One clear morning we were about due south of the Cape of Good Hope, running under all the canvas we could carry and making about thirteen knots, when we sighted our first iceberg. It was about eight bells, and the whole of the forenoon we made towards it, passing it shortly after noon. In size and shape it reminded me of St. Paul’s cathedral. Modern Antarctic explorers tell us that the size of these southern bergs have been greatly exaggerated, but as we saw this particular berg more than fifty miles off it cannot have been a very small one. For some days after this we constantly saw ice. One Sunday afternoon, my watch on deck, it was misty, and we continually sighted the heads of bergs in more or less close proximity. There was a strong following wind, but the old man took in the mizzen-royal and crossjack, and, telling me that he had snugged the ship down for me, went below to sleep the sleep of perfect peace. With the gaudy confidence of youth, however, this did not give me any immediate concern. But we did carry canvas, and I should hesitate to say how many topmast-stunsail-booms we carried away. We had got into a streak of fair wind, varying from N.W. to S.W., and made the most of it. The watch on deck was frequently occupied with draw knives helping the carpenter make new booms to replace those that went, but after a few days of this work it began to pall upon the crew, who lacked the accustomed stimulus to their exertions as supplied by a “heftier” school of mates, and for some days the men would not come out of the forecastle. The ship in the meantime was worked by the apprentices and afterguard. This was not an uncommon occurrence at the time, and should have been cured by the administration or threat of a few leaden pills, but before the old man made up his mind to apply this remedy the crew turned to again. They had secured a store of biscuits, but were unable to cook anything below, and this brought them to reason.