The Robertson family survived thirty-eight days at sea.
Captain Bligh of the celebrated mutinous Bounty and his fellowcastaways survived forty-seven days. Steven Callahan survivedseventy-six. Owen Chase, whose account of the sinking of thewhaling ship Essex by a whale inspired Herman Melville,survived eighty-three days at sea with two mates, interruptedby a one-week stay on an inhospitable island. The Bailey familysurvived 118 days. I have heard of a Korean merchant sailornamed Poon, I believe, who survived the Pacific for 173 days inthe 1950s.
I survived 227 days. That's how long my trial lasted, overseven months.
I kept myself busy. That was one key to my survival. On alifeboat, even on a raft, there's always something that needsdoing. An average day for me, if such a notion can be appliedto a castaway, went like this:
Sunrise to mid-morning:
wake up? prayers breakfast for Richard Parker? general inspection of raft and lifeboat, with particularattention paid to all knots and ropes? tending of solar stills (wiping, inflating, topping off withwater)? breakfast and inspection of food stores? fishing and preparing of fish if any caught (gutting,cleaning, hanging of strips of flesh on lines to cure in the sun)Mid-morning to late afternoon:
? prayers? light lunch? rest and restful activities (writing in diary, examining ofscabs and sores, upkeeping of equipment, puttering aboutlocker, observation and study of Richard Parker, picking at ofturtle bones, etc.)Late afternoon to early evening:
? prayers? fishing and preparing of fish? tending of curing strips of flesh (turning over, cutting awayof putrid parts)? dinner preparations? dinner for self and Richard ParkerSunset:
? general inspection of raft and lifeboat (knots and ropesagain)? collecting and safekeeping of distillate from? solar stills? storing of all foods and equipment? arrangements for night (making of bed, safe storage onraft of flare, in case of ship, and rain catcher, in case of rain)? prayersNight:
? fitful sleeping? prayersMornings were usually better than late afternoons, when theemptiness of time tended to make itself felt.
Any number of events affected this routine. Rainfall, at anytime of the day or night, stopped all other business; for aslong as it fell, I held up the rain catchers and was feverishlyoccupied storing their catch. A turtle's visit was another majordisruption. And Richard Parker, of course, was a regulardisturbance. Accommodating him was a priority I could notneglect for an instant. He didn't have much of a routinebeyond eating, drinking and sleeping, but there were timeswhen he stirred from his lethargy and rambled about histerritory, making noises and being cranky. Thankfully, everytime, the sun and the sea quickly tired him and he returned tobeneath the tarpaulin, to lying on his side again, or flat on hisstomach, his head on top of his crossed front legs.
But there was more to my dealings with him than strictnecessity. I also spent hours observing him because it was adistraction. A tiger is a fascinating animal at any time, and allthe more so when it is your sole companion.
At first, looking out for a ship was something I did all thetime, compulsively. But after a few weeks, five or six, I stoppeddoing it nearly entirely.
And I survived because I made a point of forgetting. Mystory started on a calendar day – July 2nd, 1977 – and endedon a calendar day – February 14th, 1978 – but in betweenthere was no calendar. I did not count the days or the weeksor the months. Time is an illusion that only makes us pant. Isurvived because I forgot even the very notion of time.
What I remember are events and encounters and routines,markers that emerged here and there from the ocean of timeand imprinted themselves on my memory. The smell of spenthand-flare shells, and prayers at dawn, and the killing ofturtles, and the biology of algae, for example. And many more.
But I don't know if I can put them in order for you. Mymemories come in a jumble.