 | CHAPTER XXXIII.
COLLISION AT SEA—WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. Opening a chestnut burr |  |
33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
COLLISION AT SEA—WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO.
ON the morning of the fourth day, as the sea
had become more calm, the ladies ventured
upon deck for a short time. Gregory immediately
joined them and complimented their courage in
coming out during a winter voyage.
“Nature and I are friends all the year 'round,”
said Annie, with a faint attempt at a smile, for she
was still sick and faint. “I rather like her wild,
rough moods. It has been a great trial to my patience
to lie in my berth, helpless, and miserable
from what you well term a `prosaic malady,' when
I was longing to see the ocean. Now that we have
made a desperate attempt to reach deck, there is
nothing to see. Do you think this dense fog will
last long?”
“I hope not, especially for your sake. But do
not regret coming out, for you will soon feel better
for it.”
“I do already; I believe I could live out of
doors. Have you been sick?”
“Oh no; I should have been a sailor.”
“Mr. Hunting has fared almost as badly as we,”
said Annie, determined that they should make one
group.
“Indeed! I'm sorry,” said Gregory, quietly.
“I hate the ocean,” snarled Hunting, with a grim,
white face, “I'm always sick.”
“And I'm afraid of it,” said Miss Eulie. “How
can they find their way through such a mist? Then,
we might run into something.”
“In any case you are safe, Miss Morton,” said
Gregory, with a smile.
She gave him a bright look and replied, “I trust
we all are. But the sea is rough, boisterous,
treacherous, and mysterious—just the qualities I
don't like. What a perfect emblem of mystery
this fog is through which we are going so rapidly!”
“Well,” said Gregory, with one of his expressive
shrugs, “I find all these experiences equally on the
land, especially the latter.”
Annie gave him a quick, inquiring look, while
color came into even Hunting's pale face.
Annie felt no little curiosity as to Gregory's
state of mind, for though he had said nothing definite,
there was a softened manner and quiet dignity
which made him seem very unlike his old self.
“How do you pass your time?” she asked.
“Well, I read a great deal, and I take considerable
exercise, for I wish to fully regain my health.”
She gave him a quick, grateful look. He was
keeping his promise. She said,
“You look very much better than I expected to
see you, and I'm very glad, for you were almost
ghostly when you left us. What do you find to
read so interesting?”
His color rose instantly, but he said with a smile,
“A good old book that I brought with me.”
The expression of his face answered her swift,
questioning look. It was her Bible. Neither Miss
Eulie nor Hunting understood why she became so
quiet; but the latter, who was watching them closely,
thought he detected some secret understanding.
In his jealous egotism it could only mean what was
adverse to himself, and he had an attack of something
worse than sea-sickness.
Gregory quietly turned the conversation upon
ocean travel, and for a half hour entertained the
ladies without any effort on their part, and then they
went back to their state-rooms.
By evening the ship was running so steadily that
they all came out to supper. Gregory, who was a
personal friend of the Captain's, had secured them a
place near the head of the table where they received
the best of attention. Annie, evidently, was recovering
rapidly, and took a genuine interest in the novel
life and scenes around her. She found herself vis-a-vis
and side by side with great diversities of character,
and listened with an amused, intelligent face,
to the brisk conversation. She noted with surprise
that Gregory seemed quite a favorite, but soon saw
the reason in his effort to make the hour pass pleasantly
to his fellow-passengers. The Captain had
given him a seat at his right hand, and appealed to
him on every disputed point that was outside of his
special province.
She was also pleased to see how Gregory toned
topics. But he had a rather difficult task,
for, sitting quite near to her, was a man whose loud
and ostentatious dress reflected his character and
words.
Some one was relating an anecdote of narrow
escape, and another remarked,
“That's what I should call a special Providence.”
“Special Providence!” said Annie's loud neighbor,
contemptuously. “A grown man is very weak-minded
to believe in any Providence whatever.”
