The Love That Prevailed

by Frank Frankfort Moore

There could be no doubt about the depth of the impression which the strange figure and his unusual garb produced upon the people.

There he stood on the high ground above the houses, the man who had prophesied the end of the world, while beneath them tumbled the waves of a sea where they had never seen sea water before! The occurrence, being so far outside their experience, had about it the elements of the supernatural—the aspect of a miracle. Was this the beginning of the end of all? they asked themselves. To these people the daily ebb and flow of the tide, ever going on before their eyes, was the type of a regularity that nothing could change; and never once had the water been forced, even under the influence of the strongest gale from the southwest, beyond the summit of the shingle-heap—never until this day.

It was an awful thing that had come to pass before their eyes, and while their brains were reeling beneath its contemplation there rang out that voice of warning. The man who had predicted an event that was not more supernatural in their eyes than the one which had come to their very feet, was there bidding them repent.

But strange to say, there was not one among the-people assembled there who made a motion—who cried out in conviction of the need for repentance, as hundreds had done upon every occasion of John. Wesley's preaching, although it had contained no element that, in the judgment of an ordinary person, would appeal with such force to the emotions of the villagers as did the scene in which Pritchard now played a part.

They remained unmoved—outwardly, however shrinking with terror some of them may have been. Perhaps it was they felt that the man had, in a way, threatened them physically, and they had a feeling that it would show cowardice on their part to betray their fear, or it may have been that, as was nearly always the case when a prophet came to a people, they attributed to the bearer of the messages of the ill the responsibility for the ills which he foretold—however it may have been, the people only glanced up at the weird figure, and made no move.

But the appearance of the man at that moment had the effect of making them forget the scene which had immediately preceded the sound of his voice. No one looked to see whether or not John Bennet had scrambled back to the beach or had gone under the waters.

“It is coming—it is coming: I hear the sound of the hoofs of the pale Horse—yonder is the red Horse spoken of by the prophet at Patmos, but the White Horse is champing his bit. I hear the clink of the steel, and Death is his rider. He cometh with fire and brimstone. Repent—repent—repent!”

“I have a mind to make the fellow repent of his impudence,” said Parson Rodney. “The effrontery of the man trying to make me play a part in his quackery. I wonder how this water-finder would find the water if I were to give him the ducking I gave to the other?”

“You would do wrong, sir,” said Wesley. “But I feel that I have no need to tell you so: your own good judgment tells you that yonder man is to be pitied rather than punished.”

“Oh, if that is the view you take of the matter, you may be sure that I'll not interfere,” cried the other. “The fellow may quack or croak or crow for aught I care.'Twas for you I was having thought. But I've no intention of constituting my humble self your champion. I wish you well; and I know that if the world gets over the strain of Monday, we shall never see you in our neighbourhood again.”