Severe Cold—Furious Storm—Diego Ramirez Islands—Land Ahead—Cape Horn Weather—Two Vessels—Length of Days and Nights—Disagreeable Brawl—Heading North—Patagonia—The Andes—Another Storm—Anxiety of Captain J.—A Rainbow—Another Gale—Bill of Fare—Filthy Cooks and Impure Water.

June 23. The wind, which continued to blow with great fury during the night, began to subside a little towards morning, and as it was now veering to a more favorable point, we unfurled the sails, and were in good spirits at the prospect of speedily weathering the Cape. But the wind soon changed again, and continued to blow in violent gusts during the day, bringing down flights of snow and sleet, which covered the decks, and froze the sails and rigging. The cold was severe, and our cabin very uncomfortable. By invitation from one of the ladies, I visited their cabin for the first time since we left Rio. I was glad of an opportunity to warm my feet and hands at their stove. We are in the habit of betaking ourselves to our berths for warmth, though I occasionally get into the cooks' galley when it is not occupied by other passengers or sailors.

During a temporary abatement of the gale at night, several of the ladies went out and amused themselves with snow-balling. The sport was lively but of short continuance.

June 24. A fresh wind was blowing in the morning when I arose, and a thick fall of snow nearly blinded me as I went out on deck. The cold had become intense, and it was a time of suffering for the poor sailors. But the wind was fair, and Captain J. determined to improve it by spreading more sail. But the men had scarcely got the fore and maintop sails set, when the storm came on again with a fury far exceeding any thing we had yet encountered, and they were again sent aloft to furl the sails. We now lay to under two stay sails, the ship rolling with great violence, and the seas breaking over the decks.

There is a beauty, a sublimity in this war of the winds and waters, that fill the mind of the beholder with emotions of mingled delight and awe, and not unfrequently, be it confessed, with fear. It presents a scene which is difficult to describe, and can be imagined only by him who has witnessed it. To the captain it was at this time a season of anxiety, and to the sailors one of severe hardship. It was also a time of much uneasiness with many of the passengers; and one of them, who went up to assist in furling a sail, came down with his hands badly frozen. The winds whistled, howled and shrieked through the rigging, the torn sails flapped, the strained masts creaked and groaned, the waves rolled up into immense billows covered with foam, and dashed against the sides of the ship and over the bulwarks, deluging every person and setting afloat every loose thing upon the decks. Borne about by the raging waters, the ship often staggered for a moment upon the crest of a great wave, as if fearful of the plunge she was about to take, but quickly sinking down into the moving chasm, as if she were attempting to dive to the bottom of the sea, until overtaken by another billow, she rose to its crest, though only to be sunk into another and another gulf. Sometimes pressed down upon her side by a more violent gust of wind until her yardarms dipped into the water, the interposition of a merciful Providence only could save us. But that Providence, which had watched over, and guarded and guided us through so many perils, did not desert us in this. The blast swept by, the ship slowly arose, and her freight of eighty-eight human beings escaped the threatened destruction.

Restless as the sea birds that still hovered around her, ever in motion, pitching, plunging, lurching and rolling, she was apparently driven about at the mercy of the winds and waves, that almost bade defiance to the men at the wheel, whose utmost skill and exertions could scarce enable them to direct her course.

Captain J. came into the after house during the storm to take a cup of coffee, with his clothes whitened with the snow and his face coated with ice. But he had scarcely been in a minute, when he was hastily sent for by the mate, for the gale had suddenly increased to such a degree of violence, that we were in great danger of being capsized. He went out again, and gave orders to reduce even the small patches of canvass that were still flying. His orders were answered promptly, and the ship lay to again. The storm raged with great fury till near noon, when it began to abate, and we were enabled to carry a little more sail. The wind continued favorable during the remainder of the day, but the snow squalls came on in terrible blasts until late at night.

A week had now elapsed since we passed through the Strait of Le Maire, and so beclouded had the sky been during that time, that Captain J. had had no opportunity to take an observation of the sun, and of course he was in painful uncertainty as to our situation. There was some danger to be apprehended from a cluster of small islands or rocks, called the Diego Ramirez Islands, lying fifty-five miles to the south-west of Cape Horn, and near which we expected to pass. And it behooved us to keep a good lookout for these rocks during the obscurity of the day, and the deep darkness of the night.

