Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny

by The Caine Mutiny(Lit)

  It was still raining next morning when the Caine entered Apra Harbor in Guam, and the craggy hills of the island were misty gray. The ship tied up at a mooring buoy, alongside a new 2200-ton destroyer, the Harte. As soon as the lines were secured, Queeg ordered armed guards posted every twenty feet along the port side, to prevent anybody from passing the key across to some friend on the destroyer. He also sent Jorgensen over to the Harte, requesting the chief censor to notify the Caine's captain if any keys appeared in the mail on the Harte. The censor, a skinny lieutenant with black-rimmed hollow eyes, looked at Jorgensen as though he suspected him of being insane, and made him repeat the request twice. Then he re-luctantly nodded.

  Meanwhile, Willie was helping the jubilant Ducely pack his belongings. Queeg had at last detached the ensign, who had arranged to go to the beach with the boat of the Harte at ten o'clock. "Why don't you stick around and watch the search?" said Willie.

  Ducely giggled, snapping the brass fasteners on his beautiful pigskin suitcase. He was dressed in blues redolent of camphor, the left breast decorated with a new yellow ribbon and two battle stars. "Willie, I'm getting off this hell ship while the get-ting is good. I have hated every single second of it, and there have been far too many seconds, already. As far as the search goes, you're not going to find any key. There isn't any."

  "I don't think so, either, but the spectacle will be some-thing-"

  "I'm not saying what I think, Willie. I know there isn't any key." The ensign stooped to look in the mirror and combed his long blond hair.

  "What do you know, exactly?"

  "Nothing that I'll tell you. I'm not going to get involved again with that potbellied little maniac, when I'm about to go free." Ducely shook pink hair oil on his brush, and stroked his locks carefully. Willie grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

  "Duce, damn your whipped-cream soul, do you know any-thing that can clear up this crazy mess? Tell me, or I'll tell Queeg you're holding something out, so help me-"

  The ensign laughed. "Now, Willie, you won't tell Old Yellow-stain anything. I know you. I've been abusing that weakness of yours for ten months. I'm sorry I threw you, Willie. I told you the first time we talked that I was no good. That's me. I have a certain slight charm in New York, where I can-"

  "What do you know about those goddamn strawberries, Duce?"

  The willowy ensign hesitated, and bit his nails. "It's a shame not to tell you, really, but I insist on a deal. You say nothing about it until twenty minutes after I've left-"

  "All right, all right. What do you know?"

  "It was the mess boys. I saw them scraping out the con-tainer. It was one o'clock in the morning. I came down off the midwatch to use the head. They were having such a good time, I guess they didn't see me pass the pantry-"

  "Why the hell didn't you speak up at that meeting?"

  "Willie, have you no heart? Did you see Whittaker's face that night? Red-hot wires under my nails wouldn't have dragged it out of me." He swung his bag off the bed. "God, to think that I'm going free, free of this madhouse-"

  "Lucky boy," snarled Willie. "Did you take your corset ad?"

  Ducely looked embarrassed, and laughed, and turned red. "I guess you can blackmail me about that after the war. Willie, for ten days she seemed absolutely divine to me. I don't know. If I stayed on this ship much longer I think I'd begin insisting I was Lord Nelson." He held out his hand. "Willie, I'm no good, but I can respect a hero. Shake."

  "Go to hell," muttered Willie, taking his hand.

  Whittaker came to the doorway. "Meetin' fo' all officers, Mistah Keith, suh-"

  The wardroom was crowded with officers, chiefs, and first-class petty officers ranged around the table, most of them standing. Queeg, at the head, was rolling the balls, smoking, and silently studying several red-crayon diagrams spread be-fore him on the table. Ducely threaded through the crowd unnoticed, and went out. Queeg began to outline his search plan. He had worked up a scheme for herding the men topside, stripping and searching them by groups, and returning them below to spaces that had meantime been searched. The point of the arrangement was that at no time could the missing key be moved from an unsearched to a searched space; and in this respect, Willie perceived, the plan was ingenious and effective. He felt a little sorry for Queeg. The captain was transformed with pleasant excitement; he seemed genuinely happy for the first time in many months; and it was pathetic to consider that the whole explosive burst of energy was for nothing. When the meeting adjourned Willie tapped Maryk's shoulder. "Got to talk to you, Steve." They went into the exec's room, and Willie told him Ducely's story.

