A MARVEL.
Weeks flew by while the Molly was cruising about, waiting and watching
for the expected East Indiaman. The privateer, meanwhile, was not losing
time. Several small merchant vessels came in her way, and submitted
without a blow to the argument of her compelling pair of guns. These
vessels were either stripped of their cargo and then burnt, or else sent
with a few sailors as their prize crew to some American port. The
capture of the British merchant ships kept the Molly supplied with the
necessaries for her continued cruise, and served besides to calm the
impatience of the men, who were beginning to complain of their captain's
pertinacious clinging to the hope of taking the East Indiaman, which
might already be safely harbored in English waters. There had been dark
nights and foggy days in which she might well have passed them, so they
reasoned. But Derry Duck said there was no moving the captain, and
grumblers would do best to "keep their tongues between their teeth." The
mail-bag of the Molly had gone home on board one of the captured
vessels, and it was a pleasant thought to Blair that his dear mother
would soon feel almost as if she heard the voice of her son at her side.
Derry's little daughter too would receive her letter, and Blair tried to
picture her joy as she held this treasure in her hands.
Derry moved about in his usual way, but was inclined to avoid Blair
since the night when he had given the boy his confidence. Blair often
found it hard to believe that those gentle, tender tones had come from
Derry's great closely shut mouth, and that those snapping eyes had
softened almost to tears as he spoke of his darling child.
Sunday on board the Molly was precisely like other days, as far as the
movements and occupations of the men were concerned. To Blair there was
ever a more solemn stillness over the sea, and a more imposing grandeur
in the wide canopy of the overhanging sky. One great temple it seemed to
him, the sunlit waves its shining floor, the firmament its arching roof,
and the unseen angels the countless worshippers, singing, "Praise and
glory and honor be unto the name of God most high." In this adoring song
Blair heartily joined, and he longed and prayed for the time to come
when on every white-winged ship there should be gathered the servants of
the Lord of sabaoth, rejoicing to call upon his holy name and give him
glory for all his wondrous works.
Absorbed in such thoughts as these, Blair was leaning over the side of
the ship one Sunday morning. Suddenly a strong voice close at his side
spoke with deep earnestness the words, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and
all that is within me, bless his holy name."
Blair turned in astonishment, and saw Derry Duck close at his side.
Tears were coursing down those rough cheeks, and the almost blinded eyes
were lifted reverently upward, and silently spoke the same language as
the song of praise.
Blair's heart bounded. He could not be deceived. One of God's great
miracles of grace had been wrought. The devil had been cast out, and the
ransomed was giving God the glory. It must be so.
Blair seized the hand of his companion, and looking into his face, said
quickly, "Oh, Derry, are you really in earnest?"
"Bless the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth
all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy
life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender
mercies,'" continued Derry with deep feeling. "He found me dead in
trespasses and sins; he has given me new life in Christ Jesus. Praise
and honor unto his holy name."
Tears rushed to the eyes of Blair Robertson. A fervent "Thank God!" was
all he could utter. Blair's whole being did indeed "magnify the Lord" at
this wonderful evidence of his power. Curses had been changed to
praises. The blaspheming lips had been touched by the Saviour's hand,
and taught the language of the children of God. His young servant could
not but "stand in awe," and own the might and the wonderful mercy of
the King of kings.
Derry was the first to break the solemn silence. "Those words never left
me: 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though
they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,'" he said. "They stuck
to me, and rang in my ears and searched every nook and cranny of my
wicked heart. Often I had longed to be a Christian man for the little
dear's sake, if not for my own; but I said to myself, 'No, Derry Duck,
you are all pitch, you can't be made white;' and Satan helped me to hold
on to that way of thinking. Your scripture gave the lie again and again
to that. It seemed to say to me, _You_ choose blackness and damnation,
when God asks you to wash and be clean. What I've suffered these weeks,
no soul out of perdition can tell. The devil clung to me. He would not
let me go. He claimed me for his own. He told over to me my dark, hidden
sins, and taunted me that I had gone too far to go back now. He hissed
in my ear that no power could cleanse and save such as me. Then came up
the words, 'With God all things are possible,' 'Though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be white as snow.' 'Christ Jesus came into the world
to save _sinners_.' And he has saved _me_. I am _His_. He has given me a
mouth to praise him. O Blair, think of his wonderful mercy, to take poor
wicked Derry Duck into the kingdom of heaven."
The boy's heart throbbed and swelled with joy and praise. What was the
changing of water to wine, or the calming of the stormy sea, compared to
this marvellous miracle wrought in a living human soul? "He to whom much
is forgiven, loveth much," said our blessed Saviour; and in Derry this
truth was abundantly verified. The Christ whose blood could wash such as
he, was a Lord for whom he was willing to suffer even unto death. The
mercy that could stoop to ransom such a transgressor, claimed an
affection before which poor Derry's deep love for his earthly darling
paled, as the things of time fade into insignificance before the things
of eternity.
Blair had longed to see his rude shipmates forsaking their sins; he had
prayed and wrestled in prayer for them. Yet now, when he saw the work
begun before his eyes, he felt the faithlessness of those very prayers,
and knew that they could have won no fulfilment, but for the merits of
the great Intercessor in whose name they had ever been offered.
"Why should it be thought a thing incredible to you that God should
raise the dead?" This question of the apostle comes with power to the
Christians of our own day. Do you really believe it _possible_ for God
to raise to newness of life the dead in trespasses and sins? There is no
soul so hardened that it cannot be melted to penitence by the touch of
the mighty Spirit of God. Let this thought make us fervent, importunate,
instant in prayer for the souls that are at death's door and hasting to
destruction.
Can any thing but the power of God make the moral man, once proud of his
own uprightness, humble as the little child, leaning only on the cross
of Christ for salvation? He who works this wonder can do yet more. What
are the sins and self-will of the human heart, in comparison with the
might of the majesty of Jehovah? He who laid the strong foundations of
the earth, and led forth the marshalled millions of the stars in their
wonderful order, can mould and fashion the soul of man at his will. Let
us not stand doubting, timid, and faint-hearted, discouraged by the foul
sins which blot and efface in man the fair image of his Maker. Let us
rather "come boldly to the throne of grace," and plead through the great
Intercessor for every wanderer from the right path, and specially and
perseveringly for those dear ones of our own households, who, like the
prodigal, have left the Father's house, to be in misery and want in
sin's far foreign land.