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 shipmate in the usual sailor fashion. 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

Shoregoing 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 amusements 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 ship.

Now, a gam is the meeting of two or more whale-ships, 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 circumstances, of course, it can't be
helped.

We had a gam one day, on this voyage, with a Yankee whale-ship, and a
first-rate gam it was, for, as the Yankee had gammed three days before
with another English ship, 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 ship. 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 smokin