That was just it. The morning air was so invigorating, Captain Brown explained, that it was a pity not to feel it against one's face. He knew of a number of very pretty drives, round-about ways, to the station, and the fields were delightfully green just then.
In a short time away they rattled down the graveled road, the father waving after them. It was a good thing, said Lucy, that strong hands had the reins, for the horse was full of life. They sped over the smooth, hedge-bordered roads, winding about fields and gardens until they arrived at Calderstone Park. Here the captain pointed out the Calder Stones, ruins of an ancient Druid place of worship or sacrifice. Then they drove leisurely through Sefton Park, thence townward to the station.
They had a few moments to wait, during which the driver stroked the horse's nose, talking to him all the while not to be afraid of the noisy cars. The whistle's shrill pipe sounded and the train rolled in. The captain stood by his horse, while Lucy went to the platform, and met Chester as he leaped from the car.
"Oh, ho," said the captain to his horse, when he saw the meeting. A partial explanation was given him of the "certain young man" whom they were to meet.
The captain held the carriage door open to them like a true coachman. "Take the back seat, please," he commanded, after the introduction; "in these vehicles, the driver sits in front."
The captain drove straight home, so in a very-short time they were set down at the steps.
"Go right in," he said. "I'll take the horse back, and be with you shortly."
The housekeeper met them in the hall, took wraps and hats, and directed them upstairs where the "gentleman" was waiting. Lucy had had no opportunity to tell Chester the secret about herself, so she would have to let his father do so. They walked quietly to the father's room and opened the door softly. He appeared to be sleeping in his chair, so they tip-toed into another room.
"Is he better?" asked Chester.
"Nearly well again." They did not seat themselves, but stood by the table. She came close to him, smiling up into his face and said, "Everything'sall right, Chester."
"Yes, of course," he replied. "You are looking so rosy and well, I forget you are an invalid."
"Don't think of it. I'm going to live a long, long time, Chester—with you. Listen, dear, and don't look so worried. Things have changed again. I don't need to break good news gently, so I may tell you now, papa—I mean, your father, has been telling me something I never dreamed of—Chester, listen. I'm not your father's child—only by adoption—you're not my brother, only of course in the brotherhood of the faith."
"Lucy, what are you saying?"
"I am telling you the truth—as I was told it. Headopted me as a baby—I was an orphan—I am not your sister. Chester—I—"
He seized her hands, and held her at arms length, while his eyes seemed to devour her. She could not repress the tears, and when he saw them, he drew her close and kissed her.
"Lucy, not my sister, but my sweetheart again, my little wife to be—what—does it all mean?"
There came a loud knock at the door, and the father entered without being bidden. He walked firmly up to them, placed a hand on each shoulder, and said:
"My son, I have to ask your forgiveness again. I intended to tell you about Lucy as soon as you learned the truth about yourself, but I was hindered. Don't think, my boy, that I would purposely cause you suffering. What Lucy has told you is true, and I am so glad that the misunderstanding and the mixups no longer exist between us."
The three now found seats and talked over the new situation in which they found themselves, not forgetting the part Uncle Gilbert had taken in recent events, until the strenuous voice of Captain Brown had to supplement the housekeeper's bell, before the three would come down for luncheon.
Those were golden days to Chester, Lucy, and the Rev. Thomas Strong. Out of restless uncertainty, doubts, fears, and heart-aching experiences they now had come to a period of peaceful certainty. Out of straits they had come to a quiet sun-kissed harbor.
Captain Brown looked on all this happiness approvingly.His shore leave was going splendidly. The neighbor's horse and carriage were often brought into requisition, and the father would not be denied his share of these drives. The captain's own boat, long since unused, was put into commission, and with the captain at the tiller the whole family sailed over the placid Mersy. The moon grew rounder, and as the evenings were warm, the boat often lingered in the moonlight. Then songs were sung, Chester and Lucy singing some which the father recognized as "Mormon," but which the captain knew only as beautiful and full of sweet spirit.
During those days when the visitors remained with the captain rather more for his own sake than for any other reason, there was just one little cloud in Chester's and Lucy's sunlight. That was that the father took no abiding interest in the religion which now meant so much to them. Once or twice the subject had been carefully broached by Chester, but each time the father had not responded. He made no objections. The young man sometimes thought there would be more hope if he did. However, he and Lucy were not discouraged. They reasoned, with justice, that it was no easy matter to change a life-long habit of belief and practice. They comforted each other by the hope that all would be well in the end. Had they not already ample evidence of God's providence shaping all things right.
