I
During the years that Robinson Crusoe spent upon the island, his most
distinguished visitor was a text. Three times it came knocking at the
door of his hut, and at the door of his heart. It came to him as his
_doctor_ in the day of sore sickness; it came as his _minister_ when his
soul was in darkness and distress; and it came as his _deliverer_ in the
hour of his most extreme peril.
Nine months after the shipwreck Crusoe was overtaken by a violent fever.
His situation filled him with alarm, for he had no one to advise him, no
one to help him, no one to care whether he lived or died. The prospect
of death filled him with ungovernable terror.
'Suddenly,' he says, 'it occurred to my thought that the Brazilians take
no physic but tobacco for all their distempers, and I remembered that I
had a roll of tobacco in one of the chests that I had saved from the
wreck. I went, directed by heaven no doubt; for in this chest I found a
cure both for soul and body. I opened the chest and found the tobacco
that I was looking for; and I also found a Bible which, up to this time,
I had found neither leisure nor inclination to look into. I took up the
Bible and began to read. Having opened the book casually, the first
words that occurred to me were these: "_Call upon Me in the day of
trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me._" The words
were very apt to my case. They made a great impression upon me and I
mused upon them very often. I left my lamp burning in the cave lest I
should want anything in the night, and went to bed. But before I lay
down I did what I never had done in all my life--I kneeled down and
prayed. I asked God to fulfil the promise to me that if I called upon
Him in the day of trouble He would deliver me.'
Those who have been similarly situated know what such prayers are worth.
'When the devil was sick the devil a saint would be.' Crusoe's prayer
was the child of his terror. He was prepared to snatch at anything which
might stand between him and a lonely death. When he called for
deliverance, he meant deliverance from sickness and solitude; but it was
not of _that_ deliverance that the text had come to speak. When,
therefore, the crisis had passed, the text repeated its visit. It came
to him in time of health.
'Now,' says Crusoe, 'I began to construe the words that I had
read--"_Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and
thou shalt glorify Me_"--in a different sense from what I had done
before. For then I had no notion of any deliverance but my deliverance
from the captivity I was in. But now I learned to take it in another
sense. Now I looked back upon my past life with such horror, and my sins
appeared so dreadful, that my soul sought nothing of God but deliverance
from the load of guilt that bore down all my comfort. As for my lonely
life, it was nothing. I did not so much as pray for deliverance from my
solitude; it was of no consideration in comparison with deliverance from
my sin.'
This _second_ visit of the text brought him, Crusoe tells us, a great
deal of comfort. So did the third. That _third_ memorable visit was paid
eleven years later. Everybody remembers the stirring story. 'It happened
one day, about noon,' Crusoe says. 'I was exceedingly surprised, on
going towards my boat, to see the print of a man's naked foot on the
shore. I stood like one thunderstruck, or as if I had seen a ghost. I
examined it again and again to make sure that it was not my fancy; and
then, confused with terror, I fled, like one pursued, to my
fortification, scarcely feeling the ground I trod on, looking behind me
at every two or three steps, and fancying every stump to be a man.' It
was on his arrival at his fortification that the text came to him the
third time.
'Lying in my bed,' he says, 'filled with thoughts of my danger from the
appearance of savages, my mind was greatly discomposed. Then, suddenly,
these words of Scripture came into my thoughts: "_Call upon Me in the
day of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me._"
Upon this, rising cheerfully out of my bed, I was guided and encouraged
to pray earnestly to God for deliverance. It is impossible to express
the comfort this gave me. In answer, I thankfully laid down the Book and
was no more sad.'
These, then, were the three visits that the text paid to Crusoe on his
desolate island. '_Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will
deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me._'
When the text came to him the _first_ time, he called for deliverance
from _sickness_; and was in a few days well.
When the text came to him the _second_ time, he called for deliverance
from _sin_; and was led to a crucified and exalted Saviour.
When the text came to him the _third_ time, he called for deliverance
from _savages_; and the savages, so far from hurting a hair of his head,
furnished him with his man Friday, the staunchest, truest friend he ever
had.
'_Call upon Me_,' said the text, not once, nor twice, but thrice. And,
three times over, Crusoe called, and each time was greatly and
wonderfully delivered.