IN the early summer of 1886 the ocean S.S. “Germanic,” homeward bound from New York, was passing the coast of Newfoundland in a dense fog, which had prevailed for several hours, during which time the dreary sound of the fog-whistle had continued unceasingly, and only those who have been at sea under such circumstances know how dreary it is.
The sea was calm, and everything seemed so still, for the vessel was only going a very few knots an hour. At eleven o’clock at night most of the passengers had retired to their berths to rest, if not to sleep, when suddenly out of the dense fog and darkness a cry of distress is heard by the captain on the bridge, “For God’s sake save us!”
“Who are you?” was the reply.
“Two poor castaway American fishermen; for God’s sake save us!”
“All right,” he shouted back, and instantly gave orders to stop the ship. This alarmed the passengers; everyone was up in an instant, and hurriedly the questions were asked, “What has happened?” “Are we in danger?” “Is there a collision?”
Several rushed up on deck, just in time to see the two poor half-starved men and their boat taken on board, when they were hugged for joy by the sailors, so glad were they to have been the means of rescuing them, and soon they were seated at a good hot supper.
In a few words they told their story. Three days before they had left the large fishing-smack in a small boat, when the fog came on and they lost sight of their vessel, and could not find their way back. They had come to an end of all their provisions and fresh water, and had almost given up hope of rescue, having already tried unsuccessfully to attract the attention of two large steamers, which had passed on their way without hearing their cries for help. Their condition seemed hopeless, and they had given themselves up for lost, when the sound of the fog-whistle of our vessel once more raised their hopes of being saved.
Their joy may be imagined at hearing the captain’s voice and assurance that they would be taken on board. The next day all the passengers wanted to see them, and tell them how glad they were to see them safe; and before the shores of England were reached a good subscription was taken up for them, and on the ship’s arrival in Liverpool they were handed over to the American consul, who undertook to send them safely back to their country and friends.
Does not this true story of the perishing condition of these poor fishermen, and their inability to help themselves, make us think of the far greater danger of our souls until we are saved? And yet how little, or indeed not at all, is this realized until God’s Holy Spirit opens our eyes to see our danger?
These two poor men knew they were lost, and death was really staring them in the face, hence their earnestness in crying out to be saved. And so must every sinner feel that he is lost, in order to realize his need of being saved. Would that you, poor dear reader, if not saved, could realize it now.
Further, if the captain’s heart was touched at the cry of these men in the darkness of the wide Atlantic, and answered them thus quickly, and the joy of the sailors was so great at rescuing them, how much more the heart of our God, who “is not willing that any should perish” but “would have all men to be saved,” must be ready and willing to respond to the cry of the distressed soul, “Lord, save me, or I perish?”
And “there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.” Nor is this all, for God provides a feast as well, and says, “It is meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this my son was dead and is alive again; and was lost, and is found” (Luke 15).
Dear reader, have you yet given this joy in the presence of the angels of God over your repenting? If not, will you do so now? S.