Fighting the Whales Part 8

Immediately after that the whale went into his flurry, but we paid no attention to him, in our anxiety to pick up our companions. They all came to the surface quickly enough, but while some made for the boats vigorously, others swam slowly and with pain, showing that they were hurt, while one or two floated, as if dead, upon the water.

Most of the men had escaped with only a few cuts and bruises, but one poor fellow was hauled out of the water with a leg broken, and another was so badly knocked about the head that it was a long time before he was again fit for duty. The worst case, however, was that of poor Fred Borders. He had a leg broken, and a severe wound in the side from a harpoon which had been forced into the flesh over the barbs, so that we could hardly get it drawn out. We laid him in the stern of the boat, where he lay for some time insensible; but in a short time he revived, and spoke to us in a faint voice. His first words were:

"I'm dying, messmates. It is into my life, too."

"Don't say that, Fred," said I, while my heart sank within me. "Cheer up, my boy, you'll live to be the death of many a whale yet. See, put your lips to this can--it will do you good."

He shook his head gently, being too weak to reply.

We had killed a big fish that day, and we knew that when he was "tried in" we should have completed our cargo; but there was no cheer given when the monster turned over on his side, and the pull to the s.h.i.+p that evening seemed to us the longest and heaviest we ever had, for our hearts were very sad.

Next day Fred was worse, and we all saw that his words would come true--he was dying; and before the sun had again set poor Fred had left us for ever.

We buried our s.h.i.+pmate in the usual sailor fas.h.i.+on. We wrapped him in his hammock, with a cannon-ball at his feet to sink him. The captain read the burial-service at the gangway, and then, in deep silence, we committed his corpse to the deep.

CHAPTER IX

NEWS FROM HOME--A GAM

Sh.o.r.egoing people have but little notion of the ease with which the heart of a jack-tar is made to rejoice when he is out on a long voyage.

His pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts are so few that he is thankful to make the most of whatever is thrown in his way. In the whale-fisheries, no doubt, he has more than enough of excitement, but after a time he gets used to this, and begins to long for a little variety--and of all the pleasures that fall to his lot, that which delights him most is to have a GAM with another s.h.i.+p.

Now, a gam is the meeting of two or more whale-s.h.i.+ps, their keeping company for a time, and the exchanging of visits by the crews. It is neither more nor less than a jollification on the sea--the inviting of your friends to feast and make merry in your floating house. There is this difference, however, between a gam at sea and a party on land, that your _friends_ on the ocean are men whom you perhaps never saw before, and whom you will likely never meet again. There is also another difference--there are no ladies at a gam. This is a great want, for man is but a rugged creature when away from the refining influence of woman; but, in the circ.u.mstances, of course, it can't be helped.

We had a gam one day, on this voyage, with a Yankee whale-s.h.i.+p, and a first-rate gam it was, for, as the Yankee had gammed three days before with another English s.h.i.+p, we got a lot of news second-hand; and, as we had not seen a new face for many months, we felt towards those Yankees like brothers, and swallowed all they had to tell us like men starving for news.

It was on a fine calm morning, just after breakfast, that we fell in with this s.h.i.+p. We had seen no whales for a day or two, but we did not mind that, for our hold was almost full of oil-barrels. Tom Lokins and I were leaning over the starboard bulwarks, watching the small fish that every now and then darted through the clear-blue water like arrows, and smoking our pipes in silence. Tom looked uncommonly grave, and I knew that he was having some deep and knowing thoughts of his own which would leak out in time. All at once he took his pipe from his mouth and stared earnestly at the horizon.

"Bob," said he, speaking very slowly, "if there ain't a s.h.i.+p right off the starboard beam, I'm a Dutchman."

"You don't mean it!" said I, starting with a feeling of excitement.

Before another word could be uttered, the cry of "Sail ho!" came ringing down from the mast-head. Instantly the quiet of the morning was broken; sleepers sprang up and rubbed their eyes, the men below rushed wildly up the hatchway, the cook came tearing out of his own private den, flouris.h.i.+ng a soup-ladle in one hand and his tormentors in the other, the steward came tumbling up with a lump of dough in his fist that he had forgot to throw down in his haste, and the captain bolted up from the cabin without his hat.

