“Is the parson in?” The speaker was a burly sailor-man, whose bronzed face told of long journeyings in the tropics Ere five minutes had passed, he was seated in the study, talking to Mr. Hall.
“Maybe you don’t know me, sir. I’m Davie Stevens. I lived up Kenton way before my last voyage three years ago. I’m second mate on a whaler now, and I’ve been about a good bit in my time. I’ve roughed it among the icebergs in the Arctic Ocean, as well as knocking about in the tropics, and I tell you, sir, I’ve had such experiences as would make a landsman’s hair stand on end!”
“Tell me one or two of them. A sailor’s yarn is a delightful thing.”
“That’s just why I came to you. The Great Skipper up above has been speaking pretty plain to me lately, and if I tell you how He has done it, I thought you could tell me of a way to show Him I ain’t ungrateful.”
“I will try,” said Mr. Hall.
“To begin with, then, we had a right-down terrible gale last year, sir; the wind was blowing great guns, and the night was as dark as pitch. I had to go aloft to take in one of the sails, and just when I lay out along the yard―if that old sail didn’t give a sudden flap, and throw me clean over the yard! Clear of it, though; and I managed to catch hold of a rope as I was going down, and I held on to it till the other chaps on the yard came to the rescue. I tell you, sir, that rope was all that lay between me and death, for without it I should have fallen eighty or ninety feet to the deck. It made me think a bit, that did; for I’d been on the brink of eternity, and my sins were like a load round my neck, it seemed to me.”
“God was speaking to you, Stevens.”
“Yes, and after that I couldn’t get away from the thought that the Great Skipper had been wonderful kind to such a sinner as me. And then something else happened. One day we sighted a big whale, and I was in the first boat that came alongside of him. I threw a harpoon, and the moment he felt it he got into such a fury that he turned and struck the boat. His fluke gave such a thundering blow that it carried away part of the boat, cur off the mast as clean as if it had been struck by a shell, and knocked me senseless in the bottom of the boat. I tell you, sir, if the stroke hadn’t been a bit deadened afore it reached me, I should have been killed on the spot, but as it was I got over it in a few hours.
“Now, you see, sir, the Skipper has been preachin’ such sermons to me on the sea as I never heard ashore, and I know well enough He’s done a lot more for me than I deserve. I’d like to show Him that I’m grateful. Could you put me on the right tack?”
“There’s something in this Book,” said Mr. Hall, opening his Bible,” that seems to be meant for you, Stevens Look here: ‘The goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance.’”
“That is something like it, sir. I’m right down sorry for the life I’ve lived, never given’ a thought to such a good Skipper as He’s been to me.”
The clergyman turned the leaves again, feeling much sympathy for his big, muscular pupil. “Repent,” he read slowly, “and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out.” In other words, turn right round, away from the old tack, and start on a fresh one, looking to the Lord Jesus who died for you. Put your weak hands into His strong hands, and let Him take control. The very moment you do that, He will say to you, ‘Davie Stevens, I have blotted out as a cloud thy transgressions, and as a thick cloud thy sins... I have redeemed thee.’ It’s all done, Davie, and you’ve only to thank the Lord for it.”
“That’s just what I want. If you please, I’ll take the new tack at once.”
They knelt down together, and to the sailor-man God gave His free gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
E. M. R.