“Oh! is not this delightful!” exclaimed little Minnie Mayne, as she sprang upon the deck of the steamer which was to take herself and her mother back to their beautiful home in Scotland.
Mrs. Mayne, a widow lady, was returning from a visit to an aged parent in London. Her child had become very weary of dull brick streets, and the noise and smoke of the city. Minnie longed to see her bright home by the sunny lake, to feel the breeze on the healthy mountains, which to her young eyes were more beautiful than any other scene upon earth. Mrs. Mayne and her da-ughter had come to London by land, so this was the first time that Minnie had ever entered a steamer. Everything was new, and everything seemed delightful. The child promised herself great enjoyment from the voyage, as well as from the arrival at home.
With curiosity and pleasure Minnie surveyed the scene around her. The deck piled with lugga-ge, the funnel black with smoke, the compass in its little glass frame, the pilot at the wheel, the hurrying to and fro, the sailors busy with the rope, and outside the vessel the view of the river crowded with shipping—boats, steamers, and barges; all afforded intense amusement to the light-hearted, intelligent child, who was full of eager questionings about each new object that caught the eye.
“Oh, mamma! What a noise the steam makes! I can hardly hear myself speak. I wish that the vessel would begin to move; but I can’t think how it will ever make its way through such a crowd of boats! What a number of passengers there are; and, oh! What a lot of carpetbags and boxes! I don’t think that any more people can be coming; the sailors had better pull up the plank that joins us to the shore, and let us be off at once. Oh! no; there are some more people arriving. Such a grand gentleman and lady, mamma! And a little girl so splendidly dressed! They had better make haste and get on deck, or the vessel will move off without them.”
As Minnie concluded her sentence, a stout man passed along the plank, followed by his wife and daughter. The child wore a pink frock, and pea-green silk tippet, and a quantity of light curls streamed on her shoulders from a hat adorned with a long drooping feather. While Minnie surveyed the girl’s finery with admiration approaching to envy, Mrs. Mayne glanced at the mot-her with an impression that that face was familiar to her, though she could not for some time recollect where she had seen it before. While the woman was bustling about her baggage, and in a loud voice disputing with the porter about his dues, the lady recalled to memory that the per-son before her was Mrs. Lowe, a greengrocer’s wife, who had provided Mrs. Mayne’s mother with vegetables nearly ten years previous. Mrs. Mayne recollected also the circumstances under which her family had given up employing the Lowes. The ladies had in vain tried to persuade the greengrocer to close his shop on Sundays; his wife had even been insolent when the duty of obeying the third commandment had been pressed home on her conscience, and had thus lost her customers, as well as her temper. Mrs. Mayne was not sure whether the greengrocer’s wife now recognized her, but felt sorry that such a person was to be her companion on the voyage to Scotland.
“She looks as though her business had prospered,” thought the lady, “to judge by her comfor-table appearance and dress; and she has decked out her poor child in finery purchased by her ill-gotten gains. But how impossible it is to tell who is happy by mere outside show! However, those who wilfully break God’s laws may appear to prosper, yet in the end it shall be seen that ‘the blessing of the Lord it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.’”
In the meantime, the plank had been raised; the huge paddles had slowly begun to go around, and a stream of foam, white as cream, on either side, marked the track of the steamer down the river. Minnie watched the banks with delight, as they appeared to move faster and faster with the vessel’s increasing speed. There was so much to see, so much to wonder at, as every bend of the river brought new objects to view. The child’s delight reached its height, when the noble hospital of Greenwich appeared with its stately park rising behind, and at the same time from the deck of a passing steamer, gliding with fairy speed, sounded the air of “Rule Britannia,” borne towards them by the fresh breeze.
“How happy she is!” thought her mother, looking fondly at the child by her side. “She is like some joyous young creature just beginning the voyage of life, to whom all around seems beauti-ful, and everything bright ahead. She is troubled by no thought of storm or trial; she rejoices that she is going to a home, and she trusts to a parent’s care to provide all things needful on the way. Lord, give me this childlike spirit of trust, and hope, and love, as I journey to the heavenly home, which my dear husband has long since reached.”
Pleasure seldom lasts long without a check. Shortly before passing the Nore, as evening was coming on, a shower of rain warned the voyagers to seek shelter below. Minnie had not yet seen the place in which two nights were to be passed, and it was with some curiosity that she descended the steep stairway that led to the ladies’ cabin.
