“He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind ... their soul is melted
because of trouble.”
That night the storm raged with terrible fury, and many were the
anxious hearts in the valley, many the eyes that saw no sleep, but
watched and prayed till morning light, “for those in peril on the sea.”
Daisy and her little companion lay awake all night listening to the
waves lashing up against the shore, and to the hurricane which swept
round the farmhouse. At times it seemed to them as if the house itself
swayed to and fro, and they clung tremblingly to one another; but the
old dwelling was built high up on the rock, and was protected by the
hill behind, and when the light of day broke over it, it stood secure.
Farmer Morris was up before dawn, and calling his men together,
assembled them for prayer in the old kitchen; and then telling them
to lose no time in following him to the shore, he made his way down
to the bay as speedily as possible. A sad sight greeted him there, a
fine ship lying on her beam-ends, about a hundred yards from the shore,
utterly dismasted, and going to pieces as fast as possible. Some groups
of fishermen were busily engaged in trying to rescue portions of the
cargo, which were being continually washed up on the shore; while
others with their wives were intent on ministering to the half-drowned
crew, all of whom by aid of the lifeboat had been rescued from a watery
grave.
Mrs. Morris was not long in following her husband to the shore. She
was well known in the fishermen’s huts, and was at all times a welcome
visitor, for all knew that in trouble or trial of whatever kind, they
had only to turn to the old farm under the shadow of the hill, and
be sure of ready help and sympathy. As she stepped out of one of the
cottages, a poor woman, the wife of one of the fishermen, came out of
another close by, and said:
[Illustration]
“Maybe you’ll be so good as to step into our house next, mistress.
There’s a poor man, one of the crew that was saved last night, but I
doubt he’s bound for a better shore; he was longer coming to than any
of the others, and it seems, from what some of them say, he’s been ill
a long time.”
Mrs. Morris went with her at once into the cottage, and on opening the
door of the inner room stepped softly to the poor man’s bedside, and
sat down by him. He was asleep; but one glance at his thin face and
emaciated hands told only too plainly that the woman’s words were true,
and that he was, as she expressed it, soon bound for a better shore.
After some time he awoke; and on seeing Mrs. Morris, he asked her if
she would be so good as to read to him, pointing to a little well-worn
Bible which lay on his pillow. Mrs. Morris turned to the thirty-second
Psalm; and when she had finished reading it, and had spoken to him of
Jesus as the sure refuge and only hiding-place for poor sinners, he
looked up at her earnestly, and said:
“Blessed be God, I have found that refuge, through His grace and
goodness, for never did any poor sinner have greater need of such a
refuge and such a hiding-place.”
He spoke with difficulty, and the effort to say this seemed almost too
much for him, for he sank back exhausted. Mrs. Morris did not press him
to talk any more; but with a few soothing words, and an earnest prayer
that Jesus would light for him the dark valley, the shadows of which
were now gathering around him, she took leave of the poor man, desiring
the woman in whose cottage he was to see that he wanted for nothing,
and promising to return later in the day.
The other sufferers occupied much of her time and care; and it was
not until late in the afternoon that she was able to see the poor
dying sailor again. She found on reaching the cottage that he had
rallied a little since the morning, and was able to talk with much
less difficulty. As she sat down by him he looked up with an earnest
expression, and said, “I want you to tell me once again the glad news
that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. I have heard it
again and again, but I am never tired of hearing the same sweet sound.
“The voice that first told me of my need of a Saviour, that first bid
me look to Jesus, is silent now. It was a young cabin-boy on board the
ship I first sailed in from England. We had a rough voyage, and out in
the Atlantic met with such a storm as made my coward heart quail. I
remembered how, in days gone by, as a little child my mother had taught
me of God, and told me I need not fear in the dark because He would be
near and take care of me; but now this thought did not quiet my heart.
