“The matter of preference doesn’t enter into it,” said the quartermaster. “He has to live alone in his cabin. The service regulations require it.”
“I don’t see any sense to that,” said Henry.
“Perhaps not. But you would if you were a seaman. Rules like that are necessary to preserve discipline. The captain must be the absolute and unquestioned boss. His word is law on shipboard. That is necessary for the safety of the ship. And everything is done to make his subordinates understand that he is absolute. This matter of living apart emphasizes all this.”
“I see,” said Henry. “And I suppose the same reason holds for the officers living in the wardroom.”
“Exactly.”
“But what about the warrant officers? They have to be obeyed, too. Yet they don’t seem to be singled out in this way.”
“Oh, yes they are. You know there are four messes on this boat—the captain’s mess, at which you have been eating, the wardroom mess, the warrant officers’ mess, and the general mess for the crew.”
“I see,” said Henry. “But what do you do in a case like the present? It must be an hour or more since mess gear was piped.”
“Oh, there’s always a second mess for those who are on duty at meal time. We’ll not have any trouble about that.”
By this time the two had taken their seats at the general mess table in the forward part of the ship. The crew had eaten and gone away, but a few seamen who had been on duty were now seated at the long table. A mess attendant brought Henry and the quartermaster food, and the two ate heartily. As they ate, Henry talked with the seamen about him. At first he didn’t know how to engage them in conversation, but when he mentioned baseball, they responded readily enough. The world’s series was near at hand, and Henry soon found that there are no keener baseball fans than American sailors. In a little while he was on good terms with a number of seamen.