Yashimoto's Last Dive

Fifteen

The Swahili ended his long and colourful explanation — it had been accompanied by many gestures — with a shrug of his shoulders, after which he stared at the dial of the echo-sounder, apparently fascinated by the digits which clicked and changed as if moved by an unseen hand.

Peter Morrow spoke to the Captain who was leaning against the chart-table. ‘He’s added quite a bit to what he told me this morning, sir, but it’s rather complicated. While he was fishing a reef off Cape Ulu yesterday evening a man he knows from another village was fishing close to him. His name was Cassim. Cassim told Katu that he had heard from Mahmoud — he’s another catamaran fisherman — ’ Morrow smiled apologetically — that Mahmoud’s brother, I’ll call him X because Katu didn’t know his name, while fishing a reef south of the Nameguo Shoal two nights ago had seen a huge fish go by. Its fin was, according to X, as high as a chief’s hut. He was in darkness and it was in the moonlight, so it could not see him. He — that’s X, sir — said it was growling as it swam…’

‘Heading which way?’ interrupted Barratt who was staring at the Swahili as if he were the manifestation of a miracle.

After a brief exchange with the African in Kiswahili, Morrow shook his head. ‘He says Cassim didn’t tell him that.’

Chin in hand, eyes on the chart, Barratt nodded with slow deliberation as if confirming an unspoken thought. A long silence followed before he said, ‘It looks as though the man we need to see is X. Ask Katu if he can take us to him right away.’

There was another lively discussion with Katu after which

Morrow said, ‘He tells me he doesn’t know where to find X. They are not friends. But he knows where Mahmoud lives and can take us there. He says Mahmoud will not be fishing until this evening.’

Barratt was silent, his face a picture of doubt. ‘Ask him if Mahmoud’s village is on the coast, or on an island. And how far from here? Show him where we are on the chart. See if he can identify the place.’

The Navigating Officer, an interested onlooker, pointed to a cross he’d pencilled on the chart a few minutes earlier. ‘That’s our approximate position,’ he said, standing aside to make room for Katu and Morrow. The latter launched into an explanation in Kiswahili, pointing to the cross Dodds had made.

The African peered at it, looked up at Morrow, peered again, shook his head, said something which caused the Sub-Lieutenant to explode with laughter. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘When I tried to explain where we were on the chart, Katu said, “No, Bwana, the ship is not there. It is on the sea.” When I told him about a chart, what it was etcetera, he said, “This picture is no good, Bwana. The paper cannot be the sea. A man will not catch fish on paper.” But he says Mahmoud’s village is on a little island — about an hour’s sail from here in a fair wind. That must be about four to five miles, sir.’

Barratt said, ‘Good. Bring him up to the bridge and we’ll see how he shapes as a pilot. If he wants to head for shallow water, you’ll have to take him with you in the skimmer for the rest of the journey. If you find Mahmoud, bring him back if you can. Strike the same sort of bargain you did with Katu.’

Restless headed down a narrow channel between two reefs several miles off a coast which shimmered and danced in a tropical mirage, the palm trees lining the beaches magnified and distorted by refraction. Katu had explained that once through the channel there was deeper water which would lead to Mahmoud’s islet, a mile or so along the coast. The destroyer was moving slowly ahead when an urgent warning came from Dodds: the water was shoaling rapidly. Barratt put both engines astern and Restless backed away into deeper water.

After a brief consultation the skimmer was lowered, its crew boarded and with Katu beside him Morrow opened the throttle wide and the little inflatable bumped and sprayed its way over a sea ruffled by the south-easter. The African gripped the skimmer’s handrail as if his life depended upon it, though his benign expression suggested to Morrow that he was enjoying the experience of travelling over water many times faster than he could ever have done before.

Within the hour the skimmer returned and was hoisted on board. Once more in the chartroom with Katu, the Sub-Lieutenant was explaining what had happened. ‘Good news, sir,’ he beamed. ‘We found this guy -1 mean this man Mahmoud. Katu told him he wanted to see X about the “huge fish” he’d seen a couple of nights back. Mahmoud told him it was not necessary to see Moroka — that’s X’s name — because he, Mahmoud, had later and more important news. Moroka was, he said, a very ignorant man. The so called “huge fish” was a big boat like a whale, not known in the islands but it was clearly a boat and not a fish. It had been seen by two men — one of them Mahmoud’s cousin — who had been fishing a reef close to the shore on Maji Island. That was after midnight two nights ago. The same night that is, that Moroka said he saw the “huge fish”. The boat they saw was off the island for some time. Then a rain squall came and later they saw the boat disappear round the northern side of the island and that was the last sight they had of it. They don’t know where it went after that.’

