Death of a Supertanker (23 page)

During the discussion which followed, Ohlsson, Kahn, and Jerome Bassett – counsel for the company – came out against hearing the steward. They made the point that since the information he claimed to have concerned sabotage, and no such charge was before the court, it was a matter for the police.

To the surprise of his colleagues, Goodbody believed that Pieterse’s evidence should be heard. It might be irrelevant, he said, but that could be decided when its content was known. Certainly as far as his client Captain Crutchley was concerned he had no objection; he felt sure his Learned Friends who represented Jarrett, Foley and the shipping company would, on reflection, feel that their clients, too, stood to lose nothing by hearing what Pieterse had to say. Having cleverly lobbed the ball into the opposing court, he left it to Lourens to say that he was in favour of hearing Pieterse without delay. The proceedings, already protracted, were nearing their end, and the steward’s evidence might well assist the Chairman in deciding whether or not the enquiry should be adjourned indefinitely. ‘We have already heard from Rohrbach that there was sabotage. Now let us hear what Pieterse has to say about that sabotage. I believe it can only help the enquiry, not hinder it.’

Fifteen minutes after the Chairman, the Assessors and counsel had left ‘C’ court for their discussions in the Chief Magistrate’s office, they came back and the proceedings were resumed.

The Chairman informed the court that after consultation with those concerned he had decided that Pieterse should be heard. The steward was then called to the witness box where he took the oath.

Lourens rose to examine him. ‘You must now tell us what you know about the sabotage on board
Ocean
Mammoth
before she ran aground. I must remind you that you have sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’

Pieterse nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I understand.’ He began by explaining that he had joined
Ocean
Mammoth
as a steward the day before she sailed from Durban. On the morning of the first day at sea he was cleaning officers’ cabins when an envelope in a wastepaper basket he was emptying caught his eye. He collected stamps and this envelope had on it some beautiful Surinam stamps. ‘Birds and flowers in bright colours, sir,’ he explained. So he put the envelope in his pocket. In his cabin later that day he looked at the envelope again and saw that the reverse side had some figures scribbled on it. There were three columns headed Z, G and B, and the figures were conversions from Swiss Francs to US dollars and British sterling. The sums were large, over three hundred thousand dollars in all. An item ‘10%’, with a ring round it, reminded him of a conversation he’d overheard some nights previously.

Once launched into his story, Pieterse grew more confident and his voice became firmer. He stood stiffly to attention while he spoke, looking straight ahead, his hands at his sides as if he were on parade.

Lourens asked where the envelope was. Pieterse took it from his wallet and handed it over. Having examined it briefly, Lourens placed it on the table in front of him. He then asked Pieterse to tell the court about the conversation he’d overheard.

Pieterse said it had taken place in a Durban restaurant, the
Beau Rivage, where he’d been employed as a waiter. He was at a serving table beside a drawn curtain, close to where two guests he was looking after were having dinner. The men were talking softly. ‘When they talk like that you listen, sir,’ he explained. ‘That’s when it can be interesting. Like talk about horse racing and women.’ He grinned sheepishly at this admission of human frailty. ‘The foreign gentleman – he spoke with a strong foreign accent, you know – told the English gentleman how he could do himself a lot of good if he fixed things the right way for these people, and he explained that, properly handled, there was no risk.’

Pieterse said he’d been obliged to leave his vantage point then to attend to customers at another table. When he returned the foreign gentleman was handing a slip of paper to the Englishman and saying, ‘That’s the Zurich receipt for the ten per cent. Numbered account. Already in your name. It’s a guarantee of my client’s good faith.’ Then, said Pieterse, the foreigner had gone on to say something like, ‘When the matter is settled a third of the balance will be paid into the Zurich account and the other two-thirds into numbered accounts in Geneva and Berne.’

At that time, said Pieterse, he assumed it was a conversation between two businessmen and he’d thought no more about it. He’d heard many like it before. Later, when he joined
Ocean
Mammoth
as a steward, he had recognized one of the officers as the Englishman. When he saw the figures on the back of the envelope he realized they were in some way connected with the Beau Rivage conversation. He imagined it was to do with freight rates and oil shipments, or something like that. Only when he’d heard Rohrbach’s evidence that morning had the real significance of what he’d stumbled on come to him.

