“Saturday, Nov. 21St.—I sat up with the Doctor again, tonight. He has given instructions, today, about his goods and chattels. During the night, he was frequently wandering in his mind. Sometimes, he was quite rational; and this afforded me an opportunity for spiritual conversation and prayer. He is quite resigned, and very happy. He has expected this for some time. It is rapid consumption which is wasting him away. I could not leave him a minute, until Melley relieved me.
“Sunday, Nov. 22nd.—The Doctor is getting worse.
He has a little cot suspended from the rigging. It gives him the benefit of the fresh air, and takes off the ship’s motion.
“Monday, 23rd.—We gathered round his bed, tonight, and sang ‘Rock of ages,’ and, ‘Abide with me.’ Then I prayed with him; and left Mr. Falconer sitting up—with him.
“Tuesday, 24th.—Nightingale, who had sat up with the Doctor since 2 o’clock, came running down and awoke me, about 4 o’clock, to say he was dead. He passed away so quietly, they scarcely knew when he died.”
Referring to the last sad scene, Mr. Masters says, “The engines had ceased during the service, and all was as quiet as death, except the voice of Mr. Piercy, and the solemn tolling of the ship’s bell. Such a solemn time I never experienced. It was just one of those moments in a man’s life when worldly hopes and fears are humbled into the dust before thoughts of eternity. We sang that solemn hymn, in ‘Hymns Ancient and Modern’ for the burial of the dead. We buried him in lat. 13 dog. 10 min. N; long. 50 deg. 40 min. E.”
We fondly hope for some further memorials of this loved one, either from his own pen, or from someone or other of that dear loving missionary band, who so blessedly soothed him in his last hours. Should such come to hand, we shall certainly communicate them to that much-loved circle for whom this sketch is specially prepared.
I cannot refrain from giving an extract from a letter just received from a gentleman under whose roof our Robert spent a year and eight months as assistant, and who therefore was in a position to judge as to the reality of his christian profession. It is a common and a true remark that you must live with a person in order to know them. “We have only this afternoon heard the most sad news of the death of your dear boy. I cannot tell you how deeply grieved we both are—grieved for the loss of one whom we had learned to love almost as a brother—and grieved, too, for you and dear Mrs. Mackintosh. He will have left a void with you both which only Christ can fill. Dear boy! I never met a young Christian who was in everything so consistent, and true to his holy calling, as your son. And he is now at rest, dear fellow! Safe in the bosom of Jesus. We shall not forget to pray for you. God will, I doubt not, be to you a God of consolation and comfort.”
I feel profoundly thankful for this testimony to one who had a perfect horror of all mere wordy profession.
The following lines are from the pen of a very dear friend who has known Robert from his childhood.