Captain L— was born in a seaport town in North Devon. A very poor boy, he went to sea when old enough, and rose in his profession till he became not only master of a ship, but part, or entire, owner of her. Alas, he was a high-handed sinner. Into what depths of iniquity did he not plunge! Sensitive and proud to a degree, he was, as so many sailors are, generous and open-handed. Living in sin, he spent freely amongst friends and companions. Like one of old, like thousands since, in the far country he “wasted his substance with riotous living.” And he was to find, when health and strength were gone, when he was sick, helpless, and poor, not one worldly friend to help him. The devil is a hard master. But, thanks be to God, as George Whitfield said, “The Lord Jesus Christ receives the devil’s castaways”; and so Captain L— was to prove to his eternal joy.
When getting elderly, his health began to fail, and he felt himself unable to sail with his ship; and she was sent to sea with another master; Captain L— meanwhile staying in I— with his widowed sister-in-law, and her boy and girl. Of the little girl he was passionately fond, and treated her with a sailor’s generosity, for money was still plentiful. It was, I think, at this time that his ship was lost, or very badly disabled, through the carelessness of the master.
This was serious for Captain L— as only his savings remained. But Satan still held him fast a willing prey; and in the far country he still wasted his substance (though much of it was gone) with riotous living.
One winter afternoon, or evening, he went to a certain public-house, and whilst there engaged in a game of skittles in the skittle-alley. When throwing the ball, he fell forward on his face. He was in reality smitten with paralysis. The finger of God had touched him, and his strength and power were gone. He was helpless.
The other men simply thought him drunk, and for a long time not one touched him, but let him lie there, thinking that the bitter cold would bring him to himself. The frost penetrated to his very bones. When at length a donkey chair was fetched, and he was taken to his sister-in-law’s house, she, poor woman, received a helpless invalid. Never again could he move himself; never again did he feed himself. Mrs. L— had a house, a business and two children; and for weeks a man had to be engaged to sit up with Captain L— at night. This alone, made a hole in his savings; besides the doctor’s visits, and all the expenses of daily living.
At this time a carman, who had shown the poor invalid the greatest kindness, bethought him of a young Christian fireman at I station, and, stopping his van one day, made known to I, him the sad case of poor Captain L— , and besought him to visit him.
At that time Captain L— was, to use the carman’s own words, “like a wild bull in a net,” helpless but raging. “Give me poison!” he would cry. T.S., the carman, could only reply, “Get up, and get it yourself.” “Bring me my pistols!” the captain would shout. “Fetch them yourself,” would be T.S.’s answer, whilst he was kindly ministering to the poor patient. But whilst so useful to the body (and all his services were, I believe, performed for nothing, and in the few spare moments of a very hard working life), T.S. felt the captain needed something for his soul, and so he stopped his van that day in the street, and asked Charlie C— , the young Christian fireman, to visit the poor old captain.
Charlie C— went, and he kept on going. Much of his spare time was spent by the captain’s bedside. He cared most tenderly for the poor suffering body, most skillfully, too; but his thoughts were for the precious never-dying soul, that soul which must live forever, which can sever, never cease to be. The hard heart of Captain L— was first touched, and reached, by drawing his young friend on his knees by the bedside, pouring out his soul to God on the sufferer’s behalf, the tears streaming down his face meanwhile. “Does he care so much as that for my poor soul, that I’ve never cared about?” The hard heart was reached and touched at last; and one happy day Charlie C had the joy of seeing his old friend venture on the Rock of Ages, the Rock smitten for our sins on Calvary’s Cross.
Captain L— lived for years after that happy day, growing in grace and in the knowledge of his Lord and Saviour. Charlie C was removed from — to — but he ever kept in close touch with the one to whom he had been so greatly blessed. When about to be stationed at E—, he earnestly asked that the writer’s father, and the writer, would visit Captain L—, a request that they most gladly complied with.
At one time Captain L— was taken to the Hospital for the Paralyzed and Epileptic in Queen Square, Bloomsbury; kind T.S. conveying him in his cot in his railway van to I—, — station, where the cot was slung in the guard’s van for the long journey to Waterloo. After a good stay in the hospital (visited there by Christian friends, amongst them Charlie C—), he was discharged as incurable. Now Captain L— thought he must go to the workhouse infirmary at B—, near his home; and I believe the cot was actually directed there, when slung for the return journey in the guard’s van at Waterloo. But Charlie C— (either at Salisbury or Exeter) met his old friend with hot tea and refreshment, and the joyful news that the Captain’s old sister, Miss L— , (herself aged and infirm) would not hear of his being taken to the Workhouse, but would have him in her own little four-roomed cottage. And to this house and his sister’s care, Captain L— was taken from — station by T.S. in his railway van.
In this house he lived till the Lord took him home to Himself. His sister, Miss L— died. Then an elderly couple came to live in the house and care for him. When they left, his sister-in-law came with her son and daughter, and she cared for him to the last. A pension of £20 a year was granted him from the Home for Incurables. Sometimes he thought, when his own savings should be quite finished (for it took two men every night to lift him) that he would have to go, after all, to the workhouse infirmary. But the Lord, Who had plucked him as a brand out of the fire, Who had cleansed him, clothed him, crowned him, cared for him to the last, to the very end of his pilgrimage. As said before, not one of his old worldly friends, not one of his old companions in sin, ever came forward to his assistance. They had done with him from the moment he fell helpless in the skittle-alley of the public-house, where he was smitten with paralysis. Of them it might be said, “No man gave unto him.” But he never needed their help, though he proved the emptiness of their friendship; for the Lord had taken him up.
For the last few months he suffered terribly from gangrene. But he was wonderfully sustained, and cheered, and comforted. His savings did not come to an end, for in the Lord’s own good time, on the morning of September 2nd, 1902, his groaning ceased; the happy spirit was released from that most suffering body, and was at once, immediately, present with the Lord.
One of his visitors.