Part 2

She had lost one child, whom she trusted she had trained for God, and now her longing anxiety was, that all the rest of her family should follow in the same course. How entirely her heart was set upon this I could well judge, who was often led into conversation with her on that subject. But her labours and conflicts, and her victory in her own soul were still more conspicuous. She was naturally of an eager and sanguine temperament, but that this had an entirely new and spiritual direction was manifest to all. Her disposition was not to entertain high notions of herself; yet was she confident in her Saviour, and she never testified any doubt as to her portion in Him. Her zeal for the Service of God was very great, and her attendance at his house, considering her circumstances, was remarkable. On Thursday Evening, as on Sunday, she was always to be found in her place. She was an attendant at the latest Sacrament, and twice at the services on the last Sunday of her life. But her seasons of private devotion were as regularly maintained. She was watchful to secure her morning and evening retirement;—and in order to keep up the Spirit of devotion, which she feared might flag through the hurry of business; she constantly retired in the middle of the day, when her business had a pause, for the purposes of reading and devotional exercises. She was a member, and a constant attendant, when she was able, on the Society for Social prayer. She died after her confinement; and we had the opportunity of witnessing only an awful, but a calm and cheerful delirium which filled up her latest hours. But a more beautiful and instructive example of holy devotedness to every duty, performed in the faith of Christ, we could scarcely have had the opportunity of witnessing, than that which she exhibited in her daily walk and conversation. She died at the age of 35 years, leaving five children behind her.

The Journal of E. C. goes on. ‘Thursday Evening, March 5. Mr. Hogarth preached from 2 Cor. v. He described the body as a tent, which must soon be dissolved, and the miseries of the wicked, who have no hope beyond this life. None said Mr. H., but the followers of Christ can take up the language of the text. Enable me, O Lord, thine unworthy servant, experimentally to feel that I, even I, have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. March 8. Mr. C. spoke of a dear Christian friend, S. J. who was called to put off her earthly tabernacle last Sabbath. We feel assured she had a building of God, an house prepared for her disembodied Spirit—to her, said Mr. C. may the text be applied. “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the Joy of thy Lord.” Give me grace, O Lord, to improve the talent committed to me, that when thou callest me to give up my account, I may be ready as thy servant was.’ Susan Jones, the person here alluded to, was an individual of great interest. She illustrated a valuable little tract, entitled the “_Single talent well employed_.” She was one of three sisters, who lived together in Lowestoft. She had resided with a family in Scotland, whose testimony to her worth, as well as that of the heads of the family in which she died, I shall venture to insert. She was one of the brightest ornaments of our little Christian Society, and much beloved by all who knew her. I will copy the account of her inscribed in the memoranda of a friend.

‘This morning’s post brought me the tidings of dear Susan Jones’ death, or rather of her being on the point of death, and a request that I would inform her sisters of it. Another valued member of our Society, a true sister in the Lord—one much beloved by us and by many here is now departed! The letter was from Mr. S. a Clergyman, with whom she had been staying at Woodbridge about three months, in order to nurse Mrs. S. in her confinement.’

The following is an extract of his letter.

‘Poor dear Susan was apparently well this morning, and engaged as usual, till about 11 o’clock; when upon her stooping down, she felt an acute pain; but as she was subject to this, we were not alarmed.—Finding, however, that the pain continued, we sent for our medical attendant. The suffering for a short time became acute, and the symptoms so alarming, that it was soon evident there was no hope of her life. It is considered that a vessel near the heart had given way, and that she is sinking from internal bleeding. She is indeed as one fallen asleep. Her mind is calm, and her heart is _fixed_;—her gratitude to God, her patience, love, _humility_, combined with simple trust, are all so conspicuous, that I cannot perceive which is the greatest. She appears not to have a thought in the world, and has not said one word regarding it. Her thoughts are all towards God, and the voice of praise and prayer to him, for spiritual blessings are her only theme. “Thy will be done,” seems the first and uppermost feeling of her heart. You may feel assured when you receive this, that her Spirit is in Heaven, with her beloved Saviour. All her words are now either to, or of her God and Saviour, and she appears to have closed her senses to this trying scene. Her bodily sufferings now are small. I feel as though in parting from her, I was losing one of my best friends, and I only pray that the Almighty, in his mercy, may so help me, that I may see dear Susan in another and better world. With every good wish and prayer,’

Believe me, Yours faithfully, J. P. S.’

February 27th. ‘Received this morning the account of dear Susan Jones’s death. The following is an extract from Mr. S’s. second letter.’