It was plainly to be seen, however, that the father took great comfort in his new-found son; and wellany father might, for Chester was a strong, open-spirited, clean young man. Father and son strolled out together, Lucy sometimes peeping at them from behind the curtain, but denying herself of their company. Chester, by his father's request, told him more of his life's story. The father wished to live as much as could be by word-telling the years he had missed in the life of his son; and the father, for his part, acquainted Chester with his more recent years. "I married quite late in life," said the father, "a sweet girl who did much for me. That we had no children was a great disappointment to both of us, and when we saw that very likely we never would have any of our own, we found and adopted Lucy. She would never have known the truth about that had not you come and compelled me to tell it. But it's all right now, and the Lord has been kinder to me than I deserve."
"'God moves in a mysterious way,His wonders to perform,'"
"'God moves in a mysterious way,His wonders to perform,'"
quoted Chester.
"'He plants his footsteps in the seaAnd rides upon the storm,'"
"'He plants his footsteps in the seaAnd rides upon the storm,'"
mused the father.
At another time the father said to Chester:
"My boy, it would please me if you would take my name. You need not discard the one you already have, but add mine to it—yours by all that's right."
"Yes, father."
"I have no great fortune, but I have saved a little; and when I am gone, it will be yours and Lucy's—I'll hear no objections to that—for can't you see, all that I can possibly do for you will only in part pay for the wrong I have done. You say you have no definite plans for the future. Then you will come with us to Kansas City, where I expect to take up again my labors in the ministry, at least for a time."
Lucy came upon them at this point.
"Chester has promised to take my name," explained the father.
"That will make it unnecessary for you to change yours," said Chester, as he put his arm around her.
A week passed as rapidly as such golden days do. Chester sent the latest news to Elder Malby. Uncle Gilbert, always impatient, wrote from Kildare Villa, asking when they were "coming home." Captain Brown had made a number of trips of inspection to the docks to see how the loading of his ship was progressing.
At the captain's invitation they all visited the vessel one afternoon.
"Why," exclaimed Lucy in surprise, when she saw the steamer at the dock, "you have a regular ocean liner here. I thought freight boats were small concerns."
"Small! well, now, you know better. Come aboard."
He led the way on deck, and then below.
"This ship is somewhat old," explained CaptainBrown, "but she is still staunch and seaworthy. As you see, she has once been a passenger boat, and in fact, she still carries passengers—when we can find some who would rather spend twelve days in comfort than be rushed across in six or seven by the latest greyhounds. I say, when we can find such sensible people," repeated the captain, as he looked curiously at his guests.
The dining room was spacious, the berths of the large, roomy kind which the grasp for economy and capacity had not yet cut down.
"This is a nicer state room than I had coming over," declared Lucy. "Why can't we return with Captain Brown?"
"I should be delighted," said the captain. "The booking offices are on Water Street."
"When do you sail?" asked the father.
"In three days, I believe we shall be ready."
"And your port?"
"New York."
"Your cargo?"
"Mixed."
"Any passengers?"
"A dozen or so—plenty of room, you see. We'll make you comfortable, more so than on a crowded liner. Think about it, Mr. Strong."
"We shall," said Lucy and her father in unison.
And thus it came about that the party of three visiting with Captain Andrew Brown, decided to sail with him to New York. A few more days on the water was of no consequence, except as Chester said to Lucy, to enjoy a little longer the after-seasickness period of the voyage. As for Chester himself, he was very pleased with the proposition.
A visit to the company's office in Water Street completed the arrangement. "Yes," said the agent, "we can take care of you. There will be a very small list of passengers, which gives you all the more room. Besides, it's worth while to cross with Captain Brown."
As the boat did not lay up to the Landing Stage, but put directly to sea from the dock, the passengers were stowed safely away into their comfortable quarters the evening before sailing. When they awoke next morning, they were well out into the Irish sea, the Welsh hills slowly disappearing at the left. Chester was the first on deck. He tipped his cap to Captain Brown on the bridge as they exchanged their morning greetings. The day was bright and warm, the sea smooth. Chester stood looking at the vanishing hills, glancing now and then at the companionway, for Lucy. As he stood there, he thought of the time, only a few days since, when he had caught his first sight of those same green hills. What a lot had happened to him between those two points of time! A journey begun without distinct purposehad brought to him father and sweetheart. Outward bound he had been alone, empty and void in his life; and now he was going home with heart full of love and life rich with noble purpose.
Chester's father appeared before Lucy. The son met him and took his arm as they paced the deck slowly. The father declared to Chester that he was feeling fine; and, in fact, he looked remarkably well.
"I am sorry we did not hear from Gilbert before we sailed," said the father; "but I suppose the fault was ours in not writing to him sooner."
"He barely had time to get the letter," said Chester.
"I suppose so. But it doesn't matter. We should only have just stopped off at Kildare Villa to say goodbye, any way."
"It's a pity we don't stop at Queenstown. He could have come out on the tender."
"Perhaps he would, and then perhaps he wouldn't. It would depend on just how he felt—halloo, Lucy—you up already?"
