WHEN residing some years ago in Plymouth, I was asked by a Christian lady to visit a sick man in whom she was interested, and who she feared was far gone in consumption. I called at the address given, and the door of the cottage was opened to me by a poor dispirited looking woman, with a bruised face and black eye. Inquiring if William — lived there, she replied, “Yes, sir, he is my husband,” and on my telling her that I was a doctor, and that Miss― had asked me to visit her husband, she with some hesitancy admitted me, and taking me up to the side of the bed, which was on the far side of the room as we entered, she said, “William, here is a doctor that Miss― has asked to come and see you,” then, without saying another word, left the room.
Lying before me I saw a fine, well-built young man, of about thirty years of age, whose bold, defiant aspect at once arrested me. His features, though good, and more than usually intelligent, had a sullen, hard, angry look, that told of one at enmity with God and his fellows. Telling him who had asked me to visit him, and with what purpose, I asked him if he would allow me to examine his lungs. Nodding his head, but without a word, he flung himself higher up on his pillows, and laid bare his broad chest.
After I had carefully examined his lungs, during which I noted that he was intently scanning my face, I looked steadily at him, and said, “I suppose you know that you are very ill.” As he made no remark, I went on to tell him a little about the serious nature of his case, and concluded by telling him that he had not long to live, that I did not think that he would be in this world at the end of a month. “How will it be with you in the next world?” I asked him. Pulling himself together, and opening his mouth for the first time, he replied, “Take my chance, like the rest, I suppose.”
Feeling the kind of spirit I had to deal with, and looking straight into the defiant eyes that were fixed upon me, I replied: “Chance, my man, will land you in hell in the next world as surely as you are lying on your bed in this. Don’t trust to chance.”
His face slightly quivered, and I felt sure the arrow had gone home. After a slight pause, and taking a prolonged breath, he angrily rejoined, “Then what must I do?”
“Do nothing,” I said; “but, as you lie there, a poor lost sinner, simply believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.”
Taking from my pocket my New Testament, I read him part of the twenty-third of Luke, beginning with: “And when they were come to the place called Calvary, there they crucified Him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left,” concluding with, “And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with Me in paradise.”
In a few simple words I showed him how bad a life this man had lived, and to that it had brought him in this world even to the gallows, but how, repenting at the last, and owning himself justly condemned to death, he had turned to the Saviour, who in love to save him hung by his side, and cried to Him for mercy. I said, “You see this man had done nothing but sin all his life, had lived without God, and now when his life was forfeited, and he was actually dying, he did nothing to save his soul but believe on the Lord Jesus.”
Though making no sign, I felt persuaded he had followed me in all I had said, saw how like his case was to that of the thief, and was mentally applying it to himself; but he made no remark. Silently lifting my heart to God to bless His own word, I left him.
I should say here, that William — was a desperate character. He was what is called a master or “boss” stonemason, an occupation which is very fatal to those who follow it, as the small particles of stone-dust, especially of some kinds of stone, being inhaled into the lungs, remain there, setting up an irritation in them that frequently leads to a rapidly fatal form of consumption.
Being a man of great physical strength, and of more than ordinary intelligence, he was regarded amongst his mates as a ringleader, and, alas! in all that was bad and violent. He was notorious for his utterly irreligious and godless life, hardly ever speaking without an oath, and following his words often with a blow when he was crossed; and, though I had not been told it at the time, I felt convinced that the bruised face and blackened eye of his poor wife was some of his recent work. It was the knowledge of all this that led me to speak so plainly to him, and to read this portion out of the twenty-third of Luke to him.