In telling his story Pieterse had shown himself to be either extremely naïve, or a master of suspense. He had succeeded in holding the attention of everyone in the courtroom, and all must have been waiting for him to name the officer. Lourens, who’d been seen to examine both sides of the envelope, refrained from putting the key question and thus added to the suspense. He did, however, at last say, ‘Do you know the name of the “foreign gentleman” you waited on that night?’

‘Only his first name, sir. The Englishman called him “Stefan”, sir.’

And then at last it came, or began to – the name everybody in
court was waiting to hear – as Lourens fidgeted with his spectacles, his mournful face somehow sadder than usual, his smooth dark hair reflecting light from the lamp bowl above counsel’s table. ‘The Englishman you waited on that night,’ he said quietly. ‘What was
his
name?’

The silence in ‘C’ court was electric. All eyes were on the man standing stiffly to attention in the witness box, staring ahead at no one in particular.

‘The same name as what’s on the envelope, sir.’

The Chairman leant forward, clasped his hands on the table in front of him. ‘You have the envelope, Mr Lourens.’

Lourens picked it up and peered at it as if he were doing so for the first time. ‘It is addressed to Mr Freeman Jarrett, sir.’

Sandy, sitting within twenty feet of the table which accommodated the defendants and their counsel, had watched with agonized interest the faces of her husband and Jarrett as the German electronics expert gave his evidence.

Jarrett had looked confident and relaxed as he concentrated on what Rohrbach was saying. It was her husband who seemed then to wilt, his head bent forward, his body sagging deeper into his chair.

But as Pieterse’s story unfolded the demeanour of the two men changed. Foley pulled himself up in his chair, sat bolt upright, his attention riveted on the man in the witness box, his face showing sudden relief from strain. Jarrett’s frown deepened, his face twisted, and from time to time he would look sideways at Ohlsson and tap nervously on the notepad in front of him.

When at the end of Pieterse’s evidence Lourens read out the name on the envelope, Jarrett’s head sank between his shoulders and he seemed to have shrunk and aged before her eyes. The bounce, the confidence, the arrogance had gone and he looked a frightened man.

Pieterse’s evidence, coming on top of Rohrbach’s, created
something
of a shockwave in ‘C’ court. It was evident that the direction of the enquiry had now taken a new and irreversible turn. The first indication of this was the Chairman’s acceptance of Ohlsson’s request for an adjournment so that he might discuss the matter with his client.

When the court resumed some twenty minutes later, Lourens
rose to ask leave to re-examine Jarrett. Ohlsson at once objected. There was a possibility, he said, that arising from evidence heard that day his client might have to face new charges in another place. He thought it improbable but nevertheless the possibility remained, and to submit him now to examination and
cross-examination
on the evidence of Pieterse and Rohrbach – without having given him the opportunity of preparing a defence – would not only be most improper but could gravely prejudice him in any proceedings elsewhere. He reminded the Chairman that evidence had to be tested as it arose. In this instance that was not possible because it had been sprung upon them without prior notice.

Pieterse’s evidence of a conversation overheard in a restaurant was, continued Ohlsson,
ex
parte
and without corroboration. The envelope addressed to Jarrett might well have been ‘planted’ in the wastepaper basket, said Ohlsson, pointing his sharp nose like a gun-dog’s to where Foley sat with Kahn. It would require handwriting experts, he went on, before the slightest credence could be attached to the allegation that the figures scribbled on the envelope were Jarretťs. ‘I submit, Your Worship, that the evidence of Rohrbach and Pieterse should be struck from the record and that the enquiry be adjourned
sine
die
until such a time as these allegations have been properly investigated and resolved.’

Lourens lost no time in getting to his feet. ‘I can understand My Learned Friend’s anxiety to protect his client from the evidence of these witnesses. I will not press the point but I would with respect remind Your Worship that there are three defendants before the court. If the proceedings are adjourned
sine
die
while the sabotage allegations are investigated, innocent men may be kept waiting many weeks, if not months, before they are free of those charges. I have no doubt Your Worship will have this consideration in mind in coming to a decision.’

As Lourens sat down the Chairman looked at the wall clock over the entrance. He must have noted with relief that it showed ten minutes to one, for he thereupon adjourned the proceedings until 2.15 p.m.

When the court resumed the Chairman ruled that Pieterse’s evidence should be struck from the record and that Jarrett should be excused further examination. He told Ohlsson that he could
not accept the plea that the proceedings be adjourned
sine
die.