There was a gleam in the Captain’s eyes that Morrow had not seen before. ‘Did you find out where Maji Island is?’ he asked the Sub-Lieutenant.

‘A few miles south of us, according to Mahmoud.’

Barratt examined the chart with a magnifying glass. He shook his head. ‘The name Maji doesn’t appear anywhere here. But there are a good many unnamed islets.’ With some irritation he added, ‘Why didn’t you bring Mahmoud off to the ship?’

‘Not necessary, sir. Katu says he knows Maji Island well. It has a sheltered, deep-water creek and a fresh water spring. “Maji” is the Swahili word for water. The island has a small settlement of fishermen, he says; several families apparently. He has friends among them. He says he will take us to the island after we…’ Morrow smiled.

‘After we what…?’ interrupted Barratt.

‘Give him the presents we promised.’

‘Oh those.’ Barratt looked relieved. ‘For God’s sake see that he gets them in double quick time.’

Within the cramped confines of I-357’s control-room the weekly ritual of Captain’s Defaulters was taking place. It had begun at ten o’clock that morning; within ten minutes three men had been dealt with, the most serious offence involved concerned the loss of a panga. The rating responsible had dropped it over the side while working on the casing at night: he had offered to dive for it but Satugawa, who gave evidence on his behalf, had forbidden this in view of the ban on swimming.

The Captain warned the man to be more careful in future and ruled that the value of the panga would be deducted from his pay. Charges against the other two defaulters were of a minor nature; one concerned failure to clean utensils properly when cook-of-the-mess, the other a breach of censorship in a letter written for posting on return to Penang. Warnings and five days’ stoppage of leave in Penang were imposed by the Captain in both these cases.

These defaulters having been dealt with, the men in the control-room braced themselves for the real business of the day: the appearance of the man whose offence had been the subject of widespread discussion since the early hours of morning. Whereas defaulters normally stood in a discreet line behind the Coxswain, who stood to the left of the Captain, the principal offender on this occasion was nowhere to be seen.

Bearded chin out-thrust, Commander Yashimoto turned to the Coxswain. ‘Is that all?’ he inquired, knowing perfectly well that it was not.

The Coxswain, CPO Okudo, cleared his throat. ‘No, sir. Able Seaman Saigo Awa has still to appear.’ He spoke in the formal, measured tones he reserved for these occasions.

The Captain turned to the First Lieutenant. ‘Have the prisoner brought before me,’ he ordered in a stern voice. The Coxswain passed the word to the Yeoman, who in turn passed it to a leading torpedoman whence it reached the torpedo compartment.

Soon afterwards the handcuffed prisoner was marched in between two armed guards. He was a tired young man with hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes. He looked round the control-room with a frightened expression as the escorts jostled him into position in front of the Captain.

‘The charge, Coxswain?’ inquired the Captain who had himself framed it an hour earlier.

The Coxswain nodded deferentially, referred to his clipboard. ‘Able Seaman Saigo Awa is charged with criminal neglect of duty in that during the night 21/22 November 1942 while on wartime sentry duty on Creek Island, he did — One, absent himself from his place of duty. Two, partake of intoxicating liquor while on duty. Three, thereafter desert his place of duty in order to sleep.’ The Coxswain looked up from the clipboard. ‘The prisoner was subsequently arrested by Lieutenant Matsuhito who found him asleep and in an intoxicated condition.’

A silent but perceptible ripple of shock swept through the control-room: the thirty or so men crowded into it, drawn from each branch in the submarine, had been ordered to attend on the instructions of the Captain.

It was evident to those watching that what was taking place was more in the nature of a court martial than the routine appearance of a defaulter before the Captain.

Yashimoto’s dark eyes held the prisoner’s in an unwavering stare. ‘How does the prisoner answer the charges?’ he asked.

The wretched young seaman looked away, hung his head, mumbled something.

‘Speak up.’ Yashimoto spoke sharply. ‘I cannot hear you.’ ‘Guilty, sir.’ It was little more than a whisper.

‘Have you got anything to say in mitigation, Able Seaman Awa?’ The Captain’s tone had become conciliatory.

