We draw the curtain on the horrors of the scenes that followed. May it never be the reader's lot to hear the desperate cries of a ruined soul about to meet its God.
The transgressor must eat of the fruit of his choice, and sink into the pit towards which his face has been resolutely set. The wages of sin is death.
Vain were the pleadings of Blair, and the rougher urgency of Derry, calling on the dying man to lift his eyes to the cross of Christ, trust, and be saved.
With a fearful howl of anguish the condemned soul took its flight; while his companions, awe-struck, prayed God to spare them such a doom.
On the dark waters the body of Brimstone was cast, to be seen no more until it should rise at the last day, we fear, to the resurrection of damnation.
Lost seemed the labors of Blair Robertson for the good of his worthless shipmate; but no prayerful effort for the holy cause is vain. Blair had other listeners than the ear to which he spoke. Unconscious of all around him, he had but striven to touch and uplift the soul of the dying man. The group of sailors gathered round the departing wretch would soon be scattered far and wide on the rolling seas, thousands of miles from the home of Blair Robertson, and the solemn truths he had spoken might spring up in their hearts and bear fruit unto eternal life.