I felt that God was near, and that it was His voice speaking in the
storm; but I could not look up to Him as a friend, and the thought of
His being near only made me tremble with fear. I had lived so long in
sin and without God in the world, that surely He would not listen to
me now, or take care of me in the storm. All my past life seemed in a
moment to stand out before me, and the thought of what a dark picture
it was filled me well-nigh with despair. As I heard the wind and the
waves roaring, and looked out into the thick darkness, I felt there
was not a glimmer of hope for me. Just then this young cabin-boy, who
had often spoken to me of the Saviour, but whom I and another man on
board had never lost an opportunity of jeering at, came past me. He
had been with a message from the captain to the mate; and as he passed
me in the dark, I thought I caught sound of the words, ‘I will fear no
evil, for Thou art with me.’ At any other time I should probably have
laughed at him; but I was in no mood for jesting now; and something
forced me to call out, as he went by, ‘Aren’t you afeared, Charlie?’
for I was trembling myself from head to foot. The boy stopped and said,
‘No, master, I’m not afeared. When the storm in the heart’s once been
stilled, the outside storms can’t alarm one; if one’s heart is only in
the harbour, there’s no room for fear.
Amid the howling wintry sea
We are in port if we have Thee.’
“Ah, mistress, I would have given the world at that moment to have felt
as that young lad did; though many a time when he had spoken to me
before of the sure haven for storm-tossed souls, I had laughed at him,
and told him there would be time enough to seek the harbour when the
storm came, that we didn’t want it in smooth sailing. Ah, how well I
recollect the sad look which came over his face when I spoke so, and
how gravely he would say, ‘Ah, Master Smith, you should put into that
port in bright weather, if you’d know how to find it in the storm.’
“He had hardly passed by when a tremendous wave broke over the ship,
and it was hard work for the men to stand at the pumps.
“In the roar of the wind and sea I heard the young boy’s voice: ‘Call
upon God, Master Smith, call upon God! He says, “Call upon Me in the
day of trouble, and I will deliver thee.”’ And then and there in the
darkest night I have ever spent in my life, and yet not quite the
darkest, for before it had ended a gleam of light had shone across my
heart, I did call on God, as I clung for my life to the side of the
ship, and prayed Him to have mercy on my poor benighted soul, as I had
never before prayed in my life. But the lad’s voice I have never heard
again; the wave that washed over the ship had borne away with it the
soul that was the most ready of all on board to meet its God. Those
words, ‘Call upon God, Master Smith, call upon God!’ must have been
well-nigh his last on earth. The storm that was my call to the Saviour
was his to go home; and surely never was anyone so young more ready
for the summons. I never knew a lad so fearless in danger, so ready to
witness for the Lord, so little afeared of man. There wasn’t a man on
board that didn’t in his heart respect him, even if he didn’t think
with him. I found his jacket the next morning; he had taken it off, to
be more ready to help the men at the pumps, and there in the pocket was
the little Bible I had so often seen him reading. I couldn’t help a
tear or two when I opened it, and saw how well worn and used it was.
“Here’s the Bible, mistress; I have kept it ever since; and, blessed
be God, through reading that Book, I have found pardon and peace, and
a hope that, poor miserable sinner as I am, I shall one day reach the
home that dear lad has most surely gone to, through the love of the
Saviour who came into the world to save sinners such as I. That Book
has been my constant companion ever since by night and by day; and,
thank God, it was made the means of salvation to another man besides
myself, the very one who used to join with me in jeering poor Charlie
Green; he died in peace through reading this blessed Book. He too, like
me, had lived in sin and in forgetfulness of God, and when he fell ill
he was afraid of the thought of death. I used to read to him; I had
found peace then myself, and I couldn’t do less than try to put him
in the way of finding it too. I had seen the beacon light which saved
my poor soul from shipwreck, and guided me into the haven of refuge,
and wasn’t I bound to do my utmost to point it out to some other
storm-tossed soul? He told me much about his past life, how he had left
his poor dying wife and children, and knew nothing of what had become
of them; and he made me promise, before he died, that if ever I came
back to England, I would try to find out where they were, and tell them
how he repented of his past life, and had come as a poor sinner to seek
forgiveness at the feet of Jesus. He used often to say he knew that he
was the chief of sinners, but that in this blessed Book he had found
that there was hope, even for the vilest that came and touched the hem
of the Saviour’s garment; and sure enough he found peace in looking to
‘the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.’
