Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny

by The Caine Mutiny(Lit)

  "Well, running off a fresh inventory and sending in a survey report on the lost gear would take care of that."

  "Sure it would. A Title B inventory takes two weeks. If you want to wait around till we push one through, I'll be happy to get it rolling-"

  "Hell, no, I can attend to it as well as you," said Queeg. "I thought maybe I'd relieve tomorrow-if I could see the registered pubs and the reports today."

  De Vriess was pleased and startled. He had relieved his own commanding officer on the Caine in forty-eight hours; but, as executive officer, he had been fully as familiar with the ship as the captain. Queeg was stepping into a vessel of a new type, about which he knew almost nothing. He would have been justified in requesting several days at sea, in order to observe all the ship's equipment in action. De Vriess had figured that the transfer of command might take a week. But it was absolutely outside naval manners to make any comment. He rose. "Good enough," he said. "Pretty nice to think of seeing my wife in three days. How about a quick Cook's tour of the ship?"

  "Okay." Queeg dropped the steel balls into his pocket.

  "If I'd known you were coming," said De Vriess, "I'd have run off a captain's inspection and shined her up for you a bit. The boys can do a good job, though you may not think so to look at her now."

  "Pretty cool for Hawaii, this time of year," said Queeg.

  Willie Keith lay on his bunk in the clipping shack that after-noon, trying without success to read Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, which he had borrowed from Keefer. Curiosity gnawed at him; he could hardly resist leaving his self-imposed jail to have a look at the man who had come to free him from the tyranny of De Vriess. He read the same page over four times, while his mind kept wandering to the task of construct-ing Queeg from Harding's description, as scientists construct cave men from a piece of jawbone.

  "Mistuh Keith, suh?"

  Willie looked up into the sad loose-lipped face of Whittaker, a couple of inches from his own. "Yes, Whittaker?"

  "Cap'n want you in de wardroom."

  Willie jumped to the deck and put on his cleanest khakis, stabbing the ball of his thumb in his hurry to change the collar pins. When he walked into the wardroom, therefore, he was sucking his thumb; a perhaps unfortunate touch of immaturity. The two commanding officers were drinking coffee at the green-covered table. "Ensign Keith," said De Vriess with sar-donic formality, "Lieutenant Commander Queeg."

  The new captain rose and greeted Willie with a firm hand-shake and a friendly smile. In one anxious glance Willie took in these details: a small man, slightly shorter than himself; natty blues with two campaign ribbons and one battle star; an oval, somewhat plump fair face with small narrowed eyes; and some strands of sandy hair across an almost bald head, with thicker fringes at the sides. "Hello, Mr. Keith," said Queeg with cordial good humor, and a gay lift in the tones.

  Willie liked him at once. "How do you do, sir."

  "Willie," said De Vriess, "are you all set to run off a reg-istered pubs inventory and a transfer report? Commander Queeg wants 'em this afternoon."

  "Certainly, sir."

  "Not missing anything, are we?"

  "No, sir." Willie allowed himself a slight contemptuous em-phasis. With the new captain present, power seemed to be draining out of De Vriess.

  "Good." The captain turned to his successor. "He's all yours. If I can be of any further assistance, let me know."

  De Vriess stepped into his cabin and closed the door. Willie turned to his new commanding officer. He could not repress a mischievous grin. "Nice to have you aboard, sir."

  "Why, thank you, Willie," said Queeg, with a lift of the eyebrows, and a warm smile. "Let's get started, shall we?"

  Next morning at eleven the crew lined up at quarters on the forecastle, and the ceremony of transferring command was enacted in a perfunctory way. The officers had tried very hard to make the crew look respectable for the occasion; but de-spite the shoeshines and new dungarees and shaved faces the general effect was that of a group of tramps freshly deloused by the Salvation Army.

