now that his rations of milk and raisins, and my own, would certainly last till the end of the voyage, which, whatever form it took, could not be far off. Moreover, it would be a great relief to Eric, too, to avoid all further rationing trouble.
So next morning—August 19th—I told my comrades briefly that I was willing to meet their wishes, and gave each crew member two tins of condensed milk and a packet and a half of raisins. The remaining two tins of condensed milk I stowed away in Eric’s box under their eyes. Fortunately, no objections at all were offered to this. But to my disappointment this concession did not much lighten the general mood of depression and when, a little later, I slid down into the water to tighten some lashings which were becoming loose, Jean, Hans and Juanito looke
d on as apathetically as on every previous occasion when I had done any repairs, and did not once offer a helping hand.
The member of the crew who caused me most anxiety at this time was Jean, hitherto always so reliable and helpful: he was now either completely indifferent to his fate or idiotically confident that we should soon reach Penrhyn. Most unluckily, by some curious chance, he was particularly apathetic and slack every time he was at the helm, with the unpleasant result that we drifted sideways and got drenched quite unnecessarily. After patiently enduring Jean’s capricious behaviour for a whole twenty-four hours I finally lost my temper and gave him a good telling-off during his morning watch on August 20th. The result was most unexpected. Jean listened quietly to my outburst, and contented himself with the ironical remark:
‘It must be that honey in the box on the port side which is pulling the steering oar the wrong way.’
I was so furious that I was within an ace of flying at him, but fortunately checked myself at the last moment. Wild, confused thoughts chased each other through my brain, but I soon realized that I was chiefly to blame. A long time ago I had been stupid enough to adopt the dangerous policy of making concessions, and the only thing I could do now was to continue this policy to the end. But often as I told myself that I ought to share out the honey, too, to avoid all similar scenes, I could not bring myself to do it until next day. When I opened the provision box to give a pot of honey each to Jean, Hans and Juanito, I caught sight of the bag of chocolate powder and hastened to divide this equally between us. Having done so, I shut the box again with a loud bang.
This disagreeable episode took place on the morning of August 21st. Only a few hours later we passed the longitude of Penrhyn as much as 40 miles north of the island. Jean, who till this moment had clung firmly to his irrational conviction that we should somehow or other reach the island, collapsed altogether, and again and again I heard him muttering something about our being like wandering Jews who had no home. I would rather that he had screamed, wept and cursed, but he continued to suffer in silence, which in the long run was as unbearable for the rest of us as for himself. To make him forget his despair—and at the same time to obtain a necessary addition to our food supply—I tried to persuade him to try his luck as a fisherman again, and after many long sighs he actually took out his spear-gun and slipped into the water.
From Raft to Raft Page 18