There was a shocked, pained expression, on many
faces, and Annie's eyes blazed with indignation.
She turned to Hunting, expecting him to resent
such an insult to their faith, but saw only a cold
sneer on his face. Hunting was decidedly English
in his style, and would travel around the world and
never speak to a stranger, or make an acquaintance,
if he could help it. Then, instinctively, she turned
to Gregory. He was looking fixedly at the man,
and his manner had attracted general attention.
But he only said, quietly,
“Then I am very weak-minded.”
There was a general expression of pleased surprise
and sympathy on the faces of those who understood
his reply, while the Captain stared at him
in some astonishment.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man, “I
meant nothing personal. It was only a rather blunt
way of saying that I didn't believe in any such
things myself.”
“I give you credit for your honesty, but some
of us do.”
“Then you pretend to be a Christian?”
“I should not pretend to be one under any circumstances,”
said Gregory, with the perfection of
quiet dignity, “and I am very sorry to say that I am
not so favored. But I have full belief in both a
special and general Providence.”
“I like your honesty, too,” said the man, seemingly
anxious for an argument. “By the word
`pretend' I only meant claim, or assert. But it
seems to me that the facts in the case are all
against your belief. I find nothing but law in the
universe. You might as well say that this ship is
run by special Providence, when, in fact, it is run
by accurately gauged machinery, system and
rules.”
“Now, your argument is lame,” said the Captain,
laughing. “We have plenty of good machinery,
system and rules aboard, but if I wasn't
around, looking after everything all the time, as a
special providence, I'm afraid you'd find salt water
before Liverpool.”
A general laugh followed this sally, and Gregory
said, “And so I believe that the Divine Providence
superintends his own laws and system. I think my
friend, the Captain, has given a most happy illustration
of the truth, and I had no idea he was so
good a theologian.”
“That's not an argument,” said the man, considerably
crest-fallen. “That's only a joke.”
“By the way, Mr. Gregory, it seems to me that
your views have changed since you crossed with
me last,” remarked the Captain.
“I frankly admit they have,” was the prompt
reply. “Perhaps I can explain myself by the following
question: If you find, by a careful observation,
that you are heading your ship the wrong
way, what would you do?”
“Put her about on the right course.”
“That is just what I have tried to do, sir. I
think my meaning is plain?”
“Nothing could be clearer, and I'd rather be
aboard now than when you were on the old tack.”
Annie gave Gregory a glance of glad, grateful
approval that warmed his heart like sunshine.
Hunting said, enviously, sotto voce, “I think such
conversation at a public table wretched taste.”
“I cannot agree with you,” said Annie, decidedly,
“but granting it, Mr. Gregory did not introduce
the subject, and I wish you had spoken as he did
when every Christian at the table was insulted.”
He colored deeply, but, judiciously, said nothing.
But with increasing pain she thought, “He who
says he is not a Christian, acts more like one than
he who claims the character.”
But she now had the strongest hopes for
Gregory, and longed for a private talk with him.
The next day it blew quite a gale, and Hunting
and Miss Eulie were helplessly confined to their
state-rooms. But Annie had become a sailor, and
having done all she could for her aunt, came upon
forth with almost the steadiness of one of the ship's
officers.
She tried to go to him, but would have fallen had
he not seen her and reached her side almost at a
bound. With a gentleness and tenderness that was
as real as delicate, he placed her in a sheltered
nook where she could see the waves in their mad
sport, and said,
“Now you can see old ocean in one of his best
moods. The wind, though strong, is right abaft,
filling all the sails they dare carry, and we are making
grand progress.”
“How wonderful it is!” cried Annie, looking
with a child's interest upon the scene. “Just see
those briny mountains, with foam and spray
for foliage. If our home Highlands with their
mingled evergreens and snow were changed from
granite to water, and set in this wild motion, it could
hardly seem more strange and sublime. Look at
that great monster coming so threateningly toward
us. It seems as if we would be ingulfed beyond a
chance.”
