The crew came into the cabin for shelter, and cooked their own supper as before. They ate and then went to the stove, and afterwards Captain Burke and his wife and myself sat down to some cold food and a cup of hot coffee. Mr. Owen came to the door of his berth, but seeing the captain at table at once retired, closing the door upon himself. The captain took no notice. His good spirits were gone again. He drank some coffee, but scarcely tasted food. His posture was one of gloomy despondency as he sat at table, and he rarely lifted his eyes save to dart a glance now and again at the sailors, which put it into my head to think that more worked as causes for his dejection than the new fierce gale and our awful situation. His wife often furtively looked towards him but never ventured to address him, no, not even to ask him if he would eat. Well, just such another evening and night as had passed happened with us now. From time to time one or another would go on deck and come below and report the night a flying blackness. On the boatswain returning from one of these errands of observation the captain said: 'Does it clear at all?' 'Still as thick as muck, sir.' 'Any smell of ice about?' 'No, sir.' I wondered to hear them talk of smelling ice in a snow storm as thick as froth, and said to the captain: 'Is ice to be smelt?' He looked at me as though he had no mind to answer, to be even civil, then said sharply, 'Yes.' My poor old nurse bristled like an angry hen at this behaviour, though she was still afraid of the mood upon him, yet being determined that I should get all the comfort possible out of any information the men could give, she turned upon the boatswain, whose bulky, oilskinned figure swung on frock-shaped leggings beside the stove, and said: 'Did you ever smell ice, Mr. Wall?' He looked doubtfully at the captain, and answered awkwardly, 'Yes mum, scores of times.' The captain rose and went on deck. At the same moment Mr. Owen came out of his berth. It might have been that through some crevice in the cabin bulkhead he was able to observe the captain's movements. 'What sort of smell has ice?' I asked, for I could think of no thing but icebergs, of the helplessness of our hull, of our being swung by these giant seas against a berg, and I wanted to hear how sailors tell that ice is near without seeing it.