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LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES, 
stretched further to the Westward than any we had yet 
doubled,—and there, beyond, lay an open sea!—open 
not only to the Northward and Westward, but also to 
the Eastward! You can imagine my excitement, 
“ Turn the hands up, Mr. Wyse!” “ ’Bout ship!” 
“ Down with the helm! ” “ Helm a-lee! ” Up comes the 
schooner’s head to the wind, the sails flapping with the 
noise of thunder—blocks rattling against the deck, as 
if they wanted to knock their brains out—ropes dancing 
about in galvanised coils, like mad serpents—and every¬ 
thing to an inexperienced eye in inextricable confusion; 
till gradually she pays off on the other tack—the sails 
stiffen into deal-boards—the staysail sheet is let go— 
and heeling over on the opposite side, again she darts 
forward over the sea like an arrow from the bow. 
“ Stand by to make sail!” “ Out all reefs!” (I could 
have carried sail to sink a man-of-war !)—and away the 
little ship went, playing leapfrog over the heavy seas, 
and staggering under her canvas, as if giddy with the 
same joyful excitement which made my own heart 
thump soloudly. 
In another hour the sun came out, the fog cleared 
away, and about noon—up again, above the horizon, 
