“Yes,” shouted a strong voice from a dark corner of the hold. “Thank God!” murmured another voice from a different quarter, for there were men in that vessel’s hold who were longing for the salvation of other as well as their own souls.
No notice was taken of the interrupters. The preacher only paused for an instant as if to emphasise the words— “Jesus Christ is able to save to the uttermost all who come to God through Him.”
We will not dwell on this subject further than to say that the prayer which followed the sermon was fervent and short, for that student evidently did not think that he should be “heard for his much speaking!” The prayer which was thereafter offered by the Admiral of the fleet was still shorter, very much to the point, and replete with nautical phrases, but an uncalled-for petition which followed that was briefest of all. It came in low but distinct tones from a dark corner of the hold, and had a powerful effect on the audience; perhaps, also, on the Hearer of prayer. It was merely— “God have mercy on me.”
Whatever influence might have resulted from the preaching and the prayer on that occasion, there could be no doubt whatever as to the singing. It was tremendous! The well-known powers of Wesleyan throats would have been lost in it. Saint Paul’s Cathedral organ could not have drowned it. Many of the men had learned at least the tunes of the more popular of Sankey’s hymns, first from the Admiral and a few like-minded men, then from each other. Now every man was furnished with an orange-coloured booklet. Some could read; some could not. It mattered little. Their hearts had been stirred by that young student, or rather by the student’s God. Their voices, trained to battle with the tempest, formed a safety-valve to their feelings. “The Lifeboat” was, appropriately, the first hymn chosen. Manx Bradley led with a voice like a trumpet, for joy intensified his powers. Fred Martin broke forth with tremendous energy. It was catching. Even Groggy Fox was overcome. With eyes shut, mouth wide open, and book upside down, he absolutely howled his determination to “leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull for the shore.”
But skipper Fox was not the only man whose spirit was touched on that occasion. Many of the boats clung to the mission vessel till the day was nearly past, for their crews were loath to part. New joys, new hopes, new sensations had been aroused. Before leaving, Dick Martin took John Binning aside, and in a low but firm voice said—“you’re right, sir. A grievous sin does lie heavy on me. I robbed Mrs Mooney, a poor widdy, of her little bag o’ savin’s—twenty pounds it was.”
The latter part of this confession was accidentally overheard by Bob Lumsden. He longed to hear more, but Bob had been taught somehow that eavesdropping is a mean and dishonourable thing. With manly determination, therefore, he left the spot, but immediately sought and found his little friend Pat Stiver, intent on relieving his feelings.
“What d’ee think, Pat?” he exclaimed, in a low whisper, but with indignation in his eye and tone.
“I ain’t thinkin’ at all,” said Pat.
“Would you believe it, Pat?” continued Bob, “I’ve just heerd that scoun’rel Dick Martin say that it was him as stole the money from Mrs Mooney—from the mother of our Eve!”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Pat, making his eyes remarkably wide and round.