The various defence counsel having then indicated that they had no desire to recall any witnesses, the Chairman asked them to proceed with their closing addresses.

Goodbody and Kahn addressed the court briefly, both emphasizing that the evidence heard during the enquiry had failed to support the charges against their clients and they asked for their discharge.

They were followed by Ohlsson who said he trusted that the court would put out of its mind the sabotage allegations and confine itself to questions of fact. He believed that his client had been seriously prejudiced by the sensational and uncorroborated evidence heard that morning although it had been struck from the record. He appealed for its ‘expunging from their minds’, and for ‘that innate sense of fair play and decency without which justice cannot be done’.

‘That, Your Worship, is my submission,’ he concluded, sitting down and pressing his hands to his eyes as if to shut out the light.

Poor
Ohlsson
sinks
without
trace,
scribbled Goodbody on a slip of paper which he passed to Captain Crutchley.

Lourens, as counsel for the enquiry, was the last to address the court. He said it had been a long and exhaustive enquiry during which much detailed and highly technical evidence had been heard. ‘Fortunately,’ he continued, ‘this Marine Court of Enquiry is so constituted that it has the benefit of Your Worship’s legal knowledge, wisdom and experience, combined with the maritime knowledge and expertise of the Assessors, both master mariners with long experience at sea.’

He then turned to the evidence and the direction in which he was heading was at once apparent. The burden of it, he said, suggested that the chief officer’s story of phoning the Captain to report the fog was improbable. On his own admission Jarrett had failed to ask the Captain to come up when the situation had become critical. He dismissed as impertinent Jarrett’s defence that he’d not done so because the Captain’s vision was impaired. The chief officer alleged that he’d been given an incorrect course by the second officer on taking over the watch, but Foley had denied that. The chart and other relevant information were missing so there was no way of resolving that contradiction. But Jarrett, again on his own admission, had failed to check the ship’s course or position on taking over the watch. Either of those
routine precautions would at once have revealed the error, had Foley in fact made one.

Jarrett had failed to obtain a position by Decca Navigator or radar at any time while those units were serviceable – in the case of radar, right up to within ten minutes of the stranding. Jarrett’s answers to a number of questions put by the Assessors were unsatisfactory. Why, for example, had he not reduced speed when avoiding the two trawlers which were crossing from starboard to port, instead of turning towards the land on each occasion? It was inconceivable that – with the ship in dense fog, approaching a notorious maritime hazard such as Cape Agulhas – he had kept turning inshore and yet failed to ascertain the position of the ship relative to the land.

There had been a series of failures of electronic equipment between 0400 when the chief officer came on watch and 0539 when the ship struck. The equipment had been working
throughout
the middle-watch – the second officer’s watch. The auto-siren switch had been interfered with. That, too, had been discovered in the chief officer’s watch.

‘We have been told by the witness Rohrbach – the electronics expert – that the Decca Navigator and the two radar sets were sabotaged. I have no intention of speculating as to who might have committed those acts of sabotage, and for what motive. That is a matter which will be dealt with at another time and in another place. It is sufficient for me to say that at five-thirty-nine on 29 October, the new supertanker
Ocean
Mammoth,
three hundred and twenty thousand tons deadweight, valued at fifty-five million dollars, returning to the United Kingdom to be laid up, ran aground on Cape Agulhas and subsequently became a total loss.

‘I submit, Your Worship,’ concluded Lourens, his voice low pitched, his manner bleak, ‘that the loss of this great ship and the lives of three of her crew was the result of gross negligence on the part of the chief officer, Freeman Jarrett, who was officer-of-the-watch at the time.’

Lourens returned to his seat and sat blinking owl-eyed as he polished his spectacles with a silk handkerchief.

The Chairman announced the conclusion of the proceedings adding that the court, consisting of himself and the two Assessors, would have to consider the evidence and come to a finding. He then adjourned the enquiry until the following Tuesday at 10 a.m.
when the court’s finding would be made known. The clerk of the court called for order, those present stood, and the Chairman and Assessors made their way out.

The public gallery emptied slowly as if the onlookers were reluctant to accept that the performance was over. They stood about uncertainly, talking in low voices, before leaving in twos and threes. At counsel’s table the legal men and their clients were collecting their papers, putting them into briefcases and exchanging small talk.