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Steve Young, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 40. Black Darkness |
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_ 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. In spite of all efforts, Andrew had gone back to his bunk, where he lay day after day cuddling his pipes, and growing more and more despondent. Watty also went back, though Steve tried in every way to interest him in sports--running, jumping, and the like. He wanted to "gang hame to his mither," he said; and when strong men grew so despondent, it was useless to blame a boy. It was during one of the darkest times that Steve found the four Norwegians together upon the deck. It was when the skies were black with clouds, and a terrible wind howled through the standing rigging, and threatened to tear down the canvas sheltering of the deck; and it was not to be wondered at that the men's spirits were down to their lowest ebb, and that, consequent upon a report from the doctor, Captain Marsham had asked the prayers of all present for their two brethren who lay grievously mentally sick, for it was more from brain than from bodily ailment. It was Sunday, and the proper observance of that day had always been carefully kept up. Steve, heart-sore, and as depressed as any one on board, had gone on the deck to have a run up and down, as it was impossible to go out; and he soon became aware that Skene was trotting at his heels. Directly after he came upon Johannes and his three companions, and halted, wondering why they were there, as they were generally with the firemen below. "We were only having a talk, sir," said the harpooner. "About our position--whether we shall get through it?" cried Steve eagerly. "Yes, sir." "Well, and what do you think?" "That we shall, sir. Why not? It is very dark and cold, but we have plenty of food and fuel. We only want work. The cook yonder is always busy getting things ready for us, and he is the healthiest man on board." "Then you think we can hold out?" "Please God, yes, sir," said the men in reverent tones. "We must not give up now." "No, we must not give up now," echoed Steve. "We have been thinking that, as soon as this storm has blown over, we may have three or four days' fine, clear weather. The moon is getting toward the full, and if the captain would start an expedition, it would not be so dangerous now." "Which way would you go?" "Inland, sir. I don't expect it, but we might find deer or a bear; but whether we did or no, we should have something to do." The storm had given place to fine clear moonshine, and there was not a breath of air, but no expedition was started; for, to the despair and misery of all, the captain broke down, worn out by mental care; and after three or four days Steve sat by his cot listening to his hurried breathing, and asking himself what was to become of them all if their brave leader died. The boy had to divide his attention between watching and keeping up the temperature of the cabin; but the glowing stove and constantly burning lamp had a hard fight with the cold, which seemed to pierce through everything; and though curtains of sailcloth had been nailed up outside the cabin door, they did little in those piercing hours of the long arctic night. The boy had just resumed his seat, after rearranging the fur coat which he had thrown over the captain, when Mr Handscombe entered, the sailcloth curtains crackling loudly as he moved them to pass, for the moisture from the breath froze them stiff, and the thickness was constantly being added to. "How does he seem?" said the doctor, going closer to the fire to thaw the frozen rime from his beard, which was quite a bush of ice from the chin downward, before taking off his heavy fur coat and hood. "Just the same, sir," said Steve despondently. "Ah!" exclaimed the doctor sharply; "none of that. Don't you take that tone." "I--I can't help it!" cried Steve piteously, as he now broke down completely. "I--I have tried so hard, Mr Handscombe. I have done everything till now, and it's of no use. I must lie down now like the rest, and give up, for we shall never see the day again." A pair of frozen mittens was thrown down, and Steve's hand was grasped. "You have done everything, my lad," cried the doctor warmly. "I have said nothing, but I have not been blind. I have watched the brave, unselfish way in which you have tried to help and encourage the others; but you have not done yet. Poor Lowe has taken to his bunk quite helpless, and there is hardly a man ready to stir. We two have to take things in hand, and the lot has fallen on us to try and save the crew of this ship. I am only the doctor, so you must take the captain's place, and go on fighting to the end." "I can't," groaned Steve. "The end is close at hand now. I must give up." "A British boy ought never to give up, my lad," cried the doctor warmly; "and you are not going to. They say that doctors say while there is life there is hope. Well, captains ought to feel the same with their crews and ships. If it were the end of November, I should be ready to take a despondent view of our position; but we shall soon be having March and the light. And you talk of giving up? Nonsense! You and I, Steve, must be ready to show that we are made of better stuff. Come, your hand upon it. Pluck works wonders, and you have plenty in you yet, though it is a little bit frozen. Now, then, British boy, you'll fight with me till you die? Come!" "Yes!" cried Steve, for these words seemed to galvanise him into action. "Hah! I thought so," cried the doctor. "Never say die, eh?" "Never say die!" cried Steve half hysterically, for long watching and the strain had terribly lowered his tone. "Come along, then, captain. Your crew is sick all but the cook." "And the Norsemen," said Steve. "They're breaking down, boy. Even stout, staunch old Johannes has caught the fever this morning." "Fever?" "Well, the