THE WIDENESS OF GOD'S MERCY.
The unfortunate but heroic death of Mr. Branford attracted wide
attention, and the Wenton Memorial Chapel was filled to overflowing on
the day of his funeral. Mr. Carleton officiated, and he dwelt only upon
the last few months of the deceased's life. He alluded to his quiet but
unassuming hope in Christ. He recalled the fact that Jesus' own words
were: "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."
Then he told, in thrilling tones, how Mr. Branford had heroically
thrust his own arm before the venomous reptile, to receive the blow
that otherwise would have fallen upon another. As he spoke of his
absolute refusal to take the intoxicating draught, and mentioned the
dying man's last words, there was scarcely a dry eye in that throng;
and there were few indeed who did not agree with Mr. Carleton's closing
declaration: "He died looking to Jesus for salvation." The lifeless
body was then laid by that of the Christian wife who had died some
years before, and of whom the dying man had spoken with almost his last
breath.
Ray remained at Wenton for a while after the funeral, but about the
first of July he went down to Long Point farm, not so much for the
wages he could earn, as for the love he still had for his old home.
He always received a welcome there that made him rejoice to go; then,
too, he had lost none of his love for the farm and the dwellers there,
for the stock, or for the bright blue sea that tossed its waves upon
the shore. There was something restful in those quiet but charming
surroundings, and Ray felt that under their influence he grew in mind
and spirit, and in his communion with God. "I don't wonder," he often
used to say, "that the Master spent so much of his time, performed some
of his grandest miracles, and uttered some of his most precious truths,
by the Sea of Galilee. His words and his deeds have a new meaning to me
as I read them by the tossing waves."
So through July and August, Ray toiled about the farm, or sat and read
on the seashore. Then September came, and he must soon get ready to
return to Easton for his last year at Clinton Academy. He decided to
spend a few days with George at Wenton, and with friends in Afton,
before his return; and so this would be his last night at the farm.
After supper, he strolled down to the shore alone, and, sitting down
upon the little wharf, he looked up toward Afton, which could be dimly
seen in the fast fading twilight.
His mind soon became busy with the reminiscences of the past few years.
How often had he gone up that bay to Afton! Just down around that
point Edward Lawton had come on the night of the storm, and he had
gone out to save him. How good God had been to Edward and himself! How
gracious God had been to his loved ones! George and the girls were all
serving Christ. The father had died trusting in the Saviour. Where were
Tom and Dick? Nothing had been heard of them since they, four years
before, had escaped from the county jail. Were they alive? Had God
reached and saved them also? How he would like to know! An overwhelming
sense of the Master's nearness and the Master's goodness came over him;
and for a while he sat there absorbed in these contemplations, and
rejoicing in his soul.
Then his mood changed. A bright gleam came into his eye, a smile played
upon his lips. Another friend had come to mind--Daisy Lawton. Daisy was
a great deal in Ray's thoughts lately--more than he himself perhaps
realized. He recalled her narrow escape at the picnic, and somehow he
felt a thrill of satisfaction deep down in his heart that it was _his_
father who had saved her, though at the expense of his own life. Had
not that act in a measure atoned for the stain that had rested upon his
father's name? Would he not dare now to speak of a matter that had long
been hid in his heart, and which he had felt he dare not make known
with that father's disgrace still resting upon him? It certainly seemed
to him that the father's heroic death altered the whole situation.
He could not help feeling it did. Anyway, by-and-by he would venture
to speak to Daisy of this matter which so intimately concerned him
at least. Nor did he think that she would be altogether indifferent
respecting it. "What a friend she has been to me all these years!" he
thought, his heart swelling with joy and gratitude. There was, as the
reader has already discovered, a deeper feeling there--a feeling of
deep, passionate love. He was slowly waking up to it; but he did not
know it was to cost him the greatest struggle of his life.
His thoughts so pre-occupied his mind he did not notice that the shades
of night had already fallen heavily around, and that a dense fog,
drenching everything it touched, was slowly rolling up the bay. Nor did
he notice that a boat, with a single oarsman therein, was pulling down
the harbor directly toward him, until he heard his name called.
Looking up almost in alarm at the suddenness of the call, he saw the
boat had stopped a rod or two away; and the occupant, whoever he was,
now called again:
"Ray, is that you?"
There was something familiar in those tones, and yet Ray could not tell
who it was. He promptly answered, however:
"Yes; but who are you?"
The boatman, instead of replying, resumed his oars and came directly
into the wharf. Jumping out of the boat, he fastened it to a ring in
the dock, and then turned and faced the lad.
"Ray, don't you know me?" he asked.
Again there was something familiar in the man's tones, but surely that
tall, robust, and well-dressed man was a stranger.
