ON THE VERGE OF THE UNSEEN
“In the room
Of this grief‐shadowed present, there shall be
A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw
The heart, and never shall a tender tie
Be broken; in whose reign the eternal Change
That waits on growth and action shall proceed
With everlasting Concord hand in hand.”
The commander of the Salapiæ anxiously paced the dark, slippery deck,
occasionally halting to encourage the sailors, or direct in the movement
of some heavy piece of the cargo which was to be cast overboard, to
lighten, so far as possible, the stricken ship. The shrill creaking of the
pumps, as they were unceasingly worked in the prevailing darkness, sounded
as might the sighs and moans of malignant fiends, who were derisively
gloating over the rich prey of which they already felt sure.
Another signal from below caught the quick ear of Vivian, and he proceeded
to the small tube which led down to the hold, and bending over he heard in
sepulchral tones,—
“Two cubita and a half!”
“The gods be merciful!” he exclaimed to himself. “Nothing less than their
interposition can save us!”
The hoarse vibrations of the surrounding tempest were mingled with its
shriller tones produced by its hissing sweep through the shattered spars
and rigging, all combining, like the different instruments in a great
orchestra, to render a grand minor symphony of Woe and Despair.
By great exertion they were able to raise a little more canvas, as the
only hope lay in making Tarsus, or some other port on the Cilician coast,
toward which the wind was sweeping them. Though much more distant than
Salamis, which they had left behind, there was no choice. They could go
only where they were driven. The gods were invoked and libations poured,
that the gale, which at first had brought them disaster, might continue.
Could they make Tarsus before the Salapiæ would fill and go to the bottom?
The panic and confusion which had prevailed among the crew of many races
gradually subsided, and a grim desperation settled down upon all. Each
worked with a dogged, sullen intensity, as though the fate of all depended
upon his own persistency of effort.
To actually face death sometimes seems to inspire a kind of stolid
indifference. Even to the ignorant and worldly man the vital fact comes
home that it can come but once, and that, after all, the peculiar time and
means of the most universal of all human experiences are not so very
important. The divine economy of the human constitution is such that when
the great Fact looms up in the near foreground, there is often an unwonted
serenity and confidence that are lacking in lesser trials, or even in its
own more distant anticipation.
Deep down beneath the perturbed and noisy surface of human consciousness
there is an inherent and instinctive faith in, and recognition of, the
righteousness and even beneficence of that which Is and Must Be. Only a
merciful Providence could have provided that the life‐long fear of meeting
the “King of Terrors” should measurably fade out upon his near approach.
Whatever may betide, every man feels, in the profound recesses of his
heart, that he will be justly dealt with, and that the natural penalty for
his misdeeds should not be shunned, and that perhaps in some way it is
well that it should come. The artificial, dogmatic, and superficial
elements drop away, and a divinely implanted subconscious sense of
universal equity, and even love, finally comes to the surface and makes
itself felt.
Man feels that he is to be fairly weighed, and will inevitably find his
own moral and spiritual specific gravity. The universe is so ordered that
he will invariably measure himself, for it is best that he should. He that
is condemned is self‐condemned. True, he regrets his own manifold
mistakes, selfishness, and sensuous degradation. Their penalties will
surely scarify him, and make up his beneficent hell, through which he must
pass, either here or hereafter, in order to purification. Metals are only
purged of their dross by being cast into the crucible.
Salvation must be the result of free moral character, and that must grow
from within, for it cannot be imposed. This fundamental principle
underlies all surface religions, dogmatisms, and systems.
The Salapiæ plunged dizzily onward. Amid the swash of waves upon the deck,
and the swinging to and fro of the tattered remnants of sails which kept
time to her staggering rhythm, a few dim, moving lanterns, like fitful
fireflies, were all that could be discerned.
Vivian never lost courage and composure, though he recognized that the
race between the leak and Tarsus included only a bare possibility of
reaching the latter, the probabilities being an hundred‐fold in favor of
the former.
