The Caine Mutiny (62 page)

Greenwald rose to cross-examine. “Mr. Keith, you have stated you disliked Captain Queeg.”

“I did dislike him.”

“Did you state under direct examination all your reasons for disliking him?”

“Not at all. I wasn’t given the chance to state half the reasons.”

“Please state the rest of your reasons, now, if you will.”

Words formed in Willie’s mind which, he knew, would change the course of several lives and land him in trouble from which he might never extricate himself. He spoke; it was like punching his fist through a glass door. “My chief reason for disliking Captain Queeg was his cowardice in battle.”

Challee started getting to his feet. Greenwald said quickly, “What cowardice?”

“He repeatedly ran from shore batteries-”

“Objection!” shouted the judge advocate. “Counsel is originating evidence beyond the scope of direct examination. He is leading the witness into irresponsible libels of an officer of the Navy. I request that the court admonish defense counsel and strike the cross-examination thus far from the record.”

“Please the court,” said Greenwald, facing into Blakely’s glare, “the witness’s dislike of Queeg was not only in the scope of the direct examination, it was the key fact brought out. The background of this dislike is of the utmost consequence. The witness has confessed ignorance of medicine and psychiatry. Things Queeg did, which caused the witness in his ignorance to dislike him, may in fact have been the helpless acts of a sick man. Defense will present material corroboration of all statements of the witness in this connection, and will in fact show that Queeg’s acts stemmed from illness-”

Challee flared at Greenwald, “This is not the time for defense to present its case or make a closing argument-”

“The judge advocate has opened the question of Lieutenant Keith’s admitted dislike of Captain Queeg,” Greenwald shot back. “Evidence is tested as it arises-”

Blakely rapped his gavel. “Defense counsel and the judge advocate are admonished for unseemly personal exchanges. The court will be cleared.”

When the parties of the trial came back into the room, Blakely had a copy of
Navy Regulations
open before him on the bench. He wore thick black-rimmed glasses which gave him an oddly peaceful professorial look. “For the benefit of all parties, court will read from Article 4, Sections 13 and 14 of the Articles for the Government of the Navy, before announcing its ruling.

“
The punishment of death, or such other punishment as a court-martial may adjudge, may be inflicted on any person in the naval service, who, in time of battle, displays cowardice, negligence, or disaffection, or withdraws from or keeps out of danger to which he should expose himself ... or in time of battle, deserts his duty or station, or induces others to do so
.”

Blakely took off his glasses and closed the book. He went on in a grave, tired tone, “The court has said this is a delicate case. Defense counsel and the witness are warned that they are on the most dangerous possible ground. In charging an officer of the United States Navy with an offense punishable by death, and that the most odious offense in military life, equal to murder, they take on themselves the heaviest responsibility, and face consequences the seriousness of which cannot be overstated. The court now asks defense counsel in view of the foregoing whether he desires to withdraw his questions.”

Greenwald said, “I do not so desire, sir.”

“The court asks the witness to consider carefully the implications of his answers and state whether he desires to withdraw his answers.”

Willie, his teeth chattering a little, said, “I do not so desire, sir.”

“Subject to the foregoing,” said Blakely, with an audible sigh, pushing aside the book, “the objection is overruled. Defense counsel will proceed with his cross-examination.”

Willie told about Queeg’s running from the Saipan shore battery which had fired on the
Stanfield
. He narrated in detail the episode at Kwajalein which had resulted in Queeg’s being nicknamed “Old Yellowstain.” He saw for the first time a change in the expressions of the court as he spoke. The frigid solemnity with which they had peered at him gave way slowly, and instead there were seven faces of men listening with interest to an amazing tale. Challee, frowning bitterly, scribbled pages of notes.

“Mr. Keith, who coined this name, ‘Old Yellowstain’?” said Greenwald.

“I’m not sure, sir. It just sprang into existence.”

“What did it imply?”

“Well, cowardice, of course. But it also referred to the yellow marker. It was one of those naturals. It stuck.”

“Have you told all the incidents of cowardice that you recall?”

“Well, in any combat situation Captain Queeg inevitably would be found on the side of the bridge away from the firing. When we were patrolling near a beach, every time the ship reversed course the captain changed wings. Everyone noticed it. It was a common joke. All the bridge personnel will corroborate what I say, if they’re not afraid to talk.”

