caterer's authority was not as much respected as he had a right to
claim, for during the very first meal Frank ate in the mess, a dispute
arose which threatened for a time to end in the whole matter being
carried before the captain.

One of the members of the mess, who was temporarily attached to the
vessel, was a pilot who had been pressed into the service. He was a
genuine rebel, and frequently said that he was called a traitor because
he was in favor of allowing the South to "peaceably withdraw from the
Union." The doctor, a little, fat, jolly man, and a thorough Unionist,
who believed in handling all rebels without gloves, took up the sword,
and the debate that followed was long and stormy. The pilot, as it
proved, hardly knew the reasons why the South had attempted to secede,
and was constantly clinching his arguments by saying, "Men who know
more, and who have done more fighting during this war than you, Doctor
Brown, say that they have a right to do so." The debate waxed hotter and
hotter, until some of the other members of the mess joined in with the
doctor against the pilot, and the caterer, thinking that the noise the
disputants made was unbecoming the members of a well-regulated mess, at
length shouted:

"Silence! Gentlemen, hereafter talking politics in this wardroom is
strictly prohibited."

"Eh?" ejaculated the doctor, who was thoroughly aroused, "Do you expect
us to sit here and listen to a conscript running down the Government--a
man who never would have entered the service if he had not been
compelled to do so? No, sir! I wouldn't hold my tongue under such
circumstances if all the six-foot-four caterers in the squadron should
say so. You are not a little admiral, to come down here and hoist your