The Gam

The ostensible reason why Ahab did not go on board of the whaler we had spoken was this: the wind and sea betokened storms. But even had this not been the case, he would not after all, perhaps, have boarded her—judging by his subsequent conduct on similar occasions—if so it had been that, by the process of hailing, he had obtained a negative answer to the question he put. For, as it eventually turned out, he cared not to consort, even for five minutes, with any stranger captain, except he could contribute some of that information he so absorbingly sought. But all this might remain inadequately estimated, were not something said here of the peculiar usages of whaling-vessels when meeting each other in foreign seas, and especially on a common cruising-ground.

The stated reason Ahab did not board the whaler we had spoken to was that the wind and sea promised storms. But even without that warning, perhaps he still would not have boarded her. His later conduct on similar occasions suggests he would have stayed away if he had hailed the ship and received a negative answer to his question. As it turned out, he had no interest in spending even five minutes with another captain unless that captain could provide some of the information he was so absorbed in seeking. But all this might not be fully understood without some account of the special customs of whaling ships when they meet in foreign seas, especially on shared cruising grounds.

If two strangers crossing the Pine Barrens in New York State, or the equally desolate Salisbury Plain in England; if casually encountering each other in such inhospitable wilds, these twain, for the life of them, cannot well avoid a mutual salutation; and stopping for a moment to interchange the news; and, perhaps, sitting down for a while and resting in concert: then, how much more natural that upon the illimitable Pine Barrens and Salisbury Plains of the sea, two whaling vessels descrying each other at the ends of the earth—off lone Fanning’s Island, or the far away King’s Mills; how much more natural, I say, that under such circumstances these ships should not only interchange hails, but come into still closer, more friendly and sociable contact. And especially would this seem to be a matter of course, in the case of vessels owned in one seaport, and whose captains, officers, and not a few of the men are personally known to each other; and consequently, have all sorts of dear domestic things to talk about.

If two strangers happen to meet while crossing the Pine Barrens in New York State, they can hardly avoid greeting each other. The same is true on the equally desolate Salisbury Plain in England. In such inhospitable wilderness, they would stop for a moment to exchange news. Perhaps they would even sit down and rest together for a while. How much more natural, then, when two whaling vessels sight each other on the boundless Pine Barrens and Salisbury Plains of the sea, that they should not only hail each other but meet in closer, friendlier company. This can happen at the ends of the earth, off lonely Fanning’s Island or the faraway King’s Mills. Such a meeting would seem especially natural for vessels from the same seaport. Their captains, officers, and quite a few of the men know one another personally. As a result, they have all sorts of dear things from home to talk about.

For the long absent ship, the outward-bounder, perhaps, has letters on board; at any rate, she will be sure to let her have some papers of a date a year or two later than the last one on her blurred and thumb-worn files. And in return for that courtesy, the outward-bound ship would receive the latest whaling intelligence from the cruising-ground to which she may be destined, a thing of the utmost importance to her. And in degree, all this will hold true concerning whaling vessels crossing each other’s track on the cruising-ground itself, even though they are equally long absent from home. For one of them may have received a transfer of letters from some third, and now far remote vessel; and some of those letters may be for the people of the ship she now meets. Besides, they would exchange the whaling news, and have an agreeable chat. For not only would they meet with all the sympathies of sailors, but likewise with all the peculiar congenialities arising from a common pursuit and mutually shared privations and perils.

Perhaps the outward-bound ship has letters aboard for the ship that has been away for so long. In any case, she will surely give her some newspapers a year or two newer than the latest in her blurred, thumb-worn files. In return for this courtesy, the outward-bound ship would receive the latest whaling news from the cruising ground where she may be headed. That news would be of the utmost importance to her. Much the same is true when whaling ships cross paths on the cruising ground itself, even if both have been away from home equally long. One of them may have received letters from a third ship, now far away. Some of those letters may be for the people aboard the ship she now meets. Besides, the crews would exchange whaling news and have a pleasant chat. They would meet not only with all the fellow feeling of sailors, but also with all the special bonds that come from a common pursuit and shared hardships and dangers.

Nor would difference of country make any very essential difference; that is, so long as both parties speak one language, as is the case with Americans and English. Though, to be sure, from the small number of English whalers, such meetings do not very often occur, and when they do occur there is too apt to be a sort of shyness between them; for your Englishman is rather reserved, and your Yankee, he does not fancy that sort of thing in anybody but himself. Besides, the English whalers sometimes affect a kind of metropolitan superiority over the American whalers; regarding the long, lean Nantucketer, with his nondescript provincialisms, as a sort of sea-peasant. But where this superiority in the English whalemen does really consist, it would be hard to say, seeing that the Yankees in one day, collectively, kill more whales than all the English, collectively, in ten years. But this is a harmless little foible in the English whale-hunters, which the Nantucketer does not take much to heart; probably, because he knows that he has a few foibles himself.

