The Man from Medan

It is with a shaking hand that the Captain raises a tumbler of arak putih to his lips. The white liquor, cheap and easy to acquire around the Malay peninsula, is coarse but offers a comforting familiarity. The night is black and still. The crew are restless.

He has not made sense of the goings on of the day; is unsure that will ever be possible. He takes out the ship’s log and opens it for the fifth time.

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Silver Star Feb 2, 1948

Heading Banda Aceh, 5°33′0″N 95°19′3″E

Current Strait of Malacca, 4° 0′ 0″ N, 100° 0′ 0″ E

Log 05:08 am Silver Star receives eight S.O.S. distress calls from Dutch merchant vessel, S.S. Ourang Medan. Transcript of final call outlined below.

“S.O.S. from S.S. Ourang Medan *** We float. All officers including the captain, dead in chartroom and on the bridge. Probably whole of crew dead ***.”

A string of unintelligible dots and dashes, then two words from the sender.

“I die.”

S.S. Ourang Medan is uncontactable. American vessel, the City of Baltimore reaches Silver Star via radio and confirms reception of S.O.S distress calls. City of Baltimore and Silver Star both arrange to change heading to coordinates of S.S. Ourang Medan. Estimated arrival times of 06:02 am and 06:14 am respectively

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The Silver Star slips over the glassy waters of the Strait of Malacca. Morning sun wrestles to dissipate the moisture that steams upwards, but its golden warmth is scattered to dull blue and grey.

The crew swiftly set up a wager – a fiver says it's a hoax. The Captain chews over stories of pirates that frequent the strait, looking to draw those more naïve vessels out of the shipping lanes, and away from land and help, with falseness. He thinks ‘but it makes no sense for the bandits to send such a troubling S.O.S.’. He is grateful for the number of knives, axes, and guns the Silver Star has onboard nonetheless. He knows the City of Baltimore too; the merchant vessel had registered at the same port in Taijung Piai and could be trusted. Most likely.

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Log 06:11 am Barrelman of the Silver Star has eyes on the S.S. Ourang Medan. The City of Baltimore is not present at the agreed coordinates and is uncontactable

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With palpable unease, two dinghies are dipped into the sea. The Captain sets a revolver at his hip and steps down into the second, before the little boats move off to cover the distance between the Silver Star, and the whole and intact Ourang Medan.

At eighty feet, the Captain shouts, Hello. The flash of sound is swallowed immediately by the silence. Three seconds, thirty seconds, a minute they wait. The Captain hasn’t the nerve to try again.

Warily, a ladder with hooks at the top is set over the taffrail at the bow of the boat. One by one, they pull themselves up.

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Log 06:33 am Six men (Captain present), of the thirteen sent in dinghies dropped from the Silver Star, board the S.S. Ourang Medan.

Not a living thing to be found on the ship. The captain of the Medan indeed found dead on the bridge and the bodies of the other officers sprawled in the wheelhouse, chartroom, and wardroom. Communications officer found slumped in his chair in the radio shack, hand still on the sending key. The bodies of the crew lay everywhere, in the rooms, in the passageways, on the decks. One dog found, also deceased

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Dull knocks, creaks and groans emanate up from the bowels of the Ourang Medan as it spins, listless, in the seas off Sumatra, the landmass utterly imperceptible at this treacherous distance. Those that have boarded the vessel take to whispering.

Pirates?, they ask. But the bodies. The bodies have not a scratch, on any of them. No wounds, no marks, no single sign of harm.

They lie there, arms drawn up to the chest, wrists and fingers held as a person's struck with arthritis might. And on all the dead faces, a look of convulsive horror. Mouths, open in shrieks that were long done, lips pulled back over the teeth and gums. Eyes, open, staring up at the sky.

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Log 06:45 am Still no sign of, or word from, the City of Baltimore. Order given to tie lines around the S.S Ourang Medan. Silver Star to tow the vessel and perished crew to the nearby Port of Belawan (new heading: 3°46′59″N,98°41′26″E). A handful of objections to this order from several crewmates

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With great reluctance the command to tow the stricken boat is issued. The Captain is as perturbed as his crew at their ghastly discovery, but it would be a mean thing to leave these fellows out here for the gulls. As the lines are being set, the Captain steps into the first dinghy to return to the Silver Star.

Back at his ship, he turns to look at those crewmen still busying themselves with the ropes and chains around the Ourang Medan. They appear to be nattering amongst each other, chaotic and visibly anxious. The sound does not quite carry over the water.

Two men, in the second dinghy that is still fastened to the Ourang Medan, stealthily hand up a small metal drum to the first mate who waits on the deck. The Captain spies the can of petrol, spare for the outboard on the dinghy. It is bundled down into the bowels of the boat. The first mate resurfaces, rushing and leaping into the dinghy before it makes its return to safety.

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Log 06:47 am First mate (Mr V.H. Gaddis) reports a fire in no. 4 cargo hold of the S.S. Ourang Medan. Order to tow vessel abandoned and lines cut

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The Captain cannot bring himself to condemn the decision his first mate and the others have made. There is a neatness and niceness to their solution that his soul appreciates. He does not, and will not, press the issue.

The crew of the Silver Star watch. On the horizon, the blazing carcass of the doomed ship explodes in a flash. Steaming and smoking, it sinks, long before the bang has covered the space between.