THE waves were rolling heavily on the snow-clad shores of Old England in the month of January as a fine iron ship, after a prosperous voyage of one hundred and thirteen days, was nearing home. The night was dark, the weather foggy, and the barque sped on before a ten-knot breeze. The passengers knew that they were near home, and no fear of shipwreck disturbed their last sleep on board, when suddenly, all her sails being set, the ship ran right ashore upon the shingle of Black Gang Bay. The heavy ground sea fiercely lifted her up and crashed her down, though the vessel was of seven hundred tons; and presently, forcing her broadside to the land, swept clean over her, and began to break her strong sides in pieces.
The roar of the waves completely drowned the cries of the people on board, and the thick weather hid all signs of her from the land. There was but one hope―someone must swim to shore. The cook undertook the perilous task; he wound the lead-line round him and boldly swam for land. After a terrible struggle he gained the crest of the last wave and was flung upon the strand, heartily cheered by his comrades. They quickly fastened a hawser to the lead-line, and the cook, regaining sufficient strength, began with all his might and soul to drag the rope to shore. In this work he was assisted by another man, who had made the vessel out in the mist, and had run down to the beach. They hauled in the rope, making it fast to a rock, and shortly after several of the crew and passengers, daring the surf and storm, climbed hand over hand along it, and so gained the land in safety.
Shortly after this, but none too soon, the rocket apparatus reached the place, and the coastguardsmen were quickly at work rescuing the passengers. Among the last three to leave the ship was a mother, who would not be taken off till her little ones were safe. She was clad in her nightclothes, and lashed to the rail, over which the seas washed constantly. So quickly did the ship go to pieces that before this brave woman could be rescued the masts went over, the poop burst in two with a tremendous sound, and the iron plates broke asunder. Then the wreck heeled over, the devoted mother and the two men were drawn beneath the waves, and all hope seemed gone; but once more the sea lifted up the wreck, and with a wild shout of joy the now crowded shore greeted the sight of the mother and her two half-dead companions― an old man and the captain―still clinging to the rail. The two men made a line which had been secured to the shore, fast round her, and, boldly throwing herself into the seething waters, she was drawn through the surf. Though believed to be lifeless, yet her heart had not ceased to beat. She was saved.
An eyewitness of this scene, and one whose hand was outstretched to help, was deeply moved by the intense earnestness of those who aided in the rescue. Tears, prayers, and the utmost effort mingled together in the one great passion of saving the shipwrecked people. And the testimony of that eyewitness bids us heed the intensity of desire and effort, and pleads that those who are saved for God be themselves equally earnest in the work of the Gospel.
The brave man with the lead-line who leapt into the waters and reached the shore, was no sooner able to stand than he pulled at the line in order to get the rope ashore by which so many others made their escape. The landsman who ran to the scene of the wreck, no sooner saw the line than he, too, pulled with all his might to drag it to land. Let those who speak of fellowship in the Gospel, awake to the reality of work. Christian men and women, arouse! sinners are perishing. Lend a hand, “labour in the Gospel.” The ship is breaking up; there is not a moment to lose. Nothing less than labor is fellowship in this work. How you would scorn the able-bodied person who, from his comfortable armchair by the fireside, watched the ship break up and the crew almost perish, and yet, though doing nothing whatever, claimed for his dull selfish soul compassion for them! Unless lives had been periled by those on shore the life of those on the wreck could not have been saved; and armchair Christians will never be worth a rush for the work of the Gospel.
Let us learn a lesson from the sleep of the passengers and the ease of the crew at the end of that long voyage from New Zealand. They trusted in their ship, and dreamed not of danger. But they were on the verge of death. Are you saved? If not, let not your present ease and quiet lull you to your doom. Awake, awake! there is danger―danger of eternal woe before you. The ship never reached port. She was doomed to be wrecked, and to perish. So it is with this world in which you are. All may seem fair and smiling; but mark―for God has so declared―this world and everyone in it is under judgment. The end of it is destruction―the end is wrath.
An awakened sinner is like our passengers and crew when they realized the awful fact that they were in a lost ship. Then and there their one desire was to be saved. It was no time then for prosy argument and nice questionings as to how they came where they were. They knew too truly that they were lost, and they longed to be saved.
No one who believes God’s word as to salvation questions the statement. He knows he is either lost or saved, and, if lost, he cries Save me! save me! “My sins, my sins! Oh! what shall I do about my sins?” wept one, in an agony of soul, the other day, who had been in the quiet of fancied security for years, like the sleeping passengers dreaming of ease and home. This agonized soul was awakened through the word of truth by the Spirit of God.
What folly it is to suppose that people cannot know that they are saved before their end! Do you know that you are lost now? that is the question. If we believe what God says about the world in which we are, and about ourselves as sinners, there will no longer be any question in our minds as to our present condition; and all religion which denies the fact of a man’s present condition is a vain show, a delusion, a snare.
Did these shipwrecked people know when they were saved, think you? Did not the brave mother know that her children were lost as long as they were in the ship? Did she not know that she and they were saved when laid on the bed in the house and gently tended? “Surely,” you reply. And did not the jailor of Philippi know that he was saved when the words “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house,” fell like music upon his agonized and guilty soul? He believed, and he rejoiced. Did not the Ephesians know that they were saved when they read the living words, “By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works”? Do not be deceived; those who tell you that a man cannot know whether he is saved in this life are only advertising their own unbelief, and expressing the miserable state of their own souls. Rest on God’s “shall” and God’s “are,” and let all schemes of doctrine be flung to the wind.
There was one especially sad incident in this wreck. A lad on board was sent below by one of the sailors to fetch a few shillings from a chest. While on his errand a sea broke over the vessel and washed him away. Poor boy! he was but fourteen years of age, and the voyage in question was his first, and, alas his last.