Death of a Supertanker (16 page)

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.’

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. Once 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
Mam
moth
“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.’

Complicated argument followed, incomprehensible to Crutchley, during which the Chairman intervened. ‘This is neither a civil nor a criminal action, Mr Goodbody. It is a court of enquiry, no more. There is a vast difference. It is not clear to me whether you are lodging an objection or simply voicing a complaint.’

‘With respect, Your Worship, although it is an enquiry the defendants’ certificates of competency are at risk. I am not formally objecting – we have no wish to prolong these proceedings – but I am bound to say that if at a later stage I find my client is prejudiced I will have to apply for appropriate relief.’

Counsel for Jarrett and Foley rose to associate themselves with Goodbody’s remarks. Jerome Bassett, counsel for InterOcean Crude and Bulk Carriers Ltd., explained that the point did not concern his clients for whom he was holding a watching brief.

While Bassett was speaking, Goodbody whispered to Crutchley,
‘Nothing to worry about. Important to get the sympathy of the court at the outset. Puts Frans Lourens off his stride.’

Gomez, the quartermaster, was the first witness called. Wearing a well-ironed blue denim shirt and trousers, he sat bolt upright in the witness box looking ill at ease in what must for him have been strangely formidable surroundings. Lourens handed him the sworn statement made at the preliminary enquiry. The quartermaster confirmed that it was his and Lourens proceeded to examine him.

When asked what course he’d handed over to Fernandez at 0400 on 29 October he said he’d not handed over any course because Fernandez was late in relieving him. With the ship on auto-steering he’d left the wheelhouse at about five minutes past four when the chief officer told him to carry on below and
‘chaseup’
Fernandez. He’d gone down and found Fernandez asleep. ‘I give him a shake, watch him put on gear and see him leave for the bridge,’ said Gomez.

Lourens asked Gomez what course he’d been steering before leaving the wheelhouse. The quartermaster said he could not remember. The ship had been on auto-steering for the last two hours of the watch, and he’d been doing lookout, making coffee and assisting the officer-of-the-watch with compass comparisons and synchronizing clocks. As far as he could recall the course was ‘a bit south of west’.

Lourens regarded him gloomily. ‘Was it two-six-seven?’

‘It can be, sir. I don’t remember.’

Lourens said he had no more questions.

Foley’s counsel, Arnold Kahn, the youngest State’s Counsel in court, rose. He was a pale, slight man with a polio limp, a quiet voice and a deferential almost apologetic manner. He asked leave to reserve his cross-examination and the witness stood down.

Fernandez was called next. Dressed in a smart blue suit he went briskly to the box, took the oath, sat down and looked round the court with the ready smile of a man who knew he was among old friends. He confirmed that the statement Lourens handed him was the one he’d sworn and signed at the preliminary enquiry.

Lourens rose. ‘Who did you relieve at the beginning of the morning watch on 29 October?’

‘Quartermaster Gomez, sir.’

‘Did you relieve him on time?’

‘No, sir. About seven minutes late. I sleep too long.’

‘What course did he hand over to you?’

‘No course, sir. He come down and call me. When I go to the bridge, he goes to his cabin.’

‘When you arrived in the wheelhouse, did you check the course being steered?’

‘Not then, sir.’

‘Why not then?’

‘When I come to the wheelhouse, the chief officer send me for his jersey. It was cold, you know.’

‘When you got back with the jersey, did you check the course?’

‘No, sir. The chief officer tell me to go to bridge wing to keep lookout while he goes to chartroom. Afterwards he call me back to the wheelhouse.’

‘When you got back to the wheelhouse from the bridge wing, did you then check the course?’

‘No. First I make coffee, then the chief officer tell me to take wheel, and then I check course.’

‘And what did you then find the course to be?’

‘Two-six-seven degrees.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes. The same was on the indicator.’

The Chairman intervened. ‘What indicator?’

‘Course-to-steer indicator, sir. Is on the console in front of steering position.’

