A foggy veil, a sort of greyish mist still hung over the iceberg.

Nothing could be seen of its enormous mass except the narrow craggy cleft in which the schooner was wedged, nor even what place it occupied in the middle of the ice-fleet drifting towards the south-east.
Common prudence demanded that we should quit the _Halbrane_, which might slide down at a sharp shake ot the iceberg.

Were we even certain that the latter had regained its position on the surface of the sea?
Was her stability secure?
Should we not be on the look-out for a fresh upheaval?
And if the schooner were to fall into the abyss, which of us could extricate himself safe and sound from such a fall, and then from the final plunge into the depths of the ocean?
In a few minutes the crew had abandoned the _Halbrane_.

Each man sought for refuge on the ice-slopes, awaiting the time when the iceberg should be freed from mist.

The oblique rays from the sun did not succeed in piercing it, and the red disk could hardly be perceived through the opaque mass.
However, we could distinguish each other at about twelve feet apart.
As for the _Halbrane_, she looked like a confused blackish mass standing out sharply against the whiteness of the ice.
We had now to ascertain whether any of those who were on the deck at the time of the catastrophe had been thrown over the bulwarks and precipitated, into the sea?
By Captain Len Guy's orders all the sailors then present joined the group in which I stood with the mate, the boatswain, Hardy and Martin Holt.
So far, this catastrophe had cost us five men--these were the first since our departure from Kerguelen, but were they to be the last?
There was no doubt that these unfortunate fellows had perished, because we called them in vain, and in vain we sought for them, when the fog abated, along the sides of the iceberg, at every place where they might have been able to catch on to a projection.
When the disappearance of the five men had been ascertained, we fell into despair.