The World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (digital e reader TXT) 📕

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 we’re all ready, and if he don’t make haste he’ll lose the tide, so he will, and that’ll make us have to start on a Friday, it will, an’ that’ll not do for me no how, it won’t; so make sail and look sharp about it, do—won’t you?”

“What a tongue he’s got,” remarked Buzzby. “Before I’d go to sea with a first mate who jawed like that I’d be a landsman. Don’t ever you git to talk too much, Master Fred, wotever ye do. My maxim is—and it has served me through life, uncommon,—‘Keep your weather-eye open and your tongue housed ’xcept when you’ve got occasion to use it.’ If that fellow’d use his eyes more and his tongue less he’d see your father comin’ down the road there, right before the wind; with his old sister in tow.”

“How I wish he would have let me go with him!” muttered Fred to himself sorrowfully.

“No chance now, I’m a-feared,” remarked his companion. “The gov’nor’s as stiff as a nor’wester. Nothin’ in the world can turn him once he’s made up his mind but a regular sou’easter. Now, if you had been my son, and yonder tight craft my ship, I would have said, come, at once. But your father knows best, lad, and you’re a wise son to obey orders cheerfully, without question. That’s another o’ my maxims: ‘Obey orders an’ ax no questions.’”

Frederick Ellice, senior, who now approached, whispering words of consolation into the ear of his weeping sister, might, perhaps, have just numbered fifty years. He was a fine, big, bold, hearty Englishman, with a bald head, grizzled locks, a loud but not harsh voice, a rather quick temper, and a kind, earnest, enthusiastic heart. Like Buzzby, he had spent nearly all his life at sea, and had become so thoroughly accustomed to walking on an unstable foundation that he felt quite uncomfortable on solid ground, and never remained more than a few months at a time on shore. He was a man of good education and gentlemanly manners, and had worked his way up in the merchant service step by step until he obtained the command of a West India trader.

A few years previous to the period in which our tale opens, an event occurred which altered the course of Captain Ellice’s life, and for a long period plunged him into the deepest affliction. This was the loss of his wife at sea, under peculiarly distressing circumstances.

At the age of thirty Captain Ellice had married a pretty blue-eyed girl, who resolutely refused to become a sailor’s bride unless she should be permitted to accompany her husband to sea. This was without much difficulty agreed to, and forthwith Alice Bremner became Mrs Ellice, and went to sea. It was during her third voyage to the West Indies that our hero, Fred, was born, and it was during this and succeeding voyages that Buzzby became “all but a wet-nurse” to him.

Mrs Ellice was a loving, gentle, seriously-minded woman. She devoted herself, heart and soul, to the training of her boy, and spent many a pleasant hour in that little unsteady cabin, in endeavouring to instil into his infant mind the blessed truths of Christianity, and in making the name of Jesus familiar to his ear. As Fred grew older his mother encouraged him to hold occasional intercourse with the sailors, for her husband’s example taught her the value of a bold, manly spirit, and she knew that it was impossible for her to instil that into him, but she was careful to guard him from the evil that he might chance to learn from the men, by committing him to the tender care of Buzzby. To do the men justice, however, this was almost unnecessary, for they felt that a mother’s watchful eye was on the child, and no unguarded word fell from their lips while he was romping about the forecastle.

When it was time for Fred to go to school, Mrs Ellice gave up her roving life and settled in her native town of Grayton, where she resided with her widowed sister, Amelia Bright, and her niece Isobel. Here Fred received the rudiments of an excellent education at a private academy. At the age of twelve, however, Master Fred became restive, and, during one of his father’s periodical visits home, begged to be taken to sea. Captain Ellice agreed; Mrs Ellice insisted on accompanying them, and in a few weeks they were once again on their old home, the ocean, and Fred was enjoying his native air in company with his friend Buzzby, who stuck to the old ship like one of her own stout timbers.

But this was destined to be a disastrous voyage. One evening, after crossing the line, they descried a suspicious-looking schooner to windward, bearing down upon them under a cloud of canvas.

“What do you think of her, Buzzby?” enquired Captain Ellice, handing his glass to the seaman.

Buzzby gazed in silence and with compressed lips for some time; then he returned the glass, at the same time muttering the word: “Pirate.”

“I thought so,” said the captain in a deep, unsteady voice. “There is but one course for us, Buzzby,” he continued, glancing towards his wife, who, all unconscious of their danger, sat near the taffrail employed with her needle; “these fellows show no mercy, because they expect none either from God or man. We must fight to the last. Go, prepare the men and get out the arms. I’ll tell my wife.”

Buzzby went forward, but the captain’s heart failed him, and he took two or three rapid, hesitating turns on the quarter-deck ere he could make up his mind to speak.

“Alice,” he said at length abruptly, “yonder vessel is a pirate.”

Mrs Ellice looked up in surprise, and her face grew pale as her eye met the troubled gaze of her husband.

“Are you quite sure, Frederick?”

“Yes, quite. Would God that I were left alone to—but—nay, do not be alarmed; perhaps I am wrong; it may be a—a clipper-built trading vessel. If not, Alice, we must make some show of fighting, and try to frighten them. Meanwhile you must go below.”

The captain spoke encouragingly as he led his wife to the cabin, but his candid countenance spoke too truthfully, and she felt that his look of anxious concern bade her fear the worst.

Pressing her fervently to his heart, Captain Ellice sprang on deck.

By this time the news had spread through the ship, and the crew, consisting of upwards of thirty men, were conversing earnestly in knots of four or five while they sharpened and buckled on cutlasses, or loaded pistols and carbines.

“Send the men aft, Mr Thompson,” said the captain, as he paced the deck to and fro, casting his eyes occasionally on the schooner, which was rapidly nearing the vessel. “Take another pull at these main-topsail-halyards, and send the steward down below for my sword and pistols. Let the men look sharp; we’ve no time to lose, and hot work is before us.”

“I will go for your sword, Father,” cried Fred, who had just come on deck.

“Boy, boy, you must go below; you can be of no use here.”

“But, Father, you know that I’m not afraid.”

“I know that, boy; I know it well; but you’re too young to fight; you’re not strong enough; besides, you must comfort and cheer your mother, she may want you.”

“I am old enough and strong enough to load and fire a pistol, Father; and I heard one of the men say we would need all the hands on board, and more if we had them; besides, it was my mother who told me what was going on, and sent me on deck to help you to fight.”

A momentary gleam of pride lit up the countenance of the captain