Greenwald said, “Besides these incidents of cowardice, what further reasons had you for disliking Queeg?”

“Well-I guess I’ve told the characteristic ones-well, for one thing, he extorted a hundred dollars from me-”

Challee stood wearily. “Objection. How long will these irrelevant unproven allegations be permitted by the court? The issue in this case is not whether Captain Queeg was a model officer, but whether he was insane on 18 December. Defense counsel has not even touched this issue. I suggest there is strong indication of collusion between defense counsel and witness to recklessly smear Commander Queeg and thus confuse the issue-”

Greenwald said, “The objection is identical with the last one court overruled. I repudiate the charge of collusion. Facts are facts, and need no collusion to be brought out. All these facts bear directly on the mental fitness of Captain Queeg to command a naval vessel, and as evidence they are nothing but clarification of Keith’s dislike of his commanding officer, a fact established by the judge advocate at great pains in direct examination.”

“The objection is identical,” said Blakely, rubbing his eyes, “and it is overruled. Proceed with cross-examination.”

“Describe this so-called extortion, Mr. Keith.”

Willie told of the loss of the crate of liquor in San Francisco Bay. Captain Blakely began grimacing horribly. Greenwald said, “Did the captain order you to pay for the liquor?”

“Oh, no. He didn’t order me. He made me admit that I was responsible for all acts of the working party because I was boat officer-although he had issued all the orders to the working party-and then he asked me to think over what I ought to do about it. That was all. But I was supposed to go on leave next day. My fiancée had flown out from New York to be with me. So I went to the captain. I apologized for my stupidity, and said I’d like to pay for the liquor. He took my money gladly, and signed my leave papers.”

“No further questions,” Greenwald said, and went to his seat. He felt a powerful grip on his knee under the table. He quickly sketched a revolting cross-eyed pig in a steaming cauldron, labeled it “Queeg,” showed it to Maryk, and shredded it into the wastebasket.

Challee re-examined Willie for twenty minutes, probing for contradictions and misstatements in his stories about Queeg; he got off a great deal of sarcasm at Willie’s expense, but he did not manage to shake the testimony.

Willie looked at the clock as he left the stand. It was ten minutes of eleven. He was amazed, just as he had been on the morning of the typhoon, by the slow passage of time. He imagined he had been in the witness chair for four hours.

Challee called Captain Randolph P. Southard, a dapper, lean officer with a hard-bitten face and close-cropped head, whose ribbons and medals made three colorful rows over his breast pocket. The judge advocate quickly brought out that Southard was the commander of Destroyer Squadron Eight, and had commanded destroyers of several types, including World War I four-pipers, for ten years. He was Challee’s expert witness on ship handling.

Southard testified that under typhoon conditions a destroyer rode just as well going down-wind as up-wind. In fact, he said, because of a destroyer’s high freeboard forward it tended to back into the wind. Therefore, if anything, it was more manageable with the wind astern. He asserted that Queeg’s efforts to stay on the fleet’s southerly course had been the soundest possible procedure for getting out of the typhoon danger; and that Maryk’s decision to turn north had been a dubious and dangerous one, because it had kept the ship in the direct path of the storm.

Greenwald opened his cross-examination by saying, “Captain Southard, have you ever conned a ship through the center of a typhoon?”

“Negative. Been on the fringes often but always managed to avoid the center.”

“Have you ever commanded a destroyer-minesweeper, sir?”

“Negative.”

“This case, sir, concerns a destroyer-minesweeper at the center of a typhoon-”

“I’m aware of that,” Southard said frostily. “I’ve had DMS’s under my command in screens, and I’ve read the book on ’em. They don’t differ from destroyers except in details of topside weight characteristics.”

“I ask these questions, Captain, because you are the only expert witness on ship handling and the extent of your expert knowledge should be clear to the court.”

“That’s all right. I’ve handled destroyer types in almost every conceivable situation for ten years. Haven’t handled a DMS at the center of a typhoon, no, but I don’t know who has besides the skipper of the
Caine
. It’s a thousand-to-one shot.”

