Grace screwed up his eyes and peered at Queeg as though he were in a very poor light. He rapped the ash out of his pipe against a horny palm into a heavy glass ashtray. "See here, Commander," he said in a pleasanter tone than he had hitherto used, "I understand how you feel about your first command. You're anxious to make no mistakes-it's only natural. I was that way myself. But I made mistakes, and paid for them, and gradually grew into a fairly competent officer. Let's be frank with each other, Commander Queeg, for the sake of your ship and, if I may say so, your future career. Forget that this is an official interview. From here on in every-thing is off the record."
Queeg's head was sinking down between his shoulders, and he regarded Grace warily from under his eyebrows.
"Between you and me," Grace said, "you didn't try to recover that target because you just didn't know what to do in the situation. Isn't that the truth?"
Queeg took a long, long, leisurely puff at his cigarette.
"If that's the case, man," said Grace in a fatherly way, "for Christ's sake say so and let's both put this incident behind us. On that basis I can understand it and forget it. It was a mistake, a mistake due to anxiety and inexperience. But there's no man in the Navy who's never made a mistake-"
Queeg shook his head decisively, reached forward, and crushed out his cigarette. "No, Captain, I assure you I ap-preciate what you say, but I am not so stupid as to lie to a superior officer, and I assure you my first version of what happened is correct and I do not believe I have made any mistake as yet in commanding the Caine nor do I intend to, and, as I say, finding the caliber of my officers and crew to be what it is, I am simply going to get seven times as tough as usual and bear down seven times as hard until the ship is up to snuff which I promise you will be soon."
"Very well, Commander Queeg." Grace rose, and when Queeg started to get up he said, "Stay where you are, stay where you are." He went to a shelf on the wall, took down a round purple tin of expensive English tobacco, and refilled his pipe. When he was lighting the pipe with a thick wooden match he inquisitively regarded the Caine captain, who was rolling nonexistent balls again.
"Commander Queeg," he said suddenly, "about the-puff puff-defective towline-puff puff-that broke. How much of a turn were you making?"
Queeg's head tilted sidewise; he darted a look full of sus-picion at the captain. "I was using standard rudder, of course, sir. I have never exceeded standard rudder with the target, as my logs will show-"
"That's not what I mean." Grace returned to his seat, and leaned forward, waving the smoking pipe at Queeg. "How far did you turn? Twenty degrees? Sixty degrees? Were you reversing course 180 degrees-or what?"
The Caine skipper gripped the arms of the chair with bony knuckles, saying, "I'd have to check in my logs, sir, but I don't see what bearing it has on the matter how much of a turn it was, so long as-"
"Did you come around in a complete circle, Commander Queeg, and cut your own towline?"
Queeg's jaw dropped. He closed and opened his mouth a couple of times and at last said in a low, furious tone, stam-mering a little, "Captain Grace, with all submission, sir, I must tell you that I resent that question, and regard it as a personal insult."
Grace's stern expression wavered. He looked away from Queeg. "No insult intended, Commander. Some questions are more unpleasant to ask than to answer- Did that happen or didn't it?"
"If it did, sir, I think I ought to have recommended my own general court-martial."
Grace stared hard at Queeg. "I must tell you, Commander, that you have troublemakers aboard your ship. We received such a rumor here this morning. I seldom take cognizance of such scuttlebutt. However, the admiral heard it, and in view of several other actions of yours which have seriously troubled him, why, he ordered me to put the question to you. However, I suppose I can take your word as a naval officer that it didn't happen-"
"May I know, sir," Queeg said in a faltering tone, "in what respect the admiral finds fault with me?"
"Well, hang it man, first time under way you run up on the mud-of course, that can happen to anybody-but then you try to duck a grounding report and when you do send one in upon request, why, it's just a phony gun-deck job. And then what do you call that despatch to us yesterday? `Dear me, I've lost a target, please, ComServPac, what shall I do?' Admiral blew up like a land mine. Not because you lost the target-because you couldn't make a decision that was so obvi-ous a seaman second class could have made it! If the function of command isn't to make decisions and take responsibility, what is it?"
Queeg's upper lip raised, showing his teeth in a mechanical half-smile. "By your leave, sir, I made my estimate of the situation and my decision. Then, considering the expense of the target which you have just mentioned and all, I made another decision, which was that the matter ought to be referred to higher authority. As for the grounding report I did not try to duck it, sir, I did not wish to trouble higher authority with a despatch about a trivial matter. It seems to me that I am being reproved here in one case for bothering higher authority, and in the other case for not bothering higher authority. I re-spectfully submit, sir, that the admiral ought to make up his mind as to which policy he prefers." There was a glimmer of triumph in the down-hung face.
The operations officer ran his fingers through his gray hair. "Commander," he said, after an extremely long pause, "do you really see no difference between those two situations?"
