Death of a Supertanker (17 page)

Lourens was sympathetic. ‘And you knew the chief officer was recording the changes of course and the times in the logbook. So there was no need for you to memorize them.’

Goodbody rose at once. ‘Objection, Your Worship. My Learned Friend is leading the witness.’

The Chairman looked up from the notes he was making and frowned at counsel for the enquiry from under bushy eyebrows. ‘You must not lead the witness, Mr Lourens.’

Lourens nodded and the shadow of a smile flitted across his mournful face. He turned again to Fernandez. ‘So you have no
precise recollections of the times and courses steered?’

Fernandez hesitated, baffled presumably by the word ‘precise’. ‘No, sir. But just like you say. I know chief officer is putting in logbook when he goes to chartroom. But is not possible for quartermaster to remember these things. Too much is happening. I worry too much. Chief officer also worry too much.’

‘I see. And how did you know the chief officer was worried?’

‘Because of what I hear him say. Like when the Decca
Navigator
is no good after we alter course for the second trawler. Before that the chief officer is swearing because he say this trawler is doing funny things. Also he must phone Sparks – I mean Mr Feeny, sir – to come up to fix the Decca. Afterwards the radar sets are not working and he is swearing. There is a lot of problems for the chief officer.’

‘At what time did the Decca Navigator break down?’

Fernandez scratched his head. He was obviously thinking hard. ‘About seven/ten minutes after five o’clock. After we alter for second trawler.’

‘At what time did the radar sets fail?’

Fernandez frowned, looked at his feet, tapped his forehead thoughtfully. ‘About ten/fifteen minutes before ship hits the rocks.’

In response to further questions Fernandez explained what had happened in the wheelhouse during the period shortly before the ship struck and immediately afterwards.

Lourens looked once again at his notes, took off the pebble-lens spectacles and dangled them by one arm. With casual indifference he said, ‘Was the Captain in the wheelhouse at any time between the ship encountering fog and running aground?’

Fernandez hesitated, looked momentarily at the massive, dignified figure of Captain Crutchley whose eyes were masked as always by dark glasses. ‘No, sir. The Captain was not in the wheelhouse.’ The nuances of sincerity and apology were there, but somehow the quartermaster’s broken English emphasized the enormity of the Captain’s offence.

Lourens having said he had no further questions, the Chairman adjourned the enquiry until 2.15 p.m. and the court rose.

It was almost time for lunch.

During the recess Captain Crutchley, Goodbody and his junior, lunched together at the Palace Hotel in Kenilworth, a few miles down the main road from Wynberg. Goodbody had been talking about the origins of the hotel – a familiar Peninsula landmark – and its associations with the past when, with deep gloom and quite out of context, Crutchley remarked, ‘I imagine Fernandez’s evidence has just about finished me.’

Goodbody halted a forkful of cabbage and beef on its way to his mouth and regarded the Captain with astonishment. ‘Finished you, my dear chap? Not at all. Good honest seafarer, our friend Fernandez. Telling the truth, no doubt. But I shall upset his evidence. Dear me, I shall. What did interest me was what he had to say about the various alterations of course for a ship and two trawlers. All in the hour before the stranding. All towards the land. Most interesting.’

‘In what way interesting?’

‘Ah. That may become more apparent as matters proceed. Now do change your mind and taste this wine. It’s a Constantia cabernet. Rather closer to a burgundy than a claret, but really very good.’

‘No thank you, Mr Goodbody. Not at the moment.’ Nothing, including Goodbody, had succeeded in persuading the Captain to drop the ‘mister’.

After that Crutchley tried to get the barrister to talk about the quartermaster’s evidence, but Goodbody refused to be drawn. It was soon apparent that his appetite matched his size and he ate and drank with tremendous gusto. Crutchley hoped the wine would not dull the big man’s wits by the time they got back to court.

In between courses Goodbody filled in time with questions about
Ocean
Mammoth
:
her handling characteristics, turning circle, responses to different degrees of wheel and various engine revolutions. He showed particular interest in the duties of quartermasters and men on standby duty, wanting to know what went on during a typical night watch. He was endlessly curious
about the wheelhouse and chartroom, and the positioning of the Decca Navigator, the two radar sets and other equipment. He produced a notebook and ballpoint and got Crutchley to draw diagrams of the layouts. When the Captain had finished, Goodbody examined the diagrams closely, asking a number of questions, few of which seemed relevant to Crutchley. Very often Goodbody was going over ground they’d covered in previous consultations, but Crutchley realized from his questions that here was a man with an exceptional memory and a gift for getting quickly to the heart of the matter. He was learning, too, that Goodbody was by no means the genial
bon
viveur
he sometimes held himself out to be.