  After the ceremony the two commanding officers went be-low together. The captain's cabin was heaped with tumbled luggage of both officers. De Vriess picked his way to the desk. He opened the small safe, took out several tagged keys and some sealed envelopes, and handed them to Queeg. "Envelopes are various safe combinations you'll want to have.... Well, I think that's it." He glanced around the room. "I left you a stack of mysteries. I don't know if you like 'em, but that's all I can read. Distract me from whatever's bothering me. Never re-member what I'm reading from one page to the next, anyway."

  "Thanks. I guess I'll have all I can do to keep up with official reading for a while."

  "Sure enough. Well-I'm off." De Vriess cocked his head and looked his successor in the eye. Queeg met the glance for a moment, then offered his hand to De Vriess.

  "Best of luck with your new construction."

  "If I get it. You've got a good ship here, Queeg, and a good crew."

  "I hope I'm up to handling it."

  De Vriess grinned, and said hesitantly, "I'm wondering if you don't think it's a pretty sloppy lash-up."

  "Oh, I quite understand," said Queeg. "You've been in the forward area a hell of a long time-"

  "It isn't that. You can do things with some ships that you can't do with others," said De Vriess. "Between you and me, these damn buckets ought to be melted down to razor blades. They roll and pitch too damn much, the power plant is shot, all the machinery is obsolete, and the men are crowded like animals. These are the only firerooms left in the Navy where the black gang has to work under air pressure. If anything goes wrong a blowback can kill them all. The men know the kind of deal they've got. The strange thing is, most of the crazy bastards like it. Damn few of them put in for transfers. But they have to do things their own way. It's the hooligan navy, to look at them. But give them a chance, and they deliver. They've backed me up in some bad spots-"

  "Well, thanks for the dope," said Queeg. "Is the gig stand-ing by for you?"

  "I think so." De Vriess ground out his cigar, and opened the door. "Whittaker! How about bearing a hand with my gear?"

  Willie was at the gangway, buckling on his gun belt, when two steward's mates came up with the bags, followed by De Vriess.

  "Where's the gig, Willie?"

  "Oh, I didn't think you were shoving off till four, sir. I just sent it over to the Frobisher to trade movies. It'll be back in ten minutes. Sorry, sir."

  "No harm done. Drop the bags here, men."

  "Yassuh," said the steward's mates. "Good-by, Captain."

  "Don't bring the new skipper any of that cold coffee up to the bridge."

  "Nosuh." The colored boys grinned.

  De Vriess put his foot up on a life line and stared out over the harbor. He looked strangely impressive in dress blues. Sailors chipping paint on the quarterdeck threw curious glances at him and exchanged low remarks. Willie, oppressed by a heavy gap of embarrassment between himself and his ex-cap-tain, felt obliged to make conversation. "How does it feel, sir?"

  "How does what feel?" said De Vriess, not looking at him.

  "Well, leaving the ship after-how long-over five years, isn't it?"

  De Vriess bent his head sidewise and inspected Willie coldly. "Happiest damn moment of my life," he growled.

  "I hope you get a good ship, sir."

  "It's about time I had one." De Vriess walked away. He paced aft to the fantail, looking down at his shoes. A knot of chiefs and petty officers appeared in the port passageway by the galley. They watched the ex-captain as he came forward again. The oldest chief, a fat, ham-faced water tender named Budge, whose belly bulged over his underslung belt, stepped up to him. "Pardon me, Captain."

  "What now?"

  Budge took off his greasy khaki cap, revealing a bald head, fumbled with the cap and put it on again. "Well, nothing, sir. Except a few of the guys chipped in and got this." He hauled a long flat box out of his pocket, and opened it, displaying
a silver wrist watch. De Vriess stared at the watch, and then looked around at the fidgeting sailors.

  "Whose idea was this?"

  "Well, everybody's, sir."

  "Well, everybody's a damn fool. I can't accept it. It's against Navy Regulations."

  Budge glanced helplessly at the others. "I told them that, sir. But we thought-"

  A tall, tousle-headed shipfitter, De Lauche, spoke up, "You don't always go by regs, sir-"

  "That's my goddamn trouble," said De Vriess. "I've been in the hooligan navy too long."

