Steve worked hard, and he worked wonders; but he could not do
impossibilities, and all in the cabin knew that the black darkness was
hovering heavily over the men's spirits. They fought it back for an
hour, but it settled down again upon them heavier and heavier all
through that awful January, when the cold was so intense that it was
dangerous to stir. Then there were terrible storms, during which the
fine snow-dust penetrated everything, and every drop of moisture
condensed on wall or ceiling froze hard. The doctor managed to keep the
men free of frost-bite, but he could not master the depression, and
consequently their general health began to fail. It was of no use to
tell the crew that the end of the darkness was coming, for when January
was out it appeared to be black as ever, and they had February to pass
through. Steve's efforts fell flat now, and the men became worse, while
even the captain grew heartsick as he looked forward to the months of
terrible inaction.
"Nothing but a miracle can save us," he said at last. "I am but human.
I have done everything I can. Heaven helps those who help themselves,
Steve lad; and Heaven knows we have helped ourselves."
"Then Heaven will help us!" cried Steve fervently; "for, after going
through what we have, I will not believe that we shall all have to lie
down and die."
How cold it was! They ceased to study their instruments; for, like the
men, they seemed, Steve said, to have given up in despair of being able
to go down low enough to register the number of degrees.
In spite of all efforts, Andrew had gone back to his bunk, where he lay
day after day cuddling his pipes, and growing more and more despondent.
Watty also went back, though Steve tried in every way to interest him in
sports--running, jumping, and the like. He wanted to "gang hame to his
mither," he said; and when strong men grew so despondent, it was useless
to blame a boy.
It was during one of the darkest times that Steve found the four
Norwegians together upon the deck. It was when the skies were black
with clouds, and a terrible wind howled through the standing rigging,
and threatened to tear down the canvas sheltering of the deck; and it
was not to be wondered at that the men's spirits were down to their
lowest ebb, and that, consequent upon a report from the doctor, Captain
Marsham had asked the prayers of all present for their two brethren who
lay grievously mentally sick, for it was more from brain than from
bodily ailment. It was Sunday, and the proper observance of that day
had always been carefully kept up. Steve, heart-sore, and as depressed
as any one on board, had gone on the deck to have a run up and down, as
it was impossible to go out; and he soon became aware that Skene was
trotting at his heels. Directly after he came upon Johannes and his
three companions, and halted, wondering why they were there, as they
were generally with the firemen below.
"We were only having a talk, sir," said the harpooner.
"About our position--whether we shall get through it?" cried Steve
eagerly.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, and what do you think?"
"That we shall, sir. Why not? It is very dark and cold, but we have
plenty of food and fuel. We only want work. The cook yonder is always
busy getting things ready for us, and he is the healthiest man on
board."
"Then you think we can hold out?"
"Please God, yes, sir," said the men in reverent tones. "We must not
give up now."
"No, we must not give up now," echoed Steve.
"We have been thinking that, as soon as this storm has blown over, we
may have three or four days' fine, clear weather. The moon is getting
toward the full, and if the captain would start an expedition, it would
not be so dangerous now."
"Which way would you go?"
"Inland, sir. I don't expect it, but we might find deer or a bear; but
whether we did or no, we should have something to do."
The storm had given place to fine clear moonshine, and there was not a
breath of air, but no expedition was started; for, to the despair and
misery of all, the captain broke down, worn out by mental care; and
after three or four days Steve sat by his cot listening to his hurried
breathing, and asking himself what was to become of them all if their
brave leader died. The boy had to divide his attention between watching
and keeping up the temperature of the cabin; but the glowing stove and
constantly burning lamp had a hard fight with the cold, which seemed to
pierce through everything; and though curtains of sailcloth had been
nailed up outside the cabin door, they did little in those piercing
hours of the long arctic night.
