The Caine Mutiny (67 page)

“Commander, would you like a recess?” said Blakely. “Definitely not, sir. I request there be no recess if it’s up to me.”

“Very well. Was the
Stanfield
hit during this incident?”

“No it was not, sir.”

“Was it straddled?”

“It was straddled, yes, sir.”

“And there was no way you could maneuver to lend it fire support? Did you try?”

“As I say, sir, it was in my line of fire and my estimate of the situation was that in the circumstances my duty was to get back on anti-sub station and not run around trying to make a grandstand play with pot shots at the beach and that was my command decision and I will stand on it as being in accordance with every existing doctrine, sir. It’s a question of mission. My mission was patrol.”

“Commander, wouldn’t you consider returning enemy fire, directed at yourself or at a nearby unit, an overriding mission?”

“Definitely, sir, if the range was clear. The
Stanfield
was in my line of fire, however.”

Blakely glanced around at the other court members, his eyebrows puckered, and then nodded shortly to Greenwald. The lawyer said, “Commander, on the morning of 18 December, at the moment you were relieved, was the
Caine
in the last extremity?”

“It certainly was not!”

“Was it in grave danger at that moment?”

“Absolutely not. I had that ship under complete control.”

“Did you tell the other officers that you had intended to come north, as Maryk did, at ten o’clock-that is, about fifteen minutes after the relief took place?”

Queeg plunged his hand into his coat pocket and brought out two glistening steel balls. “Yes, I did make that statement, and such had been my intention.”

“Why did you intend to abandon fleet course, Commander, if the ship wasn’t in danger?”

There was a long silence. Then Queeg said, “Well, I don’t see any inconsistency there. I’ve repeatedly stated in my testimony that my rule is safety first. As I say the ship wasn’t in danger but a typhoon is still a typhoon and I’d just about decided that we’d do as well riding it out head to sea. I might have executed my intention at ten o’clock and then again I might not have. I was still weighing all the factors but as I say I had that ship under control and even after Maryk relieved me I saw to it that it remained under control. I never abandoned my post.”

“Then Maryk’s decision to come north was not a panicky, irrational blunder?”

“His panicky blunder was relieving me. I kept him from making any disastrous mistakes thereafter. I didn’t intend to vindicate myself at the cost of all the lives on the
Caine
.”

“Commander Queeg, have you read Lieutenant Maryk’s medical log?”

“I have read that interesting document, yes sir, I have. It is the biggest conglomeration of lies and distortions and half-truths I’ve ever seen and I’m extremely glad you asked me because I want to get my side of it all on the record.”

“Please state your version, or any factual comments on the episodes in the log, sir.”

“Well, now, starting right with that strawberry business the real truth is that I was betrayed and thrown and double-crossed by my executive officer and this precious gentleman Mr. Keith who between them corrupted my wardroom so that I was one man against a whole ship without any support from my officers- Now, you take that strawberry business-why, if that wasn’t a case of outright conspiracy to protect a malefactor from justice-Maryk carefully leaves out the little fact that I had conclusively proved by a process of elimination that someone had a key to the icebox. He says it was the steward’s mates who ate the strawberries but if I wanted to take the trouble I could prove to this court geometrically that they couldn’t have. It’s the water business all over again, like when the crew was taking baths seven times a day and our evaps were definitely on the fritz half the time and I was trying to inculcate the simplest principles of water conservation, but no, Mr. Maryk the hero of the crew wanted to go right on mollycoddling them and-or you take the coffee business-no, well, the strawberry thing first-it all hinged on a thorough search for the key and that was where Mr. Maryk as usual with the help of Mr. Keith fudged it. Just went through a lot of phony motions that proved nothing and-like thinking the incessant burning out of Silexes which were government property was a joke, which was the attitude of everybody from Maryk down, no sense of responsibility though I emphasized over and over that the war wouldn’t last forever, that all these things would have to be accounted for. It was a constant battle, always the same thing, Maryk and Keith undermining my authority, always arguments, though I personally liked Keith and kept trying to train him up only to get stabbed in the back when- I think I’ve covered the strawberry business and-oh, yes, Stilwell’s court-martial. That was a disgraceful business, quite typical-”

Commander Queeg passed to a review of the court-martial, which was also, he said, a conspiracy of Keith and Maryk to discredit him. Then he discussed the failures of the laundry, the sloppiness of the mess statements and ship’s service inventories, and went on from subject to subject in this way, cataloguing his grievances against his officers, mainly Maryk and Keith. He hardly paused for breath. He seemed unable to pause. His narrative became less distinct as he talked, his jumps in time and place more sudden and harder to follow. He talked on and on, rolling the balls, his face glowing with satisfaction as he scored all these successive points in his vindication. Greenwald strolled to his desk and leaned against it, listening respectfully. The court members stared at the witness. Challee slouched, biting his nails. The sentences became longer and more meandering. Blakely began to glance at the clock.

