In the early months of World War I came the shocking news of the loss of H. M. S. Pathfinder. Torpedoed off Harwich, she sank immediately, and two hundred and fifty men perished with her.
Two hundred and fifty souls hurried into eternity! This was the outspoken burden on the heart of the nation. What about those souls? Where are they now?
If any message from the other side could have been received, telling of their eternal safety, half the weight of that burden would have vanished. But listen! Just such a message has come across the waves from the lost ship. To the eternal glory of God we can now repeat the story of one of the crew who, only shortly before the disaster, found the path of life that leads to everlasting joy.
As far as his soul was concerned, our young friend began his career in anything but a hopeful manner. "The things that are not seen" had apparently no place in his outlook. As a boy, he was the despair of his school teachers and neighbors. Even his own parents could do nothing with him. It seemed that he came to Sunday school for the sole purpose of displaying the most outrageous conduct. It was often a question between his teacher and the superintendent as to how long his disturbances ought to be endured. There is no denying the fact that when he finally took his inglorious career into his own hands, and disappeared, the neighborhood sighed with relief.
Years went by. No word came from the troublesome boy. Then one week-end, about a month before the war broke out, he returned for a visit.
The preacher, as was his custom, was holding an open-air service. "He careth for you" was his text. Twice over, in a ringing voice, he repeated the four wonderful words. Valiantly trying to ignore a low whistle almost in his ear, he proceeded to tell the old, old story of God's love and pity.
"Remember this, however careless you may be about the future of your soul, God cares what becomes of you. He cares so much that He sent His only Son to die, so that He might make a way from earth to heaven for those who have sinned."
In simple words the preacher endeavored to touch the heart and conscience of the crowd around him. All the while the whistling grew louder and more insistent. Finally it merged into a definite song: "I don't care what becomes of me."
Obliged to turn round at this, the minister saw that the disturbing element was a young blue-jacket, with "H. M. S. Pathfinder" on his cap. Beneath the gilt letters, in spite of added years and altered dress, were the unmistakable features of his old unruly scholar. As he had gone, so had he returned, precisely the same wild, reckless, audacious spirit that in the past had created so much trouble.
Delighted at having attracted attention to himself, our blue-jacket renewed his charge with added vigor. "I don't care what becomes of me," he chanted. "I don't care what becomes of me"; and he accompanied his song with the fantastic steps of the hornpipe.
The preacher, full of concern at such flagrant behavior, dismissed the interrupted meeting. Before the sailor could make his escape, he grasped him by the arm and led him away. Once clear of the crowd, he began to reason with him on his behavior. The only response to his appeal was the same refrain: "I don't care what becomes of me."
"Do you care about nothing?" the minister asked at length. "Wouldn't you care if you knew you must die tonight?"
"Not I," was the saucy rejoinder. And again the song began: "I don't care what becomes of me!"
Feeling that words were useless, the preacher turned sadly away. A second thought came to him. "Wait a moment," he said, and from his pocket he produced a little book on the back of which he wrote in large clear letters: "IF I DIE TONIGHT I SHALL GO TO H—." Then he handed it to the sailor.
"If you really do not care what becomes of your soul," he said, "before you go to bed tonight finish writing that last word. Then sign your name to it. Only remember, there are two ways in which that last word can be spelled."
Defiant and unsobered, the young fellow put the little book into his jumper. He swaggered down the street, singing: "I don't care what becomes of me."
The minister went his way, slowly and sadly, wondering if he had been wise and praying with his whole heart and soul that the rebellious young life might be transformed by the grace of God.
To tell the truth, not much faith was in that prayer; but it is not always according to a man's faith that answers are bestowed. The very next day the answer came. At the morning service, who should be at the service but the disturber of the previous evening! At the close of the meeting a very subdued, humbled young man made his way down the aisle and followed the minister into his study. He wasted no time on preliminaries.
"I am utterly miserable," he volunteered with a shudder. "I couldn't go to sleep last night. I couldn't finish that last word, for I do care what becomes of me. I know where I should go, if I died now."
There was no need for the servant of God to point out his utter unfitness for heaven. Sin lay like a heavy burden on the man's mind: sin that deserved punishment—sin that must keep him forever outside the Golden City where "naught that defileth can ever enter in." The very thought that such as he could expect admission there drew from him a bitter laugh.
"If I died tonight, I should go to hell," he said miserably.
"But Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners from hell," answered the preacher triumphantly. "It was because He knew the horrors of that awful place that He died to deliver us from it."
Glancing down at the ribbon on the man's cap, which was revolving nervously in his roughened hands, he went on: "The Lord Jesus is our Path-finder. He found a plan by which He could make a path for sinners from earth to heaven. It cost Him His very life to make that way; but He thought it worthwhile to die in our stead and open the gate of heaven to all believers.
"Listen to this: 'I am the Way,' says the Savior Himself. 'No man cometh unto the Father but by Me.' You see, He Himself is the Way that leads to heaven, and the wonderful part is that 'whosoever will' may come to Him."
The sailor did not speak, but the anxiety on his face deepened. "I do care what becomes of me" was written all over it.
"Here is a comforting verse," the minister continued in dead earnest: "CHRIST DIED FOR THE UNGODLY."
`He died that you might be forgiven,
He died to make you good,
That you might go at last to heaven,
Saved by His precious blood.'
"You used to sing that when you were a little boy. Do you remember?"
Not all at once, but bit by bit the man's countenance cleared. By the grace of God, and the comfort of the Spirit, he gradually saw that faith in the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ is all that God requires from sinners for admission into His family and His home. After a few broken words of humble, thankful prayer, the forgiven sailor went on his way rejoicing.
Two days later the young sailor appeared again. This time he came to say good-by. His whole attitude was expressive of the miraculous change that had taken place. He gave every evidence of one who did most earnestly repent and was heartily sorry for his misdoings. By the grace of God he intended from henceforth to lead a new life in Christ, walking in God's holy ways. After a last handshake, a last "God bless you," the boy was off to rejoin his ship.
For just one month after the outbreak of war the Pathfinder took her share in guarding the coast. For just one month that young convert to Jesus Christ was given the opportunity to tell his shipmates what God had done for him; and then in one moment he was summoned into the presence of his Maker.
Before the casualty lists were published, his friend, the minister, seemed to know by instinct that his old scholar's name would appear among the dead. How he longed with unutterable longing to know how that last month had been lived! Had the change been real? Had his life altered with his faith?
It was only a day or two before an answer was sent that silenced all questionings. A survivor from the lost ship came himself to tell the friends in the village the very things they longed to know. Making no secret of the miracle that had changed him, the once godless sailor had humbly endeavored to tell his comrades the good news of salvation for sinners. The change in his life was so striking that his words bore weight. They were listened to with real interest; and several of his shipmates were led to look to the Savior as their only hope of salvation.