“Now, see how gracefully the ship will surmount
it,” said Gregory, smiling.
“Oh, dear,” said she, sighing, “if we could only
rise above our troubles in the same way!” Then,
feeling that she had touched on delicate ground, she
hastened to add, “This boundless waste increases
my old childish wonder, how people ever find their
way across the ocean.”
“The captain is even now illustrating your own
teaching and practice in regard to the longer and
more difficult voyage of life,” said Gregory, meaningly.
“He is `looking up,'—taking an observation
of the heavens, and will soon know just where we
are and how to steer.”
Annie looked at him wistfully, and said in a low
tone, “I was so glad to learn, last evening, that you
had taken an observation also, and I was so very
grateful, too, that you had the courage to defend
our faith.”
“I have to thank you that I could do either.
It was really you who spoke.”
“No, Mr. Gregory,” she said gently, “my work
for you reached its limit. God is leading you now.”
“I try to hope so,” he said; “but it was your
hand that placed in mine that by which He is leading
me. He surely must have put it into your
heart to give me that Bible. When I reached my
cheerless rooms in New York I felt so lonely and
low-spirited that I had not the courage to go
a single step further. But your Bible became
a living, comforting presence from that night. What
exquisite tact you showed in giving me that little
worn companion of your childhood, instead of a
new gilt-leaved one, with no associations. I first
hoped that you might with it give me also something
of your childhood's faith. But that does not
come yet. That does not come.”
“It will,” said she, earnestly, and with moistened
eyes.
“That, now, is one of my dearest hopes. But
after what I have been, I am not worthy that it
should come soon. But if I perish myself I want to
try to help others.”
Then he asked, in honest distrustfulness; “Do
you think it right for one who is not a Christian to
try to teach others?”
“Before I answer that question I wish to ask a
little more about your life and feelings;” and she
skillfully drew him out, he speaking more openly in
view of the question to be decided, than he would
otherwise have done. He told of the long evenings
spent over her Bible, instead of at the club; of
his mission work, and of his honest effort to deal
justly with all; at the same time dwelling strongly
on his doubts and spiritual darkness, and the unspent
influences of his old evil life.
The answer was different from what he expected;
for she said: “Mr. Gregory, why do you
say that you are not a Christian?”
“Because I feel that I am not.”
“Does feeling merely make a Christian?” she
asked. “Is not action more than feeling? Does
not trusting, following, serving, and seeking to obey,
make a Christian? But suppose that even with your
present feeling you were living at the time of
Christ's visible presence on earth, would you be hostile
or indifferent, or would you join his band even
though small and despised?”
“I think I would do the latter, if permitted.”
“I know you would, from your course last night.
are not an emotional man like Peter, you are no
friend of mine?' Why, Mr. Gregory, He let even
Judas Iscariot, though with unworthy motive, follow
Him as long as he would, giving him a chance
to become true.”
“Miss Walton, do not mislead me in this matter.
You know how implicitly I trust you.”
“And I would rather cast myself over into those
waves than deceive you,” she said; “and if I saw
them swallowing you up I should as confidently expect
to meet you again, as my father. How strange
it is you can believe that Jesus died for you and
yet will not receive you when you are doing just
that which He died to accomplish!”
He took a few rapid turns up and down the
deck and then leaned over the railing. She saw
that he brushed more than one tear into the waves.
At last he turned and gave his hand in warm pressure,
saying,
“I cannot doubt you, and I will doubt Him no
longer. I see that I have wronged Him, and the
thought causes me sorrow even in my joy.”
“Now you are my brother in very truth,” she
said, gently, with glad tears in her own eyes. “All
that we have passed through has not been in vain.
How wonderfully God has led us.”
It was a long time before either spoke again.
At last he said, with a strange wondering
smile,
“To think that such as I should ever reach
good neighbors there.'”
She answered him by a happy smile, and then
both were busy with their own thoughts again.
