“Very well, XO,” Tremain acknowledged as he continued to watch the activities on deck.
“Sir, do you still wish me to carry out mast proceedings for these men?” Cazanavette added in a low voice.
“Yes, Mr. Cazanavette,” Tremain said, turning his attention to the XO, “can you think of any reason I shouldn’t?”
Cazanavette glanced over to Hubley, who was again pretending to be deeply involved with the preparations for sea. “Captain, I do not think it would be a good idea to go through with it, considering the circumstances of the short notice recall. I mean they did get here in time for underway, that’s the important thing after all. No need to further complicate their lives, sir. These three are good sailors, and good submariners. This is very unusual for them.” Then he added, under his breath, “Besides, the crew might not correctly interpret a mast proceeding at this time. I just think it would be an error in judgment, sir.”
“XO, it was an error in judgment to release this crew on liberty in the first place,” Tremain said in an equally low tone. “That would not have been my call, had I been in your place.”
Tremain could tell that the comment had dug deep. Cazanavette visibly took it to heart. So much so that Tremain almost wished he had not said it.
“But, sir … surely nothing can be served now by punishing these men unfairly?”
“Punishment on a navy ship never is fair, XO. You’ve been around long enough to know that. It’s there to serve as an example to the rest of the crew and to set standards. It is a tool for the captain to use at his discretion. By punishing Mitchell, Stallworth, and Sykes I’ll show the crew what I expect of them — and what the price of disobedience will be.”
“Sir, you can’t expect them to know that they are being recalled when they are on the other side of the island.” Cazanavette had said it with slight sarcasm, and it struck a small nerve in Tremain.
“I expect them to get their heads in the war, Mr. Cazanavette,” he snapped. “I expect them to be mindful of what’s going on with this submarine at all times, whether they’re standing watch in the control room or sunning on the north shore. I expect them to anticipate going on patrol, and being ready to do so at a moment’s notice with seabags packed and ready to go. I expect them to be constantly thinking of ways they can contribute to helping this boat sink enemy ships. In short, I expect them to live, eat, and breathe this boat at all times, XO. This boat needs to be their only reason for existence,” he stated flatly, then paused before adding, “and yours too.”
Cazanavette started to say something, but was cut off by the bridge voice box.
“Bridge, maneuvering.” It was the engineer’s voice again. “A full load has been placed on the diesels. The ship is divorced from shore power.” The sound of the diesel engines confirmed this as the vibrations surged through the hull. The pitch lowered and steadied as they picked up the ship’s electrical loads.
“We’ll discuss this later, XO.” Tremain did not want to have a scene on the bridge. Cazanavette looked as though he was going to say something, but he held his tongue. He nodded then headed down the hatch to take his station in the conning tower.
Tremain knew he would have to finish the talk with Cazanavette later. He could understand Cazanavette’s thinking. He himself might have even voiced the same opinion a few years ago. But he knew what had to be done to make the crew come around quickly. Cazanavette would learn it too someday. Hopefully, he would learn it before he got a command of his own. Had it been peacetime, things would have been different. Perhaps Tremain would have used other methods. But this was war and they simply did not have time for any other way.
“Captain, shore power and phone cables have been removed. Both shafts have been tested ahead and astern,” Hubley said. “The ship is ready to get underway.”
Seaman Ross had reemerged with the battle flag and was once again standing on the cigarette deck.
“Very well, Mr. Hubley,” Tremain said. “Take us out of harbor.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Hubley answered. He cupped his hands to his face and yelled down to the deck. “Cast off one, three, and four!”
Chief Freund acknowledged the command then ordered the linesmen to cast off their lines. The Mackerel was moored starboard side to the pier with the bow pointing toward land and the stern pointing out into the harbor. Within moments several sailors from other boats had removed the lines from the cleats on the pier and then dropped them into the water to be hauled in by Mackerel's sailors on the deck.
“One, three, and four cast off, Officer of the Deck,” called the Cob with a wave of one hand.
Tremain observed closely but pretended not to. Casting off all lines except for number two would aid in angling Mackerel's stern out away from the pier. She would have to back out away from the submarine base jetty in order to get into the harbor. It would be a good test of Hubley’s skills as a conning officer.
“Helm, bridge,” Hubley spoke into the voice box. “Port engine ahead one third, starboard engine back one third.”
Tremain envisioned the helmsman, standing at his wheel in the conning tower beneath them as he heard the man repeat the order over the voice box. The helmsman could not see what was going on outside the submarine. He had nothing more than a wheel, an engine order telegraph, and a ship’s heading indicator at his station. Landmen would find it strange that the sailor with his hands on the wheel, the man who was physically steering the ship, was essentially driving blind. In the navy it made perfect sense since the helmsman’s duty was to steer exactly the course ordered by the officer of the deck and nothing more.
Tremain looked aft to see frothing water churn up near Mackerel's screws, confirming that the maneuvering room had carried out the order. Slowly the stern began to drift away from the pier.
Hubley waited until the ship made a thirty-degree angle with the pier and then ordered, “Helm, bridge, all stop. Cast off two!”
The men manning line number two removed the line from the cleat and let it slip into the water. At the same time the seaman standing next to Hubley activated the ship’s whistle by holding down an air valve lever on the port side of the bridge. The deafening prolonged blast sounded more like a horn than a whistle as it signaled to the other ships in harbor that Mackerel was now underway. The whistle then followed with three more short blasts to indicate that Mackerel was operating astern propulsion.
Instinctively, sailors working on the jetty and the cluttered decks of nearby ships stopped what they were doing and glanced up to see which boat was getting underway. At a nod from Hubley, Seaman Ross pulled on his lanyards and hauled up the flag of the United States over Mackerel's sparse battle flag. Several sailors on the pier broke out in laughter at the sight of it. Several of the men on Mackerel's deck muttered curses under their breath at the sight of their pathetic flag. Tremain noticed several of them glance up at him with indignation as they stowed the lines.
So they do have some pride, he thought. I hope they never forget that feeling. If a sailor was not proud of his ship then he was not proud of himself. If he was proud of his ship then he would go to hell and back for the sake of his ship’s honor. He might curse it ten times a day but he would fight every drunken headscrubber or lollygagger who insulted it to his face. Tremain knew this and he hoped that it would work to his advantage.
Mackerel in all her glory drifted away from the pier stern first. She floated through the residual disturbance that had been created by her churning screws and when line number two was finally clear, Hubley ordered, “Helm, bridge, all back one third.”