open to the cry of the afflicted, and whose hand is always ready to aid
them. Well, I signed the pledge, which I am sure has a great effect in
restraining one when tempted to swerve; for what man of honorable
feelings would wilfully violate his word and promise--and a few weeks
after, having fixed my sister comfortably with a pious milliner, I went
to Philadelphia, and there shipped with a temperance captain for a South
American port. O Jack, what a blessed voyage that was to me. On the
first day out, all hands were called aft to the break of the
quarterdeck, when the captain, who was a pious man, told us in a few
words, that it was his practice to have "family worship" every morning
and evening in the cabin, and he hoped that all his men would cheerfully
unite with him. The captain was so kind in his manner, and appeared to
be so sincere, and as he seemed, moreover, to regard us as human beings
with immortal souls, and not as brute beasts, out of whose muscles and
sinews he cared only to get plenty of work, we all willingly consented.
So at sundown all hands were mustered in the cabin, except the man at
the helm, as the weather was mild and the ship under easy sail; and the
captain prayed fervently that God would give us a safe and pleasant
passage, and bring us all to think of our souls. He then read a portion
of Scripture, which he explained to us, and after singing a couple of
hymns we were dismissed.
JACK. Ah, Tom, good captains make good crews, all the world over; and
I'll warrant there was neither knocking down nor mutiny aboard of that
vessel.
TOM. No, Jack; there was nothing but peace, and quietness, and good
order; every man knew his place and did his duty; and the captain was
like a father to us. He had a spare quadrant, which each of us used in
turn in taking the daily observation, under his own eye; and he taught
us how to work our reckoning; so that in the course of the voyage some
of us got to know a good deal about navigation. And, Jack, I had good
evidence of the value of religion also, particularly when we encountered
the equinoctial gale in the southern tropic, and were near going down.
Then it was, Jack, when we had lost our foretopmast, and our maintopsail
and most of our other sails had been blown into ribbons; when the sea
had carried away nearly all our bulwarks, and swept the decks clear of
caboose, longboat, etc.; and the pumps were constantly going--at one
time to the tune of more than a thousand strokes an hour--to keep the
vessel free; and the axes were at hand, ready to cut away the masts when
the worst should come--that our captain was calm and collected. He
seemed to be as patient and submissive to the will of God, as if he had
been _born_ a Christian; and he gave many a kind word of encouragement
to his men. What a difference there must have been between him and the
vulgar, bullying man that Sam Bowsprit once sailed with, who was a wolf
when there was no danger, and a sheep when there was; but it is always
so with your bullies, whether in the cabin or the forecastle. To return
to my story: in two or three days the gale spent its fury, and we
reached our port in safety. One day while in port, in rummaging my
chest, I discovered at the bottom a little package neatly tied up,
which, upon opening, I found to contain two small books, called, "James'
Anxious Inquirer after Salvation," and "Baxter's Call to the
Unconverted;" with a few touching lines from my dear sister, earnestly
beseeching me to look to my soul, and to read my Bible and these little
books, and never to forget my God. Jack, this went to my heart like an
arrow. It brought fresh to my mind the death-bed scene of my dear
father, and I fell upon my knees, and, for the first time, _really_
prayed to God. Yes, Jack, I then prayed indeed. I felt my ingratitude to
God to some extent, and I began to see what a sinner I had been. I at
once commenced reading my Bible and the little books, that I might learn
more of my lost condition, and how to flee from the wrath to come. In
the course of a day or two the captain observed that I was uneasy in my
mind, and called me to him to ask if he could do any thing to aid me. I
frankly told him all my trouble, and he at once pointed me to "the Lamb
of God, who takes away the sin of the world." He then gradually and
clearly unfolded to me the great gospel plan of redemption; and kneeling
down together, he prayed most fervently for me. After a few days of deep
solicitude and constant prayer to Almighty God, he, in his infinite
mercy, shed light upon my soul, and I felt that Christ had died for
me--_even me_. O Jack, then it was that I first tasted true joy--that
joy which the world cannot give, and which the world cannot take away;
that peace of mind which passeth understanding. And with God's aid, I
have ever since tried to walk close in the way prescribed by him; and I
trust that my dear father's dying prayer will indeed be answered, and
that we shall all meet in heaven.