It was past midnight when Serenus emerged from the little cabin where he
had been in the silence—with the Universal. His mien was calm and
confident, and his face radiant with a sense of inner reserve and
spiritual upliftment. He first sought Amabel, who was patiently awaiting
him. There was no trace of care on her beautiful face, and she greeted him
with a warm embrace.
“Is it well, my husband?”
“It is well, Light of my life! We shall be brought safely through this
trial, and it will prove a blessing to many. While I am persuaded of the
result, I wot not in what manner the escape will come.”
“Is the sea cruel and treacherous, or does the trial come for our sifting
and testing?”
“The sea is good, even though it now seem contrary. Trials come in the
ordinary course of things, and seeming adversity is the ‘Adversary’ which
appears so that we may grow through the process of overcoming him. Satan
is the Tester, or negative Developer, of man. But for trials and
obstacles, life would become stagnant and unprofitable for lack of
exercise. Behold, the glory of the latter end of Job was the result of an
experience in which the Adversary had an important office.”
“But surely such a trial as this tempest is not a thing to be sought?”
“Nay, verily! We are not to go into temptation, or seek for trial! Only
such testing as comes from beyond our control can minister to our
discipline and profit. Having faithfully followed our highest inward
guidance, everything that comes will, in some way, be transformed into
blessing.”
“O my beloved! I feel that what you say is true, but yet it seemeth to be
a great mystery. Hark! behold the tempest hath a sound like the roaring of
lions!”
“Hast thou forgotten the record of Daniel? His uplifting faith closed the
mouths of the lions of his day! These will be closed also! Behold it is
our inner and secret enemies that are most besetting. It is not the angry
roar of the tempest that threatens, but the still, hidden leak. But
deliverance from both will come! Yea, we may exclaim, not God be merciful,
but God is merciful!”
“I believe it! How glorious!”
“I rejoice that thou dost not doubt. But go now and rest, while I seek the
master of the ship.”
“Go, for God is with thee!”
With much effort Serenus lifted the cover of a small hatchway, and passed
out upon the dark, storm‐swept deck. The violent pitching, noise, and
blackness were forbidding; and had he not been free from the bondage of
appearances, he would have quailed at the prospect. At length he found
Vivian, who was much surprised.
“How camest thou here?” said the master. But before Serenus had time to
answer, he continued,—
“But now I am minded of thy purpose to see me again. Thou art welcome, and
I count thee to be discreet; but before I hearken to thy message, I must
tell thee that unless a miracle take place, the Salapiæ will go down, and
all on board perish!”
Serenus was silent for a moment, and Vivian continued,—
“I must leave thee straightway, until once more I make inquiry concerning
the water in the hold! But soon I will return.”
He left Serenus clinging to one of the smaller masts, and slowly made his
way to the speaking‐tube to get another report. In response to his signal,
hollow tones full of direful prophecy came up,—
“Three cubita full!”
The pumps were doing their utmost, and the master fully realized that the
contest was hopeless. But he was brave.
Heroes are not the exclusive product of any one time, race, or religion.
He said nothing to the crew of the increasing peril, but with cheerful
tones encouraged their efforts. Skilfully guiding his course to the place
where Serenus was waiting, he said,—
“O Hebrew! though thou art young, I am persuaded of thy wisdom. Speak now,
and I will listen to thy message.”
The darkness was so dense that neither could behold more than the dim
outlines of the other’s form, and the noise made conversation impossible
except as their faces were almost together. Each put his hand upon the
shoulder of the other, while they steadied themselves by the mast. But
both were as serene as if they were basking in the summer sunshine upon a
favored shore.
“The Salapiæ will be lost, but every soul on board will be safely landed
in Tarsus!” said Serenus.
“Thou speakest in no uncertain tone, O wise young Hebrew! Whence hast thou
this knowledge?”
“O noble and brave Roman! only by the fulfilment of my prophecy can its
truth be proven to thee. I ask thee not to believe, and am well persuaded
that thou wilt abate no effort for salvation because of my assurance. Nay,
I would have thee use the utmost diligence; for man must employ all the
means, and fully co‐operate with God in working out his own salvation.”
