But what was the lot of the mourners in his own bereaved family on that sad night? James Cullingham had left his house in the morning, and that he was gone, was probably not more noticed than at other times. It was expected that the yawl which took him out, would in due course return.
Soon however, alarm arose on the beach, and rapidly spread itself in the town. In the evening, it was naturally expected that some news would come from the Pilots, for the boat which conveyed them to the vessels must of necessity return. But no news arrived. Elizabeth had been sent to bed by her Mother, who with her other daughter sat alone in the house in the deepest anxiety. The wind became very tempestuous. The snow drifted. A solemn awe was spread over the cottage. But there was nothing to be done, but to wait, and pray, and to support the mind in silence; still hoping that every moment would bring them tidings.
The eldest daughter at length went up stairs, leaving her Mother alone. The three brothers had been on the beach; and soon apprehending the real state of the case; they had scattered themselves on the coast, several miles to the southward, hoping that the boat might be driven on shore in that direction. Meanwhile a universal apprehension was spread abroad, and every one who knew how deeply the news would affect the family of James Cullingham forbore to come to the house, lest they might be the involuntary means of conveying the sad intelligence. The Mother sat alone till the morning, at this time a stranger unwittingly revealed the extent of the calamity. She was heard passing the road, when the anxious wife went to the door to ask whether she had heard any thing of the yawl. She replied, unconscious to whom she was speaking. “Nothing. It will never come back again!” The awful fact now broke in upon the mind of Mrs. Cullingham. At once she understood that all was lost; she received the news however, without any outcry or lamentation. But it sunk deeply within. Her expression to her daughter was, ‘your Father is gone, he is safely arrived, I shall join him in Heaven.’ She never once was heard to murmur. But the blow was intensely severe, and the weight of sorrow seemed to be borne alike, by the daughters and the Mother. It may be said to have been the death signal at a more remote period of Elizabeth, as well as of her Mother. Neither of them ever recovered their health. To the Widow the loss was in all respects very great. It might truly be said of her and her husband, “they were pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided.” In a very few months, she was called to follow him. A large subscription which was raised, chiefly at a distance from home, together with the property of her husband, and the assistance of her Children, left the Mother of Elizabeth in no want as to her worldly circumstances. But the suddenness, and the manner of her husband’s death, and the haunting reflection that his body was yet unburied, left a sort of wretchedness in her mind, which nothing but her faith and hope could subdue. Her mode of life was now some what altered. She had more time to read the Scriptures, which she did every afternoon, as well as morning and evening. But in the month of March, she was attacked with a paralytic stroke. This was not violent, and it affected her body more than her mind. It was a time of deep heart searching to her, and of preparation for her end. Her mind might be said to dwell in heavenly hope. She was deeply earnest in her devotions. I have entered her room, and finding her intent in prayer, have retired unobserved. Her mind was not easily distracted when employed in communing with God. But her state was not happy; she was oppressed with the sensation of her disorder, and she continued to feel intensely the circumstances of her husband’s death, and to mourn over his undiscovered and unburied body. At length however, it pleased God to relieve her from one of these causes of grief, by a remarkable interposition of his favor. By a very singular accident, her husband’s body was washed on shore in the month of October, many miles from the place where he was lost. It had been lying nearly nine months in the sea, and, on reaching the shore, had been found, and buried. Information having been given that a body had been so found, it was disinterred, and identified by his children. It was then brought home to Lowestoft, where it now lies in our churchyard, among the remains of different members of his family. This was an occasion which peculiarly called out the gratitude of his widow. After this event, she recovered the full powers of her mind. During the remaining few weeks of her life, she seemed to have gained clearer assurance of her own safety, and a more joyful hope and anticipation of future blessedness. Her state of conflict was now changed to one of full assurance of hope. One remarkable scene of her last days, of which I was a witness, I will relate in Elizabeth’s words, copied from her journal. On the day of her mother’s death she writes, ‘The Lord has been pleased to take my dear mother out of this state of trial and suffering. How calm, how patient she was through her long and painful illness. No murmuring, no repining ever escaped her lips. Her end was peace. Mr. C. called to see her on the Sunday evening: she was then able to speak only at intervals. He spoke to her of the joys of heaven. She appeared to take no notice for some moments, when suddenly reaching forth her hand to heaven, she exclaimed, Christ there! Then bringing it back, and laying it on her heart, she said, Christ here!’ How expressive were these simple words of her state of mind, and of her hope in her Redeemer. On this day she spoke to me of ‘going home,’ which was the view she entertained of her departure. On the last morning of her life she made sign to her daughter to read to her: she read part of John xiv. The mother then clasped her hands in prayer. This was nearly the last act of her life. She seemed now to be peculiarly alive to the reality of the presence of her Lord and Saviour as the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and that by Him a heavenly mansion had been prepared for her. Her room had been a kind of shelter from the bustle and confusion of the world around, and her daughters, who in turn remained at home on the Sabbath day, and read the service of the Church to her, testified of the comfort which those seasons of retirement ministered to them. These were, indeed, times of refreshment from the Lord. A friend of her’s thus describes an interview which she had with her a short time before her death. ‘I had delightful communication with her just before I left home: I sat by her bed-side, and we talked much on the eternal state. She was entirely sensible, could look at the approaching dissolution of her body with perfect peace. We spoke of the heavenly Jerusalem, and of the joyful prospect before her of entering into rest: her faith was strong and clear. She renounced every thing in herself, and through the unmerited mercy of her dear Redeemer, she felt assured that her sins were pardoned, and that an abundant entrance would be ministered to her into the everlasting kingdom of her God and Saviour. Her life of faith, and of active duty, and her death, so cheered by confidence in the Good Shepherd, afforded the fullest warrant of this blessed end of all her labours and her trials.’
