Chapter VIII
His Marriage—The Portrait—His Terror—His Good Fortune Deserts him—Heavy Losses—The Beggar—Recognises an Old Enemy—His Two Children are Drowned—His Wife Dies—Is Bankrupt—In Prison—The English Clergyman—Is Brought to Repentance—Is Set Free—The Fisherman and Basketmaker.
“God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
“Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will
“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.”
—COWPER.
“About this time, too, I had got married, being then about thirty-five years of age. This was at Liverpool, and after the ceremony was over I called at the clergyman’s house to get a certificate. While he was writing it out for me, I looked round the room, and saw hanging on the wall that very portrait which you see there over the looking-glass. I started back with astonishment, and began trembling violently, so much so, indeed, that I was obliged to support myself by holding on to the table. The clergyman asked me what was the matter. ‘Oh, nothing, nothing at all, it is only an attack of giddiness,’ said I, with my eyes still riveted on the portrait. I seemed to see my father alive before me, with his eyes fixed upon me in anger; and in my agitation I even fancied I saw the lips of the picture move, and thought I again heard those terrible words, ‘My curse shall be upon you, and follow you always!’ ‘No, no,’ I cried aloud, being unable to overcome my terror, ‘Oh, do not, do not curse me!’ The clergyman, filled with astonishment, asked me the cause of so strange an exclamation. I confessed that it was the portrait of my father, and my meeting with it so unexpectedly, which had produced so strong an impression upon me.
“Upon this he took down the picture and showed me, by the name on the back, that I was mistaken in thinking it was my father’s portrait, it being that of an English clergyman who had been dead for some years, so that the resemblance was quite accidental. He spoke also very kindly to me about the words I had used, and gradually led me to tell him the story of my disobedience and my father’s anger, and took much pains to convince me that my father’s curse could not exercise any unfavourable influence upon me, if I had truly repented of those sins which provoked him to utter it, and if, as a proof of my sincerity, I were now living a different life. All his arguments, however, failed to quiet my conscience, and I returned to my house much troubled in mind.
“Shortly after this I set out for another voyage, but my late good fortune seemed to have deserted me. We met with very rough weather before we had been a month at sea, and in order to save the ship I was obliged to order a great part of the cargo to be thrown overboard, so that when at length we arrived at our destination I found I had lost several hundred pounds on the voyage. The homeward voyage was equally unfortunate, and when, after nearly twelve months’ absence, I reached my home and found my dear wife ready to welcome me with our baby in her arms, the joy of such a meeting was marred by the fear that the punishment of my disobedience might fall on the heads of those I loved.
“I have little to tell you about the next six or seven years, during which time my bad fortune still followed me, and the state of my affairs grew gradually worse and worse. One thing, however, I must relate. I had been out one afternoon for a walk, and on returning, just at dusk, I found a poor miserable looking beggar, with a wooden leg, sitting on the grass near our cottage door, eating some food which my wife had just given him. I said a few words to him when I came up, and as some of his answers interested me, I asked him to stop a little while and give me an account of himself.
“He began, ‘I was born at Amsterdam’—and in a moment I recollected him. He was no other than the very crimp whom I met on the quay when I first went to that city, and who had decoyed me into his house, where I was robbed and sent to sea as I have told you. I said nothing, however, but let him go on with his story. He told me that he had been once in business, but had met with so many losses that at length he was obliged to go as a sailor in the English navy, and that during an engagement he had received a bullet in his left leg, which had to be amputated, so that when he received his discharge he was compelled to get his living as he could. While he was speaking, a thousand recollections crowded on my mind, and when he had finished I fixed my eyes sternly on his face and said, ‘Do you remember me?’ He said he had no recollection of ever having seen me before, Thereupon I told him the story of our meeting on the quay at Amsterdam, and reminded him of what had followed his treachery. As I spoke somewhat loudly and angrily, he became quite pale with terror, and did not attempt to deny that he was the man who had used me so cruelly; in fact he seemed quite paralysed with fright. ‘Don’t be afraid of me,’ I said, ‘God Himself has punished your wickedness, and I will not revenge myself on you. Only take yourself off from hence, and never let me see you again.’”
The captain here broke off to ask the children whether they thought he had done well in acting thus?
“Oh yes, certainly,” said Mary, “you were surely right not to be revenged upon him.”
“That is true,” said Willie, “but the Bible says we are to love our enemies, and I think, sir, if you had loved this man, you would not have driven him away from you.”
“Quite true, my boy,” rejoined the captain, “and if I had followed the example of our blessed Saviour, I should have tried to help this man out of his troubles, and endeavoured to obtain some influence over his heart, and so have been really useful to him by leading him to see how wicked he had been. But I could not do it, I did not even know my own heart, and I thought I was doing a wonderfully good action in not punishing him for his cruelty and inhumanity towards me. I lived many years longer holding this good opinion of myself until God gave me the grace of humility, and brought me by means of more troubles to know the wickedness of my own heart.