“He often spoke of his two children, and said he prayed that God would
teach them to know a Saviour’s love; and that although their earthly
father had forsaken them, the Lord Himself would take them up. I should
like to have done what I could to find out something about them and
their mother; but now I fear I shan’t be able. I know I haven’t long
to live, and my voyage is almost over. I hardly thought I should have
lived through last night. I had no strength to stir hand or foot
myself, and if they hadn’t lifted me into the boat I must have been
drowned, for the ship was filling fast; but, oh, how different I felt
from what I did in the last storm! Now I could say to myself a verse I
had many a time heard poor Charlie sing when the wind was against us,
and the sea rough:
‘One who has known in storms to sail
I have on board;
Above the raging of the gale
I hear my Lord.’
Ah, mistress, it’s one thing to have to face the storm alone, but quite
another to meet it with Christ. I could now understand what Charlie
meant when he said, ‘The inner storm was stilled, and so the outside
storms couldn’t alarm him.’ One had come by and said unto my soul, all
tossed with sin and misery, ‘Peace, be still,’ and now ‘there was a
great calm.’
‘I came to Jesus as I was,
Weary and worn and sad:
I found in Him a resting-place,
And He has made me glad.’”
Mrs. Morris was deeply touched and interested in the poor man’s story.
As she rose to go, she turned once more to look at the little Bible
which had been so blessed to him and others, and on opening it her
eyes caught sight of the name, “Morley,” written on the fly-leaf.
On examining it more closely she was still more astonished at the
inscription, which was as follows:
“Given to CHARLES GREEN,
on leaving the Ragged School,
with the best wishes of his sincere friend and teacher,
SUSAN MORLEY.
‘Oh satisfy us early with Thy mercy, that we may rejoice and be glad
all our days.’”
Charles Green was an orphan boy in whom Susan Morley had taken great
interest. He had attended the ragged school regularly for three years,
and during the last part of the time Susan had been much encouraged
about him, and had begun to hope that the good seed had taken root in
his heart. Still, she had never felt quite sure that the boy had really
given his heart to the Saviour, and often after he had left the school,
as years passed away without her hearing of him, she had many anxious
thoughts about him. Her great hope had been in the Bible which she had
given him on parting, and in the promise he had made her that he would
read a few verses in it every day. No day had passed since he sailed
from England in which Susan Morley did not pray for the sailor boy far
away on the sea, and ask that the Word of God might find an entrance
into his heart, and make him “wise unto salvation through faith which
is in Christ Jesus.” And how abundantly her prayers had been answered,
beyond all that she had thought or expected, we have already seen.
Nor was this all. On inquiring the name and other particulars
respecting the poor man who had died in peace through reading the
Bible given by Susan to Charlie Green, Mrs. Morris discovered on her
next visit to Robert Smith that it could have been none other than the
father of Polly and Lizzie. She took Lizzie with her several times to
visit the dying sailor, and he was much interested in seeing the child
of his former shipmate. Poor little Lizzie would often read to him out
of the Bible her father had learned to love, and was never tired of
asking questions about him, and would sometimes say:
“Polly and I used to pray to God to let us see our father again, but
now we must pray to meet him in heaven.”
Robert Smith did not live many weeks. He had no friends living, and
seemed to desire nothing further, now that he knew that the children
of his comrade were alive and well cared for. Mrs. Morris visited him
constantly, and saw that he wanted for nothing. Resting on Jesus, he
passed away in peace, with the words on his lips of his favourite hymn:
“Hide me, O, my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life be past;
Safe into the haven guide,
Oh, receive my soul at last.”
Thus already had much blessed fruit sprung from the patient labours and
earnest prayers of one young teacher in a little ragged school; surely
only an earnest of further and fuller blessing reserved for the day of
harvest by Him who has promised that His word shall not return unto Him
void, but shall accomplish that which He pleases, and prosper in the
thing whereto He sends it.