“What a dark, dull room!” she exclaimed, as she entered and looked around; “and how hot and close it feels! I wish that we could stop all night on deck. Why, where are we to sleep?” she added; “not in those little pigeonholes surely! Are twelve or fourteen ladies to be crowded to-gether in a room no bigger than our parlor, and not nearly so nice and high?”
“These are our berths,” said Mrs. Mayne, with a smile, showing to her daughter a little recess, almost perfectly dark, in which were four “pigeonholes,” as Minnie called them, two on each side, one above another, each containing a bed; while in the centre was a space only wide eno-ugh to turn round in. “The berths on the right hand are ours. You shall have the one over mine.”
Minnie laughed at the idea of clambering up to her little nest, though she did not much like its appearance. “And will two other ladies,” she asked, “be packed into these tiny berths on the left?”
“No doubt, as the steamer is full.”
“I hope they’ll be quiet and pleasant,” murmured Minnie, who was quite unaccustomed to be brought into such very close contact with strangers. She had scarcely spoken, when Mrs. Lowe and her Jemima came bustling up to the recess.
“What a wretched dark hole it is!” exclaimed the greengrocer’s wife, in disgust, as with her dress spreading out like a balloon, she almost entirely blocked up the entrance.
“Mamma, we can’t sleep in such a place,” cried Jemima. Minnie wondered to herself in what corner the pea-green jacket and plumed hat could be stowed, and for the first time felt glad that her own dress was so simple and plain.
While the Lowes went for their bandboxes and provision bag, Minnie whispered to her mother, “So they are to be our companions in this funny little place! I would rather have had some peop-le not quite so dashing and grand.”
Mrs. Mayne smiled to herself at the ignorance of her child, whose eye had been caught by mere outside glitter. “She will know better in time,” thought the lady, “and learn to distinguish between tinsel and real gold.”
The Lowes returned to their little recess, which, small as it was, they made smaller, by stuffing it full of their luggage, without the least regard to the comfort of their unfortunate fellow trave-lers. The night had now come on, and a lamp was lighted near the end of the cabin, which threw but a dull gleam into the part portioned off for the four. The steamer had entered the open sea, and to other discomforts was added that of a heaving motion, which, with the close air, gave to Minnie a tightness and pain in the head.
“Mamma,” said she, sadly, to Mrs. Mayne, who was sitting beside her on a sofa near the re-cess, but in a more open part of the cabin; “mamma, I am afraid that we shall find this a mise-rable voyage after all.”
“It is something like the voyage of life, my darling, in which we must all expect to find some things to annoy and try; but let us make little of trifling discomforts, and cheerfully look to the end. We know that we are going home—the voyage will soon be over.”
“Yes, mamma; and the less we like the way, the more glad shall we be to get home. It makes one think of the verse about our heavenly rest:”
“’There fairer bowers than Eden’s bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow see;
Blest land, o’er rude and stormy waves,
I onward press to thee.’”
“And now, Minnie,” said her mother, “the sooner you can forget your discomforts in sleep, the better. I will just read a small portion of the Bible to you as usual, and then you shall climb up into your berth, and, I hope, slumber quietly till the morning.”
“Mamma, you can’t read the Bible here,” whispered Minnie, “where there are so many stran-gers;” and she glanced timidly at the tall, portly figure of Mrs. Lowe, who was standing very near her.
“Why should we not read it, my child? It makes no difference in the importance of a duty whet-her we perform it quietly in our own room, or with many around us. You know that you are not able to read to yourself, and must therefore hear your mother.”
So saying, Mrs. Mayne drew forth a Testament from her bag, and in a low, clear voice began reading to the child, who nestled close to her side. Minnie felt shy and uneasy. Though her mother read softly, the Lowes were so near that they must overhear every word; and the child fancied that she saw a scornful look on the face of the elder, and on that of Jemima a wondering smile, as though hearing the Bible read was something strange to both. It is very possible that Mrs. Mayne wished to be overheard; and it was with more than usual earnestness that she pra-yed God to bless the reading of His Holy Word.
“’Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, who took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. And five of them were foolish, and five were wise. For the foo-lish, when they took their lamps, took no oil with them: but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.’”
