7. CHAPTER VII.
BREAKFAST, DINNER, AND SUPPER.
Not only is the dinner-table a criterion of rank on board a
man-of-war, but also the dinner hour. He who dines latest
is the greatest man; and he who dines earliest is accounted
the least. In a flag-ship, the Commodore generally dines
about four or five o'clock; the Captain about three; the Lieutenants
about two; while the people (by which phrase the
common seamen are specially designated in the nomenclature
of the quarter-deck) sit down to their salt beef exactly at noon.
Thus it will be seen, that while the two estates of sea-kings
and sea-lords dine at rather patrician hours — and thereby, in
the long run, impair their digestive functions — the sea-commoners,
or the people, keep up their constitutions, by keeping
up the good old-fashioned, Elizabethan, Franklin-warranted
dinner hour of twelve.
Twelve o'clock! It is the natural centre, key-stone, and
very heart of the day. At that hour, the sun has arrived at
the top of his hill; and as he seems to hang poised there
a while, before coming down on the other side, it is but reasonable
to suppose that he is then stopping to dine; setting
an eminent example to all mankind. The rest of the day is
called afternoon; the very sound of which fine old Saxon
word conveys a feeling of the lee bulwarks and a nap; a
summer sea—soft breezes creeping over it; dreamy dolphins
gliding in the distance. Afternoon! the word implies, that
it is an after-piece, coming after the grand drama of the day;
something to be taken leisurely and lazily. But how can
this be, if you dine at five? For, after all, though Paradise
Lost be a noble poem, and we men-of-war's men, no doubt,
largely partake in the immortality of the immortals; yet, let
us candidly confess it, shipmates, that, upon the whole, our
dinners are the most momentous affairs of these lives we lead
beneath the moon. What were a day without a dinner? a
dinnerless day! such a day had better be a night.
Again: twelve o'clock is the natural hour for us men-of-war's
men to dine, because at that hour the very time-pieces
we have invented arrive at their terminus; they can get no
further than twelve; when straightway they continue their
old rounds again. Doubtless, Adam and Eve dined at twelve;
and the Patriarch Abraham in the midst of his cattle; and
old Job with his noon mowers and reapers, in that grand plantation
of Uz; and old Noah himself, in the Ark, must have
gone to dinner at precisely eight bells (noon), with all his floating
families and farm-yards.
But though this antediluvian dinner hour is rejected by
modern Commodores and Captains, it still lingers among “the
people” under their command. Many sensible things banished
from high life find an asylum among the mob.
Some Commodores are very particular in seeing to it, that
no man on board the ship dare to dine after his (the Commodore's)
own dessert is cleared away.—Not even the Captain.
It is said, on good authority, that a Captain once ventured to
dine at five, when the Commodore's hour was four. Next
day, as the story goes, that Captain received a private note;
and in consequence of that note, dined for the future at half
past three.
Though in respect of the dinner hour on board a man-of-war,
the people have no reason to complain; yet they have
just cause, almost for mutiny, in the outrageous hours assigned
for their breakfast and supper.
Eight o'clock for breakfast; twelve for dinner; four for
supper; and no meals but these; no lunches and no cold
snacks. Owing to this arrangement (and partly to one watch
going to their meals before the other, at sea), all the meals
of the twenty-four hours are crowded into a space of less
than eight! Sixteen mortal hours elapse between supper
and breakfast; including, to one watch, eight hours on deck!
This is barbarous; any physician will tell you so. Think of
it! Before the Commodore has dined, you have supped. And
in high latitudes, in summer-time, you have taken your last
meal for the day, and five hours, or more, daylight to spare!
Mr. Secretary of the Navy, in the name of the people, you
should interpose in this matter. Many a time have I, a main-top-man,
found myself actually faint of a tempestuous morning
watch, when all my energies were demanded — owing to
this miserable, unphilosophical mode of allotting the government
meals at sea. We beg of you, Mr. Secretary, not to
be swayed in this matter by the Honorable Board of Commodores,
who will no doubt tell you that eight, twelve, and four
are the proper hours for the people to take their meals; inasmuch,
as at these hours the watches are relieved. For,
though this arrangement makes a neater and cleaner thing
of it for the officers, and looks very nice and superfine on paper;
yet, it is plainly detrimental to health; and in time of
war is attended with still more serious consequences to the
whole nation at large. If the necessary researches were
made, it would perhaps be found that in those instances
where men-of-war adopting the above-mentioned hours for
meals have encountered an enemy at night, they have pretty
generally been beaten; that is, in those cases where the enemies'
meal times were reasonable; which is only to be accounted
for by the fact that the people of the beaten vessels
were fighting on an empty stomach instead of a full one.
