The Caine Mutiny (20 page)

“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 passageway. He looked different without the double-breasted blues. He had surprisingly narrow, sloping shoulders, and was hollow-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, ignored 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 gangway 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 meeting.” 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.

CHAPTER 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 magazines and paper-bound novels were racked, and the coding devices 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 captain’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, joking 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 Captain 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 purpose,
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 argument 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 has 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 excellent 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.”

He rose, picking up his cigarettes. The officers stood. “Don’t get up, don’t get up,” he said. “Thank you all.” He went into his cabin.

The officers looked around at each other. After a moment’s stillness Gorton inquired, “Anybody got anything on his mind?”

“When is the gig shoving off for the beach?” said Keefer.

“At 1800,” said Gorton. “I’m glad you asked, because you’ll have the gangway then.”

“In a pig’s eye,” said Keefer genially. “I’ll be in the gig. I’ve got me a date with a college graduate from the OWI office. She knows words of two syllables. It promises to be a highly intellectual evening, after life on the
Caine
.”

“Well, in words of one syllable, you’re a dead duck,” said Gorton. “New watch-standing orders. Four officers aboard at all times in port. Me or the captain, and all three-repeat, all three-officers of the duty section. I believe your section has the duty?”

Keefer looked around and said, “Okay. Who’s standing by for good old Tommy?”

“I’ll take it, Tom,” said Maryk.

“Thanks, Steve. I’ll do the same-”

“Sorry, boys,” put in Gorton. “No stand-bys.”

Keefer gnawed at his lips, scowling. Barrow rose, polishing his fingernails on his gabardine lapel. “I can take a dictionary along in the gig, Tommy,” he said daintily, “and bone up on two-syllable words. Does she know how to say ‘Gladly’?” There was a bark of male laughter from all the officers.

“Oh, look, Burt,” pleaded Keefer. “It’s absolutely pointless. We’re standing a cold-iron watch. There’s nothing to do but log vegetables aboard. Hell’s bells, in Tulagi we didn’t keep four aboard, with the Tokyo Express running every night.”

“Tom, I have never heard anything more persuasive,” said Gorton. “Your arguments move me to tears. Now will you go in and straighten out the captain?”

Carmody yawned and put his head on his hands. He said sleepily, “I see where the great American novel gets another chapter written tonight.”

Keefer rose, uttered a short, blistering obscenity, and went to his room. He picked up the volume of Aurelius from his cluttered desk, and flung himself on his bunk. For ten minutes he read the soothing stoicisms of the Roman emperor. Then Gorton poked his head into the room.

“Skipper wants to see you. Put on your saddle and report to the sawdust ring.”

“With pleasure,” growled Keefer, leaping out of his bed.

Captain Queeg was standing at the washbasin in his room, shaving. “Hello, hello, Tom,” he said. “Be with you in a minute.” He did not invite Keefer to sit. De Vriess had also ignored that formality with his department heads. They had been in the habit of dropping into the armchair without being asked. Keefer was not sure of his ground with Queeg. He leaned against the captain’s bunk, and lit a cigarette to show that he was not overawed. Queeg scraped away at his lathered face, humming. He wore only short drawers, and Keefer inspected with secret amusement the unprepossessing figure: flat hairless white chest, bulging little round stomach, and pallid skinny legs.

“Lousy light,” remarked Queeg, squinting at his image in the mirror. “A wonder De Vriess didn’t cut his throat.”

“We can get you a brighter bulb, sir.”

“Well, I don’t think that will be necessary- Tell me, Tom, what do you think of your assistant, Keith?”

“Willie? He’s a good kid.”

“I mean, as an officer?”

“Well, he has a lot to learn, like any ensign. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m not interested in what he’ll be. As of now, I agree with you that he’s a nice kid-and also extremely immature. Particularly for a custodian of registered publications.”

Keefer said hastily, “Sir, I’m certain Keith can handle that assignment to perfection-”

“What training has he had for it?”

