THE closing days of January, 1848 found H.M.S. “H―s” leaving Amherst, in the Bay of Bengal, with a cargo of teak for Her Majesty’s Dockyard at Chatham. The only occurrence worthy of note during the run to Trincomalee, where we had to call, was the death and funeral of our captain’s youngest daughter. The mind of the writer, who was then just entering his seventeenth year, was much impressed, when the solemn service was read, and the body committed to the deep, until that day when the sea shall be commanded to give up its dead. Not long before the same service had been read over the body of a messmate, who, though much respected and esteemed by both officers and crew, had lived a godless and Christless life, and had apparently thus died.
But to go on with my yarn. All went on well with our ship, after leaving Trincomalee, till nearing the Isle of France, when, a gale having sprung up, our captain (an old and experienced Indian navigator) began to prepare for a storm. On the third day the gale had increased, and it was blowing a hurricane. It is unnecessary here to attempt to describe its power and the havoc it made, but I remember it being described Afterward as the heaviest ever known.
About noon (March 10th, 1849) the ship was struck by a heavy sea, which threw her almost on her beam ends, causing her to fill rapidly with water. Our old and skillful captain had given her up, and all were awaiting a watery grave. Not a word could be heard, if, indeed, a word were spoken. All was silence, save the fearful howl of the hurricane and the occasional shrieks and cries of those invalids who were battened down below, for we expected the next sea would hurl us into eternity.
I looked round at those near me, as we clustered together, hanging on by the ropes under the netting on the quarter-deck, and saw despair on the weather-beaten countenances of the seamen. Then the captain gave his last message (as we supposed), and I began to think of home, and the loved ones I should see no more. But only for a moment or two was my mind thus occupied, for the ship appeared to be settling down, and I then thought, “Eternity will begin, and where, oh, where shall I spend it?” It was as if a voice spoke louder than the hurricane, asking me, “Where are you going?” No ray of hope came to my relief then; no word of comfort from false props. But in a moment the answer was given by my soul with terrible distinctness― “I am going to hell!”
Dear reader, why should my soul have made that answer? Was it only a freak of the devil to terrify me, by putting dark thoughts into my mind? I had never done anyone any harm; I was religiously inclined; I never drank, nor blasphemed. Indeed, I was respected by my shipmates. Why, then, should I suppose that hell was before me?
As for false hopes and props, it is written, “The bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it: and the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it” (Isa. 28:2020For the bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it: and the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it. (Isaiah 28:20)); and this verse may well supply the answer, for in the hour and article of death there are no screens to be found; the veil is lifted, and we are brought face to face with reality. Neither shams nor shadows will avail us then. I had not been born again. I was not sheltered under the blood of Christ. My sins were still upon me. I knew not Jesus as my personal Saviour; hence had the ship gone down, the answer would, indeed, have been sadly true; my soul would have been lost for all eternity.
The ship righted herself. We were saved as if by a miracle. Indeed it was nothing less than the intervention of a merciful God that spared, us from a watery grave. The next day found us a complete wreck-sails lost, bulwarks and boats swept clean away; thus we arrived in Simon’s Bay, Cape of Good Hope, but without the loss of any human life. Our arrival was a surprise to those who knew we were at sea, for it was not expected that we could have outlived the hurricane.
When we landed in England, and I met with, those whom I had not expected to see again, I told them with youthful glee of that terrific storm. I showed them some of the storm-knots ― shreds of the sails that had been blown into mysterious knots―indicating the marvelous power of the gale; I told them of the agony of those between decks; of the despair written on the faces of officers and men around me; but not one word did I say of the anguish of my soul at the dark prospect that was then before me. No; I kept that to myself, and never spoke of it until long Afterward, when the Lord had saved my soul.
