Many years ago a devoted servant of God went to the city of Dublin to preach the unsearchable riches of Christ. He took his stand on the quay by the river side, and very soon a large crowd had gathered around him. As he spoke of Jesus and His wondrous salvation, there were deep mutterings from the crowd, and sure precursors of a coming storm. Calmly disregarding all this, he spake of Him, when suddenly the cry of “Heretic” was raised, and like the bursting of a swollen river’s bank the angry bitterness of men’s hearts overwhelmed him.
Beaten to the earth, stoned and well-nigh dead, he lay in their midst, when, with a courage beyond praise, a man sprang into the crowd, and, at the risk of his own life, dragged the poor insensible one into a wharfinger’s little cabin, and shut and bolted the door. It was an anxious moment, the crowd without, raging like untamed tigers, thirsted for the blood of the preacher; while within the wharfinger, aided by a policeman who had also taken refuge in the hut, sought to revive the fainting servant of the Lord.
They bathed his face with water, and presently were able to pour a little down his throat. Their efforts were successful, and the preacher revived. Meanwhile the danger was that the door would be beaten in, and the cruel work be completed, by the preacher’s blood being poured out.
Hastily the wharfinger and policeman took counsel together, and then, turning to the Christian, they said: “You must not go out there again, they will kill you. You must go across the river.”
“I cannot, I have not the means.”
“Oh, yes there is a ferry, and we will get the ferryman to draw up to the river door of this hut, and you can get into the boat without being seen; you will soon be across.”
“But I have no money.’’
“Sure, it’s only a halfpenny.”
Alas! not one fraction had he in his pocket. His last coin had just before been given to a starving family. Here was dreadful extremity!
“I have not even one halfpenny with me!”
The policeman put his hand in his pocket, saying: “I’ll not let a fellow-man perish for the want of a halfpenny.,’
The coin was produced, and the ferryman was signaled to draw his boat quietly to the river door of the cabin, where the crowd could not see the preacher embark. Pressing the hands of his kind friends and thanking them from his heart, the Christian entered the boat, which was at once pushed off into the stream.
There was an angry roar from the crowd as they caught sight, of the boat, like that of a wild beast bereft of its prey. Men rushed to the edge of the quay with wild threats and deep curses. But they were too late. The preacher had escaped.
All at once he was seen to motion the boatman to stop, and then his tall form was seen standing in the stern of the boat. Bareheaded, his pale face stained with the blood which, still flowed from the wounds in his forehead, calmly he stood waving his hand for silence. The people were awed into quiet despite themselves.
Like a silver trumpet his voice rang across the waters.
“I have a free passage,” holding up the coin between his finger and thumb. He continued: “The policeman paid it, and I proclaim in my Master’s name a free passage to glory to all who will have it, despite your sins, for JESUS PAID with His own blood.”
Another moment, and he had landed, and was gone from their gaze. Do you see my meaning, reader? Have you not read, “Who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree”?
H. L.