“Mamma,” whispered Minnie, “I do not understand what is meant by the virgins and their lamps.”
“The virgins, my child, are the whole Christian world, now expecting the coming of their Lord. The oil is God’s grace in the soul, shining forth in a holy life. What would a lamp be without oil? What would a soul be without grace?—a dark and a worthless thing!”
Minnie fixed her eyes upon the lamp, which was now throwing around its yellow light, and thought what a fearfully gloomy place that cabin would be, but for its cheering gleam. Mrs. Mayne turned her page, so that the light should fall upon it, and continued reading the parable, so full of deep and solemn meaning:—
“’Now while the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept. But at midnight there is a cry, Behold, the bridegroom! Come ye forth to meet him!’”
“’And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out. But the wise answered, saying, Peradventure there will not be enough for us and you; go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.’”
“We see here,” observed Mrs. Mayne, pausing in her reading, “that no human being has power to save the soul of another, or to share with him that grace which is the gift of God alone. The wise cannot supply the foolish; each must answer for himself before God.”
“’And while they went away to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage feast: and the door was shut.’”
“’Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us. But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.’”
Mrs. Mayne drew forth a Testament from her bag,
and in a clear, low voice began reading to the child, who nestled close to her side.
“Oh!” exclaimed Minnie, “Does that mean that the foolish virgins—the people who have no grace in their souls—will be shut out from heaven for ever?”
“Shut out from light—shut out from glory—shut out from the presence of the Lord! To me few words in the Bible are so fearfully solemn as those, ‘The door was shut!’ Mercy’s door is wide open now, open to all who repent and believe. All are invited guests to heaven. All are welcome now to the Saviour. All may have grace for the asking; yea, ‘without money and without price’; it is promised to the prayer of faith. But a time will come when it will be too late for sinners to seek for grace—too late to sue for pardon, when mercy’s door will be shut upon those who would not repent and be saved. ‘Watch therefore; for ye know neither the day nor the hour whe-rein the Son of man cometh.’” And with this solemn warning on her lips, Mrs. Mayne closed the Testament.
“Mamma,” said Minnie, resting her little hand on the arm of her mother, and looking earnestly into her face, “do you think that the Lord will come soon?”
“God only knows the time,” was the reply; “but it is for us to live as those who are ready and waiting for His coming. Of one thing we all are assured—death is not very far off; it may come soon to the young; it must come soon to the aged: and death is as the midnight cry, ‘Behold, the bridegroom cometh!’”
“I can’t imagine,” said Mrs. Lowe, addressing herself to Jemima, but in a tone to be overheard, “why people who are strong and hearty should always be thinking about death. I for one never trouble myself with sickly fancies;” and as she spoke, she plunged her hand deep into her pro-vision bag, and brought out of its depths a rather suspicious-looking flask.
Little Minnie, assisted by her mother, was soon safe in her tiny nest, which she found less un-comfortable than she had expected. The child did not, however, feel disposed to sleep. She see-med in a strange, new world, and sat up for some time in her berth, watching the movements of the Lowes by the light of the lamp, and listening to the voices of the ladies who occupied the cabin. Presently, however, the motion of the vessel became so disagreeable to Minnie that she was glad to lay down her aching head. She heard poor Jemima complaining bitterly, and Mrs. Lowe abusing steamers and all their arrangements, and scolding the stewardess for not atten-ding at once to her unreasonable wants.
“It’s a comfort,” thought poor little Minnie, “that the voyage can’t last for ever. I wonder if any people feel the same way about the voyage of life—if any are really glad to know that it soon may come to an end! Ah! Only the wise virgins, who had oil in their lamps, could start up with joy at the midnight cry! They were glad at the thought of seeing the bridegroom, for they were ready to go to the feast. I wonder how I should feel, if I heard that I soon should meet my Lord.”
As the night advanced, the sounds in the cabin became gradually stilled; Jemima ceased to complain, and her mother to scold; both showed by their welcome silence that they were fast asleep. The weather was by no means stormy; there was nothing to disturb or alarm, and an occasional heavy step on the deck overhead, or a slight creaking in the cordage, with the cons-tant beat of the paddles, were all the noises now heard. Minnie, wearied by the day’s excitement, sank into peaceful slumber at last; she knew that her mother was close beneath her, and that God was watching above.