June 25. The cry of "land ahead" aroused us at an early hour this morning. It proved to be the islands I have just mentioned. The night was so dark that we were close upon the breakers before we were aware of our approach to the islands. Fortunately we had room enough in which to wear ship and escape the danger. We stood away till daylight enabled us to resume our course, when we passed between these islands and Tierra del Fuego.

We have now weathered Cape Horn. During eight days since we passed through the Strait of Le Maire, we have been struggling against head winds, and have at length accomplished a task, which might have been performed with a fair wind in ten or twelve hours. Our impatience has been great, and we feel much relieved on finding ourselves beyond the stormy barrier, and with a fair prospect of soon being safely delivered from this region of storms and darkness. There is another little circumstance that adds to our cheerfulness. From the second day since we left Rio we have not seen a single sail. This afternoon two vessels are in sight, and our company, for want of other subjects, are busily engaged in discussing the questions, "Who are they?" and "Can we come up with them?" and "How soon?"

The sun rose to-day at fifteen minutes past nine, and set at fifteen minutes before three, giving us a day of five and a half hours, and a night eighteen and a half hours long.

June 27. Sunday. Our ship has been the scene of a disgraceful brawl, I may almost say, riot. For many weeks past, a feud has existed between our worthy chaplain, Mr. Johnson, and Miss Julia S. Miss Julia, who is not overburdened with a superabundance of refinement or delicacy, has used some rather coarse language towards Mr. J., which he, perhaps, has not received with that meekness and forbearance, which would become a minister of the Gospel. This morning when he arose, he saw a dress of Miss Julia's hanging against the stove, where she had placed it to dry, and not being in that amiable frame of mind that would seem to be desirable, he threw the dress upon the floor, where it remained till Miss Julia found it. Her wrath was very bitter, and many hard words passed between her and the reverend chaplain; the temper of both parties increasing in warmth until Mr. J. remarked in the language of Scripture that he would leave Miss Julia to her "wallowing like a sow in the mire," whereupon Miss Julia seized a billet of wood and threw it at the head of the parson, and the parson, in the excitement of the moment, forgetting the injunction to turn the other cheek, returned the compliment by hitting Miss Julia a slap in the face, and pushing her towards the companion-way. By this time the inmates of our room, overhearing the uproar, had assembled at the head of the companion-way, and were on the point of rushing down; but taking a moment to consider, they turned back, and in an instant were engaged among themselves in an altercation upon the demerits of the quarrel, almost as violent as that which was raging below. Captain J. soon joined us, and as his mode of reasoning seldom tends to allay wrath or to settle a dispute, the discussion continued with increased violence, and it was several hours before order was restored. As in former quarrels, a large majority of the passengers were found to advocate the cause of the woman. But whoever was most to blame, Mr. Johnson was the most deeply injured by the quarrel, and his influence and usefulness, which had long been waning, were from this time ended. There are several religious people in the main cabin, who held a prayer-meeting after the quarrel had subsided, but Mr. J. did not attend, nor did he attempt to hold any other religious exercises during the day.

June 28. We are now driving along before a fine breeze in the Pacific Ocean, which seems disposed to prove to us on our introduction, that she is entitled to the soubriquet by which she is known. Cape Horn is far behind us, we have given Tierra del Fuego a wide berth, and headed our ship for the north. Our next port, Talcahuana, is only a thousand miles distant,—next to nothing,—and we will be there in a week if this breeze continues. Sherman has captured another porpoise, and we shall have some steaks for breakfast, and some oil for our lamps. The air for two days past has been comparatively mild, I am enabled to spend considerable time on deck, my health is improving, and I am enjoying many pleasing anticipations.

