Story of Chester Lawrence
Being the Completed Account of One
who Played an Important Part in
"Piney Ridge Cottage"
By NEPHI ANDERSON
Author of "Added Upon," "The Castle Builder,"
"Piney Ridge Cottage," etc.
THE DESERET NEWS
Salt Like City, Utah
1913
Books by Nephi Anderson.
ADDED UPON, Fifth and Enlarged Edition. A story illustrating "Mormon"
teachings regarding the past, the present, and the future states of
existence.
THE CASTLE BUILDER. The scenes and characters are from Norway, the Land
of the Midnight Sun.
MARCUS KING, MORMON, is the story of a convert to "Mormonism" who came
to Utah in early pioneer days.
PINEY RIDGE COTTAGE, the love story of a "Mormon" country girl.
A YOUNG FOLKS' HISTORY OF THE CHURCH. The story of the "Mormon" Church
is told in simple, interesting chapters.
_All bound in beautiful cloth, with gold titles_,
Price, 75 cents each.
DESERET NEWS BOOK STORE,
Salt Lake City, Utah.
Story of Chester Lawrence.
CHAPTER I.
It was raining when the ship was ready to sail; yet on the pier a large
crowd of people stood under dripping umbrellas, waving and shouting
farewells to their friends on board. The departing passengers, most of
them protected by an upper deck, pressed four deep against the rail, and
waved and shouted in return.
The belated passenger, struggling with heavy hand baggage, scrambled up
the gang-plank. The last visitors were hustled ashore; amid noise and
bustle, the plank was drawn away, and the ship was clear. A tremor ran
through the vessel as the propeller began to move, and soon there was a
strip of water between the pier and the ship. Then a tiny tug-boat came
alongside, fastened itself to the steamer, and with calm assurance,
guided its big brother safely into the harbor and down the bay. The
people on shore merged into one dark object; the greetings became
indistinct; the great city itself, back of the pier, melted into a gray
mass as seen through the rain.
Chester Lawrence stood on the deck of the departing vessel and watched
the interesting scene. He stood as one apart from the crowd, having no
portion with either those on board or those left behind. He was a
spectator only. Not a soul in that mass of humanity on the pier, not one
in the big city, knew Chester Lawrence or had a thought for him. No one
cared whether his voyage would be pleasant or otherwise. There were no
tears for him, or fears that he would not return in safety. Of the
hundreds of waving handkerchiefs, none was meant for him; but as a last
show of good-fellowship and as a farewell greeting to his native land,
Chester waved once with the rest.
The rain continued as the ship dropped down the bay and came safely into
the open sea. Some of the passengers then hurried below, while others
lingered on deck to see as long as possible the fast-receding land.
Chester took his time. He had seen that his grips had been safely stowed
away in his state room, so he had no worries, as others seemed to have,
regarding his belongings. The ship hands (sailors they cannot now be
called) were busy clearing the deck and getting things into their proper
places. The vessel pointed fairly into the vast eastern sea. The land
became a dark, fast-thinning line on the western horizon, and then even
that was swallowed up in the mist of rain.
"Well, good-by, old home, good-by thou goodly Land of Joseph," spoke
Chester, half aloud, as he stood for one intense moment facing the west,
then turned to go down into his room. The rain must at last have reached
him for his eyes were so blurred that he bumped rather abruptly into an
elderly man who was standing at his elbow.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Chester.
"It was nothing, sir. I, too, was just bidding farewell to the Land of
Joseph, and I fear my sight was also rather dim."
Chester paused and looked at the man who had heard and repeated his
remark. No one but a Latter-day Saint would call America the Land of
Joseph. He was a pleasant-looking man, with hair and beard tinged with
gray, clear blue eyes, a firm mouth, about which at that moment there
played a faint smile. Apparently, he wished to make further acquaintance
with Chester, for he asked:
"How far west were you looking just now?"
The question went deeper than Chester thought possible. He colored a
trifle, but there was no time to reply, for the other continued:
"Mine was farther than that gray blot called New York, farther than the
Alleghany mountains; in fact, it extended across the plains of the west
to the Rocky Mountains--"
"So was mine!" exclaimed the younger man. "Let's shake hands upon it. My
name is Chester Lawrence, and I'm a Mormon."