“Training?”

“I understand you had five months in communication school.”

“Yes, sir. But you don’t need that to-”

“Has he studied the registered publications manual?”

“I assume that in V-7 school they gave them the basic-”

“You can’t assume a
damn thing
in the Navy, Tom,” said Queeg sharply, shifting his eyes to Keefer’s face and away again. “Could he pass a test on that manual this afternoon?”

“Well, without warning-”

“Could
you
?”

“I certainly could,” snapped Keefer, offended.

Rinsing his razor, Queeg said pleasantly, “I’m sure of it. That’s why I think you should resume the duties of custodian.”

“But, sir-”

“The boy obviously knows nothing about classified stowage, Tom. Why, secret pubs are jammed and flopped around in that safe like garbage. And he has pubs in the radio shack, pubs on the bridge-not a single custody receipt to show for them, either. Is that
your
idea of registered stowage, hey?”

It was exactly Keefer’s idea, as a matter of fact. Willie had inherited an appalling mess, but the novelist had airily laughed, saying, “This isn’t a battleship, Willie. Forget about that custody-receipt malarkey. We’re all pals together on the
Caine
.” The ensign had innocently believed him.

Keefer said, “Well, of course, sir, things could be a bit more shipshape-I’ll get on his tail-”

“Nothing doing. You
relieve
him.”

“Sir, pardon me, there isn’t a ship in this squadron with a full lieutenant as custodian-it’s an ensign’s collateral duty-always is-”

“Well, I don’t want to be unreasonable about it,” said Queeg. “How long do you think it would take you to train up Keith as a custodian?”

“A few days, a week at most, and Willie can know that manual by heart.”

“Fine. We’ll let it go at that.”

“Aye aye, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Queeg. “Meantime I want you to relieve him. This evening.”

“What! And go through an inventory and a transfer report? And then, again, in reverse, three days from now?”

“We have lots of time and transfer forms.”

“Sir, a department head who’s a top watch-stander doesn’t have an infinite amount of time. If you expect efficient performance of my main duties-”

“I expect efficient performance of all your duties. This business may cut into your novel-writing a little. But of course, none of us is aboard to write novels.” In the poisoned silence that followed, Queeg opened his drawers. They slid to the deck, and he kicked them into a corner. “Well,” he said cheerfully, picking up a towel, “I hope the shower has hot water.”

Keefer said in a slow, strangled tone, “Sir, do you object to my working on a novel?”

“Not at all, Tom,” said Queeg, taking a faded blue bathrobe out of his narrow closet. “An outside interest of an intellectual kind is recommended for all officers, as a stimulant to clear thinking and alertness.”

“Fine,” said Keefer.

“So long as your department is in every respect up to the mark, of course,” said Queeg. “I mean all reports up to date, all changes entered, all correspondence cleared, all enlisted training at the maximum, your own training accomplished, and, in general, everything so perfectly in hand that nothing remains to be done in your spare hours. Until such time, I think the Navy has first call on you.”

“I don’t suppose there are many officers in the Navy who can say their departments are in such shape-”

“Not one in a hundred, maybe. The average officer nowadays is lucky if he can keep abreast of his work and get six hours’ sleep a night. I guess that’s why we don’t have many novelists in the Navy,” said Queeg with a giggle. “But Captain de Vriess described you as a man of exceptional ability and I have every reason to hope that his judgment was sound.”

Keefer put his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t rush off,” said the captain, unwrapping a soap cake. “Like to talk a bit more.”

“I thought you were going to take a shower, sir.”

“Well, we can still talk. Come along.

“Now, Tom, what kind of radio guard are we standing at the moment?” he shouted over the drumming of the water on the metal deck of the shower room.

A conference during a shower was new to Keefer. He pretended not to hear Queeg. After a moment the captain turned around, glowering from under his eyebrows as he soaped his groin. “Well?”