The World of Ice | Page 9

in company with his own son Tom.
Now, Tom Singleton had been Fred's bosom friend and companion
during his first year at school; but during the last two years he had been
sent to the Edinburgh University to prosecute his medical studies, and
the two friends had only met at rare intervals. It was with unbounded

delight, therefore, that he found his old companion, now a youth of
twenty, was to go out as surgeon of the ship, and he could scarce
contain himself as he ran down to Buzzby's cottage to tell him the good
news, and ask him to join.
Of course Buzzby was ready to go, and, what was of far greater
importance in the matter, his wife threw no obstacle in the way. On the
contrary, she undid the lashings of the helm with her own hand, and
told her wondering partner, with a good-humoured but firm smile, to
steer where he chose, and she would content herself with the society of
the two young Buzzbys (both miniature fac-similes of their father) till
he came back.
Once again a whale-ship prepared to sail from the port of Grayton, and
once again Mrs. Bright and Isobel stood on the pier to see her depart.
Isobel was about thirteen now, and as pretty a girl, according to Buzzby,
as you could meet with in any part of Britain. Her eyes were blue and
her hair nut-brown, and her charms of face and figure were enhanced
immeasurably by an air of modesty and earnestness that went straight
home to your heart, and caused you to adore her at once. Buzzby
doated on her as if she were his only child, and felt a secret pride in
being in some indefinable way her protector. Buzzby philosophized
about her, too, after a strange fashion. "You see," he would say to Fred,
"it's not that her figurehead is cut altogether after a parfect pattern--by
no means, for I've seen pictur's and statues that wos better--but she
carries her head a little down, d'ye see, Master Fred? and there's where
it is; that's the way I gauges the worth o' young women, jist accordin' as
they carry their chins up or down. If their brows come well for'ard, and
they seems to be lookin' at the ground they walk on, I knows their
brains is firm stuff, and in good workin' order; but when I sees them
carryin' their noses high out o' the water, as if they wos afeard o'
catchin' sight o' their own feet, and their chins elewated, so that a little
boy standin' in front o' them couldn't see their faces nohow, I make
pretty sure that t'other end is filled with a sort o' mush that's fit only to
think o' dress and dancing."
On the present occasion Isobel's eyes were red and swollen, and by no

means improved by weeping. Mrs. Bright, too, although three years had
done little to alter her character, seemed to be less demonstrative and
much more sincere than usual in her grief at parting from Fred.
In a few minutes all was ready. Young Singleton and Buzzby having
hastily but earnestly bade Mrs. Bright and her daughter farewell, leaped
on board. Fred lingered for a moment.
"Once more, dear aunt," said he, "farewell. With God's blessing we
shall come back soon.--Write to me, darling Isobel, won't you? to
Upernavik, on the coast of Greenland. If none of our ships are bound in
that direction, write by way of Denmark. Old Mr. Singleton will tell
you how to address your letter; and see that it be a long one."
"Now then, youngster, jump aboard," shouted the captain; "look sharp!"
"Ay, ay," returned Fred, and in another moment he was on the
quarter-deck, by the side of his friend Tom.
The ship, loosed from her moorings, spread her canvas, and plunged
forward on her adventurous voyage.
But this time she does not grow smaller as she advances before the
freshening breeze, for you and I, reader, have embarked in her, and the
land now fades in the distance, until it sinks from view on the distant
horizon, while nothing meets our gaze but the vault of the bright blue
sky above, and the plane of the dark blue sea below.
CHAPTER III.
_The voyage--The "Dolphin" and her crew--Ice ahead--Polar
scenes--Masthead observations--The first whale--Great excitement_.
And now we have fairly got into blue water--the sailor's delight, the
landsman's dread,--
"The sea! the sea! the open sea; The blue, the fresh, the ever free."

"It's my opinion," remarked Buzzby to Singleton one day, as they stood
at the weather gangway watching the foam that spread from the vessel's
bow as she breasted the waves of the Atlantic gallantly--it's my opinion
that our skipper is made o' the right stuff.