“Hast thou inquired of the God of the Hebrews and received this favoring
answer from him?”
“My vision of the future cometh not from the special God of any race or
tribe, but through the power which the universal Divine Spirit, that
ruleth the world and all its elements, hath conferred upon man to read and
interpret his laws.”
Vivian, though a man of much worldly wisdom, but dimly understood the
meaning of Serenus, but yet deeply felt the superiority of the man who
stood face to face with him. There was a positive spiritual influence and
hope which came from contact with the young man which he could not divine.
“Wilt thou not acquaint me more fully of thy power? How canst thou read
the fate of the Salapiæ, and that none on board of her shall perish,
except that thy God hath given thee some visible token? And if thou hast
received a sign, surely thou mayst show it me and reveal its significance.
I would fain believe it, yet how can I be assured?”
“Thou art well skilled in the sailing of ships, and I will not question
thy wisdom in thine own calling; but in a way of which I cannot tell thee,
and which thou thinkest not of, every soul on board will come safely to
Tarsus!”
“The gods grant that thy words may come to pass, but thou hast offered me
no sign. I would that I had inquired of the oracle in the great temple of
the Salaminian Jupiter. But thou dost count thy God greater than Jupiter?”
“Yea, he is the God above all gods! He is the All in All! His laws and
methods are orderly and universal! His wisdom and love are already
perfect, and we need not importune him to change his plans. We approach
him, not by vain oblation or libation, but by communion and oneness of
spirit. We lift ourselves into harmony with his beneficent and eternal
order. Even the laws which produce wind and wave are good, but to narrow
and perverted human vision they often appear evil.”
“But surely thou wilt tell me more of thy prophecy, and by what means thou
didst receive the message?”
“Behold I was about to acquaint thee with that! The divine wisdom hath
placed within the nature of all men certain prophetic spiritual instincts,
but they are yet latent, except in a few souls who have been inwardly
illumined. Favored in my lot and experience, some of this inner clear‐
sightedness hath come to me. At certain times and seasons it enableth me
to behold that which is commonly invisible, and also, not only to foretell
some events of the future, but verily to see them. This power cometh not
by any special and miraculous bestowment, but through an inward unfolding,
and an understanding of the law of inspiration. Thou hast the same power
in thyself, but it hath not yet been awakened. Thou wouldst know how I, or
rather the spirit that is within me, is assured of our safety! I answer,
that though it hath not yet come to pass, yet in my retiracy this night _I
have seen every one safe in Tarsus_!”(10)
The master of the Salapiæ was attentive and interested, but not convinced.
But the earnest sincerity and indefinable charm of the young man’s
presence almost persuaded him against his will.
The Roman and Hebrew stood in brotherly embrace amidst the roar and
darkness, but one represented the seen and sensuous, and the other the
unseen and real. Man, to the first, was only a visible and animated form;
to the second, he was a spiritual entity, even though now possessing
material form and expression. To one, when he sank beneath the waves, it
was his end; to the other, the _man_ was intact. To the latter, the
sinking, at the worst, could be but an unmoral incident; not an evil, as
that term conveys ethical quality. Drowning could neither take away from,
nor add to, the real man or his character. The loss of one mode of
expression does not touch the ego.
“What counsel dost thou offer me?” inquired Vivian.
“In the conduct of the ship, none! Abate not one jot of the labor at the
pumps, and diligently employ all thy skill and watchfulness in the use of
other means which thou deemest wise. My converse with thee is that of man
and brother, but as master of the Salapiæ none can question thee.”
“Behold thou hast great charity and a loving spirit!” exclaimed Vivian. “I
have heard many of thy race revile us as outcasts and idolaters, while
they called themselves the chosen of heaven.”
“Thou art my brother, even though thou understandest not my faith, and we
are all sons of the Most High God.”
