Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [1]
It was not a mutiny in the old-time sense, of course, with flashing of cutlasses, a captain in chains, and desperate sailors turning outlaws. After all, it happened in 1944 in the United States Navy. But the court of inquiry recommended trial for mutiny, and the episode became known as “the Caine mutiny” throughout the service.
The story begins with Willie Keith because the event turned on his personality as the massive door of a vault turns on a small jewel bearing.
PART ONE
WILLIE KEITH
CHAPTER 1
Through the Looking Glass
He was of medium height, somewhat chubby, and good looking, with curly red hair and an innocent, gay face, more remarkable for a humorous air about the eyes and large mouth than for any strength of chin or nobility of nose. He had graduated from Princeton in 1941 with high marks in all subjects except mathematics and sciences. His academic specialty had been comparative literature. But his real career at Princeton had consisted of playing the piano and inventing bright little songs for parties and shows.
He kissed his mother good-by on the sidewalk near the corner of Broadway and 116th Street in New York City, on a cold sunny morning in December 1942. The family Cadillac was parked beside them, its motor running, but maintaining a well-bred silence. Around them stood the dingy gray-and-red buildings of Columbia University.
“Don’t you think,” said Mrs. Keith, smiling bravely, “that we might stop in that drugstore first and have a sandwich?”
She had driven her son to the midshipmen school from their home in Manhasset, despite Willie’s protests. Willie had wanted to take the train. It would have seemed more like departing for the wars; he did not like being escorted to the gates of the Navy by his mother. But Mrs. Keith had prevailed as usual. She was a large, wise, firm woman, as tall as her son, and well endowed with brow and jaw. This morning she was wearing a fur-trimmed brown cloth coat instead of mink, to match the austerity of the event. Beneath her mannish brown hat her hair showed the dominant red strain that had reappeared in her only child. Otherwise there was little resemblance between mother and son.
“The Navy’ll feed me, Mom. Don’t worry.”
He kissed her for the second time and glanced nervously about, hoping that no military men were observing the over-tender scene. Mrs. Keith pressed his shoulder lovingly.
“I know you’ll do wonderfully, Willie. Just as you always have.”
“Aye aye, Mother.” Willie strode along the brick walk past the School of Journalism, and down a few steps to the entrance of Furnald Hall, formerly a dormitory for law students. A grizzled, pudgy Navy chief with four red service stripes on his blue coat stood in the doorway. Mimeographed papers in his hand flapped in the breeze. Willie wondered whether to salute, and swiftly decided that the gesture did not go well with a brown raglan coat and green pork-pie hat. He had completely forgotten his mother.
“You V-7?” The chief’s voice was like a shovelful of pebbles dropped on tin.
“Aye aye.” Willie grinned self-consciously. The chief returned the grin and appraised him briefly with, it seemed, an affectionate eye. He handed Willie four sheets clipped together.
“You’re starting a new life. Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir.” For three weeks Willie was to make the mistake of calling chiefs “sir.”
The chief opened the door invitingly. Willis Seward Keith stepped out of the sunshine across the threshold. It was done as easily and noiselessly as Alice’s stepping through the looking glass; and like Alice, Willie