The men were so worn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed by disappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in their attempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence.
Fred's thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased to remark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects.

Even O'Riley's jests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether.

Bolton alone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling of responsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over them in this respect.

But even Bolton's spirits began to sink at last.
While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a large fragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over their heads.
"Look out! follow me, quick!" shouted the first mate in a loud, sharp voice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of the berg.
The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barely reached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and was shattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left.

A rebounding emotion sent the blood in a crimson flood to Fred's forehead, and this was followed by a feeling of gratitude to the Almighty for the preservation of himself and the party.