Chapter VII
He Arrives at Portsmouth—Resolves to Return to his Father—Arrives at Rotterdam—Sunday Morning—Writes to his Father—Is Penniless—The Curse of Disobedience—The Sermon—Is Starving—Obtains Temporary Belief from an Old Fellow-Student—Receives News of his Father’s Death—His Sorrow and Remorse—Goes to Sea Again—Becomes Captain of a Ship.
“Wild is the whirlwind rolling
O’er Afric’s sandy plain,
And wild the tempest howling
Along the billowed main;
But every danger felt before—
The raging deep, the whirlwind’s roar.
Less dreadful struck me with dismay,
Than what I feel this fatal day.”
—GOLDSMITH.
“After a favourable voyage we arrived at Portsmouth, to which port the ship was bound. I took leave of the captain to seek my fortune elsewhere. He wished me good luck, and paid me my wages for the homeward passage, which, however, did not last me long. Finding myself again penniless, and without any means of earning my living, I resolved to return to my father. Accordingly, I shipped as a common sailor on board a bark bound for Holland. We had beautiful weather, and after a very good passage I landed at Rotterdam. It was early on a Sunday morning, and as there was no business connected with the ship to prevent me, I thought I could not do less than go to church, and there give thanks to God for the great deliverance He had given me. This will show that the dangers through which I had passed, and the experience I had gained, had not been without some influence on the state of my soul. I had become more serious, my outward conduct, at least, was much improved; but, notwithstanding this, I had as yet experienced no real change of heart.
“Had I but fully realised the meaning of the sermon I heard that day, I should have felt that something more than this was necessary—a real inward purification, and a complete renunciation, even in thought, of the sins which had led me astray. One part of the discourse ran thus:—‘God regards not only those things which a man does, not only his outward actions; His eye can also see our inmost thoughts, and He knows the true motive of every action of our lives. He regards not the outward appearance, but the inner reality; not the shell, but the kernel; that is, the inmost feeling and disposition of the heart; the shell is only the outward act. He sees the grain, and not the husk only; the treasure, not the box which contains it; the sword, and not the scabbard which hides it from our less penetrating view. What can it avail to have the scabbard ornamented with gold and jewels, if in the day of battle the sword is found edgeless, and covered with rust? Who would value a crop, however fine it might look as it stands in the field, if all the ears of corn were blighted and withered? Doubtless it is well that our outward actions should be of the highest and noblest character; this is indeed the sign of a well-regulated and religious life; but only truly are they such when they proceed from pure and noble motives, and are the expression of sound principles within.’
“The same day I wrote to my father again, and told him how I was situated. I assured him of my true repentance, and begged him to send me sufficient money to enable me to return to him. But while waiting to hear from him, I had only about two shillings in my pocket, and this was entirely gone by Wednesday. I knew his reply could not reach me for four days, and in the meantime I had not a penny to pay for board and lodging. I would not beg, though my circumstances were really worse than those of the poorest beggar in the streets, and I had not then that faith and trust in our heavenly Father’s care, which I have since through His mercy been enabled to feel. I knew not as yet what it was to be a child of God. I determined, however, to bear my hunger till some relief arrived from my father. All day on Friday I had literally nothing to eat, and by Saturday night I felt weak and ill in the extreme; and still those words of my father were ringing in my ears, ‘My curse shall be upon you.’ I had long lived in abundance, and squandered away pounds upon pounds; now I was to know by experience what it is to be in want. In this pitiable condition, having no means of obtaining a lodging, I crept under a boat hauled up upon the beach for the night, and obtained a few hours’ forgetfulness of my misery.
