Death of a Supertanker

by Antony Trew

  ‘What’s that, man?’

  ‘I cannot swim.’

  ‘So you can’t swim. Now isn’t that something. Hey, you know, you had a great chance to learn out there, Gareth. Anyway, there I was praying to the Lord to save me, and at the same time thanking him that he had me born in Ghana. You know, surf boats and the surf. That was my life. Swim like a bloody black fish, I could. I tell you, man. Big waves coming in like they want to eat you up. But nice and warm that West Coast water. Very warm. And good sand to land on. I didn’t fancy making that swim last night. Cold water and big black rocks. Jesus. And maybe the Lord too busy with all the other guys because they couldn’t swim like me. You know he has to be fair to all.’

  The Welshman looked up from under shaggy eyebrows. ‘He has indeed, Abu.’ He grabbed the empty tankards and stood up. ‘Let’s have some more beer.’

  Chapter 23

  Three days after the crew arrived in Cape Town a preliminary enquiry into the stranding of Ocean Mammoth was held on the orders of the Secretary for Transport, acting in terms of Section 264 of the Republic of South Africa’s Merchant Shipping Act No. 57 of 1951.

  At the preliminary enquiry Captain Crutchley, the chief officer, Freeman Jarrett, the second officer, George Foley, the chief engineer, Hamish McLintoch, the second engineer, Benjamin Benson, and others involved had attended and sworn statements before the presiding officer.

  Soon after the enquiry summonses were served on Crutchley, Jarrett and Foley ordering them to appear before a Court of Marine Enquiry four weeks later, to answer charges in connection with the stranding of the VLCC Ocean Mammoth off Cape Agulhas on 29 October. Subpoenas having been served to those who would be required as witnesses, the remainder of the crew were flown back to Rotterdam, London or their home countries, whichever they elected, at the expense of the owners.

  An exception was Piet Pieterse, the steward. He was not offered the choice as he was already in his home country. Paid off in Cape Town, he was left to his own devices.

  In the weeks following the preliminary enquiry Captain Crutchley and his chief and second officer had been busy discussing their defence with their legal advisers. In view of the conflict of interests evident at the preliminary enquiry, each had his own lawyer and counsel. These appointments had been arranged by the Merchant Navy and Airline Officers’ Association in London, the professional body to which the three men belonged and which would bear the costs of their defence. This enabled them to secure the services of three well-known barristers, all State’s Counsel, the equivalent of a Queen’s Counsel in Britain.

  The summonses to appear before the court were couched in the briefest terms: Captain Crutchley was to meet a charge of ‘by wrongful act or default stranding the VLCC Ocean Mammoth, then under his command, off Cape Agulhas on 29 October’ – Freeman Jarrett and George Foley were each charged with ‘contributory negligence or default or ineptitude leading to the stranding …’

  The night before the enquiry Captain Crutchley left his hotel in The Gardens for an after-dinner walk. That walk, his only relaxation and exercise, had become a custom over recent weeks; it was most useful therapy at a time when he was beset with the gravest problem of a long career.

  As always when he reached Orange Street he set off down it, crossing to the right-hand side shortly before reaching the gates of the Mount Nelson, then continuing along the pavement until he turned into Government Avenue, the beautiful and historic pedestrian way which led down between the botanical gardens and the Houses of Parliament to Adderley Street.

  It was a warm night and the southern sky was bright with stars. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the oaks lining the Avenue and brought with it the scent of flowers.

  Behind Captain Crutchley as he walked, Table Mountain loomed large above the city, the lights of residential areas glittering about its lower slopes. Ahead, at the far end of the Avenue, he could see the neon lights of Adderley Street and the constantly changing patterns of light from traffic moving along it.

  He wished once again that his wife could be with him. The beauty of the Cape would have meant much to her. More than that, she would have given him the comfort, support and companionship he now so badly needed. On three occasions he had telephoned her and they’d had long and tense discussions. She had tried to encourage him, to be optimistic but he could tell that she, too, was deeply worried. The telephone was no satisfactory way of bridging the six-thousand-mile gap between Farnham and Cape Town.