“As my affairs became gradually more and more embarrassed I was often very much troubled on account of my children, of whom I had now two, for during these few years all my savings had been expended, and I could not see my way clearly to provide for their education as they grew up. Their promising dispositions were, however, a source of great satisfaction to me, and I comforted myself with the hope that things might yet soon improve with me, and that one or two successful voyages would place me in a position to provide for all their wants.
“With my mind thus filled with mingled feelings of joy at my safe return to my family, and anxiety for the future welfare of those dependent upon me, I returned one day late in the summer of 17—, after a three months’ voyage. I had written to my wife a few days before to tell her when I should be at home, but having got into port a day earlier than I had reckoned upon, I anticipated giving my wife and children a pleasant surprise by my unexpected arrival. Even at this distance of time I can scarcely trust myself to speak of the terrible disappointment that awaited me. On entering my cottage, instead of being greeted with the affectionate caresses of my dear wife and children, I was surprised to see that the only person in the room was a good woman, who lived in a neighbouring cottage. As she looked up and recognised me on my entrance, something in her manner made me fear that all was not well with my family. I eagerly inquired after them, and the woman, who was an old friend of my wife’s, burst into tears, and in a few words told me the extent of the misfortune that had befallen me. My two children, for whose welfare I had been so anxious, were both dead, and my poor wife was confined to her bed by illness. I learned afterwards, for I was so overcome by the news of this awful calamity that I could not listen to the particulars just then, that the two little ones had gone down to the seashore to play with a little companion about a fortnight before I reached home; the last time they were seen alive they were amusing themselves in one of the fisherman’s boats which was lying upon the beach. By some means or other they must have got the boat afloat, and so been carried out to sea unobserved. The night proved very stormy, and the next day the boat was seen floating, bottom upwards, out at sea, and during the day their dead bodies were washed ashore. The anxiety of my poor wife during that awful night, and her great agony of sorrow on learning their unhappy fate, had preyed so much upon her health that it was scarcely expected that she would ever recover from the shock. I pass over the events of the next few days—it would be too much for me, even now, to enter into any detail of the meeting between my wife and myself; nor can I, without tears, think of her as I watched her day by day growing weaker and weaker. Within a fortnight after my arrival she, too, followed our children to the grave, and I was left alone in the world.
“This surely should have been enough to soften even a heart of stone like mine. It was not so, however. I only hardened my heart more and more. ‘This is the punishment of my disobedience,’ I thought to myself. The concluding words of my father’s letter echoed again and again in my ears, and instead of producing a good effect upon me, only made me more obstinate in refusing to listen to the gentle appeals of my Saviour. If I did not remember, but too well, my feelings at this time of my life, I could not now believe that any poor wretched human being could carry his pride of heart and stubborn rebellion against God to such a pitch as I did.
“In order to divert my mind from the harassing reflections which beset me, and made the solitude of my once happy home intolerable, instead of bowing to God’s holy will, and recognising, as I can now do, the fact that all that had befallen me was sent in love to my soul by a heavenly Father, who is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind, I sought relief, where no one ever yet found it, by giving myself up to those bad habits which had been the cause of all my misery. I spent my whole time in the society of wicked and thoughtless men, and turned a deaf ear to the remonstrances of all my real friends. There were many who expressed the deepest sympathy with me in my sorrows, and made many vain efforts to recall me to a sense of my duty. But I disregarded all their kind exhortations, and always answered sullenly, ‘What is the use of my trying to do right? I am under a curse.’
“Such a state of things could not last long. For the last year or two, my income had been insufficient to support my family, and I had unavoidably contracted some few debts, and now my extravagances rapidly increased them. My creditors soon began to importune me for payment, and after putting them off from time to time, I was obliged to tell them that I was utterly and hopelessly bankrupt. I was then brought before the court, and my ship, my house, and all my goods, were ordered to be sold, and these being insufficient to meet the claims against me, I was thrown into prison. Then, indeed, my cup of sorrow was full. Again I heard my father’s malediction sounding in my ears, and this time without being able to drown the painful memory in the riotous pleasures of the world. And though, in my former troubles, I had not shrunk from upbraiding God’s providence for oppressing an innocent man, as I called myself, I could not but feel that this new misfortune was the just consequence of my own folly and extravagance. I was now forced to listen to the reproaches of a conscience racked with remorse. Nevertheless, I could not yet resolve to recognise the justice of God. I obstinately resisted His appeals, and still remained impenitent.
“I cannot tell what I might have become while in prison, had I been left altogether to myself. All men seemed to have forgotten me entirely, but God had not even then deserted me. He had pity on me in my extremity, and by an extraordinary dispensation of His Providence, sent to me that very clergyman in whose house I had seen the portrait which so resembled my father. My first words when I saw him were, ‘You see I was right: my father’s curse is following me, and you see to what a state it has brought me.’ ‘No,’ replied he, ‘this is not the effect of your father’s anger; it is the consequence of the curse of sin. If you had seriously turned to God, He whose property is always to have mercy and to forgive would assuredly have delivered you from that curse, and would have turned it into a blessing.’