"I couldn't lay abed longer this beautiful morning," exclaimed Lucy as she came up to them. "Isn't this glorious! Is Wales below the sea yet?"
"No; there's a tip left. See, there, just above the water."
"Goodbye, dear old Europe," said Lucy, as she waved her handkerchief. "I've always loved you—I love you now more than ever."
Father and son looked and smiled knowingly at her. Then they all went down to breakfast.
Just about that same time of day, Thomas Strong's delayed letter reached his brother in Cork. Uncle Gilbert read the letter while he ate his breakfast, and Aunt Sarah wondered what could be so disturbing in its contents; for he would not finish his meal.
"What is it, Gilbert?" she asked.
"Thomas, Lucy, and that young fellow, Chester Lawrence are going to—yes, have already sailed from Liverpool with Captain Brown."
"And they're not coming to see us before they leave?"
"Didn't I say, they're already on the water—or should be—off to New York with Captain Brown—and he doesn't touch at Queenstown, and in that boat—"
Uncle Gilbert wiped his forehead.
"I'm sorry that they did not call," commented Aunt Sarah complacently; "but I suppose they were in a hurry, and Captain Brown will take care of them."
"In a hurry! No. Captain Brown—" but the remark was lost to his wife. He cut short his eating, hurried to town, and, in faint hopes that it might be in time, sent a telegram to his brother in Liverpool which read:
"Don't sail with Captain Brown. Will explain later."
This telegram was delivered to Captain Brown's housekeeper, who sent it to the steamship company's office, where it was safely pigeon-holed.
The morning passed at Kildare Villa. The telegram brought no reply. In foolish desperation, hoping against hope, Uncle Gilbert took the first fast train northward, crossed by mail steamer to Holyhead, thence on to Liverpool, where he arrived too late. The boat had sailed. He went to the steamship company's office in Water Street, and passed, without asking leave, into the manager's office. That official was alone, which was to Gilbert Strong's purpose.
"Why did you permit my brother to sail with Captain Brown?" asked he abruptly.
"My dear Mr. Strong," said the manager, "calm yourself. I do not understand."
"Yes, you do. You know as well as I do that his ship is—is not in the best condition. You ought not to have allowed passengers at all."
"Sit down, Mr. Strong. The boat is good for many a trip yet, though it is true, as you know, that she is to go into dry dock for overhauling on her return. Has your brother sailed on her?"
"He has, my brother, his daughter and her young man. I suppose there were other passengers also?"
"Yes; a few—perhaps twenty-five all told. Don't worry; Captain Brown will bring them safely through."
"Yes," said Gilbert Strong, as he left the office, "yes, if the Lord will give him a show—but—"
He could say no more, for did he not know full well that at a meeting of company directors at which he had been present, it had been decided to try onemore trip with Captain Brown in command, and the fact that the boat was not in good condition was to be kept as much as possible from the captain. A little tinkering below and a judicious coat of paint above would do much to help the appearance of matters, one of the smiling directors had said. And so—well, he would try not to worry. Of course, everything would be well. Such things were done right along, with only occasionally a disaster or loss—fully covered by the insurance.
But for all his efforts at self assurance, when he went home to Aunt Sarah he was not in the most easy frame of mind.
The little company under Captain Brown's care was having a delightful time. The weather was so pleasant that there was very little sickness. Chester again escaped and even his father and Lucy were indisposed for a day or two only. After that the long sunny days and much of the starry nights were spent on deck. The members of the company soon became well acquainted. Captain Brown called them his "happy family."
And now Chester and Lucy had opportunity to get near to each other in heart and mind. With steamer chairs close together up on the promenade deck where there usually were none but themselves, they would sit for hours, talking and looking out over the sea. "Shady bowers 'mid trees and flowers" may be ideal places for lovers; but a quiet protected corner of a big ship which plows majesticallythrough a changeless, yet ever-changing sea, has also its charms and advantages.
On the fourth day out. The water was smooth, the day so warm that the shade was acceptable. Chester and Lucy had been up on the bridge with Captain Brown, who had told them stories of the sea, and had showed them pictures of his wife and baby, both safe in the "Port of Forever," he had said. All this had had its effect on the two young people, and so when they went down to escape the glare of the sun on the exposed bridge, they sought a shady corner amid-ships. When they found chairs, Chester always saw that she was comfortable, for though well as she appeared, she was never free from the danger of a troublesome heart. The light shawl which she usually wore on deck, hung loosely from her shoulders across her lap, providing a cover behind which two hands could clasp. They sat for some time that afternoon, in silence, then Lucy asked abruptly:
"Chester, you haven't told me much about that girl out West. You liked her very much, didn't, you?"