June 29. Our course is parallel to the coast of Patagonia; and though more than seventy-five miles distant from it, we have a distinct view of some majestic ranges of mountains on the large islands, which lie along the coast. Standing as they do in this bleak and dreary land, their sides and summits shrouded in snow, and presenting to the view and the imagination, a picture at once of vast sublimity and of eternal solitude and utter desolation, I can scarcely restrain the feeling of awe that comes over me as I behold them. But what land is that coming suddenly in sight under our lee bow, and nearly in the direction of the ship? All hands are gazing at it, and Captain J., as he sees our proximity to the land, begins to doubt the accuracy of his reckoning. We are all anxious about it, for with the wind in its present direction, we must tack ship or run ashore. Night comes on, the ship is put about, and our dream of a speedy run to Talcahuana is at an end. And these mountains we have been beholding must lie beyond the islands, and it adds not a little to the interest of the scene to reflect that they can be no other than a portion of the great range of the Andes, and this my first, and will probably be my last view of them.

June 30. It has been our fortune to encounter another storm. The wind blew with great fury, and rolled the waves up to a magnificent height. We had been scudding before it nearly all day, and were fast drifting on a lee shore, with little chance of escape but with a change of wind. Captain J. passed much of his time on deck, and was watchful and anxious. He came into our room at night to warn us of approaching danger. "I tell you what," said he, "I don't want to say nothing to skear you, but if this wind holds till morning, we shall see hard times." Such an announcement from our experienced captain, who had not, during the voyage, uttered a warning so fraught with terror to us, and which betrayed his sense of the imminence of our danger, caused a shade of deep anxiety to pass over the countenances of many of our companions, who could have exclaimed in the language of honest old Gonzalo: "Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death." But it was not our destiny to be engulfed in the raging sea, nor to suffer a more horrible death on the bleak and desolate coast of Patagonia. After a few hours of anxious suspense, we perceived a lull in the storm, and this lull was succeeded by a change in the wind, which enabled us to stand on our course again, which we did under all the canvass our ship could carry.

July 2. I have had the pleasure of beholding a novel phenomenon, a lunar rainbow. It occurred at seven o'clock in the evening. The atmosphere was hazy, and the moon shone with a dim luster. Though much fainter than a solar rainbow, and having none of its brilliant hues, it was still very distinct, and spanned nearly half the arch of the heavens.

July 4. Sunday. No religious services to-day, nor any celebration of the anniversary of Independence. Instead thereof, we have been battling with another heavy gale, and driving before it under the foresail, foretop sail, and maintop sail, all close reefed. The seas run very high, and the ship pitched violently. Standing on the quarter-deck, we could often see the waves over the fore yard as the vessel pitched into the trough of a sea.

July 5. Another attempt has been made to induce Captain J. to substitute a more decent bill of fare in place of the disgusting dishes upon which he has starved us during the voyage. As we are approaching Talcahuana, where a supply of such necessaries as we may need can be obtained, it was thought proper to hold a formal meeting for the purpose in the main cabin. A chairman, secretary and a committee to report a bill of fare for the consideration of Captain J., were chosen. Mr. Grant, the chief steward, was called in, who stated that in supplying the table in the after cabin with better food than those in the other parts of the ship, he had acted in compliance with the orders of Captain J., and that the captain had also directed him to reduce the allowance of soft-tack to the passengers. The committee on the bill of fare reported to recommend for dinners, on Monday, beef and rice; on Tuesday, beans and pork; on Wednesday, fish and potatoes, or rice; on Thursday, beef and potatoes and duff; on Friday, beans and pork; on Saturday, fish and potatoes, and on Sunday, beef and duff, with soft-tack and apple-sauce once a day. This report was accepted. The committee immediately waited upon the captain, whom they found in a more amiable mood than they had anticipated, and obtained from him some general promises of improvement, which gave us a slight degree of encouragement.

It is not a little provoking under all our privations to know that we have on board the bark a sufficient quantity of wholesome food to make us comfortable. In addition to good beef, pork, codfish, beans, potatoes and hard-bread, we have a quantity of flour, sufficient to give us a reasonable supply of soft-tack, besides rice, dried apples, raisins and sugar. We have no reason to complain of the owners of the vessel, but charge our discomforts to the surly brutality of the captain, and the execrable filthiness of the cooks. A portion of our supply of water is impure, having been put into bad casks. But when one of these casks is tapped, however disgusting it may be, we are allowed no other until it is used up.