In a low voice, his eyes averted, Awa said, ‘It was a hot night, sir. My throat was dry. I wanted water. There were Africans sitting by a fire in front of the huts. I went to them and asked for water. But they couldn’t understand Japanese. So…’he shrugged helplessly. ‘I made a cup with my hands and put it to my mouth. After that they filled a container from a gourd and passed it to me. I thought it was water. It was the same colour as water and they were drinking it. I swallowed some. It tasted nice, quite sweet, and I was very thirsty so I drank some more. When that was gone, they filled the container again. They were very friendly, sir. I could see they wanted me to enjoy it. And I felt good and drank some more. Then I felt a bit funny and I went down towards the beach carrying my rifle. That is the beach where the catamarans were. My head was splitting. I suddenly felt dizzy so I sat down with my back against a coconut palm. Next thing I knew Lieutenant Matsuhito was shaking me awake… I know I have done wrong, sir.’

Yashimoto looked towards Matsuhito. ‘You found this man and arrested him, Lieutenant?’

‘That is correct, sir.’

‘Do you wish to say anything?’

‘No, sir. Except that he did not really come awake. He was in a drunken stupor. We put him in our catamaran, brought him back to the boat and placed him in his bunk. He did not appear to be aware of what was happening.’ ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ Yashimoto turned to the small but formidable figure of the First Lieutenant who stood immediately to his right. ‘You investigated this matter, Lieutenant Kagumi. Have you anything of importance to add to what I have just heard?’

‘Only to say, sir, that the prisoner’s explanation accords with what I heard from the village Headman in my discussion with him this morning. Since we had no common language with which to communicate, it was difficult for me to determine whether the men round the fire understood that the prisoner was asking for water when he approached them. The Headman indicated that Able Seaman Awa asked to be given some of the liquid they were drinking.’

‘What were they drinking?’

‘Fermented coconut milk, sir. The Headman gave me some to taste. It is the colour of water and of a pleasant though strong flavour. Evidently highly intoxicating. The Headman’s gesture made that quite clear. The native name sounds like kaola. The Headman’s miming told me that they never drink it before going fishing.’ The First Lieutenant smiled. ‘I suppose it could be difficult for a drunken man to manage a catamaran.’

Yashimoto uttered a curt, ‘No doubt.’ Looking once again at the hapless offender he said, ‘Lieutenant Sato — this man is in your division. Would you care to say anything on his behalf?’

Sato came from where he’d been standing beside the hydrophone cabinet. ‘Yes, sir. Awa is a good man. Hard working, able and conscientious. He has never given any trouble. I would strongly recommend clemency in his case, though the offence is serious.’

There was a flicker of animosity in the Captain’s eyes as he said, ‘I rather expected that from you, Lieutenant.’ There was a brief silence during which he took a note from the pocket of his uniform shirt. Glancing at it, he looked round the control-room with a slow, deliberate stare. ‘The offences with which Able Seaman Saigo Awa are charged would, in terms of the Naval Discipline Act, be extremely serious in peace time.’ He paused, his eyes travelling over his audience. ‘In time of War, with this submarine disabled in an operational area and hunted by the enemy’s air and surface forces, the offences are of the utmost gravity. The purpose and duty of sentries is to safeguard this boat, and all who serve in her, while members of the crew work night and day to repair action damage and conceal the boat from the enemy. Within the next few days the repairs should be completed. We will then leave the island to take up station off Mombasa where we shall attack a British aircraft carrier and her escorts. After that attack we will return to our base in Penang.’ Yashimoto stopped, surveyed once again the tense faces watching him. ‘But that will only be possible if our vigilance is never relaxed. Particularly, I would add, the vigilance of our sentries.’

The Captain spoke in an aside to the First Lieutenant who nodded assent. Yashimoto tightened his lips, half closed his eyes. ‘The sentence I have to pass on you, Able Seaman Awa, must be such as to ensure that you can never again fail in your duty, and that others will be aware of the consequences should they be tempted to do so.’

The Captain’s body stiffened as he drew himself to attention. The officers and petty officers ranged behind him followed suit. In the sudden absence of human speech the background sounds of ventilating fans, of generators and air compressors at work in the engineroom seemed to grow in volume. It was not long, however, before the Captain’s voice again commanded attention. Speaking slowly, each word carefully weighed, he said, ‘Able Seaman Saigo Awa, I find you guilty on all counts with which you have been charged, and to which you have pleaded guilty. Since the Japanese Empire is at War your gross neglect of duty in an operational area leaves me with no option but to condemn you to death. The sentence will be carried out after sunset this evening. May Buddha rest your soul.’

Saigo Awa, sobbing uncontrollably, was led away. The Captain went to his cabin, and the officers to the wardroom. The remainder of those in the control-room drifted off in shocked silence, for Awa was an inoffensive and pleasant young man, a hairdresser’s assistant before the War, whose skill with hair and beards had been much in demand by the crew.