could make out a bleak land of white and jagged peaks.

"Staten Island, the easterly end of it," said Mr. Mellaire.

And I knew that we were in the position of a vessel just rounding
Staten Island preliminary to bucking the Horn. And, yet, four days
ago, we had run through the Straits of Le Maire and stolen along
toward the Horn. Three days ago we had been well abreast of the Horn
and even a few miles past. And here we were now, starting all over
again and far in the rear of where we had originally started.


The condition of the men is truly wretched. During the gale the
forecastle was washed out twice. This means that everything in it
was afloat and that every article of clothing, including mattresses
and blankets, is wet and will remain wet in this bitter weather until
we are around the Horn and well up in the good-weather latitudes.
The same is true of the 'midship-house. Every room in it, with the
exception of the cook's and the sail-makers' (which open for'ard on
Number Two hatch), is soaking. And they have no fires in their rooms
with which to dry things out.

I peeped into Charles Davis's room. It was terrible. He grinned to
me and nodded his head.

"It's just as well O'Sullivan wasn't here, sir," he said. "He'd a-
drowned in the lower bunk. And I want to tell you I was doing some
swimmin' before I could get into the top one. And salt water's bad
for my sores. I oughtn't to be in a hole like this in Cape Horn
weather. Look at the ice, there, on the floor. It's below freezin'