I must now carry back this memoir to the beginning of the year. A funeral sermon was preached on the occasion of the death of James Cullingham. He was a communicant, and his character called for this public notice. Advantage was taken of the same occasion to speak of the death of another individual, a friend of Elizabeth and her mother, and I believe of most of the servants of God, who came within her reach in our little flock. This was Mary Smith. Her husband’s shop in which she served, made her well known in the parish, and enabled her to do much for others, and thus brought into view most of the infirmities which belonged to her nature. She was a woman of very marked and zealous character, well known to those about her, both in her natural and her renewed state. In both she was industrious and kind-hearted, a good wife, mother, and neighbour; but in her former state very clearly without that feeling of religion which marked her latter years. Indeed it may be said that she had gone so far as to ‘persecute that way which she afterwards followed.’ She was a very marked instance of an entire change of heart, by the power of the Holy Spirit. The natural ardour of her mind was sanctified in her converted state; it worked with the same power, but in another direction, and under another influence: she traced the change in her mind to a sermon which she heard on Phil. ii. 12. She then set conscientiously about working out her salvation, and she found her heavenly Father, ever ready to work in her, both to will and to do of his good pleasure. Her sense of this marked interference of the divine power on her behalf was never lost sight of; for the anniversary of the day when she first gave heed to the message of salvation, she remembered with much feeling. Of her domestic character, those who have lived with her have spoken to me, and have borne high testimony to her as a wife and a mother, and during her employment in the business of her shop. Her will became remarkably subjected to the will of God in all things. It may be truly said, that she did her duties as “to the Lord.” She had a very praiseworthy habit of praying with her children, whenever she found them in fault. Her religious character was marked by a strict conformity to the doctrines of the Church, of which she was a consistent, faithful, zealous member. In attendance on its services she had been brought to the knowledge of salvation, and she continued to walk in the truest submission, and the most lively attachment to its ministry. In another point she has left us an example. She was ever particularly alive to watch for the souls of others, to lead them forward, and to draw them to seek God. There are many now living who could bear witness to the earnestness, with which she sought to warn the unconverted, to reclaim the wanderer, to recover the backslider.
Her kindness to her poor neighbours was remarkable. Her medical man informed me, that he scarcely ever went into her house, without her first asking him about some one who wanted relief, which relief she was always eager to give according to her means, and many were the portions which her provision-shop supplied. Few ministers have had a more valuable ‘helper,’ in all respects. I must add a short account of her, given to me in writing by one in her own house, who, at the time when she, Mrs. S. was opposed to spiritual religion, had chosen another fold than the Church of England in which to seek the way of salvation. This testimony is therefore not given in ignorance of her real character, or in undue partiality to her principles.
After speaking of the striking circumstances of her conversion, the paper goes on to say, ‘The words of the Apostle were fulfilled in her. “If any man be in Christ he is a new creature. Old things are passed away, behold, all things are become new.” Yes, I know the truth of this, for I have seen it in her who is departed. Indeed she has proved to all around her, that she was a faithful follower of the Lord Jesus Christ; not one who said, “Lord, Lord,” but in works denied him.
‘She showed her love to God by keeping His commandments. I have known her, many and many a time, sacrifice her own comforts to relieve her poor neighbours. I have known her take her clothes from her back, and her shoes from her feet. It was her delight to do her heavenly Father’s will in all things. She was determined, as far as she was able, to do good to all, especially to those of the household of faith. She was one who visited the sick and afflicted, the fatherless and widow, and strove to keep herself unspotted from the world. Her views of herself were truly humble: she took the word of God for her guide. She did not shun to reprove sin, but knowing the terror of the Lord, she sought to persuade her fellow-sinners to be reconciled to God. She sought after backsliders with great care and perseverance, and aimed to encourage those that stood fast in the Lord. Her love of the means of grace, both public and private, was very great, and witnessed by her regular attendance on them. Her patience in her affliction, and resignation to the will of God, was indeed striking. Her sufferings and trials had been many in life, “but not too many,” as she said on her dying bed. The cup had been wisely mixed by her heavenly Father.’
January 2. She began to complain of her head, and the next day she was wholly confined to her bed. Two days after, she became so weak as to be unable to help herself. On Sunday the 7th she took but little notice. She was then asked, whether she was happy. She replied, ‘Oh, yes, very happy, very happy: Christ very precious to me.’ At another time she was asked, whether she could say, with the Apostle, that she was “ready to be offered up?” ‘Oh yes,’ she said. On Monday, speaking of death as the gate of life, she said, ‘O blessed gate—it is the gate of heaven to me:’ and at another time, ‘Christ is all in all to me.’ On the following morning she had the power of attention, and answered to the prayer of others in a fervent Amen. So she departed in peace and blessedness.
I must now return to the history of Elizabeth Cullingham. Deep and constant was her grief at her father’s death. She sympathized with her family; but she had then the pleasing task of waiting on her mother through her long affliction, and never was nursing more tenderly ministered, or more kindly received than by these two sisters, and their sinking parent. If there was some variety in their form of worship, their feelings were the same. To gratify their mother’s wishes was next to the love of God, the main object with her daughters. With her
‘That constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne’er roughened by those cataracts and breaks,
That humour interposed too often makes.’