noon
Do n't mind him . '' And so I go on accordingly . -RRB- 61 degrees 30 minutes South . The Horn , storm-beaten , desolate , four hundred miles to the North , and barely forty miles to the South , that cruel , gleaming , ice barrier , which we saw to-day when the weather lifted at noon , and which we know is there yet , though we dare not think about it . There comes to us , though , in spite of ourselves , a vision of what may happen any hour . A wild cry from the foretop . A mass , grey , indistinct , horrible , rising from the wild waters , scarce a hundred yards from her bowsprit .