"Yes," he admitted, after a pause. "I think I can truthfully say I did; but this further I can say, that my liking for her was only a sort of introduction to the stronger, more matured love which was to follow,—my love for you. I think I have told you before that you bear a close resemblence to her; and it occurs to me now that therein is another of God's wonderful providences."
"How is that?"
"Had you not looked like her I would not havebeen attracted to you, and very likely, would have missed you and my father, and all this."
"I'm glad your experience has been turned to such good account. Now, I for example, never had a beau until you came."
"What?"
"Oh, don't feign surprise. You know, I'm no beauty, and I never was popular with the boys. Someone once told me it was because I was too religious. What do you think of that?"
"Too religious! Nonsense. The one thing above another, if there is such, that I like about you is that your beauty of heart and soul corresponds to your beauty of face—No; don't contradict. You have the highest type of beauty—"
"Beauty is in the eyes that see," she interrupted.
"Certainly; and in the heart that understands. As I said, the highest type of beauty is where the inner and the outer are harmoniously combined. I think that is another application of the truth that the spiritual and the mortal, or 'element' as the revelation calls it, must be eternally connected to insure a perfect being. Somehow, I always sympathize with one whose beautiful spirit is tabernacled in a plain body. And yet, my pity is a hundred times more profound for one whom God has given a beautiful face and form, but whose heart and soul have been made ugly by sin—but there, if I don't look out, I'll be preaching."
"Well, your congregation likes to hear you preach."
Space will not permit the recording of the number of times emphasis was given to various expressions in this conversation by the hand pressure under the shawl.
"Now," continued he, "I can't conceive of your not having any admirers."
"I didn't say admirers—I said beaux."
"Well, I suppose there is a difference," he laughed.
"Of course, I have known a good many young men in my time, but those matrimonially inclined usually passed by on the other side."
"Perhaps they knew I was coming on this side."
"Perhaps—There's papa. He looks lonesome. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves to hide from him as we did yesterday."
"I agree; but he'll find us now."
Lucy drew the father's attention, and he found a chair near them.
"Isn't the sea beautiful," said Lucy, by way of beginning the conversation properly, now a third person was present. "And what a lot of water there is!" she continued. "What did Lincoln say about the common people? The Lord must like them, because he made so many of them. Well, the Lord must like water also, as He has made so much of it."
"Water is a very necessary element in the economy of nature," said the father. "Like the flow of blood in the human body, so is water to this world. As far as we know, wherever there is life there is water."
"And that reminds me," said Lucy eagerly, as if a new thought had come to her, "that water is alsoa sign of purity. Water is used, not only to purify the body, but as a symbol to wash away the sins of the soul. Paul, you remember, was commanded to 'arise, and be baptized, and wash away thy sins'." Lucy looked at Chester as if giving him a cue.
"In the economy of God," said Chester, "it seems necessary that we must pass through water from one world to another. In like manner, the gateway to the kingdom of heaven is through water. 'Except a man be born of water and of the spirit, he cannot enter into the Kingdom of God' is declared by the Savior himself."
Whether or not the father understood that this brief sermonizing was intended primarily for him, he did not show any resentment. He listened attentively, then added:
"Yes; water has always held an important place among nations. Cicero tells us that Thales the Milesian asserted God formed all things from water—Out in Utah, Chester," said the father, turning abruptly to the young man, "you have an illustration of what water can do in the way of making the desert to blossom."
"Yes; it is truly wonderful, what it has done out there," agreed Chester. Then being urged by both his father and Lucy, he told of the West and its development. He was adroitly led to talk of Piney Ridge Cottage and the people who lived there, their home and community life, their trials, their hopes, their ideals. Ere he was aware, Chester was again in the canyons, and crags and mountain peaks, whosewildness was akin to the wildness of the ocean. Then when his story was told, Lucy said:
"I know where I could get well."
"Where?" asked Chester.
"At Piney Ridge Cottage."
Chester neither agreed nor denied. Just then a steamer came into sight, eastward bound. It proved to be an "ocean grayhound," and Captain Brown coming up, let them look at it through his glass.
"She's going some," remarked the captain; "but I'll warrant the passengers are not riding as easy as we."
"Somehow," said the father, "a passing steamer always brings to me profound thoughts. Now, there, for example, is a spot on the vast expanse of water. It is but a speck, yet within it is a little world, teeming with life. The ship comes into our view, then passes away. Again, the ship is just a part of a great machine—I use this figure for want of a better one. Every individual on the ship bears a certain relationship to the vessel; the steamer is a part of this world; this world is a cog in the machinery of the solar system; the solar system is but a small group of worlds, which is a part of and depends on, something as much vaster as the world is to this ship. This men call the Universe; but all questions of what or where or when pertaining to this universe are unanswerable. We are lost—we know nothing about it—it is beyond our finite minds."
Captain Brown stood listening to this exposition.His eyes were on the speaker, then on the passing steamer, then on the speaker again.
