And still to the southward we go. A little more of this will be more than sufficient; but the northwesterly winds continue, and we cannot choose but steer whither they will permit us. Already we are nearly four degrees south of the Horn, and we will no doubt cross the sixtieth parallel in a short time. Many captains prefer going even as far as 64° south, and make their westing down there where the degrees of longitude are less than thirty miles, and then steer north on a meridian, if they can. _If they can._ Ah! that’s the point; for often, after penetrating far into the high latitudes, they cannot get north again when they want to, and these vessels then make very long passages. For instance, about three years ago several ships were in sight of each other, all bound to the westward. Some of them, including the “Reuce,” a Yankee ship, of which Mr. Rarx was then second mate, knocked about near the land, waiting for a slant; the others dove into the southward immediately, including the “St. Paul.” All of the latter made very long passages, the “Reuce” having discharged her cargo in San Francisco and commenced reloading before the “St. Paul” arrived. Captain Scruggs is one of those who do not advocate the southern passage, and he has no chart that reaches below 58° south, so that my track chart of the world is the only one that can be used just now. This doesn’t seem right, for ships in the Cape Horn trade ought to be provided with charts to the South Polar Circle. Suppose a ship were blown down among the South Shetlands without a chart? Such a thing is quite possible, and once in that archipelago without a knowledge of the land or any of the courses, a ship would stand mighty little chance of getting out again in bad weather. This wind is just exactly in the wrong place; of course, we could go round on the other tack, but we couldn’t do better than north-northeast by compass, which would be an absurd course, so we have to go pegging away at it and trust to luck. We are now almost exactly south of New York, and can imagine the people eating and sleeping there at the same time that we do ourselves, though under somewhat different conditions. Steady rain has commenced again; the aneroid stands at 29, and the melancholy, doleful appearance of the heavens and the sea has apparently increased. Latitude, 59° 40′ south; longitude, 75° 20′ west. +July 26+ At last we are steering our course, west-northwest true. A very light breeze has just now (4 +P.M.+) begun to breathe softly out of the southeast, so faint that we are not doing a mile an hour against a head-sea; but even such a progression is most welcome, being in the right direction.