  "Good Christ," said Maryk, resting his head wearily against his fist. "So that's it, after all-the mess boys-"

  "Going to tell the old man?"

  "Well, of course, right away. Why turn the whole ship up-side down now? I'm sorry for the boys, but they'll have to take the consequences. They had no right to eat the damn straw-berries-"

  Maryk went up to the captain's cabin. Keys were still heaped in thousands in boxes on the deck. The captain was in his swivel chair, idly playing with the padlock. He was dressed in new clothes, and shaved, and his shoes were brightly shined. "Hello, Steve. Ready to let her roll? I want you to run it, of course, but I'll be supervising pretty closely. Any time you say-"

  "Captain, something has come up." Maryk repeated Ducely's information. As Queeg gathered the import his head began to sink between his shoulders and the old angry glare at nothing appeared in his eyes.

  "Let's get this straight. Ducely told Keith, and Keith told you. Ducely's supposed to be the one who saw it, and he's gone. Right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And how do we know either Ducely or Keith is telling the truth?"

  "Captain, they're both naval officers-"

  "Oh, don't give me that poppycock." Queeg took a pair of steel balls from the bowl on his desk. "Ducely's capable of a parting prank, he's perfectly irresponsible, and anyway, we don't even know he said it. Keith picked a mighty convenient time to tell us about it-after Ducely left-"

  "Sir, Ducely made him promise-"

  "I know, you said that. Well, I could take good care of Mr. Ducely if I didn't have other fish to fry. He thinks he's escaped, does he? Well, I could summon him back from the beach as a material witness-his plane isn't gone yet-and keep him here till hell froze over. But as I say, Keith may have made up the whole thing, so-"

  "Sir, why on earth would Willie do that-"

  "How do I know who he's trying to protect?" said Queeg. "His loyalty upward is zero, that's for sure. Maybe it extends downward in some peculiar direction. Anyway, I'm not going to sit here psychoanalyzing Mr. Keith, when we've got im-portant business to do."

  Maryk said after a small silence, "Sir, you want to go ahead with the search?"

  "Why not? Neither Mr. Ducely nor Mr. Keith produced the key, which is all that interests me-"

  "Captain... Captain, there is no key, if the mess boys ate the strawberries. Are you going to assume that two of your officers have lied to you?"

  "I'm not assuming a goddamned thing," Queeg exclaimed through his nose, "and that's exactly why we're going to look for that key. Nobody's going to kid me into assuming it doesn't exist. Now let's get going!"

  Heavy swells were rolling into the harbor from the storm on the open sea. The Caine and the Harte, plunging and rubbing and rolling against each other, were mashing their fenders to splinters. Willie, relaxing in the captain's chair in the empty wheelhouse, was watching Bellison and three sailors slipping and cursing on the forecastle in the thick rain as they put across extra lines and doubled the canvas chafing gear in the chocks. Maryk came into the pilothouse, his black raincoat streaming, and switched on the p.a. system. Willie heard both the normal voice and the denatured boom of the loudspeak-ers: "Now hear this. Commence search, Commence search. All hands go topside. Clear all spaces. Personal searches will be conducted forward on the well deck under the tarpaulin and aft in the crew's shower."
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br />   Willie jumped out of his chair. "Steve! Didn't you tell him what Duce said?"

  "He says we search anyway-"

  "But that's pointless-why, it's-it's crazy-"

  "Bear a hand, Willie. What's your assignment?"

