Saturday, December 1, 2007

All in a day's work

Call me TG.
Today I am going to relate the happenings of an evening at my workplace. This evening was not special in any way - rather like many other evenings. Run of the mill. But it exemplifies how intense were my days.
I was fast asleep on my high and cosy cot. Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the room and faded again. There was no way I could have seen the bolt. But believe it or not, I woke up. Something broke my slumber - as a waving hand would brush aside and break a cobweb - so something stirred me from my sleep. I leaped out of bed and craned out from the porthole - tensely scanning the sky.
A lot was at stake. How much? A lot. Some 30,000 tons of premium rice - neatly packed in sacks and bags. On their way from Bangkok in Thailand to countries in West Africa. And water its greatest enemy. Rain its deadly foe. Five cargo holds in the ship lay open just then - each more than half full with the rice - lying vulnerable to the weather which was already worsening as dark clouds billowed in the equally dark night-sky.
Even as I strained my eyes to assess the sky, another blue-white scorpion raced from the sky to the horizon. For a moment one could see the whole anchorage as in day. And at the same time there was an anxious knock on my cabin's door, "Chief, Chief, rain coming."
I wasted no time. I knew that speed of action would make or break me. My feelings were not that of panic: but there was felt an intense pressure from which the mind had gone numb and all that was left of it was a picture of a string of actions to be performed successively between 'now' and an event when all the hatches would be tightly shut.
I got into my shoes, yanked open the door, and ran following the sailor down the corridor, down the stairs and out through the heavy water-tight door which brought me on open deck.
Buffeted by a wind which had the smell of approaching rain, I clambered down the companionway and reached the hatch nearest to the accommodation. Barking orders to two hands to start closing the hatch, I yelled at the Thai longshoremen to get out of the hold.
Eight pontoons, each weighing some 3 tons, would slide along tracks on the edges of the hatch and fall neatly one after the other to cover the hold. This work was done by hydraulic pressure. From a control box near the hatch, levers would have to be operated to activate the hydraulic oil which flowed through pipes at an incredible pressure of 150 kgs/sq cm!!! Just imagine!
The sailor at the lever pulled it and the first of the huge pontoons started rolling out over the hatch with a great noise that seemed ominously to mimic the thunder. I knew that in 30 minutes all five hatches on the ship could be closed. The closing had to be done one hatch at a time as otherwise the decades-old hydraulic pumps of the ship could not generate enough pressure to work several hatches simultaneously. I hoped the rain would not be on us in that time. In half an hour the operation could be completed.
I was wrong.
The dockers - a mix of men and women - were precipitously clambering out from the trunkway, their bodies glistening with sweat under the powerful mercury vapour lamps atop the masts.
Two pontoons had come over the hatch. The third was following. In this race with time a terrible impatience had cast a shadow on my mind. I would have liked to see the pontoons fly into position instead of swaggering and rumbling along.
Just then there was a sudden sharp report - like a gunshot - followed by a 'whooosh'!! And from somewhere further up the deck, towards the bow of the ship, and amidst the jungle of several pipelines, I could see a big jet of some liquid spring up towards the sky.
I was six months running on that ship and knew instantly what had happened. The hydraulic pipe had burst. The breeze had picked up and was nearing gale. It carried a whiff of the oil on my face.
I took off in a frantic run towards the masthouse where the oil-pumps were housed. Like a man under some spell I switched off the pumps and closed the valves. Immediately the oil spray subsided. I yelled "sawdust" to the sailor on gangway duty. Sawdust, when thrown on oil, absorbs it and checks the flow. The large amount of oil that had escaped in that short time was already gathering into a considerable flow and making its way towards the scupper from where it would run down the ship's side and into the sea - where it would cause pollution - and once discovered - as it would surely be at daybreak - would result in heavy fines being clamped by the port authorities.
Oil pollution is every seaman's nightmare. But even that was not on my mind. I had noticed the lightnings piercing the sky more frequently and almost overhead then. The wind had whipped up a choppy sea making the bow of the ship at anchor swing giddily to and fro.
The burst pipe made the hatch closing system dead. I had four open hatches and a fifth half-open and cargo worth millions of dollars lying helplessly at the mercy of the rain. As chief mate I was wholly responsible for the cargo. I didn't want to hash up. I looked up at the sky. Just then a big drop fell on my cheek. It was cold and it stung. Looking up and down the length of the ship - a humongous affair measuring some 160 meters from end to end - in that dark night, under that billowing sky, in the middle of a hundred insouciant men, I suddenly felt cold and tired and lonely.

