The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast Part 21

"My G.o.d, how endless is thy love!"

The music that morning was unusually sweet. The voices of the singers were rendered plaintive by a consciousness of their helpless situation; and the rich tones of the flute, together with Sam's African voice, which was marked by indescribable mellowness, added greatly to the effect.

The subject of the chapter was the parable of the prodigal son. Sam, poor fellow, raised himself on his elbow, and listened attentively; his remark made afterwards to Mary, showed that, however far beyond his comprehension a great part of the parable may have been, he had caught its general drift and meaning. "De Lord is berry kind; he meet de sinner afore he get home, and forgib him ebbery ting."

About nine o'clock the young people separated, with the understanding that they were to re-a.s.semble at eleven, for the purpose of reading the Scriptures, and of conversation about its teachings.

Robert went to the beach, and taking his seat upon a log, near the flag-staff, looked upon the ocean, and engaged in deep reflection upon their lonely situation, and the waning prospects of their deliverance.

His Testament gradually slipped from his grasp, and his head sunk between his knees. Such was his absorption of mind, that the big drops gathered upon his forehead, and he was conscious of nothing except of his separation from home, and of the necessity for exertion. At last he heard a voice from the tent. Harold and Mary were beckoning to him; and looking up to the sun, he saw that eleven o'clock had come and pa.s.sed.

He sprang to his feet, and in doing so, was rebuked to see lying on the ground the Testament which he had taken to read, but had not opened.

Harold, on leaving the tent, took his pocket Bible and strolled up the river bank, to a pleasant cl.u.s.ter of trees, where he selected a seat upon the projecting root of a large magnolia. His mind also reverted naturally to their lonely situation; but he checked the rising thoughts, by saying to himself, "No. I have time enough during the week for thoughts like these. The Sabbath is given for another purpose, which it will not do for me longer to neglect. When the Lord delivered us in that strange way at sea, I resolved to live like a Christian, but I have neither lived nor felt as I ought. The Lord forgive me for my neglect, and help me to do better." He knelt down, and for several minutes was engaged in endeavouring to realize that he was in the presence of G.o.d.

His first words were a hearty confession that, although he had been early taught to know his duty, he had not done it, nor had the heart to do it; and, though in the experience of countless blessings, he had never been grateful for any until the time of that unexpected deliverance. He thanked G.o.d for having taught him by that dreadful accident to feel that he was a sinner, and that it was a terrible thing to live and to die such. He said he knew there were promises, many and great, to all who would repent of sin, and believe in Jesus Christ, and he prayed that G.o.d would enable him so to repent and believe, as to feel that the promises were made to him.

Rising from his knees, and sitting upon the root of the tree, he opened the Bible, and his eye rested upon the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy and eat; yea, come; buy wine and milk, without money and without price." Here he stopped, for his eyes filled, and the page became obscured. He put his hands to his face, and thought, "That pa.s.sage surely describes _me_. I came to this spot as a thirsty person goes to a spring. My soul longs for something, I know not what, except that G.o.d only can supply it, and that I have nothing to offer for its purchase. Now G.o.d says that he will _give_ it, 'without money and without price.' O, what a blessing! O, how merciful! Let me see that pa.s.sage again."

He re-opened the Bible, which had been laid in his lap, but the place had not been marked, and was not to be found. After searching some time, he turned to the New Testament, and having opened it at the Epistle to the Romans, was turning back to the Gospels, when his eye was caught by these words (contained in the seventh and eighth verses of the fourth chapter of Romans): "Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man to whom the Lord will not impute sin." "Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, "how true that is!

There is no blessing like it." Supposing that something might be said in the chapter to show how sin may be forgiven and covered, he read the chapter through, but was disappointed. The only clear idea he gained was that Abraham was counted righteous, and was saved, not by his works, but by his faith. This confused him. "I always thought," said he, "that people were saved because they were good. But this teaches,--let me see what,"--at this time his eye rested on the words, "Now it was not written for his sake alone (viz. that Abraham's faith was imputed to him for righteousness), but FOR US ALSO, _to whom_ it shall be imputed, if we believe on him that raised up Jesus, our Lord, from the dead, who was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification."