JACK. Well, Tom, I congratulate you, for although I make no pretensions
to religion myself, I sincerely respect it in others--that is, where it
is genuine, as I am sure it is in your case; but I can't stand playing
soldier in religion, Tom, as I have seen it done by some hypocrites.
TOM. So much the worse for them, Jack. But, my dear fellow, I advise
you, as a friend, not to put off seeking religion another day. _This
day_ may be your last, Jack. Don't you remember the story of the rich
man in Scripture, who said, "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many
years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry?" But God said unto
him, "Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee." O Jack,
don't put off this most important of all works to a dying bed, for you
may not have one; you may be called into eternity at a moment's warning.
You surely have not forgotten the awful death of swearing Joe Swifter,
who was shaken off the yard into the boiling sea in that terrible night
off the Canaries, when we were all aloft close reefing the Alert's
maintopsail? And, Jack, can you ever forget his cry of agony as we shot
ahead in the gale, forced to leave him to perish? I am sure it will
haunt _me_ to my dying hour. Poor Joe, thou wert called with all thy
sins upon thy head into the presence of an offended God.
JACK. Poor Joe. I remember it as if it had occurred but yesterday, Tom.
It was an awful warning; and I don't think there were three oaths sworn
on board the Alert for three days after. To tell the truth, Tom, I have
had some queer feelings about death and the judgment, lately; and
although I tried hard to drown them in grog, they would come up in spite
of me. But I'll tell you more about it when we reach your lodgings,
where we will be quiet and uninterrupted. You got safely back, I hope?
TOM. Yes, Jack, thanks to a kind Providence. I made two more voyages
with the same captain; and I expect to go with him next trip as mate. I
have been able to send my sister a snug little sum to keep her
comfortable; and I have something handsome in the seamen's savings bank,
as I told you before; together with a clear head and a happy heart;
trusting in my God, and loving all who bear his image. Now, Jack, what
do you think of temperance?
JACK. Think of it? Why, Tom, I always _thought_ well of it, though I
can't say that I have latterly _practised_ it much; but I like it now
better than ever. I have ruminated a good deal upon its evils, both at
sea and ashore. Don't you think, Tom, that rum is at the bottom of nine
out of ten of the floggings that take place in the navy?
TOM. Yes, indeed, Jack, I am sure of it. And I think, moreover, that if
it were discarded _entirely_ from the government and merchant service,
insubordination and floggings would be of rare occurrence in the one,
and trouble and mutiny in the other. And there would be fewer vessels
and lives lost in the merchant-service, in the bargain.
JACK. I have often thought, Tom, what a degrading thing that flogging
is. It sinks a man below the level of a brute, both in his own and the
eyes of others. It seems to me that if I had ever been triced up at the
gratings, and had a stroke of the cat, it would have completely crushed
my spirit, if it had not broken my heart outright.
TOM. I think it would have had the same effect on me too, Jack. I am
sure I could not have stood it.
JACK. And, Tom, to show more of the bad effects of liquor, I remember
that I was once in Port-au-Prince, in the island of St. Domingo, during
the sickly season, when a fearful mortality raged among the shipping, so
that every vessel lost some of her men; most of them bringing on the
yellow-fever by their intemperance. There were three ships that were
left without a man; all were swept off from the captain to the cook.
TOM. Awful, Jack, awful. I have also seen many a stout and noble-hearted
tar, in those yellow-fever countries, stowed away under a foot of earth
for the landcrabs to feed upon, just from drinking rum, or the strong
brandy of the country. I'll tell you what it is, Jack, when the coppers
are scalded by rum, physic can't get a hold--it is just like casting
anchor on a rocky bottom--and so the grip of the grim monster Death is
sure. The only safe man there, as well as everywhere else, indeed, is
the teetotaler.
JACK. What is a teetotaler, Tom? I have often heard the term, without
fully knowing what it meant.
TOM. A teetotaler, Jack, is one who conscientiously abstains from every
description of intoxicating drink: rum, whiskey, brandy, gin, cordials,
wine, cider, ale, and even beer.
JACK. What, Tom, you don't mean to say that you give such a wide berth
to _beer_? Tell that to the marines, for old sailors won't believe it.
