Steve Young Part 70

"The shortest day, my boy! Well, why don't you look pleased? What are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking," said Steve as he started out of a reverie, "that it would be the longest night."

"Well, take it that way, then: the longest night, and the shortest day.

To-morrow the sun will have started on the backward journey, so come, cheer up, and--"

They all sprang to their feet, for a terrific report somewhere on high was followed by a crashing roar as of thunder, and with one consent they hurried on deck and out into the snow.

All was silent by then, but a few moments later there was a rushing and crashing sound, evidently on the steep mountain-side, in the direction of the chasm through which they had been in the habit of making their way to the open sea.

"An avalanche of ice and rocks," said the captain.

"Yes, sir," said Johannes, as the rushing sound stopped. "The frost must have rent open some big rock, and this started the others in falling."

Here was something to do.

"A good beginning, though a few hours too soon, my lads. We've reached the shortest day, and it's time to be active once more. Quick! wrap up; coats on, and mitts. We'll go and see what the ice avalanche has done."

The men returned to their quarters, but it was in a dull, spiritless way, which Steve could not help noticing, but he said nothing then.

"Take guns, sir?" he asked, as they reached the cabin.

"We may as well, my lad, though I don't think there will be anything to shoot."

Steve was ready first, and went out on deck, to see the men coming up from the forecastle, looking big and uncouth in their hooded fur coats and mittens; but no one spoke as they stood there in the gloom waiting for orders. Steve peered about, but could not see the face he sought, and he turned to Hamish, who was close at hand.

"Where's Watty?" he said.

"In her bunk, sir," said the man surlily.

"In his bunk? Why didn't you rouse him up? It will do him good to come. Andra isn't here, either. He ought to try and walk as far as we're going to-day."

"Na, let them be, sir," said the man. "Better let the puir chiels dee in peace."

"For shame!" cried Steve hotly; "what do you mean by talking about dying in peace?"

"Only that she may as weel lee doon and ket it ower, sir. She'll neffer see Scotia acain."

"Hamish, I should be ashamed to say that if I were a big, strong fellow like you. What are you thinking about?"

"She thinks it wa.s.s a shame to pring us all oop here to dee."

There was a low murmur of acquiescence here among the men, and Steve felt a shiver run through him, as if the men's dread and despondency were contagious. But he brightened up the next minute, and said lightly:

"This doesn't sound very brave;" and he pushed by the men and descended to the forecastle, where Andrew lay staring at the dim light swinging from one of the beams.

"Hullo, Andra!" he cried cheerily, though he knew the jubilant sound of his voice was forced; "lying down? How are the pipes?"

"The pipes are froze hard, Meester Stevey, an' she'll hae them put wi'

her in the hole in the snow."

"What, to thaw them?" cried Steve. "Nonsense! you're not so bad as that. Where's Watty?"

"Oh!" came from right forward out of the darkness.

"What a groan!" cried Steve boisterously. "Here, come out, you lazy old rascal; we're just going on a bit of a trip. Where are you? Oh, I say, you do like playing dormouse."

"Oh, dinna tooch her, sir; she's froze all through, and she'll preak."

"Nonsense! Let's have a look at you, Watty!" cried Steve jovially, though his heart ached as he spoke and thought of how the doctor had said that unless the men's spirits were kept up they would droop and die.

As he spoke he half dragged the lad, blankets, and all into the light.

"Why, you're not half frozen yet."

"Hey, put she dinna ken. She's a' ane muckle chilplain."

"Then come out, and have a run through the snow."

"Nay, she'll never rin acain."

"Yes, you will. I want you, Watty. Come along."

"Nay, she dinna like her, an' she never tid. She's ferry pad."

"Did the doctor say so?"

"No," growled Andrew; "she said it wa.s.s nothing the matter with the callant, and she ought to ket oop and rin apoot."

"Eh?" cried Watty, rising up so quickly that he knocked his head against the bottom of the next bunk. "The doctor said Andra wa.s.s petter as I am, Meester Stevey, an' she should pe apoot her wairk. She's ferry well inteet."

"A lee!" cried Andrew fiercely. "The doctor dinna ken how sair she be.

She's ferry pad, and she's coing to dee."

"So we all are, some day, Andra. Come, man, get up, and you, too, Watty."

"Na, na--na, na," came with quite a duet of groans. "Oh, I say!" cried Steve. "I know I feel quite as bad and low-spirited as you both do.

Come, Watty laddie, it's horribly dull without you. Get up."

"She dinna want her, sir, she dinna want her."

"But I do, Watty, 'pon my word. You and I are the only two boys in the ship, and I miss you. Get up, and you and I'll stick together all day, and have a good run with Skeny."

"Do she mean she to want her ferry padly?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then she'll ket oop," said the lad with a groan.