  Halfway along the Avenue he found a bench and sat down. His mind was a discordant jumble of thoughts until he concentrated it on the overriding problem – the Court of Marine Enquiry which would begin its sitting the next morning. It was going to be a nasty, messy business – he had no doubt about that. The incorrect course steered, Jarrett and Foley’s attempts to implicate each other, the failure of the electronic systems, the missing chart, pages torn from logbooks and the trace from the course-recorder. Finally, and to him most important of all, his absence from the bridge, enormously complicated by Jarretťs alleged phone conversation and his denial of it. All these things had emerged at the preliminary enquiry.

  Ocean Mammoth was the biggest ship ever to have been wrecked on the South African coast. The press, alerted by rumours and conflicting statements at the preliminary enquiry, had sensed something sensational and made the forthcoming enquiry news long before it began.

  As he thought once more of Jarretťs behaviour, the muscles in Crutchley’s stomach contracted and he felt a spasm of pain as if he’d been stabbed with a burning knife. The recollection filled him with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. There was nothing he could do. All now depended on his counsel, James Goodbody.

  Goodbody was a large ample man with a florid complexion and a deceptively genial manner. He was noted at the Cape Town Bar for the disarming smile he affected when about to destroy a witness, and for the red carnation he habitually wore out of court. After their first meeting, Crutchley had decided that he would rather have this formidable man with him than against him. Yet he was troubled by Goodbody’s casual manner, his absence of concern when difficult aspects of evidence were under discussion. On these occasions he would state some unpalatable truth with brutal frankness, as he had done that morning in their final discussion.

  ‘You will of course be Frans Lourens’s principal target. The master of the vessel is always responsible. Your ship was in fog in busy waters, close to land, about to round Cape Agulhas and you, my dear sir, were not on the bridge.’ Goodbody had smiled with his mouth and teeth but not with his eyes. That will appeal to Lourens as a fairly open and shut case of wilful default and gross negligence. Yes, he’ll have a good deal to say about that. You see, it makes you pretty fair game. A sitting duck one might say. But only …’

  ‘I have already told you that the onset of the fog was not reported to me,’ interrupted Crutchley with unusual sharpness.

  ‘Quite, my dear Captain. But Jarrett has sworn on oath that it was. However, I was about to say – when you interrupted me – ’ again the smile without the eyes. ‘I was about to say, but only if he can prove you were called. That, I believe, he cannot do.

  ‘Cannot? In spite of Fernandez’s sworn statement?’

  Goodbody held up a large pink hand. ‘I know. I know. Fernandez has sworn that he heard the telephone conversation. I propose to upset that evidence.’

  ‘How?’ challenged Crutchley, pushing the dark glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

  Goodbody looked out of the window, then at the clock on his desk and finally at Crutchley. ‘That, I think, is something you must leave to me. Now, Captain, if you’ll excuse me, I have a luncheon appointment. One of these tiring Johannesburg mining men in litigious mood.’ He got up from the desk. ‘I’ll see you in court in the morning. In the meantime try to relax. There is an excellent café in the docks. You know it? No. A most improbable place with quite superb shell-fish. Do try it. The crayfish thermidor is something of an experience. By the
way, Frans Lourens is an old friend and adversary of mine. We play golf together. I look forward to meeting him once more in battle.’ Goodbody’s eyes gleamed.

  Crutchley regarded him uncertainly. ‘Very well. Until tomorrow then.’ As he made for the lift he was thinking that it might be all right for Goodbody to regard the enquiry as an interesting battle of wits, with fees assured at the end of it, but it was neither interesting nor profitable for him. Nor did he look forward to meeting Frans Lourens, the State’s Counsel who would represent the Secretary for Transport in a role equivalent to that of prosecuting counsel in a criminal court. Captain Crutchley knew that his livelihood and his family’s future were at stake.

  ‘When did you hear this?’ The chairman frowned at the managing-director. Raustadt smoothed his hair with quick nervous gestures. ‘This morning. Kostadis phoned me from London.’