"No, sir," replied Ray, after scrutinizing him for a few minutes, "I do
not think I do, though your voice seems familiar."
"Four years such as I have seen make a vast difference in a man. No
wonder you do not know me," the gentleman remarked, somewhat sadly.
Four years! Those two words let a flood of light stream into Ray's mind.
"Tom!" exclaimed he; "can it be possible it is you?"
"Yes; it is no other," the man replied, with a pleasant laugh. "I don't
wonder you are surprised to see me."
"I certainly am," replied Ray, with heartiness, "and I'm glad you have
returned. But where is Dick?"
"He is dead," answered Tom, solemnly; "but it is a long story I have
to tell you. It can wait till you tell me of the home friends, and
where they all are. I got into New York a few days ago, and securing
a leave of absence I started for my native State. Reaching Afton this
afternoon, I went down to the Forge to find the mills in ruins, and
half the tenement houses empty. I ran in with a man who told me the
mills were burned, but he knew nothing about the Branfords who used
to live there, except that was the name of one of the men who had been
sent to prison for helping to fire the mills. I then took a boat and
came down here to see if I could learn anything of your whereabouts.
I knew it was not under the pleasantest circumstances that Dick and I
left home, but I am thankful to say that old life has been abandoned, I
trust, forever."
"You are a Christian, then, Tom?" Ray asked, eagerly.
"I am thankful I have a Saviour," he answered, reverently.
"And Dick?" asked Ray, almost in suspense.
"He died trusting in Jesus. It was his happy death that, under God,
brought me to the Master. But I'll tell you the whole story soon. Now
where are father, and George and the girls; and how about yourself?
Don't keep anything from me, however bitter it may be. I will help you
bear the burden. I'm just hungry for any news. Haven't heard a word,
you know, in four years. So drive away, Ray."
Ray rapidly related the changes those four years had brought in the
family circle, and with which the reader is already familiar. Tom, in
his turn, was delighted to learn that all were now Christians, and that
the father, sad and recent as his death was, had not died without a
hope.
"God has led us all to himself, Ray," he said, with deep emotion; "and
what a change even in our worldly surroundings it makes to be followers
of Jesus. George is superintendent of a mill; Nettie is a bookkeeper;
you are nearly through with an academic course on your way to college;
the two older girls are in Christian homes of their own, and I am first
officer of as fine a ship as sails the ocean. Who would have thought
these things possible?"
"It is all of God," replied Ray, with no less emotion. "But come, Tom,
the fog is drenching us. Let us go up to the house. You will stay with
me to-night."
Having made sure that the boat was properly secured, the two brothers
walked up to the house. Ray left Tom at the door a few moments, while
he went in to explain to Mr. Woodhull who his unexpected visitor was,
and the change that had taken place in him. Mr. Woodhull gave the
wanderer a cordial welcome, and, after a supper had been furnished him,
he said:
"Mr. Woodhull, you have given me a kindly welcome here to-night, and
it is no more than fair that you should hear my story. I left home
under circumstances that give you the right to question whether I am
now worthy of your friendship and hospitality. I have not yet related
to Ray the strange narrative of my wanderings, and how Dick and I, far
from home and among strangers, were brought to Jesus. If you and your
wife and mother care to hear the story, I will, without going too much
into detail, tell it to you, feeling sure that you will agree with
me that it is a striking illustration of how Christ can save to the
uttermost. It scarcely seems possible that I could have gone away from
here only four years ago a criminal fleeing from merited punishment,
and now return 'a sinner saved by grace.' Yet such has been the will of
God."
"We shall be glad to listen to your story," Mr. Woodhull remarked,
pleasantly; so, with a low bow of thanks, Tom began:
"On the night, four years ago, when my brother and I escaped from the
county jail, where we were awaiting our trial, we fled to the nearest
seaport, and found a brig named the Sea Witch about to sail for Brazil.
The captain was short of hands, and anxious to leave port on the flood
tide, so he was not very particular as to our history. We both were
able-bodied men, and that was the most he cared about, and after a
few questions he shipped us as green hands before the mast. Ten hours
later we were out of sight of land, beyond the reach of the pursuing
officers, and that was the most Dick and I thought of. We little knew
then that he would never return to his native land, and that four long
years would pass ere I again should see these familiar shores."
He bowed his head upon his hands for a moment, as though overcome by
some sudden recollection, and then he continued:
"We had a long and rough passage, for we met storm after storm, and
the old brig was far from being staunch and seaworthy. Added to this,
our captain proved to be a tyrant, and not only half starved us, but
manifested his cruelty on the slightest occasion. Dick and I wouldn't
have fared much worse if we had stayed at home and gone to prison. When
we reached Rio Janeiro we were glad to leave the vessel and go ashore
among entire strangers. A few days later Dick came down with the ship
fever, and before the week was out I was down with the same disease.
