Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [88]
“I guess maybe we’ll get out of here today yet,” said Queeg. He called to the navigator’s shack, “What’s the course to the gate, Tom, 220?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Heading 200,” called the helmsman.
The foghorn blasts were diminishing in number, and stretches of black water could now be seen around the ship. “Bet she’s clear up at the channel entrance already,” said Maryk.
The helmsman called, “Steadying up on 220, sir.”
“WHAT?” yelled Queeg. He dived into the pilothouse. “Who gave you the order to steady up?”
“Sir, I thought-”
“You thought! You thought! You’re not being paid to think!” the captain screeched. “You just do as you’re goddamn told and don’t go thinking-please!”
The helmsman’s legs were trembling. His face was white and his eyes seemed to be popping from his head. “Aye aye, sir,” he gasped. “Shall I come left again-”
“Don’t do ANYTHING!” Queeg screamed. “What course are you on?”
“Tu-tu-two-two-five, sir, coming right-”
“I thought you steadied on 220-”
“I stopped steadying, sir, when you said-”
“For Christ’s sake will you stop telling me what I said? Now, you come left and steady on 220!! Is that clear?”
“Aye aye, sir, l-left and steady on 220.”
“Mr. Maryk!” shouted the captain. The first lieutenant came running into the wheelhouse. “What’s this man’s name and rating?”
“Stilwell, sir, gunner’s mate second-”
“If he doesn’t watch himself he’ll be seaman second. I want him relieved and I want an experienced man at this wheel hereafter when we’re in the channel, not a green stupid idiot-”
“He’s our best helmsman, sir-”
“I want him relieved, do you hear-”
Willie Keith put his head in. “Something, looks like a battleship, dead ahead, Captain, three hundred yards!”
Queeg looked up in horror. A vast dark bulk was bearing down on the Caine. Queeg opened and closed his mouth three times without uttering a sound, then he choked out, “All engines back full-bah-bah-belay that-All stop.”
The order had barely been countermanded when the battleship slipped down the starboard side of the Caine, hooting angrily with perhaps ten feet of open water between the hulls. It was like a steel cliff going by.
“Red channel buoy, one point port bow,” called down a lookout from the flying bridge.
“No wonder,” said Maryk to the captain. “We’re on the wrong side of the channel, sir.”
“We’re not on the wrong side of anything,” snapped the captain. “If you’ll tend to your business and get another helmsman, I’ll tend to my business and conn my ship, Mr. Maryk!”
The Caine suddenly drifted through a gray curtain into sparkling sunshine and green water. The way was clear to the target repair base, in plain view about half a mile down-channel. The fog lay on the channel astern like a pile of cotton.
“Kay,” said Queeg. “All engines ahead one third.” He reached a shaking hand into his trousers and brought out the two steel balls.
The atmosphere on the bridge remained unpleasant long after the shore sank from sight and the Caine was steaming peacefully over calm blue water. It was the first time the new captain had burst out against a sailor; and it was the first time in the memory of anyone aboard the Caine that a helmsman had been summarily relieved. It wasn’t even clear to the crew what Stilwell had done wrong.
Willie, relieved of the watch when the ship left the channel, went to the clipping shack and told Harding the story. “I may be crazy. I hope I am,” he said. “It seemed to me that the captain just lost his head in the fog, and got scared, and took out his scare on the handiest sailor.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Harding from directly beneath him, lying back and smoking. “A helmsman isn’t supposed to steady up without an order.”
“But he knew the captain wanted course 220. He heard him say so to the navigator. Isn’t a sailor ever supposed to use his head?”
“Willie, it takes time to get used to a new captain’s ways, that’s all.”
The delicate question