"Mr. Strong," said he, "at the last church service I attended in Liverpool, the minister was trying to explain what God is,—and just that which you have said is beyond us, that vast, unknown, unknowable something he called God."
"Oh," exclaimed Lucy, involuntarily.
"I'll admit the definition is not very plain," continued the captain. "We get no sense of nearness from it. I would not know how to pray to or worship such a God; but what are we to do? I have never heard anything more satisfactory, except—well, only when I read my Bible."
"Why not take the plain statement of the Bible, then?" suggested Chester.
"I try to, but my thinking of these things is not clear, because of the interpretation the preachers put upon them—excuse the statement, Mr. Strong; but perhaps you are an exception. I have never heard you preach."
The minister smiled good-naturedly. Then he said, "Chester here, is quite a preacher himself. Ask his opinion on the matter."
"I shall be happy to listen to him. However, I have an errand just now. Will you go with me?" this to Chester.
Chester, annoyed for a moment at this unexpected turn, arose and followed the captain into his quarters.
"Sit down," said the captain. "I was glad Mr.Strong gave me an opportunity to get you away, for I have a matter I wish to speak to you about, a matter which I think best to keep from both Mr. Strong and Lucy—but which you ought to know."
"Yes."
The officer seated himself near his table on which were outspread charts and maps. About the table hung a framed picture of the captain's wife and child, a miniature of which he carried in his breast pocket.
"In the first place," began Captain Brown, "I want you to keep this which I tell you secret until I deem it wise to be published. I can trust you for that?"
"Certainly."
Always in the company of the passengers, Captain Brown's bearing was one of assurance. He smiled readily. But now his face was serious, and Chester saw lines of care and anxiety in it.
"I am sorry that I ever suggested to you and your friends—and my dear friends they are too," continued the captain, "that you take this voyage with me, for if anything should happen, I should never forgive myself. However, there is no occasion for serious alarm—yet."
"What is the matter, captain?"
"I have been deceived regarding the condition of this ship. I was made to understand that she was perfectly sea-worthy—this is my first trip with her—but I now learn that the boilers are in a bad state and the pumps are hardly in a working condition. There is—already a small leak where it is nearly impossible to be reached. We are holdingour own very well, and we can jog along in this way for some time, so there is no immediate danger."
Chester experienced a sinking at the heart. From the many questions which thronged into his mind, he put this:
"When might there be danger?"
"If the leak gets bad and the pumps can not handle it. Then a rough sea is to be dreaded."
"What can we do?"
"At present, nothing but keep cool. You are the only one of the passengers that knows anything about this, and I am telling you because I can trust you to be wise and brave, if necessary. If things do not improve, we shall soon be getting our boats in shape. We shall do this as quietly as possible, but someone might see and ask questions. We shall depend on you—and I'll promise to keep you posted on the ship's true condition."
"Thank you, sir."
"And now," said the captain as his face resumed its cheerful expression, "I must make a trip below. When you see me on the bridge again, come up and make that explanation which Mr. Strong said you were able to do. I shall be mighty glad to listen to you."
Chester protested, but the captain would not hear it. "I'll be up in the course of half an hour," said the seaman. "Promise me you'll come?"
"Of course, if you really wish it?"
"I was never more earnest in my life. My boy, let me tell you something'. I have listened at timesto your conversation on religious themes—you and Lucy have talked when I could not help hearing—and I want to hear more—I believe you have a message for me."
There was a smile on the captain's face as he hurried away. And Chester's heart also arose and was comforted, as he lingered for a few moments on the deck and then joined Lucy and his father.
In blissful ignorance of any danger, the passengers and most of the crew went the daily round of pleasure or duty. The games on deck, the smoking and card-playing in the gentlemen's room, the sleeping and the eating all went on uninterrupted. Captain Brown, though quieter than usual, was as pleasant and thoughtful as ever. The sea was smooth, the weather fine, and the ship plowed on her course with no visible indication that she was slowly being crippled.
Lucy had for her use, one of the largest and best ventilated rooms in the ship. It was so pleasant there, that she spent much of her time in its seclusiveness. It is needless to state that Chester shared that comfort and seclusion. Reading, talking, building castles which reached into the heavens, these two basked in the warm light of a perfect love. After a little buffeting about in worldly storms, two hearts had come to rest; and how penetratingly sweet was that serene peace of soul. In him she saw her highest ideals realized, her fondest hopes and dreams come true. In her he found the composite perfectness of woman. All his visions from early youth to the present materialized in the sweet face, gentle spirit and pure soul of Lucy Strong!
Chester, the day after Captain Brown had told him about the condition of the ship, found Lucy in herroom. She was not well, the father had said, so Chester sought her out. She was reclining on the couch. His heart, burdened with what he knew melted towards the girl. He drew a stool up to her, and kissed his good-morning.
