Death of a Supertanker (21 page)

‘Yes.’

‘In your interesting and – if I may say so – erudite discourse on TM and AC radar, you said both sets could be manned at the same time. You quoted this as one of the advantages, did you not?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘You added a rider – “if there were enough people on the bridge”?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have stressed in your evidence that you were so busy during the critical period – let us say between five and five-thirty – that you had no time to establish by radar where the ship was in relation to the land?’

‘Yes. I have explained that I was fully occupied with three successive collision-avoidance situations in that time.’

‘I see.’ Mr Goodbody looked at the chief officer with a mildly surprised expression. ‘Why then did you not ask the Captain to come up? Surely you
needed
him then?’

‘There seemed no point.’

‘No point, Mr Jarrett? You were too busy to plot the ship’s position – too busy to check the ship’s course – too preoccupied with avoiding collisions – too busy to use both TM and AC radars at once, though they were alongside each other in the wheelhouse. With the Captain on the bridge would you not have had time to do these things? How can you say there was no point in asking him to come up?’

‘The Captain’s presence on the bridge would not have helped.’

‘Perhaps you might care to amplify that statement?’

Jarrett was patently embarrassed. He fidgeted with his hands, moved his weight from one foot to the other, looked from Good-body to the Chairman, then at Ohlsson. ‘You are forcing me into a corner where I may have to disclose something I prefer not to.’

‘Come, come, Mr Jarrett. Be forthcoming.’

‘I prefer not to.’

The Chairman leant forward, focusing his good eye on the chief officer. ‘Is it something relevant to this enquiry, Mr Jarrett?’

‘Yes, Your Worship.’ Jarrett nodded slowly, looking very unhappy.

‘Then I must remind you that you are bound to answer counsel’s question.’

‘Come, Mr Jarrett. Let’s have it,’ prompted Goodbody.

‘I did not call Captain Crutchley because I knew his presence on the bridge could make no difference. It would have been for formal purposes only.’

The Chairman intervened again. ‘Kindly explain yourself.’

‘The Captain’s vision is badly impaired.’ Jarrett blurted it out. ‘For most of the voyage – since we left Rotterdam – it has been so.’

Goodbody paused, looked down at the impassive figure of Captain Crutchley sitting beside him with folded arms, the dark glasses seeming now to be of enormous significance. The barrister turned back to Jarrett. ‘That is a most damaging allegation. Perhaps you could explain how the Captain managed to take his ship from Rotterdam to Durban with such defective vision?’

‘He used Cadet Middleton as his eyes. He was never on the bridge without him. He used to ask Middleton to take bearings of other ships, of shore objects. He always got him to examine the radar displays and report what he saw. While the ship was undergoing repairs in Durban, Middleton was transferred to another ship. Without him …’ Jarrett gestured with his arms, shook his head and fell silent.

‘I see.’ Goodbody’s lips parted in a smile which revealed moist white teeth. ‘Did you read the Captain’s night order book when you took over the watch at four o’clock that morning – or were you too busy?’

Jarrett’s frown suggested he didn’t like the sarcasm. ‘Yes. I did. And I signed it.’

‘Perhaps you could explain to the court how a man whose vision was as badly impaired as you say Captain Crutchley’s was, could write up his night order book with entries which included, among other things, numerals of time, date and position?’

‘I haven’t said that he was blind. I said his vision was impaired. If you don’t believe me I suggest you test it here and now in this
court.’ A note of asperity had crept into Jarretťs voice.

‘I have no intention of perpetrating such an impertinence. The vision of a lot of highly competent men who carry great
responsibility
may be badly impaired.’ Goodbody paused, looked across at the Chairman – seeming to focus on the black eye-shield – and then at Lourens. ‘You may have noticed that My Learned Friend – counsel for the enquiry – wears pebble-lens glasses. Presumably his vision is impaired. Would you care to suggest he is incapable of leading this enquiry?’