The boy had just resumed his seat, after rearranging the fur coat which
he had thrown over the captain, when Mr Handscombe entered, the
sailcloth curtains crackling loudly as he moved them to pass, for the
moisture from the breath froze them stiff, and the thickness was
constantly being added to.
"How does he seem?" said the doctor, going closer to the fire to thaw
the frozen rime from his beard, which was quite a bush of ice from the
chin downward, before taking off his heavy fur coat and hood.
"Just the same, sir," said Steve despondently.
"Ah!" exclaimed the doctor sharply; "none of that. Don't you take that
tone."
"I--I can't help it!" cried Steve piteously, as he now broke down
completely. "I--I have tried so hard, Mr Handscombe. I have done
everything till now, and it's of no use. I must lie down now like the
rest, and give up, for we shall never see the day again."
A pair of frozen mittens was thrown down, and Steve's hand was grasped.
"You have done everything, my lad," cried the doctor warmly. "I have
said nothing, but I have not been blind. I have watched the brave,
unselfish way in which you have tried to help and encourage the others;
but you have not done yet. Poor Lowe has taken to his bunk quite
helpless, and there is hardly a man ready to stir. We two have to take
things in hand, and the lot has fallen on us to try and save the crew of
this ship. I am only the doctor, so you must take the captain's place,
and go on fighting to the end."
"I can't," groaned Steve. "The end is close at hand now. I must give
up."
"A British boy ought never to give up, my lad," cried the doctor warmly;
"and you are not going to. They say that doctors say while there is
life there is hope. Well, captains ought to feel the same with their
crews and ships. If it were the end of November, I should be ready to
take a despondent view of our position; but we shall soon be having
March and the light. And you talk of giving up? Nonsense! You and I,
Steve, must be ready to show that we are made of better stuff. Come,
your hand upon it. Pluck works wonders, and you have plenty in you yet,
though it is a little bit frozen. Now, then, British boy, you'll fight
with me till you die? Come!"
"Yes!" cried Steve, for these words seemed to galvanise him into action.
"Hah! I thought so," cried the doctor. "Never say die, eh?"
"Never say die!" cried Steve half hysterically, for long watching and
the strain had terribly lowered his tone.
"Come along, then, captain. Your crew is sick all but the cook."
"And the Norsemen," said Steve.
"They're breaking down, boy. Even stout, staunch old Johannes has
caught the fever this morning."
"Fever?"
"Well, the complaint, my lad. He is sickening from the terrible
depression. It is more than human nature can stand to see one's
fellow-creatures breaking down day by day. There are limits to
endurance, and sooner or later every one must break down--except doctors
and deputy captains. Now, come on and help me administer medicine.
We'll get it, and then come back here and give poor Marsham the first
dose. Come along."
"But the medicine chest is here," said Steve.
"Yes, but this is a different medicine. I have some one mixing it, and
I persuaded Johannes to take the fireman's place and keep the furnace
going. On with your cap, and come on. Mitts, too, for it's colder than
ever."
Steve gave one more look at the captain, who lay there stern and calm
now, as if sleeping more peacefully, and then followed Mr Handscombe to
the engine-room, from which came up the clatter of an iron shovel and
the rattle of coals.
"That's better," said the doctor, "I've roused Johannes up to work. Now
let's go and see if the physic is ready."
Steve followed again, the doctor carrying a lanthorn along the dark,
crackling deck, whose canvas roof and walls glittered with pendent
icicles which made it resemble some wonderful grotto, while in the
neighbourhood of the engine-room the deck was slippery with the frozen
moisture. There was a warm glow of light by the galley, though, and a
faint sound from the humming stove was breaking the stillness of the
place, while quite a burst of hot light saluted them as the doctor
opened the door.
"Well, cook, my physic ready?"
"Yes, sir, gallons of it, as strong as I can make it. But I do want a
little help, sir. Can't you make that boy Watty rouse up? He'd be
better here than in his bunk."