complaint, my lad. He is sickening from the terrible depression. It is more than human nature can stand to see one's fellow-creatures breaking down day by day. There are limits to endurance, and sooner or later every one must break down--except doctors and deputy captains. Now, come on and help me administer medicine. We'll get it, and then come back here and give poor Marsham the first dose. Come along." "But the medicine chest is here," said Steve. "Yes, but this is a different medicine. I have some one mixing it, and I persuaded Johannes to take the fireman's place and keep the furnace going. On with your cap, and come on. Mitts, too, for it's colder than ever." Steve gave one more look at the captain, who lay there stern and calm now, as if sleeping more peacefully, and then followed Mr Handscombe to the engine-room, from which came up the clatter of an iron shovel and the rattle of coals. "That's better," said the doctor, "I've roused Johannes up to work. Now let's go and see if the physic is ready." Steve followed again, the doctor carrying a lanthorn along the dark, crackling deck, whose canvas roof and walls glittered with pendent icicles which made it resemble some wonderful grotto, while in the neighbourhood of the engine-room the deck was slippery with the frozen moisture. There was a warm glow of light by the galley, though, and a faint sound from the humming stove was breaking the stillness of the place, while quite a burst of hot light saluted them as the doctor opened the door. "Well, cook, my physic ready?" "Yes, sir, gallons of it, as strong as I can make it. But I do want a little help, sir. Can't you make that boy Watty rouse up? He'd be better here than in his bunk." "I'll try--I mean we'll try," said the doctor. "That's right. One basin now, not much, for the captain; then we'll come back for the rest. Hah! excellent. Try it, Captain Steve." The cook stared, and Steve unwillingly tasted the strong soup. "Go on," cried the doctor. "It takes ten table-spoonfuls to properly try that stuff." Steve went on, took his ten table-spoonfuls, and felt better. "Hah! I knew you would," cried the doctor. "Now look: we must keep up that medicine till further orders, and see if we can't bring the men round. There are plenty of tins of preserved meat in store?" "Any amount, sir; and plenty of reindeer meat still." "Then we shan't break down there. Now, then, captain, _en avant_!" They returned to the cabin, Steve carrying a small basin and the doctor a large one, which he handed down to Johannes on the way, the Norseman receiving it in a sad, awed, depressed way, and promising to eat it at once. But they had very little success in the cabin, and Steve's spirits, which had been rising, sank again as they returned to the galley, where the cook was ready with a great tin bucket full of the steaming stuff, regular meat essence in its strength. From here they went down into the forecastle, dim, steamy, and with snowflakes floating here and there. Two or three of the men sat near the stove, but for the most part they were in their bunks, and all greeted the new-comers with a hollow-eyed stare. Their basins were half filled and taken from bunk to bunk; but the men could hardly be roused to eat, and at times the doctor had to angrily insist before they could be induced to try to partake of the steaming preparation. Watty was the first for whom Steve made in the dark, depressing place, and found him lying dim-eyed, half stupefied, gazing at the light. He thought of how he had roused the lad up before again and again, but the spirit was wanting, on both sides now; and after with great difficulty inducing the lad to partake of a few spoonfuls of the so-called medicine, Watty sank back, and then felt slowly for Steve's hand. "I'm thenkin', Meester Stevey," he whispered, "that she'll ket pack to Scotland." "Yes, and you too," said Steve, with as much heart as he could put into his words--little enough, though. "Nay, she's coing to dee, and she's ferry sorry she wasna always coot frien's." "Oh, never mind that now, Watty!" "Put she toes mind, Meester Stevey, and she's ferry sorry. Ye'll pe coing pack to Scotland, sir, and ye'll tak' care an' co and tell my mither a' aboot her and how she deed." Steve could bear no more. He hurried across to where Andrew was lying, and took him a basin of the doctor's soup. But his success was very little better here. All the men were in the dull, apathetic state pretty well expressed by the Highlander, who, after partaking of a few spoonfuls of the stimulus, said softly: "Ye'll do her a favour?" "Yes, Andra, if I can. But stop; do me one first. Get up, and try and help us." "Nay, she'll never ket oop acain," said the man. "Ye'll chust wait till she's deed, an' then come an' tak' awa' the pipes. They're doon here peside me in her plankets, and she'll tak' care of them an' carry them pack hame wi' her; an' laddie, if she'll try an' learn the pipes, it's the far pestest music as effer wass, an' she'll thenk sometimes apoot puir Andra McByle?" Steve promised. At another time he could have laughed; but now, in, that dim, gloomy place, surrounded by the faces of the gaunt men whose eyes gleamed faintly in the light of the lanthorn, it all seemed to be more than he could bear; and at last, when everything possible had been done, he followed the doctor back to the cabin, where they sat down in silence. The doctor was the first to speak. "It's hard work, Steve boy," he said; "but we've got to do it, and with God's help we will. Poor fellows! they have the muscles, but they have no energy; and I tell you frankly, I'm beginning to be afraid." "Afraid? What of?" said Steve anxiously. "That one of them will die; and if we come to that, the effect upon the others will be terrible." Steve shuddered. "Can we do anything else?" "No more than we are doing, lad," said the doctor wearily, "only wait." _ |
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