Ohlsson got up, his sharp eyes glinting. ‘Objection, Your Worship. The eyesight of counsel for the enquiry has nothing to to with the stranding of
Ocean
Mammoth.
My Learned Friend is endeavouring to lead us away from the point.’

‘I can assure you I shall bring him back to it if he does,’ said the Chairman. ‘Objection dismissed. Please proceed, Mr Goodbody.’

‘Your answer to my last question, Mr Jarrett?’

‘Leading an enquiry in a courtroom in broad daylight is a very different matter from handling a ship in thick fog in a white knuckle situation.’

Goodbody beamed. ‘Ah, our old friend the white knuckle. Admiral Lord Nelson seemed to handle such situations quite competently in spite of somewhat impaired vision. Now, Mr Jarrett, let me put to you the situation as I see it. You came on watch at four o’clock in the morning. You did not check the ship’s course. You did not check the ship’s position. The ship encountered fog half an hour later. You say you reported the fog to the Captain but …’

Goodbody stopped, looked towards the Chairman, then at Jarrett. ‘In his statement at the preliminary enquiry, Captain Crutchley denied that absolutely. He said your story of a telephone conversation was pure fabrication. Indeed he said that had speed been reduced or the siren sounded he would have gone to the bridge at once without waiting for any report. That would, he said, have been the automatic response of the Master of a ship, particularly when close to land. It is a view which I have no doubt the master mariners in this court would strongly endorse.’ Goodbody glanced at the Assessors, his face serious. ‘But no siren was sounded. Jackson, the electrician, says the junction box had been interfered with.’ Goodbody paused, adjusted his spectacles, looked up suddenly. ‘I put it to you, Mr Jarrett, that
there never was any telephone conversation – that you were determined the Captain should not come up to the bridge that night.’

‘Objection, Your Worship.’ Ohlsson was on his feet again, his sharp features switching left and right like a ventriloquist’s dummy. ‘My Learned Friend is addressing the court, not cross-examining the witness. I really must object.’

The Chairman’s bushy eyebrows lifted in a frown. ‘Counsel is perfectly entitled to put to the witness the situation as he sees it. I’ve no doubt he is coming to a question.’

‘Thank you, Your Worship. Indeed I am.’ Goodbody had a wonderful capacity for conveying respect, or indeed any other emotion necessary. He addressed himself once more to Jarrett. ‘In your evidence you have painted a grim picture of the intolerable burden laid upon you in the hour and forty minutes before
Ocean
Mammoth
ran aground. You had no time, you have said, to do those fundamental essential things like checking the course, fixing the position – the very thihgs upon which the safety of that great ship and all those in her depended.

‘I suggest …’ Goodbody’s smile froze and the hand that held the notes pointed accusingly, ‘that for reasons best known to you, you had the arrogance to decide, at a time of crisis and danger, that it was neither necessary nor desirable to call the man responsible for the safety of the ship, the man who commanded her – the Master of
Ocean
Mammoth.

‘Even if he were blind, it was your duty to call him. Even if he could not see at all, his judgement – the judgement of the Master, the most experienced seaman in the ship – should have been made available. And if his vision was indeed badly impaired – and Cadet Middleton was not there – who better to be his eyes than you, his chief officer?’ For the first time since the enquiry had begun Goodbody glared contempt at the man in the witness box.

‘What is the question?’ Jarrett’s manner bordered on the insolent.

‘Was it or was it not your duty to call the Captain?’

‘It depends on what you mean by
duty
?’

Goodbody gave the chief officer the sort of look reserved for bad smells. ‘No further questions, Your Worship.’

Jarrett left the witness box and Foley was recalled at Ohlsson’s request.

To his wife, sitting well back in the public gallery, Foley looked a tired dispirited man as he got up from the table where he sat beside Kahn and made for the witness box. Knowing how much he disliked and feared Ohlsson, she could imagine his feelings at that moment. Her heart went out to him.

He mounted the steps to the box, looked for a moment towards her, his face quite expressionless, then turned wearily to face his inquisitor.

