Evening star., 1942-10-14
81 Days Adrift on a Raft

D0/ST TOsH
This epic of tpdr in the South
Pacific ,Das told to Robert Trum-
bull by Harold F. DIXON, bomber
pilot and aviation chief me-
c1,dnic's mate, U. S. ~, in the
current best seller, "The Raft"
1Dhich is no,n being brought to
you in serial form, OF Uhich
this is a chapter. Diron-,oith
Gene AIdrich, Aviation radiomun
and gunner. and Tony Pastuln,
aviation ordnance ndn-Uds
forced to land scout bomber in
the ocean ,Dhen its gas gaze out
on the evening OF January IS,
1912. The craft sank almost i'm
medtdtely, but they managed to
escape OF, an Sra foot rubber raft.
They Dere without provisions
and aoith scant equipment. Yet
this heroic United States Nauy
trio managed to surDtue, battling
an Inferno OF seas and 1Deather
tor 81 days oDer course that
coDered about a thousand miles
until they finally reached safety
on an obscure atoH. The rerpe-
ttngling details of this ertrdordi-
nary experience are being related
here as told to Robert TrumbuH,
CHAPTER XVIII.
When I unrolled our little piece
of patching material to see If it
might make a sunshade I found a
small pair OF scissors.
They were about inches long,
blunt ended dime store stuff
means for cutting patches. Wrapped
in the fabric, they had been pro-
tected from the salt water that had
ruined our gun. But they weren't
much good, anyway.
Might come in handy sometime,
but don't know how" remarked
to Tony.
He glanced at them alphabetically.
He raised his hand to brush his
long hair out of his eyes, an auto
matte gesture, and that suddenly
gave him an idea.
How about a haircut?" he sug-
gested.
YEAH" Gene said. "1t might be
cooler"
looked at their tangled mats of
hair and fingered my own, doubt
fully. I didn't think these cheap
scissors would make much head
way. We had no combs, and our
hair was continually falling down
over our eyes. 1t was one of those
small annoyances that sometimes
bother a man more than much
greater things.
Want me to try it on you?" I
asked Tony.
Sure. come on" he said.
Tony's hair was as stiff as a shay
ing brush. When ended he was a
funny looking object. He didn't
have much beard, just a thin mus
tache and a few tufts on the end
OF his chin, which gave him the
look OF a caricature Mongolian.
Genes beard might be called the
scattered type. I cut his hair, too,
and then Tony cut mine. The scis-
sors werent much good for this sort
OF thing, but at least these crude
operations got the hair out of our
eyes.
Disappointment.
We were keeping a sharp watch
for coconuts, but we weren't seeing
any. We saw lot of small-brown-
ish nuts about 2 inches long and
perhaps an inch and a half in di-
| ameter that looked like miniature
coconuts.
Take a paddle on the starboard
side, Gene" said. We'll row over
and get one of those things"
Gene and I, with the shoes on our
hands. maneuvered the boat to
where I could lean out and pick up
one OF the nuts. We managed to
break one open, but there was MOTH
ing fit to eat inside. They weren't
nuts at all in the real sense of the
word, but just lot of fiber
around hard core. I think they
were the little cones that grow
Shows we're near land, ANYWAY
I said None of us missed the
slightest opportunity to feed our op-
tlmlsm. We really believed we were
sure to come upon an island, and
kept an untiring watch on the hori-
zon for the blue shadow that would
be land. Several times were were
almost fooled by low cloud banks.
I reasoned, finally, that the type of
island we should reach in this vi
cinlty would most likely be pretty
nat. whereas the kind that look from
great distance like clouds would be
the mountainous type that was far
out of our reach to the north.
On the 22d day, as 1 recall, we
found the log. Time was beginning
to run together for us now. One
long. blazing day was exactly like
another, which makes it difficult to
place exactly the small events that
interrupted our monotonous routine.
Spot Log.
We saw the log as a large, dark
object that bobbed in the water
about hundred yards away. We
had been brooding along. not saying
much and hardly thinking. It was
too hot. Until the sun went low,
late in the afternoon, we did little
that we didn't have to do. Hours
would go by without a word being
spoken. There was little one could
say that hadn't been said already
too many times.
Tony spied the log and pointed.
Look" he said.
noted idly that his voice was
hoarsening
With some effort, I pushed my
self erect by my arms and peered
where Tony pointed. Gene, on his
knees, leaned on his chest against
the gunwale and looked too, shad-
ing his eyes with both hands.
Tony picked up a shoe, I took
the other and we swung the raft
about. With long, labored strokes
| we padded and caught up to the
drifting log. It was the whole rot
ten stump of tree. I held the raft
away from it until I saw that it