"Ah, there comes my case again!" he mentally exclaimed. "It does seem as if G.o.d is opening to me the scriptures. This fact, about Abraham, was _recorded_ not for his sake, but FOR OUR SAKES _now_. And the blessing bestowed on him (that is, the forgiveness of sin), shall be bestowed on us too, 'if we believe on Him (that is, G.o.d the Father), that raised up Jesus from the dead, who was delivered (that is, given up to death--put to death) for our offences, but raised again for our justification.' But justification, what does that mean?"

He glanced his eye over the chapter. It flashed upon him that justification means nothing more nor less than what Paul had been speaking of throughout the whole chapter. Abraham was "justified"--that is, "sin was not imputed to him"--he was "counted righteous," on account of his faith. Now he understood the pa.s.sage. It declared that we too shall be justified, if we believe on G.o.d, who gave up Jesus to suffer for our sins, and who raised him again that we might be counted righteous.

As soon as he had conceived this idea, and had certified his mind of its correctness, by reading the pa.s.sage over several times, he fell once more upon his knees, and said, "O Lord, I am a sinner. But thou hast said, 'Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that hath no money.' I come as a sinner, thirsting for pardon, but having no money to offer for its purchase. My only hope is in Thy promise. I plead it now before Thee. Thou hast promised, that as Abraham was justified by faith, so shall we be, if we believe on Thee, who didst raise Jesus from the dead. Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.

Accept of me as righteous in thy sight, not because I am righteous--for I am not, but because Jesus Christ was delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justification. Forgive my iniquities, cover my sins, and make me all that thou wouldst have me be, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

For some minutes he continued kneeling; his eyes were closed, his hands clasped, and his bowed face marked by strong emotion. It was pleasant to be thus engaged. He had experienced for the first time the blessedness of drawing near to G.o.d, and now he was listening to that "still small voice," that spoke peace to his inmost soul.

Once more he sat upon the rough root of the tree. He opened his Bible to the same page which had been so instructive, but it was to the next chapter, where he read: "Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with G.o.d, through our Lord Jesus Christ." "Yes, yes," he murmured, as his hand sought his bosom. "Peace indeed! Peace with G.o.d!

Peace through our Lord Jesus Christ--and justified by faith." He continued reading:

"By whom we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of G.o.d. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also; knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope, and hope maketh not ashamed, because the love of G.o.d is shed abroad in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us."

"Ah! is not this true?" he joyfully soliloquized. "We glory in tribulations. I used to wonder how people could glory in trouble. But now, thanks to G.o.d for trouble! especially for the trouble that brought us to this island, and brought me to Jesus Christ! Yes, _thanks to G.o.d for trouble_!"

Having read the chapter to the end, and found, as is usual with persons in his state of mind, that although he could not understand it all, there was scarcely a verse in which he did not discover something suitable to his case, he knelt down and consecrated himself to G.o.d; praying that the Lord would grant him grace to live as a Christian, and more particularly so to live, as to be the means of bringing his young companions to a knowledge of the truth. As he closed his prayer, the words of the morning hymn rose vividly to his recollection; he did not indeed use them as any part of his address to a throne of grace, but he used them as uttering beautifully the language of his own heart in that sweet communion to which he was now initiated.

"I yield my powers to thy command, To thee I consecrate my days; Perpetual blessings from thy hand Demand perpetual songs of praise."

Looking at his watch he saw that the hour of eleven was at hand. He turned his face toward the tent, and walked slowly onward, and as he went his lips continually murmured,

"Perpetual blessings from thy hand, Demand perpetual songs of praise."

While Robert and Harold were thus engaged, Mary told Frank to amuse himself not far away, and that after she had looked over her own lessons she would call for him. In the act of going to her room, she was arrested by the voice of Sam, who said:

"Please, misses, Mas Robert and Mas Harold both gone away; and if you can, read some of the Bible to your poor sick servant--do, misses."

Touched by his melancholy earnestness, she promised to do so with pleasure, after having finished Frank's lessons and her own; and indeed, urged on by his apparent thankfulness, she dispatched her task in one-half the usual time, and then called for Frank.

