Gilboy’s Quest

by Sam Ivey

Chapter VI: Phantom Island
part 2 of 3

It seems prudent here to depart from the narrative, this in a humble effort to clarify what may or may not have happened in the next few days. In trying to understand, let us consider the following:

Long days at sea — spent in solitude — are known to have a strongly disorienting impact on the human mind. So much so has this been the case, that to some such mariners in those circumstances, the unreal has come to have all the tangibility of substance. And it would now appear that in Bernard Gilboy’s mind, this materializing of that which is not — this congealing of fantasy — may have been occurring, and that it was subsequently reflected in his log entries. It must be recognized that what follows in this poor man’s log has the character of both ironbound reality and of nebulous illusion. Yet so homogeneous are the two, as recorded in the several reports, that taken all together it must be that Bernard himself could not have understood them in retrospect; that he would have been unable to delineate between fact and fallacy.

While the places he reported are all very real in the absolute sense, his references to times and distances — to physical properties and descriptions — are not in every case agreeable with the hard, unvarnished truth. There are, for example, places that it appears he could not have been at the time he says he was there; nor could he have seen what he reports seeing from such places.

Additionally, on one occasion his point of sail is in disagreement with the wind, as when he writes that he had to “haul close to the wind” — a wind he describes as “inclined to the south” — in order to weather the northernmost extremity of Matthew Island. And why, indeed, should he want to round the north end of that island at all, as it would put him farther from his goal, his declared goal of making straight for New Caledonia?

While laboring with this particular incongruity, we may well question why he believed it was necessary to sail “over one hundred miles” to the north, to clear reefs that extended only “eight and ten miles into the sea.” Then again he writes that he felt he should have sighted Walpol Island on December 24th, when in fact he was some 110 miles to the southeast thereof.

In point of fact, he had yet to raise Matthew Island, the sighting of which occurs on the 25th. Thus, the log itself is in confusion. Moreover, he tells us of losing his taffrail log on December 27th, but reports a distance sailed according to that log, on December 30th.

Nevertheless, his description of Matthew Island is in some measure accurate. The southeastern portion of the island may have well appeared to him as a separate land mass, connected as it is to the larger portion by a reef that he reports to be some four miles in length. But when he reports sighting the island on December 25th — it necessarily being the southeastern end thereof — and then later reports, on December 30th, that he first observed its western extremity after sailing 170 miles to the northwest, we are asked to embrace what is impossible, the island being only — as previously mentioned — about a mile in circumference.

And we may perhaps conclude on this point: his position as he reports it on January 6th, is only 291 miles east and 40 miles south of his location on December 23, two weeks earlier. Did he sail an average of only 21 miles a day during those two weeks? Could it be that he was contesting in an imaginary duel with a very real island — a duel against nature? May he have been jousting with a Phantom Island? Especially does this possibility come to our mind when we read these remarkable words in his log:

“While sailing along the shore... between 30 and 40 miles, not a sign of a tree that I could see — nothing.”

“Thirty and forty miles”? May he perhaps have been sailing around Matthew Island? Might it be true that he never was at 20º, 38’ south latitude, from which he reports sighting the “western extremity of Matthew Island.” That island — the real Matthew Island — would then have been approximately 90 miles to the south. The utter impossibility of his seeing it, from his reported location, is confirmed in that the maximum distance from which he could have seen it — under optimum conditions and standing at his approximate height of some 8 feet above the water — is approximately 41 miles. Is it then possible that at least some of the events of December 24th through the 30th occurred only in the mind of this skilled, but sorely beleaguered mariner?

It goes without saying that we are all acquainted with the fact that perception can be reality, as in a dream — a nightmare — when terrors become all too substantial; and that such erroneous perception is not necessarily the product of mental derangement. Consider then, Bernard Gilboy; consider the fatigue he had to be feeling; his shortage of food and water, his exhausting labor and the frustration of the previous twelve days. Reflect on the pressing anxiety he had to be experiencing. Then ask yourself: all of the irregularities taken into consideration, might he have imagined it? At least some of it?

If that be so, let us then share in his nightmare experience, share his concern over food and water. Let us relive with him the terror of uncompromising reefs and the indescribable power of a sea that blasts itself to oblivion thereon. As we rejoin this remarkable man, let us listen as he tells us his story. And then you must make the decision. What was real? What was fantasy?

Proceed to part 3...