Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [227]
“I was not.”
“Did you protest the relief?”
“As forcefully as I could.”
“Did you attempt to resume command?”
“Repeatedly.”
“Did you warn your executive officer of the consequences of his act?”
“I told him he was performing a mutinous act.”
“What was his reply?”
“That he expected to be court-martialed, but was going to retain command anyway.”
“What was the attitude of Lieutenant Junior Grade Keith, the officer of the deck?”
“He was in a state of panic as bad as Maryk’s or worse. He consistently backed up Maryk.”
“What was the attitude of the rest of the officers?”
“They were perplexed and submissive. Under the circumstances I don’t suppose they had any alternative.”
“What was the attitude of the helmsman?”
“Stilwell I considered the worst troublemaker on the ship. He was emotionally unbalanced, and for some reason was very devoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade Keith. He gladly participated in defying my orders.”
“Where is Stilwell at present?”
“I understand he is in the psychiatric ward of the hospital here, with a diagnosis of acute melancholia.”
Challee glanced at the court. “Is there anything else, Commander Queeg, that you care to state in connection with the events of 18 December aboard the Caine?”
“Well, I have thought a lot about it all, of course. It’s the gravest occurrence in my career, and the only questionable one that I’m aware of. It was an unfortunate freak accident. If the OOD had been anyone but Keith, and the helmsman anyone but Stilwell, it would not have happened. Keefer or Harding or Paynter would have repudiated Maryk’s orders and probably snapped him out of it in a hurry. A normal sailor at the helm would have disregarded both officers and obeyed me. It was just bad luck that those three men-Maryk, Keith, and Stilwell-were combined against me at a crucial time. Bad luck for me, and worse luck for them.”
Maryk took the crayon from Greenwald’s hand as Queeg spoke and scribbled on the pad, I can prove I wasn’t panicky. The lawyer wrote underneath, Okay. May not be necessary, and around both statements he drew a large pig.
“The court would like to question the witness,” said Blakely. “Commander Queeg, how long have you been in the naval service?”
“I am completing my fourteenth year, sir.”
“In that time you have taken all the prescribed physical and mental examinations incident to entrance to the Academy, graduation, commissioning, promotion, and so forth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does your medical record contain any entry reflecting in any way any history of illness, mental or physical?”
“It does not, sir. My tonsils were removed in the fall of 1938. That is the only entry that isn’t routine.”
“Have you ever had an unsatisfactory fitness report, or any letter of reprimand or admonishment, Commander Queeg?”
“Negative, sir. I have one letter of commendation in my jacket.”
“Now Commander, the court would like you to account if you can for Lieutenant Maryk’s opinion that you were mentally ill, in view of your background and service record.” Challee looked quickly at Greenwald, expecting an objection to the question. The defense counsel sat head down, drawing on the pad. He was left-handed; his scarred wrist and hand curved around the moving crayon.
“Well, sir, I will have to point out that I assumed the command of an extremely disorganized and dirty ship. I saw I was in for a long tough grind. I was determined to bring that ship up to snuff, no matter how unpleasant the process might be. I took many stern measures. Lieutenant Maryk, I may say, from the first opposed my will in this regard. He didn’t see eye to eye with me at all on this idea of bringing the ship up to snuff, and maybe he thought I was crazy to keep trying. His questionable loyalty and slackness forced me to bear down, all the harder, of course, and-well, I guess that’s the picture, sir. And as I say, I’ll stand on the Caine’s battle record under my command, despite all the trouble Maryk gave me.”
There was an exchange of looks among the president, Challee, and Greenwald. The defense counsel rose for cross-examination.