A difference of country would not make much essential difference either, as long as both parties speak the same language, as Americans and English people do. Of course, there are so few English whalers that such meetings do not happen very often. And when they do happen, the two sides are all too likely to be a little shy with each other. The Englishman is rather reserved, and the Yankee does not like that quality in anyone but himself. Besides, English whalers sometimes put on an air of big-city superiority over American whalers. They see the tall, lean Nantucketer, with his peculiar local ways of speaking, as a kind of sea peasant. But it is hard to say what makes the English whalers superior. After all, the Yankees together kill more whales in one day than all the English together kill in ten years. Still, this is a harmless little weakness in the English whale-hunters, and the Nantucketer does not take it much to heart. Probably that is because he knows he has a few weaknesses himself.

So, then, we see that of all ships separately sailing the sea, the whalers have most reason to be sociable—and they are so. Whereas, some merchant ships crossing each other’s wake in the mid-Atlantic, will oftentimes pass on without so much as a single word of recognition, mutually cutting each other on the high seas, like a brace of dandies in Broadway; and all the time indulging, perhaps, in finical criticism upon each other’s rig. As for Men-of-War, when they chance to meet at sea, they first go through such a string of silly bowings and scrapings, such a ducking of ensigns, that there does not seem to be much right-down hearty good-will and brotherly love about it at all. As touching Slave-ships meeting, why, they are in such a prodigious hurry, they run away from each other as soon as possible. And as for Pirates, when they chance to cross each other’s cross-bones, the first hail is—“How many skulls?”—the same way that whalers hail—“How many barrels?” And that question once answered, pirates straightway steer apart, for they are infernal villains on both sides, and don’t like to see overmuch of each other’s villanous likenesses.

So we see that of all ships sailing separately on the sea, whalers have the most reason to be sociable. And they are. Some merchant ships, however, cross each other’s paths in the mid-Atlantic without exchanging a single word of recognition. They snub each other on the high seas, like a pair of dandies on Broadway. All the while, they may be making fussy criticisms of each other’s rigging. When warships happen to meet at sea, they first go through a long series of silly bows and formalities. They dip their flags so much that there seems to be little genuine goodwill or brotherly love in it. When slave ships meet, they are in such a tremendous hurry that they run away from each other as soon as possible. And when pirates happen to cross each other’s crossbones, their first greeting is, “How many skulls?” That is just as whalers call out, “How many barrels?” Once the question is answered, the pirates immediately sail apart. They are hellish villains on both sides, and they don’t like seeing too much of their own villainous likeness in each other.

But look at the godly, honest, unostentatious, hospitable, sociable, free-and-easy whaler! What does the whaler do when she meets another whaler in any sort of decent weather? She has a “Gam,” a thing so utterly unknown to all other ships that they never heard of the name even; and if by chance they should hear of it, they only grin at it, and repeat gamesome stuff about “spouters” and “blubber-boilers,” and such like pretty exclamations. Why it is that all Merchant-seamen, and also all Pirates and Man-of-War’s men, and Slave-ship sailors, cherish such a scornful feeling towards Whale-ships; this is a question it would be hard to answer. Because, in the case of pirates, say, I should like to know whether that profession of theirs has any peculiar glory about it. It sometimes ends in uncommon elevation, indeed; but only at the gallows. And besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation for his superior altitude. Hence, I conclude, that in boasting himself to be high lifted above a whaleman, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to stand on.

But look at the godly, honest, modest, hospitable, sociable, easygoing whaler! What does a whaling ship do when it meets another in any decent weather? It has a “Gam.” This is completely unknown to all other ships. They have never even heard the name. And if they happen to hear it, they just grin and joke about “spouters” and “blubber-boilers,” and say other charming things like that. Why do all merchant sailors, pirates, naval sailors, and slave-ship sailors look down on whaling ships? That would be hard to answer. Take pirates, for example. I would like to know whether their profession has any special glory. It sometimes ends with them unusually high up, indeed, but only on the gallows. And when a man is raised up in that odd way, he has no proper foundation for his superior height. So I conclude that a pirate has no solid ground to stand on when he boasts of being high above a whaleman.

But what is a Gam? You might wear out your index-finger running up and down the columns of dictionaries, and never find the word. Dr. Johnson never attained to that erudition; Noah Webster’s ark does not hold it. Nevertheless, this same expressive word has now for many years been in constant use among some fifteen thousand true born Yankees. Certainly, it needs a definition, and should be incorporated into the Lexicon. With that view, let me learnedly define it.

