The wind dropped at sundown, if it could be called sundown, when that day they had only had some hours of glow over the icy rampart that shut them in. Then in the darkening sky the stars began to peer out one by one, till, as the sky grew perfectly black, the heavens were one blaze of glittering splendour.
“Why, the stars seem double the size that they are at home,” said Steve, as he stood out on the snow steps for a little while before retiring to rest. “The sky looks so transparent, too, just as if you were peeping right in amongst them. Look, look!”
He pointed at that which the others saw as soon as he, for a brilliant meteor suddenly flashed into sight, formed an arc in the sky, and disappeared, leaving a thin line of sparks behind it for a moment or two before they died out.
“What was that?” cried Steve.
“A meteor,” said the captain. “One of the little bodies which astronomers say burst into light in passing through our atmosphere. But come; the fireside is the best place on a night like this.”
They retired to the cabin, after carefully tying the points of the canvas down; and, after a walk right forward by the dim light of the lanthorns to see that the men were all comfortable and well, the trio returned to the cabin, where the stove was crackling and roaring, and the hanging lamp, books, papers, and chess-board looked cheery and home-like.
Skene followed them and stood at the door in a deprecating fashion, slowly waving his plume-like tail from side to side, and looking, Steve said, as if he would come in and stay if he were asked.
“Yes, come in,” said the captain.
The dog entered with a bound, and couched instantly at the front of the stove.
“It’s getting intensely cold now,” said the captain, taking up the log-book to make an entry or two.