Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [71]
“Good.” The captain turned to his successor. “He’s all yours. If I can be of any further assistance, let me know.”
De Vriess stepped into his cabin and closed the door. Willie turned to his new commanding officer. He could not repress a mischievous grin. “Nice to have you aboard, sir.”
“Why, thank you, Willie,” said Queeg, with a lift of the eyebrows, and a warm smile. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Next morning at eleven the crew lined up at quarters on the forecastle, and the ceremony of transferring command was enacted in a perfunctory way. The officers had tried very hard to make the crew look respectable for the occasion; but despite the shoeshines and new dungarees and shaved faces the general effect was that of a group of tramps freshly deloused by the Salvation Army.
After the ceremony the two commanding officers went below together. The captain’s cabin was heaped with tumbled luggage of both officers. De Vriess picked his way to the desk. He opened the small safe, took out several tagged keys and some sealed envelopes, and handed them to Queeg. “Envelopes are various safe combinations you’ll want to have. ... Well, I think that’s it.” He glanced around the room. “I left you a stack of mysteries. I don’t know if you like ’em, but that’s all I can read. Distract me from whatever’s bothering me. Never remember what I’m reading from one page to the next, anyway.”
“Thanks. I guess I’ll have all I can do to keep up with official reading for a while.”
“Sure enough. Well-I’m off.” De Vriess cocked his head and looked his successor in the eye. Queeg met the glance for a moment, then offered his hand to De Vriess.
“Best of luck with your new construction.”
“If I get it. You’ve got a good ship here, Queeg, and a good crew.”
“I hope I’m up to handling it.”
De Vriess grinned, and said hesitantly, “I’m wondering if you don’t think it’s a pretty sloppy lash-up.”
“Oh, I quite understand,” said Queeg. “You’ve been in the forward area a hell of a long time-”
“It isn’t that. You can do things with some ships that you can’t do with others,” said De Vriess. “Between you and me, these damn buckets ought to be melted down to razor blades. They roll and pitch too damn much, the power plant is shot, all the machinery is obsolete, and the men are crowded like animals. These are the only firerooms left in the Navy where the black gang has to work under air pressure. If anything goes wrong a blowback can kill them all. The men know the kind of deal they’ve got. The strange thing is, most of the crazy bastards like it. Damn few of them put in for transfers. But they have to do things their own way. It’s the hooligan navy, to look at them. But give them a chance, and they deliver. They’ve backed me up in some bad spots-”
“Well, thanks for the dope,” said Queeg. “Is the gig standing by for you?”
“I think so.” De Vriess ground out his cigar, and opened the door. “Whittaker! How about bearing a hand with my gear?”
Willie was at the gangway, buckling on his gun belt, when two steward’s mates came up with the bags, followed by De Vriess.
“Where’s the gig, Willie?”
“Oh, I didn’t think you were shoving off till four, sir. I just sent it over to the Frobisher to trade movies. It’ll be back in ten minutes. Sorry, sir.”
“No harm done. Drop the bags here, men.”
“Yassuh,” said the steward’s mates. “Good-by, Captain.”
“Don’t bring the new skipper any of that cold coffee up to the bridge.”
“Nosuh.” The colored boys grinned.
De Vriess put his foot up on a life line and stared out over the harbor. He looked strangely impressive in dress blues. Sailors chipping paint on the quarterdeck threw curious glances at him and exchanged low remarks. Willie, oppressed by a heavy gap of embarrassment between himself and his ex-captain, felt obliged to make conversation. “How does it feel, sir?”
“How does what feel?” said De Vriess, not looking at him.
“Well, leaving the ship after-how long-over five years, isn’t it?”
De Vriess bent his head