SOME years ago there lived in the State of New York a woman and her little boy, Johnny. He was her only child. Times being bad, her husband had left his home to seek a better fortune in California. At last, after months of suspense, the promised letter arrived. It brought the news of brighter prospects, and the desire for the wife and child to join him by the next vessel. They accordingly took the train to New York city, and thence embarked for California. Sailing out of that beautiful bay, passing along Staten Island, everything seemed bright to hearts buoyed up with hope. For two or three days they had lost sight of land, and not a sail was to be seen on the far distant horizon, nothing but the wide waste of ocean, stretching all around. Johnny sat close beside his mother upon the dock, when suddenly he started to his feet, and for a moment stood to listen to the awful cry of the passengers and crew below. The ship was on fire! In spite of every effort to check them, the flames carried everything before them; and, worst of all, beyond the fire were barrels of gunpowder.
When all hope was lost, the captain ordered the boats to be lowered. The last boat was lowered and as quickly filled. At that moment the mother and her little boy ran to the bulwarks of the vessel, and begged to be taken into the boat. Their boat was full and they could Cake no more, was the cry from a score of voices as the oars splashed in the water. The poor frantic woman turned away in despair, as the flames made their way on deck. But one man’s heart was moved by the pitiful entreaty and the boy’s scared look as he clung to his mother’s gown. “Comrades,” said he, “it seems cruel to leave that woman and her child without trying to help them, let us make room for one.” Upon which they shouted, “Well take one of you, but we can’t possibly take you both; make haste and one come, there is no time to be lost.” For a moment the mother looked at the boat; there was her only hope of deliverance, and life was sweet to her. For a moment she looked at her child, and he was dearer to her than life itself. She could waver no longer; she caught him in her arms: “Johnny,” she said, “when you land safely in California, and you see your father there, tell him, with your mother’s dying love, how she stayed on the burning ship that you might be saved. Farewell, and may God watch over you, my darling boy!” He kissed his mother, who was loath to part with him; but with a last “good-bye” he was lowered into the boat.
The sailors rowed away, and as the hoy still waved his handkerchief in answer to the oft-repeated kiss of his mother’s hand, the barrels of gunpowder blew up and the ship was shivered into a thousand pieces, and Johnny saw his mother no more. But could he ever forget that last interview? Would not the impress of that last loving look be branded on his soul with a hotter fire of love than even the flames of that burning ship? Yes, surely; for if, when I was in California, I had met that boy, now a young man, and I had said to him, “John, do you remember your mother? do you ever think of her?” he would have looked at me with scorn. How could he ever forget her? And yet what was that love? It is but a shadow! It fades before His love, who gave Himself for His enemies; oven the love of Jesus.
Anon.