A SAILING vessel, returning from the West Indies, was approaching the end of her long voyage, when the weather became squally, and they occasionally shipped a good deal of water, which made things very uncomfortable on board, especially as several of the passengers were ill.
A sailor, who had behaved very badly at the commencement of the voyage, and with whom the men had declined keeping company, was also prostrated by fever. He had been a very wicked man, and now that he was apparently drawing near to death, it was very desirable that some regard should be shown for his soul by those around him. The captain and crew were quite indifferent on this subject; but there was on board the ship a dear little Christian cabin-boy, who went by the name of “Pious Jack” among the sailors, because of his unmistakable godliness. This boy, whose real name was John Pelham, bore the scoffs and sneers of the ungodly around him with a meekness and patience which gave glory to the grace that had made him to differ from them; and during all the time that the dying sailor had been ill, little Jack had been unremitting in his attentions to him. Among the passengers also was a negro woman, who had charge of a little girl, which she was bringing from the West Indies to its relations in England. This kind-hearted negress, who was called Cloe, her real name being Cleopatra, ministered unceasingly to the temporal wants of the sick man, Williams, nursing him with great tenderness, and preparing with her own hands whatever she thought likely to tempt his failing appetite. She also showed much concern for his soul, being herself anxious about her own. She could not read, but she knew that the Bible was the word of God, and was wont to sit, with devout attention, listening to every word which the dear boy Jack read, not only from day to day, but whenever he could persuade Williams to hearken to it. For some time it would seem that little Jack’s labors, though blessed to poor Cloe, were vain so far as the sailor was concerned. Williams’ hard heart was untouched by all the attention bestowed upon him. But at last the word was effectual, conscience was touched; he became convicted of sin, and then the scene of his dying bed was terrible. Tossing in anguish upon his pillow, emaciated, dying, horrorstricken, he declared there was no forgiveness for him; that hell was his doom; that he had resisted too long; that there was no hope for such a wretch as he. In vain poor Jack, with the tears streaming down his face, implored him to listen to the gracious words of the Saviour of sinners, “Him that cometh unto me, I will in NO WISE cast out;” in vain the little servant of Christ read to him the history of the thief on the cross, the parables setting forth God’s love for sinners, or told him how Christ Jesus came into the world on purpose to save sinners, even the chief. All for a time was useless; he declared he could not believe, and he flatly refused to pray. His case seemed hopeless: poor Jack was at his wit’s end; he had exhausted every argument; entreaty had been tried to no purpose; what more could be done? Poor Cloe, too, who, in all simplicity, had at once received the truth, sat by in tears, and vainly implored the dying man to pray. No, he would not; prayer was not for such as he; he longed indeed to be forgiven, but he dared not ask for it! At last little Jack, having used every persuasion he could think of in vain, fell upon his knees, his face bathed in tears, and, with the weeping Cloe by his side, cried out, “Open thine eyes of mercy, O most gracious God! open thine eyes of mercy on this dying man, who most earnestly desireth pardon and forgiveness, but will not pray for it!”
“Oh, most earnestly,” exclaimed the wretched man, in a voice so full of bitterness and anguish, that its very tones expressed despair. The dear boy paused, and looked at Williams with an eye of unutterable supplication, beseeching him, with his whole soul, to repeat the simple petition. But the wretched man’s only response was a look of inexpressible horror! Again the little suppliant began to pray, “For the sake of Christ, who bore our sins in His own body on the tree, O God, show pity on poor Harry Williams!” Then, taking the hand of the dying man, he attempted by gentle compulsion to raise it into an attitude of supplication. “He has no hope, O Lord, but in Thy sweet mercy. Oh! visit him with Thy salvation!” “I have no hope,” cried the dying man, wringing his uplifted hands in despair. “I have no hope!”
“Oh, look down, and hear the groaning of this poor prisoner,” prayed the boy “and loose him who seemeth now to be appointed unto death!”
“Oh, I am appointed unto death!” groaned the sailor.
“O Lord, wilt thou not regard the prayer of the destitute? Behold, he is destitute, we can do nothing to help him — help thou him, Lord God!”
“Help me, O my God!” at last exclaimed the sinner, praying unconsciously.
“O Lord, save, save this poor dying man! Oh, save Harry Williams!”
“Lord, save Harry Williams!” was the instant response of the dying sinner and all present, even of the little child who had crept to the side of Cloe and knelt beside her, peeping, with tearful eyes, through her tiny fingers, in sympathy with her weeping nurse.