‘There’s one point I’d like to clear up before we go any further,’ began Ohlsson. ‘There have been a number of references in evidence to the failure of the auto-siren. Was it not your duty to test it before leaving harbour on each occasion?’

‘Yes. It was.’

‘Did you test it before leaving Durban?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It was a job I’d delegated to Cadet Middleton. He left the ship in Durban and I overlooked the matter.’

‘So you failed to test the siren?’

‘Yes.’

Ohlsson darted a quick sidelong glance at those on the dais.

‘When you handed over the watch to the chief officer did you warn him that the current had set north-westerly during your watch?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘A warning about the current is printed on the chart and in the Sailing Directions. Apart from that, the chief officer could have seen the set from the positions I’d plotted on the chart during my watch.’

‘But you did not warn him?’

‘No. I’ve just explained why.’

Ohlsson busied himself with his notes before looking up suddenly as if hoping to catch the second officer off guard. ‘At
what time did you leave your cabin,
because
you
could
not
sleep,
Mr Foley?’

The second officer hesitated. ‘I can’t say with any accuracy. About five o’clock perhaps.’

‘Why the vagueness about the time?’

‘I was not wearing my watch and I did not switch on the cabin light for fear of disturbing my wife.’

‘Do you often have difficulty in sleeping?’

‘Not as a rule.’

‘Why on that occasion, then?’

Foley hesitated. ‘I was worried.’

‘Worried. By what?’

‘It was a personal matter.’

‘I see.’ Ohlsson nodded slowly, staring at Foley. ‘A personal matter. H’m. You have said that some time after coming up to the lower bridge deck and finding the ship in fog, you’d noticed she was steering well to the north-west of the course you’d plotted. At what time did you make this observation?’

‘About ten minutes after I came on deck.’

‘And how did you in fog, in the dark, without instruments, come to the conclusion that the ship was steering well to the north-west of the course you’d plotted?’

‘Throughout the middle-watch there was a swell from the south-east. When I noticed that its direction relative to the ship had changed from four points on the port quarter to dead astern, I knew there had been a substantial alteration of course to the north-west. It was then I assumed we had already passed Cape Agulhas and were making for Cape Point.’

‘You have said in your evidence that later, when course was again altered to the south-west, you became suspicious.’

‘That is correct.’

‘It was then that you went to the chartroom?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you not at once go to the officer-of-the-watch in the wheelhouse – the chief officer – and inform him of your fears?’

Foley hesitated, looked unhappy. ‘I wanted to make sure first what was happening. I was under the impression the Captain was on the bridge.’

‘How long was it between the arousal of your suspicions and the arrival of the chief officer in the chartroom?’

‘About ten minutes, I suppose.’

‘At twelve knots the ship would have travelled two miles in that time. With the current more. Do you agree?’

‘Yes. That is so.’

‘You were the ship’s navigating officer?’

‘I was.’

‘So it would have been perfectly proper for you to have gone straight to the bridge and discussed the situation with the chief officer, or even the Captain had he been there?’

‘I suppose so, but …’

‘But what, Mr Foley?’

‘I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.’

‘So you took your time about things although the safety of a fifty-five-million-dollar tanker and her crew were at stake?’

‘I did not realize how close to the land the ship was.’

Ohlsson shook his head in disbelief. He looked at his notes before turning back to Foley. ‘In his evidence the chief officer has said that when he reached the chartroom you were busy at the chart-table with parallel rulers and a pencil. He also said there was an eraser next to the chart. Now, Mr Foley – can you tell the court what you were doing on that chart?’

‘While I was checking the echo-sounder readings against the soundings on the chart, I saw that the figure two-five-seven I had written against the course line had been changed to two-six-seven. To make sure I checked the course line with the parallel rulers. It was exactly as I had drawn it: two-five-seven degrees, but the “five” had been changed to a “six” making the figure two-six-seven.’

‘And the pencil in your hand?’ Ohlsson pinched his nostrils and poised for the kill.

‘I had picked it up instinctively.’

‘
Instinctively,
’ echoed Ohlsson. ‘Why instinctively?’