"What! have you learned your lessons already?" he asked, in some surprise. She replied, "Yes." "Then," said he, "I wish you would make mine as short, for it took you a very little while." But when she informed him of the secret of her rapidity, and he heard a plaintive, half-devotional sigh from Sam's corner, he said, "Get the book, sister; I will learn as fast as I can, and then we can both go and sit by him, while you read." Mary patted his cheek, saying that he was a good fellow, whenever he chose to be; and giving him the book, he stood by her side, and learnt his lessons very soon, and very well.

The chapter selected at Sam's request was the third of John. With this he was so well acquainted as to be able to repeat verse after verse, while Mary was reading, and he seemed withal to have a very clear idea of its meaning. Mary was surprised. She knew that her father was in the habit of calling his plantation negroes together on Sabbath evenings, and instructing them from the Scriptures, but she had no idea that the impressions made by his labour had been so deep.

It was not until half-past eleven that they were all a.s.sembled and composed. They sang several hymns, then conversed freely upon the subject of the chapter, which had interested them in the morning, and on which they had promised to reflect. These exercises occupied them so pleasantly that it was past the usual hour ere any one thought of dinner.

A part of Dr. Gordon's custom had been to call upon each of his children every day at their midday meal, to tell what "new knowledge" they had gained since that hour of the day preceding. On Sundays the same plan was pursued, except that the knowledge was required to be suitable to the day. This practice was on the present occasion resumed by the young people. Frank's new knowledge consisted of part of his morning lesson; Mary's, of a new method devised by her for remembering the order of certain books in the Bible; Robert's, of the aim and object of the parable just discussed: it was a keen rebuke to the Scribes and Pharisees, who murmured against Jesus for receiving sinners and eating with them. When Harold's turn came, he spoke with much emotion, and a face radiant with pleasure. He said that he had on that day learnt the most important lesson of his life; how good the Lord is, and how great a sinner he himself had been; he had learnt how to love Him, and how to trust Him; how to read the Bible, and how to pray. He was not able to tell how it happened, but there was now a meaning in the Scriptures, and a sweetness in prayer, that he had never before suspected, and that he hoped it would last for ever. He concluded by saying that he could conceive of no greater blessing than that of being enabled to feel all his life-long as he felt that morning, after promising to try to live like a Christian.

To these remarks of Harold no one made reply. Robert looked down a moment, then directed his gaze far away, as if disturbed by some painful recollection. Mary gazed wistfully on her cousin, and covered her face with both hands. Frank slid from his seat, and coming to Harold's side, insinuated himself upon his knee, and looked affectionately into his face. All felt that a great event had happened in their little circle; and that from that time forth their amiable cousin was in a most important sense their superior. They separated in silence, Robert going to the spring, Mary to her room, and Harold to talk with Sam.

Late in the afternoon they went together to the seash.o.r.e, and sitting around their flag-staff, on the clear white sand, looked over the gently rippling waters, and talked thankfully of their merciful deliverance, and of their pleasant Island of Refuge. The air became chilly, and the stars peeped out, before they sought the tent. Again soft music stole upon the night air, and floated far over the sands and waters. Then all was hushed. The youthful wors.h.i.+ppers had retired. And so softly did sleep descend upon their eyelids, and so peacefully did the night pa.s.s, that one might almost have fancied angels had become their guardians, were it not for the still more animating thought that the _G.o.d_ of the angels was there, and that He "gave his beloved sleep."

CHAPTER XXIV

MOTE IN THE EYE, AND HOW IT WAS REMOVED--CONCH TRUMPET AND SIGNALS--TRAMP--ALARM

The next morning, while planning together the employments of the day, Frank came in, holding his hand over his eye, having had a grain of sand thrown into it by an unfortunate twitch of Dora's tail. It pained him excessively, and he found it almost impossible to keep from crying.

