Mombasa Signal Station called me on the
phone at home. Nothing unusual in that
if one was living and working in Mombasa but at the time of this call I was
stationed in Tanga, a hole in the reef port which
lies about a third of the way between
Mombasa and Dar es Salaam. The year was 1967 or 68, a time when Tanzania
was busy testing International diplomacy by playing East off against west. Probably hoping to lever
more aid from the likes of the UK whilst at the same time opening an African
window of trade for China. It was
also shortly after the upheaval time of the Red Guards and Mao’s Little Red
Book. All this was of course far from
the daily life of a lowly pilot such as myself in Tanga, or so I thought.
‘Good morning sir’, said Paul, the
senior signalman in Mombasa. Paul was ex
Kenya Navy man, trained by the Royal Nay, and an excellent signalman with a
superb command of the English language which he always delivered clearly and
concisely. Just as well that morning as
he was relaying to me a message received from Mombasa Radio to the effect that
a ship had sent out a distress signal a short time back. Paul gave me the estimated Latitude and
Longitude and went on to say that the master had indicated that the ship had
hit a reef, was in danger of breaking up, and that he would be ordering the
crew to abandon ship.
Alerting Tanga
signal station to have the pilot cutter readied for me I headed down to our
office in the Tanga Port to run up the position given
to me by Paul onto an Admiralty chart.
The ship, if the position given was correct, appeared to have struck the reef which
protects the southern side of the island of Pemba, an island lying some 30
miles offshore from Tanga. Whilst very close in terms of distance being
a mere three hours steaming away Pemba was a mysterious place at that time, cut
off from the outside world and nominally under the control of Zanzibar. Both islands were part of Tanzania and had
been since 1963 when they chose, elected is hardly the right word, to join in a
union with mainland Tanganyika as it was known at that time. The two islands retained their full autonomy
in the new republic thanks to the newly appointed and powerful First Vice President
Karume, himself a Zanzibari
and the willingness of President Nyerere to allow
such full reign.
In effect both Zanzibar and Pemba
became closed to the outside world thanks to the fear drummed out by Karume and others that all foreigners, read colonials, were
bad for business and that all of their economic woes were entirely the fault of
their past colonial masters. The few
ships that called at Zanzibar
anchored in the roads to work cargo and so it was easy enough to
control or ban entirely, shore leave for the ships crews. With no port of any consequence and no
airport on Pemba that island was totally cut off, relying solely on local dhows
to carry any commerce, such as their cloves crop, to Zanzibar for shipping
overseas.
It was against this backdrop of mystery
and intrigue that I was cleared by Mike Groves, the Principal Marine Officer
stationed in Mombasa to sail for Pemba with utmost dispatch.
Which
is what we did after throwing a few emergency stores on board in the way of
first aid kits, fresh water, life jackets etc.
We were under weigh by about 0700 hours and after clearing the outer reef
headed on a south easterly track for southern Pemba. Thankfully the weather was kind it being a
calm day with only a slight breeze and little sea thereby allowing the pilot
cutter to move along at her full speed of about 10 knots. After an uneventful crossing we spotted a
ship obviously on the reef some ½ mile from the beach on the southern end of
the island.
The accommodation ladder was slung over
the side of the ship and it was apparent that the crew, in the process of
walking across the drying reef, had decided to abandon ship which on the
falling tide was by now more or less high and dry. I don’t think they saw us at this stage as
they were intent upon picking their way ashore over a reef which was inundated
with small rock pools making for slow and careful progress towards the beach
some distance away. They achieved this
in snake like fashion with each man carefully following in the footsteps of the
man in front.
Once on the beach they turned their
heads seawards and, immediately upon spotting us standing off started to wave
to attract our attention.
At the same time as the crew arrived on the beach we spotted a naval patrol boat to the north moving at high speed to intercept with us. Oh, ho I thought, here comes the Pemba navy so hove too as there was little point in doing otherwise, my ten knots and unarmed hardly being a match for thirty knots and armed with a fore-deck gun amongst other armaments.
It wasn’t.
Instead it turned out to be flying the Kenyan flag and after closing
with us we verbally identified each other at close quarters upon which the
Commanding Officer of the boat invited me on board for a briefing, which I
happily accepted. I boarded to find myself confronted with a Royal Navy two ringer
(Lieutenant) whilst I was wearing two and a half, being the normal dress for an
East African pilot. As I had the extra
half stripe equal to a lieutenant commander in his navy, I was treated with the
greatest respect and in fact we were to work very closely and harmoniously
together over the next few hours, but all that lay ahead. Down on deck the crew comprised of Kenyan
ratings and RN Petty Officers. All very
shipshape and efficient with the whole complement turned to in immaculate
whites
Having briefed the commander, sadly I have forgotten his
name, we turned our attention to the shipwrecked crew which by this time had
made it safely to the beach and were seated as a group on the totally deserted
beach just above the high water mark. We
could just make out
through binoculars the fact that they had disembarked complete
with suitcases and blankets.
The Commander turned to me and sought
my opinion as to what the next course of action should be.
