The Dreaded Cape Horn.

Homeward bound, we made a fair run to the Horn, and the day (a Sunday) we were off that dreaded spot we nearly took a trip to "Davy Jones." We had been shortening sail in a very light three or four knot breeze all the morning, the hands growling (naturally, as Sunday was always a day of absolute rest and feasting in that ship). However the "Old Man" had been too long at sea not to be able to read the weather; it was a clear sky, no clouds, but a sort of white haze all over. At six bells in the forenoon watch all hands were called to take in the topsails and courses (the cro'jack was stowed), the mainsail clewed up, and the foresail (a brand new heavy wire-roped sail bent leaving Melbourne) was still set, also the mizzen lower topsail, fore and main upper topsails, and foretopmast staysail. At about seven bells we were all about the decks just starting to get down the fore and main upper topsails, when, without any warning, a "white squall" (clear atmosphere, no rain or cloud) hit us like a blast from a gun.