Story of Chester Lawrence | Page 3

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