Many will remember that eventful morning when news of the terrible battle of Jutland was allowed to reach us, and how our hearts went out to the brave men who laid down their lives to protect our shores. In addition to the slain, there were many seriously wounded. One of these lying in a large naval hospital, though suffering considerably, maintained the cheerfulness so characteristic of our gallant seamen. On the locker by his bedside there was a collection of shell fragments which he was keeping as souvenirs of the dreadful fight, and, calling to his comrades, he raised a laugh by saying, “Look here, lads, when I get out of this I am going to start a Marine Store.” At that moment the doctor entering the ward, followed by the nurse, came to his bedside, and the wounded leg was prepared for examination. Presently a grave expression appeared on the doctor’s face. Laying the bandages over the injured limb he took out his watch, and with a significant look at the nurse who was standing by, said, “Five o’clock.” For the moment the sailor laddie thought there was to be another operation, but something in the doctor’s manner arrested his attention, and laying hold of him in alarm, he said, “Five o’clock, doctor. What do you mean?” The good man tried to turn away, but was restrained by the patient’s hold. Looking kindly into his face, he said, “My lad, I am sorry to tell you, but mortification has set in, and by five o’clock it will prove fatal.” With a look of dismay the brave seaman turned to the doctor, and said, “Oh, doctor, am Ito die so soon? Why, I promised to meet my mother in Heaven, and I am not saved.” Then as the terrible seriousness of the situation dawned upon him, he cried, “Oh, doctor, pray for me. Will you?” But good and kind as the doctor was he was not a praying man, so turned to the nurse, saying, “I can’t pray, nurse, can you?” The nurse shook her head and replied, with a break in her voice, “No, doctor, I fear I cannot.”
Here was one of our brave sailors on the brink of eternity with horror and darkness filling his soul, and no one to commend him to God, nor point him to the Saviour. But the Holy Spirit, who led Philip to the side of the Ethiopian’s chariot on the way to Gaza, had led a Christian worker, unknown to the narrator of this story, to visit the patients that afternoon, and speak a word for the Master. As he was passing, the doctor, seeking relief from his dilemma, turned and asked him if he could “make a prayer.” Mr. G― came to the bedside, and hearing the sad story, at once began to point the dying lad to the One who gave His life, in order that poor guilty souls might be eternally saved. After kneeling and commending the sufferer to the God of all grace, he left the ward to visit in other parts of the hospital, promising to return again. This he did before the fateful five o’clock was reached, but on entering the ward he was met by the nurse, who, with a sad countenance, said, “You are too late, sir. The boy has passed away, but he asked me to tell you that it was all right. He said he was trusting in Christ alone, and was now quite sure that he would meet his mother in Heaven.”