THE ANCHOR WITHIN THE VEIL.
Why was it, it is time to ask, that there was not a greater clamouring
after escape, both among passengers and crew? Why was it, that when all
on board knew that the ship was doomed, and that at any moment the deep
might open to swallow them up, there was not that wild delirium and
agony of despair which we have been accustomed to see associated with
such considerations? To understand this in some measure, we must take
a glance at what had transpired in the saloon of the vessel from the
commencement of the voyage.
The saloon of the _London_ had been constructed with the strictest
regard to the comfort of her first-class passengers; nor had their
tastes been disregarded if they had any admiration of what was elegant
and chaste in workmanship. Here there would be throughout the voyage
a common meeting ground for members of the same class amongst ladies
and gentlemen; and here religious services would be conducted on the
Sabbath, at which all on board might be present.
On the first Sunday out there was a religious service, and Dr. Woolley
associated with Mr. Draper in conducting it. Both these gentlemen were
known to each other, and, although belonging to different sections of
the church, had many friends in common, by some of whom, experienced in
similar voyages, the steamer in which they were to return to Australia,
and the cabins they had taken, were inspected and approved. From Mr.
Draper’s known characteristics it may be affirmed as a certainty,
although as yet no record of it has reached us, that as, on their very
first Sunday out, they encountered heavy weather,--a strong wind
having sprung up and a heavy sea,--he would find matter for religious
instruction applicable to their circumstances. And we cannot tell how
largely the divine blessing may have accompanied the religious services
of the day. If it be true that before the barren fig-tree is cut down,
the influences and means used to quicken it into life and fruitfulness
are more than doubled, may we not say that He to whom all things were
known, and who saw the end from the beginning, vouchsafed a more than
ordinary blessing to the gospel declared to more than two hundred who
were spending their last Sabbath on earth?
On Monday, there being no abatement in the violence of the weather,
but, on the contrary, the storm rather heightening in force, the
ladies and passengers generally would keep their cabins, or meet for
conversation in the saloon. On Monday we know that many on board
felt more fear than they did on subsequent days when the first shock
of the tempest had worn away, and they had become accustomed to a
hurricane that never changed but for the worse. There were, we know,
several on board who had been professed Christians for years. There
was one who had, we believe, two brothers in the ministry, and who
was a spiritually-minded man himself. There was another who was the
son of a very distinguished Minister of Christ, and who was himself a
devoted Christian. There was a young woman who had just left service
in Suffolk, and who had written a letter while on board to a Christian
friend, which went to shew the reality of her religious life. There
were many who were in the habit of reading their Bibles daily.
We mention these as types of the different classes composing the
passengers, and as illustrative of the fact, that over the vessel there
was spread a goodly number of persons who were not ashamed to own
their Lord, and who, when they saw the clouds of distress gathering
around their fellow-passengers, would be able, and, as we have heard,
would be certain to be all the more earnest and useful and kind in
proportion to the distress they saw exhibited. That during the fearful
gale which sprung up on Monday night there would be distress and fear
of the direst kind we make no doubt, but we gather comfort from the
fact, that the example and exhortations of the godly would not be
without their salutary and soothing influence.
Directly, we hear nothing of Mr. Draper’s exertions until Wednesday,
from which time until the vessel went down he was incessant in his
ministrations; but, as we hear of groups of children looking up with
wonderment into the frightened faces of their mothers, of ladies
reading the Bible to each other, and of individual passengers turning
over its leaves as if in search of passages that would be suitable
to their condition, of husbands sustaining wives by their constant
presence,--we may be sure that the man who was as loving to his fellows
as he was faithful to his Master had already lost all thought of self
in the work of imparting consolation and instruction in the awful
circumstances in which those especially were placed who had now for the
first time to begin to think seriously of the claims of religion.
“From all I have heard respecting him,” writes the Hon. Mr. McArthur,
“self seems to have been altogether lost sight of. Nor does it appear
that he paid any special attention to his beloved wife, to whom he was
most ardently and devotedly attached, but his whole heart and mind
seem to have been engaged in the great work of endeavouring to lead
those by whom he was surrounded to flee for refuge to the only hope set
before them.” Nor though we do not hear so much of Dr. Woolley as we
do of Mr. Draper throughout the appalling calamity, are we therefore
to suppose that he was untrue to his sacred calling, and to the loving
instincts of a very kindly heart. Had the facts of his life been before
us, we should doubtless have been able to speak of him with as much
length as we have of the Wesleyan preacher. One who evidently knew and
loved him has said, “Not much is said about him; but we know in what
manner he would die and help others to die. His public career may be
told in other ways, but this one word is in remembrance of the man
himself--the good man--John Woolley.”
