“Help me, Steve, in every way you can, my lad. Let’s keep the men’s spirits up till the twenty-first of December.”
“You mean till the end of March,” said Steve gloomily.
“No, my lad; as I said, till the twenty-first of December. Only get that day past, and I can say to the men, ‘the sun is on its way back; patience, and we shall once more have the light.’”
“What shall I do to help you?”
“First of all, cast off that despondent way, my lad, and set others an example. You, I, and Mr Handscombe can’t afford to be low-spirited. There: be yourself, cheery and bright. I’m ready to encourage you in starting games or sports. Anything to keep the men in a cheerful state.”
Steve tried, but in spite of moon and star-shine, more brilliant than any present had ever seen before, abundant food, long walks for exercise whenever the weather would permit, and, above all, encouragement to sleep as long as they felt disposed, there was a peculiar depression steadily creeping over the men with which it grew harder and harder to battle.
At first they were merry and cheery enough in the glow of the fire, they sang all the songs they knew, and joined in chorus; the fiddle was heard going, and often enough the tune kept time with the beating of feet, as the men tried the steps of some hornpipes. And on other nights Andrew’s pipes made most dismal sounds, to the great delight of the Scots; but after the mishap to one of his feet, a burn which refused to heal, “ta pipes” found no more favour in the Highlander’s eyes, and he grew low-spirited and irritable to a degree that made him snatch the pipes one day from Watty, who had taken them down “to hae a blaw,” as he called it, and strike him across the head with the big drone.
Johannes was taken into consultation in the cabin, where they were in pretty good spirits, Steve being occupied in helping the doctor and captain in keeping the log, and noting down the observations they made with the instruments and on the weather; but the Norseman shook his head.
“I’m trying all I know, sir,” he said; “but it’s a hard task. I’m only an unlearned man, and do not understand these things well; but it seems to me, sir, that nothing was ever meant to live up here in the coldest time. The birds have gone south, we have not seen the track of deer or wolf for a month, and it is six weeks now since we have seen the footprint of a bear. It is nature’s long, dark, cold night, sir, where nothing is meant to live.”
“Humph!” said the captain shortly; “and so you are going to give in too, and turn coward, eh?”