When they got back to the Magistrate’s Court with ten minutes to spare, Goodbody asked to be excused. ‘Frans Lourens wants a word with me before the resumption.’ He chuckled. ‘Probably golf.’

Crutchley said, ‘Of course,’ and made his way down the wide red brick corridor to the entrance to ‘C’ court. With a heavy heart he opened the door and went in.

On resumption that afternoon Goodbody and Kahn were granted leave to defer their cross-examination of Fernandez to a later stage and the witness stood down.

Cavalho was called next. The necessary formalities completed, Lourens began his examination.

‘Were you on standby duty during the first part of the morning watch on 29 October?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Were you at some time called to the bridge for lookout duty?’

‘Yes. At about four-thirty.’

‘Where were you stationed on the bridge?’

‘In the starboard wing, sir.’

‘Was the ship then in fog?’

‘Yes. Thick fog.’

‘Can you tell the court what happened between that time and when the ship ran aground?’

Cavalho explained that at no time had he been able to see anything. The fog had been too dense. But he had heard the sirens of other ships. One which had been approaching had passed down the port side, about two miles away. There had been others in the distance, also to port. He spoke of the two trawlers on the
starboard bow for which
Ocean
Mammoth
had altered course. With some pride he recounted how he reported to the chief officer that he’d heard a car hooter, and been told it must be a fishing boat. A few minutes later he’d felt the ship turning to port under full helm, the engine vibrations had increased, ‘emergency stations’ had been sounded and the chief officer had broadcast a warning that there was land close ahead. He had then heard blasts from a foghorn close on the starboard bow. Almost immediately after that the ship had struck.

Lourens said he had no further questions. Goodbody and Kahn were granted leave to defer cross-examination to a later date and the witness stood down.

Benson, the second engineer, was the next witness. He testified that he had been in charge of the engineroom during the morning of 29 October. The chief officer had informed him that the ship was in fog and ordered ‘manoeuvring speed’ at 0430. Asked if he was sure of the time he reminded Lourens that it was recorded in the Engine Movements Book which had been handed in to court as an exhibit. Benson went on to say that the chief officer had at the same time reported the defective auto-switch and asked for an electrician to be sent up to fix it. This man, Jackson, had gone to the wheelhouse at about 0445 to examine the switch, and had subsequently come down to get the necessary spares.

The chief officer had later informed him, said Benson, that the radar sets were unserviceable and as they were still in thick fog had ordered the engines to be put on ‘standby’ at 0529. Finally, at 0536, the ‘full ahead’ signal was received from the bridge and at the same time the chief officer told him by phone that there was land close ahead, that the wheel was hard-a-port, but that the ship might get clear. Immediately afterwards ‘emergency stations’ was sounded. Soon after that the ship struck and ‘emergency full astern’ was signalled from the bridge. All these movements, with their times, had been recorded in the Engine Movements Book.

In response to Lourens’s further questions, Benson told of what had happened in the engineroom when the ship struck and afterwards.

Lourens had no more questions, and defence counsel were granted leave to cross-examine at a later stage.

The witness stood down.

The next witness was Mr McLintoch, the chief engineer. Soon
after 0430 Benson had informed him that the ship was in fog and that the engines had been put on ‘manoeuvring speed’. As to what had happened after that he had little to contribute since he had only gone to the engineroom when the engines were put on ‘standby’. His answers to Lourens’s questions about events from that time on confirmed Benson’s account. Lourens announced that he had no further questions and McLintoch was excused.

Next came the Cape Agulhas light-keeper who gave evidence on the state of the weather at the time of and preceding the stranding. The first indication he’d had of what was happening was when he’d heard repeated blasts on the siren of a big ship close at hand at 0536. He had at once requested the signal station to sound the International Code signal for ‘You are standing into danger’ – a series of U’s – and he had by VHF radio warned the invisible ship immediately to the east of the lighthouse that she was standing into danger. Soon afterwards he had heard the continuous ringing of an alarm system which he took to be the ship’s. At 0541 he had spoken by VHF to the Captain of
Ocean
Mammoth
who said that his ship was aground and that the DF bearing of the Agulhas radio beacon from the ship was 268°. He had offered to act as a communications link, but the Captain had said he was in direct touch with Cape Town.

In response to questions by Lourens, the light-keeper said that there was a radio beacon at Cape Agulhas which transmitted continuously night and day. A vessel equipped with radio direction-finding apparatus could get a DF bearing from the beacon at any time and in all conditions of weather including fog. It had been in working order throughout 28/29 October.

