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.  He’s entered quite into the spirit of the thing, and I heard him say to the first mate yesterday he’d made up his mind to run right up into Baffin’s Bay and make inquiries for Captain Ellice first, before goin’ to his usual whalin’-ground.  Now that’s wot I call doin’ the right thing; for, ye see, he runs no small risk o’ getting beset in the ice, and losing the fishin’ altogether by so doin’.”

“He’s a fine fellow,” said Singleton; “I like him better every day, and I feel convinced he will do his utmost to discover the whereabouts of our missing friend; but I fear much that our chances are small, for, although we know the spot which Captain Ellice intended to visit, we cannot tell to what part of the frozen ocean ice and currents may have carried him.”

“True,” replied Buzzby, giving to his left eye and cheek just that peculiar amount of screw which indicated intense sagacity and penetration; “but I’ve a notion that, if they are to be found, Captain Guy is the man to find ’em.”

“I hope it may turn out as you say.  Have you ever been in these seas before, Buzzby?”

“No, sir—­never; but I’ve got a half-brother wot has bin in the Greenland whale-fishery, and I’ve bin in the South Sea line myself.”

“What line was that, Buzzby?” inquired David Summers, a sturdy boy of about fifteen, who acted as assistant steward, and was, in fact, a nautical maid-of-all-work.  “Was it a log-line, or a bow-line, or a cod-line, or a bit of the equator, eh?”

The old salt deigned no reply to this passing sally, but continued his converse with Singleton.

“I could give ye many a long yarn about the South Seas,” said Buzzby, gazing abstractedly down into the deep.  “One time when I was about fifty miles to the sou’-west o’ Cape Horn, I—­”

“Dinner’s ready, sir,” said a thin, tall, active man, stepping smartly up to Singleton, and touching his cap.

“We must talk over that some other time, Buzzby.  The captain loves punctuality.”  So saying, the young surgeon sprang down the companion ladder, leaving the old salt to smoke his pipe in solitude.

And here we may pause a few seconds to describe our ship and her crew.