"Not so well today?" he asked.
"No; my heart has been troubling me all night; but I'm better now."
"Now, see here, my girl, I'm the one that ought to be ill."
"How's that?" she smiled at him.
"Have we not exchanged hearts?"
"Oh, I see. Yes; but the strength only went with mine. The weakness I retained. It would not have been fair otherwise."
She sat up and pushed back her hair. He seated himself near her and drew her in his arm. He held her close.
"Some things," said he, "we can not give, much as we would like. Some burdens we must carry ourselves."
"Which I take it, is a very wise provision," she added.
There was silence after that. It was not easy for either of them to talk, each being constrained with his own crowded thoughts. Chester listened to the rhythmic beat of the machinery, and wondered vaguely how long it would continue thus, and what would happen if it had to stop.
"Chester," said Lucy at last, "what if I should die?" She clung to him as she said it.
"But, my dear, you're not going to die. You're going to get completely well again—You're going to stay with me, you know."
"That's the worst, when I think of it—the thought of separating from you—O Chester, I can't do that—All my life I've waited and watched for you, and now to leave you, to lose you again—and we've been together such a short time! I can't bear to think of it." The tears welled in her eyes.
"Then, my sweetheart mustn't think of it. We are going to be together, we two. 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge ... where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried!' quoted the young man, knowing not the prophetic import of his words. She leaned on his shoulder, and he stroked the hair from her forehead.
"Did you have a talk with Captain Brown?" she asked. "Did you answer his questions?"
Chester started, then understood. "Oh, yes," he replied. "Yesterday on the bridge we talked for an hour. He asked me all manner of questions, and I think I satisfied him. He had heard of Mormonism,' of course, but never of its message of salvation. I believe he's converted already."
"I'm so glad, for he is such a nice man. Chester, I wish your father were more susceptible to the gospel. I can't understand him. He never opposes, nor does he now find fault with me; but as for himself—well, he says he's going back to the pulpit."
"I am just as sorry as you, on that score; but wecan but do our best, and let the Lord take care of the rest."
Now when their thoughts ranged from self to others, Lucy felt so much better that she declared she was ready for the deck. So leaning on Chester's arm, they carefully climbed the stairs, and came to the open. There was a breeze, and a bank of clouds hung low to windward. Chester adjusted Lucy's wrap closely as they paced the deck slowly. The clouds lifted into the sky, shutting out the sun. On the horizon, winkings of lightning flashed. Evidently, a storm was coming.
Captain Brown was quiet at the luncheon table. Chester noted it, and afterwards, followed the captain to the bridge.
"How goes it?" asked Chester.
"Not well," was the reply. "Do you see that list to larboard."
"I don't understand."
Without pointing, which action others might see, the captain explained that the ship tilted to one side, also that there was a slight "settling by the head," that is, the ship was deeper in the water forward than at any other part. Chester noticed it now, and asked what it meant.
"It means," explained the captain, "that we are slowly settling—sinking, in plain words. The pumps can not manage the water coming into the hold. There is also some trouble with the cargo, which causes the list or leaning to one side. From now on, I shall be on the lookout for assistance, which Ithink, will come in ample time—Now tell me more about this new prophet, Joseph Smith."
For an hour they conversed. Then the captain had to go below again, and Chester went in search of Lucy. A number of the passengers were standing near the larboard rail. They noticed the slope of the deck, but did not realize its meaning, and Chester did not enlighten them. A peculiar heart-sinking feeling persisted with him, which the coming storm did not alleviate.
The captain was not in his place at dinner, which was all the more noticeable, because it was the first time he had been absent. Some of the passengers were beginning to feel the effects of the higher seas, and they did not eat much. Very few went back to the deck from the table. Lucy and the minister were among those who went to bed, but Chester, clad in water proofs was easier on deck.
The wind was blowing hard, increasing in time to quite a gale. The waves broke over the ship's prow, slushing the forward deck and driving all who were out either back or to an upper deck. Chester kept away from Captain Brown on the bridge, where he no doubt would remain throughout the night.
Darkness came on thick and black. The wind howled hideously around smoke-stack and rigging. The rain came in storms, then ceased only to gather more strength for the next squall. How well the ship was standing the rough weather, Chester did not know, and certainly the other passengers hadno fears, as most of them were asleep. Chester went down the companion-way, glanced into the vacant saloon and hallways, and paused at Lucy's door All was quiet, so she was no doubt asleep. His father was also resting easily. He went on deck again.
As he mounted the steps to the tipper deck, he saw a brilliant light shine from the bridge. It flashed for an instant, flooding the ship with light, then went out. "The captain is signalling," thought Chester. In five minutes the light flashed again, thus at regular intervals. The few passengers who saw this, becoming alarmed, rushed to the bridge with anxious questions. The captain met them at the foot of the stairs.
