At the town of Penzance, on the coast of Cornwall, there is a very beautiful specimen of the patent self-adjusting life-boat—that marvelous provision made by the genius and benevolence of modern times, for the poor shipwrecked mariner. It is not now our purpose to enter upon a description of this magnificent structure. The reader can easily lay his hand upon some volume which will give him far more accurate and scientific information about it and other life-boats than we could attempt to offer. It is to a very melancholy incident in the history of the Penzance boat that we here desire to call the reader’s attention.
Some time since, in one of those tremendous gales which occasionally visit our coast, a shipwreck occurred in the middle of the night. The signals of distress were heard, and speedily answered by the gallant crew of the Penzance life-boat. On reaching the wreck, a few miles from the town, they were called to witness a spectacle of unusual sadness. The captain of the dl-fated vessel, under the influence, no doubt, of ardent spirits, was standing amid the appalling scene, and, with oaths and imprecations refused to enter the life-boat—madly refused to avail himself of the messenger of mercy—of the kindly succor brought nigh to him, in the moment of imminent danger. And not only did he refuse to enter the life-boat himself; but, drawing out a revolver from his pocket, he threatened to shoot the first man who should dare to step from the sinking wreck on to the life-boat. Vain were the entreaties, the arguments, and the appeals of the coastguard men. The frantic captain, bent on his own and Ids fellows’ destruction, obstinately refused to leave the wreck. Six of the ship’s crew, either influenced by the captain’s arguments, or terrified; by his revolver, and perhaps themselves under the influence of drink, joined with him in his mad purpose not to enter the boat.
At length, the commander of the life-boat, sadly and reluctantly, issued the order to his men to row to shore with such of the ship’s crew as had wisely consented to accompany him.
And now comes the heart-rending part of this sad tale. Far on in the night, that dark and stormy night, there was a momentary lull of the storm; the crew of the life-boat were still lingering on the shore, unwilling and unable to retire to rest amid such a scene of terror and danger, when lo! they heard the death-wail wafted across the surging waters, “Life-boat! Life-boat! Life-boat!”
Once more those gallant fellows pushed off and made for the wreck. But alas! it was “too late.” The wretched captain and his six men had sunk beneath the boiling surf. They had, under the influence of a mad fatuity, refused the succor and safety which had been so generously brought to them and so earnestly pressed upon them; and when it was too late, they had vainly called for the rejected life-boat. They went down, and in a few hours their bodies were washed upon that very shore which they might have trodden in health and safety but for their own blindness and folly.
Reader, we need scarcely ask thee the question, “Of what does this sad tale remind thee?” It is too plain—too pointed—too telling to render any such question needful. Art thou unconverted, unsaved? Then remember thou art in thy sins, in thy guilt, and m imminent danger of the lake of fire. We do not want to write harsh things, or to indulge in vehement denunciation of wrath, judgment, and hell-fire. But we do want thee just to reflect for a few moments upon the affecting incident above recorded. Was not that captain—were not his men most culpable in refusing the life-boat? Dost thou not think that the agonizing cry of “Life-boat! Life-boat! Life-boat!” issued from hearts filled with bitter self-reproachings because of their stupid folly in having rejected the proffered aid?
No doubt it did. But oh! dear fellow sinner, remember that thou, too, art in a wreck, and in danger of sinking beneath the eternal surges of the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone. And further remember that infinite love has brought near to you not merely a patent self-adjusting life-boat, but a divine and all-sufficient Savior. God has given His Son from His bosom, He has bruised Him on the cursed tree for thy salvation. And now He beseeches you to come to Him—to step from the sinking wreck into the perfect life-boat in which you can never perish. Oh! do not refuse! do not hesitate! come now! come just as you are! Do not let any intoxicated captain, do not let your own heart persuade you to cling to the wreck. Listen to the voice of God—the voice of Jesus—the voice of the eternal Spirit, inviting, yea beseeching, you to come at once, and find safety and peace, salvation and refuge, in that blessed One who hung on the cross, was buried in the tomb, and is now on the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, exalted there as a Prince and a Savior, to give repentance and remission of sins to all who will only put then trust in Him.
Dear friend, be persuaded now, lest when it is too late thy death-wail may be heard issuing from the dark waters of death, calling out, “Life-boat! Life-boat! Life-boat!” What would those poor sailors have given for another opportunity of stepping into the life-boat? When, at length, they really awoke to a sense of their true position, and found the ship going down, with what transports of delight would they have hailed the vessel of mercy! But, oh! those awful words, “Too late! too late! too late!”
May God of His infinite mercy lead thee, beloved reader, this moment, to flee to Jesus, to turn thy back now, upon hell, and thy face to heaven. May He bless to thy precious soul tins touching incident of the Penzance Life-boat!