TOM. I do say it, Jack. I give even beer a wide berth. Don't you know
that it contains alcohol? And what is perhaps worse, there is but little
beer and ale made for sale that does not contain many hurtful
ingredients--poisonous drugs. No, no; nothing for me that can in the
slightest degree affect my noble reason, that great gift of Almighty
God. Pure cold water--Adam's sparkling, life-invigorating ale--and
coffee and tea, are my beverages. Try them once, Jack, and the word of
an honest sailor for it, you will never go back to alcohol, or any of
its accursed family.
JACK. Well, Tom, I think I will. The fact is, you seem to be so well in
body and happy in mind, so comfortable and respectable in worldly
matters, and speak so cheeringly of another world--to which I know that
the rapid current of time is hurrying us both--that I'll follow in your
wake, and try to make a little headway in these things myself.
TOM. Well said, my hearty. Give me another shake of your honest fist.
Now I begin to recognize my old true-hearted friend and messmate Jack
Halyard in his early days, when we swore friendship to each other across
the sea-chest, on board the Alert. You are the man for me, Jack; so come
up with me at once to the Sailor's Home, and I'll rig you out a little
more decently--make you look a little more shipshape--and to-night we
will go to the great temperance-meeting at the seamen's bethel chapel,
and you shall sign the pledge, which will be the wisest act of your
life, Jack, as I'll wager a barrel of pork against a mouldy biscuit:
aye, I'll warrant me you will say so at some future day. There will be
plenty of blue-jackets there that will lend a hand in so good a cause.
JACK. Well, heave ahead, old messmate. I did think of _tapering
off_--quitting by degrees--but perhaps the safest and easiest plan will
be, _to break off at once_.
TOM. That is the way, Jack, the only true way. Tapering off is not what
it is cracked up to be. It is very hazardous; for it keeps up
excitement, and the taste of the liquor hangs about the palate. Don't
you remember Ben Hawser, one of the best maintopmen of the Alert--he who
saved the first Luff from drowning at Port Mahon, when he fell overboard
from the cutter?
JACK. Surely I do, Tom. Do you suppose I could forget such a
noble-hearted fellow as Ben Hawser--as fine a fellow as ever laid out
upon a yard, or stood at the wheel; and such a firstrate marlinespike
seaman in the bargain? No, indeed.
TOM. You are right, Jack. He was a noble fellow, and a thorough seaman.
There was nothing of the lubber about poor Ben: always the first man at
his duty, and ready to share his last copper with a fellow-mortal in
distress, whether seaman or landsman. Well, Ben once got into a great
frolic ashore, and kicked up such a bobbery that the watchman clapped
him in limbo for the night; and the justice next morning gave him such a
clapper-clawing with his tongue, and bore down upon him so hard with his
_reprimands_, as I think the lawyers call it, and raked him so severely
fore and aft with his good advice, to wind up with, that Ben felt pretty
sheepish; and, as he told us afterwards, didn't know whether he was on
his head or his heels--on the truck, or on the keelson. He felt so sore
about it, and so much ashamed of himself, that he did not touch a drop
for six weeks. He then thought he would take it _moderately_ just enough
to keep the steam up--or, as some folks say, he thought he would be a
_temperate drinker_. O, Jack, that _temperate drinking_ is a famous net
of old Satan's to catch fools in. Your temperate drinker treads on
slippery ground; for as I verily believe that alcohol is one of the most
active imps for the destruction of both body and soul, the temperate
drinker is too often gradually led on by the fiend, until the habit
becomes fixed and inveterate; and he drags a galling chain, each day
riveted more strongly, and the poor wretch hourly becomes more callous
to shame, until he sinks into the grave--_the drunkard's grave_.
JACK. But, Tom, you don't mean to say that poor Ben's reel has been run
off in that style, do you?
TOM. Indeed, Jack, it is true, and sorry am I that it is so. Yes, I
followed the worn-out hulk of Ben Hawser to the dark and silent grave a
fortnight ago. He slipped his cable in the prime of life; and all along
of _temperate drinking_ at first. Ben, like many other men, thought he
was strong-minded, and could stop at a certain point; but he found, to
his cost, that king Alcohol was stronger, and that when once he had
forged his chains around his victim, he was sure of him, unless the
grace of a merciful God intervened, and plucked him as a brand from the
burning. So I advise every one to beware of _temperate drinking_. Give
it a wide berth, or it may wreck you for time and for eternity.
