Voyage to Somewhere Read Free Page A

j.g. came up and introduced himself as Mr. Crane, the executive officer. I told him to tell one of the chiefs to have the men stow their gear in the forecastle, then come with the other officers into my cabin for a conference.
    Five minutes later we met in my cabin. I sat in my desk chair, Mr. Rudd and Mr. Crane sat on the bunk beside me, and Mr. Warren, the ensign, stood. I took a good look at all of them. Mr. Rudd was as grossly fat, yet as strong-looking as I remembered him. Mr. Crane was a medium sized, white-skinned man of about twenty-eight; he looked like an office worker. Mr. Warren, the ensign, was not older than twenty-one or two; he was tall and slender, and there was something about his face which made him look as though he were always thinking intensely about something. For a moment the four of us said nothing. This meeting was so obviously the beginning of something, it was so obviously a time of importance for all of us, that no one knew quite how to begin.
    â€œIt is a time-honored custom,” I said at length, “for commanding officers to say some choice words at a time like this, but we have so much to do and there are so many questions on my mind that I think we better start right in on business. The four of us have to get this ship and crew organized into a working unit as soon as possible. To do this properly I want to find out what each of us is best qualified to do. Mr. Crane, what sea experience have you had?”
    â€œI’ve never been to sea,” he said. “I was stationed in the district office.”
    â€œHow about you, Mr. Warren?”
    â€œI’ve never been to sea either, except for my cadet cruise. I was just commissioned.”
    I glanced at Mr Rudd. His face was expressionless.
    â€œWell,” I said, “Mr. Rudd here is a Regular, and has been to sea fifteen years, and I have had enough experience, I think, so we’ll probably make out all right until you learn. To begin with, however, you, Mr. Crane, take care of all the administrative duties; make up a watch and quarter bill, make up watch lists, divide the crew into the proper departments—in short, get the whole thing figured out on paper and show it to me. Mr. Rudd, of course, will organize the whole black gang. We won’t have to worry about that. Mr. Warren, you will be the supply officer. Get together a list of all the equipment that is actually aboard, show it to me, and I’ll tell you what you’ll have to get.”
    I paused. I was thinking of all the things that had to be checked—sextants, charts, food supplies, spare parts. My mind became confused.
    â€œHow about the crew, Mr. Crane? Do you know anything about them?” I asked.
    â€œI just rode down on the truck with them. Never saw them before.”
    He spoke in a calm, capable-sounding voice. In spite of the fact that he had never been to sea, he did not seem flustered by his new job.
    I said, “You better get them mustered on the well deck and we’ll see what we have. Get them lined up and give me a call.”
    A few moments later he came in and said the crew was mustered. I went on deck and saw two rows of men standing at attention. The first impression I had was of their extreme youth; the stem expression which at attention they endeavored to impart to their faces was incongruous: they looked like children who have been told they must not laugh. Unconsciously my eye searched for some faces which looked older and more experienced. The two chief petty officers were more than boys; they appeared about thirty years of age, but one of them bore no hash marks upon his arm and the other boasted only one. That meant that one of them had been in the service less than four years and the other less than eight. The men were in two rows, and in the back row I saw one man with grey hair. All the others looked as though they had been taken directly out of high school. As I walked down the ranks of the men I saw that