  "Personal searches aft. Christ, in this weather, too-well-"

  "Farrington and Voles aren't assigned. Pick one of them up to help you if you want-"

  Willie made his way aft. The rocking, pitching main deck was all confusion. Sailors in dripping rain gear or soaked dun-garees milled on the well deck around Harding and Paynter. Two men stood naked, strangely pink and white in the drab crowd, their faces expressing embarrassment, defiance, and amused scorn. The officers fumbled through their clothes. The guards spaced along the starboard side slouched, leaning on their rifles, and joked with the other sailors. Ensign Farrington stood in the entrance of the wardroom hatchway, one hand hanging on the top of the hatch, observing the search with the half-entertained, half-horrified look of a boy at a freak show.

  "Farrington," Willie called, crossing the well deck, "you come along with me. You'll assist me."

  "Aye aye, sir," the ensign said, and fell into step behind Willie. Walking down the port passageway, the lieutenant ob-served over his shoulder, "This strikes you as queer business, no doubt."

  "Well, Mr. Keith, I was feeling outside of things, and pretty useless. I'm glad of a chance to help."

  Willie couldn't see his face, but the tone of sober deference was unmistakable. It was the tone in which Willie had ad-dressed Lieutenant Maryk and Lieutenant Gorton fifteen months ago, when they had seemed to him infinitely senior, battle-wise men of the sea. For an instant he was flattered; and he reflected that the Caine itself was perhaps so bewildering and odd to Farrington that the search scarcely surprised him, after all. It was becoming hard for Willie to picture the effect of the Caine on newcomers, and to reconstruct the emotions of fresh ensigns.

  They emerged from the passageway into another crowd of wet, sullen sailors, drifting here and there in the rain. Willie herded the men into places of shelter, and organized an alpha-betical sequence for the stripping. The men came in pairs into the shower room to take off their clothes. Farrington went to work systematically and unsmilingly, helping Willie rummage through the dank garments. Willie had the grateful feeling that another officer had at last come aboard the Caine.

  One of the first men to be stripped was Meatball. Naked, hairy, and squat, he stood grinning, while Willie felt through the dungarees and in the shoes, wrinkling his nose at the power-ful animal smell. He handed them back hastily. "Okay, Meat-ball, get dressed."

  "Why, Mr. Keith," said the coxswain innocently, "ain't you gonna look up my behind?"

  The note was good-humored, and Willie swiftly decided not to take offense. "No, thanks. I don't want any medals for extraordinary heroism."

  "Old man is really Asiatic, sir, ain't he?" said Meatball, stepping into his trousers.

  "Never mind about the captain," said Willie sharply. "Keep a respectful tongue in your head."

  "Christ, sir, I'm only sayin' what Mr. Keefer said to a whole bunch of us-"

  "I'm not interested. No wise talk about the captain to me, understand?"

  "Aye aye, sir," whined the coxswain, looking so abashed that Willie instantly felt guilty and apologetic. The process of stripping the sailors rasped his nerves; it seemed to him an almost German rape of their personal rights; and the fact that they were submitting so tamely was an indication of the way the Queeg regime had weakened the crew's spirit. Their only remonstrance was obscene and impudent joking. It gave Willie a twinge to see how easily the coxswain was cowed out of even that small comfort.

  The head of Queeg poked around the doorway into the shower room. "Well, well, well. Everything getting under way nicely?"

  "Yes, sir," said Willie.

  "Fine, fine. Put Farrington to work, hey? Fine, fine." The head grinned, and nodded, and disappeared.

  "Who's got a cigarette?" said Willie, a little shakily.

  "Right here, sir." Meatball extended a pack, and swiftly struck a match, shielding it with a cupped fat palm. He said genially, as Willie puffed, "Gives a guy the heebie-jeebies, don't it, sir?"

  Captain Queeg walked forward with rapid steps, ignoring the malevolent looks of the sailors clustered in doorways and under tarpaulins. Raindrops bounced from his yellow poncho. He encountered Maryk climbing out of the narrow hatchway of the forward engine room. "Well, well, Steve. How's it going down there?"

