“No nonsense, my lad. Try to keep it up; any way, so that we can kill the demon ennui.”
“I’ll try,” said Steve huskily; “but, hard though it was, I didn’t know it would do so much good. But I’ll never laugh at the bagpipes again.”
Chapter Forty.
Black Darkness.
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.