Though William — ‘s case was much on my heart, and I had enlisted the prayers of several of God’s dear children on his behalf, I did not feel led to visit him for some days, but rather to leave him alone with God. At the end of a week I called again to see him, and on his wife opening the door I saw at once by her face that something had happened. On my asking her how her husband was, she burst into tears, and exclaimed: “Oh! sir, he is changed from a lion to a lamb. Before you came to see him he was like a chained wild beast, cursing and swearing at everything and everybody, because he was ill, and could not get up and go to his work. I got nothing from him but oaths and hard words. Nothing pleased him, and only the day before you came, because I did not place his pillow quite as he wanted it, he swore at me, and fetched me a blow that, as you saw, had bruised my face and blackened my eye. God only knows what a life he has led me; but oh! it is all changed now, and he can’t be kind enough to me, and thanks me for the least thing I for him. Oh! it is wonderful, it is wonderful.”
She went on to tell me, that after I had left him, he was quite silent for some time, evidently thinking over what had been said to him, and for the next three days was very quiet, but restless and unhappy, also very changed in his manner do towards herself, though saying nothing of what was passing in his mind. Then, as she put it, “something strange seemed to come over him, and he became very happy.” He said he believed that God had saved his soul, and that he should not be afraid to die.
On my entering the room, he greeted me with a nod and smile of welcome that said much to me. Going to his side, I said: “Well, William, how are you today? I fear not much better.”
Slowly and sadly shaking his head, he said, “No.”
“But how is it,” I added, “as to your soul?”
Pausing to take breath, he replied, with evident emotion: “Thank God, better. I believe my soul is saved.”
On my asking him how all this had come about, he told me that after I had left him he could not get out of his mind about, “chance landing him in hell,” and became very unhappy and anxious about his soul for some days. Then what I read to him from the twenty-third of Luke, about the thief on the cross, and the Lord Jesus telling him He would take him to paradise, came back to him, and he said to himself, “That thief was not a bit better than I am, and the Lord Jesus saved him just because he owned he was bad and trusted in Him, and why should He not save me if I do the same,” and then, as he put it, “I just did it, and I at once felt at peace with God.”
His subsequent conversation plainly showed that the work in his soul was a very real one, and that, realizing that he was a lost and helpless sinner, he had turned to Jesus in his extremity, and had clearly perceived that the Lord in His love had died for Him on the cross, had taken his place before God under judgment, and borne the penalty due to him for all his terrible sins. It was plain that with the Apostle Peter he could say, “Who His own self bare our sin in His own body on the tree.”
I saw him several times after this, but only to witness on each occasion the progress of God’s grace in His soul. This showed itself, not only in the increasing clearness of his confession of Christ and His work as his only trust before God, but in the wonderful change in his life and conduct towards his wife and those about him. Many visited him, and magnified the grace of God in him.
On one occasion, referring to what he had passed through after my first visit to him, he said, “You see, sir, I had nothing but my sins and wicked life to look back upon when you told me ‘chance would land me in hell,’ and the more I thought about it the worse I felt, so there was nothing for it but either to go to hell or look to Jesus, and that I did, just saying, ‘Lord, have mercy on me, as You did upon that thief.’ Of course I see it all more clearly now, and how God’s love to us poor sinners was at the bottom of it all, giving His Son for us, and that Christ was delivered for our offenses, and was raised again for our justification.”
He lingered on uncomplainingly, in increasing weakness and suffering, for just a month, but his peace and joy were never interrupted. On the afternoon of the day he died I called to see him. He was sitting, propped up in an easy-chair, and breathing with great difficulty. The dew of death was on his forehead, and I plainly saw that a few hours would close the scene.
Taking his hand in mine, I said, “William, it is just a month since I first called to see you, and do you remember the question I put to you, and how you answered it? “With a faint smile he nodded his head in response. “Well, William, I will put the same question to you again — ‘And how will it be with you in the next world?’”
Drawing a deep and labored breath, while a tear trickled down his cheek, and a heavenly smile stole over his pale, wan face, he gasped out, “I am going to Jesus — going to Jesus.” They were the last words I heard from his lips, and I believe the last words he ever spoke in this world, for within an hour the Lord called Him to Himself, and he was “Absent from the body, and present with the Lord.”
C. W.