‘Poor dear Susan was called away a few hours sooner than we expected. She breathed her last a quarter before one o’clock this morning, when she exchanged a Sabbath day on earth, for an eternal Sabbath in heaven. I feel as strong a confidence that she is now in glory, as I can feel of any person I ever knew. The verse for the day in the Christian Almanack, 26th February, is, “There remaineth, therefore, a rest for the people of God,” as it were greeting me on my coming down stairs this morning, with a most welcome and appropriate assurance, and as it were in confirmation of my feelings. All I can say of her in her life, and in her death, would come short of the reality, and I can only hope and pray that I may be kept from abusing the privilege I have had in her friendship; and that her image and example may, by God’s blessing, be the means of assisting my weakness, and helping me on to an _entrance_ into glory for ever and ever with her!’

May we seek to follow her humble and Christian course, blameless and harmless as she was, loved by all, and loving all. She was not quick to discover, or speak of the faults of others, being too humbly alive to her own. I never remember to have left her after the fullest communications with her, distressed or perplexed by histories of others, and their faults and failings; over these she drew the curtain, and fixed her eye _only upon her own_. She introduced the subject of other people only to speak kindly and affectionately of them: she appeared “without partiality,” nor had she that selfishness which soon takes affront: I never knew her vexed with any one for supposed unkindness or neglect: she seemed always to think she received more than she deserved. O may we all have grace to follow her in this, and in many other of her Christian virtues.

When thus suddenly seized, and with nothing but death before her, her soul was found perfectly _staid_. No distressing fears or conflicts overwhelmed her; but she met the summons with perfect fortitude and resignation. When Mr. S. said to her, ‘Dear Susan, do you not feel afraid?’ ‘O no, sir, I have no fear; I am leaning on the arm of Jesus, He is my support—He is holding me behind and before. God has laid his hand upon me: His will be done; He will keep me, He will support me.’ The sting of death seemed entirely withdrawn, and the glorious hope of being for ever with the Lord, swallowed up all pain in quitting this valley of tears. O the blessedness of living thus in preparation for death! May the instructive lesson sink deeply into all our hearts, leading us to a watchful circumspect devotion to our God and Saviour; that, when he shall please to call us, we may say with her, ‘_ready_, _Lord_, _ready_.’

As it was my painful office to inform her dear sisters of the affecting event of Susan’s seizure and probable departure at that moment, I went in after the service on Sunday morning. At the moment of my entry, Hannah was reading a paper she held in her hand. I asked them if they had heard any thing of Susan. ‘Not very lately; but we have just been reading a paper of her’s we found in her Bible.’ These were the words:—‘O my dear sisters, we have now began another year, O may we live it _fit to die_, should we be called away before it is past. This day I have been to hear Mr. Salmon, and we had a most excellent sermon from Zechariah i. 5. “Your fathers, where are they?” God bless you both.—Susan Jones.’

This seemed a merciful preparation for breaking to them the sorrowful tidings, which I did, as carefully as possible, endeavouring to arm them with Christian feeling of dependance upon God, and with sense of His presence and love in this event. They were not at first so overwhelmed as I expected: they were deeply attached to each other, and nothing could exceed the careful and affectionate manner in which Susan had nursed Elizabeth in a long and painful illness. Her watchful affection had bound them still more closely together.

Elizabeth Jones has since died, and has left ample testimony to her faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and her meetness to appear in the presence of God, through the merit of her Saviour. We had most interesting and satisfactory testimonies of Susan Jones’s character from others. Lady H. thus writes of her in a letter to Elizabeth.

‘You cannot doubt how great were my feelings of sorrow, when I heard of the decease of my faithful friend, your dear sister Susan; indeed I hardly think any such event, out of my own family, could have grieved us all so deeply. Almost the last words I ever heard from her were, ‘if I am gone when you return to England, never sorrow for your poor old servant.’ But I do sorrow for her very deeply, and shall always think that I have lost a faithful friend, one who did me and my children good, and not evil, during all those days of her life which she spent with me, and I am very sure she has continued to do us good by the hearty prayers she addressed for us, to Him whose eyes are in every place. Her unwearied kindness to my children, I never did, and never could, repay; I allude chiefly to the good principles she taught them, of love to God, love to their parents, to one another, and to all their brethren of mankind. O happy mother shall I be, if my offspring depart not from the ways which their old nurse taught them.

‘When I was at the Lord’s table last Sunday, I thought of Susan, who had so often been there with her master and me. I was prepared to remember her when we are directed to bless the Lord ‘for all his servants departed this life in His faith and fear,’ whose good example, whatever their station in this world may have been, we pray for grace to follow.’

