Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny

by The Caine Mutiny(Lit)

  Willie's hand shot forward. "I'll break it, sir, right now."

  "Good, Willie, do that. Might even be me. I'm somewhat senior for the good old Caine." The captain gave him the paper offhandedly, and as Willie went out the door he added, "And just remember, orders are classified military information."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  Willie had hardly set up the coding machine in the ward-room when Queeg came strolling in. The captain poured him-self a cup of coffee. "How're you coming, Willie?"

  "Here she goes, sir."

  Queeg stood over him as he ticked off the message. The orders were for Lieutenant (jg) Rabbitt, assigning him to the destroyer-minesweeper Oaks, under construction in San Fran-cisco.

  "Rabbitt, hey? New construction, hey? Mighty nice. I'll take that message, Willie." Queeg pulled the decode out of the machine, reaching over Willie's shoulder. "Get one thing straight, Willie. I and I alone will decide when Mr. Rabbitt is to know about his orders, understand me?"

  "But, Captain, aren't the orders addressed to him?"

  "God damn it, Willie, you're turning into the worst sea lawyer I've ever seen! For your information this message is addressed to the Caine, of which I am the captain, and I can detach Mr. Rabbitt at my pleasure, now that I know the desires of the Bureau. I haven't the least confidence in Harding as a relief for Rabbitt, not yet, and until such time as Harding seems to measure up, why, Rabbitt can just ride along on the Caine, like the rest of us. Is that clear?"

  Willie swallowed, and said, "Quite clear, sir."

  Suppressing the knowledge of Rabbitt's orders was torture for Willie. He sat opposite the first lieutenant at dinner, stealing glances at the pale, patient, worried face, with its perpetual cowlick of straight brown hair falling over the left eye. He felt like a party to a crime.

  The ensign realized now that he had grown fond of Rabbitt. It was into the arms of this man that he had jumped when he first boarded the Caine, and he still remembered the drawled welcome, "Ho, don't be so eager! You don't know what you're jumping into." At first Willie had considered him a dull rustic. But, in time, other qualities of Rabbitt had emerged. He was never late in relieving the deck. He couldn't refuse to do a favor, and he executed favors as though they were orders of the captain. The sailors snapped to obey his commands, though he issued them in easy, joking tones. He wrote up his logs on time, and often volunteered to help Willie with decoding when traffic piled up. And Willie had never heard him say a deroga-tory word about anybody, except in the general wardroom banter about Queeg.

  But Willie feared the captain too much to whisper the great news to Rabbitt. The first lieutenant stood the midwatch that night and stumbled to his bunk in the misty dawn, unaware that his visa out of misery lay on the captain's desk; or that it lay on the conscience of the communicator, too, so that Keith could hardly sleep.

  Willie was drearily deciphering the day's traffic in the ward-room after breakfast when Queeg came in, followed by a com-mander-evidently a newly appointed one, for the leaves on the visor of his cap were bright untarnished yellow. The ensign jumped to his feet.

  "Commander Frazer, this is my communicator, Ensign Keith."

  Willie shook hands with a tall tanned man of about thirty, with a long jaw, clear blue eyes, and blond hair cut down to bristles. The commander's khaki shirt was beautifully ironed. Queeg looked shabby beside him, in grays faded by the Caine's vitriolic laundry.

  "Go right ahead with your work, Willie," said Queeg.

  "Aye aye, sir." He moved his coding material to the far end of the table.

  Whittaker came in with a steaming jug, and poured coffee for Queeg and his guest. It developed that Frazer, the captain of a destroyer, had just been ordered back to the States to assume command of a new destroyer-minesweeper, new in the sense that a modern destroyer, not a World War I relic, was being converted for sweeping. He had come aboard, he said, for a look-see, because he knew nothing about minesweeping. "They're converting a whole squadron of them," said Frazer. "The boss man of my squadron, Captain Voor, thinks I'm being yanked back to get a div or squad command. I don't know. I'd sure as hell better bone up on sweeping, that's for sure." He began to light a curved brown pipe.