"My friends," he said in wonderfully calm tones "there is no occasion for alarm. The weather is very thick, and as we are in the path of steamers, these lights are set off as a warning." This explanation, as Chester knew, was not all the truth, but the captain did not want a panic so early in the trouble. The passengers seemed satisfied, but they lingered for some time watching the lights and the remarkable effects they had on the ship and the heaving sea. The captain touched Chester who was still standing near the steps.
"You go to bed and get some rest," he said. "You may need all your strength later. There is no danger tonight. Go to bed."
Chester took the captain's advice. He went to bed,but it was not easy to go to sleep, so he did not do this until well towards morning.
The storm was still on next morning when Chester awoke. He dressed hurriedly, listened again at Lucy's and his father's doors, but hearing nothing went on deck. The day was well advanced. The wind seemed not so strong as the night before, and the waves were not so high. However, the sea was rough enough to add to the danger of a sinking ship. Chester noticed the "list to larboard," and the "settling at the head," and found both of these dangerous conditions worse. The most careless observer would not now fail to see that something was the matter. And, in fact, as the passengers came on deck that morning, most of them late and looking bad from threatened attacks of sea-sickness, they immediately remarked on the slanting deck. Anxious enquiries from officers and seamen brought no satisfactory reply. Had there been a large number of passengers, there would likely have been an unpleasant panic that morning.
The breakfast was late, and very few of the passengers were there to partake of it. Captain Brown was in his place, greeting the few who slipped carefully into their seats. As the meal progressed and not over half of the usual company put in an appearance, the captain consulted with the second officer and the steward. Then at the close of the meal, the captain arose and said:
"My friends, I wish you to remain until we can get all who are able to join us here. I have somethingto say which I want all of you to hear. So please remain seated. The steward will see that no one leaves the room."
One by one the absent passengers were brought in. Thomas Strong was among them, but not Lucy, for which Chester was thankful. The steward reported that all who were able were present, and then amid a tense silence, emphasized only by the creaking of the ship and the subdued noise of the sea without, the captain said:
"I am sorry to have to tell you that the ship is in a sinking condition. There is a leak which we have been unable to stop. Two of our boilers are already useless and it is only a matter of time when the water will reach the others. I have not said anything about this until now, for I have been hoping to meet with some vessel that could take us off. So far, none has appeared. However, we are in the steamer zone, and we have many chances yet. Today sometime or tonight we must take to the boats, and what I want to impress upon you especially is that you, all of you, must control yourselves. Do not give way to excitement or fear which might hinder you from doing what is best. I tell you plainly, that the worst we have to fear on that score is the crew. They are already near to mutiny. The first officer and others are guarding their exits and keeping the stokers at their posts. They are a rough lot of men, and it will not do to let them get beyond our control. I shall, therefore, ask the help of every man present.When it comes to launching the boats, it must be done in order. There are boats enough, but there must not be any crowding. With the present rough water it will be difficult to get the boats off. It is necessary, therefore, that the greatest care be taken. Now, then, that is all. Go about quietly. Each man and woman get a life belt ready, but you need not put them on until you are told. The steward will give the order."
He ceased, turned, and hurried up the companionway. There was silence for a moment, then a woman screamed, which signaled a general uproar of cries and talk. Out of the confusion came quiet, assuring commands, and in time the little company had scattered. Chester and his father went out together, along the hallway to Lucy's room. They looked mutely at each other, not knowing what best to say.
When they stopped at Lucy's door, Chester asked of his father if she was up.
"Yes," he replied; "but she is not well. How shall we tell her the evil news?"
"We must manage it somehow, for she must know—poor little girl!"
Between them, they managed to tell Lucy of the situation they were in. During the telling, she looked at one and then at the other in a dazed way, as if she could not believe there were any actual danger. They repeated to her the assurances the captain had given.
"Can we go on deck?" asked Lucy at last. "Iwant to get into the air where the sky is above me."
They found a protected corner in the smoking-room where Lucy was content to sit and look out of the open door to see what was going on about the deck. Officers were inspecting the boats to see that all were ready in case of need. The work of the crew and the movements of the passengers were accompanied by a certain nervousness. That the ship was slowly settling could plainly be seen by all on board.
Towards noon, the forward hatch was opened, and soon there was a rattle of chains and clang of machinery. Then up from the hold come bales, boxes, and barrels which were unceremoniously dropped into the sea. The cargo must go. No help had yet been sighted, and if they were to remain afloat much longer, the ship would have to be lightened. "What a pity to waste so much," said some, forgetting their own peril for the moment; but human life is worth more than ships or cargos.
Very few cared to respond to the call for luncheon which the stewards bravely kept up. The women who were too frightened to go below were served on deck, being urged to eat by solicitous friends.