“Will you state without reservation that the rules of destroyer handling would hold for a DMS in the center of a typhoon?”

“Well, at the center of a typhoon there are no hard-and-fast rules. That’s one situation where it’s all up to the commanding officer. Too many strange things happen too fast. But seamanship is seamanship.”

“A hypothetical question, Captain. Assuming you are conning a destroyer in winds and seas worse than any you have ever experienced. You are wallowing broadside. You actually believe your ship is foundering. You are in the last extremity. Would you try to bring your ship head into wind, or stern to wind?”

“That’s a mighty hypothetical question.”

“Yes, sir. Don’t you wish to answer it?”

“I’ll answer it. In the last extremity I’d head into the wind if I could.
Only
in the last extremity.”

“Why, sir?”

“Why, because your engines and rudder have the best purchase that way, that’s all, and it’s your last chance to keep control of your ship.”

“But suppose heading into the wind would mean remaining in the path of a storm instead of escaping?”

“First things first. If you’re on the verge of foundering you’re as bad off as you can get. Mind you, you said the
last extremity
.”

“Yes, sir. No further questions.”

Challee stood at once. “Captain, in your opinion who is the best judge as to whether a ship is in its last extremity?”

“There is only one judge. The commanding officer.”

“Why?”

“The Navy has made him captain because his knowledge of the sea and of ships is better than anyone else’s on the ship. It’s very common for subordinate officers to think the ship is a goner when all they’re going through is a little weather.”

“Don’t you think, though, sir, that when his subordinates all agree that the ship is going down the captain ought to listen to them?”

“Negative! Panic is a common hazard at sea. The highest function of command is to override it and to listen to nothing but the voice of his own judgment.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

CHAPTER 35

The Court-Martial-Second Day, Afternoon

Dr. Forrest Lundeen was a stout, pink-faced commander with gold-rimmed glasses, and straight blond hair fading to gray. He was chief of psychiatry at the Navy hospital, and had headed the medical board which had examined Queeg. He sat comfortably in the witness chair, answering Challee’s questions with good-humored alertness.

“How long did your examination last, Doctor?”

“We had the commander under constant observation and testing for three weeks.”

“Who comprised the board?”

“Myself, Dr. Bird, and Dr. Manella.”

“All three practicing psychiatrists?”

“Dr. Bird and Dr. Manella have been civilian psychiatrists. They are reserve officers. I have specialized in psychiatry in the Navy for fifteen years.”

“What was the finding of the board?”

“Commander Queeg was discharged with a clean bill of health.”

“No evidence of insanity was found?”

“None whatever.”

“Does that mean that Commander Queeg is absolutely normal?”

“Well, normality, you know, is a fiction in psychiatry. It’s all relative. No adult is without problems except a happy imbecile. Commander Queeg is a well-adjusted personality.”

“Do you consider it possible that two weeks before you began your examination Commander Queeg was insane?”

“It is utterly impossible. The commander is sane now and has always been sane. A psychotic collapse leaves trauma that can always be detected.”

“You found no such trauma in Commander Queeg?”

“None.”

“Commander Queeg was summarily relieved of command of the U.S.S.
Caine
on December 18, 1944, by his executive officer, who stated that the captain was mentally ill. Do you consider it possible that on that date Commander Queeg was in such a state of psychotic collapse that the executive officer’s act was justified?”

“Absolutely impossible.”

“Is it possible for a sane man to perform offensive, disagreeable, foolish acts?”

“It happens every day.”

“Assuming for a moment-this is a hypothetical question-that the conduct of Commander Queeg throughout his command was harsh, ill tempered, nasty, oppressive, and often showed bad judgment. Would that be inconsistent with your board’s findings?”

“No. We did not find that he was a perfect officer. We found an absence of mental illness.”

“From your knowledge of the commander, would you say he is capable of ill temper and harshness?”

“Yes. It’s in the picture.”

“Having discovered all that, you still say that the act of the executive officer in relieving him was unjustified?”

“From a psychiatric standpoint, completely unjustified. That was the unanimous conclusion of the board.”

“Describe the background of your colleagues.”

“Bird has special training in Freudian technique. He’s a recent honor graduate of Harvard Medical School. Manella is one of the best-known psychosomatic men on the West Coast.”

