“The way of a ship in the midst of the sea.”
No one knows what it will be. When I see a great passenger steamer preparing to start from the quay, I wonder whether she will have a prosperous voyage, and safely reach her destination. How full of interest is the scene! For the last hour there has been the bustle of wagons, carts, and carriages bringing freight and passengers. The tall cranes have been hoisting bundles of luggage into the hold; boxes and baskets have been sliding on board; people have been hurrying down the gangway. Passengers lining the deck have been interchanging their last jokes and farewells with friends upon the shore. A stream of porters has been flowing into the ship and out again, after depositing their loads. Then the bell rings. “Any more going ashore?” is the cry. A minute’s wait, and then the captain’s whistle is blown, the ropes are cast off, the screw revolves, and slowly the great ship moves away from the shore.
So, when a young man goes out into the world for the first time, to earn his living, I ask myself, what is the voyage going to be?
When we went to the Channel Islands this summer, we started from Weymouth in foggy weather, in the “Ibex.” Everyone on board seemed nervous, for two days before, the “Roebuck,” a sister ship of the same line, had been wrecked off the coast of Jersey, in a fog. For three hours the “Ibex” steamed carefully upon her way, sounding her fog-horn every two or three minutes. Now and again we heard the answering horns of other steamers. At such times the greatest caution was used by those upon the bridge, lest the sounds should come too near, and great was our relief as soon as we noted that the signals were moving further away. At the end of three hours, the fog lifted, and the rest of our voyage was without anxiety.
How was it that the “Roebuck” was wrecked? She had started from St. Helier’s as usual, with about three hundred passengers on board. Half an hour out from harbor, she ran into a bank of fog. Then we do not know exactly what happened. The Captain was so familiar with his course that he thought he knew where he was, and went ahead. Whether the speed of the vessel was “Dead slow” or “Half-speed,” we cannot say. But we suppose that, as he turned Norman Point, he thought he was further out to sea than he actually was. Instead then of going across St. Brelade’s Bay, so as to clear the rocks of La Corbiére, he was steering straight for the cliffs without knowing what he was doing. But before reaching the cliffs, the ship ran on the rocks; she struck the rocks, leaped upon them, plunged forward again, and then settled down, held up on either side as if in a cradle. Then ensued an exciting scene. The boats were launched after great difficulty, and, loaded with people, pulled for the shore. The hot dry summer had opened the seams of the boats, and the water poured in, so that, even with energetic baling. the poor passengers sat nearly up to their knees in water. But, happily, the shore was not far distant, and eventually everyone safely reached it. It was an ugly experience, and those who were on board the “Roebuck” will never forget that voyage.
We are in too much of a hurry about almost everything, now-a-days. Years ago, a captain, caught in a fog on such a coast, would have let down his anchor at once, and stood where he was till it was clear weather. But the captain of the “Roebuck” knew that there was a train waiting for him on the other side, and that it would throw many things out of gear if he did not arrive to time. So he took the risk and ran on.
And oftentimes we notice that boys are in too great a hurry to be men. They hasten to talk like grown-up men, and to adopt their habits. It is a mistake. I would like to caution the lads against it. Do not hurry to grow up; else you may run on the rocks of bad habits.
The error of the captain of the “Roebuck,” in rounding Norman Point, must have been a very slight one. It was only a small mistake at first, but it went on getting bigger and bigger, as he steamed across the bay, until at last the boat was altogether out of her course.
So we may only get a little bit aside from the right course at the beginning. If we have time to see our mistake, we may correct it. But if we get into a fog, or if, through any other cause, we are unable to detect our mistake and alter our course, it may mean disaster.
But I think the most wonderful lesson of this wreck is that God’s mercy is greater than all our mistakes. The only spot in St. Brelade’s Bay where the “Roebuck” could have gone upon the rocks and be held up against sinking was the one she blindly found for herself in the midst of the fog. If she had reached the cliffs for which she was making, and then struck, she would have rebounded into deep water, and almost everyone would have been lost. But it was not God’s will that any should be lost. Whose hands but His could have guided that ship to the one place of safety?
He holds the sea in the hollow of His hands.
“The way of a ship in the midst of the sea,” truly, none knows—but God. His Mercy is mightier than all our errors.