The second officer’s drawn face twisted with worry. ‘When you’ve spent years of your life plotting courses and positions on charts – well – it
is
instinctive to have a pencil in your hand.’

‘It is of course not impossible that when the chief officer came into the chartroom that morning you were about to use the pencil and eraser to alter the two-six-seven to two-five-seven to cover up your mistake.’

‘That is quite untrue.’ Foley leant forward, gripping the rail of the witness box.

Ohlsson’s eyes darted round the courtroom as if to check
whether the drift of his questioning had caught on. They settled once more upon the second officer.

‘I take it that before handing over the watch at four o’clock that morning you had entered the course in the logbook?’

‘Yes. I had.’

With the skill of one who had performed the operation many times before, Ohlsson removed his spectacles, wiped them with a silk handkerchief and returned them to his nose. ‘Soon after the stranding the chart disappeared from the wheelhouse, pages in the deck and Decca logbooks – the pages for that day – were torn out, and the trace on the course-recorder was removed. In other words, all the evidence relating to responsibility for the incorrect course steered by
Ocean
Mammoth
on her way to disaster had disappeared.’

Ohlsson paused to pinch his nostrils once more. ‘I put it to you, Mr Foley – from your point of view the disappearance of those items of evidence was no bad thing?’

Foley’s face turned a ghostlike white. His voice when he spoke was hoarse with emotion. ‘I have testified on oath that the course figures I wrote on the chart and in the logbook were two-five-seven. Those figures were altered after I left the bridge.’ He hesitated before blurting out, ‘They can only have been altered by the chief officer – I’m quite certain he is responsible for the disappearance of the evidence. It would have shown up all the other mistakes he made.’

Ohlsson’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘On the contrary, I suggest that your evidence is deliberately and with malice loaded against the chief officer – that you are making these reckless allegations in a desperate attempt to cover your own mistakes.’

‘That is not true – it’s a lie.’

Ohlsson lowered his voice, spoke more slowly, more deliberately. ‘Were your personal relations with the chief officer not under intense strain because of an incident two nights before the stranding – that is on the twenty-seventh?’

Foley’s hesitation, his anguished expression, seemed to answer the question. With difficulty he said, ‘That had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.’

‘The chief officer will say that you and he had a fist fight in his cabin at about one o’clock in the morning, when you came down unexpectedly from the bridge. That you both bore the marks of that fight for days afterwards.’

Foley’s colour was ashen. ‘You have no right to drag that into these proceedings. It is a despicable thing to do.’

‘Because of that fight, because of the incident which caused it, I suggest that much of your evidence has been hopelessly prejudiced and must be disregarded. I suggest that once you’d seen the fog warning, you deliberately falsified the course figures with the object of involving the chief officer in a situation which could destroy his career – that you were intent upon revenge for the humiliation you’d suffered when you went to his quarters that night and found him there with a passenger in highly compromising circumstances.’ Ohlsson paused, looked round the court, before saying, ‘That passenger being your wife.’

‘You have no right to make these insinuations, Mr Ohlsson.’ The reprimand came from the Chairman like the boom of a gun. ‘This is a court of marine enquiry not a divorce court. We are trying to establish how this ship came to be lost through running aground and who was at fault. You must restrict yourself to the facts on the basis of the evidence led.’

‘I apologize, Your Worship. I thought the point was
particularly
relevant since it established a motive. I have no further questions.’ The gleam of satisfaction in Ohlsson’s eyes suggested he had made his point.

Foley, white and drawn, his body trembling with emotion, stood like a man under sentence of death as the Chairman explained that he could stand down, there being no further questions.

In the highly-charged atmosphere which followed, Lourens rose to inform the court that Ernst Rohrbach, the electronics engineer, would be available in the morning to give expert evidence. It was almost five o’clock when the Chairman adjourned the proceedings until 9.15 a.m. on the following day.

Foley waited until most people had left the courtroom, before walking towards a side exit. He was halfway there, a dazed look on his face, when his wife came up from behind, slipped her arm through his and whispered, ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.’