‘I see. Please proceed, Mr Lourens.’

‘You say the course was two-six-seven degrees. That is a bit south of west, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir. West is two-seven-zero.’

Lourens was fidgeting with his spectacles again. Crutchley began to wonder if this were a danger signal.

Lourens gave the spectacles a final tweak, looked at his notes, then at Fernandez. ‘Did you alter course later?’

‘Yes. Few minutes afterwards the chief officer order easy starboard wheel. We come round easy and I steady on two-nine-five.’

‘Why were you altering course?’

‘The chief officer pick up a big ship ahead on radar. Coming for us.’

‘Did your ship run into fog later that morning?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did the chief officer call the standby man to go on lookout?’

‘Yes. He call Cavalho. Put him on starboard wing of bridge.’

‘Did the chief officer inform the engineroom that the ship was in fog?’

‘Yes. I hear him telephone. He tell Mr Benson ship in fog. Mr Jarrett tell him to put engines on manoeuvring speed.’

‘Was the foghorn being sounded?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Why not?’

‘I hear chief officer tell Mr Benson that switch for auto-siren is broken. He ask for electrician to come fix it.’

Again Lourens adjusted his spectacles. ‘Did you hear the chief officer report the fog to the Captain?’

‘Yes, sir. After he phones engineroom.’

‘What did the chief officer say?’

‘He tell Captain we have fog. He says he put lookout on bridge.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Yes. He tell Captain the auto-switch is no good. Electrician is come to fix it. He say he don’t want to use steam whistle aft because too many people are sleeping.’

‘Is that all you heard?’

‘No, sir. I hear him tell Captain we alter course for big ship ahead. Also, chief officer tell him there is two small ships on radar on starboard bow. Trawlers, he thinks. Not close yet. He say he keep sharp eye on them. He also tell Captain about the weather.’

‘Was that the end of the conversation?’

Goodbody intervened. ‘Objection, Your Worship. The witness could only have heard what the chief officer said. That was a monologue not a conversation. The distinction is important.’

The Chairman nodded. ‘Objection upheld. Please proceed, Mr Lourens.’

Lourens shook his head in silent protest, looking reproachfully at Goodbody before returning to the witness. ‘Was that the end of what you heard?’

The quartermaster frowned at Goodbody as if associating himself with Lourens’s displeasure. ‘No, sir. The chief officer is listening on the phone. Then he says he is sorry for Captain’s headache. He says good sleep will make it right. Then he is
listening again and afterwards he says Captain must not worry. Chief officer will keep sharp eye on everything, and fog can finish soon.’

‘Was that the last thing you heard the chief officer say?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Lourens then questioned Fernandez about the sequence of events after the chief officer’s report to the Captain, in particular the successive alterations of course for the two trawlers on
Ocean
Mammoth
’s starboard bow.

Fernandez could not recall the times of alteration or courses steered, but thought the first alteration to starboard was ‘a bit after four-thirty’ and the return to port ‘close to five o’clock’. They’d altered course to starboard for the second trawler, ‘about ten/fifteen minutes later’ and back to port ‘another ten/fifteen minutes after that’. Lourens asked him if he could not be more exact. Fernandez said, ‘No, sir. There is too much fog. Plenty is happening.’

‘You say plenty was happening. Can you explain what you mean?’

‘I am busy on wheel. Five/six times we alter course. Five/six times I must bring ship round easy for new courses. Afterwards I must steady ship on new courses and make good steering
afterward.
All takes time, sir, with very big ship. The quartermaster has plenty work. Chief officer is also too busy. Sometime with radar, sometime in chartroom. Then electrician is coming up. Busy with auto-switch. Always when we alter course, the chief officer tells me why. Also what he sees on radar, he tells me. He speaks of the trawlers and says we must not foul fishing nets. Then Mr Feeny is come up to fix the radar. It is very busy time, sir. Not possible now to remember all times and courses. Such things are not staying in quartermaster’s head.’