"I'll try--I mean we'll try," said the doctor. "That's right. One
basin now, not much, for the captain; then we'll come back for the rest.
Hah! excellent. Try it, Captain Steve."
The cook stared, and Steve unwillingly tasted the strong soup.
"Go on," cried the doctor. "It takes ten table-spoonfuls to properly
try that stuff."
Steve went on, took his ten table-spoonfuls, and felt better.
"Hah! I knew you would," cried the doctor. "Now look: we must keep up
that medicine till further orders, and see if we can't bring the men
round. There are plenty of tins of preserved meat in store?"
"Any amount, sir; and plenty of reindeer meat still."
"Then we shan't break down there. Now, then, captain, _en avant_!"
They returned to the cabin, Steve carrying a small basin and the doctor
a large one, which he handed down to Johannes on the way, the Norseman
receiving it in a sad, awed, depressed way, and promising to eat it at
once. But they had very little success in the cabin, and Steve's
spirits, which had been rising, sank again as they returned to the
galley, where the cook was ready with a great tin bucket full of the
steaming stuff, regular meat essence in its strength.
From here they went down into the forecastle, dim, steamy, and with
snowflakes floating here and there. Two or three of the men sat near
the stove, but for the most part they were in their bunks, and all
greeted the new-comers with a hollow-eyed stare. Their basins were half
filled and taken from bunk to bunk; but the men could hardly be roused
to eat, and at times the doctor had to angrily insist before they could
be induced to try to partake of the steaming preparation.
Watty was the first for whom Steve made in the dark, depressing place,
and found him lying dim-eyed, half stupefied, gazing at the light. He
thought of how he had roused the lad up before again and again, but the
spirit was wanting, on both sides now; and after with great difficulty
inducing the lad to partake of a few spoonfuls of the so-called
medicine, Watty sank back, and then felt slowly for Steve's hand.
"I'm thenkin', Meester Stevey," he whispered, "that she'll ket pack to
Scotland."
"Yes, and you too," said Steve, with as much heart as he could put into
his words--little enough, though.
"Nay, she's coing to dee, and she's ferry sorry she wasna always coot
frien's."
"Oh, never mind that now, Watty!"
"Put she toes mind, Meester Stevey, and she's ferry sorry. Ye'll pe
coing pack to Scotland, sir, and ye'll tak' care an' co and tell my
mither a' aboot her and how she deed."
Steve could bear no more. He hurried across to where Andrew was lying,
and took him a basin of the doctor's soup. But his success was very
little better here. All the men were in the dull, apathetic state
pretty well expressed by the Highlander, who, after partaking of a few
spoonfuls of the stimulus, said softly:
"Ye'll do her a favour?"
"Yes, Andra, if I can. But stop; do me one first. Get up, and try and
help us."
"Nay, she'll never ket oop acain," said the man. "Ye'll chust wait till
she's deed, an' then come an' tak' awa' the pipes. They're doon here
peside me in her plankets, and she'll tak' care of them an' carry them
pack hame wi' her; an' laddie, if she'll try an' learn the pipes, it's
the far pestest music as effer wass, an' she'll thenk sometimes apoot
puir Andra McByle?"
Steve promised. At another time he could have laughed; but now, in,
that dim, gloomy place, surrounded by the faces of the gaunt men whose
eyes gleamed faintly in the light of the lanthorn, it all seemed to be
more than he could bear; and at last, when everything possible had been
done, he followed the doctor back to the cabin, where they sat down in
silence.
The doctor was the first to speak.
"It's hard work, Steve boy," he said; "but we've got to do it, and with
God's help we will. Poor fellows! they have the muscles, but they have
no energy; and I tell you frankly, I'm beginning to be afraid."
"Afraid? What of?" said Steve anxiously.
"That one of them will die; and if we come to that, the effect upon the
others will be terrible."
Steve shuddered.
"Can we do anything else?"
"No more than we are doing, lad," said the doctor wearily, "only wait."