“Verily such a saying mine ears never before have heard! Thou dost me too
much honor! With all my diligence to please the gods, I have always
counted myself as a man subject to error and passion!”
“While thou hast made many mistakes, and hast much to learn, thou art
inmostly a child of Goodness; and as thou dost come to thy veritable self,
thou wilt discover thine own likeness to the Divine Father!”
“Surely thou art more than a Hebrew, for thy religion is noble! Deeply
hast thou persuaded me!”
“Think no more of thyself as a man who is in subjection to evil; for it
hath been truly written, that ‘as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.’
The thought of one concerning himself fills and shapes his inner life.
Feel thyself to be a son of God, and such a consciousness will renew and
purify thy soul. Behold, the world knoweth not this law! The old self with
its deeds will drop away, while the new man will be formed within, and his
outward works will answer to the inner thought‐ideal. Thus the visible
expression will be the index of the pattern that is held in the heart!”
“I marvel at such a doctrine, and yet feel its truth. Hath any man yet
filled to the full the divine measure of which thou hast spoken?”
“Yea, there hath been a Man of Nazareth, of Judea, born a Hebrew, who
recognized the perfect human divinity. He is the Ideal, not only for his
own nation, but for all the world, whether Greek, Roman, Jew, barbarian,
or Scythian! He knew the inmost oneness of God and man, because he knew
himself as he was.”
“Where is he now? How I would like to see him!”
“Because he was so large in his love, he was hated and crucified by his
own people,—my people,—and passed into the unseen.”
In answer to many more questions, Serenus then gave Vivian a brief account
of Jesus, the Christ, his mission, and the quality of his life. The twain,
amid the hissing of the elements and the groaning of the pumps, stood in
the thick darkness, with their arms affectionately around each other in
brotherly communion.
“Thou hast touched me deeply,” said Vivian. “I love thy spirit, and
rejoice that we have met! I thank thee that thou hast brought me a
knowledge of the Ideal,—the Nazarene; so noble, so large, and so beyond
race and outward condition! He will fill an uninterpreted longing of my
whole life. I shall think of him even during our peril. Behold thou hast
made me feel that there is something in us, of which the tempest, at its
worst, cannot rob us. Would that I could have seen the Ideal!”
“Thou mayst do even more, for thou canst feel his spirit within thee!”
“I have it, and it shall possess me!”
Vivian expressed a tender and earnest thankfulness, and they parted long
after midnight.
The next morning brought no occasion for hope. The water in the hold
steadily increased, and the gale showed little abatement. In every
direction there was nothing but an endless gray waste of boiling waves,
which seemed hungry and impatient to swallow up the stricken ship. The
weary hours of the second day dragged along with interminable slowness,
and the impenetrable gloom of outward conditions had no ray to lighten it.
The strain and fatigue brought such a torpor of stolid indifference upon
the crew, that to some death would have been almost welcome. Desperate but
wholly unsuccessful attempts were made to draw down some remnants of sail
upon the outside to lessen the inflow, but the water in the hold gained
with fateful certainty.
As the day finally wore away, the force of the tempest slowly lessened,
making their progress less rapid. Even at the present rate, it would be
impossible to reach Tarsus before the middle of the following day, and a
careful survey made it a matter of great doubt whether or not the Salapiæ
could float until the next daybreak.
The master again called Serenus upon deck, giving him an affectionate
greeting.
“O my brother! unless peradventure a miracle be wrought, I can discern no
manner of means for the fulfilment of thy prophecy! I wot not how the
Salapiæ in any wise can reach the desired haven. But while I cannot descry
the end of thy good message, I have joy in thinking of the Ideal, and of
feeling an earnest of the same spirit within.”
“I rejoice with thee that thou dost recognize the living Witness!”
“But O most worthy brother and prophet! peradventure we be saved from this
present peril, some other expedience will yet bring us to our end. How
sayest thou?”
“There is no end! If my prophecy prove vain, and we sink in the depths of
the sea, behold that spirit which is within us, and which _we are_, hath
continuance.”