Lourens having questioned the light-keeper on the action he’d taken when the ship stranded and afterwards, announced that he had no further questions. Goodbody received permission to cross-examine the witness at a later stage if necessary.

Before the light-keeper left the witness box the Chairman commended him for the action he had taken in trying to prevent the disaster.

At this stage Lourens handed in to court statements sworn by Jackson the electrician, and Feeny the radio operator. He explained that both these men had left South Africa by air for Europe with most of
Ocean
Mammoth’
s
crew soon after the preliminary enquiry.

The Chairman asked whether the statements were to be read in court. Lourens said that copies had been made available to defence counsel but if it were desired the statements could certainly be read out. The Chairman consulted with the Assessors whereafter he ordered that this be done.

Jackson’s dealt only with the auto-switch, the times he’d been called and gone to the bridge, the faults he’d found – the clipped leads and missing terminal panel – and his visit to stores to obtain spares, delayed because the storeman was asleep and had to be called. The ship had struck before he could carry out the repairs. After that he had abandoned the task for more urgent duties.

In his statement Feeny, the radio operator, recorded that the chief officer had reported the failure of the Decca Navigator at about 0510. Feeny had gone to the wheelhouse, carried out a quick check, then gone below for the manual. Later when he’d returned to the chartroom and was working on the Navigator, the chief officer had informed him that both radar sets had packed up. At Jarrett’s request he had then begun to check them out since, with the ship in fog, radar was the higher priority.

He had checked the controls and circuits of the radar sets, then examined the inter-switch unit in the chartroom where he felt the fault might lie. At that stage the fuse on his circuit tester had blown. He decided to go to the radio office to get a replacement. As he left the chartroom he saw the second officer come in from the bridge deck. While he was in the radio office ‘emergency stations’ were sounded, so he remained there as it was his station. A minute or so later the ship struck. From then onwards, through the storm and afterwards until evacuation of the crew by helicopter, he had been busy with urgent communication duties. Since neither radar nor the Navigator were of use with the ship stranded and breaking up, he had made no further attempt to find the causes of their failure.

The statements were marked as exhibits and handed in to court.

Lourens now rose to inform the court that he would like to call his final witness – Ernst Rohrbach, an electronics engineer – at a later stage. He would give evidence on the functioning of the Decca Navigator and the radar sets. Lourens reminded the court that statements made at the preliminary enquiry had suggested
that their failure at a critical time had contributed in large measure to the stranding of
Ocean
Mammoth.

Dirk Ohlsson, counsel for the chief officer, rose to object. He was a tall, thin, undernourished man with sharp eyes and nose which moved in unison, training and pointing in varying
directions
like mobile antennae. ‘I submit, Your Worship, that it is most inappropriate that this witness – who is evidently to give expert evidence in support of the charges – is to be called
after
the defendants have been examined by My Learned Friend.’

The Chairman looked towards counsel for the enquiry. ‘Mr Lourens. Can you answer that?’

Lourens stroked his chin, regarded Ohlsson with a funereal air, sighed audibly and proceeded. ‘Yes, Your Worship. I will explain my difficulty. I would very much like to have called Rohrbach now. But unfortunately I cannot. He flew to Europe on business almost three weeks ago, expecting to be back well in time for this enquiry. Soon after he arrived in Germany he was involved in a car accident and has only recently been discharged from hospital. He is now said to be recovered and will arrive in Johannesburg by air on Wednesday. He will be available here on the following day. I would suggest to My Learned Friends that his evidence may well be in their clients’ interests and not against them. The alternative to my proposal is to delay these
proceedings,
something which I am sure My Learned Friends would not wish to do.’

Goodbody passed a slip of paper to Crutchley on which he’d scrawled. ‘Lourens is a cunning old fox. Don’t worry. I’m pro-Rohrbach.’

As he destroyed the note, Crutchley wondered if it meant that Lourens had some clever trick of advocacy up his sleeve, or whether it was simply that the eminent counsel in court, busy men with extensive commitments, would be anything but pleased if the proceedings were delayed.

It was the first time Ohlsson had gone into action and Crutchley watched him carefully. The barrister stood up, his forehead wrinkled as he considered the point while darting sharp glances from Jarrett to Lourens to the Chairman, his long nose aiming at each in turn like a pointer scenting. At last he spoke. ‘In the circumstances, Your Worship, I accept My Learned Friend’s explanation.’

Messrs Goodbody and Kahn rose to say that in the
circumstances
they, too, had no objections to the calling of Rohrbach at a later stage.

The clock on the wall above the entrance showed 4.55 p.m. when the Chairman adjourned the enquiry until the following morning.