In one of our brief periods below some of us were patching the tears in our oilskin coats and pants, resulting from a tussle with the fore upper tops'l, the downhauls having carried away, and left the sail a bellying fighting mess of canvas that four of us were ordered to subdue. Sewing oiled cloth is a poor job, and a loosened finger nail on my right thumb, added nothing to the cheerfulness of the sewing party. "I'll bet few lads would go to sea if they could look in here for a half hour," I remarked, following a turn of thought that revolved more or less about my own folly. "An' I don't think you would stay in 'ere or out on deck or anywhere else in this leaky old bucket if you knowed what is afore us," chipped in Jimmy. "You 'aven't never gone round the Horn yet, so God 'elp you, is wot I says." "Yes, Gott help all of us," said Scouse with a heartfelt grunt from the sea chest at the forward end of the fo'c'sle where he and Joe were playing checkers on a new "heavy weather" board just made by the resourceful Joseph. This board was covered with a piece of canvas, the squares being marked off with pencil. The checkers (and here is where Joe prided himself) were made by sawing pieces from an old broom handle, and Joe had driven a sharp brad through each one of them so they would cling to the canvas on the checker board. On deck chanties had ceased to enliven us, and we went through the hard watches in a dogged spirit of endurance. We felt like martyrs, a state of mind not altogether without its compensations. In the watch below, in a steaming atmosphere of gloom, lighted by a single oil lamp set into a hole in the partition bulkhead between the two sides of the fo'c'sle, we slept as much as possible, which was not half enough, ate our rude meals, and had our dreams of happier days to come. Each man respected the rights of his neighbors and each bunk was a sort of damp narrow castle. Here in the smelly air, in the dim light, cold, tired, and often hungry, we lived, or rather, existed. CHAPTER VII CAPE HORN On a clear Monday morning, the seventh of February, 1898, to be exact, the captain, after working up his A. M. sight, came on deck and announced a good observation. It was the first time the sun had been visible in some days, and by working a Sumner he found we were on a line cutting close past Cape St. John, on Staten Land, having sailed the ship down between the Falkland Islands and Cape Virgins by dead reckoning. We were coiling down the gear after the morning washdown, and I was busy at the monkey rail when he came on deck with his results, and imparted the above information to the mate in my hearing. "Better send a hand to the main skys'l yard, Mr. Zerk," said the captain, in conclusion.