“I thought I had seen storms before,” said Wilbur, “but this equinoctial has opened my eyes. It passes my comprehension how any ship can stand such a pounding and wrenching as this one has endured for three days and nights.” “You have both been wishing for a genuine hurricane ever since leaving New York, and now that wish has been gratified,” replied the captain. “In my twenty-six voyages around the Horn I have never seen such weather, though some ships catch it even worse; but with the _Sagamore_ under my feet, and plenty of sea-room, I fear nothing.” The captain turned in early that night, for his clothes had not been removed for seventy-two hours past, during which trying interval he had had no rest but a few short naps. The passengers were thinking of retiring also, when they heard a call from the steward, who requested them to come into the dining room a moment. “I want to show you a fine sight,” said he, standing by the door leading onto the main deck, which he cautiously opened part way as Hartley and Wilbur approached. The hurricane had spent its force, and the young men looked out upon a night scene of rare beauty. Every cloud in the sky had vanished as if by magic, and the blue vault of the firmament was brilliant with countless myriads of stars. Some were large, some small; and to the admiring gaze of the watchers it seemed as if they had never seen so grand a sight, even in the Southern Hemisphere, where the numerous planets, constellations, and single stars illumine the night sky with a splendor surpassing anything of the kind to be seen in the North. But among all those stars, and groups of stars, none could compare with that blazing constellation that had now nearly reached the zenith—the Southern Cross. It is first seen just before crossing the equator, but is then dim and very low in the horizon, and visible but a short time each evening. Gradually, as Cape Horn is approached, it rises higher and higher, its appearance each night being foretold by its two flashing “pointer” stars, which, like heralds announcing the coming of their sovereign, are visible above the horizon a short time before the Cross itself appears. In the vicinity of the Horn this matchless constellation may be seen high in the heavens, in all its glory—the stars composing it not larger than several others in the sky, but as completely eclipsing them in brilliancy as diamonds do pieces of glass. Now, after three days and nights of warring winds and waters, that Cross looked down upon the _Sagamore’s_ naked masts and flooded decks like an emblem of promise and of peace. Not a great way off were the two curious patches of luminous film known as the Magellan Clouds, looking strange and mysterious as they floated among that sea of stars. The foam-covered water washed about the deck as the ship rolled, and a heavy sea tumbling aboard caused the steward to close the door in a hurry. Then the passengers took a gin-fizz as a night-cap, and turned in.