  Queeg said, "I'll be happy to show you around, sir, and tell you whatever little we know, here. What ship did they give you, sir?"

  "Oaks," said Frazer.

  Willie's heart bounded. He saw Queeg glance toward him; he bent low over his work to avoid the look. "Oaks, hey? Sixteen-fifty-tonner. I had a year on one of those as a jg. Nice ships."

  "Bureau was nice enough to send me a tentative roster of my new wardroom," said Frazer. He pulled a flimsy sheet out of a breast pocket. "Seems as how I'm kidnapping a man from you. What's the name? Oh-here. Rabbitt."

  Queeg drank coffee.

  "His orders haven't come through yet to you?" Frazer asked. Queeg took another swallow of coffee, and said, "Oh, yes, we have the orders."

  Frazer smiled. "Well, fine. I rather thought you had. I saw the BuPers despatch to you on the Fox sked and had my boys break it- Well. He's your first lieutenant, isn't he? Guess he's pretty well up on sweeping."

  "Competent officer."

  "Well, maybe I'm in luck then. I can get some pretty high NATS priorities. Maybe Rabbitt can fly back with me and give me a long fill-in on the way."

  "Well, but we're getting under way this afternoon, going south."

  "No strain. Send him over to my ship for berthing. I think I can get us out of here in a couple of days. My relief is aboard and ready to take over."

  "Well, there's still the question of Rabbitt's relief," said Queeg, with a chuckle. It was a strange solitary sound in the wardroom.

  "What do you mean, Captain? Doesn't Rabbitt have a qualified relief aboard?"

  "Depends on what you mean by qualified- More coffee, Commander?"

  "No, thank you- Are you that shorthanded, Commander Queeg? How long has Rabbitt's assistant been aboard?"

  "Harding? Oh, I'd say five-six months."

  "Is he a weak sister?"

  "Well, that's pretty harsh."

  "Hell, Captain, there isn't an officer on my ship, outside of the exec, that I couldn't detach in twenty-four hours. I figure it's part of the job to maintain that level of training."

  "Why, it's all a question of standards, sir," said Queeg. "I daresay on a good many ships Ensign Harding would be con-sidered qualified in every respect. It's just that, well, on my ship, excellence is the standard, and I'm not sure Harding has quite achieved excellence."

  "I believe I will have `some more coffee, please," said Frazer.

  Queeg said, "Willie, would you be good enough-" The ensign leaped up and poured for the senior officers.

  "Well, Commander Queeg," said Frazer, "I see your view-point and I appreciate your high standards. On the other hand, the Oaks needs a first lieutenant to start putting her in commis-sion right away, and I particularly need someone around me who knows a little minesweeping. After all, we're in a war. People have to learn fast, and do their best-"

  "Well, I don't know," said Queeg, with a wise smile, "it sort of seems to me that in war standards of officer training should be higher, not lower. There are lives at stake, you know."

  Frazer stirred canned milk into his coffee slowly, and studied Queeg's face with narrowed eyes. The captain of the Caine slouched in his chair, and stared at the wall, still smiling; in one hand hung over the back of the chair, the steel balls rolled with a little crackling noise.

  "Captain Queeg," said the blond commander, "your point is well taken. Only thing is, it wouldn't make sense for me to hold up commissioning the Oaks while we waited for this relief of Rabbitt's to come up to your standards, would it? I have to stop over in Washington to report to the Bureau. Suppose I tell them frankly that you've had difficulty in training up a re-placement for Rabbitt to suit your standards, and just request that another officer be assigned-"

  "I've had no difficulty of any kind, and I'll match the state of of
ficer training on this ship with any ship in the fleet, sir," said Queeg quickly. When he put his coffee cup down it rattled. "As I say, by anybody's standards but my own Harding is perfectly qualified, and in fact by my own standards his state of training is damned good, and, as I say, if Rabbitt left this afternoon the Caine would still be qualified to carry out all assignments, but all I was getting at-"

  "I'm glad to hear that, Captain, and I'm sure it's true," said Frazer, grinning. "And that being the case, how about letting me have Rabbitt this afternoon?"

