The sun set for the very last time in a splendour of cloudscape that seemed almost supernatural and divine.
There was twilight after this, but soon even that was lost to view.
Then came frequent storms of such violence that, but for the shelter of that mysterious cave—“the Cave of Dead Bones,” as Mac called it—it is doubtful whether the whole expedition would not have perished.
While these storms raged the winds were cold, cruel, merciless. No one could withstand their vehemence. They were more bearable when they brought snow—snow or the thin snowflakes turned into ice-dust, powdered by wrathful and venomous wind. This snow was swept wildly past the cave’s front, which was well barricaded; but wherever it was given leave to rest it lay in “wreaths,” like storm-waves of ocean or Atlantic breakers on a beach, if you could imagine these suddenly solidified by the finger of death, and motionless, “wreaths” big enough to have covered a cathedral.
Battling with such winds is out of the question. You get angry, excited with the unequal contest; your brain is filled with blood, and tears of vexation roll over the cheeks. Then it is nothing unusual for men so exposed to drop suddenly dead.
I must confess to you that my young heroes, Charlie and Walter, lost heart and courage whenever those awful storms began to howl and yell without; and but for the cheerful voices of Sheelah and Taffy, whom in the cave they could not see, they would have succumbed entirely.
Luckily the gales and snow-blizzards did not last very long. Seldom more than a day, and when the wind went down, and moon and stars, or the Aurora and stars, shed their wonder-light over the scenery, the boys were once more happy and gay.
On the days—strange to say days when all was night—when the temperature fell to 20° and 30° below zero, cold was not complained of, but zero itself, with the wind-fiend raging, was misery that cannot be described.
Dr. Wright did everything a brave doctor could do to keep his people in health and fit. Curtis was no longer commander save in name. He had to cave in to the doctor, and do all he was bidden.
MacDonald told his queerest stories after dinner, and sang his love lilts as heartsomely as do the blackbirds in early spring.