We had been stopping at a sailor's inn, but on our recovery from the
delirium into which we both had fallen, we found ourselves in the house
of an English missionary. He had found us just as our inhuman host
was about to turn us out of his inn to die, and having us removed to
his own residence, he tenderly cared for us. It was there the first
religious impressions were made upon us--more, however, upon Dick
than upon myself. He recovered before I did, and while waiting for my
convalescence he had several long religious talks with the missionary's
wife, and was under deep conviction when we shipped on board an English
vessel for Liverpool.
"Our captain was a friend of the missionary, and was an earnest
Christian also, and he had learned enough about us to be deeply
interested in our cases. He gave us each a Bible when we come on
board, and secured from each of us a promise to read it. Dick was more
faithful to this promise than I, and when our watch brought us forward
alone, he would talk of what he had read. One night we had a fearful
storm. The wind blew a hurricane, and I never saw such waves as were
hurled against us. At times it seemed as if they must overwhelm the
ship, she was so deeply laden and labored so heavily. Then for the
first time I saw the experiment tried of casting oil upon the troubled
waters. The captain had two kegs arranged just at the bow of the
vessel, and from each a small stream of oil was constantly pouring upon
the tossing waves. The effect was almost magical, for the huge waves
were smoothed by the spreading oil, and the ship had a comparatively
smooth sea in which to sail.
"Dick and I were sent forward to watch the kegs, and to keep them
supplied with oil. All at once Dick gave a cry of joy. 'I have it!
I have it, Tom!' he cried. 'Why have I not seen it before? This
illustrates our need of a Saviour. The billows of sin compass us about,
and are destined eventually to destroy our souls. Then God pours in his
saving grace, the billows yield before its magic power, and there comes
peace, and we push on into the haven of rest. It is Jesus through whom
that grace is obtainable. He alone is the fountain of supply. Faith is
the means by which it flows down to us. Praise the Lord, I believe, and
that grace is mine.'
"There was no mistaking even in that storm and darkness that the great
blessing of salvation had come to him. The next day he told the
captain, and then he began praying for me. We reached Liverpool after a
stormy passage. The captain had, for some reason, taken a great liking
to Dick, and now took him to his own church, and before we sailed again
Dick was baptized. Our next voyage was on the same ship, and with the
same captain. Dick wouldn't leave him, and I stayed by Dick. This time
we had taken cargo for Hong Kong, and had a long voyage before us. We
had been out but a few days when the captain gave Dick some books, and
told him if he would only study he would teach him navigation, and fit
him to take command of a ship. The lad didn't need any urging, and the
way he pored over those books set me to thinking that I might learn
navigation too. The captain consented, and, with our other duties,
we soon had enough on our hands to keep us busy most of the time. I
had long before this left off all drinking and swearing; in fact, the
captain wouldn't allow them on board the ship. I began now to read my
Bible daily, but no light or peace came.
"We had rounded the Cape, and had made a big run on toward our
destination, when a sudden squall struck us. All sail was out at the
time, and the crew was ordered aloft to take it in. One fellow named
Jones, a green hand, was at work on the mizzen-top-sail, when a strong
gust of wind struck him. He let right go of the sail, and clung to the
yards for dear life. The loosened sail was caught by the wind, and the
spar was wrenched from its place, and down it came with a great crash
to the deck. Dick and I were at the wheel, and saw it coming; but he
saw what I did not--that the captain was right under where it, with the
next roll of the ship, would strike. With a cry, he let go the wheel,
and sprang forward to save the captain. He succeeded in this, but
before he could get out of the way himself it struck him upon the back
and crushed him to the deck. We picked him up, and at the captain's
order carried him into the cabin, but it was soon apparent that he
could not live. His back was broken and he was injured internally.
Though he suffered greatly, he made no complaint, and was as happy
as could be at the thought of meeting his Saviour. About dark it was
evident that he was fast sinking.
"'Tom,' he suddenly said, though feebly, 'in my chest you will find a
little over a hundred dollars I have saved. Promise me that you will
add to it until you have enough to pay Mr. Shephard, at Afton, for what
we took from him, and that you will then go back and give it to him.
Tell him it was what I was striving to do when this blow came, and that
I died trusting in Jesus. And, Tom, try to come to the Saviour: promise
me that you will do that also.' I couldn't help crying, great strong
man as I was, but I gave him the promises he asked. A few minutes later
he suddenly raised his hands. 'I see the King in his beauty,' he
cried; 'crown him! crown him!' And then he died.
"We buried him in the sea the next morning, just as the sun rose above
the horizon, and sad and lonely I went about my work. His death made
a deep impression upon me. For days I was harassed with thoughts of
my own sinfulness. I struggled for light. I tried to pray. But the
darkness that surrounded me only seemed to grow more dense. I found
no peace. No help came. But one night as I was off watch, and lay in
my bunk, there came to me the words I had often heard Dick repeat.