Queeg went on for eight or nine minutes in this way, and ended up, “Well, naturally, I can only cover these things roughly from memory but if I’ve left anything out why you just ask me specific questions and I’ll tackle them one by one, but I believe I’ve hit the main points.”

“It was a very thorough and complete answer, thank you,” Greenwald said. He drew two glossy black photostats from a folder on his desk. “Commander, I show you authenticated copies of two fitness reports you wrote on Lieutenant Maryk. Do you recognize them as such?”

Queeg took the papers and said grumpily, glancing at them, “Yes, I do.”

“Please read to the court your comment on Maryk of January 1944.”

“I’ve already stated,” Queeg said, “that at first he put on the act of a red-hot but cooled off in time-”

“We have that testimony, Commander. Please read the comment.”

Queeg read in a choked voice a highly laudatory description of Maryk.

“Thank you, Commander. That was January. Now by July, six months later, had the
Caine
already been through the Kwajalein and Saipan invasions?”

“Yes.”

“Had the following incidents already occurred: the water shortage, the coffee investigation, the Stilwell court-martial, and the suspension of movies, among others?”

Queeg hesitated. “Well, by then, yes, I think.”

“Please read your comment of 1 July on Lieutenant Maryk.”

Queeg stared at the photostat for a long time, hunched over, and began mumbling, “ ‘This officer has if anything improved in his performance of duty since the last fitness report. He is consistently loyal, unflagging, thorough, courageous, and efficient. He is considered at present fully qualified for command of a 1200-ton DMS. His professional zeal and integrity set him apart as an outstanding example for other officers, reserve and regular alike. He cannot be too highly commended. He is recommended for transfer to the regular Navy.’ ”

“Thank you, Commander. No further questions.”

Greenwald walked to his desk and sat. The witness looked toward the judge advocate appealingly. Challee stood slowly, like an old man with rheumatism. He approached the witness stand, and seemed about to speak. Then he turned to Blakely. “No cross-examination.”

“You are excused, Commander,” Blakely said. Queeg went out of the courtroom in the same way that Maryk had seen him pass through the wheelhouse a thousand times-shoulders hunched, head down, feet scurrying, the balls rolling in his fingers.

Greenwald said, “Defense has finished its presentation.”

“Recess until one o’clock,” said Blakely.

CHAPTER 37

The Verdict

Challee had the face of a man sailing into a fist fight when he rose for his opening argument.

“If it please the court, I am almost at a loss to discuss the case the defense has presented. I have nothing to refute. It’s no case at all. It has nothing to do with the charge or the specification. It has nothing whatever to do with the accused, or the acts for which he is undergoing a general court-martial.

“The defense counsel’s very first question in this trial was, ‘Commander, have you ever heard the expression “Old Yellowstain”?’ I objected then, I object now to the entire strategy and tactics of the defense counsel before this court. His one idea has been to twist the proceedings around so that the accused would become not Maryk but Commander Queeg. To a certain extent he has succeeded. He has dragged out every possible vicious and malicious criticism of the commander from the other witnesses, and forced Queeg to defend himself against them in open court, on the spur of the moment, without preparation, without advice of counsel, without any of the normal privileges and safeguards of an accused man under naval law.

“All right. What has defense counsel proved in this orgy of mudslinging, insults, trick questions, and defamation? Let’s assume that everything he tried to prove against Commander Queeg is true-which I don’t for a moment concede-even so, what has he proved, I say, except that Queeg was not a good officer? What has he tried to bring out except that the commander’s term aboard the
Caine
was an unhappy mess of bad judgment and poor administration? Did that give Lieutenant Maryk the right of summary relief of command? Can this court possibly endorse the precedent that a captain who seems to be making mistakes can be deposed by underlings? And that his only recourse after that is to be placed on the witness stand at a general court-martial to answer every petty gripe and justify all his command decisions to a hostile lawyer taking the part of his insubordinate inferiors? Such a precedent is nothing but a blank check for mutiny. It is the absolute destruction of the chain of command.

“The one issue in this trial was the insanity of Commander Queeg-the insanity, not the mistakes or misdeeds or poor judgment. The language of Articles 184, 185, and 186 excludes every possibility except the complete, utter, and unmistakable madness of the captain. The defense made no effort to establish such a justification for the simple reason that it never existed. Captain Queeg always was and still is as sane as any of us, whatever his errors may have been, and defense counsel knows it.

“Has any officer of this court ever sailed with a captain who committed no errors of judgment? Has any officer who has been in the Navy more than a few years failed to find himself under a captain with marked personal and emotional eccentricities? Naval command is the greatest strain that can be brought to bear on a person. The captain is a god-in theory. Some lapse more, some less, from that ideal. But the procurement policies of the Navy are rigid. That is why the presumption is always overwhelmingly on the side of the commanding officer in any dispute. He’s a man who has been tried in the fire. Whatever his weaknesses-and they may even be grave weaknesses-he’s a man who can command a combatant ship.