" Why don't we use the crane?" said a voice at my back. I turned to find the second mate - and a very good friend of mine - standing pensively. He was not distraught like me. One thing about Parani is that you rarely found him distraught, though he walked on the edge as frequently as any other seafarer.
"Don't think we can make it in time." my voice seemed to tail off. Another drop fell on my bare arm. Summoning all my energies I followed Parani. Together with two cadets we passed the crane wire around a pulley and hooked up the first pontoon. At this moment Parani climbed up into the crane.
Here I shall digress to quickly describe the cranes. There were 5 of them on that ship - one for each hold. They towered over the deck. The turntable with the operator's cabin housed above it were 30 feet above the deck level. But the booms were immense. When raised to a vertical position they reached a height of 70 feet. Altogether they were each of them a monster.
As Parani went up into the belly of the monster I remained on top of the pontoons to signal to him. I raised my hand, and he started hauling - very slowly - for a sudden jerk could cause the steel wire to part. The big pontoons began rolling once again. I stood on the woobly pontoons trying to be on my feet, and at the same time, with my right hand raised high, signalling to him continuously.      
There was a clap of thunder nearby and a slow pitter patter of rain started.
We worked with as much speed as we were capable of, while exercising greatest caution. For, a slightly more than a prudent pull on the crane joystick, arising out of impatience and urgency, would break the wire, resulting in projectiles such as shackles, hooks and torn pieces of metal flying all over – killing men in their path in an instant. As for me, a fall could mean being crushed by the rolling pontoons or at the very least, breaking a bone or two by landing on the rice sacks some 30 feet below.
At last the No 5 hatch was closed shut as the last pontoon came against the stoppers with a loud ‘wham’.

Without wasting a second Parani clambered out of the crane and I jumped down from the hatch-top: both of us scampered toward hatch No 4 – the next in line.
One after another all hatches were closed but while at hatch No 2 the rain increased. We worked as if we didn’t notice, carrying on till all hatches were tightly shut. Drenched thoroughly, we shivered now and then in the gale.
The rain went on unceasing through the night. We didn’t rest. Torches in hand, we entered the holds – then pitch dark due to the cover – and inspected the damage. In all holds, some of the topmost layer of sacks were wet, which we pulled and heaved and set aside. This went on for hours. We came out of the ship’s belly well after midnight.
The rain had stopped with daybreak. The sea had subsided. The anchorage was teeming with crafts and the port of Bangkok was bustling again with life.The sky had cleared. With tiny flakes of torn clouds floating in a pale blue sky and an orange sun glorifying the wide heavens, last night’s nightmare seemed to recede very far into the past. They were quickly invoked again, however, when I caught sight of a gleaming red-and-white boat - piercing the sea like a torpedo and throwing a long trail in its wake – making straight for our ship.
The boat brought the agent and the shippers to assess the damage.
They did their work and later in the day a long flat barge came alongside to take away the wet bags. The longshoremen had resumed the loading of the ship from dawn after the ship’s handful crew repeated the night’s process in reverse, that is, opened all hatches using the crane. The bust pipe would not be repaired till the next day. The day passed on well. The captain popped into my office after lunch to inform that the cost of the damage was about $ 3000. That was the only jarring note during the day.
As the cargo work would continue through the night, I handed over the charges to Parani, who had had some rest in the afternoon. Then after an early dinner I tucked away for the night.
I could not say how long I had been asleep when suddenly, I woke up. There was a hurried rap on my door. The voice of the sailor on duty rang outside: “Chief, Chief, hurry!! Rain coming!!”