Suddenly every occupant of the ladies’ cabin was startled from sleep by the sound of great commotion on deck, tramping of feet, and loud and repeated cries of alarm, that thrilled every heart with fear. Anxious faces were bent forward from every berth, and eager questions were passed from mouth to mouth, to which none seemed able to reply. “What is that noise? What can have happened? Has the ship struck? Have we run down some vessel?” And as the sound above continued and increased, rapid movements were made on all sides, as the ladies began hasty preparations for appearing on deck, should there prove to be real cause for alarm.
“Stewardess, stewardess!” called out Mrs. Lowe, as she searched here and there for her mantle, “run up-stairs; ask what is the matter; I’m sure something dreadful has occurred. If ever I travel by steamer again—”
“Mamma, mamma!” cried the terrified Jemima, “How awfully hot it has grown!”
“I feel half stifled,” murmured pour Minnie, as, half dizzy with sleep, and trembling with fright, she held out her arms to her mother, who lifted her down from her berth.
The stewardess hurried to the door. The instant that she opened it, to the horror of all in the ca-bin, in rolled a suffocating volume of smoke, and only too distinctly sounded the voices abo-ve—”Fire! Fire!” was the terrible cry.
“Don’t let the women come up—they must keep down—we can’t have them here on deck!” cal-led out the loud voice of the captain. Several of the ladies attempted to rush up the hatchway, but were roughly ordered back by the sailors.
“You would but hinder us here; go down and pray,” cried a tar, all begrimed with smoke.
“Yes, let us pray,” re-echoed the voice of Mrs. Mayne, as she sank on her knees in the cabin, her hands clasped, and her arms enfolding her daughter.
In that hour of terror and danger, the varied characters of those in that crowded cabin showed in strange distinctness. Differences of rank and age were quite forgotten—a common fear seemed to level all; while far more marked than before grew the contrast between the foolish virgins and the wise. Poor Jemima stood trembling in the recess, unconsciously trampling under foot the plumed hat which had once been her pride. Mrs. Lowe was almost mad with terror. Wringing her hands, and imploring those to save her whose peril was as great as her own—wildly asking those who knew as little as herself whether there were no hope of deliverance—she stood a fearful picture of one who has lived for the world and self. What were then to her the comforts or pleasures bought at the price of conscience! With what feelings did she then recall warnings despised and duties neglected! Could all her unrighteous gains—gains by petty fraud, by bold Sabbath-breaking—procure her one moment’s peace when she feared that, within an hour, she might be standing before an angry God? No; those very gains were as fetters, as dead-weights, to sink her soul down to destruction. “Your gold and silver is cankered, and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped up treasu-re for the last days.”
Mrs. Mayne was pale but calm. Her best treasure was safe where neither storm nor fire could touch it. She knew that a sudden death is, to the Christian, but a shorter passage home, a quicker entrance into glory. The grace which she had sought for by prayer in time of safety, shone out brightly now in time of danger, and she was able to sustain others by the light which cheered her own trusting soul. Mrs. Mayne prayed aloud, and many in the cabin fervently joined in her prayers.
“I can’t pray, I can’t pray!” cried Mrs. Lowe, sinking her face on her hands, while her long, loo-se black hair streamed wildly over her shoulders. Then suddenly changing her tone, and stretc-hing out her arms, she exclaimed, “O God! Spare me, spare me yet a while; I will lead a diffe-rent life, I will turn from my sins; mercy, mercy on a wretched sinner! Let not the door yet be shut; save me, save me from this terrible death!”
Minnie clung round her mother; the greater the danger, the greater the fear, the closer she clung! “We shall not be separated!” she gasped forth; and Mrs. Mayne, bending down, whispered in her ear, “’And who shall separate us from the love of Christ?’ My precious one, He is with us now; He has power to subdue the fire, or to bear us safe through it to glory.”
It was a strange and awful scene, and strange and wild were the mingling sounds that rose from the ship on fire. Shouting, shrieking, praying; the clank of the pump incessantly at work, voices giving hurried commands, the crackling of flame, the gurgle of water, the rushing of feet to and fro. Then—oh, blessed hope!—can that sudden, sharp clatter be indeed that of rain, pelting rain, against the window of the cabin, that dark window, which has only been lightened now and then by a terrible gleam from the fire?
