herman melville, who later rounded the horn, compared it to a descent into hell and dante's inferno. and as the men tried around horn, they were battered by storms. day and night. byron called it the perfect hurricane. he would steer in all at the waves that broke over the wager, bending it about as if were no more than a pitiful rowboat. water seeped through virtually every seam. it began get colder and the rain hardened into sleet. some the men suffered from frostbite. and icicles drip from the lines below 40 degrees latitude. there is no law. a sailors adage went below 50 degrees. there is no god. and they were now in what was known as furious fifties. captain cheap and, the other officers and commanders knew they were going to need everybody on board their ships. they were to persevere. and yet it was in that very moment when many the men could no longer rise from their hammocks suffering from a mysterious illness. their eyes bulged and their teeth fell out. and so did their hair. even the cartilage that seemed to glue together, the bodies seemed to be coming undone. one man who