as the yard was a-cock-bill by the lying over of the vessel, we had to light it all up to windward.  When the yard-arms were furled, the bunt was all adrift again, which made more work for us.  We got all secure at last, but we had been nearly an hour and a half upon the yard, and it seemed an age.  It had just struck five bells when we went up, and eight were struck soon after we came down.  This may seem slow work; but considering the state of everything, and that we had only five men to a sail with just half as many square yards of canvas in it as the mainsail of the Independence, sixty-gun ship, which musters seven hundred men at her quarters, it is not wonderful that we were no quicker about it.  We were glad enough to get on deck, and still more to go below.  The oldest sailor in the watch said, as he went down, ``I shall never forget that main yard; it beats all my going a-fishing.  Fun is fun, but furling one yard-arm of a course at a time, off Cape Horn, is no better than man-killing.’’

During the greater part of the next two days, the wind was pretty steady from the southward.  We had evidently made great progress, and had good hope of being soon up with the Cape, if we were not there already.  We could put but little confidence in our reckoning, as there had been no opportunities for an observation, and we had drifted too much to allow of our dead reckoning being anywhere near the mark.  If it would clear off enough to give a chance for an observation, or if we could make land, we should know where we were; and upon these, and the chances of falling in with a sail from the eastward, we depended almost entirely.

Friday, July 22d.  This day we had a steady gale from the southward, and stood on under close sail, with the yards eased a little by the weather braces, the clouds lifting a little, and showing signs of breaking away.  In the afternoon, I was below with Mr. Hatch, the third mate, and two others, filling the bread locker in the steerage from the casks, when a bright gleam of sunshine broke out and shone down the companionway, and through the skylight, lighting up everything below, and sending a warm glow through the hearts of all.  It was a sight we had not seen for weeks,—­ an omen, a godsend.  Even the roughest and hardest face acknowledged its influence.  Just at that moment we heard a loud shout from all parts of the deck, and the mate called out down the companion-way to the captain, who was sitting in the cabin.  What he said we could not distinguish, but the captain kicked over his chair, and was on deck at one jump.  We could not tell what it was; and, anxious as we were to know, the discipline of the ship would not allow of our leaving our places.  Yet, as we were not called, we knew there was no danger.  We hurried to get through with our job, when, seeing the steward’s black face peering out of the pantry, Mr. Hatch hailed him to know what was the matter. ``Lan’ o, to be sure, sir!  No you hear ’em sing out, `Lan’ o?’ De cap’em say ‘im Cape Horn!’’