“It seemeth to be a great mystery!”
“Behold thou hast a body, but art not body! Thou art spirit even now. If
thy seen form dissolve, thou wilt still live, even though in the
invisible! Thou wilt see, but not with these eyes; thou wilt hear and
feel, but not with these members; yea, thou wilt think and know and love!”
“I have heard of shades beyond the Styx, but counted them to be only
shadows. Dost thou affirm that they are verily ourselves?”
“Yea! of a surety! When thou goest out of thy tent or house, art thou not
the same? Behold the unseen country is all about us, and peopled with
those who have laid off the flesh. As our garments wax old and are laid
aside for those more befitting, so are we clothed with such bodies as
belong to the place of our sojourn.”
“Unto what canst thou liken them?”
“Our habitations beyond the Styx, as thou sayest, are such as we are now
building by our thoughts, desires, and loves. Even though unseen, we are
uprearing and putting them on day by day.”
“In what manner art thou persuaded of these things?”
“The Voice within giveth its testimony concerning them, and moreover,
those that are yonder have sent back messages. It cometh to pass also that
certain who are still with us have their inner sight opened, so that those
who are invisible become manifest. If thou wouldst know of that whereof I
speak, open thy soul and become like a little child, and the silent voice
within will yield some growing assurance.”
“I believe that I already hear its still, sweet utterance! Unto this day
it hath been asleep, but thou hast aroused it, and it will live!”
“Thou givest good tidings! behold the spirit of the Christ—the son of
God—in thee is coming into manifestation!”
“O thou greater than a Hebrew! thou hast discovered me to myself. I
joyfully accept thy teaching and prophecy, for of a truth thou hast a
wisdom beyond that of earth!”
The master of the Salapiæ always had been brave and manly, but now there
was a light in his eye and a joy in his heart which was unwonted, even
when no peril threatened. It was not so much the words which Serenus had
spoken, but the spirit and love which filled him, and which he radiated,
that had taken hold of the Roman.
The gloom of another night was gathering, and the Salapiæ was visibly
deeper in the sea. But as the blackness closed around the sinking ship,
there was no more joyful soul on board than Vivian. Amidst all the stress
and danger his greatest wonder was himself.
Down, and still lower down, the helpless wreck heaved and plunged heavily
during the second night. Would daylight ever come?
* * * * * * * * * *
At last the morning dawned, and they were still afloat. The storm had
ceased, and the sun arose clear and bright from the eastern sea. The wind
which had driven them so strongly towards Tarsus had entirely died away,
and a light breeze was coming from the opposite direction. They were able
to hoist more sail, but being obliged to tack, the progress of the water‐
logged ship became hardly perceptible.
Tarsus was now not very distant, but every soul on board clearly saw that
the Salapiæ never could reach the wished‐for port. Slowly, but with grim
certainty, the water in the hold deepened, and direful Fate, with cruel
footsteps, was silently approaching.
The faith of Serenus and Amabel never wavered. Even that of Vivian was
firm and confident. But he neglected no feasible effort that belonged to
his calling, and made all possible preparations for what seemed to be
immediately impending. The ship’s boats had been swept away during the
first assault of the storm, but with all diligence two rafts had been
hurriedly constructed of such materials as were at hand, and some
provisions and gurglets of water and wine lashed to them. But the waves
were still high, and would wash over them if they were launched.
While there were no cries of confusion, as upon the first day of the
storm, petitions were being offered, and vows made in various tongues to
gods of different names.
The human mind at its greatest can grasp but an infinitesimal fraction of
the Infinite, but it always has a deific ideal which fills its utmost
capacity. No two ever possess quite the same, but to the individual it is
the highest, and all there is. To it he must cry, and upon it he must stay
himself, for he cannot go beyond.
But the Infinite dwells in every man’s ideal, however low. It is the link,
unseen and perchance crude, which draws and binds him to the Eternal
Goodness. Let us respect the supreme pattern of every human brother,
though he be ignorant, simple, theologically untaught, or even vile. For
_him_ it must stand until a greater and purer takes its place. The
“Father’s House,” even though provisional and unshapely, is hidden within
the deep mists of every human soul.