“When I awoke, I felt very wretched and low-spirited; but remembering that this was Sunday, I determined to go to church again and listen to another sermon, hoping to hear something there that might afford me some comfort. My hope was not in vain. The minister spoke most feelingly of the love of God, and of the care which He takes of all His creatures. His text, and the explanation he gave of it, seemed so exactly suited to my own case, that I almost thought the preacher must have known my circumstances, and chosen it expressly for my benefit. I was much affected, and on my return I wrote on a sheet of paper (which I have ever since carefully preserved), the following passages, which seemed peculiarly applicable to my own case. The text was from St. Matthew vi. 26, ‘Behold the fowls of the air.’—‘Yes, consider them attentively, for even they can teach us a lesson. How beautiful they are! how lively and active in all their motions! They of all created things seem specially adapted to give delight to the eye of man by their brilliant plumage and graceful evolutions, and to charm his ears by their melodious songs. Their homes are in the tops of the highest trees; they wing their course far up above our heads, and indeed seem to belong more to heaven than to earth.
“‘Let us consider now what we are told about them in the text. “They sow not, neither do they reap.” They are, in fact, utterly ignorant of the fact that an ear of corn sown carefully in the ground would in due season bring forth sixty or a hundred-fold. They see the berries and the corn, about the growth of which they have never troubled themselves, and there they find enough for their daily wants. Their free and joyous spirit seems to have no care for the future; they never “gather into barns.” How many animals are otherwise! Look at the squirrel with his hoard of nuts, the bees with their rich provision of honey, the careful ants, and many others, whose foresight teaches them to provide against the season of scarcity. These, too, are all the creatures of God, and His “tender mercy is over all His works;” but how different is their life from that of the birds! Singing and rejoicing seems the sole end and aim of their life. Their songs, and all their joyous motions in the air, are like a perpetual hymn of praise and thanksgiving to God, by whose providence they are sustained. “Your heavenly Father feedeth them.” Is He indeed the Father of the ravens? Is He indeed the Father of the sparrows? Only inasmuch as He is their Creator, and the supplier of their wants. But to you, my friends—to you He is more than this: to you indeed He is a Father—the true and loving Father of all who hear His words, and “remember His commandments to do them.” Oh, let us not forget all His benefits; let us remember that from Him alone we have all the blessings we enjoy, all blessings both of body and soul. But, above all, let us thank Him for the unspeakable gift of His dear Son, Jesus Christ, for our redemption, and of His Holy Spirit for the renewal of our hearts.
“’And oh! as we think over all His benefits, as did David when he penned the 103d Psalm, must not all that is within us bless His holy name? And whatever His providence may send us, whether wealth or poverty, sickness or health, let us look up to Him with thankfulness for His mercy, and say, “Doubtless Thou art our Father.”
“‘Behold the fowls of the air;’ their work, indeed, seems to be only singing and rejoicing; but what is yours? “Are ye not much better than they?” You, who are children of God, heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ, who are strangers and pilgrims in this world of sorrow and suffering, but whose home is in heaven; you, for whom God hath prepared an eternal mansion in the kingdom of heaven, to which, indeed, you shall one day go to enjoy bliss unspeakable and full of glory, if only while here below, you walk as children of the light, and trust in that great salvation which Christ accomplished for you, by His life and by His death,—“Are ye not indeed much better than they?”’
Here Willie interrupted the captain’s story by asking, “Why, then, are we taught in the fable to blame the careless and improvident grasshopper for not laying up a store for the winter, when the birds are praised for living without troubling themselves about the future? I can’t quite understand this.”
His father answered him: “All animals, my dear boy, follow the instinct which God has implanted in them; it is not for us to blame them or to praise them. But, at the same time, they may be used as examples to us, so far as we find in each anything good, loveable, or useful: and one and all may be employed to illustrate the characters of different men. From the ant, for instance, the idle may learn to work, and the careless to save. Do you remember who says, ‘Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise?’ So, on the other hand, from the birds the covetous and over-anxious may learn that it is possible to live, however scanty our store may be, if we only have faith in our heavenly Father’s care. It is wrong to be too anxious and troubled about the things of this world, while, at the same time, we must avoid falling into the opposite error of carelessness, idleness, and improvidence.” Then, turning to the captain, he said, “Excuse our interrupting you, my dear friend; pray continue your story.”