  "Okay, sir." The exec was flushed and sweating. "Just started, of course-it'll take about four hours-but they're really going at it-"

  "Fine, fine. Budge is a man you can rely on. Yes, sir. Fact, Steve, I think all our chiefs and first-class are doing themselves proud, and the officers, too, for that matter. Why, even Keith-"

  "Pardon me, sir." The yeoman, Jellybelly, was at the cap-tain's elbow. He saluted, panting, with a glance at Maryk.

  "Yes, Porteous?"

  "You-wanted a report, sir, from me. I've got it for you-"

  "Oh, yes, yes. Excuse me, Steve. Keep an eye on things. Keep 'em moving. Come along, Porteous."

  Queeg closed his cabin door and said, "Well?"

  "Sir, you meant that about yeoman's school in, Frisco?" Jellybelly's look was cunning and timorous.

  "Of course I did, Porteous, I don't kid about such things. If you have any information which can be proved-"

  "It was the mess boys, sir," whispered the fat yeoman.

  "Oh, hell, it was not. Damn it, why do you waste my time-"

  "Sir, Chief Bellison saw them. It was around one o'clock that night. He was coming back from breaking up a crap game in the forward crew's compartment. He passed the pan-try. He told a couple of chiefs, and-"

  "Are you trying to tell me that my chief master-at-arms would see pilfering, and not make an arrest, and not even report to me?" Queeg pulled steel balls out of his pocket and began to roll them. The happy look was fading from his face, the sick wrinkles reappearing.

  "Well, sir, he didn't think nothing of it, see, because the mess boys, well, they're always chowing up on wardroom left-overs, it ain't nothing new. And then when this big fuss was kicked up, he felt sorry for them, he thought they'd all pull BCD's, so he kept quiet. But it's all over the ship, sir, this morn-ing-you can prove it easy-"

  Queeg dropped into his swivel chair, and looked around dully at the myriad keys stacked on the deck. His mouth hung slightly open; his lower lip was pulled in. "Porteous, this con-versation of ours is to remain confidential."

  The yeoman, his face twisted in a rueful leer, said, "It certainly will, sir, I hope."

  "Type out your application for that school, with an approving endorsement, and I'll sign it."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "That's all, Porteous."

  After a half hour, Maryk began to wonder what had be-come of the captain. The plan called for Queeg to supervise topside and forward while the exec concentrated on the labyrinthine engineering spaces, but the busy, smiling figure of the commanding officer had vanished from the search scene. Maryk went to Queeg's cabin and knocked. "Come in," called a harsh voice. The captain was lying on his bunk in his under-wear, staring at the ceiling, rolling balls in both hands. "What is it, Mr. Maryk?"

  "Pardon me, sir-I thought you were supervising topside-"

  "I have a headache. You take over."

  The exec said uncertainly, after a pause, "Aye aye, sir. I don't know if I can give the thorough coverage you want-"

  "Delegate someone to assist you, then."

  "Aye aye, sir. I wanted to ask you-do you think we have to pull out that lead ballast in the bilges and look under all the blocks? That's a terrific job, sir-"

  "I don't care what you do. Leave me alone. I'm sick of the whole stupid business. Nothing gets done on this ship unless I wet-nurse it along. Do it any old way you please. Of course you'll find nothing, and I don't give a damn if you don't. I'm used to the idea that nothing I wa
nt done on this ship is ever done adequately, and of course a sloppy search is no search at all, but go ahead, do it your way. Leave me out of it."

  "Sir," said the exec, baffled, "do you want the search to continue?"

  "OF COURSE I want it to continue! Why shouldn't I?" yelled the captain, rising on one elbow, and glaring at Maryk with red eyes. "I still want this ship searched from stem to stern, every damn inch of it! Now please get out, I have a headache!"