The bold, rugged headlands of Patagonia were sighted on the morning of
the 4th of December. The wind had subsided a little, but a strong
current was setting through the straits, and short, sharp seas, such as
are experienced in the Bay of Fundy, indicated the ship's position as
clearly as if a good observation had been got. Snow and ice nearly
covered the ship, and the men continued to suffer from the cold. There
was a feeling of encouragement now that the ship would round the Cape
without any further trouble. But before noon a violent snow storm set
in, and the bold, bleak hills of Patagonia disappeared from sight. The
wind, too, veered ahead again and increased, and the ship had to be
headed for the coast of Terra del Fuego, on the other tack.

Early on the following morning the look-out's attention was attracted by
large spots of white light--now opening, now shutting--high up in the
heavens ahead. It was Tite's watch on deck, and the look-out pointed him
to the curious phenomena, which had not before attracted his attention.
At the same time a painful and piercing chill seemed to pervade the
atmosphere, and to seriously affect the feelings of the men on deck.

Tite watched these curious phenomena for several minutes, without
comprehending what they meant. He thereupon called the captain, who came
quickly on deck. As soon as his eye caught the gleam of light, he walked
aft to the binnacle, and stood watching the compasses for a minute or
two.

"There's trouble ahead," he said. "Call Mr. Higgins, and all hands--call
them quickly. We are close upon an iceberg."

The first officer and all hands were quickly on deck, ready to obey
orders. Every eye on board was now watching in the direction of the