Ah! thought I, this must be religion; but desiring to be right, I went to my employer and communicated my feelings to him. His reply rather damped my joy. He was a moralist; morality, he said, was all-sufficient to secure a man’s well being both in this life and in that to come. This, however, did not satisfy my mind. To me it seemed certain that genuine repentance, and a change of heart, were all-essential to my happiness; and these, if not already mine, I determined to possess.
The remarks and experience of the Methodists, at their prayer meetings, were greatly blessed to my comfort. Gradually the light broke; the day-star shone. Peace, like a river, filled my breast; joy, as from an unfailing fountain, bubbled up within me; love animated my affections; by day and by night I sang the praises of God, and the society of Christ’s dear people seemed precious indeed to my soul. I thought this sweet frame would last forever. I determined it should, so far as my efforts were necessary for its continuance. Alas! I knew not my own heart: a dreary wilderness state was before me, and I, like many an unwary soul before me, heedlessly stumbled into its gloomy shadows.
By a sudden change in the condition of my employer, I was led to seek employment in Ashford. Here, in the shop of Mr. Giles Stebbins, I was surrounded by many light-minded, trifling young men. Falling into the same snare for which I had reproved a professor before I was converted, my peace and calm were lost, every evidence darkened, and the wretchedness of a backslider in heart filled my soul. This apostacy lasted several months, when, through the love and long-suffering of a gracious God, I was once more restored to a state of salvation. Since that time, though I have not gained all that is desirable, and that is offered in an abundant gospel, yet I have been trying to stem the torrent of iniquity, which runs through the earth, and striving to make my way to the port of Glory.
The next fall I walked eighteen miles to a camp-meeting in Thompson, Conn., the first I had ever attended. Though the scene was novel, I soon took a deep interest in the services; especially when informed that a sailor was going to preach one evening. This sailor was no other than the well-known Rev. E. T. Taylor.[28] His text was in Philippians iv. 19: “But my God shall supply all your needs;” which he handled in his usual happy and eccentric, powerful manner. I had never before seen a religious sailor; to hear one preach, therefore, in such forcible and effective style, was to me a source of unutterable delight. Nor were the listening masses before the stand, who hung with intense eagerness on his lips, less pleased than myself. They broke out into loud expressions of praise to God for his wonderful mercies. “This,” said the speaker, “is but a drop from a bucket! What will it be when we drink from the mighty ocean itself?”
At this meeting I saw sinners yielding to Christ with tears of sacred penitence, for the first time in my life. Never in all my life had a spectacle more sublimely beautiful met my eye. I do not believe the world affords a more grateful sight than that of a sinner weeping and repenting before his Creator.
The parting scene of that meeting left an indelible impression on my memory. Even now I see that affectionate company marching in regular and joyful procession before the stand, each shaking hands, as he passed, with the preachers. Still I feel the tears chasing each other down my cheeks, as I grasped the hand of the sailor preacher so firmly, that it seemed I should never let it go; while he, seeing my emotion, observed, “Never mind, brother; we are on board of Zion’s ship now.” I had stood tearless alike amidst the wailings of the tempest and the roar of the battle, but here, among a few Christians at a camp-meeting, my heart was soft as a woman’s, and my tears flowed like rain. Does the reader inquire what made the difference? I answer, it was the love of God.
When I returned home, one of my first acts was to unite myself with the Methodist Episcopal church: an act which has led to the formation of many pleasant friendships, and which has proved the source of much religious enjoyment to my soul.
My mind often reverts, with a mixture of joy and sorrow, to the fate of the three hundred men and boys who sailed with me in the Macedonian, when I left England for the first time. Of these, alas! how many perished in battle! The rest were scattered over the four quarters of the globe. Beside myself, I never heard of but one of them who embraced religion. This was John Wiskey, one of our quartermasters. He settled in New London, and when he met in class, for the first time, he said he blessed God he had got out of that floating hell, the Macedonian. He afterwards removed to Catskill, on the North River, where he maintained a good Christian reputation.
My shipmate, who received me so hospitably in Mansfield, became unfortunate, lost his property, and died, but not before I had the satisfaction of offering a prayer at his bedside.
The little fellow who escaped from the Macedonian with me met with a melancholy fate. This I learned one day from the following paragraph in a newspaper: “Drowned, out of a pilot boat, off Charleston Bar, Mr. James Day, one of the crew of His Britannic Majesty’s late frigate Macedonian.” Thus have I been signally favored—a brand plucked from the fire. For this special favor I hope to render my heavenly Father the eternal tribute of a grateful heart.