It was a chilly evening in early September. The Lady Elgin, brilliantly lighted, loaded with happy excursionists returning to their homes, stopped suddenly, shuddered as if stricken, and began slowly to go down.
There was no wireless in those days, but none was needed. The Lady Elgin had almost reached Chicago; she lay only a few hundred yards off the shore of Evanston. A thousand pairs of eyes were fastened on her from the shore; a thousand voices raised their cry of terror and alarm.
Only a few hundred yards from shore, yet it might as well have been miles. The ship's small boats could not possibly live in such a sea. The Lady Elgin was sinking, and sinking fast. Before help could come from Chicago she would be gone, and the crowds upon the shore who watched her were powerless to help. But, not all of them were helpless. Two brothers, students at the theological seminary at Evanston, plunged through the crowd, a rope in their arms.
Nat, the elder, a powerful man and a trained swimmer, fastened the rope about his waist and leaped into the waves; yard by yard he fought his way through, until at last he reached the ship and climbed aboard. A moment later e plunged back again with a woman in his arms. The crowd hauled him in, choking, cold, but still strong. Again he plunged in, and again, until seventeen women and children were brought to shore, one after the other. At last he sank to the ground exhausted, but the cries still rang in his ears. After a bit he raised himself, and again he plunged in, and they pulled him back to shore with another human life.
Twenty-three lives Nat Spencer saved before his strength entirely left him. Then they carried him away to bed, exhausted, sick, and almost out of his mind. It was many weeks before he left that bed. The twenty-three whom he had saved had scattered to their homes. The bodies of the other three hundred were lost.
Surely the twenty-three whom he had saved could never forget this brave man. How thankful they must have been! But the solemn truth about those twenty-three is that not one of them ever came back to thank Nat Spencer for what he had done. Not one of them even wrote him a letter.
You may say, "I could never be so ungrateful; I would never forget, his name as long as I lived." Stop for a moment and think. Someone not only risked His life, but laid it down for you. Jesus, God's beloved Son, died the most cruel death for you. "When we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." Have you ever thanked Him?
Dear Reader, your frail bark may be nearer eternity's shore than you think it may be just a few yards. If you have no hope in Jesus you are lost, lost, out on the sea of eternity. The only anchor that will hold is Jesus, the Rock of Ages.
Come! The grandest invitation ever extended to mankind is to the whosoever, and that means you.