All afternoon the unloading went on. The ship moved slowly leaving a train of floating merchandise in its wake. On the bridge the captain or one of the officers paced back and forth with glass in hand eager to catch the call of the man in the crow's nest if he should catch sight of other vessels. But none wereseen. The afternoon closed; darkness came on. Then the light burned again from the bridge and the fog-horn added its din to the dreariness.
Lucy kept to her position near the open deck. She would not go below, so wraps and pillows were brought her and she was made as comfortable as possible. Chester remained with her most of the time, the father came and went in nervous uncertainty. Captain Brown stopped long enough to tell Chester that since most of the cargo was overboard, they would float a little longer, but they were to be ready at any time now to leave the ship. The boats were provisioned, it was explained, and the passengers would be allowed to take with them only what could be carried in a small bundle. Very likely, they would not need to desert the ship before morning, so they had better rest.
But there was neither rest nor sleep that night. Chester tucked his father into a seat, placed a pillow for his head, then, seeing that Lucy was comfortable, sat down by her. She lifted the cover from her shoulders, and extended it to his. It dropped to his lap also, so thus they sat in the dim glow of the electric light. Life belts were within easy reach.
It was well past midnight when the lights went out. Then the beat, beat of the engines grew less, became fainter, and then like a great heart, ceased. The ship was dead, and lifeless it must float at the mercy of wind and wave. Then from below came the cries of men, and there were hurried steps andsharp commands on deck. Chester stepped out to see what it was. Captain Brown and the first officer stood by the entrance to the boiler rooms with gleaming revolvers in their hands, holding back an excited crowd of stokers.
"Back, every one of you!" shouted the captain. "I shall kill the first man who comes out until he is given permission."
The mass of half-naked, grimy men slunk back with curses and protestations. "The ship is sinking," they cried, "let us get out."
"Steady there now." commanded Captain Brown. "There is plenty of time. We shall let you out, but it must be done orderly. One at a time now, and go get your clothes. Then stand by, ready for orders from the engineer. Do you agree?"
"Yes, yes." They filed out one and two at a time, disappearing in the darkness. Lanterns, prepared for this emergency, flashed here and there. Chester obtained one and placed it on the table of the smoking room.
Presently the stewards could be heard running about the ship saying: "Ready for the boats, ready for the boats—Everybody on the boat deck!" The frightened passengers crowded up the steps in the half-darkness, the gleam of lanterns showing the way. Men were clearing the davits, and presently the first boat was ready to be filled.
Captain Brown was in command. He now lookedout into the night, then down to the rough sea, hesitating for a moment whether or not the time had come. He did not wish to set these men and women afloat in small boats on such a sea if he could possibly help it; but a settling movement of the ship, which perhaps he only felt, decided him. He detailed six sailors to the boat that was ready, then said:
"The women first—no crowding, please—stand back you!"—this to a man whom panic had seized and who was crowding forward.
Sharp, clear, came the orders, and everyone understood. Some husbands were permitted to go with their hysterical wives. Presently, "That will do," ordered the captain. "There are plenty of boats, and there need be no overloading. Lower away."
The first boat went down and was safely floated and rowed away from the sinking ship. The sailors were busy with the second boat. Captain Brown caught sight of Chester. "Where is Mr. Strong and Lucy. This is your boat. Bring them along."
"When do you go, Captain?"
"I? On the last boat. Hurry them along, my boy."
Just as Chester turned, there came from the other side of the ship the noise of shouting, rushing men. The commands of officers were drowned in the confusion. The frantic stokers had got beyond the control of the officer, and they rushed for the boats. Davits creaked, as the boats were swung out. The crazed men pushed pell mell into them. One boatwas lowered when only half full, and by the time Captain Brown reached the scene, the second boat was full, ready to be loosened.
"Hold," he commanded, as he held aloft his lantern and his revolver pointed directly at the man who held one of the ropes.
"Out of there, every one of you—out I say—you first," to a man just climbing in.
The stokers were not sailors—the riff-raff of many ports they were; and now with them it was every man for himself. This feeling without proper knowledge worked their undoing. The ropes were released, one before the other, and the loaded boat bumped down the side of the vessel, one end dropping before the other, spilling the screaming, cursing men into the water. Down the boat slid until one end touched the waves, the rope ends flying loosely so that they could not be reached by those on the deck. A wave hit the boat as it hung and swamped it.
"My God," exclaimed the captain, "two of our boats are lost. There is only one more left."
Chester Lawrence stood still and watched by the lantern's light what was going on. He pressed forward in time to hear Captain Brown's remark about the boats. Then together they crossed to the other side where that last boat hung ready to be filled. And there was need for hurry now. Slowly, but surely, the ship was sinking, and any moment might bring the final plunge.