Annie was thinking how best to introduce the subject
so near her heart, his reconciliation with Hunting.
But that gentleman had become so tortured
with jealousy and alarmed at the thought of any
prolonged conference between Annie and Gregory,
that he dragged himself on deck. But as he watched
them a moment before they saw him, he was quite
reassured. Gregory was merely standing near
Annie, and both were looking away to sea, as if
they had nothing special to say to each other.
Annie was pained to see that Gregory's manner did
not change toward Hunting. He was perfectly polite,
but nothing more; soon he excused himself,
thinking they would like to be alone.
In the afternoon she found a moment to say,
“Mr. Gregory, will you never become reconciled to
Mr. Hunting? You surely cannot hate him now?”
He replied gravely, “I do not hate him any
longer. I would do him any kindness in my power,
and that is a great deal for me to say. But Mr.
Hunting has no real wish for reconciliation.”
In bitter sorrow she was compelled to admit to
herself the truth of his words. After a moment
he added,
“If he does, he knows the exact terms on
which it can be effected.”
She could not understand it, and reproached
herself bitterly that so many doubts in regard to
her affianced would come unbidden, and force themselves
on her mind. The feeling grew stronger that
there was wrong on both sides, and perhaps the
most on Hunting's.
But that was a memorable day to Gregory. It
seemed to him that Annie's hand had drawn aside
the sombre curtain of his unbelief, and shown the
path of life shining more and more unto the perfect
day. Though comparatively lonely, he felt that his
pilgrimage could not now be unhappy, and that every
earthly sorrow would at last find its cure in Heaven.
In regard to her earthly future he could only hope
and trust. It would be a terrible trial to his faith,
if she were permitted to marry Hunting, and yet
he was sure it would all be well at last; for was
it not said, that God's people would come to their
rest out of “great tribulation?” She had given
him the impression that, under any circumstances,
her love for him could only be sisterly in its character.
But he was too happy in his new-born hope to
think of much else that day; and, finding a secluded
nook, he searched Annie's Bible for truths confirmatory
of her words. On every side they
glowed as in letters of light. Then late that
night he went on deck, and in his strong excitement
felt as if walking on air in his long glad
vigil.
At last, growing wearied, he leaned upon the
dark to him, for the wanderer at last had seen the
light of his heavenly home—and felt that it would
cheer his way till the portals opened and received
him into rest.
Suddenly, upon the top of a distant wave, something
large and white appeared, and then it sank
into an ocean valley. Again it rose—a sail, then
the dark hull of a ship.
In dreamy musing he began wondering how, in
mid-ocean, with so many leagues of space, two
vessels should cross each other's tracks so near.
“It's just the same with human lives,” he thought.
“A few months or years ago, people that I never
knew, and might have passed on the wider ocean
of life, unknowing and uncaring, have now come so
near. Why is it? Why does that ship, with the
whole Atlantic before it, come so steadily towards
us?”
It did come so steadily and so near that a feeling
of uneasiness troubled him, but he thought that
those in charge knew their business better than he.
A moment later he started forward. The ship
that had come so silently and phantom-like across
the waves seemed right in the path of the steamer.
Was it not a phantom?
No; there's a white face at the wheel—the man
is making a sudden, desperate effort—it's too late.
With a crash like thunder the seeming phantomship
ploughs into the steamer's side.
For a moment Gregory was apalled; stunned,
strong rebound, and dropped astern.
Then he became conscious of the confusion and
awakening uproar on both vessels. Cries of agony,
shouts of alarm, and hoarse orders pierced the midnight
air. He ran forward and saw the yawning
cavern which the blow had made in the ship's side,
and heard the rush of water into the hold. Across
the chasm he saw the Captain's pale face looking
down with a dismay like his own.
“The ship will sink and soon,” he shouted.
There was no denial.
Down to the startled passengers he rushed,
crying, “Awake! Escape for your lives!”
His words were taken up and echoed in every
part of the ship.