“I refused to listen to these words, and obstinately persisted in saying that God had doomed me to misery, and that nothing could alter my fate. ‘Take care,’ said the clergyman, solemnly, ‘that you do not provoke God’s anger still more by your rash and inconsiderate words. He has surely shown you, plainly enough, that to rebel against Him is the act of none but a madman. Tell me, have you ever tried to free yourself from your load of sin? Have you ever prayed earnestly for God’s help to deliver you out of your troubles?’ ‘No, said I, ‘I have never tried. I cannot do so! I am suffering beneath the weight of an unjust curse, while thousands of other men, who are worse than I am, never suffer any punishment at all, but prosper in all they undertake.’ ‘My answer to that,’ said the good man, ’must be, that you who have studied for the ministry, as you told me, must know, on the authority of God’s own word, that one single sin is sufficient for a man’s condemnation; how can you then dare to call your punishment unjust? As to your objection that thousands of men are never punished for their offences in this world, that can have no weight; for, even if no punishment reaches them here, they cannot escape at the great Day of Judgment in the world to come. You ought rather to thank God for the just chastisement you have received, which is a proof that His pity and His love are not yet wholly withdrawn from you. Every misfortune you have undergone is as the voice of God calling you to serious repentance. Remember, “whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth,” and beware lest by your obstinacy you bring down His wrath upon your head.’
“I could not answer such arguments as these; but though my reason was convinced, my heart was untouched. On leaving me, the clergyman gave me a New Testament, and persuaded me to read it with attention, and particularly recommended me to meditate prayerfully upon the Epistle to the Romans. He then left me, and promised to come and see me again. When he had gone, I thought to myself there could be very little good in my reading the book he had left me. In my university studies, I had read it so often, that I knew pretty well what it contained, and I did not expect to find anything in it that I did not know before. Accordingly, I left it unopened for some days, and it was only to divert my melancholy thoughts that I at length, for want of anything else to read, opened the Testament, and began to read the Epistle to the Romans. ‘Is this indeed the same epistle that I used to read at the university?’ was my first thought, when I had read a few verses. It was indeed the same, word for word; there was no alteration in the book, but since I last read it, I myself had undergone a change. Since that time, I had passed through the rough school of adversity, and the experience of years had shown me more than I then knew of the corruption of my own heart. When I read the words, ‘That every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God’ (Rom. iii. 19), I was filled with terror, and to this was added an overwhelming sense of the infinite majesty of God, whose goodness and justice I had so lately dared to question. Then I came to the passage, ‘For God hath concluded them all in unbelief, that He might have mercy upon all, O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out! For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who hath been His counsellor? or who hath first given to Him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again? For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things; to whom be glory for ever. Amen.’ (Rom. xi. 32-36.) Upon this, a ray of hope dawned upon my heart, and I cried out with emotion, ‘O God, since Thou hast mercy on all who come to Thee, have mercy also on me.’
“Little by little my heart was softened, and tears of true penitence streamed from my eyes. I was weeping when the clergyman came to see me again. ‘God be praised,’ said he, as he entered, seeing the tears in my eyes, ‘God be praised, for He has had compassion on your soul.’ I could not answer, for my heart was too full for words. He then knelt down with me, and prayed with much earnestness, that God would carry on the good work He had begun in me; and as he prayed, I was deeply affected, and at last I too called aloud to God for mercy. This cry was not in vain; the peace of God descended upon my heart, and I was enabled to believe in the possibility of obtaining pardon for all my sins, through faith in a crucified Saviour. After this, I found myself in a much happier frame of mind. I acknowledged that I had been a miserable sinner, and that but for the infinite mercy of the Most High, I must have perished in my sins; I saw now that all my misfortunes had been in reality a token of the loving-kindness and tender mercy of Him, who ‘willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should be converted and live.’ The Word of God, which for so many years had been a dead letter to me, had now become a source of sweet and life-giving nourishment to my soul; and I spent the greater part of my time while in prison in reading and meditating upon the precious volume. The clergyman offered to lend me some other books; but I declined them all, telling him that the Book of books was enough for me.
“After this worthy man had thus attended to my spiritual wants, he busied himself in endeavouring to set me free from my unhappy confinement. By his exertions, and those of several friends, whom he had interested in my behalf, it was not long before I was set at liberty. I was glad to be once more a free man, but could not regret my imprisonment, inasmuch as it was in the prison that I had been led to a knowledge of Him ‘whose service is perfect freedom.’ The kind friends who had interested themselves in me provided me with a small sum of money, with which I took a little cottage by the sea-side; and having bought a small boat and some nets, I was able to get my living all through the summer as a fisherman, and supported myself during the winter by making baskets, which I sold in the neighbouring town. I begged my good friend the clergyman to give me the portrait so like my father, which had caused me such terror when I first saw it in his house, but which I could now look upon without distress of mind, knowing that I had obtained grace and pardon from my heavenly Father. On receiving it, I hung it up over the fireplace in my humble cottage.”