He was bumped and jolted and nigh rendered unconscious.
Only the thickness of his fur suit saved him from serious hurts.
When he came to a stop he was up to the neck in a huge pile of snow.
About him were mighty walls of ice and a great basin of water, which he instantly judged to be a part of the sea, but quickly discovered his mistake.
He was far below the level of the sea. And the water was dripping from the berg inclosed in a basin impervious to any connection with the waters of the ocean.
Had it been, the entire chamber would have been filled with water.
And Barney O’Shea would have been a dead Irishman.
The Celt picked himself up.
“Bejabers, phwativer has happened to me now?” he cried. “Shure, it’s nigh kilt I am.”
He rubbed his bruises ruefully.