Overcome by the compassion of all around him, and touched to the heart by grace, Williams sank back on his pillow in a torrent of tears, the first he had yet shed. For a long time his emotion, like a torrent that has burst all bounds, was uncontrollable, and only ceased at last from sheer exhaustion. A few days passed away in much conflict, during which every moment that “Pious Jack” could spare from his duty as cabin-boy, was devoted to reading and expounding the word to the fast sinking man. Williams now often prayed, and soon began to speak less of the justice, and more of the love of God. He once said to Jack “that it was a thing he could not understand.” “Nor any man,” replied his little teacher, “for it passeth knowledge.” Tremblingly at first, but soon more firmly, he began to hope, and then to believe in that love; and soon his faith grew stronger and stronger, while his poor perishing body waxed more and more feeble. The ministrations of the little servant of Christ were owned of his gracious Master, and the despairing sinner at last became a rejoicing saint It was indeed a passing from death unto life. His very countenance expressed the change, and as the light of a lantern hanging from a beam over his hammock fell upon his features, there might be seen in them an expression so placid, so peaceful, so truly happy, that not a word was needed to tell how truly precious he had found that blood which was shed to put away his sins, and in the faith of which he could now welcome that hourly approaching death, once so inexpressibly terrible to his despairing soul! Yes, he had found Christ, or rather had been found of him. The word of God, set before him so persistently by dear little Jack, had led him to the Saviour’s feet, and now, in joy unspeakable, and full of glory, he awaited the happy moment when he should “depart, and be with Christ.”
“I am conqueror,” he exclaimed to one who visited him at this time, “I am conqueror through him that loved me, and gave himself for me. Oh, that wonderful love!”
Every word that his little instructor uttered was now as much a source of joy to him as it had once been of dislike. He seemed to take pleasure in drawing him into conversation. “It is calm now, Jack — all calm — is this peace?” “Yes,” said the boy, “I trust it is peace — the peace of God, which the Bible says, passeth understanding.’”
“Who has given me this peace?” asked Williams, as if delighting to hear the ascription of praise to his Redeemer. “Who has given me this peace?”
“Christ,” said the boy, in a voice so solemn and so soft, that it seemed rather the breathing of an angel than the utterance, though whispered, of a human voice. “Christ is our peace; he hath made peace for us.”
“Yes,” answered the dying man, “BY THE BLOOD OF HIS CROSS”
And now the hour of his departure had come. Spared till grace had accomplished its blessed work, he was now to be taken home to rest forever. No sound disturbed the deep repose of all on board, save the ripple of the waves against the ship’s side, and the man at the helm as he pattered on the deck, steering the vessel through the mighty waters, and chanting from time to time some seaman’s doleful song. In the midst of this quietude the happy spirit of Harry Williams left the body, and entered the presence of him who had redeemed him.
Two days afterward his body was committed to the deep. The poor boy seemed on this occasion to feel as if, for the first time, that his friend and pupil was indeed no more. But when he heard the heavy plunge of the corpse in the water — when he heard the waves with a gurgling sound close over, and shut up from his sight, all that remained of his dear friend, the boy, unable any longer to control the violence of his feelings, uttered a piercing cry; and, so infectious is unfeigned sorrow, his grief seemed to find its way to the hearts of most of those present, and many a hardened tar, whose iron countenance gave no indications of a heart within, felt that day his cheek bedewed with tears.
Poor boy! he was not long separated from his dear Harry Williams. When nearly in port, a storm arose, so violent that the ship was driven before it for many miles, and at last struck upon a rock. When morning dawned, being within sight of land, and expecting that the ship would go to pieces, a boat was lowered and manned, the passengers and the little preacher, with Cloe and her little charge, were put into it, and, amid the howling of the storm and the rage of waters, an attempt was made to reach the shore. Hundreds of spectators, collected along the coast, anxiously watched the advance of the frail boat. But presently a tremendous squall involved everything in total darkness, and torrents of rain shut out the boat from view. Then the sky cleared almost as suddenly as it had been overcast, the squall subsided, the sun shone out. In ship and on shore all strained their eyes to look for the boat, while the cry from every side arose, “Where’s the boat? where’s the boat?” The sea indeed answered the question, and gave up the boat, but not the dead Keel uppermost, the little vessel was driven before the storm, but those who had but a moment before freighted her were all gone beneath the waves! Washed ashore afterward, one by one, their bodies were borne to the neighboring cottages. There on a bed lay poor Cloe, and her little nursling, locked in an inseparable embrace, the child’s head nestling in the bosom of her faithful nurse, and the swarthy arms of Cloe round her little darling. And there, on a sheet upon the floor, lay dear “Pious Jack,” a blue chequered shirt his only shroud, and by his side the Bible that he loved so well. Happy little servant of the Lord! his work was done, and he was taken home. Not many hours had elapsed since Harry Williams had preceded him, and now, with Cloe and her tiny charge, he enters his dear Master’s presence there with them to wait the “little while,” and then, raised in glory, to unite forever with them, and the redeemed from sea and shore in every clime, in praising eternally the grace that saved them BY THE BLOOD OF HIS CROSS.
Does the believing reader admire “Pious Jack”? Let him note three things concerning him. He loved the Lord, he loved His word, he walked consistently. Love filled his heart, “the sincere milk of the word” nourished his soul — the result was fruitfulness, open and manifest to all around him. The Lord could therefore make use of him. “Them that honor me I will honor.” “Go thou, and do likewise.”