a close-reefed main topsail, drifting bodily off to leeward before the fiercest storm that we had yet felt, blowing dead ahead, from the eastward.  It seemed as though the genius of the place had been roused at finding that we had nearly slipped through his fingers, and had come down upon us with tenfold fury.  The sailors said that every blast, as it shook the shrouds, and whistled through the rigging, said to the old ship, ``No, you don’t!’’—­ ``No, you don’t!’’

For eight days we lay drifting about in this manner.  Sometimes—­ generally towards noon—­ it fell calm; once or twice a round copper ball showed itself for a few moments in the place where the sun ought to have been, and a puff or two came from the westward, giving some hope that a fair wind had come at last.  During the first two days we made sail for these puffs, shaking the reefs out of the topsails and boarding the tacks of the courses; but finding that it only made work for us when the gale set in again, it was soon given up, and we lay-to under our close-reefs.  We had less snow and hail than when we were farther to the westward, but we had an abundance of what is worse to a sailor in cold weather,—­ drenching rain.  Snow is blinding, and very bad when coming upon a coast, but, for genuine discomfort, give me rain with freezing weather.  A snowstorm is exciting, and it does not wet through the clothes (a fact important to a sailor); but a constant rain there is no escaping from.  It wets to the skin, and makes all protection vain.  We had long ago run through all our dry clothes, and as sailors have no other way of drying them than by the sun, we had nothing to do but to put on those which were the least wet.  At the end of each watch, when we came below, we took off our clothes and wrung them out; two taking hold of a pair of trousers, one at each end,—­ and jackets in the same way.  Stockings, mittens, and all, were wrung out also, and then hung up to drain and chafe dry against the bulkheads.  Then, feeling of all our clothes, we picked out those which were the least wet, and put them on, so as to be ready for a call, and turned-in, covered ourselves up with blankets, and slept until three knocks on the scuttle and the dismal sound of ``All Starbowlines ahoy!  Eight bells, there below!  Do you hear the news?’’ drawled out from on deck, and the sulky answer of ``Aye, aye!’’ from below, sent us up again.

On deck all was dark, and either a dead calm, with the rain pouring steadily down, or, more generally, a violent gale dead ahead, with rain pelting horizontally, and occasional variations of hail and sleet; decks afloat with water swashing from side to side, and constantly wet feet, for boots could not be wrung out like drawers, and no composition could stand the constant soaking.  In fact, wet and cold feet are inevitable in such weather, and are not the least of those items which go to make up the grand total of the discomforts of a winter passage round Cape Horn.  Few words