utmost, both with our eyes and ears.

Next day, I found that the mercury in the barometer, which had risen
steadily since we cleared the ice, remained steady. I had had very good
observations, with now and then the interruption of a day or so, since
our departure. I got the sun at noon, and found that we were in Lat. 58
degrees S., Long. 60 degrees W., off New South Shetland; in the
neighbourhood of Cape Horn. We were sixty-seven days out, that day. The
ship's reckoning was accurately worked and made up. The ship did her
duty admirably, all on board were well, and all hands were as smart,
efficient, and contented, as it was possible to be.

When the night came on again as dark as before, it was the eighth night I
had been on deck. Nor had I taken more than a very little sleep in the
day-time, my station being always near the helm, and often at it, while
we were among the ice. Few but those who have tried it can imagine the
difficulty and pain of only keeping the eyes open--physically open--under
such circumstances, in such darkness. They get struck by the darkness,
and blinded by the darkness. They make patterns in it, and they flash in
it, as if they had gone out of your head to look at you. On the turn of
midnight, John Steadiman, who was alert and fresh (for I had always made
him turn in by day), said to me, "Captain Ravender, I entreat of you to
go below. I am sure you can hardly stand, and your voice is getting
weak, sir. Go below, and take a little rest. I'll call you if a block
chafes." I said to John in answer, "Well, well, John! Let us wait till
the turn of one o'clock, before we talk about that." I had just had one
of the ship's lanterns held up, that I might see how the night went by my
watch, and it was then twenty minutes after twelve.

At five minutes before one, John sang out to the boy to bring the lantern