The Thorogood Family by R. M. Ballantyne (most recommended books txt) 📖

to speak to them. As he said this, he turned to the lame man, who rose at once and stood forward.

There was something in the gaze of this man’s piercing yet tender eyes which forced the attention of even the most careless among them. His handsome young face was very pale, and his lips were for a moment compressed, as if he were trying to keep back the words which were ready to rush out. When he spoke, the soft tones of a deep bass voice helped to secure attention, so that you could have heard a pin drop.

At once the lame man launched into a most thrilling description of a scene of peril and rescue. He told of a gallant ship battling with a furious gale: of her striking on a shoal: of the masts going over the side: of wreck and ruin all around, and the wild waves bursting over passengers and crew, and gradually breaking up the ship— “No hope—no hope—only cries for mercy—shrieks of despair!”

As the lame man spoke, his eyes seemed to flash. His cheeks were no longer pale. The rough men before him frowned and gazed as if their anxiety had been roused. The women leaned forward with eager looks of sympathy. Even the children were spellbound. One hulking fellow, with a broken nose and a black eye, sat clutching both knees with his muscular hands, and gazed open-mouthed and motionless at the speaker, who went on to say that when things were at their worst, and death stared the perishing people in the face, a beautiful object seemed suddenly to rise out of the raging sea; its colour was a mixture of pure white and bright blue!

It was the lifeboat, which sheered alongside and took them on board one by one.

“Some there were,” said the lame man impressively, “who hung back, and some who at first did not believe in the lifeboat, and refused to leave the doomed ship. There was no hope for those who refused—none whatever; but they gave in at last. God put it into their hearts to trust the lifeboat, and so the whole were rescued and brought in safety to the land.”

“Well done!” burst from the hulking man with the broken nose, and a deep sigh of relief escaped from many of the women; but there was instant silence again, for the speaker’s hand was up, his eyes were glittering, and his lips compressed. Every one knew that more was coming, and they bent forward.

Then, in a low soft voice, he began to tell of a dark but quiet night, and a slumbering city; of a little spark, which like sin in a child, was scarcely visible at first, but soon grew fierce and spread, until it burst out in all the fury of an unquenchable fire. He told of the alarm, the shouts of “Fire!” the rushing to the rescue, and the arrival of the engines and the fire-escape. Then he described the horror of a young woman in the burning house, who, awaking almost too late, found herself on the very edge of destruction, with the black smoke circling round and the impassable gulf of flame below. Just then the head of the fire-escape approached her, and a man with extended arms was seen a few feet below her, calling out, “Come!”

Like some of those in the shipwreck, she did not at first believe in the fire-escape. She could not trust. She would not leap. While in that condition there was no hope for her, but God put it into her heart to trust. She leaped, and was saved!

The speaker stopped. Again there was a sigh of relief and a tendency to cheer on the part of the hulking man, but once more the sparkling eyes and compressed lips riveted the people and tied their tongues. In another moment the missionary had them on a battlefield, which he described with thrilling power, passing rapidly from the first bugle call through all the fight, until the foe was finally put to flight amid the shouts of “Victory!”

“Men and women,” he said in conclusion, “I am painting no fancy pictures. The things I have told to you did really happen, and four dear brothers of my own were chief actors in the scenes described. They helped to rescue the perishing from the sea and from the fire, and joined in the shout of Victory! on the battlefield. Now, friends, you are in a worse case than any I have yet described. The tempest of sin is roaring round and in you. This world is sinking beneath you, but Jesus Christ, our Lifeboat, is alongside. Will you come? The fire is burning under your very feet; there is no deliverance from the flames of God’s wrath, except by the Great Escape. Jesus is at hand to save. Will you come? The battle is raging. Don’t you know it? Do you forget that awful combat with the tempter when you fought your way past the gin-shop, but were beaten and turned back? Or that terrible assault, when passion after a deadly struggle laid you helpless on your back? Oh! may God’s Holy Spirit open your eyes to see Jesus—the Captain of your Salvation—at your elbow this moment, waiting at the door of your heart and knocking till you will open and let Him in to lead you on to—Victory!”

Here the speaker dropped his voice again, and spoke tenderly of the love of Jesus to the chief of sinners, and as he spoke, tears were seen trickling down many a dirty face, and sobs broke the solemn stillness.

As the lame man was going home that night, a young girl ran after him and seized his arm. Her eyes were swollen with weeping.

“Oh, sir,” she cried in a low voice that trembled with emotion, “can—will—Jesus save the like of me?”

“Assuredly, my poor girl. He says ‘Come unto me,’ and ‘Whosoever will,’ let him come. If you are willing, there is no doubt about His willingness. The difficulty only lies with you, not with Him. Where do you live?”

“I have no home,” sobbed the girl; “I have run away from my home, and have no place to lay my head in here. But oh! sir, I want to be saved!”

The lame man looked with the deepest commiseration into the appealing eyes. “Come,” he said, “walk with me. I will tell you of One who had no place where to lay His head.”

She took his arm without a word, and the two hurried through the still crowded streets. Arrived at his own door, the lame man knocked. It was opened by a fair, soft, and exceedingly pretty little woman of about thirty years of age, whose fresh face was the very personification of goodness.

“Why, Jim!” she exclaimed, looking at the girl in surprise.

“Here we are, Molly,” exclaimed the lame man, bustling into a snug room in which a fire was blazing, and cheering preparations for tea were going on, “and I’ve brought a friend to spend the night with us. There’s plenty of room on your floor for a shake-down, eh? This is my sister,” he added turning to the girl, “Mary Thorogood, but we always call her Molly. She has come to visit me this Christmas—much against her will, I believe, she’s so fond of the old folk at home. Come now, take her into your room, Molly; make her comfortable, and then we’ll have tea.”

Molly took the girl into her room. Returning a moment later for something forgotten, she was touched on the shoulder by her brother, who whispered low in her ear:—

“A brand, Molly dear, plucked from the burning.”

Molly turned her eyes upon her brother with a glad smile as she re-entered her little room, and shut the door.