Years passed away, and the writer was serving in a small vessel on the West Indian station, and again was homeward bound, after an absence of some four years from England and of hard service under a tropical sun, which had told heavily on ship and crew. A heavy gale sprang up, which increased in violence, so that the ship had to be battened down and, though she was a splendid sea boat, fears were entertained for her hull and rigging. About midnight, during the second night, it was thought by some of the older seamen that we should not see daylight again. Then once more God spoke to me. I was still unsaved. I dreaded to meet death, because I dreaded to meet a holy God. (Heb. 10:2727But a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversaries. (Hebrews 10:27).) Anguish of soul and regrets for the past possessed me. God was again merciful to us, our vessel was spared; we safely arrived at Spithead, and soon after were paid off. How many out of that small ship’s company, have now passed into eternity!
Ah! the charms of home after an absence of nearly five years! My impressions were soon forgotten, and my convictions were stifled, and no gratitude was shown to Him who had so often spared my life.
Years rolled on, I being, by God’s mercy, permitted to see them. I settled down in life, as they say, and had a comfortable home, being still in Her Majesty’s navy. I became very religious, and strictly attended a place of worship, as the opportunity offered. Now came a device of Satan. I thought, as do many, that for an outwardly good religious life God would surely give me some reward. Why should He not, if I did my best? Vain thought and vain hope! I did not know then there was such a verse in the Bible as this “Strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world.” (Eph. 2:1212That at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world: (Ephesians 2:12).)
Some few years later I was in a large town in the south of England, where gospel meetings were being held, and I went to them. The speaker was a fearless man, faithful to his Master, and to his hearers. I thought he was just suited for his audience, and was enjoying his plain words when one evening he made use of what I regarded as a strange and unwarrantable expression. I remember the words well, even to this day―now over twenty years gone by―though no doubt the servant of God who uttered them has long since lost their remembrance, if indeed he has long gone home. The words are these: “The most amiable lady in this town out of Christ is as near hell as the greatest drunkard in it.”
What dreadful words to use, I thought; how dare he say such a thing as this! I went home highly indignant with the preacher, and, of course, gave him the cold shoulder, and prated to my wife about such manner of preaching as his; but at the sametime I was restless. Can it be true, thought I, that a religious man as I am—one who has never drunk a glass of intoxicating drink in his life, and who has lived most morally—can such an one be as near hell as a poor drunkard? No, no, the idea is too shocking!
But what does God say? “All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” (Rom. 3:2323For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; (Romans 3:23).) I read these words, among many others, and was led to bow to the word of God. I discovered I was all wrong, and became anxious to be made all right.
Bless God, He soon revealed His Son to me as my only Saviour. I believed Him, and then could sing in truth—
“Happy day, happy day,
When Jesus washed my sins away.”
Some while after my conversion, I left Her Majesty’s service, and was, at the time about to be spoken of, in charge of a mission yacht, on her way to the Shetland Islands, to carry the good news of salvation to the hardy islanders. A steady breeze blew when the yacht was off the Yorkshire coast, which freshened to a gale, and soon after, unable to keep her course―the gale increasing―she was compelled to scud before it under bare poles. The heavy seas rolled up like huge monsters under her stern, roaring and threatening to engulph vessel and crew; and, when midnight came in all its fearful blackness of darkness, the little vessel was fast making water, and all hope of saving her was gone. Then the writer committed the small crew—not one of whom was converted! ―to God, and remembered the loved ones at home. And then he stood steering the little craft throughout that long night, expecting every minute the next sea would sweep all into eternity. In that soul-searching hour he was by grace enabled humbly, yet calmly, to sing―
“Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.”
And how dear these lines have been to him ever since! Oh, what a contrast it was that night, when looking into the face of a watery grave, and standing on the verge of eternity, between the storm without and the calm within! What a contrast with his feelings on the first storm which he has narrated!
As one who has faced death, both as an unsaved sinner and as a saved man, both in view of hell and of heaven, reader, I appeal to you. Are you at peace with God? Are you reconciled to Him, and are you one with His Christ? Would death be to you a leap in the dark―going, going, where? ―to spend an eternity in hell? or would it be a blessed entrance into Paradise? Why will ye be lost? For rejecting Christ, the only Saviour! Your sins may all be forgiven you, but the rejection of Christ will never be forgiven. Pardon and peace are now offered to you through the atoning blood of God’s own dear Son. Come then, now, repent of your sins, believe on Christ, and be saved. R. C.