  ‘More than two weeks ago you told us there had been another gale. That both the hull and stern sections were breaking up.’ The chairman’s tone was critical. ‘You said the marine surveyor and salvage expert in Cape Town had reported that the ship was a total loss. You confirmed that the brokers had submitted our claim, that the insurers were preparing to settle on a constructive total loss basis. Why this sudden change?’

  ‘That was the position this morning – until Kostadis phoned. He said that late yesterday afternoon our brokers informed him that there was likely to be some delay in settlement.’

  The deputy-chairman patted an ample expanse of stomach which overhung the waistband of his trousers. ‘Is this because the court of enquiry only begins its sitting tomorrow?’

  Raustadt shot a quick glance at the chairman. ‘Kostadis says it’s been hinted that it might be the reason. That they may feel it’s better to await the outcome of the enquiry. But that’s only a hint from an unofficial source. The insurers apparently say no more than that they regret there is likely to be some delay. They give no reasons.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Raustadt.’ The folds of the chairman’s face drew in upon each other. ‘It is a clear case of stranding in fog. There’s nothing unusual about that in the maritime world. The consultants out there have reported that the ship is a total loss. Lloyds List have carried reports of the ship breaking up. What are the insurers waiting for?’

  Le Febre’s thin voice cut in. ‘Perhaps for the court’s finding. On the question of negligence on the part of the Master or his officers, for example.’

  ‘Why? Their negligence is an insurable risk and we’ve insured against it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Raustadt. ‘That’s covered.’

  ‘Has Kostadis suggested anything else?’ The chairman’s eyes never left the pad on which he doodled with a gold pencil.

  Raustadt gave him a long searching stare as if waiting for a signal; the chairman looked up. ‘Has he?’

  ‘Not directly. He did say that the marine surveyor from Cape Town – a Captain Summerbee – has been in London for some days. Apparently he has had discussions with the insurers. He returns to Cape Town tomorrow. It is possible …’

  Le Febre interrupted. ‘It’s surely not unusual for a marine surveyor to fly over to London to report to the insurers on a loss of such magnitude.’

  ‘No. It is probably not unusual,’ agreed Raustadt. ‘I mention it only because Kostadis did. He was surprised Summerbee had not been to see him.’

  ‘We must continue to exert pressure,’ said the chairman. ‘Early settlement is essential. We have extensive commitments to meet. We don’t want liquidators knocking at the door.’

  Neumann took a cigar from a leather case with elaborate care. ‘It is little more than a month since the ship stranded. It is only two weeks since we submitted our claim for settlement on a constructive total loss basis. The insurers are faced with paying out fifty-five million dollars, plus the Durban costs. Naturally they are going to delay. There is surely no need to become agitated.’

  The chairman returned the gold pencil to an inner pocket. ‘Of course not, my dear Neumann. But the company’s liquidity problem is something to become agitated about.’

  Chapter 24

  THE FIRST DAY

  Wynberg, eight miles down the line from Cape Town, is an old and mellow suburb lying in the shadows of Table Mountain and Constantiaberg. It is the seat of a long-established magistracy and it was in the Magistrate’s Court there that those concerned assembled at 9.30 a.m. under the chairmanship of the Chief Magistrate to enquire into the stranding of Ocean Mammoth.

  The beamed ceiling, the dark woodwork of the doors and furniture well worn with wear, the parquet floor from which rose walls of red brick to eye level, then cream to ceiling height, the smell of polish and disinfectant, combined to provide ‘C’ court with an atmosphere as cheerless and forbidding as any Captain Crutchley could remember. Looking round the court he saw nothing reassuring except perhaps the ample figure of James Goodbody beside him at the large table around which sat the defendants, their counsel, and Lourens the prosecuting counsel.

