"NEVER SAY DIE."
Three days passed, during which Mr Handscombe and Steve worked hard
watching by turns over their sick; and in spite of the boy's desire to
evade the task, the doctor forced him to come out for a tramp in the
snow by the light of the moon. The Norsemen, who bore the winter better
than the rest, had begun to lose hope, and declined to leave the fire,
while the cook always pleaded for excuse--want of time.
It would have been very beautiful out there; but the state of the crew,
and his own want of energy, made the fiord look like a cold, dark,
cruel, icy prison, and Steve was always glad to get back into the
shelter of the ship.
Then came a morning when the doctor complained of being unwell, and
asked Steve to go alone to attend to the men.
With a feeling of horror that he could not conceal, the boy slowly left
the doctor's cabin.
"He'll lie now as the others are lying," said Steve to himself; and the
boy's first thought now was that he ought to go to his own cot and give
up, for there was nothing more to be done.
"Never say die," he muttered, though; "never say die;" and, setting his
teeth, he went on with the duty the doctor had inaugurated, and visited
man after man, praying, exhorting, and bullying them into partaking of
food instead of lying there, dying, as it were, by inches.
One by one the Norsemen gave up, till only Johannes made the least
effort, and that only when Steve stood by. Then came the day when he,
too, resigned himself to his fate; and on going, after leaving him lying
in the engine-room, to the galley, Steve found that the cook was seated
listless and weary, his chin upon his hands, his elbows on his knees,
gazing at the dying fire in his stove.
"What!" cried Steve, "you are not going to give up?"
The man looked at him sadly for a few moments without speaking, and then
shook his head.
"The cold stuns them, the cold stuns them!" said the boy aloud in his
despair and horror as he turned back to the cabin. "Mr Handscombe," he
cried, "what shall I give them? I can do no more."
There was no reply, and with a thrill of horror running through him
Steve fled back to the deck, where the black darkness horrified him
still more, for the lamps had gone out for want of attention, the boiler
fire was nearly extinct, and even the outer cold seemed preferable to
that gloomy icy vault, so full of horror. He literally staggered to the
ice-covered canvas door of the awning, and in his fearful loneliness
strove to get the frozen fastenings undone, so that he might at least
have the stars of heaven for company. And then he felt that he was not
alone, for there was a sharp bark, the dog sprang to his side, and the
boy dropped upon his knees and flung his arms about his faithful
companion's neck.
"Skeny, old lad!" he cried with a sob, "and I thought I was quite left."
A sharp bark was the response, and in his delight the dog butted at him,
seized his arm in his teeth, and playfully worried it.
The next minute Steve rose to his feet, and, hardly knowing what he was
doing, dragged the canvas doorway open, and staggered out of the
darkness and down the snow steps into what looked once more a world of
silvery light; for the moon was at the full, and it seemed nearly as
light as day. In his delight the dog threw himself on his side to force
a way through the snow, and then turned over to repeat the performance,
and leap and race round his master, who stood shading his eyes from the
light, and staring before him at something misty and spectral-looking in
the distance. Finally the dog burst into a joyous peal of barking at
the objects which had struck his master, and there came the sharp report
of a gun, followed by a rolling volley of echoes.
"Is this dreaming? Am I getting worse?" thought Steve; and at that
moment there came a loud "Ahoy!"
"Some one there!--there in that terrible solitude! Then it must be
help."
The excitement and reaction were too much. Steve strove to shout again;
but the words failed him, and he only uttered a hoarse cry. But the dog
responded bravely and loudly it seemed to the boy at first, then faintly
and more faintly, while the moonlight was dim, and then all dark, for he
had sunk insensible upon the snow.
When he opened his eyes Skene was standing with his fore paws upon his
chest, and nearly a dozen men in heavy furs stood about him, while one
white-haired, burly-looking personage, who was supporting him, said:
"Come, my lad, better? Where are your friends? in the ship?"
"Uncle!" was all that Steve could pant out, for he recognised the voice
that he had not heard for a couple of years.