WHALING VOYAGE* 
which they contain— their eyes start, their teeth grind, 
their brains are on fire, the death-pang is soon upon 
them— another dreadful struggle is concluded— they 
gasp, and gulph down the briny fluid— they become 
inanimate; their limbs relax, a slow gurgling sound 
escapes their collapsing chests, and the scene is ended ; 
the ship passes over and away from them, and leaves 
them the sport of the unruly ocean, or a prey to the 
hungry shark. 
Arriving near the scene of this melancholy event, we 
could not prevent our thoughts from arising upon other 
instances, somewhat of the same nature, which have 
occurred at this place but too frequently. But even 
these misfortunes do not damp the ardour of the true 
British sailor, who scorning the slightest symptom of 
fear dashes the compassionate tear from his eyelid, and 
thinks of fairer scenes. For although the winds howl, 
they are propelling him to the home of his beloved ; 
although the ocean rages, it is carrying him to his 
humble cot. He feels that the being whom he loves is 
anxiously waiting his arrival, so that his hope becomes 
as buoyant as the moment before it was depressed, and 
the howling winds and dashing waves are thought of no 
more than as a chorus to his song. 
On Sunday the 18th of November 1832, we again 
came in sight of Cape Horn, and we also passed close to 
the islands that are known as the “ Diegos Ramarez,’ 5 
which leaving with a fair wind, we soon doubled the 
Cape, and pursued our course homewards through the 
South Atlantic; until, on the 19th of December, we 
