IT was the eve of the battle of Tel-el-Kebir. Great lines of earthworks, bristling with artillery, screened the forces of Arabi Pasha; and the British, supporting the authority of the Khedive Tewfik, were encamped at Kassassin. The sun had withdrawn his powerful rays, and the moon withheld her gentle beams, so the two armies, left in darkness, lay down to rest on the sand. Many eyes had gazed wistfully on the dying orb of day, and wondered if the sun of their lives would sink on the morrow. And if it did, what then? Ah! solemn thought, which one and all do well to ponder. The dangers of the battlefield come to comparatively few: the uncertainty of life is over all.
Paramount in the breast of Trumpeter M―, of the― Cavalry, were serious thoughts of eternal realities. A strange foreboding possessed him that death would be his fate on the morrow, and he was not ready to die. Worse to bear than the hot stifling air, more troublesome than the numerous insects that preyed on him, was the still small voice within that continually asked, “How will you meet God?” And with it came the memory of the many times he had turned a deaf ear to the glad tidings of salvation; of how often he had listened to the melting story of the Saviour’s dying love, and the only emotion it stirred within him was an ill suppressed wish that the preacher would soon stop. How he yearned that someone would explain the way of peace to him now, and he would no longer be disobedient. Was there no one? Some chaplains had arrived from England―there were Scripture―readers with the Scotch regiments―could he not find one of them? But no, it was too late.
Sir Garnet Wolseley meant the darkness of that night to conceal from the Egyptians his march toward them, and his orders were strict: no conversation was to be allowed―no light struck―no one was to move about. “Too late to be saved now,” inwardly moaned this convicted sinner, “my day of grace is past.”
Take care, dear friend, that a similar wail does not come from your lips someday, when, after years of gospel-hearing there dawns upon your soul the fact, that the harvest is past, the summer is ended, and that you are not saved.
By half-past one on the following morning Kassassin was left, and silently through the darkness the British force marched along the Wadi Tumilat, the officers guiding their course by the stars. The faint streaks of dawning day were lightening the eastern sky as they reached the scene of conflict. The first and second entrenchments, with their strong redoubts, were stormed by the infantry at the point of the bayonet; then the cavalry, sweeping round on either flank, meted out death with unsparing hand.
The Arab steed M―rode became maddened by the fearful sights and sounds around, and setting bit and bridle at defiance plunged headlong forward. The clouds of sand and smoke lifted slightly, and he knew by the white tunics and scarlet tarbooshes worn by the men around him, that he had ridden alone right into the midst of the enemy. It was a supreme moment, yet he remained calm, for difficulty and danger ofttimes beget a power unfelt on other occasions. Each instant he expected to feel the ping of a bullet, or the slash of a saber, and from the very depths of his soul was wrung out the prayer, “Lord, save me, I perish.”
It was for the salvation of his soul he prayed: that he should escape alive from that battle-plain seemed beyond the bounds of possibility. He had vainly tried to lay hold on Christ the night before, but all was blurred and indistinct. Now, one look at the crucified One, one short prayer of faith, and the burden of guilt vanished, and over the heart of the young soldier stole the sweet joy of pardon, and the calm assurance of, forgiveness.
The smoke and sand clouds once more deepened, concealing his nationality from the Egyptians, and his furious charger turned and bore him backward to the ranks of the British―saved―body and soul, for the masses of Arabi at this juncture wavered, and soon sought refuge in flight.
Doubtless many who had often listened with unmoved hearts to the gospel fell on that bloody field, but this incident may afford a little crumb of comfort to some praying mother’s heart. Had death been M— ‘s portion then no one would ever have known that he died a believer in Jesus. God is not willing that any should perish, and it may be that others there, ere their souls quitted their mortal frame, cried, and did not cry in vain, to God for mercy. At the same time, we would earnestly warn any procrastinating ones of the danger of delay. Salvation is offered today, not tomorrow.
