All through the night, though, this demon ship haunted us, as if we were a magnet which resistlessly attracted her iron hull. I believe that if Captain Scruggs and the second mate could have laid hands on the French skipper, they would have strangled him. At supper, whither we repaired after the excitement, the captain delivered the following address: “If you see an English, or a Dutch, or a German, or a Danish, or a Norwegian, or an American vessel near you, don’t be afraid, for he’s all right. But if it’s a Frenchman or an Eyetalian, get behind the horizon just as soon as you can, for nobody can tell what he’s goin’ to do.” During the night sail was made, the wind having dropped to force 7, and this morning broke fine, clear, and cold, and showed us the frog-eater to windward. Will it be credited that no sooner did he catch sight of us than he started down the wind toward us? At least, so it looked; but he had only squared away for Cape St. John, at the other end of the island, having evidently given up all hope of the Le Maire Straits. We were presented with a beautiful view of the middle part of Staten Land this morning at eleven o’clock. It differs from the western end in that the snows, instead of being confined to the upper half of the mountains, appeared to reach down to the sea itself. How silent and cold the hills looked with the sun striking the sharp peaks and throwing its purple shadows across the great snow-fields between! So dazzling were the mountains that, had we not known them to be land, we would have supposed that they were icebergs. It is singular that such a scene is not one of desolation, but of immutable repose, and seems to partake of that calm, fascinating peace and quiet which so irresistibly attracts explorers to the Polar seas. It was a vista of enchantment, and it was difficult to believe that in the region of Cape Horn there existed scenes of such surpassing loveliness.