He struck a heavy blow upon the door of Annie's
state-room—“Miss Walton!”
“Oh, what has happened?” she asked.
“You and Miss Morton come on deck, instantly;
don't stop to dress; snatch a shawl—anything.
Lose not a moment. What is Hunting's number?”
“Forty, on the opposite side.”
“I will be back in a moment; be ready.”
Hunting's state-room was so near where the
steamer had been struck, that its door was jammed
and could not be opened.
“Help! help! I can't get out,” shrieked the
terrified man.
Gregory wrenched a leaf from a dining-room
table and pried the door open.
“Come,” he said, “you've no time to dress.”
Hunting encased his trembling form in a blanket
and gasped, as he followed,
“I'll pay you back every cent of that money
with interest.”
“Make your peace with God. We may soon be
before Him,” was the awful response.
Miss Eulie and Annie stood waiting, draped in
heavy shawls.
“I'm sorry for delay; Hunting's door was jammed
and had to be broken open. Come,” and putting
his arm around Miss Eulie and taking Annie's
hand, he forced them rapidly through the increasing
throng of terror-stricken passengers that were
rushing in all directions.
Even then, with a strange thrill at heart, Annie
thought, “He has saved his enemy's life.”
He took them well aft, and said: “Don't move,
stand just here till I return,” and then pushed his
way to where a frantic crowd were snatching for the
life-preservers which were being given out. The
officer, knowing him, tossed him four as requested.
Coming back, he said to Hunting, “Fasten that
one on Miss Morton, and keep the other.” Throwing
down his own for a moment, he proceeded to
fasten Annie's. He would not trust the demoralized
Hunting to do anything for her, and he was right,
for Hunting's hands so trembled that he was helpless.
Having seen that Annie's was secured beyond
a doubt, Gregory also tied on Miss Eulie's.
In the meantime, a passenger snatched his own
by placing his foot upon it.
“Stop!” Annie cried. “O! Mr. Gregory, he has
taken it and you have none. You shall have mine,”
and she was about to unfasten it.
He laid an iron grasp upon her hands, “Stop
such folly,” he said, sternly. “Come to where they
are launching that boat. You have no choice,”
and he forced her forward, while Hunting followed
with Miss Eulie.
They stood waiting where the lantern's glare fell
upon their faces, with many others more pale and
agonized.
Annie clung to him as her only hope, (for
Hunting seemed almost paralyzed with fear) and
whispered:
“Will you the same as die for me again?”
“Yes, God bless you, a thousand times if there
were need,” he said in tones as gentle as his former
had been harsh.
She looked at him wonderingly. There was no
fear upon his face, only unspeakable love for her.
“Are you not afraid?” she asked.
“You said I was a Christian to-day, and your
Bible and God's voice in my heart have confirmed
your words—no, I am at peace in all this uproar,
save anxiety for you.”
She buried her face upon his shoulder.
“My darling sister,” he murmured in her ear,
“How can I ever thank you enough.”
Then he started suddenly, and tearing off the
around Miss Morton,” and before Annie scarcely
knew what he was doing, he had taken off the body
part and encased her in it.
“Here Hunting, your belt is not secure,” and
he tightened the straps.
“Pass the ladies forward,” shouted the Captain.
Of course those nearest were embarked first.
They had to take their turn, and the boat was about
full when Miss Eulie was lowered over the side.
At that moment the increasing throng, with a
deeper realization of danger, as the truth of their
situation grew plainer, felt the first mad impulse of
panic, and there was a rush toward the boat.
Hunting felt the awful contagion. His face had the
look of a hunted wild beast, as Annie gazed wonderingly
at him, but as he half-started with the others
for the boat she understood him. Laying a restraining
hand upon his arm, she said in a low tone,
“If you leave my side now, you leave it forever.”
He cowered back in shame.
The officer in charge of the boat had shouted:
“This boat is for women and children; as you
are men and not brutes, stand back.”
