ALAIN Gerbault was the world tennis champion a hundred years ago. Having survived the horrors of the First World War, in which nearly everyone important to him died, he turned to professional sports and excelled. But the life of a superstar rang hollow for him. The money, media attention, and competition did not satisfy his craving for what he called the real life. “Life must be more than this,” his inner voice whispered.
Gerbault took up sailing, then solo sailing, first in the Mediterranean and then in the ocean. Then one day, without telling anyone, he took off across the Atlantic in his sailboat Firecrest bound for the United States. He met with one storm-related disaster after another until after 101 days at sea he reached New York. Though he set off with no fanfare, he arrived to a media circus. Not only was he a sports star, but he completed a solo transatlantic voyage with not so much as a support vessel, at a time when people did not do such things.
He stayed in New York long enough to win the Davis Cup in tennis in 1924, then set off again to sail around the world. After transiting the Panama Canal, he crossed the South Pacific, where he hoped he would find fulfillment and the answers to life’s big questions. If not, at least he might find peace of mind. Then disaster struck. During a storm in the Wallis Islands, Gerbault anchored off a barely populated island. Then…
“I was lying half asleep when I was aroused by the noise of the cable dragging against the bottom. The next moment, before I could lift a hand, Firecrest had struck against the reef. I had only to haul in a few feet of chain to find that it was broken. The wind had veered to the south and was blowing a gale; Firecrest was heeled over and at every wave rose and dropped on the coral with an ugly cracking noise. In the harbor not a boat; not an anchor I could carry out to kedge myself off. Besides, with such a wind blowing it would have taken a steamer to tow the boat clear.
“I had been an hour on the reef when suddenly my boat heeled right over on to one side, the deck became almost vertical, and the water began to pour in at the skylight. I had already started swimming toward shore when, to my utter amazement, I perceived that the Firecrest was following me; in fact, she reached the beach almost at the same time as I did myself and drove herself hard into the sand. I found she had taken very little water below deck. The night was black and it was half past one as I made my way sadly up to the residency convinced that Firecrest had met her end and my voyage was done.
“By daybreak the sea had fallen. I then saw that her lead keel was missing and that the ten bronze bolts that had held it were broken off at the wooden keel. Freed from the weight of four tons of lead she had simply floated to shore.”
In most cases, the keel breaking off your boat would spell disaster. In Gerbault’s case, it saved his boat and possibly his life. To see what else happened during his voyage around the world, get hold a copy of Gerbault’s “Firecrest Round the World.”
BC Cook, PhD lived on Saipan and has taught history for 20 years. He currently resides on the mainland U.S.
BC Cook
