zone.”
Jones covered his eyes to keep the vision at bay.
Captain Jones Puts a Foot into a Mine Field
“For your information,” the Captain told the two black signalmen frozen in attention a few minutes later, “an upsidedown flag is the international symbol hoisted by a ship in distress. More recently, it has become a symbol used by a small minority of sniveling, bleeding-heart, un-American fifth columnists for a country in distress.”
Sitting at the edge of his bunk, Jones struggled to regain his composure. “This may be the work —” he began, trying to control the sudden twitching in his lower jaw. And he spat out the rest of the sentence: “— of Sweet Reason.”
“Cap’n, can me ’n’ Jefferson here say sumpin’?” Angry Pettis Foreman asked. He and Waterman had stood the four-to-eight signal watch, which made them, as the XO bluntly put it when he paraded them down to the Captain’s cabin, “prime suspects.”
Captain Jones thought of sending for Proper to conduct the investigation, then decided that they would take that as a sign of weakness. “Come ahead, son,” he said.
“Cap’n, suh,” Angry Pettis said, threading the brim of his white sailor’s hat through his fingers. “Me ’n’ Jefferson here we raised that flag, but we raised it right-side-up. I swear that we raised it right-side-up. Ain’t that the actual situation, Jefferson?”
“That’s correct, Captain,” Waterman said. “We’re not your Sweet Reason.”
Captain Jones wanted desperately to believe that they had raised it upside-down by accident. That way he wouldn’t be dealing with another Sweet Reason incident. “There are three possibilities,” he had explained to the XO before confronting the two signalmen. “Either they raised it upsidedown by accident, in which case the whole thing is simply an unfortunate mistake, or they raised it upside down on purpose, in which case one of them is Sweet Reason, or they raised it right-side-up but somebody else came along and switched it to upside-down, in which case we’re right back where we started with this Sweet Reason business.”
“There are three possibilities,” Jones told the two black signalmen. And he ticked them off on the fingers of his left hand, careful to label them “one” and “two” and “three” so the blacks could follow the complexities of the situation.
Jones paced the cabin as he spoke and came to a stop squarely in front of his barbed-wire collection. For an instant his head looked as if it had been crowned with thorns. “Well,” he said finally, “which is it?”
“Which is what, Cap’n?” Angry Pettis said blankly.
“Which is it — one, two or three?”
“Which was number tree again?” Angry Pettis asked, and when the Captain told him he said: “That’s it, then. Number tree, Cap’n.” To underscore the answer, Angry Pettis held up the third finger of his left hand.
Jones was about to dismiss them when he thought of something. “It was dark when you raised the flag, wasn’t it?”
“Darker than a witch’s tit, Cap’n,” agreed Angry Pettis.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “Then how could you be sure it was right-side-up, eh? Tell me that. How could you be sure?”
“Why Jefferson here, he held the flashlight while me, I clipped the flag to the halyard, Cap’n. I remembers them stars was up. Ain’t that so, Jefferson?”
“That’s correct, Captain,” Waterman said coldly.
Jones took a turn around the room. Then he wheeled toward the two signalmen again and tried a new tack. This time he was looking for a motive. “Do you men think the navy is an equal opportunity employer?”
“An equal what?” Angry Pettis asked.
But Waterman understood the question. “No I don’t, Captain. Most blacks in the navy end up as stewards or in the deck gang chipping and red ledding. We don’t get a chance at the technical ratings that could qualify us for good jobs when we return to civilian life.”
“But
Jones covered his eyes to keep the vision at bay.
Captain Jones Puts a Foot into a Mine Field
“For your information,” the Captain told the two black signalmen frozen in attention a few minutes later, “an upsidedown flag is the international symbol hoisted by a ship in distress. More recently, it has become a symbol used by a small minority of sniveling, bleeding-heart, un-American fifth columnists for a country in distress.”
Sitting at the edge of his bunk, Jones struggled to regain his composure. “This may be the work —” he began, trying to control the sudden twitching in his lower jaw. And he spat out the rest of the sentence: “— of Sweet Reason.”
“Cap’n, can me ’n’ Jefferson here say sumpin’?” Angry Pettis Foreman asked. He and Waterman had stood the four-to-eight signal watch, which made them, as the XO bluntly put it when he paraded them down to the Captain’s cabin, “prime suspects.”
Captain Jones thought of sending for Proper to conduct the investigation, then decided that they would take that as a sign of weakness. “Come ahead, son,” he said.
“Cap’n, suh,” Angry Pettis said, threading the brim of his white sailor’s hat through his fingers. “Me ’n’ Jefferson here we raised that flag, but we raised it right-side-up. I swear that we raised it right-side-up. Ain’t that the actual situation, Jefferson?”
“That’s correct, Captain,” Waterman said. “We’re not your Sweet Reason.”
Captain Jones wanted desperately to believe that they had raised it upside-down by accident. That way he wouldn’t be dealing with another Sweet Reason incident. “There are three possibilities,” he had explained to the XO before confronting the two signalmen. “Either they raised it upsidedown by accident, in which case the whole thing is simply an unfortunate mistake, or they raised it upside down on purpose, in which case one of them is Sweet Reason, or they raised it right-side-up but somebody else came along and switched it to upside-down, in which case we’re right back where we started with this Sweet Reason business.”
“There are three possibilities,” Jones told the two black signalmen. And he ticked them off on the fingers of his left hand, careful to label them “one” and “two” and “three” so the blacks could follow the complexities of the situation.
Jones paced the cabin as he spoke and came to a stop squarely in front of his barbed-wire collection. For an instant his head looked as if it had been crowned with thorns. “Well,” he said finally, “which is it?”
“Which is what, Cap’n?” Angry Pettis said blankly.
“Which is it — one, two or three?”
“Which was number tree again?” Angry Pettis asked, and when the Captain told him he said: “That’s it, then. Number tree, Cap’n.” To underscore the answer, Angry Pettis held up the third finger of his left hand.
Jones was about to dismiss them when he thought of something. “It was dark when you raised the flag, wasn’t it?”
“Darker than a witch’s tit, Cap’n,” agreed Angry Pettis.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “Then how could you be sure it was right-side-up, eh? Tell me that. How could you be sure?”
“Why Jefferson here, he held the flashlight while me, I clipped the flag to the halyard, Cap’n. I remembers them stars was up. Ain’t that so, Jefferson?”
“That’s correct, Captain,” Waterman said coldly.
Jones took a turn around the room. Then he wheeled toward the two signalmen again and tried a new tack. This time he was looking for a motive. “Do you men think the navy is an equal opportunity employer?”
“An equal what?” Angry Pettis asked.
But Waterman understood the question. “No I don’t, Captain. Most blacks in the navy end up as stewards or in the deck gang chipping and red ledding. We don’t get a chance at the technical ratings that could qualify us for good jobs when we return to civilian life.”
“But
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