How long he lay thus he could not tell; but, on recovering and looking up, he found that the star was gone—telling plainly that night had set in.
Then it was, when all hope of delivering himself, or of being delivered by others, had fled, that a word which had been uttered by Dr Hayward to a dying man on board the ship, leaped into John Mitford’s mind like a gleam of light. “Call upon Me in the time of trouble and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me.” He had seen this invitation accepted by the dying man and deliverance obtained—if a happy smile and a triumphant gaze across the river of death were to be regarded as testimony. “But, then,” thought John Mitford, “that was spiritual deliverance. Here it is a hard physical fact, from which nothing short of a miracle can deliver me. No—it is impossible!”
Was it a voice within him, or an old memory, that immediately whispered the words, “With God all things are possible?” At all events, the poor man rose up slowly in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, and began once more to feel round the walls of his narrow prison. He found nothing mew, save that once he narrowly escaped falling down what seemed to be a still deeper hole among the fallen rocks already referred to. Then he lay down—or rather fell on the floor exhausted—and slept till morning. The fact that another day had begun was only ascertainable by the shining of the star-like mouth of the hole. He attempted again to shout, but found that his voice had left him, and that even if his comrades should return to the place he could not make them hear! In the fit of despair which followed he went round and round his living tomb like some wild beast in a cage. During one of these perambulations, he stumbled again over the fallen rocks, dropped into the hole behind them, and slid a few feet downwards, but not rapidly, for the slope was gradual, and it terminated on a flat floor. Looking cautiously round, on reaching this lower depth, he saw what appeared to be a faint light far beneath him, and considerably in advance of the spot where he stood, or rather to which he clung.
Gradually his mind calmed, and, resolving to make for this light, he groped his way downward. It was a long and wearisome scramble, involving many a slip and slide, and not a few falls, (for it was made, of course, in total darkness), and the distant light did not appear to become stronger or nearer. At last it seemed as though it were growing. Then John found himself on ground over which he could walk, guiding himself by touching perpendicular walls of rock on either side with his hands. It was a great split in the mountain, caused perhaps by those mighty subterranean forces, which some men recognise as volcanic action, whilst others, admitting—but passing beyond—second causes, recognise them as tools with which God is moulding this world according to His will.
“Strange!” thought the man, as he moved slowly forward. “Was this split made hundreds—perhaps thousands—of years ago, for the purpose of enabling me to escape?”
“Certainly not—absurd, presumptuous idea,” answered Unbelief, smartly.
“It was,” remarked Faith, slowly, “made, no doubt, for hundreds—it may be millions—of other purposes, but among these purposes the saving of your life was certainly in the mind of Him who ‘knows all things from the beginning,’ and with whom even the falling of a sparrow is a matter for consideration.”
We do not assert that John Mitford’s reasoning took the precise form of these words, for many minds can think somewhat profoundly without being able to express themselves clearly; but some such thoughts undoubtedly coursed through John’s mind, as he moved through that subterranean labyrinth, and finally emerged—through a narrow crack, not so large as an ordinary door—upon the inner margin of a stupendous cavern.
With a fervent “Thank God!” and a hopeful leap of the heart, the poor man beheld the waters of the sea rushing up to his very feet; and beyond the cave’s mouth lay the grand ocean itself, like a bright picture in a black frame. But what was that projecting from the water, not twenty yards from where he stood? The broken mast of a sunken wreck! Mitford’s heart almost stood still, for he became aware that he had made his way to the very cavern in which the ill-fated Lapwing had met her doom, and around him were masses of wreckage that had been washed up and thrown on the rocks at the inner end of the cave where he stood.
An involuntary shudder passed through the man’s frame as he glanced round expecting to see the dead bodies of his late shipmates. But nothing of the kind was visible, and the spars, masts, and other wreckage which had reached the rocks had been shattered into “matchwood” by frequent gales.