"Obviously they were different. But in principle they were the same. It was a question of consulting higher authority. But as I say, sir, I accept full responsibility for whatever happened, even if it means a general court-martial-"
"Nobody's talking about a general court-martial." Grace shook his head with a pained, exasperated expression. He stood, with a motion to Queeg to keep his seat, and paced the little office several times, whirling spirals in the layers of smoke that hung in the air. He came back to the desk and rested one haunch on the corner. "See here, Commander Queeg. I'm going to ask you a couple of straight off-the-record questions. I promise you your answers will go no farther than this room unless you wish. In return, I would greatly value a couple of forthright answers." He looked into Queeg's eyes in a friendly yet searching way.
The Caine skipper smiled, but his eyes remained opaque and expressionless. "Sir, I've tried to be as forthright as possible in this interview, and I certainly wilt not stop being forthright at this point-"
"Okay. Number one. Do you think your ship, in its present state of training, and with the caliber of subordinates you have, is capable of carrying out combat assignments?"
"Well, sir, as to a definite yes-and-no commitment on that nobody can predict the future and I can only say that with the limited resources at my command I will to the utmost of my ability strive to carry out any orders I may receive, combat or otherwise, and-as I say-"
"You'd be happier if the Bureau had given you another assignment, wouldn't you?"
Queeg grinned with one side of his mouth. "Sir, I respectfully submit that that's a question nobody would care to answer, not even the admiral."
"True enough." Grace paced in silence for a long time. Then he said, "Commander Queeg, I believe it's possible to transfer you to a state-side assignment-with no reflection whatever," he added hastily, "on your performance of duties aboard the Caine. The transfer would be a simple correction of an unjust and erroneous assignment. Among other things, as you know, you're rather senior for this post. I understand the squadron is filling up with CO's who are reserve lieutenant commanders and even lieutenants-"
Queeg, frowning at the air in front of him, his face gone pale, said with difficulty, "And I wonder how that would look in my record, sir-relieved of my first command after one month!"
"I believe I could guarantee you a fitness report that would remove any possible doubt on that score-"
Queeg suddenly plunged his left hand into his pocket and brought out the steel balls. "Don't misunderstand me, sir. I don't say that CO of the Caine is the best ass
ignment any officer has ever had, or even that it's the assignment I deserved. But it happens to be the assignment I've got. I don't pretend to be the cleverest or smoothest officer in the Navy, Captain, by a long shot-I wasn't first in my class by any manner of means, and I never got very good grease marks-but I'll tell you this, sir, I'm one of the stubbornest. I've sweated through tougher assignments than this. I haven't won any popularity contests, but I have bitched and crabbed and hollered and bullied until I've gotten things done the way I wanted them done, and the only way I've ever wanted things done is by the book. I'm a book man. The Caine is far from what I want it to be, but that doesn't mean I'm going to give up and sneak off to some shore billet. No, thank you, Captain Grace." He looked for a moment at the operations officer, and resumed his glow-ering address to the invisible audience in front of and a little above him. "I am captain of the Caine, and I intend to remain captain, and while I'm captain the Caine will carry out all its assignments or go to the bottom trying. I'll promise you one thing, sir-if stubbornness, and toughness, and unremitting vigilance and supervision by the commanding officer are of any avail, the Caine will come through any combat duty assigned. And I'll stand by the fitness report I'll get when my tour of duty is over, sir. That's all I have to say."
Grace leaned backward, hooking his arm over the back of his chair. He regarded Queeg with' a slight smile, and nodded his head slowly several times. "Professional pride and a sense of duty, both of which you obviously have, can carry an officer a long way in this outfit." He stood, and put out his hand to Queeg. "I think we've each spoken our piece. I'm going to accept your report. As to these mistakes of yours, or unfortu-nate incidents, as you prefer to call them, well, they say a bad beginning makes a good ending- You know, Com-mander," he went on, rapping his pipe on the glass ashtray, "we got a lot of indoctrination at the Academy about the degree of perfection that's expected in a naval officer, and the fact that there's no margin for error, and so forth. Well, I sometimes wonder whether all that wasn't laid on a bit too thick."
Queeg glanced questioningly at the operations officer, who laughed.
"Sounds like heresy, hey? Well, all I've got to say is, I've seen so much motion wasted and ink spilled and hot air issued in this outfit, trying to make a plain dumb mistake fit into this pattern of perfection, after the fact- Well, maybe I'm getting too old to keep the game up, or something." He shrugged. "If I were you, Commander, I'd worry a little less about making mistakes, and a little more about doing the most sensible and useful thing that occurs to you in any given circumstances."
"Thank you, sir," said Queeg. "I have always endeavored to make only sensible and useful decisions, and in view of your kind advice I shall redouble my efforts in that direction."
The captain of the Caine returned by bus to the dock where his ship was moored. Descending among a group of yard work-men, he was unnoticed by anyone on the Caine until he came walking up the gangway. Unluckily, the gangway petty officer, Stilwell, was leaning on the OOD's desk, leafing through a comic book which he had idly picked off the deck; and Queeg saw this, though the gangway messenger bellowed "Attention on deck!" and Stilwell spun around and froze in a stiff salute.
The captain returned the salute, apparently unperturbed. "Where's the officer of the deck?"
"Ensign Harding is on the forecastle, sir," Stilwell rapped out, "getting new chafing gear put on number-one line, sir."