“State their present whereabouts.”

“Bird is still on my staff. Manella was detached last week and is en route to the Philippines.”

“We will place your report in evidence and hear Dr. Bird. Thank you, Doctor.”

The judge advocate allowed himself a direct glance into Greenwald’s eyes, and a thin cold grin. Greenwald came shuffling toward the witness platform, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, looking down at his feet, and presenting a general picture of flustered embarrassment. “Dr. Lundeen, my background is legal, not medical. I hope you will bear with me if I try to clarify technical terms. I’ll probably ask some elementary questions.”

“Perfectly all right.”

“You said Commander Queeg, like all adults, had problems, to which he was adjusted. Can you describe the problems?”

“Well, most of that information comes under the heading of clinical confidences.”

“Yes, sir. Suppressing all confidential information, can you still describe in general the problems?”

Challee called out, “I object. Commander Queeg is not on trial. Lieutenant Maryk is. The question constitutes irrelevant probing of medical confidences.”

Blakely looked to Greenwald. The pilot shrugged. “I rely on the judgment of the court. Evidence regarding disturbing factors in Commander Queeg’s mental make-up is of the utmost importance to the issue, obviously.”

With an annoyed glance at the judge advocate, Blakely ordered the court cleared. The parties were summoned back in less than a minute. Blakely said, “The question is material. Objection overruled. The doctor has the privilege of medical discretion in answering.” Challee flushed, and slouched in his chair. The stenographer repeated the question.

“Well, you might say the over-all problem is one of inferiority feelings,” said Lundeen, “generated by an unfavorable childhood and aggravated by some adult experiences.”

“Unfavorable childhood in what way?”

“Disturbed background. Divorced parents, financial trouble, schooling problems.”

“And the aggravating factors in adult life?”

“Well, I can’t go into those too much. In general, the commander is rather troubled by his short stature, his low standing in his class, and such factors. Apparently the hazing at the Academy was a scarring experience.” Lundeen paused. “That’s about what I can say.”

“How about his present family life?”

The doctor said reluctantly, “Well, you begin to tread on clinical ground there.”

“But there are tensions, without describing them?”

“I won’t answer further questions in that direction. As I say, the commander is well adjusted to all these things.”

“Can you describe the nature of the adjustment?”

“Yes, I can. His identity as a naval officer is the essential balancing factor. It’s the key to his personal security and therefore he’s excessively zealous to protect his standing. That would account for the harshness and ill temper I spoke about before.”

“Would he be disinclined to admit to mistakes?”

“Well, there’s a tendency that way. The commander has a fixed anxiety about protecting his standing. Of course there’s nothing unbalanced in that.”

“Would he be a perfectionist?”

“Such a personality would be.”

“Inclined to hound subordinates about small details?”

“He prides himself on meticulousness. Any mistake of a subordinate is intolerable because it might endanger him.”

“Is such a personality, with such a zeal for perfection, likely to avoid all mistakes?”

“Well, we all know that reality is beyond the hundred-percent control of any human being-”

“Yet he will not admit mistakes when made. Is he lying?”

“Definitely not! He-you might say be revises reality in his own mind so that he comes out blameless. There’s a tendency to blame others-”

“Doctor, isn’t distorting reality a symptom of mental illness?”

“Certainly not, in itself. It’s all’ a question of degree. None of us wholly faces reality.”

“But doesn’t the commander distort reality more than, say, you do, or any other person not under his tensions?”

“That’s his weakness. Other people have other weaknesses. It’s definitely not disabling.”

“Would such a personality be inclined to feel that people were against him, hostile to him?”

“It’s all part of it. Such a man by nature is constantly on the alert to defend his self-esteem.”

“Would he be suspicious of subordinates, and inclined to question their loyalty and competence?”

“Maybe somewhat. It’s all part of the anxiety for perfection.”

“If criticized from above, would he be inclined to think he was being unjustly persecuted?”

“Well, as I say, it’s all one pattern, all stemming from one basic premise, that he must try to be perfect.”

“Would he be inclined to stubbornness?”

“Well, you’ll have a certain rigidity of personality in such an individual. The inner insecurity checks him from admitting that those who differ with him may be right.”