The captain then resumed his narrative in these words:—“The pastor’s sermon seemed to console me very much, and gave me fresh courage, and I thought to myself—‘I am, it is true, a stranger in this large city, without money or friends, but there is One above who knows my pitiable condition; His eye is upon me, and if it seem good to Him, He can easily feed me this one day at least, as He feeds ’the young ravens who cry unto Him.’ Soon after leaving the church, I noticed a young man, whose features seemed well known to me, reading the Latin inscription on the monument to Erasmus, which stands in the middle of the market-place. For some minutes, I could not remember clearly who he was, or where I had met him before, but all of a sudden I recognised him as an old fellow-student at the University of Giessen; and stepping up to him, I held out my hand, saying, ‘Korbec, is it you?’ ‘That is my name,’ said he, staring at me, ’but I can’t say I recollect you.’ I then remembered that, what with my sailor’s dress, my famished appearance, and my bronzed and weather-beaten features, it was scarcely likely that any of my old companions would know me at first sight. I soon told him who I was, and he recollected me at once and shook me heartily by the hand.
“I had no need to tell him I was hungry; my appearance sufficiently showed that, and he considerately spared me the shame and pain of asking him for relief, by taking me to an inn close by. Here a good dinner was quickly provided for me, and I need scarcely say I ate with the ravenous appetite of an almost starving man. As soon as I had satisfied my hunger, I told him some of my adventures. He saw at once that I was in need of further help, but as he was just about to join a ship to which he had been appointed surgeon, he had need of all his money, and was only able to give me a few shillings. These I accepted with gratitude, and was very glad to be in a position to pay for a night’s lodging. Thus God, who ‘filleth all things living with plenteousness,’ supplied me with the necessaries of life, as soon as I began to trust to His care; even before I had learned truly to know Him, He dealt with me as though I were one of His faithful children. Oh that I had been able to recognise this love to me! But as soon as I found my distress relieved, I thought no more of His love who had helped me, and very soon fell again into my former state of indifference.
“The money my friend had given me was almost all gone, when on the following Wednesday a letter reached me, not indeed from my father, but from one of my uncles, who told me that my father was dead, and that what little property he left had been barely sufficient to pay off my university debts. The letter also contained an order for five pounds, which my uncle sent me, without, however, telling me whether I was expected to return home, or whether I was left free to continue my wandering life. On reading the sad news of my father’s death, I fell into a chair, and covered my face with my hands. I seemed again to hear those terrible words, ‘My curse shall be upon you,’ and I was for a long time unable to utter a word, or to shed a single tear. At length, however, my grief found vent, and I passed the greater part of the night in bitter and passionate weeping.
“When the day broke, my troubles began again, and the future now looked to me blacker than ever. What was I to do? Whither should I direct my steps? Whatever I undertake, I thought, I can never escape the terrible curse which I have brought upon myself by my disobedience. My father is dead, and it is now too late to obtain his forgiveness! Oh, what would I have given to have seen him alive once more! I would have thrown myself at his feet, and on my knees have sought his pardon for my wickedness, until he exchanged his curse for a blessing. But now, alas! it is too late—too late!
“Reproaching myself thus, I at last made up my mind that it would be useless now to return to my old home, and that the only course open to me was to go to sea again, and I determined to go and offer myself as a sailor on board the ship in which I had come over. The captain received me very kindly, and engaged me as their mate, promising, at the same time, to teach me something of navigation. We soon set sail, and before we had been very long at sea, the second mate, who had been drinking too much, fell overboard. It was dark at the time, and there was a heavy sea on, and though the boats were lowered, no traces of him were discovered. As I had in that short time paid great attention to my duties, and to the kind instructions of the captain, I was promoted to his place. The next voyage I was made first mate, and some years later I became captain of a ship bound for Peru, and continued in that capacity for about ten years. During this time, I had a good opportunity for making private speculations, which proved so successful, that at the end of the ten years I was able to buy a ship of my own.
“While I was thus busily engaged, I had little time to think of my father, and his last letter to me; and so long as I continued in prosperity, I neglected prayer altogether. Yet I passed before all the world for an honest man, and, judged only by my outward acts, no one would have doubted that I was a God-fearing one.”