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crew settled into an uneasy standoff in preparation for the coming test. The Captain knew he needed full cooperation from his crew at this crucial part of the journey, so he backed down, still knowing that Arthur was behind his new pet’s precociousness somehow.
    The ship's entire operating system was overhauled:   Sails and masts were inspected; rigging was secured; hatches were battened; and portholes were bolted.   Heavy-weather clothing was issued and lashed to the deck at each watch station.   Stores and hardware were tied down.   Dishes were racked and strapped.   Leash lines were placed at the helm and bow.   Netting was fitted on the crow's nest.   Flags and pennants were hauled in.   Loose gear was stowed.   Hull fittings were sealed.   The bilge was pumped.   The deck was tarred.   The Captain's small windows were stopped with soft gum and boarded.   The rum and java were passed out among the crew just as the sun gave its final flash; and the Captain, putting on his lucky red hat, pointed out many playful penguins flanking the stripped and streamlined ship.  
    "We are close to making the turn." Broadcast the Captain, as he browsed and chatted with several of the men who stood ready on the lines.   The Captain then gave the order that the nets be run along the sides of the ship.   These formed a web, which being tightly integrated with the periphery of the ship, served as a platform of stop gates to save any person who did not succeed in competing with the stifling ocean and its crashing waves.
              Arthur was sent up to the crow's nest to monitor the horizon.   He bolted himself within the cage securely.   Then came the task of counting down to the turn.   In the twilight, he was provided with the visual clues of both day and night.   In the darkening sky, he could see a bright, familiar northern star; and low where the rim of the setting sun glowed golden, he was able to make out a speck of land.
              "Bearing ought-three-ought."   Arthur bellowed down to the Helmsman.  
              The Captain, standing next to the man at the wheel, gave him instructions to continue, “Steady as she goes.”   The evening was peaceful; and as the crystal clear sky turned indigo, Arthur mentally marked where the island had last appeared directly beneath the bright star.
              "Bearing ought-four-ought."   Arthur yelled after a half hour of silence.   The Captain ordered steady course again. He knew that prevailing currents around The Horn would sweep the ship in an arc, helping him steer the true, desired course.   A bearing of forty degrees meant that the island around which he wanted to turn was out to the right at a modest angle.   When the call came that the horn was directly off the ship's starboard, then he would take the helm himself and turn the ship hard to the right, north.
              "Eight O'clock and all is well!" came the cry from the roving watch on the forecastle.
              Another half hour passed before Arthur exclaimed, "Bearing ought-five-ought!"   He thought he saw land approaching on the dark horizon, but he knew that the plan was to turn when the ship had sailed far south of the mark.   He yelled out in a concerned voice, "Captain, the Horn is getting closer!"
              The Captain looked up, and then exchanged a confused glance with the Helmsman.   They both smiled and shrugged, as if to discount the opinion of their junior seaman.   The Captain chuckled and mumbled something about seeing flashes of white in the sky whenever Arthur spoke.
              At roughly nine o’clock, Arthur called out, "Bearing ought-seven-ought!"   Having been ignored earlier, he remained silent about the immense dark mass looming dead ahead in the distance.   He heard the Captain and Helmsman laughing below, making small talk.   He heard the low voices of the relaxed crew.   He heard the gentle wind