Greenwald suddenly switched from his fumbling manner to clicking preciseness. “Doctor, you’ve testified that the following symptoms exist in the commander’s behavior: rigidity of personality, feelings of persecution, unreasonable suspicion, withdrawal from reality, perfectionist anxiety, an unreal basic premise, and an obsessive sense of self-righteousness.”

Dr. Lundeen looked startled. “All mild, sir, all well compensated.”

“Yes, Doctor. Is there an inclusive psychiatric term-one label-for this syndrome?”

“Syndrome? Who said anything about a syndrome? You’re misusing a term. There’s no syndrome, because there’s no disease.”

“Thank you for the correction, Doctor. I’ll rephrase it. Do the symptoms fall into a single pattern of neurotic disturbance-a common psychiatric class?”

“I know what you’re driving at, of course. It’s a paranoid personality, of course, but that is not a disabling affliction.”

“What kind of personality, Doctor?”

“Paranoid.”

“Paranoid, Doctor?”

“Yes, paranoid.”

Greenwald glanced at Challee, then looked around slowly, one by one, at the faces of the court. He started back to his desk. Challee rose. The pilot said, “I haven’t finished cross-examination, I want to consult my notes.” Challee sank into his seat. There was a minute of silence. Greenwald shuffled papers at his desk. The word “paranoid” hung in the air.

“Doctor, in a paranoid personality like Commander Queeg’s, how do you distinguish between illness and adjustment?”

“As I’ve said repeatedly”-there was a tired, irritated note in Lundeen’s voice-“it’s a question of degree. Nobody’s absolutely normal. Perhaps you’re a mild manic-depressive. Perhaps I’m a mild schizoid. Millions of people live normal lives with these compensated conditions. Their physical analogues are a sway back, a heart murmur, something that is an individual weakness but not a disabling factor. You have to look for the disabling factor.”

“Is this disabling factor an absolute or a relative thing, Doctor?”

“How do you mean that?”

“Well, could a man have a paranoid personality which would not disable him for any subordinate duties, but would disable him for command?”

“Conceivably.”

“Then as a communications officer he would not be mentally ill-but as captain of the ship he would be mentally ill, isn’t that right?”

“You’re jumbling up a lot of medical language which you use very loosely,” Lundeen said huffily.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“In the case of Captain Queeg my board did not find him disabled for command.

“I remember that testimony, sir. Can you describe, Doctor, the point at which the paranoid personality becomes disabling?”

“When the man loses control of himself and of the reality around him.”

“What are the symptoms of the disabled paranoid who finds reality too much for him?”

“Well, there can be various reactions. Withdrawal into torpor, or frenzy, or nervous collapse-it all depends on circumstances.”

“Is the disabling factor likely to show up in personal interviews?”

“With a skilled psychiatrist, yes.”

“You mean the patient would go into frenzy or torpor?”

“No. I mean the psychiatrist could detect the disabling mechanisms, the rigidity, persecution feelings, fixed ideas, and so forth.”

“Why is a psychiatrist needed, Doctor? Can’t an educated intelligent person, like myself, or the judge advocate, or the court, detect a paranoid?”

Dr. Lundeen said sarcastically, “You evidently are not too well acquainted with the pattern. The distinguishing mark of this neurosis is extreme plausibility and a most convincing normal manner on the surface. Particularly in self-justification.”

Greenwald looked at the floor for half a minute. There was a rustle at the bench as all the court members, by a common impulse, shifted in their chairs. “A hypothetical question, Doctor, about a commanding officer with a paranoid personality ... Assuming he does the following things: he becomes bewildered or frightened under fire, and runs away; he damages government property and denies it; he falsifies official records; he extorts money from his subordinates; he issues excessive punishments for small offenses. Is he disabled for command?”

After a long wait, with the court members staring hard at him, Lundeen said, “It’s an incomplete question. Does he perform his duties satisfactorily otherwise?”

“Hypothetically, let us say so.”

“Well, then, he-he is not necessarily disabled, no. He is obviously not very desirable. It’s a question of your level of officer procurement. If you have other men as qualified as him for command, well, they would be preferable. If you’re in a war and command personnel is stretched thin, well, you may have to use him. It’s another war risk.”