This checked the desperate mob for a moment,
and Gregory was about to pass Annie down when
there was another mad rush led by the blatant individual
who had scouted the idea of Providence.
“Cut away all,” shouted the captain from the
bridge, and the boat dropped astern.
It was only by fierce effort that Gregory kept
by the surging mass, many of whom leaped blindly
over, supposing the boat still there.
Pressing their way out they went where another
boat was being launched. Hunting followed them
as a child might, and was as helpless. He now
commenced moaning—
“O God, what shall I do, what shall I do?”
“Trust Him, and be a man. What else should
you do?” said Gregory sternly, for he was deeply
disgusted at his behavior.
Around this boat the officer in charge had placed
a cordon of men to keep the crowd away, and stood
pistol in hand to enforce his orders. But the boat
was scarcely lowered before there was the same
wild rush, mostly on the part of the crew and steerage
passengers. The officer fired and brought down
the foremost, but the phrensied wretches trampled
him down with those helping, together with women
and children, as a herd of buffaloes might. They
poured over into the boat, swamped it, and as the
steamer moved slowly ahead, were left struggling
and perishing in the waves.
Gregory had put his arm around Annie and
drawn her out of the crush. Fortunately they had
been at one side, so that this was possible.
“The boats are useless,” he said sadly. “There
will be the same suicidal folly at every one, even
if they have time to lower any more. Come
aft. That part will sink last, and there will
be less suction there, when the ship goes down.
afloat.”
Annie clung to his arm and said, quietly, “I
will do just as you say,” while Hunting followed in
the same maze of terror.
They had hardly got well away, before a mast,
with its rigging, fell where they had stood, crushing
many and maiming others, rendering them helpless.
“Awful! awful!” shuddered Hunting, and Annie
put her hand before her eyes.
An officer, with some men, now came toward
them with axes, and commenced breaking up the
after wheel-house.
“Here is our best chance,” said Gregory. “Let
us calmly await the final moment and then do the
best we can. All this broken timber will float, and
we can cling to it.”
The ship was settling fast, and had become like
a log upon the water, responding slowly and heavily
to the action of the waves. But under the cold,
pitiless starlight of that winter night, what heart-rending
scenes were witnessed upon her sinking
deck. Death had already laid its icy finger on
many, and many more were grouped near in its despairing
expectation.
While many, like Hunting, were almost paralyzed
with fear, and others shrieked and cried aloud in agony
—while some prayed incoherently and others rushed
back and forth as if demented, there were not wanting
numerous noble instances of faith and courage.
Fortunately, there were not many ladies aboard,
was not a poetic fiction. One or two family groups
stood near in close embrace, and some men calmly
folded their arms upon their breasts, and met their
fate as God would have them.
Annie was conscious of a strange peace and
hopefulness. She thrilled with the thought which
she expressed to Gregory:
“How soon I may see father and mother.”
She stood now with one hand on Hunting's
trembling arm, for at that supreme moment her
heart was very tender, and she pitied while she
wondered at him. But Gregory was a tower of
strength. He took her hand in both his own, and
said,
“I can say the same, and more. Both father and
mother are awaiting me—and, Annie, darling,” he
whispered tenderly, “you, too, will be there. So,
courage! `Good neighbors,' soon.”
Why did Annie's heart beat so strangely at his
words?
“O, God, have mercy on me!” groaned the
man who had seemed, but was not.
“Amen!” breathed both Annie and Gregory,
fervently.
Suddenly they felt themselves lifted in the air,
and, looking toward the bow, saw it going under,
while what seemed a great wave came rolling
toward them, bearing upon its dark crest white,
agonized faces and struggling forms.
Annie gave a swift, inquiring look to Gregory.
trust.
Hunting's wild cry mingled with the despairing
shriek of many others, but ended in a gurgling groan
as he and all sank beneath the waters.
| CHAPTER XXXIII.
COLLISION AT SEA—WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. Opening a chestnut burr | |