"Kay. Messenger, call Ensign Harding to the quarterdeck." They waited in silence, the gunner's mate at rigid attention, the captain smoking, and glancing curiously around the deck.- Sailors who issued whistling or humming from the passage-ways stopped their song, and either shrank back into the gloom or continued on with rapid steps, squaring their hats and averting their eyes. Harding came out of the starboard passageway and exchanged salutes with the captain.
"Mr. Harding," said Queeg, "are you aware that your gang-way petty officer was reading on watch?"
The ensign, shocked, turned to the gunner's mate. "Is that true, Stilwell?"
Queeg snapped angrily, "Of course it's true! Do you take me for a liar, sir?"
The OOD shook his head dizzily. "I didn't mean to im-ply-"
"Mr. Harding, did you know he was reading on watch?"
"No, sir."
"Well, why didn't you?"
"Sir, number-one line was beginning to fray, and I was-"
"I didn't ask you for an alibi, Mr. Harding. An officer of the deck has no alibis. He is responsible for every goddamned thing that happens during his watch, every goddamned thing, do you hear?" Queeg was shouting, and the crew men working on the galley deckhouse and the afterdeck turned to hear. "You will call your relief, Mr. Harding, and you will notify the senior watch officer that you have been removed from the watch bill until such time as you seem to have acquired some dim notion of an officer of the deck's duties and responsi-bilities! Is that clear?"
"Aye aye, sir," Harding said hoarsely.
"As for this man," said Queeg, pointing at Stilwell with his thumb, "you will, place him on report, and we'll see whether six months' restriction to the ship will teach him not to read on watch, and whether that lesson suffices for the rest of the crew, or anyone else needs the same dose- Carry on."
Queeg walked off the quarterdeck and went below to his cabin. On his desk lay the two written reports about Urban's shirttail. He tossed his cap on his bed, took off his jacket, loosened his tie, dropped into the swivel chair, and read the reports through hastily, rattling the balls in his fist. Then he rang a buzzer and picked up the telephone on a bracket by the desk. "Tell the gangway messenger to find Lieutenant Keefer and have him report to my cabin." In a few minutes there was a knock at the door. Queeg, who had been sitting with his head in his hands, picked up Keefer's report, turned to the second page, and called over his shoulder, "Come in!"
The communications officer entered, and closed the door. After a moment Keefer said, addressing the captain's back: "You sent for me, sir?"
Queeg grunted, and rustled the papers. With a patronizing grin, Keefer propped his long, thin frame against the captain's bunk, resting on his elbows, and waited. The captain dropped the report to the desk, and pushed it aside with the back of his hand. "Unsatisfactory!"
"Oh?" said the communications officer. "May I ask why, sir?"
But he allowed a little too much aristocratic amusement to creep into his tone. Queeg looked up at him swiftly. "Stand at attention, Mr. Keefer, when you're in conference with your commanding officer!"
Keefer straightened in a leisurely way, an irritating ghost of a grin remaining on his face. "I beg your pardon, sir."
"Take that back," said Queeg, contemptuously indicating the report with his thumb. "Rewrite and resubmit prior to 1600 today."
"Aye aye, sir. May I respectfully inquire in what way it is inadequate?"
"It tells me nothing I didn't know before, and explains noth-ing I wanted explained."
"Sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand that."
"I see." Queeg picked up the other report, which Keefer had rattled off for Willie Keith's signature, and flourished it. "Well, Mr. Keefer, I suggest you consult your assistant, Ensign Keith, in that case. He can teach you a great deal about composing a written report, strange as it may seem. This letter which he submitted on the same subject is absolutely excellent."
"Thank you, sir," said Keefer. "I'm happy to know I have such talent in my department."
Queeg smiled, evidently judging that he had pricked Keefer's core of vanity. He nodded several times and said, "Yes, as a matter of fact, Tom, you take this report of Keith's, and study it. Try to see why Willie has written a perfect report whereas yours is a phony gun-deck job."
In his own room, Keefer performed a series of grotesque monkeylike capers, during which he several times rubbed both reports forcibly against his behind. Then he dived into his bunk and buried his face in his pillow, shaking with choked laughter.
Captain Grace stood beside the admiral's heavy
mahogany desk in a wood-paneled, green-carpeted room.
"I wish you'd have let me see the report before accepting it," the admiral was grumbling. He was a lean, wintry little man with piercing blue eyes.
"I'm sorry, Admiral."
"It's all right. What's your impression of this Queeg? That's the main thing."
Grace drummed on the desk softly with his fingers for a moment. "An old lady, I'm afraid, sir. I think he's earnest enough and probably pretty tough, but he's one of those that are never wrong, no matter how wrong they are-always some damn argument to defend himself, you know-and I don't think he's very bright. One of the low men in his class. I've been checking around."
"How about that towline? What's the story? Did he cut it or didn't he?"
Grace shook his head dubiously. "Well, it's one of those things. He got terribly offended when I asked about it-seemed sincere enough. I more or less had to take his word that it didn't happen. You'd have to run a court of inquiry to get at the definite facts, sir, and I don't know-"
Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny Page 24