One thing more, Jack. I would like your temperate drinker to pause, and
reflect upon the fact, that the quantity of brandy or rum that he took
at a drink, when he commenced this downhill course, has been gradually
increased; so that in the second year, what had been quite sufficient
to please his palate and produce all the desired effects in the first,
was then insipidly small; and more so in the third year, if, mayhap, he
could with any decency lay claim to the title of _temperate drinker_ so
long. Jack, this is a fearful reflection for one of this class of the
slaves of alcohol; but let him think upon it when quite free from
excitement, say after two or three days' abstinence--if he can abstain
that long just to cool off for reflection--and I'll warrant he will
tremble at the prospect.
Besides, Jack, the _influence_ of your temperate drinker is ten times
worse than that of the confirmed and notorious drunkard; for it is not
likely that any one in his senses would desire to copy the confirmed sot
in his beastliness. No, indeed; he would shrink with horror from the
intoxicating bowl, if he felt sure that such would be the result to him,
if he indulged. But he should remember, that no one ever became a sot
_at once_; the degradation was by degrees. And it may be that your
temperate drinker is a respectable and thriving man in the eyes of the
world--say a great merchant, or lawyer, or master of a ship--and small
folks do not imagine they are in any danger when they see such men stand
fast, as they think: but they had all better remember the advice in
Scripture, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall;"
and so they follow in the wake, and perhaps nine out of ten go down to
the grave _drunkards_; often, I am sure, in company with the very men
whose example they thought so safe, but which led them to certain ruin.
It is an awful thought, Jack, that we have been the means of misleading
others, either by example or precept; and one that will weigh like lead
upon the conscience of many a man on his death-bed. No, no; my motto
is, "TOUCH NOT, TASTE NOT, HANDLE NOT." The wise man of Scripture knew
what he was about when he said, "Look not upon the wine when it is red,
when it giveth his color in the cup; at the last it biteth like a
serpent, and stingeth like an adder." The same wise man said also, that
"the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty." But, Jack, what
are poverty and shame, bad as they are, in comparison with the loss of
the soul? Think of that--_the loss of the immortal soul_--for God says,
that neither thieves, nor drunkards, nor any thing that defileth, shall
enter heaven. And O, Jack, to think of being cast into hell for ever,
with the devil and his angels; how awful! _but such must be the fate of
the unrepentant drunkard_.
JACK. Awful, indeed, Tom. I am now fully persuaded that you are right;
and so I'll follow your good example, and sign the teetotal pledge. And
what is more, I'll try to be a Christian too, for I believe that
religion is the best security against every kind of temptation.
TOM. I like that, Jack; it is truth itself. So we will shape our course
for the Sailor's Home, under the direction of that noble institution,
"The American Seamen's Friend Society;" there you will be out of the way
of temptation, and there is a good deal in that--and to-night we will go
to the Bethel. By the way, Jack, you can't think what excellent places
these Homes are for the poor tempest-tossed mariner; and how snug and
comfortable we all are there. The rules of the houses are excellent;
neither swearing nor drinking is allowed; and every night and morning we
unite with the families in worship; and on the Sabbath, and some of the
evenings of the week, we are kindly invited to the Bethel chapel, where
we have excellent preaching on the word of God; and in the family
prayers, the good of us poor sailors, for time and eternity, is not
forgotten, I can tell you. It reminds me of the days of my boyhood, when
my dear father called us together, morning and evening, to praise God;
and also of the happy time I have spent with my present good captain.
And then, Jack, when any of us are sick they are so kind and attentive
just like our own dear mothers and sisters. I saw how kindly poor Martin
Gray was treated during his long illness, by the manager--a worthy old
salt--and his excellent family; and how they smoothed his dying pillow,
and did all they could to make his way easy towards the dark valley of
the shadow of death. Oh, Jack, it is a great thing to fall in with real
Christians at such a time. It makes one think of the poor man in
Scripture who fell among thieves, and had his wounds dressed and care
taken of him by the good Samaritan. Aye, aye, Jack; and I know,
moreover, that the good example and excellent advice in these houses
have been the means, in the Lord's hands, of saving both the body and
soul of many a poor neglected, weather-beaten tar, who would otherwise
have fallen into the jaws of the devouring sharks who are always on the
watch, with open mouths, to prey upon the poor son of ocean, and to
swallow him up without pity or remorse.
