“I wrote merely on the possibility of any European having escaped the massacre which I understood had taken place,” I answered. “I can therefore claim no thanks from you.”
“I am not the less grateful,” he answered. “I had so fully expected to be killed, that I feel like one risen from the dead.”
“I trust that you have risen to newness of life,” I ventured to say, for I am sure it was a remark my father would have made, and I felt anxious to be assured that the young man was under religious impressions. It was an opportunity indeed I dare not let pass by.
“Yes, Miss Liddiard, I do feel that,” he exclaimed. “And with what horror do I reflect what would have been my doom had I died with my companions. I knew the truth when I was a boy, for I had been brought up by a pious father and mother, but I became careless and wild, and neglected all their precepts and warnings. I went on from bad to worse, and at length, believing that if I could get out to the Pacific—of which I had read—I could enjoy unfettered liberty and licence, I shipped on board a vessel bound out, round Cape Horn. Having knocked about in the way I proposed for some time, though, as may be supposed, I did not find the life among rough seamen and fierce savages as agreeable as I had expected, I at length reached Sydney in New South Wales. I there joined the sandal wood trader, which has been so fearfully destroyed.
“Just before going on board I met an old friend of my father’s, a missionary, whom I had known at home. He spoke to me seriously, and warned me against joining the vessel, knowing as he did, the lawless character of her crew. He offered to obtain my discharge if I would come and live with him. His words made a deep impression on my heart, although I was too self-willed to follow his advice. During the voyage, while we were sailing from island to island, those words often and often recurred to my mind. I in vain attempted to drive them from me. When I saw my companions being put to death—expecting to meet the same fate—how earnestly I wished that I had followed my friend’s counsels. I could only utter, ‘Lord be merciful to me a sinner,’ and entreated God to protect me. When I found myself so unexpectedly preserved, I remembered the prayer I had uttered, and resolved to give myself to the service of God in any way He might open out for me. You now know my brief history, Miss Liddiard. I felt bound to give it you, but I am unwilling to trouble you with more than I have already told you about myself. My name is Charles Norton.”
“You can have no difficulty in finding opportunities of serving God, Mr Norton,” I exclaimed. “When we see thousands and tens of thousands of human beings scattered about this broad Pacific ignorant of Him, and given over to abominable heathen practices, all requiring to be fed with the bread of life. Why should you not prepare yourself to go forth as a missionary among them?”
“I feel that I am too unworthy and sinful to undertake so serious an office,” he said humbly.
“No human being could be qualified to go forth as a missionary of the gospel trusting alone to his own merits, and no one would be found to undertake the office were all influenced by the opinion you express,” I observed. “All must feel their unworthiness and we must take God at His word, and believe that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin, and then go forth and declare what great things He has done for us. I repeat what I have heard my father say:—We must not trust to our feelings, but we must believe that God is a rewarder of those who diligently serve Him, not only of those who have all along done so.”
“You have given me new life and hope,” exclaimed the young man. “Henceforth, if my life is spared, after having prepared myself for the task, I will devote it to making known the gospel to the poor heathens of these regions.”