Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [66]
Someone reached in and touched his arm. “Ensign Keith?” He looked up. The admiral’s marine orderly stood just outside the shack. “Pardon me, sir. The barge is at the gangway for you.
“Thank you,” said Willie. He raised up on an elbow, covering his eyes with his hand. “Look, will you please tell the admiral- I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t come tonight? It seems I have the duty.”
“Yes, sir,” said the marine in a wondering tone, and departed. Willie dropped his face into the pillow again.
The next morning, Lieutenant Commander Philip Francis Queeg reported aboard the Caine.
PART THREE
CAPTAIN QUEEG
CHAPTER 11
Captain Queeg Relieves Captain de Vriess
Languishing in hack, Willie missed the important moment when Captain Queeg first set foot on the deck of the Caine.
Willie was taking his three-day confinement in the grand manner. Captain de Vriess had given him the run of the ship, but he was determined not to stir from the clipping shack except for bodily needs. When Queeg arrived Willie was hunched on his bunk over the remains of a frigid, dirty breakfast, mopping up the last yellow traces of egg with a piece of stale bread. He was proud of his penance. The meal, brought by the leisurely Whittaker through passageways, up ladders, and along the main deck, had lost all heat and acquired a heavy dressing of soot on the way. It seemed to Willie that adversity was toughening him rapidly; he felt virile and mature. This was a great deal of spiritual uplift to derive from a couple of cold black eggs, but Willie’s young spirit had a lot of rebound to it, like fresh rubber. Also, Whittaker had picked up coffee for the prisoner from the crew’s galley near the clip shack, strong and steaming. Willie was partly mistaking the glow of morning coffee for the maturing process.
Nobody was expecting the new captain. The gig was making a routine morning trip to the fleet landing for mail and a movie. The ragged boatswain and his two filthy assistants were appalled when Queeg accosted them and courteously ordered them to load his foot locker and bags into the boat. They had no way of warning the officer of the deck about their passenger, and so the new captain caught his first impression of the ship in its natural unpolished state.
The officer of the deck was Ensign Harding, entrusted with the gangway watch from four to eight only because Lieutenant Adams was reasonably certain that nothing complicated was going to happen in those early hours. He was dressed in wrinkled, sweaty khakis, and it was his misfortune to have no hips at all, so that his frayed gun belt sagged slantwise, precariously supported by his rump. His cap was pushed back to allow the breeze to fan his pale bald brow. He was leaning against the gangway desk, happily eating an apple, when blue sleeves with two and a half gold stripes rose along the ladder railings, followed by the face and form of Lieutenant Commander Queeg. Harding was not alarmed. Officers of such rank often came aboard; usually they were engineering specialists coming to the rescue of some vital machinery on the decaying Caine. He put down the apple, spitting out a seed, and walked to the ladder. Commander Queeg saluted the colors, and then saluted Harding. “Request permission to come aboard, sir,” he said politely.
“Permission granted.” Harding gave a bare flip of a salute, Caine-style.
The new captain smiled slightly and said, “My name is Queeg.” He held out his hand.
Harding stiffened, gulped, pulled up his belt, saluted again, and tried to return the handshake, but Queeg had put his hand up to return the salute, so that Harding grasped empty air. Then the handclasp was fumblingly accomplished, and Harding babbled, “I’m sorry, Captain-I didn’t recognize you-”
“No reason you should. You’ve never seen me before.”
“No, of course, sir-Captain de Vriess wasn’t expecting you, Captain-would you like me to show you to the captain’s cabin? I’m not sure the captain is up yet-”
He whirled on the gangway petty officer, who was staring at Queeg