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 ports
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 sea-port town of Grayton watching
the active operations of the crew of a whaling-ship which was on the
point of starting for the ice-bound 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'