One man had made this very voyage in a ship that got out of her course as it might be where we were then.

She was too far to the north'ard when a fog came on, as it might be the very fog we were in at that moment, and it lasted, lifting a bit and falling again worse than ever, just the very same as it was a-doing now.

Cold?
He believed you this fog was cold, and you might believe him that fog was cold, but the cold of both together would not be a patch upon what it was when your bones chattered in your skin and you heard the ship's keel grinding, and said "Ice!" "He'd seen some queer faces--dead and living--in his time, but when _that_ fog lifted and the sun shone upon walls of green ice on both sides above our head, and the captain's face as cold and as green as them with knowing all was up--" At this point the narrator was called away, and somebody asked, "Has any one heard him tell how it ended ?" "I did," said Pat Shaughnessy, "and it spoilt me dinner that time." "Go on, Pat! What happened to them ?" "The lowest depths of misfortune.

Sorra a soul but himself and a boy escaped by climbing to a ledge on the topmost peak of one of the icebergs just in the nick of time to see the ship cracked like a walnut between your fingers.

And the worst was to come, bad luck!" "What?
Go on, Paddy! What did he and the boy do ?" "They just eat each other," faltered Pat.