But look! The city of Tarsus, with its white roofs and gilded towers, is
now dimly visible in the far distance.
* * * * * * * * * *
The day was perfect. As if in repentance of her past angry mood, Nature
arrayed herself in her most beautiful robes. The air was of crystalline
clearness, and not a cloud specked the blue azure above. During the
morning hours the sea gradually calmed down, and the reflected sunlight
gleamed and danced upon the crest of every billow with sparkling
brilliancy. From the Salapiæ the vast expanse seemed to be the embodiment
of Treachery outwardly dressed in living Beauty. With cruel spirit, but
seductive charm, it was stealthily waiting to take mortals into its cold
embrace forever.
The ship could not possibly last until midday. The adverse breeze
freshened, and her labored progress almost ceased.
But look again! A speck appears upon the water near Tarsus, and it slowly,
oh, how slowly, grows larger. It was described as some kind of a ship
under full sail, and under the favoring breeze it was soon evident that
her approach was rapid. She was a fast sailer, and the style of her
rigging was that of a pleasure _bireme_ rather than a merchantman. The
freshening breeze rendered her oars unnecessary. Every one except those at
the pumps strained his eyes in that direction.
Hope kindled in every breast, and hearts beat quickly.
“Oh, welcome, pure‐ey’d Faith, white‐handed Hope,
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings!”
The strange craft was of graceful model, and with every sail set her sharp
prow cut the waves as she moved like a graceful bird in rapid flight; and
yet how slowly the distance seemed to diminish! But new hope was new life!
The men at the pumps received an endowment of herculean strength. Signals
of distress were hoisted and responded to, and the beautiful ship steered
directly for them.
The Salapiæ was now so low that she might go down at any moment. It was
like a race in the games of Olympia, where the runners were full abreast
as they neared the goal.
Now the strange sea‐bird flies rapidly! See! she is rounding and coming
alongside! What a beautiful spectacle, and how graceful her approach! She
is built for pleasure and racing.
The rail and trimmings about her deck were brilliant with burnished metal,
and her prow was surmounted with the graceful bronze statue of a Tarsian
goddess. Upon her peak floated a silvery purple banner, heavily wrought
with golden figures, representing various emblems and symbols in the
Temple of Apollo. All her splendid appointments indicated that she must be
owned by some one of patrician rank and great wealth. She came near. The
name of the pleasure ship was discerned as the Nereid.
“We will save you!” cried the master in a loud voice. “Behold our boats!
They will take off every one!”
Before Vivian had time to express his gratitude, the small boats were
already lowered, and in a short time every one on the Salapiæ was safely
transferred to the gayly decked _bireme_. All were most hospitably
received, and their necessities kindly ministered unto.
Vivian told the commander of himself, and of the Salapiæ, and made known
Serenus and Amabel as his honored friends. The master of the pleasure ship
then indicated his desire to present them to the owner, whom he said was a
Roman of noble family, and Vice Legate of Tarsus. They had chosen the fine
morning for a pleasure excursion.
Descending a short flight of stairs, Vivian, Serenus, and Amabel were
ushered into a cabin of goodly size, at the farther end of which were two
men sitting at a table, evidently engaged in playing some kind of a
friendly game. One was tall and straight, with long black hair, heavy
eyebrows and lashes, and full beard, of dignified bearing, and features of
the Roman cast. The other was rather slight and effeminate in personal
appearance, with wavy brown hair, dark blue eyes, luxurious in costume,
and an air of polish and refinement. The first was the Roman, Marcius, and
the other Leander the Greek.(11) After a brief exchange of polite
greetings and congratulations, they all ascended to the deck to ascertain
the fate of the Salapiæ. They were none too soon; for in a moment, with a
great surge, she was received into the full embrace of the hungry sea, the
billows closing over her forever.