The gun deck of the “Yankee,” like the gun deck of most war vessels, is Jack’s living room.  Here he sleeps, in what he facetiously calls his folding-bed, which is swung from the deck beams above; here he enjoys the various amusements that an ordinary citizen would call work; here he goes through his drills; here he fights, not his shipmates, but his country’s enemies, and here he eats.

The remark, “he spread his legs luxuriously under the mahogany,” would hardly apply to Jack’s mode of dining.  His table is a swinging affair that is hung on the hammock hooks—­a mere board a couple of feet wide and twelve or fourteen feet long, having a ridge around the edge to keep the plates from sliding off in a seaway.  Jack’s dining chairs are called “mess benches,” and consist of a long folding bench that with the table can be stowed away in racks overhead when not in use.  A mess chest for each mess, an enamelled iron plate and cup, and a knife, fork, and spoon for each man complete the “mess gear” outfit.

The ship’s company is divided into messes, each man being assigned to a certain mess at the same time his billet number or ship’s number is given to him.  There are from fifteen to thirty men in a mess.  Each has its own “berth-deck cook,” who prepares the food for the galley; each, too, has a mess caterer, or striker, whose business it is to help the mess cook and see that all goes well.  The caterer is a volunteer from the mess, and generally serves for a week, when another volunteer takes his place.  If the quantity or quality of the food is not up to expectations, it would be better for the caterer that he be put down in the “brig” out of harm’s way, for Jack is apt to speak his mind in vigorous English, and his mind and stomach have generally formed a close alliance.

The twenty minutes allowed for meals are well spent, and the clatter of knives and forks attests the zest with which Uncle Sam’s man-o’-war’s-man tackles his not always too nice or delicate fare.  The nine dollars a month allowed by the navy for rations is expended by the paymaster of the vessel, not by the men, so, if the paymaster concludes that the men shall have “salt-horse,” rice, and hard-tack, Jack gets “salt-horse,” rice, and hard-tack, and that is all he does get unless his mess cook and caterer are unusually prudent and save something from the previous day’s rations, or the mess has put up some extra money and has “private stores.”

As the man with the biggest appetite or the fellow who eats slowly are putting away the last morsel of cracker hash or the last swallow of coffee, “Jimmy Legs” (the master-at-arms) comes around, shouting as he goes, “Shake a leg there, we want to get this deck cleared for quarters.”  He is often followed by the boatswain’s mate of the watch, who echoes his call, and between them they clear the deck.  Then begins the real work of the day.

CHAPTER IV.