“‘God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.’
“I forget the rest, except—
“‘Trust Him for His grace:
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.’
“Boys! turn in now. I am on watch, and shall keep the fire going. Turn in, I tell you.”
With those last words to finish his talk and order us to bed, his voice regained its sailor-like strength and roughness, but it melted again as he added—
“My dear old boys, we shall all pray to-night, eh? and from wiser and better hearts. Thank God!”
The last things I was conscious of that night were the whistling of the wind and the roaring of the waves, and the snapping and fizzing of the red embers, thus telling their stories to the storm of the brave ships of which they once formed parts.