But I will return to some portions of E. C’s. journal. ‘March 12. Attended the Prayer Meeting as usual in the morning.’ This meeting was held on the Sabbath morning at 9 o’clock, and is composed of a few persons who meet together to ask a blessing on the coming means of grace.

‘I felt my mind,’ she says, ‘much drawn out in prayer. The meeting was lively, and I trust the Lord was with us, though some of the weakest of his creatures. In the morning, Mr. C. preached from Hebrews ix. 13, 14, the first part considering what it was to purge the conscience from dead works. He spoke not only of the dead works of the unconverted, but also of the dead works of the Christian. How often is he found hard-hearted, and cold, and lukewarm, and too often bringing forth fruit to the dishonour of God. What then but the blood of Christ can cleanse him from his dead works. Lord, give me grace and faith to apply to that blood continually.’ So did she speak of her own _deficiencies_. Next she speaks of her own _labours_ on the same day. ‘Attended the school in the afternoon. O Lord, bless and own my poor labours. Enable me to teach for Thee, that thy name may be glorified.’ Passing over a portion of her journal, she comes to ‘April 16. Mr. Hoare preached from Hebrews ix. 14–16. He beautifully described how Christ was the High Priest of his people; how He atoned for their sins by shedding his own blood; and how he entered into the Holiest of Holies, where he ever liveth to make intercession for them. He also spoke of the tenderness of Christ; whereby he sympathized, and of his power, whereby He was able to save to the uttermost all that come to God by Him. He most earnestly entreated the trembling believer to come boldly to One who was both able and willing to save him.’ Her own reflections on this sermon may be gathered from the expressions she has applied to it.

‘Mr. Swanison from Jer. xxxi. 18–20. In the conduct of Ephraim teaching us the nature of true repentance. The prayer of Ephraim shews the change in his mind. He entreats God to turn him, feeling that he cannot turn himself. He feels and owns he has been a rebel, but he relies on the Lord to turn him and to pardon all his sins. Here we see the mercy and the love of God displayed. He does not receive the repentant sinner as a servant, but he calls him his dear son. Oh what encouragement to the poor returning sinner, to know that God, whom he feels that he has offended, earnestly remembers him still.’

I am glad to make extracts from the sermons of many of my dear fellow helpers in the gospel, who have been working with me in this field of labour, and who have each,—one planting, and another watering, but God giving the increase;—been so honoured as to give suitable culture to a plant of the Lord, whom they will one day meet in glory, in the heavenly paradise. I also make these extracts, that we may be enabled to trace the means by which the mind of our departed friend, was furnished with food convenient for its growth in grace and holiness.

‘May 21. Attended the morning Prayer Meeting. Felt rather dead in prayer. May the Lord quicken my affections and warm my cold heart.’ ‘Mr. C. from Amos viii. 8, 9. Sermon on the Jews. He spoke much on the fulfilment of prophecy; the Lord, in various places, threatening to disperse and destroy this people, but not make a full end, &c. &c. O Blessed Lord, give me to live, that I neglect not this message, for if thou spared not the natural branches, neither wilt thou spare me if I neglect thy word. Lord, give me thy Spirit, and guide me in all my ways, for thy dear Son’s sake.’

Passing over other subjects, we may take the effect produced on her mind, by one of the social meetings before alluded to.

‘Monday Evening, Sept. 1. Attended Mrs. C.’s meeting. Mrs. C. spoke much of the Omnipresence of God. I felt the subject very much, and I was enabled to pour out my soul in prayer. Surely the Lord’s presence was with us at that time. O blessed Lord, keep me humble; empty me entirely of self, that my unworthy services may be acceptable in thy sight.’ It is plain by this passage, that she had felt the approach of temptation, but she met it in the spirit of watchfulness and prayer.

On another occasion, she says, ‘I attended the meeting. I trust the Lord was with our little party, and that he will hear and answer prayer. I feel my own weakness, and utter unworthiness in approaching thee, O Lord, but look thou in mercy upon me; pardon my sins, forgive my iniquities, and let not the imperfections of my prayers render them odious in thy sight. Thou Lord, knowest my weakness; O strengthen me that I may be enabled to confess thee with more boldness; but O keep me humble.’

