ON THE OCEAN
in a walnut shell

We have not forgotten the extraordinary feat of tennis player Alain Gerbault, aged thirty, who, abandoning the handle of the racket for the rudder, arrived in New York on September 15, after having spent five months on the Ocean, alone on his 7 m cutter. 20, the Fire Crest.

He had left Cannes on a beautiful sunny and cheerful April morning. No one knew about his project except one of his friends. When we saw him set sail, carefully check his shrouds and take on board quite large provisions, we showed some curiosity.

- Ah! are you going to the island? they asked him, thinking of Corsica, 200 kilometers away.
- No, replied the navigator carelessly; If the wind is favorable, I hope to go a little further, to India or New York. I haven't decided yet.

We thought it was a joke. But, two days after his departure, not seeing him return, they became worried and wanted to go looking for him. It was then that his friend revealed the project he had been told about.

Can we imagine what energy, what physical balance and what moral strength requires the achievement of such a record? One hundred and fifty days alone at sea! Cato the Elder, who, among the three great regrets of his life, counted that of having once gone by sea where he could have gone by land, would hardly have understood such a taste for salt water, packets of spray, the wind, the immense and mysterious solitude of the nights. But since Christopher Columbus and Robinson Crusoe, we have been sensitive to the voice of the ocean, to the stories of sailors, to the evocation of dangerous voyages.

To tell the truth, Gerbault's feat is not unique, but it has the characteristic of having been accomplished with a very French elegance, with simplicity and brashness. Besides him, we can cite other “achievements” of the same kind.

In August 1902, a 12 meter long launch was seen entering Falmouth harbour, manned by a single man, named Newman, who was coming from America after a hard crossing of thirty-seven days.

The bold attempts of William Andrews also deserve not to be forgotten. This American was a piano worker who, like a certain “small ship”, had never sailed. Eager to visit the Universal Exhibition of 1878, he had a small six-meter boat built, left Boston one day in June, and six weeks later landed on the coast of Cornwall, exhausted, it is true, and spitting blood. On the way, he encountered thirty-seven vessels which put him back on the right course. His greatest fear had been the risk of being cut by one of them.

Inspired by this first trip, he prepared a second one in 1889, again to see a Universal Exhibition! This time he was unlucky, unable to move more than 300 kilometers away and had to return to port. Barely disembarked, he learns that one of his compatriots, Lowler, is also preparing to cross the Atlantic. Both agree to leave together; one hundred thousand francs and a silver cup will be awarded to the first finisher. But Andrews is defeated; while Lowler reached Cape Lizard, capsized seven times and was forced to seek asylum from a passing steamer, the Elbrus.

New match in 1892, on the occasion of the fourth centenary of the discovery of America. Andrews, this time, reached the coast of Portugal. As for Lowler, we never heard from him again.

Andrews was to perish in the same way. In October 1901 he left again, this time accompanied by the woman he had just married. Thousands of spectators cheered this departure, this great departure, because they were not to return.

Should we recall that Josué Slocum decided to do and sailed around the world on the Spray, a thirteen-meter boat that he had built himself? Having left Boston on April 24, 1895, he first reached Gibraltar. He left there to circumnavigate South America via Tierra del Fuego. Then, he entered the Pacific, stopping at the Samoa Islands and New South Wales. Finally, via the Cape of Good Hope, he returned to his starting point where he arrived on June 27, 1898.
He had had to fight not only against the storm, but also, twice, against pirates. But his greatest test was being exposed for so many days to absolute silence.

Another type of exploit for which the sea can be the scene is that which tempts swimmers. Mythology tells that Leander crossed the Hellespont, which today we call the Dardanelles, every day to join Hero on the other bank. On May 3, 1810, Lord Byron once again repeated this daily exploit of Leander. Let us add that the Hellespont is only 1,300 meters wide, but the current is violent.

Crossing the Channel offers much more difficulty. Captain Webb accomplished it in August 1875, going from Dover to Calais in twenty-one hours and forty-five hours. On September 6, 1911, a similar “performance” was accomplished by W. Burgess who crossed the distance which separates Deal from Cape Gris-Nez in twenty-three hours and forty hours. On these occasions, the straight line, although it may seem, is not the best path from one point to another. The play of currents requires zigzagging.

Finally, we will recall a feat which in one way touches on great history. When, after Waterloo, Napoleon passed through the island of Aix, lieutenant Vildieu offered to take him to America, through the English blockade, using a small boat: the Brise-Cailloux. The emperor listened to him, thought for a moment, and replied “no”, preferring to surrender himself to the English. Some time later, Vildieu, wanting to prove that his escape plan was not impossible, left himself on his small barquot, accompanied by his son and a midshipman.

Let us quote this account of the journey: “The crossing was long and difficult. The Brise-Cilloux, carefully fitted out, had on board barrels of fresh water, pemmican and biscuits. For fresh meat there was no need to think about it, a chicken cage would have held half the deck; until the last days the distribution of food was regulated with the utmost prudence and the crew did not have to suffer too much. However, this diet of salted meat became tiring in the long run, our mouths were dry, we were thirsty; but, thirsty or not, two rations of water per day, never more. Once, in a sea of oil, something came floating alongside the boat. “An apple on the starboard side!” shouted the man at the helm joyfully. It was an apple, a beautiful gray pippin in the middle of the ocean. No doubt she had fallen from some ship passing by the day before or the day before; tribute was paid to the captain, but, good prince, he wanted the crew to share with him. Although a little spoiled by the sea water, the apple was found exquisite, and that day there was a feast on board the Brise-Cailloux.

If the trip had its good moments, it didn't lack the bad ones either: gales, days of thick mist, nights of sleepless squalls...
“Sometimes, when the sea was too rough, the sail was brought in, the crew locked themselves in the steerage in the guard of God. Finally, after six weeks, the coast of America appeared; It was about time, we were going to run out of water. A few hours later, the Brise-Cailloux entered the port of Halifax. " Where are you from ? we shouted to them. The three bold navigators, uncovering themselves, replied with pride: From France!

Some hundred years later, this same response was made by Gerbault, received with the same astonishment, the same admiration. And we understand this little boy, who, seeing him pass, exclaimed: “Here is someone like Christopher Columbus! »

MAROUSSIA.