“In proof of this I need only cite the recorded fact that this case is the first in thirty years impugning the captain of a Navy ship under those articles. And even in this case the scientific findings of psychiatrists are forcibly and unanimously on the side of the Navy’s system of command appointments. The doctors say that the Navy
did
know what it was doing in giving the
Caine
to Commander Queeg.

“With the leeway the court gave him, defense counsel brought out every single mistake, every single lapse of judgment that the captain of the
Caine
made or that some underling thought he made. The court knows that it all adds up to pulling complaints against strictness and meticulousness-all but one point. That point is the imputation that this officer of the Navy was a coward under fire. I shall not discuss that point. I leave it to this court to determine whether a coward could rise to command of a combatant ship and remain undetected by his superiors through fifteen months of battle service. I count on the court to see the difference between bad judgment and poltroonery. I leave it to the court to reject this smear on the Navy.

“Let’s look at the facts. Commander Queeg was given command of an obsolete, decaying, run-down ship. He brought it through fifteen months of combat unscathed, and carried out a multitude of assignments to the satisfaction of his superiors. There’s no complaint against him on the record by his superiors-only by his underlings. He achieved this record of satisfactory battle service despite the hostility and disloyalty of his officers. He achieved it despite personal inner tensions, which the doctors have described-and which the defense viciously hammered at in a vain attempt to exaggerate them into insanity. Commander Queeg’s achievement in the face of his own emotional difficulties and the disloyalty of his wardroom adds up, not to a bad record, but to a fine one, to an impressive one. He emerges as a loyal, hard-working, terribly conscientious officer who has been unjustly forced through a harrowing ordeal.

“The accused emerges without any justification. The defense counsel brought no psychiatrists to refute the findings of the medical board. He didn’t because he couldn’t have found any. Once the cloud of mudslinging settles down, the facts remain as they were at the outset. A commanding officer of a United States Navy ship was relieved of his command willfully and without authority. The claimed authority of Articles 184, 185, and 186 was voided by the medical board. No justifiable cause, either mental illness or any other, has been brought forward by the defense. It has been proved by expert testimony that Commander Queeg’s ship-handling decisions in the typhoon up to the moment he was relieved were not only sensible and sound, but the best possible in the circumstances.

“The accused stands convicted by the facts. In his defense not one mitigating fact has been established. The court will reject, I am certain, the cynical, insulting attempt of the defense counsel to sway its emotions. The court will find the specification proved by the facts.”

The contrast between Challee’s manner and Greenwald’s could not have been sharper. The pilot was soft, apologetic, hesitant after the judge advocate’s passionate shouting. He kept looking from Blakely to Challee. He started by mentioning that he had undertaken Maryk’s defense reluctantly at the judge advocate’s request. “I was reluctant,” he said, “because I knew that the only possible defense of the accused was to show in court the mental incompetence of an officer of the Navy. It has been the most unpleasant duty I’ve ever had to perform. Let me make one thing clear. It is not and never has been the contention of the defense that Commander Queeg is a coward. The entire case of the defense rests on the opposite assumption: that no man who rises to command of a United States naval ship can possibly be a coward. And that therefore if he commits questionable acts under fire the explanation must lie elsewhere.”

Proceeding in the same calm, diffident tone, Greenwald reviewed all the damaging evidence against Queeg, laying especial stress on the points that had seemed to impress Blakely. He emphasized that both psychiatrists had admitted, in one form of words or another, that Queeg was sick. And he repeated over and over that it was up to the court, who knew the sea, to decide whether or not the sickness of Queeg was bad enough to incapacitate him. He referred briefly and apologetically to Queeg’s behavior in court-his evasiveness, incoherence, changing stories, and inability to stop speaking-as further unfortunate evidence of his mental illness. He said very little about Maryk. It was all Queeg, Queeg, Queeg.

The court debated for an hour and ten minutes. Maryk was acquitted.

Maryk and Greenwald were surrounded on the sidewalk outside the court-martial building by a small jubilant knot of people. The exec’s mother clung to him, weeping and laughing: a fat little woman in a green hat, with a round seamed face like a wrinkled photograph of her son’s. Beside her stood the father, a heavy quiet shabby man, patting her shoulder. All the officers of the
Caine
were there. Willie Keith capered and shouted, slapping everyone on the back. All was noise and congratulation and joy. Greenwald was jostled by eager handshaking. “All right now listen, listen everybody,” yelled Keefer. “Listen to me. We’re going to celebrate!”

