And now, although scouting the idea of anything being about to happen to the man, I watched him and listened to him with curiosity. Certainly he was an ill-favoured customer. Besides being plentifully pitted with smallpox over what of his face was visible through the red tangle of hair and beard, the fleshy tip of his nose had been sliced clean off, leaving a nasty-looking, flat, red scar. This, he said, was the work of a Malay kreese, whilst ashore at Samarang on a drunken spree. But the captain once told me confidentially that common report around Limehouse and the Docks attributed the mishap to Mrs Harris and a carving-knife. Be this as it may, he was a bad-tempered, overbearing brute, although, I believe, a good seaman. At meal times he rarely spoke, but, gulping his food down, left the table as quickly as possible. The captain, who occupied the whole of his time in making models of a new style of condenser, for which he had taken out a patent, but by no means could get to work properly, never interfered with his first officer, but left the ship entirely in his charge. No thought of approaching evil appeared to trouble Mr Harris, and he became, if possible, more tyrannical in his behaviour towards the crew, Ashby in particular. Truly wonderful is it how much hazing Mercantile Jack will stand before having recourse to the limited amount of comparatively safe reprisal that a heavy object and a high altitude endows him with! But the Jacks of the _Dido_ were waiting, with more or less of faith, the fulfilment of their shipmate’s dream. It was on the 23d of December—which, by the way, was also the extra day we gained—that the strong westerlies, after serving us so well, began to haul to the south’ard. ‘You’ll see the Horn after all,’ remarked the captain to me that morning. ‘Two years ago I was becalmed close to it. But I scarcely think that such a thing will happen this time,’ and off he went to his condenser. It was bitterly cold, and the sharp wind from the ice-fields cut like a knife. The water was like green glass for the colour and clearness of it, the sky speckless, and as bitter looking as the water. Gradually freshening, and hauling still to the south, the wind at length made it necessary to shorten some of the plain sail the _Dido_ had carried right across. On the 24th land was sighted, and the captain, coming on deck with his pockets full of tools and little tin things, told us that it was Cape Horn. The fo’k’stle-head was crowded with men, one minute all gazing at the land, the next staring aft. ‘What the deuce are those fellows garping at?’ growled the mate, walking for’ard. Whereupon the watchers scattered. Looking behind me, I saw that Jack Ashby was at the wheel. He smiled as his eye caught mine, and pointed one mittened hand at the chief officer’s back. I looked at the land, and began for the first time, to feel doubtful.