  The clerk called for order and all stood as the Chairman entered followed by two Assessors and took his seat in the centre of the raised dais. He was a big-boned, bronzed man with bushy eyebrows and a black shade over his left eye; a relic, Crutchley had been told, of a shooting accident when he was a young man. For a moment after he sat down their eyes met and Crutchley found the single-eyed impersonal stare unnerving. He recalled that only the day before Goodbody had said, ‘We’re lucky to have Jan van Reenen as Chairman. Looks fierce but he’s a decent fair-minded chap. He’ll keep a firm grip on proceedings.’

  The two Assessors, both master mariners, sat with the Chairman, one on either side. To Crutchley they looked like seamen and to that extent he was grateful. In the middle of the courtroom, immediately behind the large table at which counsel and defendants sat, was the dock. Goodbody had explained that it would not be used since this was a court of enquiry not a criminal trial. For that concession, small as it was, Crutchley was thankful. Forward and to the left of the dais was the witness box, provided on this occasion with a chair. Near it two shorthand writers sat at a table. Immediately beneath the dais the clerk of the court was at another.

  There were twenty-five or thirty people on the benches of the public gallery which occupied perhaps half the courtroom. Crutchley had little doubt that the media men were among them, for several photographers had clicked away at him outside the court on his arrival that morning. He had always avoided publicity of any sort and he found it particularly galling to be at the centre of it in the role of principal defendant; the man whom, he imagined, the public already regarded as guilty ‘by wrongful act or default’ of stranding Ocean Mammoth.

  On entering the court he’d seen a woman in the public gallery; the only woman in the courtroom. As attractive as ever, impeccably dressed for the occasion, she sat alone. In spite of her dark glasses he’d recognized her when she raised a hand in a small gesture of greeting. It was Sandy Foley. Outside the court Crutchley had nodded distantly to her husband, but he had not acknowledged Jarrett’s brief smile.

  Another man he recognized in the public seats was Captain Summerbee the marine surveyor; small, rotund, with pink cheeks, he wore an expression of perpetual surprise.

  The proceedings began with Lourens, counsel leading the enquiry on behalf of the Secretary for Transport, handing in various documents, including statements at the preliminary enquiry, which were recorded as exhibits. That done, he proceeded to outline his case in a rather tired way, conveying the impression that it was a boring but necessary formality. It was in fact a bald statement of events leading up to the stranding, based upon the statements sworn at the preliminary enquiry. Lourens was a tall, thin man with dark hair sleeked back on either side of a centre parting. His eyes, magnified by pebble-lens glasses, appeared too large for his face. A mouth which turned down at the corners gave him a mournful expression so that he looked rather more like the conventional idea of an undertaker than a State’s Counsel of repute. Onc
e again Captain Crutchley recalled Goodbody’s remarks during the run down of persona the day before. ‘Don’t be taken in, my dear sir, by the languid manner and soft voice. He’s as quick as a rapier thrust.’

  Lourens had stopped talking and was fidgeting with the pebblelens spectacles with his free hand. ‘Before concluding,’ he said, ‘I must remark that the task of this enquiry has been immensely complicated by the disappearance – the somewhat unusual disappearance – of the chart in use at the time of the stranding, the pages of the logbooks for that day, and the automatic course-recorder trace giving the courses steered.’ He turned towards the three defendants, looking from one to the other with a lugubrious expression before again facing the Chairman. ‘That, Your Worship, concludes my outline of the case.’

  The Chairman ordered an adjournment to give the defendants and their legal representatives time for a brief discussion. Fifteen minutes later the enquiry was resumed; the clock on the wall above the entrance showed 11 a.m.

  Immediately upon resumption, Goodbody rose. ‘I must protest, Your Worship. According to the charge my client, Captain Crutchley, has been accused of stranding Ocean Mammoth “by wrongful act or default”. My Learned Friend has had the advantage of the preliminary enquiry at which he took full statements from those concerned. That notwithstanding, he has failed to give us the particulars upon which the charge is based. In his outline he has done no more than amplify the charge against my client by saying that he has been guilty of gross negligence. In terms of Section 283 (2) (b) of the Act under which this enquiry is held, the particulars upon which a charge is based must be served on the defendant at least forty-eight hours before he is called upon to make his defence. That, Your Worship, has not been done.’