So plainly did I hear them, and so like Dick's voice did the message
sound, I could have almost believed it was he speaking: 'The blood of
Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin;' and with those words
there came light. I now saw that the only way I could be saved was
by accepting that Son as my substitute. I just cried aloud for help,
'Lord, I need thee; wilt thou not save?' And with that cry peace came.
I knew I was heard. I was saved.
"But I am making a long story. The captain felt drawn to me for Dick's
act, and when we reached Hong Kong he put me in as second mate. We went
from there to Australia, and then back to England. Over three years had
now elapsed, and I had added enough to Dick's money to pay Mr. Shephard
in full for his loss. I felt, too, I must come and acknowledge my sin,
and, if Mr. Shephard so desired, to meet its penalty. I therefore
resolved to come home at once. The captain easily got a place for me
as first mate on a ship sailing for New York, and there I landed a
few days ago. To-morrow I shall call upon Mr. Shephard and pay him
principal and interest for the injury he received from us. If he then
desires to continue the case against me, I will suffer the penalty
for my crime. I feel it is the only right thing to do--to go back to
the hour of my sin and make all possible reparation, whatever the
consequences to myself."
"I hardly think he will push the case," said Mr. Woodhull. "He must be
convinced of your change of heart by your very desire to settle with
him."
"I have letters from the English captain and from the captain of my
present ship testifying to my good character, and I trust Mr. Shephard
may be willing to give me a trial before he prosecutes the case. I am
willing he should hold it over me, and call it up whenever he has any
reason to suspect I am playing the hypocrite," said Tom.
The next morning, Mr. Woodhull and Ray accompanied him to Mr.
Shephard's store. That gentleman listened in silence to the wanderer's
story, until he concluded by counting down six hundred dollars on to
the office table, saying, "That belongs to you, sir."
Then Mr. Shephard said: "No, it doesn't. I got most of the goods back,
and two hundred dollars will pay me for all my trouble and all costs."
And he pushed four hundred dollars back toward Tom.
"I much prefer for you to take it all," Tom said.
"Not a cent more," replied Mr. Shephard, decisively.
"What will you do about my prosecution, sir?" asked Tom, with some
trace of anxiety. "I am willing to answer for my crime if it seems best
to you."
"Do you really mean that?" asked Mr. Shephard.
"Yes, sir," replied Tom, stoutly. "I measured the cost when I came
here. I might have sent you the money without coming in person. But
I felt the only right thing to do was to come directly to you, and
take the full consequences of my act. I have letters here from the two
captains I have sailed with since I became a Christian, and I wish you
might feel confidence enough in me to give me a fair trial. But I shall
abide by your decision, only I would like to know the worst."
"Well," said Mr. Shephard, after reading the letters, "this is what I
shall do. I shall immediately take steps to have your case rendered
_nolle prosequi_. And now"--with a merry twinkle in his eye--"I want
you all to go home with me to dinner."
As he shook hands heartily with Tom, he added: "I only hope the Lord
has forgiven my sins as fully as I have forgiven you. I once caused
Ray's arrest when he was innocent; I'll now settle the score with him
by letting you who were guilty go free." And he marched them all off
to dinner.
Tom and Ray took an afternoon train for Wenton. George and the sisters
welcomed the long-absent brother with joy and thankfulness when they
learned that he too was a follower of Jesus. For the third time the
wanderer told his story, and this time he disclosed an additional fact.
"I have never united with Christ's Church," he said, "because I felt I
could not properly do so until I had atoned as far as possible for my
crime. But when I saw your chapel here, I thought with exultation, 'Now
I can do so.' When, George, do you have your next preparatory meeting?"
"In two weeks," answered George. "Mr. Carleton, of Afton, will come
down at that time and remain over Sunday with us. We shall be glad to
have you go forward with us then."
"That will do, nicely," responded Tom. "I must go back to New York
to-morrow, as I have but four days absence. The captain has not yet
been to see his family, and wants me to take charge of the ship while
he is absent; but I will run up in two weeks, and spend that Sunday
with you."
The next evening George, Betsy, and Ray sat in the parlor of the little
cottage, talking over Tom's return home, and the evidence he gave of a
change of life.
"Every one of us has been led to Jesus," remarked George. "Father,
Dick, and all the living. We began with you, Ray; and who would have
thought then that the result would now be what it is? What is the
lesson we are to learn from it?"
"That God will surely answer the prayer of faith," said Betsy.
"Yes," assented George, "and I think we are also taught that nothing is
impossible unto God. What do you think, Ray?"
"That we as a family illustrate the unlimited mercy of God," he
reverently answered.