ANYONE who has sailed past the New Mole into Gibraltar Bay will have noticed the long yellow-washed building standing high upon the south front, and have been told that it is the military and naval hospital. In one of the wards of this hospital, about a year before the commencement of the Crimean War, there lay a private of the Thirty-third Regiment, John Cassidy by name, who had been seized by a fatal attack of dysentery. He felt that death was near; and calling to the hospital sergeant, he said, “Morris, I shan’t be long, and I want to make my peace before I go. Will you send for the priest?”
“There’s no need to send for him, Cassidy,” replied Morris, who was an earnest Christian; “haven’t I told you that Jesus, the blessed Saviour, is ready to receive you just now, and make you fit for heaven, if you’ll only ask Him?”
“But I’m so weak, I haven’t got any strength to pray,” said the poor fellow; “it’s far easier to let the priest do it; and he only charges five shillings. You must go to the paymaster, Morris to get the money, and give it to him as soon as he comes; and don’t be long about it; for I feel, that. I haven’t many hours before, me. I’d like to die in my own religion; and you’ll see how comfortable I shall be when the priest has performed the offices.”
The sergeant thought it best for John to prove for himself what a broken reed he was leaning on, and accordingly sent at once for the priest. He came, received the money, and directed four candles to be brought; these he lighted, and placed two at the head, and two at the foot of the bed. He then took some “sacred oil,” and put it on the brow and cheeks and lips of the dying man, and on various parts of his body. Afterward he sprinkled him very freely with “holy water,” and then, waving a censer over the bed, until the air was heavy with the perfume, he pronounced absolution, and solemnly declared that John Cassidy was ready for death.
“But I don’t feel ready, sir,” said John, looking up piteously into his face. “I don’t feel a bit different after all that you’ve done.”
“But you ought to feel different,” replied the priest angrily. “You must trust the Church; and I tell you, in her name, that you are now a saved man.”
“Well, sir,” persisted John, “yet men that are saved, and are ready for heaven, feel happy, and I don’t. There was a man that Sergeant Morris talked to in this ward. He died the other day, and he was so happy! He said he saw angels coming to take him away, and he wasn’t afraid to die; and, I thought you’d, make me feel like that; but I’m quite frightened.”
Strange language for a priest to hear, and most unwelcome. Straightening himself to his fullest height, he stood over the bed, and extending his hand in a threatening manner toward the dying man, he exclaimed, “I give you this warning, John Cassidy, that if you listen to that heretic sergeant you will be damned.”
John quailed for a moment before the fearful words; and then as the weight of unforgiven sin pressed upon his heart and he felt that the priest had no power—as he once believed—to cleanse it away, he cried out in the bitterness of his soul, “I cannot be worse than I am, sir; that’s certain; so please go away, and let me take my chance.” And as the priest seemed still inclined to linger, and to remonstrate, he raised himself partially on his pillow, and with strange energy persisted, “Don’t stay any longer, sir! I haven’t many minutes left, and I can’t afford to lose any of them in argufying; so have pity on a dying man, and go at once.”
The priest merely said on leaving the room, “John Cassidy, I warn you! you are forsaking your own mercy.”
John was almost exhausted by the agitation and disappointment of the interview; but as he lay quite still, too weak for words, the sergeant came and sat by his bedside, and read to him such passages as the following: ―
“There is one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.” “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!” “By him all that believe are justified from all things.” “Neither is there salvation in any other; for there is none other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved.” “The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.”
The sergeant added no words of his own, but sat by the dying man, silently praying that the entrance of this Divine word might give light to lighten the darkness of that departing soul. In a little while a low murmur caused him to bend his ear close to the lips of his dying comrade; and he caught the words as they came in faint, gasping utterance— “No other name! It was a mistake—to think any priest could get me to heaven—but Jesus Christ can—and I think he will—I’m happy—I’m not frightened now—good-bye, Morris—tell—all the poor fellows—about—the― blood―cleanseth.” No more words, only a shiver and a sigh, and then a look of calm on the tired, worn face; and Sergeant Morris gently closed the eyes of the dead soldier; murmuring as he did so, “Thanks be unto God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”