On Wednesday, as we have said, the testimony concerning Mr. Draper’s
efforts, and the results attending them, is clear and decisive.
Prayer and religious instruction had become general, and the saloon
was transformed into a sanctuary, from whence ascended the voice of
supplication and weeping to Him who was alone able to save. There were
earnest wrestlings of soul amongst those who felt themselves face to
face either with heaven or hell. It was hard to feel all at once that
they _must_ die, that there could be no escape. It was hard for the
newly-married of a week only to feel that all the joys and hopes of
life must be ruthlessly terminated. It was hard for all who had formed
their plans for the future, or who had just left in England those
whom they held so dear, or who had brought their little children out
with them intending to settle in a new home,--very hard for all to
be told with a decisiveness which there was no gainsaying, that they
_must_ die. And no wonder that in the first burst of agony which this
conviction brought with it, many gathered round the Minister, crying,
“Pray with me, Mr. Draper. Pray for me, Mr. Draper.”
And he _did_ pray. Those who knew him have much to tell of his power in
prayer, of it being the effectual and fervent supplication of a man,
“who was as sure of answer as if voices from heaven told him he was
heard.” Happy indeed the man, who seeing death written in every face,
and surrounded by the weeping and conscience-stricken, had no time and
no disposition to care for himself, in the Christ-like work of caring
for others. As he drew nearer to Heaven, he had yet deeper fellowship
with the sufferings of that blessed Master he served, who, while
hanging upon the cross, had leisure to think of all wants but His own.
The Master saved others; Himself he could not save.
All Wednesday, as we have seen, the storm raged with incessant fury.
The passengers below heard and felt with bated breath that tremendous
sea break over the vessel by which the cutter was stove in and the
starboard lifeboat carried away. The passengers in the saloon must have
felt the shock in all its terrible might, for it broke against their
quarter of the ship; and perhaps it was then, when all expected that
they were going down, that Mr. Draper was heard praying, “O God, may
those that are not converted be converted now--hundreds of them.” This
prayer went up again and again during that stormy day.
Again there was a crash overhead, and those below heard to their dismay
that the main hatchway had been swept away. There was the rushing of
water heard pouring down into the engine room; there was the Captain’s
voice heard shouting through the storm, and the responsive cry of the
crew. “Prepare to meet your God. Prepare to meet your God!” This was
the solemn admonition of the minister throughout the day and night.
At twelve o’clock that night there was a prayer-meeting in the saloon,
which was attended by all who could be spared from their duties on
deck. A marvellous meeting indeed it must have been, in which strong
cries and tears went up to Him whose word was pledged that He would not
turn away his ear from the voice of prayer; that He would listen to the
cry of the afflicted.
And did He not listen? Did He not answer? We would humbly hope that
the prayers presented were not the offspring of mere natural terror,
but the utterances of broken and contrite spirits. On Thursday morning
a wondrous calmness had taken possession of all hearts. There were no
agonizing shrieks and screams, no delirious efforts to escape from
their doom. The prayer-meeting, and the prayers of the last three
days had done their work. Something stronger and holier than love of
mere natural life had taken possession of many hearts. Their’s was
the victory which had overcome death, even their faith. Not even when
the Captain entered the saloon, and sadly announced that there was
no hope, did their calmness and resignation forsake them. “Let us
pray,” Mr. Draper said, and then they quietly prayed by themselves.
Shortly afterwards the minister said with great kindliness, “Well, my
friends, our Captain tells us there is no hope, but the Great Captain
above tells us there is hope, and that we may all get safe to heaven.”
Blessed truth! we have no doubt that it went home to the hearts of
many. Friends began to take leave of friends, as if preparing for a
long journey. Husbands, wives, and children clung to each other as if
death itself should never divide them. And, clinging to each other,
and, we trust, to Christ, they calmly waited for the sea to swallow
them up, amid all the excitement of launching the port cutter.
[Illustration: “CONSOLATION IN THE HOUR OF PERIL.”]