  Budge scanned the captain's, unfriendly face, awkwardly juggled the open box, and set it on the dirty screen cover of a ventilator. "We meant it for the best, sir-"

  The dinging of a bell and the asthmatic cough of a motor announced that the gig was coming alongside. "You guys take an even strain with the new skipper," said De Vriess. "You chiefs and first-class P.O.'s run the ship, as you know damn well. Keep the men in line and give things a chance to break in-" He turned to Willie. "I am leaving the ship, sir."

  "Aye aye, Captain." They exchanged salutes.

  De Vriess put his hand on the ladder. His eye fell on the watch, glittering in the sun. "Whaddya know," he said. "Some silly bastard left a watch lying around." He picked it out of the box and strapped it on. "Might as well steal myself a souvenir of this old bucket. Not a bad watch, at that," he said, glancing at it critically. "What time is it, Mister Keith?"

  "Four o'clock, sir," said Willie.

  "Three-thirty," grunted De Vriess, adjusting the hands. "I'll always keep it half an hour slow," he said to the sailors, "to remind me of the fouled-up crew of the Caine. Somebody toss down my gear."

  He began to descend the ladder, and went out of sight. Then his head and arms reappeared. He looked up at the sailors and threw them a salute. "Thanks," he said, and dropped down into the gig. The bags were lowered; the boat pulled away. Willie watched it go, expecting to see De Vriess take a long lingering farewell look at his ship. But he did no such thing. The last Willie saw of the ex-captain, he was slouched on the cushions under the canopy, reading a paper-bound mystery.

  "Attention on deck!" called the gangway petty officer.

  Willie turned, stiffening. Captain Queeg, dressed in khaki shirt and trousers, was coming out of the starboard passage-way. He looked different without the double-breasted blues. He had surprisingly narrow, sloping shoulders, and was hol-low-chested and potbellied. His forehead was furrowed, and there were three deep vertical wrinkles in the center; his eyes squinted as though he were trying to see a long distance. Willie saluted. Queeg, peering around at the quarterdeck, ig-nored the gesture. "Gig gone?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Willie, you're out of hack as of now. Amnesty, you might say."

  "Thank you, Captain," Willie said warmly.

  Queeg stopped at the gangway desk and cast his eye here and there, rolling the steel balls absently in his left hand. The sailors worked busily and without talking, heads bent. Queeg glanced down at the quartermaster's log. "Captain de Vriess hasn't been logged out."

  "I was about to do that, sir," spoke up Engstrand, the gang-way petty officer.

  "Very well. Note the exact time of departure."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  Queeg watched Engstrand write the notation. The back of the signalman's blue dungaree shirt was stenciled in red, Killer Engstrand. Hands Off. The captain said, "Mr. Keith."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Pass the word to your relief that while we're in Pearl the gangway watch will be stood in undress whites."

  This was the uniform of the watch on the Moulton, and on most of the destroyers Willie had seen. The order pleased him. The Caine was being restored to the Navy, with no time lost. "Aye aye, sir," he snapped.

  Queeg resumed his scrutiny of the ship, ceaselessly rolling the balls, his shoulders lowered, his head moving to and fro. "Okay," he said. "Pass the word. Meeting of all officers in the wardroom at 1630."

  "Aye aye, sir. Shall I get a chief to stand by for me? I'll still have the watch then-"

  "Have chiefs been standing OOD watches in port?"

  "Well, yes, sir-"

  "Never mind getting a chief. You're excused from the meet-ing." The new commanding officer of the Caine walked off toward the port passageway. "Get a couple of your prisoners--at-large with some turpentine," he said over his shoulder to Willie, "and have this mess cleaned up." He pointed to the remains of the morning's oil stain.

  "We have no prisoners-at-large, sir."

  "Oh?... Well, then, the deck force. Get it cleaned up." Captain Queeg went forward.

