The World of Ice

The World of Ice, by R.M.
Ballantyne

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Title: The World of Ice
Author: R.M. Ballantyne
Release Date: June 6, 2007 [EBook #21711]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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WORLD OF ICE ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

THE WORLD OF ICE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
SOME OF THE dramatis personae

INTRODUCED--RETROSPECTIVE GLANCES--CAUSES OF
FUTURE EFFECTS--OUR HERO'S EARLY LIFE AT SEA--A
PIRATE--A TERRIBLE FIGHT AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES--BUZZBY'S HELM LASHED AMIDSHIPS--A
WHALING CRUISE BEGUN.
Nobody ever caught John Buzzby asleep by any chance whatever. No
weasel was ever half so sensitive on that point as he was. Wherever he
happened to be (and in the course of his adventurous life he had been to
nearly all parts of the known world) he was the first awake in the
morning and the last asleep at night; he always answered promptly to
the first call, and was never known by any man living to have been seen
with his eyes shut, except when he winked, and that operation he
performed less frequently than other men.
John Buzzby was an old salt--a regular true-blue jack tar of the old
school, who had been born and bred at sea; had visited foreign parts
innumerable; had weathered more storms than he could count, and had
witnessed more strange sights than he could remember. He was tough,
and sturdy, and grizzled, and broad, and square, and massive--a
first-rate specimen of a John Bull, and, according to himself, "always
kept his weather-eye open." This remark of his was apt to create
confusion in the minds of his hearers, for John meant the expression to
be understood figuratively, while, in point of fact, he almost always
kept one of his literal eyes open and the other partially closed, but as he
reversed the order of arrangement frequently, he might have been said
to keep his lee-eye as much open as the weather one. This peculiarity
gave to his countenance an expression of earnest thoughtfulness
mingled with humour. Buzzby was fond of being thought old, and he
looked much older than he really was. Men guessed his age at fifty-five,
but they were ten years out in their reckoning, for John had numbered
only forty-five summers, and was as tough and muscular as ever he had
been--although not quite so elastic.
John Buzzby stood on the pier of the seaport town of Grayton watching
the active operations of the crew of a whaling ship which was on the
point of starting for the icebound seas of the frozen regions, and

making sundry remarks to a stout, fair-haired boy of fifteen, who stood
by his side gazing at the ship with an expression of deep sadness.
"She's a trim-built craft and a good sea-boat, I'll be bound, Master
Fred," observed the sailor, "but she's too small by half, accordin' to my
notions, and I have seen a few whalers in my day. Them bow-timbers,
too, are scarce thick enough for goin' bump agin the ice o' Davis Straits.
Howsome'iver, I've seen worse craft drivin' a good trade in the Polar
Seas."
"She's a first-rate craft in all respects, and you have too high an opinion
of your own judgment," replied the youth indignantly. "Do you suppose
that my father, who is an older man than yourself, and as good a sailor,
would buy a ship, and fit her out, and go off to the whale-fishery in her
if he did not think her a good one?"
"Ah! Master Fred, you're a chip of the old block--neck or nothing--
carry on all sail till you tear the masts out of her! Reef the t'gallant sails
of your temper, boy, and don't run foul of an old man who has been all
but a wet-nurse to ye--taught ye to walk, and swim, and pull an oar, and
build ships, and has hauled ye out o' the sea when ye fell in--from the
time ye could barely stump along on two legs, lookin' like as if ye was
more nor half seas over."
"Well, Buzzby," replied the boy, laughing, "if you've been all that to
me, I think you have been a wet-nurse too! But why do you run down
my father's ship? Do you think I'm going to stand that? No, not even
from you, old boy."
"Hallo! youngster," shouted a voice from the deck of the vessel in
question, "run up and tell your father