CHAPTER XX.
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 her room. 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 we can 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 I think, 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 had no 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 something to 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. "I want 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 were seen. 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 and sharp 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 looked out 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 boat was 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.
"Load the boat," shouted the Captain, "women first." The half dozen women found places.
"Where's Lucy?" he enquired, looking around for Chester who had disappeared. Lucy was not in the boat. The Captain was sure she had not gotten away with the first boat. Chester would bring her.
"Now, fill in," was the order. "Mr. Strong, where are you? Is Mr. Strong here?" But he was not to be found.
One by one the few remaining passengers took their places, then the crew.
"Is there room for more?" asked the Captain of the officer in the boat.
"I fear not, sir," came the reply.
"Some of the men get under the seats," ordered the Captain. "Now, then in with you men. Don't go yet. There is yet a woman aboard. Hold fast there, officer, until I find her." He rushed down the stairs with his lantern, calling for Chester. "Where are you—for God's sake come quick!"
"Here I am sir," replied Chester as he came nearly carrying his father.
"Where is Lucy?"
"Lucy is not coming, sir. She does not need to—she has gone already—she—"
"What? What is it? We need to hurry, my boy!"
"Lucy is dead!"
"Dead!—Bring Mr. Strong along. The boat is waiting."
The boat hung by its davits, ready for lowering.
"We are full," said the officer, "and the deck is cleared. There is need for hurry, sir."
"There is," replied Captain Brown. "Make room for two more."
"We can't do it sir—not in this sea—we are overcrowded now."
"You must—close up, lie down, make room."
One of the officers offered to get out, then another did the same, but the captain would not hear. "No," he said, "you men have families."
Still the boat hung there in the darkness. What could be done? The waves rolled beneath, the wind moaned in the rigging.
"We might risk one more, sir," came from the boat.
The captain looked at Chester, big, strong, full of youth, and then at the slender, gray-haired man. What a pity, and yet he knew the younger man would have to remain. That is the law of the sea.
"I'll not go," said the father. "You go, Chester."
"No, no; we'll manage somehow; but you must take the chance. Here, help him in."
Captain Brown stood by with lifted lantern. He did not dictate which of the two should go. He had no need of that. He saw Chester lift the old man in his arms, hold him for an instant close to him, kiss him and murmur, "Goodby father, and God bless and preserve you"—then he handed him over to outstretched hands in the boat.
Captain Brown and Chester Lawrence stood by the railing and watched the boat lowered. Then when they knew it was safely riding the waves, they turned to each other.
"Where is your life-belt?" asked the Captain. "Get it, and put it on."
"Is there a chance?"
"There is always a chance. Come. We shall go together, one way or another—the way God wills."
They walked along the slanting deck down to where Lucy lay on the couch in the smoking room. Chester did not notice the life-belt on the table, but he lifted a lantern to Lucy's face, kneeled by it, and kissed it tenderly. "Lucy," he said, "my sweetheart, where are you? Don't you want me to come too?" He stroked the still face, and smoothed back the hair as he was wont. "Aren't you afraid in that new world to which you have gone—aren't you as lonesome as—I am? O Lucy, Lucy!"
"Come put on this belt," said the captain, touching him on the shoulder.
"I'm coming with you, Lucy," continued the young man. "Nothing shall part us—as I have told you—we two,—O, my God, what can I do?"
The captain led Chester away from the dead, out to the open deck, and buckled around him a life-belt. "Wait here" said the officer. "There is a chance—I'm going to see. I'll be back in a minute."
Chester was alone, and in those few minutes the wonderful panorama of life passed before him. He lived in periods, each period ending with Lucy Strong. His boyhood, and his awakening to the world about him—then Lucy; his schooldays, with boys and girls—out from them came Lucy; his early manhood, his forming ideals—completed in Lucy; his experiences in the West, and at Piney Ridge Cottage, and then came, not Julia, but Lucy; then the gospel with its new light and assurance of salvation; and this coupled with Lucy, her faith and love, burned as a sweet incense in the soul of Chester Lawrence. Fear left him now. He heard sounds as if they were songs from distant angel-choirs. Words of comfort and strength were whispered to his heart: "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art near me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me...." Eternity! Why, an immortal soul is always in eternity; and God is always at hand in life or in death.... Death! what is it but the passing to the other side of a curtain, where our loved ones are waiting to meet and greet us!
Chester stepped back to Lucy. It was dark where she lay, but he passed his hand over her form to her face, touching tenderly her cheek and closed eyes. The flesh was not yet cold, but he felt that the soul whom he had come to know as Lucy Strong was not there.
Captain Brown called through the darkness. Chester groped into the open again. Was that the captain's figure on the bridge, looming black against the faint light in the eastern sky? If it was, Chester was in no condition to know, for just then there came a great sinking. A roar of waters sounded in his ears, there was a struggle, a moment of agony, and then the darkness of oblivion.
When he awoke again, he had passed over the storm-whipped bar into still waters. There Lucy met him, and together they sailed, guided by the unerring Light of God into the Harbor of Eternal Peace and Rest.