“Sure! Sure! Celebrate! Let’s celebrate! Let’s all get stiff! Fried! Boiled!”-a ribald chorus.

“No, will you listen? It’s all arranged. Dinner at the Fairmont! I’ve hired a room. I’m paying. I’m rich!” shouted Keefer. “It’s a double celebration! I got the contract on my novel in the mail this morning, and a check for a thousand bucks! It’s all on Chapman House!”

Sailors a block away from the building turned to stare in amazement at the frantic little group of officers yelping and dancing in the hot sunshine. “I will get monumentally drunk,” cried Harding. “I will wake up in the alcoholic ward. And I’ll love it.” Jorgensen hugged and kissed the trunk of a eucalyptus tree in excess of joy. His glasses fell off and shattered. He peered around, giggling wildly. “Nothing but champagne will be served,” yelled the novelist. “Champagne to toast the Fifth Freedom. Freedom from Old Yellowstain!”

Maryk blinked confusedly. “Greenwald’s invited, isn’t he?”

“Invited! Hell, he’s the guest of honor,” Keefer bawled. “A Daniel! A Daniel come to judgment! Momma and Poppa, too! Wire your brothers! Tell ’em to fly down! Bring anyone you want!”

Greenwald said, “You guys have a fine time. Leave me out of it-”

The mother said through sobs, “You’re a good boy, Steve. You never did anything wrong-”

“The hell with that,” Maryk said to Greenwald, wriggling in his mother’s embrace. “If you don’t come I don’t. It’s all off.”

“Man, don’t ruin it,” said Keefer, throwing his arm over Greenwald’s shoulder. “What’ll the party be like without the hero of the occasion?”

“You’re the hero-a thousand bucks-” said the lawyer, disengaging himself.

Keefer cried, “I’ll send a limousine and chauffeur for you-”

“That won’t be necessary. Fairmont? Okay. I’ll be there.” Greenwald turned and started up the steps.

“Where you going, Barney?” Maryk said anxiously.

“Got to clean up the debris with Challee. You go along, Steve. See you tonight.”

Keefer shouted after him, “Give Challee a crying towel, with the compliments of the
Caine
!” Howls of joyous laughter went up from the officers.

A huge green-iced cake baked in the shape of a book was the most prominent decoration of the table.

MULTITUDES, MULTITUDES

A NOVEL BY

Thomas Keefer

Was written on it in flourishing letters of thick yellow sugar. It was surrounded by a bank of ferns and roses. The table was crowded with flowers, and candles, and silver, and bottles of champagne. Shreds of gold and silver foil from the wine bottles were scattered on the white cloth. It was seven o’clock, the chair at the head of the table was still vacant, and no food had yet been served. The officers were already boisterously drunk. Mr. and Mrs. Maryk smiled uncomfortably at the roistering jokes all around them, and laughed aloud whenever their son did. The exec sat at the right of Greenwald’s empty chair, with his parents beside him. Opposite them were Keefer and Keith, side by side, sparking the merriment with a running fire of shouted jokes about Old Yellowstain. It was an inexhaustible topic. Jorgensen, at the foot of the table, was dissolved in howling giggles; tears ran down from his squinting bloodshot eyes. Several new officers who had reported aboard since the ship’s return, and who had never seen Queeg, listened in wide-eyed wonder, and laughed uneasily at the jokes, and drank vast quantities of Keefer’s champagne.

Willie was having a wonderful time. Though he suspected that Keefer had not been especially manly in the court-martial, he had no way of knowing the truth of the matter. Witnesses were not permitted to hear each other testify; and Maryk had never spoken a word against Keefer throughout the affair. All qualms had been forgotten in the grand wonder of the exec’s acquittal, and Willie’s release from fear. He drank as much of the novelist’s champagne as anybody, excepting perhaps Harding. His old roommate of the clipping shack was in an alcoholic nirvana. From time to time Harding would get up and stagger to hug somebody, Keefer, or Maryk, or Paynter, it didn’t matter who. He kissed Willie, maundering, “He gave me his hat to puke in. One of nature’s noblemen, Willie Keith-”

Keefer said, “He’ll probably have to do it again before the night’s out.” Willie thereupon seized a silver bowl of celery and held it under Harding’s mouth, and Harding pretended to throw up, and it was a joke which made everybody roar except the two puzzled old folks. In this happy vein the party was proceeding when Keefer jumped up, yelling, “Here he comes! Fill your glasses! A toast to the conquering hero! Greenwald the Magnificent!”

The lawyer’s blues were rumpled and baggy, and his walk was not of the steadiest, but nobody at the table was in a condition to notice. He came to the head of the table and stood stupidly, resting a hand on the empty chair, looking around slack-mouthed. “Party’s pretty far along, hey?” he said, as wine splashed in a dozen glasses and all the officers shouted greetings. Keefer made his glass ring with a knife.