  12

  The New Order

  At four-thirty the officers of the Caine were all seated around the wardroom table, except for Keith, Gorton, and the captain. Keefer and Maryk were drinking coffee. The others smoked or drummed their fingers on the green baize. Nobody spoke. The room was unnaturally tidy for that time of day. The maga-zines and paper-bound novels were racked, and the coding de-vices usually scattered on the table were absent.

  "This is known in literature," Keefer remarked in a low tone, stirring his coffee, "as a pregnant pause."

  "Go easy on the smart talk for a while, Tom," murmured Adams.

  "I'm simply observing," said Keefer, "that our new captain has a sense of drama. I thoroughly approve."

  "Knock it off," whispered Maryk, as the knob of the cap-tain's door turned. Gorton came out and looked around the table. "All present, Captain," he called through the open door. Queeg entered the wardroom. With a scrape of chair legs the officers stood. The Caine officers had not performed this courtesy in a year; several of them had never done it; but they all rose instinctively.

  "Sit down, sit down, gentlemen," said Queeg in a light, jok-ing tone. He sat in his chair, laid a fresh pack of cigarettes and a packet of matches in front of him, and looked around with a smile as his officers took their seats. He tore open the pack deliberately, lit a cigarette, and took the two steel balls out of his pocket. Rubbing them softly back and forth in his fingers, he began to speak. Occasionally he glanced up at their faces; otherwise he kept his eyes on the cigarette or the steel balls.

  "Well, gentlemen, I just thought we ought to get acquainted. We're going to be shipmates for a long time. You're probably wondering about me, and I confess I'm a little curious about you, though I've formed some pretty good, first impressions. I think this is a fine ship with a splendid wardroom of officers. I think we're going to have a good cruise, and, I hope, as Cap-tain de Vriess put it, some good hunting. I intend to give you every co-operation, and I expect the same in return. There is such a thing as loyalty upward, and such a thing as loyalty downward. I desire and expect to get absolute loyalty upward. If I do, you'll get loyalty downward. If I don't-well, I'll find out why, and I'll see to it that I do." He laughed, indicating that this was a joke, and the officers nearest him smiled.

  "Now, there are four ways of doing a thing aboard ship--the right way, the wrong way, the Navy way, and my way. I want things on this ship done my way. Don't worry about the other ways. Do things my way, and we'll get along- Okay. -Now, are there any questions?"

  He looked around. There were no questions. He nodded with smiling satisfaction. "Now, I'm a book man, as anyone who knows me will tell you. I believe the book is there for a pur-pose, and everything in it has been put in it for a purpose. When in doubt, remember we do things on this ship by the book. You go by the book and you'll get no argument from me. You deviate from the book and you better have a half dozen damn good reasons-and you'll still get a hell of an ar-gument from me. And I don't lose arguments on board this ship. That's one of the nice things about being captain." He laughed again, and received the same smiles. Keefer was slowly shredding a cigarette as he listened.

  "I want you to remember one thing," Queeg went on. "Aboard my ship, excellent performance is standard. Standard performance is sub-standard. Sub-standard performance is not permitted to exist. Now, Rome wasn't built in a day, and this ship ha
s been sailing a hell of a long time without me, and as I say, I regard you as a splendid wardroom of officers. If there's anything that I want changed in anybody's department you'll find out about it fast enough. Meantime you will go on with your duties as before, remembering, as I say, that on my ship excellent performance is standard."

  Keefer dropped the shred of the cigarette slowly into his coffee cup.

  "Well, now that I've shot my face off," said Queeg, "I'll give anyone else who wants to the chance to do the same.... Nobody? Okay. Then let's have taut watches beginning as of now, if you feel that in any way you haven't been standing taut watches. And let's have a taut ship. And, as I say, remember about loyalty upward, and loyalty downward, and about ex-cellent performance being standard. And, as I say, I regard you as a fine set of officers, and it's a privilege to be in a wardroom with you, and-and let's keep it that way. And that's all I have to say. And I thank you, and"-he laughed once more, an informal laugh that dismissed any tinge of martial austerity in what he had said-"all ashore that's going ashore."