But what is a Gam? You could wear out your index finger searching through dictionaries and never find the word. Dr. Johnson never learned that much. Noah Webster’s ark does not contain it. Nevertheless, this expressive word has been in constant use for many years among some fifteen thousand true-born Yankees. Clearly, the word needs a definition and should be included in the dictionary. With that in mind, let me offer a learned definition.

GAM. NOUN—A social meeting of two (or more) Whaleships, generally on a cruising-ground; when, after exchanging hails, they exchange visits by boats’ crews: the two captains remaining, for the time, on board of one ship, and the two chief mates on the other.

GAM. NOUN: A social meeting of two (or more) whaling ships, usually in a whaling area. After calling out to one another, the ships send boat crews to visit. The two captains stay aboard one ship for the time being, and the two chief mates stay aboard the other.

There is another little item about Gamming which must not be forgotten here. All professions have their own little peculiarities of detail; so has the whale fishery. In a pirate, man-of-war, or slave ship, when the captain is rowed anywhere in his boat, he always sits in the stern sheets on a comfortable, sometimes cushioned seat there, and often steers himself with a pretty little milliner’s tiller decorated with gay cords and ribbons. But the whale-boat has no seat astern, no sofa of that sort whatever, and no tiller at all. High times indeed, if whaling captains were wheeled about the water on castors like gouty old aldermen in patent chairs. And as for a tiller, the whale-boat never admits of any such effeminacy; and therefore as in gamming a complete boat’s crew must leave the ship, and hence as the boat steerer or harpooneer is of the number, that subordinate is the steersman upon the occasion, and the captain, having no place to sit in, is pulled off to his visit all standing like a pine tree. And often you will notice that being conscious of the eyes of the whole visible world resting on him from the sides of the two ships, this standing captain is all alive to the importance of sustaining his dignity by maintaining his legs. Nor is this any very easy matter; for in his rear is the immense projecting steering oar hitting him now and then in the small of his back, the after-oar reciprocating by rapping his knees in front. He is thus completely wedged before and behind, and can only expand himself sideways by settling down on his stretched legs; but a sudden, violent pitch of the boat will often go far to topple him, because length of foundation is nothing without corresponding breadth. Merely make a spread angle of two poles, and you cannot stand them up. Then, again, it would never do in plain sight of the world’s riveted eyes, it would never do, I say, for this straddling captain to be seen steadying himself the slightest particle by catching hold of anything with his hands; indeed, as token of his entire, buoyant self-command, he generally carries his hands in his trowsers’ pockets; but perhaps being generally very large, heavy hands, he carries them there for ballast. Nevertheless there have occurred instances, well authenticated ones too, where the captain has been known for an uncommonly critical moment or two, in a sudden squall say—to seize hold of the nearest oarsman’s hair, and hold on there like grim death.

There is one more little detail about Gamming that must not be forgotten. All professions have their own small peculiarities, and whaling is no exception. On a pirate ship, a warship, or a slave ship, the captain always sits in the stern when rowed anywhere in his boat. He has a comfortable seat, sometimes cushioned, and often steers himself with a dainty little tiller decorated with bright cords and ribbons. But a whale-boat has no seat in the stern, no sofa of any kind, and no tiller at all. Imagine whaling captains being wheeled around the water on casters like gouty old aldermen in special chairs! As for a tiller, a whale-boat never allows such daintiness. During a gam, a full boat crew must leave the ship, including the boat steerer, or harpooneer. So this subordinate does the steering. The captain has no place to sit, and is rowed to his visit standing upright like a pine tree. You will often notice that the standing captain is aware of every visible eye watching him from the two ships. So he is very concerned with preserving his dignity by staying on his feet. This is not easy. Behind him, the huge projecting steering oar hits him now and then in the small of his back. In front, the oar nearest the stern answers by rapping his knees. Wedged in front and behind, he can only spread sideways by settling down on his outstretched legs. But a sudden, violent pitch of the boat can easily topple him. A long base is no good without a matching width. Simply spread two poles at an angle, and you cannot make them stand. Then again, the captain could never let the watching world see him steady himself by grabbing anything with his hands. To show his complete, confident self-control, he usually carries his hands in his trouser pockets. But perhaps he keeps them there as ballast, since they are generally very large and heavy. Nevertheless, there have been well documented cases where a captain has grabbed the nearest oarsman by the hair. For an unusually dangerous moment or two, in a sudden squall, for example, he has been known to hold on for dear life.