Classicly

The day awoke in fog such as the oldest inhabitant had never seen. The East River was blocked with ice and soon became a shrieking bedlam of groping and bewildering craft, whose pilots could scarcely see their hands before their faces.

At half past nine the "Rappahannock" left Brooklyn, well laden with passengers, and started on her customary trip almost directly across the river—a very short and unusually easy voyage. Before even reaching the middle of the stream, however, the ice and fog had thrown her completely out of her course. Back and forth, up and down stream, the pilot vainly groped, amid the shrieking whistles, ringing of fog bells, and loud crash of ice boulders, until, in the confused clangor, he had entirely lost his bearings.