Mary ran quickly and brought a basin, for the purpose of his was.h.i.+ng it out. He however became frightened at finding his mouth and nose immersed, and was near being strangled in the attempt. It would have been better for so young a person, if Mary had made him hold back his head, and dropped the water under the uplifted lid. She next proposed to remove it by introducing the smooth head of a large needle to the painful spot, and moving the mote away; but neither would Frank allow this. Robert then took the matter in hand, and having in vain blown and rubbed in various ways, endeavoured to remove the substance by drawing the irritated lid over the other, in such a way as to make the lash of one a sort of wiper to the other. But neither did this succeed. By this time the eye had become much inflamed, and Frank began to whimper.

Harold asked him to bear it for a minute longer, and he would try old Torgah's plan. With a black filament of moss, the best subst.i.tute he could devise for a horse hair, he made a little loop, which he inserted under the uplifted lid, so as to enclose the foreign substance; then letting the lid fall, he drew out the loop, and within it the grain of sand. Robert observed that an almost infallible remedy is to bandage the eye and take a nap; and Mary added, that it would be still more certain if a flaxseed were put into the eye before going to sleep.

Frank, however, needed no further treatment; he bathed his eye with cold water, wore a bandage for an hour, and then was as well as ever.

During the conversation that preceded this incident, Harold had brought out a hammer and large nail, and now occupied himself with making a smooth hole in the small end of one of the conches. Having succeeded, he put the conch to his lips, and after several trials brought from it a loud clear note like that of a bugle. Robert also, finding that the sound came easily, called aloud, "Come here, sister, let us teach you how to blow a trumpet."

It was not until after several attempts that Mary acquired the art.

Frank was much amused to see how she twisted and screwed her mouth to make it fit the hole; and though he said nothing at the time, Harold had afterwards reason to remember a lurking expression of sly humour dancing about the corners of his mouth and eyes.

"Now, cousin," said Harold, when Mary had succeeded in bringing out the notes with sufficient clearness, "if ever you wish to call us home when we are within a mile of you at night, or half a mile during the day, you have only to use this trumpet. For an ordinary call, sound a long loud blast, but for _an alarm_, if there should be such a thing, sound two long blasts, with the interval of a second. When you wish to call for Frank, sound a short blast, for Robert two, and for me three.

In his different strolls through the forest, Harold had observed that the wild turkeys frequented certain oaks, whose acorns were small and sweet. It was part of his plan to capture a number of these birds in a trap, and to keep them on hand as poultry, to be killed at pleasure. For this purpose, it was necessary that the spot where the trap was to be set should first be baited. He therefore proposed to Robert to spend part of the forenoon in selecting and baiting several places; and with this intention they left home, having their pockets filled with corn and peas. It did not require long to select half a dozen such places, within a moderate distance of the tent, to bait, and afterwards to mark them so that they could be found.

Having completed this work, they were returning to the tent, when they heard afar off the sound of the conch. It was indistinct and irregular at first, as if Mary had not been able to adjust her mouth properly to the hole; but presently a note came to them so clear and emphatic, that Mum p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, and trotted briskly on; and after a second's pause came another long blast. "Harold! Harold!" Robert said in a quick and tremulous tone, "that is an alarm! I wonder what can be the matter. Now there are two short blasts; they are for me; and now three for you. Come, let us hurry. Something terrible must have happened to Frank or to Sam."

They quickened their pace to a run, and were bursting through the bushes and briers, when they again heard the two long blasts of alarm, followed by the short ones, that called for each of them. They were seriously disturbed, and continued their efforts until they came near enough to see Mary walking about very composedly, and Frank sitting, not far from the tent, with the conch lying at his feet. These signs of tranquillity so far relieved their anxiety, that they slackened their pace to a moderate walk, but their faces were red, and their breath short from exertion. They began to hope that the alarm was on account of _good_ news instead of bad--perhaps the sight of a vessel on the coast. Robert was trembling with excitement. A loud halloo roused the attention of Frank, and springing lightly to his feet he ran to meet them.

"What is the matter?" asked Robert; but either Frank did not hear, or did not choose to reply. He came up with a merry laugh, talking so fast and loud, as to drown all the questions.

"Ha! ha!" said he, "I thought I could bring you! That was loud and strong, wasn't it?"

"You!" Robert inquired. "What do you mean? Did you blow the conch?"

"That I did," he replied; "I blew just as cousin Harold said we must, to bring you all home."