“And did this young convert live happily ever after?” you ask. Oh, no! the accuser of the brethren is much too active for that.
October found the British army at Cairo, and a miserable time M―had then. “You need not call yourself a Christian, it was nothing but the fear of death made you pray at Tel-el-Kebir. If you were really converted, you would never have an unholy thought, and you would be different altogether from what you are.” He did not know these were the whisperings of that old serpent which is the devil. Yet such they were. Satan, chagrined that one of his former dupes, had received the gift of eternal life, and knowing full well that that life is hid with Christ in God―a place where neither man nor fiend can touch it―exerted himself to mar the newly-born soul’s enjoyment of it. He succeeded all too well. Each day the young man’s doubts were renewed, and every night his uncertainty as to whether he were a Christian or not increased. Seated one day among some shrubs on the outskirts of Cairo, he gave way to despair. “Why did I not die on the battlefield?” he asked. “I was happy then, I would have gone to glory then, but now” ―his hand touched his pistol, and with the touch came the terrible thought, “Why may I not die now? It would be so easy, and the weary struggle would be ended.” Surely the arch-enemy had gained the victory then. But no, God was watching over His sorely tempted child. A party approached, and hastily starting up, M―returned the deadly weapon to its case, and walked off, thoroughly ashamed of himself. Down the streets of Cairo he stumbled. He noticed some soldiers enter a meeting-room, and he followed them. What a change! The atmosphere felt heavenly. How soothing were the hymns! How the prayers revived him! Then an elderly gentleman addressed them. His message was for young Christians. Some, he said, after conversion went on happily for a time, but soon a crop of doubts appeared. They did not feel as they used to feel, they did not always act as they knew they should act. They wondered if they had repented enough, and were not sure they had believed aright. A little later they questioned if they could be Christians at all when such fears oppressed them. The soldiers there had recently fought a great battle near the ruins of Pithom, that ancient treasure-city which the Israelites built for Pharaoh. They were not happy then, for their bondage was cruel. But God wrought a great deliverance for them, and with an high hand brought them out of Egypt. All was well at first, but when the Red Sea lay before them, the mountains around them, and Pharaoh’s host behind them, were they happy? He did not think so. But that did not alter the fact that they had all been sheltered by the blood of the slain lamb. Some there might be whose faith in God was firm, who kept before them the mighty way God had wrought on their behalf, but the multitude were sore afraid, and wished they had stayed in Egypt, building at Pithom. Some now on being freed by the blood of Christ from the thralldom of Satan, of whom Pharaoh is a type, go straight on, strong in faith, but the majority reach a point where a sea of fears lies before, mountains of perplexities rise up around, and Satan with a host of fiery darts presses on behind. What is to be done then? What did Israel do? “The Lord saved Israel that day out of the hand of the Egyptians.” The power that has saved us is the power that will keep us, will save to the uttermost―the very end―those who have come to Him. Difficulties do but serve to show the exceeding greatness of His power to usward who believe. The Christian’s safety does not rest on his feelings, but on the grand fact that his sins have been borne by Jesus; and sin, the root, God has condemned, and in the death of Christ has destroyed the body of sin.
Now if we commit sin, we have an advocate with the Father, and when we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Every word came as a message from God to M―, but we need give no further details, our Christian friends will easily picture the sequel. The gall of uncertainty was exchanged for the freedom of deliverance, and under the nurture of the preacher, with whom he soon got acquainted, he was led to see there remained much land to be possessed, depths of truth and a fullness of blessing he had never dreamed of.
Dear friend, has not Satan made your life bitter with hard bondage? Do not you think you have built long enough at Pithom? long enough labored to advance the kingdom of Satan? Will you not be persuaded to exchange such a hard taskmaster for a place in the kingdom of God’s dear Son?
“No need now to labor, the work hoe been done;
To be in God’s favor, believe on the Son.
Christ’s death has secured salvation so free;
The cross He endured for you and for me.”
M. M.