We agreed that rescuing the shipwrecked
crew seemed to be the sensible thing to do as there appeared to be no action on
that front from any local people ashore who might be living nearby. It was noon and the sun was beating mercilessly
down onto the beach in the absence of any wind.
We had no means of knowing how much water, if any, the crew had so decided to send a
rescue party ashore together with water and some provisions.
The tide by this time was making and
the exposed reef was now just covered.
Launching a Gemini rubber ducky which drew about 6 inches the rescue
party, comprising of a couple of RN petty officers inched its way shoreward on
the rising tide. Communication between
the rescue party and the bridge was by walkie talkie. By the time the rubber ducky had beached the shipwrecked crew had
long since retired from the oppressive heat to the cooler confines of the scrub
and bush above the high water mark, or so we thought.
We watched the landing party walk up the
beach and head into the scrub to rustle up the crew. Suddenly what had seemed to be a fairly
straight forward operation appeared to go wrong. Despite repeated calls from us on the walkie
talkie for sitreps no reply was received and this
despite the fact that there were two such units with the landing party. After vainly attempting to raise the party
for some 15 minutes we were still faced with an empty beach, no shipwrecked
crew and no landing party. It was agreed
that a second whaler be despatched and this too was manned by two RN CPO’s and two
ratings. This time they went armed and
with more radio’s.
Again we watched through binoculars as
the Boston whaler headed in, this time being able to get close to the shore
thanks to the still making tide.
Suddenly it veered off running parallel to the beach before heading back
to the ship whilst at the same time the radio crackled into life. It was the CPO coxswain advising that as they
were about to beach armed militia emerged from the scrub so sensing trouble he
headed out to safety. The Commander
ordered them back to the ship and as he was boarding we received a terse and
brief message from one of the original landing party stating that they had been
captured by the Green Guards, local humour perhaps for the by now infamous Red
guards of their heroes in China. The
message went on to say that the ships captain had been shot and wounded in the
leg.
That was all, leaving us to assume that
the captors had terminated the call. Consternation on board.
We were now faced by the fact that the Green Guards (of Tanzania)
had not only captured a bunch of
shipwrecked Greeks but also a small part of the Navy of Kenya, a neighbouring
State which had at that time a slightly strained relationship with
Tanzania. Our Commander elected for
diplomacy and so called the Kenyan Navy headquarters in Mombasa putting them in
the picture and seeking guidance. Do we
urgently go in with the heavy guns and rescue the captives or do we rely on the
diplomatic skills of the powers in Nairobi to sort out the mess? As we waited for the reply we were told that
diplomacy would be tried first and that we were to remain on high alert.
This we did although what ‘high alert’
is when one is lying to, off a seemingly deserted island, amounted to coffee
and some sandwiches on the bridge. By
this time I decided to dispatch the pilot cutter back to Tanga
having been requested to remain on board the Patrol Boat on the grounds that as
I was working for the Tanzanian Government then I should act as their de facto
ambassador!
The afternoon ticked away slowly and we
could only hazard a guess as to what was happening ashore in the absence of any
further radio messages or in the diplomatic circles in Mombasa, Nairobi and Dar
es Salaam.
About 1630 hours the radio crackled
once again, this time very faint and distorted; it was the CPO to say that they
were being marched at gun point to Chake Chake, the Islands capital and should arrive by 1700
hours. The march was through tough and
at times boggy terrain making progress slow, in part hampered by the captain’s
limp as he had suffered a flesh wound to the leg. This information was immediately relayed to
Mombasa who in reply suggested that we make our way round the coast and lie off
Chake Chake awaiting
orders. This we did and by the time we
arrived offshore dusk had fallen. More
waiting whilst on deck the remaining CPO’s and PO’s were muttering to the
effect that “lets get ashore and sort these characters
out” whilst at the same time rescuing their colleagues. Patience was the name of the game however and
in the end it paid off as we were given diplomatic clearance to enter port and
pick up both the Greek crew and the captured naval personnel.
It was a very tricky approach to the
port through a narrow unlit channel marked by unlit stakes set into the mud
banks. We inched our way in at times
nearly brushing the markers with the aid of the searchlight until we reached a
tiny swinging basin close by the dimly light jetty. Remaining cautious, an action I fully
endorsed as the air was heavily charged with tension and with the crew at
action stations, the commander elected not to go alongside but rather to heave
to and after plenty of backing and filling in the cramped basin had the ship
lined up for a quick exit back down the channel should matters start to get out
of hand.
In the glare of the searchlight we
picked up a boat which was heading from the shore to us, a matter of no more than a 100
metres. On board were some of the
rescued crew and the PO. As they came
alongside a second boat was sighted and that proved to have the balance of the
crew, including the Greek master and the CPO.
Minutes later all were on board and without further ado we fired up the
engines and headed out to sea as quickly as we safely could. All this had taken place against the backdrop of a silent, virtually dark town,
save for the odd oil lamp, and no visible or verbal exchange with anyone from
ashore. The ferry boats disappeared into
the night as silently as they had arrived, without a word being said. A most eerie experience to
say the least.