"My name is George Malby."
"Elder George Malby?"
"Yes; I am a Mormon elder going on a mission to Great Britain."
"I'm mighty glad to meet you, Elder Malby. I thought there wasn't a soul
on board this vessel that I could approach as a friend; now I have a
brother."
"Three of them," corrected the elder. "There are two more missionaries
on board. Not a large party of us this time. Would you like to meet
them?"
There was no more land to be seen now. The sea stretched all around,
with clouds above, and the rain. There was more comfort below, so the
two newly-made friends went down. Chester met the other elders who were
younger men, one destined for Scandinavia, the other for the
Netherlands. It did not take long for the four men to become acquainted.
Presently the dinner gong sounded, and all became interested in the
first meal on ship-board.
Practically every one sat down to that dinner, and did full justice to
it. For many, that was the only meal eaten for days. Chester was not
seated at the same table as his friends. At his right was a chatty old
gentleman and at his left a demure lady who ate in silence. Strangeness,
however, is soon worn off when a company of people must eat at the same
table for a week; that is, if the dreaded sea-sickness does not
interfere too much with the gathering together at meal-time.
Towards evening the rain ceased. As the darkness came on, the clouds
billowed across the vast upper expanse. Chester and his new-made friends
paced the deck and watched the night settle on the water, and enclose
the ship in its folds. They talked of the strange new experience on
ship-board, then they told somewhat of each other's personal history.
The sea was rough, and the ship pitched more and more as it met the
swells of the Atlantic. The question of sea-sickness came up.
"I have crossed the ocean three times," remarked Elder Malby, "and
escaped the sickness each time. I hope for as good luck now."
"It _is_ a matter of luck, I understand," said Chester. "Sea-sickness is
no respecter of persons, times, or so-called preventatives. The weak
sometimes escape, while the strong are laid low. _I_ feel all right
yet."
The two younger men were fighting bravely, but it was not long before
they excused themselves hurriedly, and went below, and to bed. Chester
and Elder Malby displayed splendid sea-legs, so they walked until they
were tired, then took possession of some chairs in a sheltered corner,
wrapping their coats well around them.
"I wish I were going on a mission, as you are," Chester was saying. "My
trip is somewhat aimless, I fear. For a year or more I have had a notion
that I ought to see Europe. I have seen a good deal of America, both
East and West. I lived for some time in Salt Lake City, though I became
a Church member in Chicago. But about Europe," he continued as if he did
not then wish to speak of his Western experiences, "you know, one must
have seen somewhat of the Old World to have the proper 'culture,'--must
have seen Europe's pictures, old castles, and historic places. I know
little and care less about the culture, but I have always had a desire
to see England, and some of France and Germany, and the Alps--yes, I
want to see the Alps and compare them with our Rockies. Rome, and other
Italian cities, are interesting, too, but I may not get to them this
time. I do hope some good will come of all this--somehow I think it will
not be wholly in vain."
The older man let him talk without interruption. There was something
uncommon in the life of this young man, but it would not do to show
undue haste in wishing to know it. It was easily to be seen that Chester
was helped in this opportunity to talk to a friend that could understand
and be trusted. They sat late that night. The sea roared about them in
the darkness. There was a fascination about this thing of seeming
life--the ship--forcing itself against wind and wave into the darkness,
and bearing safely with it in light and comfort a thousand precious
souls.
Chester slept fairly well, and was awake next morning at daylight.
Though the ship was pitching and rocking, he felt no indications of
sea-sickness. He gazed out of the port-hole at the racing waves. Some of
them rose to his window, and he looked into a bank of green water. He
got up and dressed. It was good to think he would not be sick. Very few
were stirring. A number who were, like himself, immune, were briskly
pacing the deck. Chester joined them and looked about. This surely must
be a storm, thought he. He had often wished to witness one, from a safe
position, of course, and here was one. As far as he could see in every
direction, the ocean was one mass of rolling, seething water. At a
distance it looked like a boiling pot, but nearer the waves rose higher,
the ship's prow cutting them like a knife.
