Several times he reached forward to lay it over Him, and each time drew back. Then he fell asleep himself.
From its situation in the basin of the hills, the Galilee is subject to sudden and furious storms. The winds, rushing down the heights, meet and clash above the water, till the waves run up like walls, then sink again into seething whirlpools of danger.
Joel, falling asleep in a dead calm, awoke to find the ship rolling and tossing and half-full of water. The lightning's track was followed so closely by the crash of thunder, there was not even pause enough between to take one terrified gasp.
Still the Master slept. Joel, drenched to the skin, clung to the boat's side, expecting that every minute would be his last. It was so dark and wild and awful! How helpless they were, buffetted about in the fury of the storm!
As wave after wave beat in, some of the men could no longer control their fear.
"Master!" they called to the sleeping man, as they bent over Him in terror. "Carest Thou not that we perish?"
He heard the cry for help. The storm could not waken Him from His deep sleep of exhaustion, but at the first despairing human voice, He was up, ready to help.
Looking up at the midnight blackness of the sky, and down at the wild waste of waters, He stretched out His hand.
"Peace!" he commanded in a deep voice. "Be still!" The storm sank to earth as suddenly as a death-stricken raven; a great calm spread over the face of the waters. The silent stars shone out in their places; the silent sea mirrored back their glory at His feet.