"Where away?" cried he, with more than his usual energy.

"Right off the starboard beam, sir."

"Square the yards! Look alive, my hearties," was the next order; for although the calm sea was like a sheet of gla.s.s, a light air, just sufficient to fill our top-gallant sails, enabled us to creep through the water.

"Hurrah!" shouted the men as we sprang to obey.

"What does she look like?" roared the captain.

"A big s.h.i.+p, sir, I think," replied the lookout: "but I can only just make out the top of her main t-gallan' s'l."--(Sailors scorn to speak of _top-gallant sails_.)

Gradually, one by one, the white sails of the stranger rose up like cloudlets out of the sea, and our hearts beat high with hope and expectation as we beheld the towering canvas of a full-rigged s.h.i.+p rise slowly into view.

"Show our colours," said the captain.

In a moment the Union Jack of Old England was waving at the mast-head in the gentle breeze, and we watched anxiously for a reply. The stranger was polite; his colours flew up a moment after, and displayed the Stripes and Stars of America.

"A Yankee!" exclaimed some of the men in a tone of slight disappointment.

I may remark, that our disappointment arose simply from the fact that there was no chance, as we supposed, of getting news from "home" out of a s.h.i.+p that must have sailed last from America. For the rest, we cared not whether they were Yankees or Britons--they were men who could speak the English tongue, that was enough for us.

"Never mind, boys," cried one, "we'll have a jolly gam; that's a fact."

"So we will," said another, "and I'll get news of my mad Irish cousin, Terrence O'Flannagan, who went out to seek his fortin in Ameriky with two s.h.i.+llin's and a broken knife in his pocket, and it's been said he's got into a government situation o' some sort connected with the jails--whether as captain or leftenant o' police, or turnkey, I'm not rightly sure."

"More likely as a life-tenant of one of the cells," observed Bill Blunt, laughing.

"Don't speak ill of a better man than yerself behind his back,"

retorted the owner of the Irish cousin.

"Stand by to lower the jolly-boat," cried the captain.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Lower away!"

In a few minutes we were leaping over the calm sea in the direction of the strange s.h.i.+p, for the breeze had died down, and we were too eager to meet with new faces, and to hear the sound of new voices, to wait for the wind.

To our joy we found that the Yankee had had a gam (as I have already said) with an English s.h.i.+p a few days before, so we returned to our vessel loaded with old newspapers from England, having invited the captain and crew of the Yankee to come aboard of us and spend the day.

While preparation was being made for the reception of our friends, we got hold of two of the old newspapers, and Tom Lokins seized one, while Bill Blunt got the other, and both men sat down on the windla.s.s to retail the news to a crowd of eager men who tried hard to listen to both at once, and so could make nothing out of either.

"Hold hard, Tom Lokins," cried one. "What's that you say about the Emperor, Bill?"

"The Emperor of Roosia," said Bill Blunt, reading slowly, and with difficulty, "is--stop a bit, messmates, wot can this word be?--the Emperor of Roosia is----"

"Blowed up with gunpowder, and shattered to a thousand pieces," said Tom Lokins, raising his voice with excitement, as he read from _his_ paper an account of the blowing up of a mountain fortress in India.

"Oh! come, I say, one at a time, if you please," cried a harpooner; "a feller can't git a word of sense out of sich a jumble."

"Come, messmates," cried two or three voices, as Tom stopped suddenly, and looked hard at the paper, "go ahead! wot have ye got there that makes ye look as wise as an owl? Has war been and broke out with the French?"

"I do believe he's readin' the births, marriages, and deaths," said one of the men, peeping over Tom's shoulder.

"Read 'em out, then, can't ye?" cried another.

"I say, Bill Blunt, I think this consarns _you_," cried Tom: "isn't your sweetheart's name Susan Croft?"

"That's a fact," said Bill, looking up from his paper, "and who has got a word to say agin the prettiest la.s.s in all Liverpool?"

"n.o.body's got a word to say against her," replied Tom; "but she's married, that's all."