Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [72]
“I hope you get a good ship, sir.”
“It’s about time I had one.” De Vriess walked away. He paced aft to the fantail, looking down at his shoes. A knot of chiefs and petty officers appeared in the port passageway by the galley. They watched the ex-captain as he came forward again. The oldest chief, a fat, ham-faced water tender named Budge, whose belly bulged over his underslung belt, stepped up to him. “Pardon me, Captain.”
“What now?”
Budge took off his greasy khaki cap, revealing a bald head, fumbled with the cap and put it on again. “Well, nothing, sir. Except a few of the guys chipped in and got this.” He hauled a long flat box out of his pocket, and opened it, displaying a silver wrist watch. De Vriess stared at the watch, and then looked around at the fidgeting sailors.
“Whose idea was this?”
“Well, everybody’s, sir.”
“Well, everybody’s a damn fool. I can’t accept it. It’s against Navy Regulations.”
Budge glanced helplessly at the others. “I told them that, sir. But we thought-”
A tall, tousle-headed shipfitter, De Lauche, spoke up, “You don’t always go by regs, sir-”
“That’s my goddamn trouble,” said De Vriess. “I’ve been in the hooligan navy too long.”
Budge scanned the captain’s, unfriendly face, awkwardly juggled the open box, and set it on the dirty screen cover of a ventilator. “We meant it for the best, sir-”
The dinging of a bell and the asthmatic cough of a motor announced that the gig was coming alongside. “You guys take an even strain with the new skipper,” said De Vriess. “You chiefs and first-class P.O.’s run the ship, as you know damn well. Keep the men in line and give things a chance to break in-” He turned to Willie. “I am leaving the ship, sir.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” They exchanged salutes.
De Vriess put his hand on the ladder. His eye fell on the watch, glittering in the sun. “Whaddya know,” he said. “Some silly bastard left a watch lying around.” He picked it out of the box and strapped it on. “Might as well steal myself a souvenir of this old bucket. Not a bad watch, at that,” he said, glancing at it critically. “What time is it, Mister Keith?”
“Four o’clock, sir,” said Willie.
“Three-thirty,” grunted De Vriess, adjusting the hands. “I’ll always keep it half an hour slow,” he said to the sailors, “to remind me of the fouled-up crew of the Caine. Somebody toss down my gear.”
He began to descend the ladder, and went out of sight. Then his head and arms reappeared. He looked up at the sailors and threw them a salute. “Thanks,” he said, and dropped down into the gig. The bags were lowered; the boat pulled away. Willie watched it go, expecting to see De Vriess take a long lingering farewell look at his ship. But he did no such thing. The last Willie saw of the ex-captain, he was slouched on the cushions under the canopy, reading a paper-bound mystery.
“Attention on deck!” called the gangway petty officer.
Willie turned, stiffening. Captain Queeg, dressed in khaki shirt and trousers, was coming out of the starboard passageway. He looked different without the double-breasted blues. He had surprisingly narrow, sloping shoulders, and was hollow-chested and potbellied. His forehead was furrowed, and there were three deep vertical wrinkles in the center; his eyes squinted as though he were trying to see a long distance. Willie saluted. Queeg, peering around at the quarterdeck, ignored the gesture. “Gig gone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Willie, you’re out of hack as of now. Amnesty, you might say.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Willie said warmly.
Queeg stopped at the gangway desk and cast his eye here and there, rolling the steel balls absently in his left hand. The sailors worked busily and without talking, heads bent. Queeg glanced down at the quartermaster’s log. “Captain de Vriess hasn’t been logged out.”
“I was about to do that, sir,” spoke up Engstrand, the gangway petty officer.
“Very well. Note the exact time of departure.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Queeg watched Engstrand write the notation. The back of the signalman’s blue