“Rain, blessed rain!” exclaimed Mrs. Mayne, starting up. “Rain, rain!” repeated every joyful tongue; and then there was a momentary silence to listen to the clattering drops, as thicker and faster they fell, as if in answer to the fervent prayers that were rising from every heart. Surely never was shower more welcome!
“Oh, God sends the rain!” exclaimed Minnie. “There’s no red glare now to be seen. It is pelting, it is pouring; it comes down like a stream!” And even as the words were on her tongue, a loud, long, glad cheer from above gave welcome tidings that the fire was subdued.
“Thank God, ladies, the danger is over,” said the captain, at the door. He was now, for the first time, able to leave his post-upon deck, to relieve the terrors of his passengers below.
Then was there a strange revulsion of feeling amongst those who had lately been almost con-vulsed with terror. Strangers embraced one another like sisters, sobbing, laughing, congratula-ting each other; the passengers seemed raised at once from the depth of misery to the height of rapture. This, also, soon subsided, and it became but too evident that, with some, gratitude was almost as short-lived as fear, and that God’s warning made no more lasting impression on the heart than the paddle-wheels on the water—creating a violent agitation for a few minutes, lea-ving a whitened track for a brief space longer, which, melting away from view, all became as it had been before.
Mrs. Lowe was very angry at the carelessness which had occasioned her such a fright; she was angry with the captain, the sailors, the passengers; in short, angry with every one but herself.
“I’ll never set my foot in a steamer again! As if all the discomfort were not enough to drive one out of one’s wits, one is not left to sleep for a moment in peace. Ah, tiresome child!” she excla-imed, almost fiercely, turning upon poor Jemima, “What have you done! Trampled your new hat, crushed the feather to bits!”
Jemima, who had by no means recovered from the shock of the alarm, made no attempt to reply to her mother, but sat crying in the corner of her berth. Mrs. Lowe, declaring that she would stay no longer to be stifled down below, made her way up to the deck, though the first faint streak of dawn was but beginning to flush the sky.
Minnie was on her mother’s knee, peaceful, happy, thankful. From that dear resting-place she looked upon the poor little girl, whom she had half envied on the preceding evening, but whom she regarded now only with a feeling of pity. Mrs. Mayne saw that the child’s nerves had been severely shaken, and, bending forward, she gently drew the weeping Jemima to her side.
“God has been very good to us; shall we not love Him, and thank Him?” said the lady.
Jemima squeezed her hand in reply.
“And shall we not try to set our affections on things above, so that, trusting in our Saviour God, our hearts may fear no evil?”
The tears were fast coursing one another down the pale cheeks of Jemima, and Minnie, with an impulse of joy, raised her head from her mother’s bosom, and kissed her little companion.
This trifling act of kindness quite opened the heart of the girl. Jemima threw her little arms ro-und the neck of Minnie, and, burying her face on her shoulder, sobbed forth, “Oh, where shall I get the grace, the oil for my lamp, that I may never be so frightened, so miserable again, when I hear the midnight cry!”
Never had Mrs. Mayne and her daughter spent a holier or more peaceful hour than that which followed, as in that narrow recess of the cabin, while the morning sun rose over the sea, the lady spoke to a trembling inquirer of the Saviour who died for sinners.
“Do you, my child, long for more grace to make you holy in life, and happy at the hour of de-ath? ‘Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness, saith the Lord, for they shall be filled.’ It is the Spirit of God in your soul that alone can make that soul holy. Kneel, and ask for it in the name of the Saviour, who hath promised, ‘Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.’ Sweet is His service, rich its reward; pardon and peace, happiness and heaven, such are His gifts to His children. The world and all within it must soon pass away; its pleasures, its riches, its glory: for ‘the day of the Lord will come as a thief, in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall be dis-solved with fervent heat, and the earth and the works that are therein shall be burned up.’ But is there anything in this to terrify the Christian? Oh, no! For to him ‘the day of the Lord’ will be the day of joy, and thanksgiving, and triumph. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven, with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first; then we that are alive, that are left, shall together with them be caught up in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.’”
Deep sank the words of Scripture into the hearts of the two little girls. Each in her different path trimmed her lamp with the oil of grace, and the holy life of a wise virgin waiting for the coming of her Lord.