"Quite a storm," said Chester to a man washing the deck.
"Storm? Oh, no, sir; just a bit of a blow."
No one seemed to have any concern regarding the safety of the ship, so
Chester concluded that there was no danger, that this was no storm at
all, which conclusion was right, as he had later to acknowledge. The sun
came up through a wild sea into a wild sky, casting patches of shifting
light on the waters to the east. Chester kept a lookout for his friends,
the elders. When the breakfast gong sounded, Elder Malby appeared.
"Where are the others?" asked Chester.
"They'll not get up today; perhaps not tomorrow. I see you are all
right. You're lucky. Come, let us go to breakfast."
Most of the seats were vacant at the table that morning. A few smilingly
looked around, secure in their superior strength. Others were bravely
trying to do the right thing by sitting down to a morning meal; but a
number of these failed, some leaving quietly and deliberately, others
rushing away in unceremonial haste. Chester was quite alone on his side
of the table. If there had been a trifle of "sinking emptiness" in him
before, the meal braced him up wonderfully. In this he thought he had
discovered a sure cure for sea-sickness. One day later he imparted this
information to a lady voyager, who received it with the exclamation,
"Oh, horrors!"
All that day the wind was strong, and the sea rough. Even an officer
acknowledged that if this weather kept up, the "blow" might grow into a
storm. From the upper deck Chester and Elder Malby looked out on the
sublime spectacle. Like great, green, white-crested hills, the waves
raced along the vast expanse. Towards the afternoon the ship and the
wind had shifted their course so that the waves dashed with thunderous
roar against the iron sides of the vessel which only heaved and dipped
and went steadily on its way.
A number of ladies crowded on deck, and, aided by the stewards, were
safely tucked into chairs in places protected from wind and spray. The
deck stewards tempted them with broth, but they only sipped it
indifferently. These same ladies, just the day before had carried their
feather-tipped heads ever so stately. Now, alas, how had the mighty
leveler laid them low! They did not now care how their gowns fitted, or
whether their hats were on straight. Any common person, not afflicted
with sea-sickness, could have criticised their attitude in the chairs.
One became so indifferent to correct appearances that she slid from her
chair on to the deck, where she undignifiedly sprawled. The deck steward
had to tuck her shawls about her and assist her to a more lady-like
position.
"That's pretty tough," remarked Chester.
"All the wits have tried their skill on the subject of sea-sickness,"
said his companion; "but it's no joke to those who experience it."
"Can't we help those ladies?" asked Chester.
"Not very much. You will find the best thing to do is to let them alone.
They'll not thank you, not now, for any suggestion or proffer of help.
If you should be so foolish as to ask them what you could do for them,
they would reply, if they replied at all, 'Stop the ship for five
minutes.'"
"Then I'll be wise," said Chester.
The night came on, dark and stormy. The two friends kept up well. They
ate the evening meal with appetite, then went on deck again.
Night adds awfulness to the sublimity of a storm at sea. The world about
the ship is in wild commotion. The sky seems to have dropped into the
sea, and now joins the roaring waves as they rush along. The blackness
of the night is impenetrable, save as the lights from the ship gleam for
an instant into the moving mass of water. Now and then a wave, rearing
its crested head higher than the rest, breaks in spray upon the deck.
The wind seems eager to hurl every movable object from the vessel, but
as everything is fast, it must be content to shriek in the rigging and
to sweep out into the darkness, and lend its madness to the sea and sky.
But let us leave this awe-inspiring uproar and go down into the saloon.
Here we come into another world, a world of light and peace and
contentment. The drawn curtains exclude the sight of the angry elements
without, and save for the gentle rocking of the ship and the occasional
splashing of water against its sides, we can easily imagine that we are
a thousand miles from the sea. Passengers sit at the long tables,
reading or chatting. Other groups are playing cards or chess. In the
cushioned corners, young men and maidens are exchanging banter with
words and glances. A young lady is playing the piano, and over all this
scene of life, and light, and gaiety, the electric lamps gleam in steady
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."