Back out in the open sea we slowed down
and both the commander and I headed down below to the wardroom to interrogate
(one does not interview on a naval ship) both the rescued Greeks and our
landing party PO’s. It was in fact
fairly light hearted as the tensions of the past twelve hours rapidly dropped
away and all were able to relax and tell their stories.
But first up was the biggest surprise,
with the Greek shipmaster profusely thanking our commander for their
rescue. Not just with thanks however as
he proceeded to whip a blanket off a large box which he had earlier placed in
the centre of the wardroom table. Our
first thoughts were that the box contained the ships log books and chronometers
so imagine our amazement to discover that it was in fact a case of Johnny
Walker Black Label whisky which the captain immediately broached, handing out
bottles to all those in the wardroom including myself. When order was restored, and a bottle opened
I have to admit, we started to piece together their story.
They had struck the reef in poor
visibility at night as neither their radar nor the local lighthouse
were in working order. Working on
dead reckoning the captain had badly underestimated the strength of the
northbound set thus had been carried much further to the north and west than he
had calculated. With the ship hard up on
the reef and the tide falling they realised that refloating and salvaging was
not going to be a realistic choice as the ship had suffered severe bottom
damage causing holds and the engine room to be broached. At daylight they were better able to assess
their predicament and so elected at low water to lower the gangway and walk
ashore. At this stage they only guessed
that they had struck the south side of Pemba, an accurate guess at it turned
out.
Having walked and waded ashore, a
distance of nearly ½ a kilometre, and not finding any immediate signs of
habitation, they decided to remain grouped together on the beach where they
would be visible to their rescuers. It
was at about this time that they spotted us approaching from seaward that the Green Guards arrived on the
scene, presumably alerted by local villagers.
The Green Guards refrained from breaking their cover and thereby showing
themselves to us by staying in the nearby bush and ordering the crew at gun
point to move back into the bush whereupon they were surrounded. During this manoeuvre a minor skirmish broke
out as they guards were not being too gentle with their rifle butts resulting
in a few bruised sailors and the captain with a gunshot wound in the leg. Whether it was meant or not remained unclear
and fortunately it was a minor flesh would which was bandaged up.
Next up the landing party arrived and
were easily fooled by a hail from the scrub into an ambush whereupon they were
captured and disarmed of their sidearms. Shortly after binding all captors arms behind
their backs captors and captives set out on foot to Chake
Chake. Several
minor skirmishes happened along the way, particularly with the RN
personnel. A combination of the thuggery
of the guards in continually prodding their hapless prisoners with rifle butts
and sticks coupled with the difficulty of trying to maintain their balance with
their arms tied resulted in many falls into the swampy uneven ground.
Their frustration running very high the
navy men tried to vent their anger by kicking out at the guards. Progress was slow and after receiving a few
blows in return they realised the futility of retaliation and so quietened
down. It was an exceedingly slow, very
hot, humid and painful
march for all of them, particularly so for the master, nursing his wounded leg,
and the ageing chief engineer, not used to such physical exertion.
After some five hours and near
exhausted by their efforts they emerged into the outskirts of a town. Thankful that they had finally reached
somewhere they stumbled into the local police station where they were immediately
locked up and their bonds removed.
Thankfully they were given water as all were parched and in danger of
dehydration. As darkness fell they still
had no idea where they were nor what fate they faced as no information had been
forthcoming from either the Green Guards or the local constabulary. About 2000 hours they were ushered outside
the police station into the dimly lit streets before being marched through the
town to the waterfront. Without any
explanation they were pushed into boats at gun point with the boats loaded they
then headed out towards a glaring searchlight obviously situated on a ship in
the stream. Imagine their reaction to
find that the searchlight was in fact on the bridge of our ship. From one moment of deep
fear to one of total relief.
The PO’s quickly revived and were all
for going back ashore suitably armed this time and dealing with the hated
guards whilst the Greeks were just happy to be alive after their ordeal. It was
with a great sense of relief for all of us to be back out into the safety of
the open sea as all on board had felt the strain of getting into and out of Chake Chake unscathed by either
enemy fire or marine mishap in such confined waters.
It had indeed been a very strange, and
very long, day and now it was time for me to call up Tanga
and have the pilot boat rendezvous with the patrol boat off Tanga. This they did and around midnight I transferred to my cutter whilst the
navy headed back to Mombasa together with the shipwrecked crew.
I never did find out just what went on
within the diplomatic circles of Mombasa, Nairobi and Dar es
Salaam. Whatever, for once the civil services of both
countries, plus the Royal Navy worked fast enough that a major diplomatic
incident, and possible further bloodshed, was averted. All the more surprising
as Kenya and Tanzania had broken off diplomatic relations a couple of years
earlier.
The Papportianni
became quite a landmark and far as I know her remains are probably still
visible on the reef to ships passing between the islands of Zanzibar and Pemba.
Written by Captain Peter Barefoot, ex
Pilot East African Railways & Harbour and donated by Anton Jansen.