  "Well, sir-" Queeg's head wagged heavily from side to side, and sank down between his shoulders. He peered out from under his eyebrows. "Well, as I say, since apparently it would work such a hardship to the Oaks if Rabbitt stayed aboard here another few days, which is all I ever intended, and gave Hard-ing some concentrated indoctrination, why-I fully realize that the Caine is an obsolescent vessel and the battle mission of the Oaks is far more important, sir, but for that very reason I regard training as one of the primary missions of this ship, and if I seem overzealous for excellence, well, I don't know as you can blame me or the Bureau could, either."

  "On the contrary, you deserve commendation for your high standards." Frazer stood, and picked up his cap. "Suppose I send my gig over for Rabbitt, say, 1600, Captain. Save your boat a trip. Will that suit you?"

  "That'll be fine. If you have any friends in the Bureau, you might tell them that Queeg, Philip, class of '36, is fairly due for some orders, too.... I'll escort you to the gangway, sir," Queeg said, as Frazer moved toward the door.

  "Thank you. Nice meeting you, Keith."

  "It was an honor and a pleasure, sir, I'm sure," said Willie. He failed in his effort to keep the gladness out of his voice. Queeg shot a baleful side glance at Willie as he left.

  Ordinarily when a detached officer quitted the Caine nobody took notice except the gangway watch, who had to log the exact time of his leaving. But Willie, who had the watch that afternoon, began to see around three-thirty that something extraordinary was going on. Sailors were congregating near the sea ladder, talking in low tones. The officers began to drift to the quarterdeck, too, one by one. Officers and men alike watched the movements of troops and machines on the battered gray islands, or made jokes about the physiques of swimmers splashing around a destroyer anchored close by, or gawked at the deck hands painting number-three stack slate blue. The sweet oily smell of paint was strong in the warm air.

  "Here she comes," someone said. A trim gig appeared around the bow of a transport and clove through the muddy water toward the Caine. A rustling sigh passed through the watchers, as through an audience at a transition moment of a play. Whittaker and a steward's mate came through the port passageway, carrying a weather-beaten wooden foot locker with two blue canvas handbags piled on it. Rabbitt emerged on the quarterdeck behind them. He blinked in amazement at the crowd. The officers shook hands with him one by one. The sailors stood with their thumbs hooked in their belts, or their hands in their pockets. A few of them called out, "So long, Mr. Rabbitt."

  The gig clanged to a stop beside the sea ladder. Rabbitt went up to Willie and saluted. His lips were sharply pressed together, and his eyes were winking nervously. "Request per-mission to leave the ship, sir."

  "Permission granted, sir," said Willie, and added impulsively, "You don't know what you're getting out of."

  Rabbitt grinned, pressed Willie's hand, and went down the ladder. The gig pulled away. Willie, at the gangway desk, looked at the array of backs lined along the rail. They reminded him of shabby spectators roped off at the entrance to a wedding. He went to the rail himself, and gazed after Rabbitt. The gig disappeared around the transport. There was only the fading foamy curve of the wake.

  Within the hour Captain Queeg threw a fearful tantrum. Paynter brought him a fuel and water report which showed that the crew's consumption of water had risen ten percent during the Kwajalein operation. "They're forgetting the value of water, hey? Kay, Mr. Paynter," the captain shrieked. "No water for officers' and crew's personal use for forty-eight hours! Maybe that'll show 'em I mean business, here!"

  The Caine weighed anchor half an hour later, and headed out of Kwajalein Lagoon, bound for Funafuti.

  22

  The Water Famine

  In the days of sail, a following wind was a blessing; not so in the days of steam.

