Story of Chester Lawrence. Nephi Anderson
splendor.
Elder Malby soon retired. Chester remained in the saloon for a time, studying the various aspects of life about him; then he made a good-night visit to the deck. He looked into the men's smoking room, where a few yet sat with pipes and beer, playing cards. Among them were two men, fat-cheeked, smoothly shaven, who were dressed in priestly garb. There was an expressive American in the company, an Englishman and a quiet German. Before the American could carry into effect his intention of asking Chester to join them, the latter had passed by and out beyond the stench of the tobacco smoke.
"This air, washed clean by a thousand miles of scouring waves, is good enough for me," thought he.
The wind was not blowing so hard. The sky was nearly clear of clouds. The moon hung full and bright above the heaving horizon. Here was another aspect of the wonderful sea, and Chester lingered to get its full beauty. The steamer rolled heavily between the big waves. The young man leaned on the railing, and watched the ship's deck dip nearly to the water, then heave back until the iron sides were exposed nearly to the keel.
Chester was about to turn in for the night when he heard a commotion, apparently among the third class passengers. He walked along to where he could look down on the forward main deck. A number of people were running about shouting excitedly. Chester ran down the steps to get a nearer view.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"I don't know. Someone overboard, I think."
People were crowding to the rail at the extreme forward end of the ship. Someone with authority was trying to push them back, using the old-fashioned ship-board language to aid him. Chester drew near enough not to be in the way, but so that he could observe what was going on. By leaning well over the rail, he could see what appeared to be two persons clinging to the anchor, which hung on the ship's side, about half-way down to the water. One was a dark figure, the other appeared in the moonlight to be a woman dressed in white. Other ships-men now rushed up.
"Clear way here! Where's the rope? Hang on, my man; we'll soon get you"—this down the side of the ship. There came some words in reply, but Chester did not hear them. A rope was lowered. "Slip the loop around the lady," was the order from above. The man on the anchor tried to obey. He moved as if cautiously and slowly. "Hurry, my man!" But there was no haste. Limbs and fingers made stiff by long exposure and cramped position, clinging desperately to prevent himself and his burden from falling into the sea, were not now likely to be nimble; but in a few minutes, which, however, seemed a long time, some words were spoken by the man on the anchor, the command to haul in was given, and slowly the nearly-unconscious form of a young woman was drawn up to safety.
"Now, my man, your next," shouted the officer. The rope soon dangled down again, the man reached out a hand for it. The ship cut into a big wave, whose crest touched the man below. He grasped wildly for the rope, missed it, and fell with a cry into the sea. Chester tried to see him as the ship rushed on, but the commotion and the darkness prevented him.
"Man overboard! stop the ship!" came from the excited passengers. "Man overboard!" What could be done! The man was gone. He had not one chance in a thousand to be rescued. Had he fallen overboard without much notice, the ship would have gone right on—Why should a world be stopped in its even course to save one soul?—but too many had seen this. Signal bells were rung, the engines slowed down, and then stopped. Lights flashed here and there, other officers of higher rank came on the scene; a boat fully manned was lowered. It bobbed up and down on the waves like a cork. Back into the track of the ship it went, and was soon lost to view.
The search was continued for an hour, then given up. No trace of the man could be found. The small boat was raised to the deck, the engine moved again, and the big ship went on its way.
Chester lingered among the steerage, passengers and listened to the story of the lost man who, it seems, had been one of those unfortunate ones who had failed to pass the health inspector at New York and had therefore been sent back to his native land, Ireland. He was known as Mike, what else, no one could tell. And the woman? Poor girl, she had wandered in her night dress to the ship's side, and in some unknown way had gotten overboard as far as the protruding piece of iron. How Mike had reached her, or how long they had occupied their perilous position, no one could tell. He was gone, and the woman was saved to her husband and her baby.
The night was growing late; but there was no sleep for Chester. Many of the passengers, having been awakened by the stopping of the ship, were up, hurriedly dressed, and enquiring what the trouble was. Chester met Elder Malby in the companion-way.
"What's the matter?" asked the Elder.
"A man has been lost at sea," replied the other. "Come into the saloon, and I'll tell you about it."
Chester was visibly affected as he related what he had seen. At the conclusion of his story he bowed his face into his hands for a moment. Then he looked into the Elder's face with a smile.
"Well, it's too bad, too bad," said George Malby.
"Do you think so?"
"Well—why—isn't it a terrible thing to die like that?"
"I hope not," replied Chester. "I think the dying part was easy enough, and the manner of it was glorious. He was a poor fellow who had failed to land. He had no doubt thought to make fame and fortune in the new world. Now he has gone to a new world indeed. He entered it triumphantly, I hope. As far as I know, he ought to be received as a hero in that world to which he has gone."
Chester's eyes shone and his face was aglow. "Elder Malby," he continued, "I remember what you told me just yesterday—To our immortal soul, nothing that others can do, matters much; a man's own actions is what counts. Neither does it matter much when or how a man leaves this life; the vital thing is what he has done and how he has done it up to the point of departure. The Lord will take care of the rest."
As the two men went slowly along the narrow passage way to their state rooms that night, the older man said to the other, "I guess you're right, my brother; yes; you are right. Good night, and pleasant sleep."
CHAPTER II.
The next morning the sky was clear and the sea was much smoother. The sun shone bright and warm; more people came on deck, rejoicing that they could live in the vigor of the open rather than in their stuffy state rooms. The two seasick elders thought it wiser to remain quietly in their berths for another day, so Chester and Elder Malby had the day to themselves. As the accident of the night before became known to the passengers, it was the topic of conversation for some time.
That afternoon Chester and his companion found a cosy corner on deck away from the cigar smoke, and had a long heart to heart talk. The fact of the matter was that the young man found comfort in the society of his older brother. For the first time in nearly two years Chester could pour out his heart to sympathetic ears, and he found much joy in doing this.
"Yes," said Chester to a question, "I should like to tell you about myself. When my story gets tiresome, call my attention to the porpoises, or declare that you can see a whale."
"I promise," laughed the other.
"Well, to begin at the very beginning, I was born in a suburb of Chicago, and lived in and near that city most of my life. My mother's name was Anna Lawrence. I never knew my father, not even his name. Yes, I can talk freely about it to you. The time was when I shunned even the thoughts of my earthly origin and my childhood days, but I have gotten over that. I have learned to face the world and all the truth it has for me.
"When I was but a child, my mother married Hugh Elston. Shortly after, they both heard the gospel preached by a 'Mormon' elder, and they accepted it. I had been placed in the care of some of my relatives, and when my mother now wished to take me, they would not give me up. They were, of course, fearful that I, too, would become a 'Mormon.' Mr. Elston and my mother went west to Utah. I was sent to school, obtained a fairly good education,