‘Oct. 15. This Morning, the Rev. D. Hogarth preached from Malachi ii. 2, 3. O Blessed Jesus, do thou purify and cleanse my soul from the dross of sin, which I feel still hinders me from enjoying the light of thy countenance. O remove the veil from mine eyes, and sin from my heart, that I may see and understand what thy will is; do thou enlighten and guide me in thy way.’

An event now occurred in the family of Elizabeth Cullingham, of the deepest interest and importance. This was the death of her Father. On Monday, Jan. 8, 1838, about two o’clock in the afternoon, a foreign ship came in sight, and hoisted a flag for a Pilot. She was about ten miles from the shore, but although the weather was threatening, and the evening approaching, it seemed practicable to reach the ship; and as it was suspected, that others might be in the offing, which would likewise require assistance, two Pilots put off, with thirteen men in one yawl, and one Pilot with twenty-one in another. The dangers which might have terrified ordinary men, did not prevent these brave seamen from encountering the perils which threatened them in the way of duty.

It was a maxim of James Cullingham, that he ought, in his duty as a Pilot, to fear no danger, and that whenever others would take him, he should go. The yawls carried their mainsails at first, and expected to reach their object. But the vessel, instead of keeping its first course towards the boats, when they were five or six miles from the shore, stood out to sea. The yawls therefore, in their effort to reach the ship, were carried far from land,—and daylight drew to a close before the men were aware of their situation.

The wind meantime arose, and the snow drifted heavily. The greatest anxiety was soon felt by all on shore. The scene which presents itself on these occasions, may be conceived, but not described. Fathers, Mothers, Wives, Sisters, Brothers, and Children, are seen intently watching every change in the sky and waves, eagerly gazing upon the distance to catch a glimpse of the absent objects of their love: grasping every phantom of hope which may present itself; but at length—convinced by some undoubted sign, that they must hope no more.—Many are the vows which are then made; many are the prayers which are then offered. The watching and suspense, however, were in this case, soon at an end. At seven o’clock one of the yawls through great danger, reached the shore, and this left no doubt as to the loss of the other, in which was James Cullingham, and another Pilot. It is supposed this yawl, the ‘Peace,’ in endeavouring to get into the gat-way, had missed the light, it being thick with snow, that she got into broken water, and had gone down. But none were left to tell the tale of woe. The boat itself, sometime afterwards, was washed on shore, a complete wreck. Very few of the bodies were recovered: but amongst the number, that of James Cullingham was found, very remarkably, eight months afterwards. Twelve widows and thirty two children, were in consequence of this disaster, left destitute. This was, indeed, a night of agony, to numbers on shore. Still the possibility of escape presented itself to their minds, but it was hoping against hope. Yet was every one afraid of acknowledging to the chief mourners, what in their own minds was their fixed opinion, that no chance remained. None would, at all events, be the first to declare the awful truth to those broken hearted sufferers.

But there must have been a scene even more affecting than the one now recorded. In the boat were fifteen men, who were in the very jaws of destruction. One other heave of the impetuous sea, and their state was fixed, fixed for ever. Some of them, perhaps, had been drunkards, or Sabbath breakers, or neglecters of Religion; but now they were called at once to give account of what they had done, and what they had left undone, and nothing could be left, to which they might look forward, but the punishment which awaits the sinner. It is impossible to conceive a scene more really appalling, although outwardly its awfulness might be concealed by the anxiety and efforts which it caused. But to think of the never-dying soul, hitherto uncared for, unprepared with all its sins upon it, hurried in one moment into judgment, and to the wages of its transgressions, is awful indeed! What may have been the case of these men, the day of Judgment will disclose. “Blessed are the dead which die in the _Lord_.” That it was the portion of James Cullingham so to die, we can have no doubt. His faith, his converted heart, evidenced by his life, afford a warrant of good hope as to his condition. He lived to Christ, and death was doubtless gain to him. Whether at sea, or on his bed, he might sink in peace, for a joyful inheritance would await him.

But what was the lot of the mourners in his own bereaved family on that sad night? James Cullingham had left his house in the morning, and that he was gone, was probably not more noticed than at other times. It was expected that the yawl which took him out, would in due course return.

Soon however, alarm arose on the beach, and rapidly spread itself in the town. In the evening, it was naturally expected that some news would come from the Pilots, for the boat which conveyed them to the vessels must of necessity return. But no news arrived. Elizabeth had been sent to bed by her Mother, who with her other daughter sat alone in the house in the deepest anxiety. The wind became very tempestuous. The snow drifted. A solemn awe was spread over the cottage. But there was nothing to be done, but to wait, and pray, and to support the mind in silence; still hoping that every moment would bring them tidings.