his way about was the
cold noses of the dogs pushed against his hands, as they frisked and
gambolled round him. They howled at the appearance of an accidental
light, as if they hoped the sun, or at least the moon, were going to
rise once more, and they rejoiced on being taken below, and leaped up
in the men's faces for sympathy, and whined, and all but spoke with
excess of satisfaction.

The effect of the monotony of long-continued darkness and the absence of
novelty had much to do also with the indifferent health of many of the
men. After the two expeditions were sent out, those who remained behind
became much more low spirited, and the symptoms of scurvy increased. In
these circumstances Captain Guy taxed his inventive genius to the utmost
to keep up their spirits and engage their minds. He assumed an air of
bustling activity, and attached a degree of importance to the regular
performance of the light duties of the ship that they did not in reality
possess apart from their influence as discipline. The cabin was swept
and aired, the stove cleaned, the fittings dusted, the beds made, the
tides, thermometers, and barometers registered; the logs posted up,
clothes mended, food cooked, traps visited, etc., with the regularity of
clockwork, and every possible plan adopted to occupy every waking hour,
and to prevent the men from brooding over their position. When the
labours of the day were over, plans were proposed for getting up a
concert, or a new play, in order to surprise the absentees on their
return. Stories were told over and over again, and enjoyed if good, or
valued far beyond their worth if bad. When old stories failed, and old
books were read, new stories were invented; and here the genius of some
was drawn out, while the varied information of others became of great
importance. Tom Singleton, in particular, entertained the men with
songs and lively tunes on the flute, and told stories, as one of them
remarked, "like a book." Joseph West, too, was an invaluable comrade in
this respect. He had been a studious boy at school, and a lover of books
of all kinds, especially books of travel and adventure. His memory was
good, and his inventive powers excellent, so that he recalled wonderful
and endless anecdotes from the unfathomable stores of his memory, strung
them together into a sort of story, and told them in a soft, pleasant
voice that captivated the ears of his audience; but poor West was in
delicate health, and