JACK. Well, heave ahead, my hearty; I'm the lad that won't flinch. So,
three cheers for the glorious Temperance cause, for Sailor's Homes and
Bethels, and for the mothers, wives, sisters, and sweethearts of all
true-hearted seamen. And let every jolly tar who loves his family and
domestic peace, and wants to do his duty and be respected in this world,
and lay an anchor to windward of another and better world, toe the
plank, and sign the pledge right off the reel. Huzza, huzza, huzza.
THE OX SERMON.
Among the laws given by the divine Lawgiver through Moses to the Jews,
was the following: "If an ox gore a man or a woman that they die, then
the ox shall be surely stoned; but the owner of the ox shall be quit.
But if the ox _were wont to push_ with his horn in time past, and it
hath been testified to his owner, and he hath not kept him in, but he
hath killed a man or a woman, the ox shall be stoned, and his owner also
shall be put to death." Exod. 21: 28, 29.
The principle of this law is a very plain one, and a very broad
one--here applied in a specific case, but extending to ten thousand
others. It is this. Every man is responsible to God for the evils which
result from his selfishness, or his indifference to the welfare of
others.
Ages before this law was given, God says to Noah, "Your blood of your
lives will I require: at the hand of every beast will I require it, and
at the hand of man." A stigma shall be fixed upon man or beast that
shall destroy him who is made after the similitude of God. But why, in
the case first supposed, is the owner quit, or guiltless? Simply because
the death is not in any way the result of his carelessness or of his
selfishness. From any thing within his knowledge, he had no reason to
expect such a result. But if the ox hath been _wont to push_ with his
horns, and he knew it, he shall be responsible for the consequences,
whatever they may be; for he had every reason to expect that mischief
would be done, and took no measures to prevent it. And if the ox kill a
man or woman, the owner hath done the murder, and he shall be put to
death. Why? The death was the result of his selfishness, or his
indifference to the lives of others. And according to the law of God,
his life shall go for it. The principle of this law is a principle of
common-sense.
You see a fellow-creature struggling in the water. You know that he can
never deliver himself. And you know that a very little assistance, such
as you can render, will rescue him from a watery grave. You look on and
pass by. True, you did not thrust him in. But he dies by your neglect.
His blood will be upon your head. At the bar of God, and at the bar of
conscience, you are his murderer. Why? You did not kill him. Neither did
the owner of the ox lift a hand. _But he shall surely be put to death._
You had no malice, neither had he. You did not intend his death--at the
very worst, you did not care. This is just his crime. He did not care.
He turned loose a wild, fiery, ungovernable animal, knowing him to be
such; and what mischief that animal might do, or what suffering he might
cause, _he did not care_. But God held him responsible.
Every man is responsible for evils which result from his own selfishness
or indifference to the lives of men. In other words, to make a man
responsible for results, it is not necessary to prove that he has
malice, or that he intended the results. The highwayman has no malice
against him he robs and murders, nor does he desire his death, but his
money; and if he can get the money, he does not care. And he robs and
murders because he loves himself and does not care for others; acting in
a different way, but on the same selfish principle with the owner of the
ox; and on the very same principle is he held responsible.
In the trial of the owner of the ox, the only questions to be asked were
these two: Was the ox _wont to push_ with his horn in time past? Did the
owner _know it_ when he let him loose? If both these questions were
answered in the affirmative, the owner was responsible for all the
consequences. This is a rule which God himself has established.
* * * * *
Is INTOXICATING LIQUOR wont to produce misery, and wretchedness, and
death? Has this been testified to those who make and deal in it as a
beverage? If these two things can be established, the inference is
inevitable--they are responsible on a principle perfectly intelligible,
a principle recognized and proclaimed, and acted upon by God himself.
Turn then your attention to these two facts. 1. Intoxicating liquor _is
wont to produce misery_. 2. Those who make or traffic in it, _know_
this.