  En route to Funafuti, two hundred miles out of Kwajalein, the Caine was wallowing along at ten knots under masses of clouds like vast dirty pillows. It was enveloped in its own miasma, from which it could not escape. The breeze blew from astern at about ten knots. Relative to the ship there was no movement of air at all. The minesweeper seemed to be travel-ing in a nightmare calm. The stack gas swirled and rolled on the main deck, sluggish, oily, almost visible. It stank; it coated tongues and throats with an itchy, foul-tasting film; it stung the eyes. The air was hot and damp. The smell of the crated cabbages on the after deckhouse made a singularly sickening marriage with the stack fumes. The sailors and officers of the Caine, sweating, dirty, unable to obtain the relief of a shower, looked at each other with lolling tongues and dulled sad eyes, and worked with their hands to their noses.

  The Caine and a destroyer-escort were screening six LST's, lumbering fat shells more than three hundred feet long, shaped like wooden shoes, and withal strangely frail-looking; a deter-mined assault with a can opener, one felt, on one of these paunchy hulls might bring about the abandon-ship alarm. The LST's wobbled over the waves at eight knots, and the zigzagging escorts went slightly faster.

  Queeg's water ban was about twenty-four hours old when Maryk presented himself in the captain's cabin. The Caine's commanding officer lay flat on his back in his bunk, naked. Two fans, buzzing at full speed, blew streams of air down on him; nevertheless sweat stood in beads on his white chest. "What is it, Steve?" he said, not moving.

  "Captain, in view of the extraordinary wind conditions, how about securing the water regulations after one day instead of two? Paynter tells me we've got plenty to last us until Funa-futi-"

  "That's not the point," exclaimed Queeg. "Why is everybody so goddamned stupid on this ship? Don't you think I know how much water we have? The point is, the men on this ship have been wasting water, and for their own good they've got to be taught a lesson, that's all."

  "Captain, they've learned their lesson. One day of this is like a week without water."

  The captain pursed his lips. "No, Steve, I said forty-eight hours and I meant forty-eight hours. If these men get the idea that I'm one of these shilly-shallyers who doesn't mean what he says there'll be no controlling them. Hell, I'd like a shower myself, Steve. I know how you feel. But we've got to put up with these inconveniences for the sake of the men's own good-"

  "I wasn't asking for myself, sir. But the men-"

  "Now don't give me any of that!" Queeg raised up on one elbow, and glared at the executive officer. "I'm as interested in the men's welfare as you are, and don't you go playing the hero. Did they or didn't they waste water? They did. Well, what do you want me to do about it-give them all letters of commendation?"

  "Sir, consumption went up ten per cent. It was an invasion day. It wasn't really what I'd call wasting-"

  "All right, all right, Mr. Maryk." Queeg lay back on the bed. "I see you simply want an argument for argument's sake. Sorry I can't accommodate you, but it's too hot and smelly at the moment. That's all."

  Maryk heaved his broad chest in a painful sigh. "Sir, how about one fifteen-minute shower period after the sweep-down?"

  "God damn it, no! They'll get enough water in their soup and coffee to keep from getting dehydrated. That's all that matters. Next time they'll remember not to waste water on my ship! You can go, Steve."

  The following wind did not desert the Caine that night nor the next day. Below decks, the air that came through the venti-lators was intolerable; most of it was stack gas. The sailors swarmed out of the compartments and slept in clusters on the after deckhouse or on the mai
n deck, as far from the stacks as they could get. Some of them brought mattresses, but mostly they curled themselves on the rusted deck plates, with life jackets for pillows. On the bridge everyone breathed in gasps through the night. During certain legs of the zigzag the breeze blew at a slight angle, instead of from dead astern, and then it was possible, by stretching one's neck far out over the bulwark, to catch a gulp or two of warm, fresh, unbelievably sweet air.

  A hot sun rose out of the sea next morning and glared redly on a ship which appeared stricken by a plague. Dirty half--naked bodies sprawled all over the decks, apparently lifeless. The boatswain, piping reveille, wrought only a halfhearted resurrection. The bodies stirred, and rose, and began to move through chores with leaden limbs, like the crew of dead men in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The Caine was now fifty miles from the equator, sailing almost due south. With each hour that the sun rose in the sky the air grew hotter and more humid. And-still the ship wallowed over the glittering sea, trapped in its own stench of stack gas and cabbages.